Category: human condition

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Five Remedies for Sorrow from St. Thomas Aquinas

One doesn’t usually go to the St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica for advice on emotional matters. But for the feast of St. Thomas we shall indeed go there to seek advice on sorrow and consider some of St. Thomas’ remedies for it. (His advice is contained primarily in the Prima Secundae questions 35 – 37.)

St. Thomas follows some of the Eastern fathers in naming four kinds of sorrow (cf I IIae 35:8): anxiety, torpor, pity, and envy. Let’s look at each before examining some of the remedies he suggests:

1. Anxiety – This is a kind of sorrow that emerges when the mind is so weighed down by something that escape seem impossible. St. Thomas’ definition is likely rooted in the Latin word angustia, which is a narrow pass or straight. And thus anxiety tends to arise when we experience stress over a situation and find no room to maneuver, no way out. Anxiety tends to pertain to the future, in contrast with pain, which generally pertains to the present. With pain, one can suffer about a situation in the moment yet recognize that it will pass. Anxiety arises when we sense no definitive end to the painful situation.

St. Thomas calls anxiety a form of sadness. In modern culture we often link anxiety and depression. This is because anxiety, as a sorrow, weighs us down. And just as joy and hope tend to expand and lighten, the sorrow of anxiety tends to crush and turn us inward. It makes us feel limited, hemmed in, confined, and heavily weighed down.

Someone once said that depression is anger turned inward. This makes sense because anger results from fear and anxiety, and anger that cannot be expressed or managed becomes like a heavy weight or depression.

2. Torpor – This word is not used very frequently today. Literally, it refers to slowness of movement. When one is sorrowful or depressed, one is less motivated to move. St. Thomas says, “If, however, the mind be weighed down so much, even the limbs become motionless, which belongs to ‘torpor’” (I IIae 35.8). Even ordinary conversation with others, which is a kind of movement, can seem difficult. The sorrow we call torpor slows us down and makes us feel rundown and sluggish.

Inactivity tends to build. The less motivated we feel, the less we move; the less we move, the less motivated we feel. It’s a kind of downward spiral.

This is why those who are experiencing depression are often encouraged to find friends that will make them move, make them go places—even if they don’t feel like it. This helps to stave off the downward spiral that torpor can cause.

The second two types of sorrow (pity and envy) relate more to our experience of other people’s circumstances.

3. Pity – This is the sorrow that we feel for the evil or misfortune endured by another person. But it is deeper than mere regret or perturbation. Pity is experiencing the misfortune of another as though it were our own.

Pity, therefore, implies a felt relationship. Perhaps it involves a close friend or family member, but it can also be the felt relationship of common humanity with the one who suffers.

Of itself, pity is a proper and good sorrow born out of love. And yet, like any common human emotion or passion, it can be tainted by sinfulness. For example, sometimes pity results more from egotistical needs, wherein one develops a sort of condescending attitude, needing to see others as beneath him or worse off than he is.

And thus what masquerades as pity is too easily merely the drive to be in a superior position with respect to another person. Patronizing attitudes are a misguided form of pity such that we do for people what they should rightfully do for themselves, thus robbing them of their dignity and their call to live responsible lives.

Hence pity, like any sorrow, has to be moderated and helped by reason and by the understanding that it is not always possible or even helpful to assist everyone in every circumstance simply because we feel sorrow for their condition. Sometimes the best we can do is to listen to them and pray for them.

Properly understood, pity is a very beautiful emotion rooted in love for others.

4. Envy – On the other hand, envy is a very dark sorrow and is rooted in sin. I have written more extensively on envy here: Envy Is a Diabolical Sin. For this reflection, however, I will just summarize by saying that envy is a form of sorrow or anger at the excellence of another person, because I take it as lessening my own.

Envy is a particularly dark sin because it seeks to destroy the goodness in others rather than to celebrate it. If I am jealous of you, you have something I want. But when I am envious of you, I seek to destroy that in you which is good. That is why St. Augustine called envy the diabolical sin.

While discussing these four types of sorrow, St. Thomas also discusses some ways to overcome them. We will look at remedies for all four of them. Because envy stands apart from the other sorrows due to its sinful quality, the remedies for it are quite different. The remedies for envy are the gifts of joy and zeal. When someone else possesses goodness or excellence, the proper response is to rejoice with them and for them, as members of one body. When one member is praised, all members are praised; when one member is blessed, all members are blessed. This is rational and reasonable; we should seek from God the gift of joy at the goodness or excellence of another person. We should also seek from God the virtue of zeal, wherein we seek to imitate, where possible, the goodness or excellence we observe in others.

Remedies – As for the other forms of sorrow (anxiety, torpor, and pity), St. Thomas advises some of the following remedies:

1. Weeping – St. Thomas makes the very interesting observation that where there is laughter and smiling there is increased joy. But weeping, rather than increasing sorrow, actually diminishes it. How is this? He says, “First, because a hurtful thing hurts yet more if we keep it shut up, because the soul is more intent on it: whereas if it be allowed to escape, the soul’s intention is dispersed as it were on outward things, so that the inward sorrow is lessened” (I IIae 38.2). Thus tears are the soul’s way to exhale sorrow. For when we weep, we release sorrow. Tears have a way of flushing it from our system.

It is a rather beautiful and freeing insight, especially for some of us who were raised with more stoic sensibilities. Many of us, especially men, were told not to cry, not to show our emotions. But of course such an approach seldom works, for the more we shut up our sorrow, the more the mind ruminates on it. Better to weep and let it run out through our tears.

