Community in Mission

Your grace and mercy,
brought me through.
I’m living this moment,
Because of you.
I want to thank you,
And praise you too.
Your grace and mercy,
Brought me through!

On this feast of Thanksgiving (here in America) we do well to ponder how we ought to give thanks to God. Indeed, how can one adequately thank God, who is the giver of every good and perfect gift? Is it really enough to simply kneel and say a prayer of thanks? Perhaps we should run to Church and light a candle, or visit some distant shrine. Maybe we should be doing the “Snoopy Dance” as we say over and over, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

But none of these acts of thanksgiving would prove adequate. God has been too good, has done too much, and is, after all, God.

Indeed, a great question went up in the Old Testament regarding this very problem of adequately thanking God. It occurs in Psalm 116, wherein the psalmist plaintively asks,

“What return can I ever make to the Lord for all the good he has done for me?” (Psalm 116:12)

To that point, the Jewish people had been accustomed to killing thousands of animals every day and burning them up in the Temple in order to give thanks and to atone for sin. But the blood of animals cannot atone for sin and neither can slaying even many thousands of them really give adequate thanks to God.

And thus the same psalm not only asks the question, but also provides the answer:

What return can I ever make to the Lord, for all the good he has done for me? The chalice of salvation I will take up, I will call on the name of the Lord! (Psalm 116:12-13)

And yet, in supplying this answer, the actual raising of the chalice of salvation could only be pointed to in the Old Testament; it could not actually be done. The lifting up of the chalice of salvation and the giving of adequate thanks could, and would, only be done by Jesus.

And this brings us to the first Thanksgiving meal. No, we are not in Plymouth Massachusetts in the 1620s. We are at the first, the true, the only Thanksgiving meal that can ever really render adequate thanks to the Father. That meal took place in the upper room, at the Last Supper that Jesus had with His disciples. We are told that He took the bread and, having given thanks, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to His disciples saying, “Take this all of you and eat of it, for this is my Body.” And  likewise, after the meal, He took the chalice and gave thanks, and giving it to His disciples He said, “Take this all of you and drink from it, for this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of  the New and eternal Covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many, for the forgiveness of sins.” He added, “Do this in memory of me.”

Yes, this is the true and the first Thanksgiving meal. Jesus alone is able to fulfill Psalm 116; taking the cup, the chalice, He lifts it up and gives thanks to God adequately for all the good He has done. Jesus fulfills the Scripture and gives adequate thanks.

You and I can never give adequate thanks to the Father, but we do have a member of our family who is so able: He is our Brother and He is our Lord; He is Jesus Christ.

At Thanksgiving, how can you and I give adequate thanks to the Lord? The answer is not on some far-off, distant mountaintop; it is as near as our parish church. We give adequate thanks to the Father by joining our meager thanksgiving to the perfect thanksgiving of Jesus in every Mass. We, as members of His Body (and He is the Head of His Body the Church at every Mass), fulfill  Psalm 116 when we, through Jesus our head, take the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord. Joining our meager thanks to that of Jesus, the Father is perfectly glorified and perfectly thanked. The Mass is the perfect thanksgiving; it was, is, and remains for us our perfect Thanksgiving meal and sacrifice.

Hidden Mass? It is interesting that in one of the Gospels chosen for the Mass on Thanksgiving, we have the gospel of the ten lepers. And you may have noticed (but perhaps not) that the whole gospel, which is about giving thanks, itself has the form of a Mass. For there are lepers who gather, just as we lepers gather at every Mass. And as they are gathered, Jesus is in their midst; Jesus is passing by. It is just as Jesus, acting through the person of the priest, walks the aisle of our church. And seeing Jesus, the lepers cry out, “Lord, have mercy!”  just as we cry out in every Mass, “Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.” And Jesus, turning, gives them a word, quoting from Leviticus 13:2 “Go show yourselves to the priests.” We, too, are given a word from the Lord at every Mass. Jesus’ homily to the lepers was a brief one, saying in effect, “Go do what this reading says.” And at the end of the day, that is a pretty good summary of what every sermon should be, as Jesus speaking through our clergy says to us, “Go do what this reading says.” One of the lepers, realizing he has been healed by this word, falls to his knees to give thanks. And so do we fall to our knees to give thanks in the great Eucharistic prayer. And the word “Eucharist” is from the Greek meaning “to give thanks.” Jesus then bids the man leave, saying that his faith and his act of thanksgiving have saved him. Thus we are instructed by the priest or deacon at the end of the Mass to go and announce salvation to the world.

