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There is an old spiritual that says, “King Jesus is a-listenin’ all day long, to hear some sinner pray.” I thought of that line recently during my spiritual reading when, due to a page break, a quote from our Lord was interrupted. Here is the full verse:

Hitherto you have asked nothing in my name; ask and you shall receive, that your joy may be full (John 16:24).

As my dry fingers fumbled to turn the page, I was stuck for a time with only these words: Hitherto you have asked nothing in my name …

Something told me to put down the book to ponder only these words.

“But Lord,” I thought, “I ask all kinds of things of you in my daily prayers. And in every liturgical prayer I always conclude by saying ‘through Christ our Lord.’ Of course I ask things in your name!”

Now of course the Lord has more than certain specific words in mind. It is so easy to recite formulaic prayers in a mindless way. Even private prayers can be said in a half-heartedly, or we can ask for things in a self-serving way.

Hitherto you have asked nothing in my name …

Could it be that the Lord is waiting for something deeper from us, who would be His disciples? Is He really listening all day long just to hear someone pray—really pray?

We moderns, who live in an age when even first names are casually shared with strangers, don’t fully appreciate the meaning of the words “in my name.” To know the Lord’s name and to be permitted to use it is a sign of deep love, respect, and intimacy. In the ancient world, only close friends and family members spoke to one another using first names. Surnames and titles were used between those of less intimacy. To know someone’s name was to know something of his essence, to understand more deeply his inner life, thoughts, and desires.

In sharing his name with Moses, the LORD set forth an astonishing gift and family intimacy with His people. The glory of this gift is framed and protected by the Second Commandment, which forbids us to use God’s Holy Name in any vain, self-serving, dishonest, or empty way. Knowing Jesus’ name commands of us the same kind of reverential love.

Most fully, the name points to the intimate family bond and relationship to the Lord. Asking something in the Lord’s name is no mere formula or incantation. It cannot be reduced to invoking something superstitious or magical, like saying, “Open, Sesame.”

No, to pray in Jesus’ name bespeaks an intimate relationship in which we are deeply immersed in His thoughts, His priorities, and His concern for us and those whom we love. The power of praying in Jesus’ name comes from the fact that we are asking for what He already wants to give us. Praying in Jesus’ name helps to root us in what is truly good and necessary. It means that we no longer merely say, “Bless me, Lord, by giving me what I want.” Rather, we say, “What you want, Lord, is my blessing.”

Hitherto, you have asked nothing in my name …

Help me, Lord, to get to the point where I am more truly and deeply praying in your name, not just reciting it in prayer mindlessly, or as some sort of incantation. Yes, help me so that you are not waiting all day long just to hear this sinner pray!

Some may argue that I am pulling this (half) verse out of context and that Jesus is giving more of a discourse on His divinity and power. I have already admitted my contextual “fumble.” But sometimes, even the fumbled turn of a page is a call to prayer.

Hitherto, you have asked nothing in my name …

Either turn the page, or stop and pray. You decide.

We live in times when excess is common. There is an old Latin saying Abusus non tollit usum (abuse does not take away the use).

This certainly applies to our treatment of animals. There are some extremists who would equate the dignity of animals with that of humans, failing to understand that human abilities are exceptional and unique due to the capacities of our soul, made in the image of God. Others think it immoral for us to make use of animals as beasts of burden or for necessary food. Still others think that animal companions can replace healthy human relationships (rather than merely augment them).

But whatever the extremes and errors of our time, our animals do have important roles in helping us to become more human. St. Thomas Aquinas set forth the paradoxical notion that animals can help us to be more humane and more human:

Blood was forbidden, both in order to avoid cruelty, that they might abhor the shedding of human blood, as stated above (3, ad 8) … For the same reason they were forbidden to eat animals that had been suffocated or strangled: because the blood of these animals would not be separated from the body: or because this form of death is very painful to the victim; and the Lord wished to withdraw them from cruelty even in regard to irrational animals, so as to be less inclined to be cruel to other men, through being used to be kind to beasts (Summa Theologica, I, IIae, 102, art 6, ad 1).

St. Thomas links the avoidance of excessive cruelty to animals with a greater respect and gentleness for human life. As any psychotherapist or exorcist will tell you, the penchant for cruelty to human beings in sadists and murderers often began (usually in childhood) with cruelty to animals. Further, kindness to animals can help augment kindness to fellow human beings.

While distinct from animals, we share many bodily similarities including sensitivity to pain and suffering. It is a grave defect of character to be insensitive to the suffering of sentient creatures, animal or human. It is a not a far journey from relishing inflicting pain on animals to enjoying doing the same to human beings.

