Category: Paschal Mystery

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On the Victory that is Already But Not Yet. A Encouragement to the Weary.

At my Question and Answer Column at the Sunday Visitor I was recently asked the following question. I hope you might find the answer informative and encouraging. Fight on, soldiers of the Cross.

The phase “Non serviam” has been associated with Satan and his response to God when being cast from heaven in a war.  Is this in the Bible?  If not, where did this come from? -Deacon Paul VanHoudt, Erie, CO

The declaration “non serviam” (I will not serve) is associated with Satan by legend; it is not in the Bible. But it is the fundamental stance of all demons who, on account of pride, will not obey, will not be ‘told what to do.’ It is also the chief temptation that Satan made to Adam and Eve, namely, that they should not let God tell them what to do and that they should be like gods (cf Gen 3:1-4).

As for the war in heaven that you mention, there is a tradition that a war occurred in heaven when Lucifer (Satan) rebelled at God’s plans for the Incarnation. This war was fought long before the biblical era, but its exact timeframe is not clear. It is said that a third of the Angels joined Lucifer in this rebellion. St. Michael and the good angels fought back, and Lucifer and his allies were cast out of heaven and fell to earth. They became “demons.” This is the traditional backstory most often repeated.

In the Book of Revelation, a war in heaven is mentioned which includes some, but not all these details. Further it seems the war in Revelation 12 has transhistorical qualities, encompassing not the past only, but also the First Century and the future. The passage describes “A Woman clothed with the Sun” who gives birth to a Son, destinated to rule the nations with an iron rod (Rev 12:1-2,5). Clearly this Son is Jesus and, historically, the Woman is Mary, though some argue she is also an allegory for Israel, from whom the Messiah came forth. Whatever the case, a red dragon with seven heads and ten horns (Satan) seeks to devour the child when it is born. But the Son escapes and is caught up to heaven (Rev 12:3-4). Is this a reference to the Ascension of Christ? Is all this a prophecy seen by the angels well beforehand or, is it describing the historical event of the Incarnation that had just recently taken place in the First Century? In either case, at this point in the text from Revelation it says,

Then a war broke out in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon… But the dragon was not strong enough, …and the great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him. (Rev 12:7-9)  

So, is the war described in Revelation, the war that took place in heaven long before the Book of Genesis and that explains the presence of Satan in the garden? It would seem so, but since Revelation 12 places everything in a murky timeframe there are debates about this. In a way it doesn’t matter since the great battle is epochal, constantly at work until the last judgment. Christ has won the war, his victory is “already but not yet.” That is to say, the outcome of the war has already been determined, but not everyone across all history has taken sides yet.

Clearly the upshot of all this is that we should choose the winning team! At times, in this warzone of the fallen world, it may seem that evil triumphs and the Kingdom of God is on the ropes. Yet appearances can be very deceiving. Remember, Good Friday is just as much a part of the victory as the Resurrection. But the final outcome is that Satan and all those who prefer the prideful non serviam of Hell and Satan will be cast down into the fiery pool, never again to deceive the nations or ensnare God’s people.  The echo of the final victory hymn is heard in Revelation 12:10ff: For the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down—he who accuses them day and night before our God. They have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony. Therefore rejoice, O heavens, and you who dwell therein.

So, whatever you think is going on, this is what is really going on. We are at war, a terrible war indeed. But the victory is already ours through faith, courage and the Blood of the Lamb.  Stay faithful unto death!

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Discovering the Pattern of Our Life in the Paschal Mystery

We ponder many things on the Feast of the Transfiguration, among them the pattern of our life. Peter, James, and John saw the glory of Christ there, but only after a difficult climb up Mount Tabor. Peter wanted to remain there, but the Lord said, in effect, “No, we must go down this mountain and eventually up another, Calvary, which is the way to true and lasting glory.” We, too, go through this pattern of climbing (the cross) followed by beholding success and glory (the resurrection). This is the Paschal mystery and it is the pattern of our life, gor we are immersed into the life of Christ.

St. Paul speaks often of the Paschal mystery, the Christian life. Let’s consider one brief example on two levels: the individual and the Church.

Level One: The Individual

We are frequently asked, “How are you?” and often respond by saying, “I’m doing OK,” but consider, fellow Christian, the truest answer to this question, which St. Paul supplies:

Always carrying about in our bodies the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be manifest in us (2 Cor 4:10).