Yes, this gospel about giving thanks is in the very form of the Mass. And it is no mistake, for the Mass is the perfect act of thanksgiving, wherein we are joined to Jesus in the one perfect act of praise and thanksgiving.

Just a brief thought on Thanksgiving day: how shall we adequately thank God for all the good He has done? You know the answer: go to Mass and join with Jesus in the only adequate way of really thanking the Father.

Here’s a nice old prayer. But the Mass is even better.

Yawning is an involuntary action that causes us to open our mouths wide and breathe in deeply. It is involuntary, since it occurs even before we’re born: yawning has even been observed in fetuses as young as 11 weeks old. The remarkable 3-D video at the bottom of the post is of a baby yawning in the womb. I was struck at how, while watching it, I couldn’t help yawning myself!

I want to say that yawning is a very deep mystery. I have never heard an explanation for yawning that sounded very convincing. Honest medical professionals will shrug and say that no one really knows why we yawn or why it seems to be so “catching.” Though it does seem related to fatigue, not every who is tired yawns.

“Explanations” abound. Hippocrates thought that the purpose of yawning was to rid the lungs of “bad air” and bring in fresh air. Others have suggested that it helps get more blood to the brain. Still others hold that yawning increases blood oxygen levels and decreases carbon dioxide. But tests don’t really confirm these sorts of things. If you put a person in a room with a high level of CO2 he doesn’t start yawning. And it also doesn’t explain why babies in the womb, who breathe water, would yawn.

Some think yawning helps keep us awake, others that it relaxes us. Some say it helps regulate body temperature. But again, tests using EEGs to monitor brain activity, or tests monitoring body temperature just don’t confirm this.

Still others think the behavior is related to imitation, empathy, and social bonding behavior. But if that is so, then why do babies alone in the womb yawn? And why do most vertebrates, many of which exhibit little social bonding, yawn?

The current leading theory is that yawning helps to cool the brain. But if that is so, then wouldn’t I yawn a lot when I wear a wool cap indoors? And wouldn’t women who wear wigs or have thick hair weaves be inclined to yawning? But none of this seem to matter.

So you see, one of the most common human behaviors is deeply mysterious. We just don’t know why we yawn or why the behavior is contagious. It is one of life’s imponderables.

Personally, I think that whatever its physical causes, yawning is a behavior that helps us to be less hostile. As such, it is a gift of God. When I  yawn I am usually relaxed. And when I see other people yawn, even people who get under my skin, there is something humanizing and endearing in it. As I said above, I don’t think that it explains yawning in animals or in its merely physical causes. But for us, yawning helps to humble and humanize us. It tends to display our neediness and to show us as more relaxed and less hostile or arrogant to others.

Why do we yawn? One day we will have to ask God. And here is another mystery to ponder: “Do Jesus and Mary in their glorified bodies in Heaven yawn?” Yes, one day all will be revealed. But for now, live the mystery and accept a very humbling truth: no one knows why we yawn.  For now, just thank God for yawning. It is one of life’s little pleasures and one of life’s levelers.

I tell you, I’ve been yawning all through typing this!

As November winds down and Advent still looms, the traditional meditation we make on the four last things (death, judgment, Heaven, and Hell) is still operative. A classic writing by St. Cyprian comes to mind. It is a meditation on the fundamental human struggle to be free of undue attachment to this world and to have God (and the things waiting for us in Heaven) as our highest priority.

In this meditation, St. Cyprian has in mind the Book of James and the Epistle of St. John. Yes, surely these dramatic texts are present in his mind as he writes. Hence, before pondering St. Cyprian, it may be good to reference these forceful and uncompromising texts:

You adulterous people, don’t you know that friendship with the world is hatred toward God? Anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God … Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded (James 4:4,8).

The Lord Jesus, of course, had first said,

No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money (Matt 6:24).

And St. John also adds,

Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For everything in the world–the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does–comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever (1 John 2:15-17).