2. Sharing our sorrows with friends – Scripture says, Woe to the solitary man, for if he should fall, he has no one to lift him up (Eccl 4:10-11). Aristotle also said, “A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.”

The danger to avoid in sorrow is turning in on ourselves. We often need the perspective of others. And even if they don’t have many answers to give us, simply talking to them about our sorrow is itself a form of release. St. Thomas also adds, when a man’s friends condole with him, he sees that he is loved by them, and this affords him pleasure… [and] every pleasure assuages sorrow (Ibid).

3. Contemplating the truth – The word philosophy literally means “the love of wisdom,” and for those schooled in it, it can provide great consolation. St. Thomas says, the greatest of all pleasures consists in the contemplation of truth. Now every pleasure assuages pain … hence the contemplation of truth assuages pain or sorrow, and the more so, the more perfectly one is a lover of wisdom (I IIae 38.4).

This is even more so with the contemplation of sacred truth, wherein we are reminded of our final glory and happiness if we persevere. We are given perspective and reminded of the passing quality of sorrow in this life, that “trouble don’t last always,” and that the sufferings of this world cannot compare with the glory that is to be revealed.

4. Pleasure – We have already seen that St. Thomas says, “pleasure assuages pain.” If one is physically tired, then sleep is a solution. If one is in pain or sorrow, pleasure is also helpful remedy.

In sudden and heavy loss or sorrow, some period of quiet convalescence maybe called for. But there comes a time when one must go forth and savor the better things in life once again.

The Book of Psalms says, When sorrow was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul (Ps 94:19). In the midst of pain, God will often send consoling pleasures, which should be appreciated and savored (with proper moderation, of course).

As a priest, I sometimes minister to those who have suddenly lost a spouse or other beloved family member. In these situations, I find that some of those who mourn feel almost guilty about venturing out into the world again to enjoy the better things: laughter, good company, entertainment, etc. But for the survivors to cease living does little to honor those who died. There comes a time, after a suitable period of mourning, when one must go forth and reclaim the joy of life again.

5. A warm bath and a nap – This is a rather charming remedy recommended by St. Thomas. And it is actually very good advice, for we are not simply soul; we are also body. And our body and soul interact with and influence each other. Sometimes if the soul is vexed, caring for the body will bring soothing to both body and soul. St. Thomas says, Sorrow, by reason of its specific nature, is repugnant to the vital movement of the body; and consequently whatever restores the bodily nature to its due state of vital movement, is opposed to sorrow and assuages it (I IIae 38.5).

We live in a culture that tends to overindulge the body. And yet to do so is not really to care for it. Frankly, some of our overindulgence actually stress the body, which thereby vexes the soul.

Surely what St. Thomas has in mind here is the proper care of the body. Whether that means a warm bath, a leisurely walk, or a nap, the soothing care of the body can help to alleviate sorrow.

Sorrow! It does find us. But in the midst of it, there are still some gifts. Learning these simple truths can be a gift:  that tears are the soul’s way to exhale, that we ought to reach out and stay in communion with others who can help us, that meditating on eternal truth is important, and that proper soothing care of ourselves has its place.

Sorrow also reminds us that this world is not our home, that we ought to set our gaze on the place where joy shall never end, even as we must journey through what is often a “valley of tears.” And finally, the Book of Revelation reminds us to regard what the Lord will do for those who die in Him:

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning, crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away (Rev 21:4).

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: Five Remedies for Sorrow from St. Thomas Aquinas

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What Is Time?

So often in funerals I hear proclaimed the familiar lines from the Book of Ecclesiastes, which speaks to the great mystery we call time; more on its text, in a moment.

If I were to ask you to define time, could you do it in a way that really satisfies? For example, some have defined as “the measure of change.” Well, OK, but that doesn’t satisfy, does it? Ultimately time is deeply mysterious; our attempts to nail it down in words betray its depths more so than reveal it.

The ancient Greeks had at least three different words for time:

Chronos is close to what we call “clock time.” It answers the question of where we are on the scale used to note sequential time. For example, 3:00 PM refers to an agreed point in the middle of the afternoon.

Kairos is related to our concept of something being “timely.” There is often a particularly fitting or opportune moment for something. We might say “It was time to move on,” or “It was time to retire.”

Aeon refers to the fullness of time or to “the ages.” It is akin to our notion of eternity, not as an inordinately long time but as a comprehensive experience of all time summed up as one. Only God experiences this fully, but we can grasp aspects of it. For example, we can look back on our life as a whole and see how many different things worked to get us to where we are now. In so doing, we can come up with a comprehensive meaning to the events of the past. Although the future is hidden from us, we can still conceive of it and steer our lives intelligently toward it. God sees the past, present, and future all at once. Thus, God alone has aeon in its full and perfect sense.

 The book of Ecclesiastes speaks beautifully to both kairos and aeon. In its most familiar lines it expresses the kairos notion that there is a fitting time for all things:

There is an appointed time for everything,
and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.

…I have seen the business that God has given to mortals to be busied about. God has made everything appropriate to its time … (Ecclesiastes 3:1-11a).

We can all sense the truth of these lines; certain things are fitting certain times. We are startled, grieved, and even offended when things take place outside of our expectations. That we all have this sense is clear, but where it comes from is less so.