On a more positive note, as we learn to be patient and gentle with animals (especially pets), we can acquire the skills to be patient and gentle with our fellow humans. Admittedly, though, human beings are far more complicated and far less innocent than animals, whose behavior we can easily excuse.

This also helps debunk a demand for equivalence that sometimes emerges. The usual complaint goes something like this: “You’re kinder to your dog than you are to me!” Perhaps on some level this may be true, but our relationship to our pets is different because we reasonably expect less from them. They do not have rational souls and cannot be expected to behave justly or reasonably. But fellow human beings need more correction and must answer to a higher set of standards. Thus we are reasonably harder on them, given the nature of our relationship with them and what is rightly expected of them. Correction of a human person who may one day merit Heaven or Hell is more important for him than it is for an animal, which has no such consequences attached to its actions. So, it makes sense that we are harder on one another and expect more than we do from our animals.

That said, learning to express patience and kindness to an animal does help us to learn the language of kindness and gentleness that can, and often should, be granted to fellow human beings. It helps to awaken and train a tenderness in us.

In the Summa Theologica, St. Thomas also comments on the prohibition of boiling a kid goat in the milk of its mother:

Although the kid that is slain has no perception of the manner in which its flesh is cooked, yet it would seem to savor of heartlessness if the [mother’s] milk, which was intended for the nourishment of her offspring, were served up on the same dish (Summa Theologica I, IIae, 106 art. 5 ad 4).

Although Thomas does state other reasons for the prohibition (e.g., that it is the practice of the pagans), the avoidance of cruelty is stressed.

Pointless cruelty is never a good thing to allow in the human person, even if it is (only) directed toward lower forms of life. It is too easily transferred to the way we regard and treat one another.

Kindness to animals, therefore, is an important virtue to cultivate. We need not embrace excesses such that we fail to make proper use of animals as God intended (to assist us and even to be food for us). Neither must we bestow rights on them that have no corresponding duties or presuppose qualities they do not have. But pointless cruelty to animals that does not recognize their status as sentient beings harms not only them but us as well.

The paradox, then, is this: Our humanity is partially nurtured by our treatment of and experience with animals, both wild and tame. Kindness to animals, even if a virtue subject to excessive and even bizarre applications today, remains an important virtue for us.

The picture at the upper right is of my cat, Jewel (a.k.a. Jewel the Kidda, L’il Girl, and The Queen of Sheba).

Today is Labor Day in the United States. With this in mind, I thought it would be good to reflect on some teachings about human labor that are given in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. The text from the catechism is shown in italics, while my commentary is in red.

1. Human labor precedes original sin and hence is not an imposition due to sin but part of our original dignity. God places [Man] in the garden. There he lives “to till it and keep it.” Work is not yet a burden, but rather the collaboration of man and woman with God in perfecting the visible creation (CCC # 378). Our dignity is that we are to work with God to perfect creation. Adam and Eve were told by God to fill the earth and subdue it (Gen 1:28). Radical environmentalists often set aside any notion that we are to help to perfect creation, presenting a far more negative portrait of humanity’s interaction with the environment. While it is true that we have not always done well in treating the environment, it is wrong to think of the created world as being better off without humanity’s presence. It is our dignity to work with God in perfecting nature. Note, too, the characterization of work as not burdensome prior to sin. Man and woman did have work to do, but it was not experienced as a burden. Only after original sin did work come to be experienced in this way: Eve will bring forth her children in pain and Adam will only be able to get his food by the “sweat of his brow” (Gen 3:16, 19).
2. Human work is a duty and prolongs the work of creation. Human work proceeds directly from persons created in the image of God and called to prolong the work of creation by subduing the earth, both with and for one another. Hence work is a duty: “If anyone will not work, let him not eat” [2 Thess 3:10]. Work honors the Creator’s gifts and the talents received from him (CCC 2427). See again the emphasis on our dignity as collaborators with God in the work of creation and in perfecting what God has begun! As to the particulars of work, not everyone can work in the same way. Age and/or handicap may limit a person’s ability to do manual labor. Further, specific talents and state in life tend to focus a person’s work in specific areas. But all are called to work. Even the bedridden can pray and offer their sufferings for the good of others.
3. Work can be sanctifying and redemptive. [Work] can also be redemptive. By enduring the hardship of work in union with Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth and the one crucified on Calvary, man collaborates in a certain fashion with the Son of God in his redemptive work. He shows himself to be a disciple of Christ by carrying the cross, daily, in the work he is called to accomplish. Work can be a means of sanctification and a way of animating earthly realities with the Spirit of Christ (CCC 2427). … In his mercy God has not forsaken sinful man. The punishments consequent upon sin, “pain in childbearing” and toil “in the sweat of your brow,” also embody remedies that limit the damaging effects of sin (CCC # 1609). Sin has brought upon us many weaknesses and selfish tendencies. Work can serve as a remedy by strengthening us to be disciplines, to labor for the common good, and to cooperate with others in achieving good ends.
4. Work is an acceptable sacrifice to God. [The] laity, dedicated as they are to Christ and anointed by the Holy Spirit, are marvelously called and prepared so that even richer fruits of the Spirit maybe produced in them. For all their works, prayers, and apostolic undertakings, family and married life, daily work, relaxation of mind and body, if they are accomplished in the Spirit—indeed even the hardships of life if patiently born—all these become spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. In the celebration of the Eucharist these may most fittingly be offered to the Father along with the body of the Lord (CCC # 901).
5. To work is to participate in the common good. Participation [in the common good] is achieved first of all by taking charge of the areas for which one assumes personal responsibility: by the care taken for the education of his family, by conscientious work, and so forth, man participates in the good of others and of society (CCC # 1914). We work not just to benefit ourselves but also to contribute to the good of everyone. We do this first by caring for our own needs to the extent possible (and thus not burdening others unnecessarily with our care). We also contribute to the common good by supplying our talent and work in such a way as to contribute to the overall availability of goods and services in the economy and community. We supply human talent and the fruits of our works to others. In addition, from our own resources we purchase the goods and services of others. Hence to work is to participate in the common good.