Nothing is perhaps so difficult to imagine, especially for us moderns, as being wholly free of the enticements of the world. These texts, so adamant and uncompromising, shock us by their sweeping condemnation of “the world.” For who can really say that he has no love for the world?

We may, however, be able to find temporary refuge in some distinctions. The adulterous love of attachment and the preference for the world over its creator is certainly to be condemned. Yet surely the love for what is good, true, and beautiful in the world is proper. St. Paul speaks of those things “which God created to be received with thanksgiving by those who believe and who know the truth. For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer” (1 Tim 4:3-5).

However, our distinction, though proper, cannot provide most of us with full cover, since we also know that the adulterous love of this world is still aplenty in our soul, however much noble love we also have. And the lust of the world is more than willing to sacrifice the good, the true, and the beautiful (not to mention God himself) for baser pleasures.

Only God can free us. And while some are gifted to achieve remarkable poverty of spirit long before departing this world, most of us are not ultimately freed from the lust of this world until God uses the dying process itself to free us. Slowly we die to this world as we see our skills, strength, and looks begin to fade as we age. And as old age sets in, we say farewell to friends, perhaps a spouse, and maybe the home we owned. Our eyesight, hearing, and general health begin to suffer many and lasting assaults; complications begin to set in.

For those who are faithful (and I have made this journey with many an older parishioner as well as some family members), it begins to become clear that what matters most is no longer here in this world, that our true treasure is in Heaven and with God. A gentle longing for what is above grows. For those who are faithful, slowly the lust of this world dies as we let God do His work.

Yet too many, even of those who believe, resist this work of God. While a natural fear of death is to be expected, too many live in open denial of and resistance to what is inevitably coming. Our many medicines and creature comforts help maintain the illusion that we can hold on to this world, and some people try to tighten their grip on it. A natural fear of death is supplanted by a grasping, clinging fear, rooted in a lack of faith and little desire for God.

And this is where we pick up with St. Cyprian:

How unreasonable it is to pray that God’s will be done, and then not promptly obey it when he calls us from this world!

Instead we struggle and resist [death] like self-willed slaves and are brought into the Lord’s presence with sorrow and lamentation, not freely consenting to our departure, but constrained by necessity.

And yet we expect to be rewarded with heavenly honors by him to whom we come against our will! Why then do we pray for the kingdom of heaven to come if this earthly bondage pleases us? What is the point of praying so often for its early arrival if we should rather serve the devil here, than reign with Christ.

The world hates Christians, so why give your love to it instead of following Christ, who loves you and has redeemed you?

John is most urgent in his epistle when he tells us not to love the world by yielding to sensual desires. Never give your love to the world, he warns, or to anything in it. A man cannot love the Father and love the world at the same time. All that the world offers is the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and earthly ambition. The world and its allurements will pass away, but the man who has done the will of God shall live for ever.

Our part, my dear brothers, is to be single-minded, firm in faith, and steadfast in courage, ready for God’s will, whatever it may be.

Banish the fear of death and think of the eternal life that follows. That will show people that we really live our faith.

We ought never to forget, beloved, that we have renounced the world. We are living here now as aliens and only for a time. When the day of our homecoming puts an end to our exile, frees us from the bonds of the world, and restores us to paradise and to a kingdom, we should welcome it.

What man, stationed in a foreign land, would not want to return to his own country as soon as possible? Well, we look upon paradise as our country, and a great crowd of our loved ones awaits us there, a countless throng of parents, brothers and children longs for us to join them. Assured though they are of their own salvation, they are still concerned about ours. What joy both for them and for us to see one another and embrace! O the delight of that heavenly kingdom where there is no fear of death! O the supreme and endless bliss of everlasting life!

There is the glorious band of apostles, there, the exultant assembly of prophets, there, the innumerable host of martyrs, crowned for their glorious victory in combat and in death. There, in triumph, are the virgins who subdued their passions by the strength of continence. There the merciful are rewarded, those who fulfilled the demands of justice by providing for the poor. In obedience to the Lord’s command, they turned their earthly patrimony into heavenly treasure.

My dear brothers, let all our longing be to join them as soon as we may. May God see our desire, may Christ see this resolve that springs from faith, for he will give the rewards of his love more abundantly to those who have longed for him more fervently (Treatise on Mortality: Cap 18:24, 26: CSEL 3, 308, 312-314).