As Christians, the Paschal mystery is our life. We are immersed in the dying, rising, and ascending of Jesus. At every moment of our life, the great Easter mysteries of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection are at work. With Jesus, we are ascending to the Father.

This cycle may go on several times each day as both good and bad things happen to us or around us. The pattern is also evident in the longer term: there are challenging and difficult years in our life as well as ones that are more serene and joyful. Yes, we die, and we rise with Christ. This is the Paschal mystery; this is our life.

We experience trials, difficulties, disappointments, losses, and even devastation. This is the dying of Christ. That dying, however, leads to new life, and so we rise with Christ. It may take “three days” in the tomb, but if we are faithful, we rise, not just to where we were before, but more alive in Christ Jesus. As the old Adam dies in us, we gradually experience the New Adam, Christ Jesus. The old life that dies is replaced by the fuller life of Christ.

Unless the gain of wheat falls to earth and dies to itself it remains just a grain of wheat. But if it dies it [rises and] produces abundant fruit (Jn 12:24).

Consider how much greater the mighty oak tree is compared to the acorn that fell to earth and “died.” There is hardly a resemblance at all. So it is that the life of the New Adam is incomprehensibly greater than the life it replaces: the dying life of the old Adam.

We are dying, and we are rising, but it is not a simple trade off, for in all of it we are ascending higher and higher with Jesus. The next time someone asks you how you’re doing, surprise him with a paraphrase of St. Paul’s answer: “Always carrying about in my body the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be manifest in me.” Yes, the Paschal mystery is writ into the life of each one of us.

Level Two: The Church

In the same passage, St. Paul writes on another level, that of the Body of Christ, the Church. Referring to himself and his sufferings, imprisonments, and difficulties, he says,

So death is at work in us, but life in you. … We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; … Everything indeed is for you, so that the grace bestowed in abundance on more and more people may cause the thanksgiving to overflow for the glory of God (2 Cor 4:12, 8-9; 15).

St. Paul views his suffering (and that of others in the apostolic band) as being for the sake of others in the Church. He suffers so that they might have faith and life. Historically this has been the case: The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church (Tertullian). Some in the Church have suffered and died so that others might have faith and life. One of the hard but freeing truths of life is that your life is not about you. The ink of the Creed is the blood of martyrs. We ought never to forget how much others have suffered so that we might have faith.

This is the Paschal mystery writ large: some in the Church are suffering while others are thriving and experiencing growth. The Church, the Body of Christ, is dying and rising. St. Paul says,

For I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ’s sake … (1 Cor 4:9-10).

Indeed! Of the first thirty-three popes, thirty died as martyrs, two died in exile, and only one died in his own bed. Today’s bishops, at least in the United States, typically live a comfortable life, protected and surrounded by layers of staff; yet many of them are cautious in the face of conflict. St. Paul calls bishops and pastors to be willing to suffer for the flock if necessary.

Many in the Church today are suffering, although this is often goes unnoticed by the vast majority of people (to remedy this, read regularly here: Today’s Martyrs). Through their sufferings the Church obtains mercy and continues to grow. The blood of martyrs is still seed for the Church. In the often-decadent West, we should be somewhat embarrassed at how others are willing to suffer loss, imprisonment, and even death for the faith, while we can barely get ourselves out of bed in time to go to Mass on Sunday.

The Lord has designed His Body, the Church, such that some do suffer, do carry the weight, so that others may thrive and grow. We should be grateful for these sacrifices, often hidden from us, though not from God. From them comes life for the rest of us. It is the Paschal mystery writ large!

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: Discovering the Pattern of Our Life in the Paschal Mystery

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The Paschal Mystery Writ Personally and Writ Large

The Crucifixion With Saints, by Fra Angelico (1441-42)

For the Feast of St. James on Wednesday, the first reading was from the Second Letter to the Corinthians. In it, St. Paul speaks of the Christian life on two levels: the individual and the Church. Let’s look at each.

Level One: The Individual

Many times every day we are asked, “How are you?” We often respond by saying, “I’m doing OK.”

But consider, fellow Christian, the truest answer to this question. For us who are Christian, St, Paul supplies a beautiful answer:

Always carrying about in our bodies the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be manifest in us (2 Cor 4:10).