The key word seems to be “dignity.” Human work proceeds from our dignity as collaborators with God in perfecting and completing the work of creation. All can and should work in the ways that are possible for them, not merely because each of us has a duty, but also because it proceeds from our dignity. Happy Labor Day!

We usually think of distractions as coming from the world around us, but is that really the most common source? Consider the following parable, drawn from the stories of the early Desert Fathers and from monastic experience:

Sometimes there would be a rush of noisy visitors and the silence of the monastery would be shattered. This would upset the disciples; not the Master, who seemed just as content with the noise as with the silence. To his protesting disciples he said one day, “Silence is not the absence of sound, but the absence of self.”

The fact is, our greatest distraction is usually our very self. Peter Kreeft has observed, “God made eyes to see everything but themselves” (Practical Theology, p. 223). And while we sometimes must “look” inward to examine our conscience or to know our inner self, what God most often wants us to see and focus on is outside and above us. Look to the beauty of creation, the wonder of others, the magnificence of God. These are not distractions; they are often exactly what God is trying to say to us, what He is revealing to us.

We are called to a kind of ecstasy in which we look outward and upward. The English word “ecstasy” comes from the Greek ekstasis (ek- (out) + histanai (to place or stand)), which means “standing outside yourself.”

Yes, looking outward and upward is the key. St. Thomas Aquinas makes an interesting observation regarding Mary’s astonishment at the greeting of the angel: “To a humble mind nothing is more astonishing than to hear its own excellence” (ST III, q. 30, art 3). Humility is self-forgetful and looks more to God’s glory, on vivid display outward and above.

St. Augustine described one of the essential problems of the human person as being incurvatus in se (turned in on himself). In doing so, a whole host of distractions assail us and we begin to think or say,

• I’m bored.
• I’m tired.
• What will I do next?
• What do people think of me?
• Do I fit in?
• Am I attractive enough?
• Have I “made it”?
• What does this or that have to do with me?
• What have you done for me lately?
• When will it be my turn?
• What about me?
• Why are people upsetting me? What gives them that right?

Yes, distractions like these (and myriad variations on them) swim through our mind when we are turned inward. Most of them are rooted in pride and its ugly cousin, vainglory.

But as the opening parable from the desert fathers teaches, it is the absence of self that brings true focus and serenity. Indeed, I am a witness of this, for my freest, most joyful, and most focused moments have come when I was most forgetful of myself.

• Perhaps it was watching a movie that gripped my attention and drew me outside of myself and into the plot and the lives of the characters, even if only fictional.
• Perhaps it was being powerfully aware of the presence of others and listening carefully to what they said.
• Perhaps it was being in the company of close friends, where I was less concerned with seeking approval and could just relax in the moment and enjoy what was happening.
• Perhaps it was a moment of deep appreciation of the natural world, when I walked through a field and was captured by “the color purple” and deeply moved by the beauty of God’s creation (some philosophers call this “aesthetic arrest”).
• Perhaps it was a moment of deep and contemplative prayer when, by God’s gift, I forgot about myself and was drawn deeply into the experience of Him.