Amen.

As November ends but Advent begins, remember the four last things: death, judgment, Heaven, and Hell. Prepare to meet God eagerly; run toward Him with joy and confidence, calling on Him who made you for Himself. Death will surely come. Why not let it find you joyful, victorious, and confident—eager to go and meet God?

What is temptation? Temptation is the work of Satan to drag you to Hell. And Satan can read you like a book and play you like piano. Do not exaggerate his power, but do not underestimate it either.

Some of his subtlest work is done in the area of religious observance. There, he can cloak himself quite easily in the lamb’s clothing of piety, but, wolf that he really is, distort it, either through excess or defect, thereby destroying you with what is good. Beware what some spiritual writers call the “traps of the pious.” Consider some examples:

• He can discourage you with prayer by saying, “If only you would pray a little longer, God will give you what you seek.” But the deception is that if we can pray a little longer, then we can never have prayed enough. Thus though we pray, we only feel guilty and inadequate. And since we can never have prayed “enough,” prayer increasingly turns into a burdensome task; God becomes a cruel taskmaster demanding longer and more precise prayers. Or prayer becomes a superstitious endeavor whose outcome we somehow control by the length and type of our prayers. Jesus counsels us that the Father knows what we need and that we should not think that merely multiple words and pious actions are necessary. We may need to persevere in prayer over time, but God is not a cruel tyrant demanding endless incantations.
• Satan can take the beautiful practice of praying the rosary, or attending daily Mass, or other devotions and slowly incite in us a feeling of smug superiority, elitism, or pride. Gradually, others are thought to be less devout, even in error, because they do not do or observe what is optional or encouraged but not required. What is beautiful and holy is thus employed to incite ever-growing pride and cynicism. A most extreme form of this comes from those who take the beautiful and powerful devotion to our Lady of Fatima and allow Satan to set them against even the Pope and all the world’s bishops by claiming that they failed, either ineptly or willfully, to properly consecrate Russia. And thus one of our most beautiful and informative apparitions can engender in some people distrust of the Church and disunity from her, from multiple popes, and even from Sister Lucia herself. It is an astonishingly crafty work of the evil one to take what is good and religious and corrupt it in the minds of some.
• Satan can also take what IS required and turn it into a kind of religious minimalism, a way of keeping God at a distance. And thus he tempts some souls with the notion that Sunday Mass, a little something in the collection plate, and a few rushed prayers are the end of religion rather than the beginning of it. Such observances become a way of “checking off the God-box” and being done with God for the week, rather than a foundation on which to build a beautiful and ever-deepening relationship of love with God. Such minimal practices become a form of “God-control” for those tempted in this way; it is as if to say, “I’ve done what I am supposed to do, now God and the Church have to leave me alone. God also needs to take care me now since I’ve done what I’m required to do.” And thus the Church’s beautiful laws and the requirements describing the basic duties or foundation for a deepening relationship with God, become a kind of “separation agreement,” insisting on very strict visiting hours and specifying who gets what.
• Satan can take religious zeal and corrupt it into harsh and uncharitable zealotry. He can take a love for the beauty of the Liturgy, ancient or new, and turn it into a persnickety insistence on exactly the right ingredients, at the expense of charity and at the cost of ridicule, false superiority, and disunity. And thus, charity thrust aside, we say, “Just make sure you celebrate the liturgy the way I like it. Anyone who doesn’t like what I like is antiquarian, a knave, or an uncouth troglodyte and must obviously hate the Church that I love so beautifully …”
• Satan can take the beautiful love for the poor and corrupt it into an enslaving paternalism that locks them into dependency, or does not address their spiritual needs by speaking to them respectfully of their sins, or does not seek to deepen their spiritual and family lives. And thus the beautiful corporal works of mercy are either set at odds with the spiritual works of mercy or are considered adequate in themselves. Satan can send many to serve the poor, armed with half-truths and approaches that merely bandage deeper wounds without addressing them.

Well, you see, in a certain sense, any virtue will do. Satan can make use of any of them and will seek to corrupt all of them, even the religious ones. He will just as surely go to work in the life of someone in a church pew, as in a brothel or the gutter. No one is exempt from his work of temptation; his goal is to drag us to Hell.