Chapter 3 of Ecclesiastes continues on to describe the much more mysterious concept of aeon, the fullness of time:

God has made everything appropriate to its time but has put the timeless into our hearts so they cannot find out, from beginning to end, the work which God has done. … I recognize that whatever God does will endure forever; there is no adding to it or taking from it. Thus has God done that he may be revered. What now is, has already been; what is to be, already is: God retrieves what has gone by (Ecclesiastes 3:11-15).

Somewhere in our hearts is something that the world cannot and did not give us. It is something that is nowhere evident in the world, yet though cannot perceiving it, we still know it. This passage from Ecclesiastes calls it “the timeless.” We also refer to it as eternity, or even infinity.

Perhaps most mysterious is this line: what is to be, already is. God is not waiting for my tomorrow. My tomorrow, even my whole future, has always been present and known to God. Scripture says,

Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. … All of my days were written in your book before one of them every came to be (Psalm 139:4,16). Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you (Jeremiah 1:5).

Indeed, God is not waiting for time to pass. For him, everything just is; all is eternally present to Him in a comprehensive “now.”

Where did this notion of the timeless come from? In speaking to it, God is appealing to something we somehow “know,” even if subconsciously. Our world is finite; time on this earth is serial. Things have a beginning, a middle, and an end. We do not experience anything here of the timeless. Rather, everything is governed by the steady, unrelenting ticking of the clock (chronos). Every verb we us is time-based, rooted at some point in time and never able to break free from it. Everything is rooted in chronological time, but somewhere in our heart we can grasp “the timeless.” It is hard to put into words because we know it at a very deep level, but we do know it.

So, the experience of “forever” does not exist in this world or from it, but it is in our mind and heart! There is no way for us to engage in time travel here in this world, yet instinctively we know that we can somehow! Science fiction and fantasy often feature going back to the past or forward into the future. The world could not possibly teach us this because we are locked in the present and have never actually traveled in time, but somehow we know that we can do it.

Yes, we can paint a picture of eternity even if we have never experienced it. Look at the dot in the center of your analog watch or clock. Let’s suppose that the current time is 2:00 PM, meaning that 10:00 AM is in the past while 6:00 PM is in the future. Yet, at the center dot, they are all the same. This is aeon; this is eternity, the fullness of time; this is a picture of timelessness, of all time equally present. This is where God lives and where, to some degree, we will one day dwell.

Where did we get it from? The world cannot give it, for the world does not have it. The world is finite, limited; it is time-bound, not timeless. Where did we get it?

Maybe it’s from God. The mystery of time is caught up in the mystery of God.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: What Is Time?

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The Courage to See

photo credit – J. Lippelmann, Catholic Standard
The following is taken from a homily I preached this past weekend for the Archdiocese of Washington’s annual White Mass, celebrating the gifts of persons with disabilities/special needs and the deaf community.  You can view the video of the homily here at the Archdiocese’s YouTube page.

I would like to speak to you today about the courage to see. You might not think that it takes courage to see, but it does. Most of us have many things we either don’t want to see or don’t want to hear. This is typically because it might challenge our way of thinking, summon us to new attitudes, require us to change our behavior, call us to change the way we regard other people, and/or necessitate the reordering of our priorities. Not only does it take courage to see; it takes courage even to want to see.

When we ponder today’s Gospel of the blind man (Bartimaeus) in Jericho, we need to remember that the gospels are not “spectator sports.” We are not simply hearing the story of some man who lived 2,000 years ago. No, this is our story, too; we are in every gospel. We are in today’s Gospel in several ways: we are the blind man; we are in the crowd; and, if you’re prepared to accept it, we are also Jesus (for we, too, are called to help others to see).

How are we the blind man? Some here today are physically blind, and there is obviously no sin in that, but all of us struggle with some degree of spiritual blindness. There are many things we should see, but do not. Sometimes we are afraid to see, at other times we resist seeing because we know it will make new demands upon us. We might have to question some of our political stances, or worldviews. We might be challenged to change the way we live or how we regard others. Yes, some of us are willingly blind or lack the courage to see.

We are gathered here today in particular to recognize the dignity of persons with disabilities/special needs. Some disabilities are readily apparent; others are more hidden. As we age, most of us are headed for some degree of disability. Many in our world recoil from looking at or seeing disability, and even if we see it, we often fail to recognize the dignity and gifts of persons with special needs or disabilities. Yes, many people today remain blind when it comes to seeing the dignity and gifts of those who are disabled.

Charles Pope and daughter Mary Anne

To illustrate I will tell a story about my past. My sister, Mary Anne Pope, was gravely afflicted with mental illness. Even when she was in elementary school the guidance counselor called her “disturbed.” By the time she was in sixth grade, Mary Anne had entered the mental health system diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. She spent the remainder of her life living in one of fifteen different mental hospitals and five different group homes. Mary Anne died in a fire in 1991, a fire she likely set. She had often heard voices in the past that told her to do terrible things and setting fires was one of them.

A great sadness in my life is that it took Mary Anne’s death for me to see her dignity and her true suffering. I was blind, and in a certain sense I wanted it that way. I had often avoided talking to her. She often wanted to talk to me about her unusual dreams and needed attention, but I made excuses and privately complained to my parents about her unwanted requests.

Four days after her death, however, I looked right into the face of her pain. The funeral directors explained that they had made Mary Anne’s body presentable enough for the immediate family to view briefly, but that her features were delicate because the fire had singed her upper body making it difficult to change her appearance or adjust the expression on her face. We gathered together for a last look, and it was then that I saw it. She had clearly died weeping. Yes, I could see the pain on her face as her body lay in the casket and I wept deeply when I saw her. All of us did. Mary Anne! It was a grief observed, a very deep grief.