In moments like these, God takes us (who are so easily turned inward) and turns us outward and upward. The myriad distractions that come from self-preoccupation are hushed for a time, and forgetting our very self, we are almost wholly present to others, to creation, and to God. The noisy din of anxious self-concern quiets and our world opens upward and outward.

The Psalms often speak of God placing us in a spacious place (e.g., 18:19; 31:8; 119:45): You have set my feet in a spacious place, O Lord (Ps 31:8). There is nothing tinier and more cramped than being turned in on oneself.

Ask the Lord to set your feet in the wide spaces, to open you outward and upward. The worst distractions are not the noises outside us, but rather the ones within us, noises that come from being too preoccupied with ourselves. The silence that we most crave is not found in the absence of sound, but in the absence of self-preoccupation.

In the first reading from today’s Mass (Wednesday of the 22^nd Week) St. Paul warns that the faithful should not esteem the preacher too highly. Esteem the Lord, who was able to speak through Balaam’s donkey. If God can use a donkey to preach, then one should not be too enamored of the particular human instrument the Lord uses to preach.

Pope St. Gregory taught that the preacher goes ahead of the Lord, announcing Him, as it were, and then the Lord comes in to “close the deal”:

Beloved brothers, our Lord and Savior … sends his disciples out to preach two by two. … Rightly is it said that he sent them ahead of him into every city and place where he himself was to go. For the Lord follows after the preachers, because preaching goes ahead to prepare the way, and then when the words of exhortation have gone ahead and established truth in our minds, the Lord comes to live within us. To those who preach Isaiah says: Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight the paths of our God. And the psalmist tells them: Make a way for him who rises above the sunset. … Therefore, we make a way for him who rises above the sunset when we preach his glory to you, so that when he himself follows after us, he may illumine you with his love.

Think over, my beloved brothers, think over his words: Pray the Lord of the harvest to send laborers into his harvest. Pray for us so that we may be able to labor worthily on your behalf, that our tongue may not grow weary of exhortation, that after we have taken up the office of preaching our silence may not bring us condemnation from the just judge.

(from a homily on the Gospels by St. Gregory the Great, Pope (Hom 17, 1-3: PL 76, 1139))

This is an important insight that can help preachers to avoid both pride and an exaggerated sense of responsibility. Yes, the preacher goes before the Lord, who then follows after to quicken the Word that has been planted.

First of all, this is a remedy for pride, because the preacher is not the Lord. Although it is the Lord’s own Word he preaches, the preacher cannot completely express what God alone can effect in the human heart. The preacher can but sow the seed of the Word; only God can bring forth the harvest. As St. Paul wrote,

I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow (1 Cor 3:6-7).

The preacher can propose, but the Lord must come after to “close the deal.” The Samaritan woman was rather abruptly but truthfully told this by the townsfolk:

We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world (Jn 4:42).

Every preacher should delight to hear this. It is a valuable lesson for the preacher to remember his place. He goes before to announce the presence of God, who alone can heal and bring in the truest harvest by His grace.

The preacher is like the best man at an ancient Jewish wedding, to whom St. John the Baptist equated himself.

He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice. So this joy of mine has been made full. He must increase, but I must decrease (Jn 3:29-30).

St. Gregory’s insight also helps preachers to avoid an exaggerated sense of responsibility. Sometimes preachers may think too much rests on them, on their eloquence, on finding just the right analogy or the perfect wording. He may also lament his flaws. And while every preacher must work to hone his skills, Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain (Ps 127:1).

Thus the preacher can help to lay a foundation, but it is the Lord who must build the house. It is both helpful and freeing for the preacher to remember that he merely goes before the Lord; the Lord will follow after with every good grace. The preacher must do his part in proclaiming the authentic word of God, but only the Lord Himself can perfect the message in every soul. He must preserve knowledge and prepare the way for the Lord, who causes the seed to grow in the hearts of the faithful and who will ultimately judge the living and the dead.

This is both freeing and reassuring. Most of us who preach realize this from time to time, particularly when someone recounts back to us something we have said, but does so in a way that surprises us. This demonstrates how the Lord helps people to hear something that our feeble words could only suggest.

In the end, every preacher must trust the Lord, who comes after him to complete what is lacking and to bring forth the fruits that he can only point to. The Lord causes His truth to shine forth—in consolation for the faithful and in judgment for the wicked. The battle is the Lord’s; so is the victory and the harvest.

This chorus from Handel’s Messiah says, “The Lord gave the word; great was the company of the preachers.”