What makes his work of corrupting virtue so insidious is the subtlety of his work, for he takes something that is intrinsically good and seeks to corrupt it, either by excess or defect, or to turn it into some sort of caricature of itself.

Virtues, of course, are meant to work in combination with other virtues that balance them. For example, charity should be balanced by truth and truth by charity. Without charity, the truth can bludgeon; without truth, charity can become harmful, patronizing, and wickedly affirming. Charity and truth are meant to balance each other and to work alongside other virtues in a delicate interplay.

One of Satan’s tactics is to take one virtue and isolate it from others. Beware of these subtle tactics of Satan, who disguises himself well in the robes of virtue. But they are detached virtues, virtues out of balance and proportion.

Beware the traps of the pious.

The readings today on this Feast of Christ the King evoke three images of Christ as King. All of them are to some extent paradoxical, for they emphasize things about a king that we don’t usually think of in relation to a king. They also tell us that we have already met King Jesus, even if we didn’t know it. Let’s look at these three images of our Lord Jesus Christ, King of all Creation.

I. Caring King – The first reading, from Ezekiel 34, speaks of the Lord in terms of a shepherd who cares for his flock. Some of the lines that summarize His care are, I myself will look after and tend my sheep … I will rescue them from every place where they were scattered when it was cloudy and dark … I myself will give them rest … The lost I will seek out … The strayed I will bring back … The injured I will bind up. The sick I will heal.

It is not usual for us in the modern world to think of kings and heads of state in such a caring role. Most world leaders today are wholly inaccessible to us, existing behind many layers of security and staff. Even many bishops of larger dioceses are hard to reach personally.

But Jesus is a King who is more present to us than even we are to ourselves. An old revival hymn says, “Jesus is on the Main Line … call him up and tell him what you want.” Another song says, “God is just one prayer away.”

It was more common and less paradoxical in the ancient world to speak of a caring king. Most kings had more immediate contact with their subjects. Many kings had certain days on which their subjects could line up to talk to them. It is said that St. Athanasius ran up to the emperor on his horse one day, grabbed the reins, and proceeded to debate a theological point with him. Even until relatively recently, US presidents had office hours. It is said that on Tuesdays, Abraham Lincoln received visitors from among the citizenry, who sought to speak to him of their concerns. They would line up at the door without formal appointments and he’d listen to them, one by one. As our culture has become more violent and public figures more widely recognized and vulnerable, leaders now tend to live in sealed, bulletproof, and figuratively soundproof worlds, hearing little from “ordinary people” and mainly from their staff.

So the idea of a king who personally cares for his people is paradoxical to us. But Jesus does care for His people.

I want to testify that I do indeed have a caring King, Jesus. He’s been good to me. He has led me, rescued me, purified me, fed me, instructed me, and graced me; He died for me.

And I also want to testify that He was being good to me even when I didn’t think He was being good to me. Scripture says, All things work together for good to them who love and trust the Lord (Rom 8:28). Notice that not just the “good things” work for my benefit, but even the bad things. God sometimes permits some “stuff” to happen because it will bless us in the end. Even if you’re suffering, don’t give up on God. Some of His gifts come in strange packages. St Paul says, For this affliction is producing for us a weight of glory beyond compare (2 Cor 4:17).

And did you notice the last line in the passage from Ezekiel? But the sleek and the strong I will destroy, shepherding them rightly. Yes, even at those times when I needed to be humbled (to have my pride destroyed) the Lord was shepherding me rightly. There was a time in my life when I was more sleek and strong. And the Lord let me experience some humiliation, destroying me, as it were, and giving me humility. I even see this humiliation physically, for I was once sleek and now I am fat. And it is humbling to be fat, especially when people scold me. They think it is easy to lose weight. But God will humble them too, perhaps in other ways. God hates pride; He just can’t stand it. This is because He knows how deadly it is to us.

Yes, God is a caring King. Some of His ways are paradoxical. Do not reduce the noun “care” merely to meaning “that which comforts and consoles.” It can be that, but not always! Sometimes the “caring” thing to do is to rebuke, warn, or even punish. But God never ceases to care for us. I’m a witness. He’s been good to me. Even when I didn’t think He was being good, He was being good.