How could I have missed it all those years? Was it my fear of her? Was it my annoyance? Perhaps it was my frustration at not being able to do anything, but I was blind to her grief and to her dignity. That day, looking at her one last time, I received the gift to see her more in the way that God did. “Mary Anne,” I thought, “How little I really knew you or understood your pain. I’m so sorry I missed it. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. I’m sorry I didn’t see, that I resisted seeing.”

I was (and in many ways still am) Bartimaeus, the blind man of Jericho. My sister’s final gift was that God taught me to see through her. I resolved that it should not take a tragic death for me to see the dignity and gifts of those with disabilities or special needs.

How are we Jesus in this story? As a Church, we must help others to see. Most people prefer not to see, but we must help them to see by shining the light of Jesus on this world.

It is critical today that we help others to see the dignity of those with special needs or disabilities. In this culture of death, there are many who do not see this at all and many who prefer not to see it, prescribing death as a strange kind of “therapy.” Two critical examples come to mind.

First, there is the sad reality that more than 90 percent of parents who receive a poor prenatal diagnosis respond by aborting their unborn child. Unborn children diagnosed with Down Syndrome, a significant medical issue, or a special need are almost always aborted. Not only do we have no right to do this, but this demonstrates a blindness to the dignity and gifts of persons with disabilities or special needs, whether unborn, young, or elderly. God sends gifts as well as challenges into our lives. We have to be like Jesus and help others to see this.

The second issue is that of physician-assisted suicide/euthanasia. Most of us are going to be less and less able as we get older. The idea that we should be able to end our own life when the perceived quality of life diminishes is an attitude that endangers everyone, especially the disabled. Your “right to die” becomes my duty to die when I become too much of a burden to others. In countries where euthanasia and/or physician-assisted suicide have been legal for a long time, there is indeed significant pressure to end the lives of the disabled, those with profound special needs, and the dying.

This blindness to the dignity of all human persons, from conception to natural death, is one we are called to heal as the active presence of Christ in the world.

A final vision to restore in this world of preferred blindness is the vision of the great reversal that is coming. We ought to be careful to remember that in Heaven, many whom the world calls last are going to be first. Yes, Jesus said, So the last will be first, and the first will be last. (Matt 20:16). Mother Mary said, He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly (Luke 1:57). Cardinal George once said, “In this world the poor need us, but in the next world we are going to need them.” This is true not only of the poor, but of those who suffer as well.

As Jesus’s presence in the world, the Church must heal the blindness of the many who fail to see not only the current dignity of those who suffer, but also their future glory.

I think I’m going to need an appointment to meet my sister Mary Anne in Heaven. Because she suffered so much more than I, she will be far more exalted.

For all those gathered here today who endure special sufferings, never forget that the great reversal that is coming. These momentary afflictions will produce a far greater glory (see 2 Cor 4:18ff).

I would like to conclude with some lyrics from an old spiritual, “Done Made My Vow.”

Refrain:

Done made my vow to the Lord,
And I never will turn back,
Oh I will go, I shall go
to see what the end will be.

Verse 1:

Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down;
See what the end will be,
But still my soul is heav’nly bound,
See what the end will be. (Refrain)

Do you have the courage to see?

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Working for the Kingdom Despite Human Failures

My father had an expression: “Charlie, people disappoint.” It was his way of saying that even people we think irreproachable, godly, and saintly can let us down, either with sin or simply by being unable to help us in key moments. Something of that comes through in the words of St. Paul from today’s first reading:

Demas, enamored of the present world, deserted me and went to Thessalonica, Crescens to Galatia, and Titus to Dalmatia. Luke is the only one with me. … At my first defense no one appeared on my behalf, but everyone deserted me. May it not be held against them! (2 Timothy 4:10-16)

Here were people that St. Paul had thought friends and champions of the gospel, but now some have left him, some have failed to defend him, and still others are just unavailable.

We should all think about how much faith we put in human persons. While we sometimes need to depend on others to help us, there will be times when they cannot do so and times when not only do they not help us, they are against us; perhaps they are too frightened to stand with us or maybe they are just occupied with other things. Yes, people disappoint.

Paul goes on to say,

But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the proclamation might be completed, and all the Gentiles might hear it (2 Timothy 4:17).

This passage reminds us that though we should work with our fellow human beings, we should trust in God. For indeed, He wills us to work with imperfect, limited, and even fickle people, but to trust that He can supply our needs when others fall short; He can stand in the gap when others do not, for whatever reason.

Scripture says, Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who draws strength from mere flesh and whose heart turns away from the LORD (Jer 17:5).

The fact that human beings are imperfect and can disappoint us should not turn us into isolated cynics. Rather, it should remind us to depend ultimately on the Lord’s strength and permit Him to fill the gaps left by others. We should work to develop good relationships with our fellow human beings because in many situations they can help, but they can never be our ultimate savior.

Yes, God can work to bless us, even through people who disappoint or fall short. No matter the struggles of human agents, with God as a partner we can succeed. All things work together for good, to those who trust in God and are called according to his purpose (Rom 8:23).

St Paul did not stop preaching because others let him down; neither should we stop working for the Kingdom merely because others disappoint.

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A Prescription for Peace in a World of Woe

Raising of the Widow’s Son at Nain, by James Tissot

The Gospel for Tuesday of the 24th Week provides a kind of prescription for peace in a world of woe. Let’s look at it in four stages.