As Christians, the Paschal Mystery is our life. We are immersed in the dying, rising, and ascending of Jesus. At every moment of our life, the great Easter mysteries of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection are at work. With Jesus, we are ascending to the Father. No matter what you may think, this is what is really going on.

This cycle may go on several times each day as both good and bad things happen to us or around us. The pattern is also evident in the fact that there are challenging and difficult years in our life as well as ones that are more serene and joyful. Yes, we die, and we rise with Christ. This is the Paschal Mystery; this is our life.

We experience trials, difficulties, disappointments, losses, and even devastation. This is the dying of Christ. That dying, however, leads to new life and so we rise with Christ. It may take “three days” in the tomb, but if we are faithful we rise, not just to where we were before, but more and more alive in Christ Jesus. As the old Adam dies in us we gradually experience the New Adam, Christ Jesus. The old life that dies is replaced by the fuller life of Christ.

Unless the gain of wheat falls to earth and dies to itself it remains just a grain of wheat. But if it dies it [rises and] produces abundant fruit (Jn 12:24).

Consider how much greater the mighty oak tree is compared to the acorn that fell to earth and “died.” There is hardly a resemblance at all. So it is that the life of the New Adam is incomprehensibly greater than the life it replaces: the dying life of the old Adam.

We are dying, and we are rising, but it is not a simple trade off, for in all of it we are ascending higher and higher with Jesus. The next time someone asks, “How’s it going?” or “How are you?” surprise him with the truest answer: Always carrying about in our bodies the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be manifest in us (2 Cor 4:10). No matter what you think, this is what’s really going on: the Paschal Mystery is writ personally in our lives.

Level Two: The Church.

In the same passage, St. Paul writes on another level, that of the Body of Christ, the Church. Referring to himself, his sufferings, imprisonments, and difficulties he says,

So death is at work in us, but life in you …. We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; … Everything indeed is for you, so that the grace bestowed in abundance on more and more people may cause the thanksgiving to overflow for the glory of God (2 Cor 4:8-9; 14-15).

In this way, St. Paul views his suffering (and that of others in the apostolic band) as being for the sake of others in the Church. He suffers so that they might have faith and life. Historically this has been the case: The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church (Tertullian). Some in the Church have suffered and died so that others might have faith and life. One of the hard but freeing truths of life is this: “Your life is not about you.” The ink of the Creed is the blood of martyrs. We ought never to forget how much others have suffered so that we might have faith.

This is the Paschal Mystery writ large: some in the Church are suffering, even now, and others are thriving and experiencing growth. The Church, the Body of Christ, is dying and rising. St. Paul says elsewhere,

For I think that God has exhibited us apostles as last of all, like men sentenced to death, because we have become a spectacle to the world, to angels, and to men. We are fools for Christ’s sake … (1 Cor 4:9-10).

Indeed! Of the first 33 popes, thirty died as martyrs, two died in exile, and only one died in his own bed. Today’s bishops are often protected, surrounded by layers of staff, cautious in the face of conflict, and in some cases possessed of a comfortable life. St. Paul calls bishops and pastors to a willingness to suffer for the flock if necessary.

Many in the Church today are suffering, although this is often unnoticed by our inwardly focused eyes. (To remedy this, read regularly here: Today’s Martyrs.) Yet in their sufferings the Church obtains mercy and continues to grow. The blood of martyrs is still seed for the Church. In the often-decadent West, we should be somewhat embarrassed at how others are willing to suffer loss, imprisonment, and even death for the faith, while we can barely stir ourselves to roll out of bed and get to Mass on Sunday.

The Lord has so designed His Body, the Church, such that some do suffer, do carry the weight, so that others may thrive and grow. We should be grateful for these sacrifices, often hidden from us but not from God. From their sufferings come life for the rest. It is the Paschal Mystery writ large!

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A Different Look at the Cross

When I was young and throughout my seminary years, I usually contemplated the crucifix and Jesus’ suffering on the Cross somberly. It was my sin that had put Him there, that had made Him suffer. The Cross was something that compelled a silent reverence in me, and suggested that I meditate deeply on what Jesus had to endure. I would often think of John, Mary, and the other women beneath the Cross, mournfully beholding Jesus’ slow, painful death.

These were heavy and somber notes, but deeply moving themes.

In addition, the crucifix made me think about the fact that I would have to carry a cross and go through the Fridays of my life. I needed to learn the meaning of sacrifice.