II. Conquering King – The second reading speaks of the victory of Jesus over all things, saying that He has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep; that He has reversed what Adam did; that He is the first fruits, then each one in proper order will also rise. It says that He will hand the kingdom over to God his Father when he has destroyed every sovereignty and every authority and power and that he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet, the last enemy to be destroyed being death.

Here, too, there is a great paradox. For as Hebrews says, In putting everything under him, God left nothing that is not subject to him. Yet at present we do not see everything subject to him. But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death (Heb 2:8-10).

So while at times it seems that evil triumphs, God is working. One by one, He is putting all His enemies under His feet. One day even death itself will be destroyed. The paradox of the Cross shouts to us that God conquers, not by brutality and cruel strength, but by love and by things such as forgiveness and mercy—things the world dismisses as weak.

Here, too, I want to say that God is a conquering King in my life. He has destroyed the power of many sins and diminished the strength of others on the way to their ultimate destruction. I have seen sins put down and under His feet, as He cleanses the temple of my soul. He has conquered so much of my pride. I am seeing lust, greed, anger, sloth, envy, and fear on the ropes. One by one, He is diminishing their power and replacing them with greater love, compassion, kindness, purity, love for the truth, prayerfulness, courage, trust, and eagerness to do good and to win souls.

Thank you, Lord, for being a conquering King in my life.

And this conquering King, unlike worldly kings, does not force us to be His subjects and live in His kingdom. Earthly kings conquer regions and force peoples under their rule by might. But Jesus is a King who respects our freedom to decide whether to have Him as our King and to accept the virtues of His kingdom, or not. Hence Hell is not so much a place of punishment as it is a place to which those who refuse, those who say “no” to Christ and His kingdom, depart. This King, though He is all powerful, does not force His kingship and laws. He offers them to all, and each of us must decide.

III. Concealed  King – The Gospel teaches us that Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead. And in this coming we will discover that we have known Him all along, but in a paradoxical way. As Christ comes and takes His seat and all are summoned to Him, we are going to have a strange sense that we’ve met Him before. And He will confirm that.

For indeed, we have met His Majesty and He is the strangest King of all. He is a King who is hungry, thirsty, sick, lonely, a foreigner, in prison, and a stranger. And the list He gives should not be seen as exhaustive, for He is in the needy, whether rich or poor. He is in the discouraged loved one who cannot find a job; He is in our children who need to be taught and encouraged; he is in the co-worker who just lost his wife; he is in the customer who was diagnosed with cancer. He is in the lost youth or family member who needs instruction and needs to be drawn back to the Sacraments. He’s even in you, in your struggles and needs.

Yes, we have met this King every day. And He is not merely saying that these people have some moral union with Him. He is saying, mystically, that He IS each one of them. And when we cared for them, we were not simply doing something ethical; we were serving and caring for Him: “You did it for me.”

What a strange King! We think of kings in palaces, far removed from trouble. But this King is naked, poor, hungry, and thirsty. We walk past Him every day.

And to those who have cared for Him in His poor He says, “I will never forget what you have done.” The poor may not be able to repay us, but King Jesus will repay us a millionfold. And on the day of our judgment we will look at Jesus and say, “I know you! I recognize you!” And He will say, “I know you, too … come, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

We should not view this judgment scene as containing the only standards by which we are to be judged, for numerous other passages lay out other standards such as having faith, being willing to carry our cross, living in purity, forgiving others, loving our enemy, and so forth. But this passage DOES remind us that we are not to neglect the corporal works of mercy.

Yes, Jesus our King, the strangest King you will ever meet: a caring and close King, a conquering King who never forces, a King who is hungry and thirsty, a King who reigns from the Cross, a King who dies so we don’t have to, a King who washes our feet, a King who comes to serve rather than to be served. He is a King, all right, one who rules with love, not by force. He’s the strangest King you’ve ever met, and you meet Him every day: in the Eucharist, in the poor, in His Word, in your heart, in the events of your day … in your very self.

 

 

There’s an old expression, seldom used today although I remember the old folks used it sometimes when I was young, “May you sleep the sleep of the just.” When my Great Aunt Polly used it, she meant simply, “May you sleep well.” But more richly and historically, the phrase speaks to a serenity that comes from having a quiet conscience, a conscience that is untroubled by the burden of unconfessed and unrepentant sin. A serene and clean conscience is an untroubled conscience, and thus we can sleep well and deeply.