I. The Place – Jesus journeyed to a city called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd accompanied him.

The name of the city, Nain, means fair (in the sense of beautiful)—and it was, for it sat upon a high hill and commanded a magnificent view.

This is an apt description of this world as well, which has its beauty, its magnificent vistas, and its pleasures and offerings. As men and women of faith, we ought to appreciate the beauty of what God has created. It makes God angry, to quote Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, “when you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.” God has given us many gifts and the mystic in all of us is invited to wonder, awe, gratitude, and serene joy.

Thus, we have the first prescription for peace. The world, with all its woe, never loses the beauty of God’s glory. Appreciating this brings serene peace even in the midst of storms. God is always present and speaking to us in what He has made and is continually sustaining.

II. The Pain – Fair though this world is, the very next thing we encounter in the text is pain: As he drew near to the gate of the city, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. A large crowd from the city was with her.

Indeed, we live in a fallen world, governed by a fallen angel, and we have fallen natures. God had made paradise for us, and while we cannot fully understand what that paradise would have been like, it is clear that Adam and Eve were driven from the best of what God had made.

Adam was told that the ground was now cursed on account of him; it brought forth thorns and thistles in a kind of protest. For Adam, work became arduous and sweat-producing; a kind of battle set up, pitting him against the forces of nature in order to provide for his basic needs.

Having simple sobriety about this provides a strange kind of serenity. If we are willing to accept them, there are certain hard truths that will set us free. One of those is that life is hard. Joy will come with the morning light, but some nights of weeping must be endured as we journey to our heavenly homeland where sorrows and sighs are no more.

Accepting the pain of this world is the second part of the prescription for peace in a world of woe.

III. The Portrait of Jesus – When the Lord saw her, he was moved with pity for her. This woman’s sorrow becomes His own. While there is a mystery to God’s allowance of suffering, we must never think that He is unmoved or uncaring.

There is a saying (attributed to various sources) that “Jesus didn’t come to get us out of trouble; He came to get into trouble with us.” Yes, He takes up our pain and experiences it to the utmost. An old hymn says, “Jesus knows all about our struggles, He will guide till the day is done; There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus, No, not one! No, not one!”

Note that the word pity comes from the Latin pietas, a word for family love. Jesus looks at this woman and sees a sister, a mother, a dear family member, and He is moved with family love.

Learning to trust in Jesus’ love for us, especially when we suffer, is a critical part of the prescription for peace. We need to pray constantly in our suffering: “Jesus I trust in your love for me!” If we pray this in the Holy Spirit, it brings peace.

IV. The Preview – [Jesus] said to her, “Do not weep.” He stepped forward and touched the coffin; at this the bearers halted, and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.

We have here a directive from Jesus not to weep. That directive is rooted in what He plans to do. This is more than a human, “Cheer up. Don’t be sad” sort of exhortation. Jesus is about to give her back her son. Based on this fact, He says, “Do not weep.”

In a very moving line we are told simply, “Jesus gave him to his mother.”

Do you realize that one day the Lord will do this for you? Jesus will return and restore everyone and everything that the devil and this world have stolen from us. It will all be given back and more than we could ever imagine will be added to it.

In my own life the Lord has given me victories over sufferings and setbacks. I have experienced healings and restorations, as I’m sure you have. These are previews; they are down payments, if you will, on the total restoration that the Lord is going to effect in your life. Whatever you have lost, you will recover it all and far more besides.

What previews have you had in your life? What victories? What healings? What restorations? These are like previews of the promised and more-than-full restoration that is to come. What is your testimony?

It is important for you to reflect on the previews the Lord has already given, for these are another important part of the prescription for peace: the promise of complete restoration and the previews he has already given of that promise.

Here, then, is a prescription for peace in a world of woe:

  1. Make the journey to Nain, a place called fair and beautiful. That is, let the Lord open your eyes to the beauty and blessings all around you. Come to see the magnificence of His glory on display at every moment. It will give you peace and serene joy.
  2. Ask for the grace to accept that we currently live in a “paradise lost” and that life is hard. This sober acceptance of life’s sorrows brings a paradoxical serenity because our resentment that we do not live in a perfect world goes away. Accepting that this world, with all its beauty, also has hardships, brings peace and a determination to journey to the place where joys will never end.
  3. Accept the Lord’s love for you even amidst His mysterious allowance of suffering. Accept that He is deeply moved and just say over and over, “Jesus, I trust in your love for me.”
  4. Be alert to the previews that God gives and has already given you, previews of the future glory that awaits the faithful. Once you have accepted this evidence, this testimony from the Holy Spirit, peacefully accept the Lord’s instruction not to weep and His promise that you will recover it all—and much more besides.

This motet from Night Prayer is by John Shepherd. The translation of the Latin text (In pace, in idipsum dormiam) is “In peace, in the self-same, I will rest.”

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St. Augustine on Suffering as a Medicine

The feast of St. Augustine this Tuesday provides us yet another opportunity to learn from him. We can ponder his teaching on suffering and its role in preserving us from something far worse.

When asked, most people identify their most serious problems as those related to their physical health or their finances; family and career are also often mentioned.

Frankly, our biggest problem is pride and all the sins that flow from it. Nothing is more serious than our sins, which can destroy us forever. Worldly problems are temporary. They can make life unpleasant or at worst kill us, but then we get to go home and meet God if we are faithful.