Liturgically, I saw the crucifix as a way of restoring greater reverence in the Mass. Through the 1970s and 1980s, most parishes had removed crucifixes, quite often replacing them with “resurrection crosses,” or just an image of Jesus floating in mid-air. I used to call this image “touchdown Jesus” since it so closely resembled a football referee indicating a score. In those years we had moved away from the understanding of the Mass as a sacrifice; we were more into “meal theology.” The removal of the crucifix from the sanctuary was a powerful indicator of this shift. Many priests and liturgists saw the Cross as too somber a theme for their vision of a new and more welcoming Church, upbeat and positive.

This Cross-less Christianity often led to what I thought was a rather silly, celebratory style of Mass in those years, and I came to see the restoration of the crucifix as necessary to bring back proper balance. I was delighted when, through the mid-1980s and later, the Vatican began insisting in new liturgical norms that a crucifix (not just a cross) be prominent in the sanctuary and visible to all, and further, that the processional cross had to bear the image of the crucified.

Balance Restored – I was (and still am) very happy about these new norms because they restore the proper balance. The Mass is a making-present of the once-for-all, perfect sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross; it is also a sacred meal, whose power comes from that sacrifice. I also believed that such a move would help restore proper solemnity to the Mass, and to some extent that has occurred.

All of this background is just to say that I saw the cross — the crucifix — in somber, serious tones. The theme was meant to instill solemnity and encourage meditation on the awful reality of sin and on our need to repent.

But the Lord wasn’t finished with me yet; He wanted me to see another understanding of the Cross.

He wanted me to also experience the “good” in Good Friday, for the Cross is also a place of victory and love, of God’s faithfulness and our deliverance. There’s a lot to celebrate at the foot of the Cross.

It happened one Sunday during Lent of 1994, one of my first in an African-American Catholic parish. It being Lent, I expected the typically celebratory quality of Mass in the parish to be scaled back a bit. Much to my surprise, though, the opening song began with an upbeat, toe-tapping gospel riff. At first I frowned, but then the choir began to sing:

Down at the Cross where my Savior died,
Down where for cleansing from sin I cried,
There to my heart was the blood applied;
Glory to His name!

Ah, so this was a Lenten theme! It was odd to me to hear the Cross being sung of so joyfully.

This was quite new for me. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been, but it was. The Catholicism of the 1970s and 1980s with which I was familiar found it necessary to remove the cross in order to celebrate, but here was celebration with and in the Cross!

The choir continued,

I am so wondrously saved from sin,
Jesus so sweetly abides within;
There at the Cross where He took me in;
Glory to His name!

The congregation and choir were stepping in time and clapping, rejoicing in the Cross, seeing it in the Resurrection light of its saving power and as a glorious reflection of God’s love for us. Up the aisle the procession wound. The last verse was transposed a half-step up to an even brighter key:

Oh, precious fountain that saves from sin,
I am so glad I have entered in;
There Jesus saves me and keeps me clean;
Glory to His name!

Yes, indeed, glory to His name! A lot of dots were connected for me that day. The Cross indeed was a place of great pain, but also of great love. There was grief, but there was also glory; there was suffering, but there was also victory.

Please do not misunderstand my point. There is a place and time for quiet, somber reflection at the foot of the Cross, but one of the glories of the human person is that we can have more than one feeling at a time, even conflicting ones.

Balance – Some in the Church of the 1970s and 1980s rejected the Cross as too somber a theme, too negative. They wanted to be more upbeat, less focused on sin; and so, out went the Cross. There was no need to do this, and it was an overreaction. At the Cross, the vertical, upward pillar of man’s pride and sin is transected by the horizontal, outstretched arms of God’s love. With strong hand and outstretched arms, the Lord has won the victory for us: there at the Cross where he took me in, glory to his name!

The balance is both for the individual and for the Church. Some prefer a more somber meditation on the Cross to prevail, while others feel moved by the Spirit to celebrate joyfully at the foot of the Cross. The Church needs both. I suppose we all need some of both experiences. Yes, it is right to weep at the Cross, to behold the awful reality of sin, to remember Christ’s sacrifice; but we should rejoice, too, for the Lord has won the victory for us, right there: Down at the Cross. There’s a lot of good in Good Friday.

Here is the song I heard that Sunday in 1994, sung in very much the style I remember.