Despite any claims that sinners have all the fun, the reality is that they really do not and cannot. Sin brings with it many burdens, among them a troubled conscience. Whatever efforts some make to try to suppress their consciences, deep down there is still that voice of God echoing in the heart of every person, the still, small voice of God, who has written his law into our hearts. Unrepentant sin and the bold, prideful attitude that insists on calling “good” or “no big deal” what God calls sin, are not the ingredients of a serene conscience and do not permit the sleep of the just.

In addition to a troubled conscience and stress, sin also brings many other complications to life. For example,

• Intemperance and gluttony bring addiction and a whole host of problems that go with such addiction.
• Alcohol and drug addictions are surely legendary for the troubles they bring. But excess (gluttony) in relation to food also brings terrible struggles such as diabetes, hypertension, joint pain and arthritis, and a sluggish mind.
• Sins of lust bring many stressful and tragic situations into life such as sexually transmitted diseases (including AIDS), abortion, divorce, and single motherhood.
• Fornicators and adulterers often pay, literally, for their sins through alimony, child support to different women, etc.
• The sin of vanity makes people slaves to the mirror and they become obsessed and worry constantly about what others think of them.
• Liars and deceivers live with the constant anxiety of being found out.

Yes, sin brings many stresses and crushing burdens. Much better, happier, and simpler is your life by resisting sin. It brings a serene conscience and the sleep of the just. A sinful life brings with it burdens, sleepless anxieties, and dissipation. Sin always promises happiness, but then sends the bill.

Pope St. Gregory the Great has some powerful words in this regard in his Pastoral Rule, especially regarding liars and deceivers. His references to the “insincere” are to those who lie, deceive, or live double lives:

The insincere are to be advised that they learn how heavy is the load of duplicity, which they sinfully bear. And because they fear being discovered, they always seek dishonest defenses and become agitated by fearful suspicions. But there is nothing that is safer for one’s defense and nothing easier than speaking the truth. For when one is forced to defend his deceit, his heart becomes wearied from the endeavor. Thus it is written, “The mischief of their lips overwhelms them!” (Psalm 140:9) … Because they refuse to live in sincerity, they will labor their whole life until death … always hiding what they are … struggling to excuse those sins that have already been made known … Let the insincere hear what is written: “Whoever walks in integrity, walks securely. But whoever takes crooked paths will be found out!” (Proverbs 10:9).  (Pastoral Rule III.11)

Perhaps it is best to end with those words of St. Gregory and with this wish: may you sleep the sleep of the just!

How do you think of prayer? Is it another thing you “have to do” among many other things on your list? Or is prayer a time when you refrain from doing? Is prayer a requirement you regret or a rest you relish? What is prayer for you?

The danger in answering questions like these is that we may answer them the way we think they “should” be answered rather than in an honest way. Many struggle with prayer and experience it with a lot of negativity: boredom, distraction, drudgery, and so forth.

The fact is, prayer is tough. We are very sensory by nature and used to seeing and hearing the one to whom we speak. To encounter God in silence and without sight is unfamiliar, jarring, and challenging. Some use icons or pictures, some a prayer book; some pray before the Blessed Sacrament. But in the end, the eyes of the flesh cannot see, only the eyes of the heart, the eyes of faith can. This is not only difficult, it is obnoxious to our flesh (i.e., sinful nature), which demands to see and hear on its own terms. And the flesh wages war on our spirit (cf Gal 5:17) and like a fidgeting child protests all throughout prayer.

Of course the best way to address this problem is with honesty. Without honesty we don’t really have a spiritual life. A true journey to God requires that all the masks come off, that all the little lies we like to tell ourselves and all the deceptions be set aside. Start with honesty.

Praying out of what is – When people tell me they have a hard time praying I say, “Then THAT is your prayer.  Tell God how absolutely bored you are when you pray. Tell Him that you would rather do just about anything than pray to Him. Tell Him that when it occurs to you that you should pray, or when some crazy priest reminds you to pray, your heart sinks and you put it off and put it off. Tell God you hate praying … And do you know what you are doing as you tell Him all this? You are praying!”

Yes, this is prayer.