Therefore, to God, our most serious problem is our sin. This is well-illustrated in the Gospels, when a paralyzed man was presented to Jesus: Jesus looked at him and said, “Your sins are forgiven.” Yes, Jesus looked at a paralyzed man and saw his sin as his most serious problem and the one to be dealt with first.

We don’t think like this even when taught that we should.

Because pride and the sins that flow from it are so serious, we do well to ponder how God permits suffering in our life so as to keep us from becoming too prideful. To God, it is better that we suffer some here, learn humility, and be saved, than to remain prideful and go to Hell.

I have received gifts and blessings, but if it weren’t for some suffering and humiliation in my life, I’d be so proud I’d go right to Hell. There’s just something about suffering that can keep us humble and continually calling on God.

St. Augustine reflects on this in what is considered his greatest work, The City of God. It was occasioned by the decline of the Roman Empire and the sacking of the city of Rome by the Barbarians under Alaric in 410 A.D. Augustine wrote the work to ponder how a once-mighty empire had fallen into such decay.

There were of course many sufferings inflicted on the citizens of Rome by the Barbarians. “Sackings” are not pleasant. Some people were killed, many women were raped, grave damage was inflicted on the city, and much personal property was damaged and/or taken.

In chapter 28 of Book 1 of the City of God, Augustine ponders why God would have allowed such suffering, especially to the Christians of that city, and in particular to the Christian women of virtue who were raped.

At times, his reflections seem almost unsympathetic, but in effect St. Augustine points to humiliation and suffering as a strong but necessary medicine for pride, which is far worse than any of the ills suffered to remedy it.

St. Augustine begins by disclaiming any ability to offer a complete explanation for suffering:

If you ask me why they [the Barbarians] were allowed the liberty of committing these sins, the answer is that the providence of the Creator and Ruler of the world transcends human reckoning, and that “incomprehensible are his judgments … unsearchable his ways.

Augustine then adds (somewhat boldly) to those in Rome who suffered,

Nevertheless, carefully scrutinize your own souls and see whether you were not unduly puffed up about your virtue.

He then ponders,

They [those who suffered] may possibly have in them some latent weakness which could have swollen to overwhelming pride had they escaped this humiliation…. So violence snatched something away from them lest prosperity should endanger them.

He goes on to conclude,

But they learned humility …. And were delivered from a pride that had already overtaken them … a pride that threatened them.

What of us who have suffered? We ought not to exclude the possibility, even the likelihood, that such suffering is permitted by God in order to humble us and keep us from the far worse of pride.

We must also conclude that when God allows suffering for this purpose He also gives grace to help us avoid extreme anger or despair. St. Augustine concludes his reflection in this way:

God would never have permitted these evils if they could destroy in his saints that purity of soul which he had bestowed on them and delights to see in them.

Reflections such as these do not generally please modern ears. We do not usually like the notion that God permits suffering for some greater good. Too easily we call Him unfair and harsh for doing such a thing. We prefer to think of Him as a doting grandfather rather than the disciplining Father described in Hebrews 12:4ff.

Our dismissal of suffering as a medicine is largely because we fail to see just how serious a sin pride is. We are dismissive of the tremendous toll that sin takes on us and the extreme danger that it causes in our hearts. Hence, we reject any medicine at all, let alone any strong one. However, God will not spare us merely to please us if in so doing He would lose us.

Suffering is complex and mysterious. That God permits it cannot be explained easily, but as St. Augustine makes clear, we ought not to overlook its salutary effect through the humility it engenders.

That, in and of itself, is a very good thing; for pride is our worst enemy.

This song, translated from the Latin, says,

Sadness and anxiety
have overtaken my inmost being.
My heart is made sorrowful in mourning,
my eyes are become dim.
Woe is me, for I have sinned.

But you, Lord,
who does not forsake
those who hope in you,
comfort and help me
for your holy name’s sake,
and have mercy on me.

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Of Plenty, Population, and Trust – A Further Reflection on the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes

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The multiplication of the loaves and fishes that we read about at Sunday Mass was a miracle so astonishing that it is recounted in all four Gospels. A second, similar instance is recorded in another gospel passage. So, this sort of miracle is recounted five times within the four Gospels.

There are many theological reasons for this. Clearly, Jesus was fulfilling the promise of Moses: that after him a greater one would arise who would also feed the people mysteriously with bread. There are also many Eucharistic and spiritual dimensions to the miracle.

In this reflection I would like to ponder the notion that this miracle of satisfying our physical hunger is a one writ large in our times. While many wish that astounding miracles like those recounted in the Scriptures were more evident today, I would argue that the miracle of the loaves and fishes and God’s promise to care for His people is right before our very eyes.

While there is hunger in the world today, it is not due to God but to human struggles and human sinfulness. Let’s ponder the work of God to feed us and see how He has multiplied our loaves and fishes.

In the Book of Genesis, God blessed Adam and Eve and said to them,

“Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” Then God said, “Behold, I have given you every plant-yielding seed that is on the surface of all the earth, and every tree which has fruit-yielding seed; it shall be food for you …” (Gen 1:28-29).

God would repeat a similar blessing and instruction to Noah, adding meat to the diet as well.

God wanted the human family to grow and promised to supply food for us. Even after the fall of Original Sin, although God told Adam that his harvesting would come “by the sweat of your brow,” there would be a harvest.

In the first reading from Sunday’s Mass, Elisha said, “For thus says the LORD, ‘They shall eat and there shall be some left over.’” And when they had eaten, there was some left over, as the LORD had said (2 Kings 4:43-44).

So, God did establish the general truth that the earth would provide adequate food for His people. While there might be local famines or droughts, on the whole, the earth would provide.

As the world’s population has continued to grow, some have cast doubt on the capacity of the earth to supply food for us. In 1798, Thomas Malthus wrote an influential essay in which he predicted that our population was approaching a critical stage and that it would soon outdistance the food supply, bringing on mass starvation. Since that time many others have posited similar doomsday scenarios, although the projected date of the crisis has varied.

Today the world’s population is more than 7 billion people, yet there remains a remarkably stable, even increasing, food supply. So abundant is agriculture here in the U.S. that the government encourages farmers, through subsidies, not to plant certain crops. We even burn a lot of corn for fuel rather than using it for food. I do not report these things because I necessarily approve of them, but only to show that basic foods are produced by this earth in abundance.

There are some who dispute the claim that our earth is producing in abundance, pointing to things such as desertification and declines in arable land. However, for centuries now, one doomsday scenario after another has failed to materialize. The population continues to grow, and yet there is still food in relative abundance.

Though many, perhaps understandably, wonder how we can ever get enough food to feed this multitude, the Lord and His earth continue to provide for us. In a way, the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes is writ large by modern agriculture.

Surely, though, just as the Lord used the five loaves and two fishes in the lakeside miracle, He involves us in the solution to feeding the planet today. The miracle of multiplied food sources comes from God but interacts with human ingenuity. Consider the human role:

  • Agricultural technology, soil management, and insect control have all increased the yield of crops many times over. God has given us intellects and blessed our capacity to learn what works to increase the harvest.
  • There is the emergence of a worldwide economy and the transportation to be able to harvest crops from all over the world. Localized droughts and even just the change of the seasons no longer have the impact on the food supply that they once did. Trouble in one area can be mitigated by supply from another. Winter in one area can be covered for by summer in another.
  • Animal husbandry, fisheries, and other technologies also foster a great increase in meats, fishes, and dairy products.

Our five loaves and two fishes do matter!

Granted, some of these technologies are controversial from an environmental point of view. If we can make the desert bloom, should we? Should we genetically modify things and if so, how much and how often? What pesticides are acceptable to use and what are their side effects? How much water can and should be used for agriculture? Is building dams helpful or harmful?

This is not a blog to debate such matters, but without suggesting either blanket approval or condemnation of such technologies, the fact remains that the earth continues to provide abundant food. It does so in a way that the ancient world—or even more recently Thomas Malthus—would consider astonishing (and I would say, miraculous). As atomic physics has shown, even tiny amounts of matter contain enormous energy locked within them.

God’s promise to provide food for the human family, whom He told to “multiply to fill the earth,” remains stubbornly true, despite the doubters and their doomsday predictions.

But what of hunger? Clearly there is not an even distribution of food on our planet. There are areas where many people go hungry. Often, the poor do not have adequate access to a good food supply. As food sometimes rots in American silos, is burned for fuel, or is even deliberately not planted, other regions struggle. As many Americans blithely cast leftover food into the trash after meals, others would “kill” for the scraps from our tables.

Yet note that this is not a lack on the part of God. The earth supplies what we need, but that does not preclude human sinfulness or other factors from allowing hunger to continue. Consider that hunger in the modern world is often caused by things such as

  • war,
  • local corruption that prevents food from reaching the poor,
  • poor infrastructure (e.g., roads, landing strips) to bring food in,
  • greed, and
  • hoarding.

How best to address these factors is a matter of debate and is beyond the scope of this blog post and my blog as a whole.

The point I wish to emphasize is that the miracle of the loaves and fishes, even from the standpoint of physical food sources, is writ large today. It is a miracle the way our planet, as God has given it, supplies our needs even as we “fill the earth.” God did not command what He could not provide for. If He told us to multiply, fill, and subdue the earth, then He also asks us to trust Him. Bringing the loaves and fishes of our minds and our ingenuity to the table, with God’s grace and the earth He has given us, we can partner to produce an abundant harvest!

Are there hungry people? Yes. This is a disgrace rooted not in God but in us. God Himself counsels us not merely to build bigger barns to hoard our excess food, but instead to “store” it in the stomachs of the poor and needy (cf Luke 12:13-21).

God is faithful and true to His promise. The earth has yielded its fruit, God our God has blessed us (Ps 67:6).

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The Difference Between Penance and Punishment

There is an old rabbinic story that speaks to the danger of being “unbroken.” It also illustrates the difference between penance and punishment. I am relating this story from memory and may have adapted it somewhat over the years, so if you know it in a different way, please be merciful! Here is (my version of) the story:

There once was a man who had violated the Sabbath against his will, because his carriage had broken down. Although he ran, striving to reach town before sundown, he was not able to do so. He arrived substantially after sundown, thus violating the ban on work by travelling farther than allowed on the Sabbath, which requires rest.

The young rabbi of the town, Rabbi Mikhal imposed a long and harsh penance on the man, so harsh that it affected his health. The man felt quite incapable of fulfilling it and despaired he would ever be free of his sin.

Hearing that the famed Rabbi Baal Shem Tov was visiting nearby the man sought his advice. The older rabbi replaced the severe penance given by the young Rabbi Mikhal, telling the man, “Carry a pound of candles to the house of prayer and have them lit for the Sabbath. Let that be your penance.” Surprised at the mildness of the penance, the man expressed disbelief. The old Shem Tov simply repeated, “Do as I say, that will be enough.” He then added, “Greet Rabbi Mikhal for me and extend my request that he join me at Chvostov where I will hold the coming Sabbath.”