“But Father, but Father, I can’t talk to God like that!” “Why not?” I say. God already knows that this is how you feel. It’s a pretty silly thing to sit in front of God wearing a mask that He can see right through: but all things are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account (Heb 4:13). Five minutes of a prayer of honesty is better than two hours of a prayer of rhetoric and “stained glass” themes that we don’t really mean. Pray honestly; talk to God about what is really going on.

The Book of Psalms is the prayer book of the Bible and it has God for its author. And notice how plain-spoken the psalms are.

Every emotion, every experience is grist for the prayer mill: joy, serenity, victory, thanksgiving, petition, anger (even anger at God!), rage, vengefulness, disappointment, loss, grief, fear, and despair. It’s all there and more. There are even psalms that ask God to harm or kill our enemy (69, 109, 137). Even the beautiful Psalm 139 ends with the request that God slay the wicked. But these are feelings we have from time to time and God wants us to talk to Him about them. If the Book of Psalms is a directive for prayer (and it is), then God wants us to speak to Him about everything, even the darkest and most sinful of things. Prayer is conversation with God. But it has to be honest.

And something starts to happen when we become really honest in prayer. Little by little, it becomes more relevant to us and we even start to like it a bit. Now don’t tell your flesh that! But your soul starts to breathe; it starts to exhale. When all the little self-imposed, unbiblical rules about prayer and all the things we’re “not supposed to say to God”  get set aside, the soul enjoys freedom, and the honesty is refreshing.

And little by little, prayer becomes not so much another thing to do as it is a rest from all our doing. It is a time to rest, to exhale, to sigh, and to be refreshed by the simple act of being honest with someone who loves us and whom we are growing to love. Someone who, before ever a word is on our lips, knows it through and through (Psalm 139:4). Prayer is the freedom to be honest, to rest from the labor of wearing masks, and to be relieved of the restless anxiety about what others think or expect of us. Prayer is a sigh of truth, a rest from the contradictory demands of an often phony world.

Consider this description of prayer from St. Anselm:

Insignificant man, escape from your everyday business for a short while, hide for a moment from your restless thoughts. Break off from your cares and troubles and be less concerned about your tasks and labors. Make a little time for God and rest a while in him. Enter into your mind’s inner chamber. Shut out everything but God and whatever helps you to seek him. And when you have shut the door, look for him, speak to God … (Proslogion, Chapter 1).

Yes, speak to God. Be honest. Tell Him what is really happening. If you need a manual to assist you, get a good Bible or copy of the psalms—one that gives a title or a brief sentence describing its content. Find one that suits you on this particular day and then read it, slowly. Before long, as the weeks and years tick by, you’ll find you are speaking on your own, in psalm-like honesty. Some of us even grow silent over the years, as words no longer seem necessary or even possible: cor ad cor loquitur (heart speaks to heart).

And when words seem difficult to come by, just sigh. St. Augustine says, This task [of prayer] is generally accomplished more through sighs than words, more through weeping than speech (Letter 130, to Proba).  It may seem a strange thing, but sighing is very relaxing, and much is released from the soul by it.  I have often thought of Gregorian Chant as a musical sigh to God, and it brings me great peace. I am blessed to have a cavernous Church and to be able to read and sing Chant there.

So pray. Pray honestly. If words are hard, just sigh or sit quietly. But pray. Watch and wait for the Lord. It’s not work, it’s rest.

There is another old hymn that speaks of the delights of true and honest prayer. It is the old classic, “Sweet Hour of Prayer.” Note its lyrics and then answer these questions: “Is this how you think of prayer? If not, why not?” What if your prayer were less “rule-bound” and more just time you spent apart from this dreary world and with God? Pray these words and ask for their reality:

Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! That calls me from a world of care, And bids me at my Father’s throne Make all my wants and wishes known. In seasons of distress and grief, My soul has often found relief, And oft escaped the tempter’s snare, By thy return, sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! Thy wings shall my petition bear To Him whose truth and faithfulness Engage the waiting soul to bless. And since He bids me seek His face, Believe His Word and trust His grace, I’ll cast on Him my every care, And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer! May I thy consolation share, Till, from Mount Pisgah’s lofty height, I view my home and take my flight. This robe of flesh I’ll drop, and rise To seize the everlasting prize, And shout, while passing through the air, “Farewell, farewell, sweet hour of prayer!”

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