Honored by the invitation Rabbi Mikhal made haste to Chvostov, but along the way a wheel broke on his carriage and he had to continue on foot. Though he hastened to arrive on time, even his youthful stamina could not overcome the distance, and he arrived well after dark on the Sabbath.

Entering the dwelling of Baal Shem Tov he stood numb and speechless, realizing the old Rabbi was well into the Sabbath prayers. Shem Tov looked up and spoke to him: “Good Sabbath, my sinless friend. You had never tasted the sorrow of the sinner, your heart had never throbbed with his despair—and so it was easy for your hand to deal out severe penance.”

The first lesson of the story is clear: Our mercy for others is often conditioned by our experience of our own need for mercy. Having experienced our own brokenness and inability to do what is right on every occasion, our longing for mercy is deepened and the greatness of the gift is more fully appreciated. This equips us to show mercy to others.

To be “broken” is a modern expression but it expresses an ancient truth. It speaks to the experience we have when we are finally confronted with our own sin or inadequacy, most often in a profound way. Perhaps we did something particularly humiliating or discouraging. It may even be publicly known. Perhaps we did something that had harmful effects on people we love or even on strangers. Perhaps we experienced a profound failure in an endeavor, a relationship, or a business matter. We may find ourselves in the awkward position of needing help from others or of needing forgiveness from them and God.

Things like this can feel crushing but can also be salutary. They are helpful if we see them through by seeking forgiveness, making amends where necessary, and finding help and healing. Above all, experiences like this can be salutary if they help us to realize that we are not invincible, flawless, or somehow less in need of grace and mercy.

People who are unbroken—like the young rabbi in the story—can easily be too severe, lack compassion, and be unforgiving. They are often poorly equipped to deal with people who struggle, especially those who struggle openly and in certain ways. Scripture says,

The sins of some men are obvious, going ahead of them to judgment; but the sins of others do not surface until later (1 Tim 5:24-25).

In other words, all of us need mercy, whether for obvious sins or more hidden ones, whether now or later. We do well to recognize this early in life, for Scripture warns,

For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment (James 2:13).

Yes, woe to the unbroken person who too easily imposes harsh punishments on others. It is a terrible strategy in life and leads to a day of judgment that will be hard to withstand.

Many years ago, when I was just about to be ordained a priest, my spiritual director said to me, “I pray that God will break your heart.” I remember being annoyed at what seemed a cruel prayer on the eve of my ordination.

Looking back, though, I understand what he meant. He detected a pride and a harshness in my spirit. At that point in my life I had spent five years studying the faith. I knew what was right, and by gosh it was time to unleash all this knowledge on a confused people who had been misled by weak clergy and faulty catechesis. Although I was intellectually aware that I was a sinner and imperfect, I was not experientially aware enough of this.

In my mid-thirties I experienced a failure in my first assignment as a pastor. I was embarrassed both publicly and personally. I felt broken. Looking back, I can truly say, “Glory Hallelujah!” We all need to be broken at some point. Everything needs a crack in it; that’s how the light gets in.

It is not wrong to know what is good and what is evil. It is not wrong to preach the truth with zeal and love. But an essential truth of the gospel is that God is rich in mercy, because we all fall short on our way to glory and perfection.

A second lesson from the story above is about the difference between penance and punishment. A penance is an act or devotion performed to show sorrow or repentance for sin. It is rooted in the Latin word paenitentia, which refers to sorrow or repentance for sin. The Latin root word is paene, meaning “nearly” or “almost.” Thus, paenitentia (to be penitent) means to have knowledge and sorrow that one has come up short or missed the mark somehow. A penance is a way to acknowledge a shortcoming and express sorrow for it; it is not so much a way to make up for sin and surely is not a way to purchase mercy. In the story above, the man was penitent. He acknowledged that he had fallen short. He did not arrogantly declare that there was nothing wrong with what he did even if some aspects were beyond his control. His sorrow did not need to be elicited; it was already present. Correction was not needed; he already knew that violating the Sabbath was wrong.

Punishment, on the other hand, is designed to cause some degree of pain or suffering in order to teach that something is wrong and/or elicit contrition, even if imperfect. Ideally punishment is used to teach the person by allowing him to experience the consequences of wrongdoing in a smaller way, so that he does not experience more dire consequences later.

In the story, the young rabbi used punishment where only penance was likely needed.

This is an important distinction for the Sacrament of Confession (sometimes called the Sacrament of Penance). The usual context of the celebration of this sacrament is that the person already feels sorrow and knows that what he has done is wrong. In such cases, the priest does not issue a punishment. Rather, he assigns a penance, usually a rather small or token act or prayer that signifies repentance or sorrow. While there is often some adjustment for serious sins, a penance in no way purchases forgiveness or perfectly outweighs the sin committed. Instead, it is a sign of sorrow and of our desire to do better in the future. The purpose of a penance is not to punish the penitent, who almost never needs that. The very fact that he is in the confessional usually illustrates that he acknowledges his sin and has sorrow over it. Only rarely does a priest need to be stern, if he discovers an impenitent attitude or an incomplete sorrow that might even seek to justify sin. Thus, penances, not punishments are issued in confession.

It is interesting what an ancient story about two rabbis can teach!

King David wrote the following psalm on mercy at a low point in his life: