I've noticed a few trends in people's responses to the death of Osama bin Laden. I just want to offer my thoughts on one of them.
[And by the way, whether or not it was just to kill him, under these circumstances or any others, I'm not prepared to make that call, so I'm not going to. If you think that's a cop out, so be it.]
Instead, I want to write about a misunderstanding of forgiveness among Catholics that I've noted in recent days (admittedly this is mainly from facebook status updates).
It seems to be more or less the Catholic or Christian extreme: the immediate prayer for his soul. Now, I do not want to say that since bin Laden was an enemy, he should not be prayed for. I myself do pray that God have mercy upon him. However, I think that this reaction is often times a way of masking emotions that we are afraid of allowing ourselves to have. It is fact that the man orchestrated the deaths of many people, for deeply malicious reasons. We should be angry about this. He perpetrated injustice on a huge scale.
The desire for vengeance is sinful, but feeling anger at injustice is not. Choosing to dwell upon feelings of anger and allowing them to fester in our hearts, this also is sinful. But simply being angry at someone for injustice, small or extreme, is to be expected. It is a healthy reaction, and the desire for justice is also healthy. Even so, the words of Fr. Federico Lombardi in response to bin Laden's demise ring true:
"Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of each and every one of us before God and before man, and hopes and commits himself so that no event be an opportunity for further growth of hatred, but for peace."
Still, I think that many who strive to live the Christian life are afraid that both our anger at what he did and our relief that he is gone are feelings we should not have. The thought is that if we were to indulge these feelings in any way, we would be guilty of not only the desire for vengeance, but also of a complicit participation in the carrying out of that vengeance. In our attempt to distance ourselves from emotions that we consider to be dangerous and sinful, we immediately jump to the only thing that we know is okay - forgiveness and prayer for the dead.
Indeed we should forgive and we should pray that God have mercy upon him, but one thing must not be forgotten: forgiveness is not possible without an offense. One cannot let go of anger without having first been angry. It is inhuman for us to have witnessed the awful acts of this man and not be disturbed, angered, or offended on some level (varying very much depending on our nearness to those who were killed, though simply being American is enough to participate to a strong degree). To run away from such feelings is not forgiveness. To deny that we are angered is tantamount to denying that he did anything wrong, which is to eliminate the possibility for forgiveness. Rather than running from anger, we have go accept that it is within us and confront it. Only then can we say in a true spirit of forgiveness, "I have reason to hate this man, but I choose not to, definitively."
Skipping over the choice is to skip over forgiveness, to cowardly deny the problem. Forgiveness is instead a courageous choice. It is easier for some to opt for an empty shell of "forgiveness" than to face the darkness of their own anger. (For others, of course, it is easier to immerse themselves in the darkness of their anger, but that's not the issue I'm discussing here.)
All have sinned, so our prayer for the salvation of a good man should be just as fervent as the prayer for an evil man. We are saved only by the mercy of God, after all. So, pray for Osama bin Laden - this is the right thing to do.
For those who find that difficult because they do allow themselves to feel angry, please understand that forgiveness is the only Christian option. Yet, it is extremely difficult even in matters far more trivial than the case of a mass murderer; it is only possible through God. The adage holds true: to err is human, to forgive, divine. Nevertheless, we Christians, who are sinners, all pray very regularly to be forgiven our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. There is no qualifier to that which exempts us from forgiving those who have sinned heinously and grievously against us.
But, for those who jumped immediately to forgiveness, without any anger or fear in their heart, such a response may be virtuous, but it is not necessarily so. Just be sure that in responding this way, you are not hiding from or depriving yourself of feelings that you need to feel.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
A Great Epithet
I remember 6 years ago when Blessed John Paul II died, I heard a number of people ask the question, "do you think that the Church will give him the title 'the Great'?" But very quickly the answer was spread around that such a title is not actually bestowed by any authority other than simple popular usage. Still, I always found telling, that so many people were asking the question. Clearly, there is some desire on the part of people that he be called the Great. I for one think he should be.
And since I generally value my opinion quite high, I want to encourage anyone who might actually read this blog to do the same. Only considering facility of speech: "John Paul the Great" is one less syllable than "John Paul the Second", and while one syllable longer, it's got a bit more dignity than the fairly common "John Paul Two" and "JP2".
A crucial part of this is usage in other languages, but with a quick Google search you can find occurrences of not only the English John Paul the Great (the name of both a high school and a university), but also the Italian Giovanni Paolo Magno, the Dutch Johannes Paulus de Grote, the German Johannes Paul der Große, the Polish Jan Paweł Wielki, and even the Latin Ioannes Paulus Magnus.
From the page List of people known as The Great:
As there is [sic*] no objective criteria for "greatness", the persistence of later generations in using the designation greatly varies. For example, King Louis XIV of France was often referred to as "The Great" in his lifetime, but is rarely called such nowadays, while Frederick II of Prussia is still called "The Great".
All that can be said is that he will be known as The Great only if that's what we call him. So if you want him to "receive" that epithet, just use it!
* - It should read "as there are no objective criteria" or "as there is no objective criterion". If I knew what I were doing, I would edit it; it is Wikipedia after all. Maybe someone more savvy will take it up. While you're at it, maybe you could add Blessed John Paul the Great to the list...
And since I generally value my opinion quite high, I want to encourage anyone who might actually read this blog to do the same. Only considering facility of speech: "John Paul the Great" is one less syllable than "John Paul the Second", and while one syllable longer, it's got a bit more dignity than the fairly common "John Paul Two" and "JP2".
A crucial part of this is usage in other languages, but with a quick Google search you can find occurrences of not only the English John Paul the Great (the name of both a high school and a university), but also the Italian Giovanni Paolo Magno, the Dutch Johannes Paulus de Grote, the German Johannes Paul der Große, the Polish Jan Paweł Wielki, and even the Latin Ioannes Paulus Magnus.
From the page List of people known as The Great:
As there is [sic*] no objective criteria for "greatness", the persistence of later generations in using the designation greatly varies. For example, King Louis XIV of France was often referred to as "The Great" in his lifetime, but is rarely called such nowadays, while Frederick II of Prussia is still called "The Great".
All that can be said is that he will be known as The Great only if that's what we call him. So if you want him to "receive" that epithet, just use it!
* - It should read "as there are no objective criteria" or "as there is no objective criterion". If I knew what I were doing, I would edit it; it is Wikipedia after all. Maybe someone more savvy will take it up. While you're at it, maybe you could add Blessed John Paul the Great to the list...
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| In the square just after the Beatification Mass. You can see the banner of Blessed John Paul the Great hanging behind me on the facade. |
The Beatification
I was fortunate enough to have a seat in St. Peter's Square for the Beatification of John Paul the Great on Sunday. It was a blessed day, but I'll share just one anecdote.
A moment that moved me in a particular way was the presentation of the relic of John Paul's blood to Pope Benedict. The one's who brought the silver reliquary holding the vial of blood were Sister Tobiana, who tended to John Paul through his papacy, and Sister Marie Simone-Pierre, whose unexplained cure from Parkinson's has been attributed to John Paul's intercession.
But what moved me was the fact that Benedict was the one receiving it. As I saw him take up the reliquary and reverence the blood of his predecessor, immediately the now famous image of then Cardinal Ratzinger being embraced by John Paul came to mind.
I thought of the early Church, and how the tombs and bodies of the martyrs were often visited and venerated by Christians who knew them in life. When we today venerate the relics of those ancient saints, it is a different experience, because we are separated by hundreds of years. In those first years after they were martyred however, the people who venerated them had known them in life, and sometimes even been close friends. Similarly, here before me, a man who knew John Paul, and worked with him, and had a deep respect for him, venerates the blood of his friend. What humility and joy Benedict must have felt in that moment.
It's actually kind of unique that the relic be liquid blood. His body was not disturbed at all. It was blood that had been drawn shortly before his death, and was simply kept at the hospital. No one got rid of it. (The fact that it is still liquid is not miraculous by the way - anticoagulants were added to it when it was drawn back in 2005. This is not St. Januarius we're talking about.)
A moment that moved me in a particular way was the presentation of the relic of John Paul's blood to Pope Benedict. The one's who brought the silver reliquary holding the vial of blood were Sister Tobiana, who tended to John Paul through his papacy, and Sister Marie Simone-Pierre, whose unexplained cure from Parkinson's has been attributed to John Paul's intercession.
But what moved me was the fact that Benedict was the one receiving it. As I saw him take up the reliquary and reverence the blood of his predecessor, immediately the now famous image of then Cardinal Ratzinger being embraced by John Paul came to mind.
I thought of the early Church, and how the tombs and bodies of the martyrs were often visited and venerated by Christians who knew them in life. When we today venerate the relics of those ancient saints, it is a different experience, because we are separated by hundreds of years. In those first years after they were martyred however, the people who venerated them had known them in life, and sometimes even been close friends. Similarly, here before me, a man who knew John Paul, and worked with him, and had a deep respect for him, venerates the blood of his friend. What humility and joy Benedict must have felt in that moment.
It's actually kind of unique that the relic be liquid blood. His body was not disturbed at all. It was blood that had been drawn shortly before his death, and was simply kept at the hospital. No one got rid of it. (The fact that it is still liquid is not miraculous by the way - anticoagulants were added to it when it was drawn back in 2005. This is not St. Januarius we're talking about.)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Holy Saturday
On Holy Saturday afternoon I wrote the following. This is the final entry of my retreat journal:
Today I walked into the Church of Our Lady and St. Benedict in the village of Ampleforth. On entering the church, I dipped my hand into the holy water font. It is a particularly beautiful one: about a foot tall, sitting on a pedestal, an angel kneeling down, holding out a large half shell in which is kept the holy water. I did it out of habit, only half thinking about it.
But my hand hit dry marble. The illusion created by the accumulated dirt and algae had tricked me.
… Oh. Right.
A friend of mine said recently that the emptiness felt on entering a church on Good Friday with the sanctuary lamp out strikes him to the very core. I felt the same, or similar, at the holy water font, when what should have been there, wasn't. What a remarkable sign of Jesus buried in the tomb.
Then I went in and prayed.
When I came out, I looked at the statue. (Without the water, it could hardly be called a font.) It struck me that this angel knelt there dutifully throughout the year, hold up the water that stands as a reminder of their Baptism to all who pass by. It is a joyful and wonderful task. But today, she also has a duty. She's there to trick me. I am so used to dipping my hand in that shell, and the shell itself looks very much like it actually has water in it. She kneels there inviting habit to take control so that…
…so that I might unwittingly find an empty shell, a dryness that pines like the desert for water, a desolation. She's there to put me ill at ease, uncomfortable. She's there to remind me of the incredible Mystery of Christ buried in the tomb. She did her job, and now the power of Easter will be even stronger to me, for that lack will be undone tonight!
Today I walked into the Church of Our Lady and St. Benedict in the village of Ampleforth. On entering the church, I dipped my hand into the holy water font. It is a particularly beautiful one: about a foot tall, sitting on a pedestal, an angel kneeling down, holding out a large half shell in which is kept the holy water. I did it out of habit, only half thinking about it.
But my hand hit dry marble. The illusion created by the accumulated dirt and algae had tricked me.
… Oh. Right.
A friend of mine said recently that the emptiness felt on entering a church on Good Friday with the sanctuary lamp out strikes him to the very core. I felt the same, or similar, at the holy water font, when what should have been there, wasn't. What a remarkable sign of Jesus buried in the tomb.
Then I went in and prayed.
When I came out, I looked at the statue. (Without the water, it could hardly be called a font.) It struck me that this angel knelt there dutifully throughout the year, hold up the water that stands as a reminder of their Baptism to all who pass by. It is a joyful and wonderful task. But today, she also has a duty. She's there to trick me. I am so used to dipping my hand in that shell, and the shell itself looks very much like it actually has water in it. She kneels there inviting habit to take control so that…
…so that I might unwittingly find an empty shell, a dryness that pines like the desert for water, a desolation. She's there to put me ill at ease, uncomfortable. She's there to remind me of the incredible Mystery of Christ buried in the tomb. She did her job, and now the power of Easter will be even stronger to me, for that lack will be undone tonight!
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| Easter Candle at Ampleforth Happy Easter! |
Good Friday
I had a cold all through Holy Week. This was a problem because the monks had asked me to sing the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil. (For those who are unfamiliar, the Exsultet is a long, joyous, and ancient chant in the presence of the Easter Candle, which symbolizes Christ himself.) I was honored and excited at the chance opportunity, but all through the week there was a good chance that I physically would not be able to do it.
In a moment of prayer and surrender however, Good Friday evening, I came to the following conclusion:
If I must give up singing the Exsultet because of this cold, I have an opportunity for humility. If I find tomorrow morning, however, that I
By that I mean that to let go of the honor of singing the Exsultet would take humility, even if I was forced because of a cold. But there would also humility in being able to sing it despite the sick state I was in. It would be something that could only be credited to God. I know my musical talent is a gift from God, but every now and then I need a reminder. If I were to sing his praises on the most holy of all nights, it would be by his grace alone. I'm glad that so often he breaks down the foundations of my ego - I am generally in need of it.
[The story goes on:
On Holy Saturday morning, when I was going to have my final rehearsal, I woke up with a blocked up nose and a raspy, phlegmy throat. I told Jeff, another deacon on retreat, that short of a miracle, I would not be able to do it. He replied, "then ask for a miracle." I did; and I had a lot of people praying for the same thing throughout the week. I got my miracle, sang it well at the rehearsal, and then at the Vigil, even sang it a whole step too high (by accident) with no problems. In fact, it was better than I have ever sung it. Thanks be to God, for I know I did not do it by my own power.]
In a moment of prayer and surrender however, Good Friday evening, I came to the following conclusion:
If I must give up singing the Exsultet because of this cold, I have an opportunity for humility. If I find tomorrow morning, however, that I
By that I mean that to let go of the honor of singing the Exsultet would take humility, even if I was forced because of a cold. But there would also humility in being able to sing it despite the sick state I was in. It would be something that could only be credited to God. I know my musical talent is a gift from God, but every now and then I need a reminder. If I were to sing his praises on the most holy of all nights, it would be by his grace alone. I'm glad that so often he breaks down the foundations of my ego - I am generally in need of it.
[The story goes on:
On Holy Saturday morning, when I was going to have my final rehearsal, I woke up with a blocked up nose and a raspy, phlegmy throat. I told Jeff, another deacon on retreat, that short of a miracle, I would not be able to do it. He replied, "then ask for a miracle." I did; and I had a lot of people praying for the same thing throughout the week. I got my miracle, sang it well at the rehearsal, and then at the Vigil, even sang it a whole step too high (by accident) with no problems. In fact, it was better than I have ever sung it. Thanks be to God, for I know I did not do it by my own power.]
Random Bavaria Photo:
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| Overlooking Neuschwanstein Castle |
Holy Thursday
At the Mass of the Lord's Supper, I served as one of the deacons with the monks. As the abbot washed the feet of the chose twelve, I was at his side with the washbowl and towel to help him out.
Now, I have had my feet washed before at Holy Thursday, but I've never had the place I had this year. I know that in years to come, I will be the one washing others feet, so the symbol of the abbot's servile work was not lost on me.
It's funny though that I talk about washing others feet as being something in the future! The whole point of the story from John 13 is that we're all supposed to wash one another's feet, and not delay! It's not just the presider's job at Holy Thursday; it's everyone's job everyday.
Now, I have had my feet washed before at Holy Thursday, but I've never had the place I had this year. I know that in years to come, I will be the one washing others feet, so the symbol of the abbot's servile work was not lost on me.
It's funny though that I talk about washing others feet as being something in the future! The whole point of the story from John 13 is that we're all supposed to wash one another's feet, and not delay! It's not just the presider's job at Holy Thursday; it's everyone's job everyday.
Random Bavaria photo:
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| Dinner in a beer garden |
Wednesday of Holy Week Part II
My priesthood is not my gift to give. It isn't even my priesthood. Christ is choosing to give the gift to his people through me, and why he chose me, I cannot tell. In my pride I am yet tempted to come up with reasons why I'm "great for the job," but as experience has taught me, no man, especially not me, is qualified for this enterprise. Thank God for His help, for if I were left alone to be a priest, I would screw it up big time.
St. Anthony of the Desert supplies fitting words:
The performance of signs does not belong to us - this is the Savior's work.
St. Anthony of the Desert supplies fitting words:
The performance of signs does not belong to us - this is the Savior's work.
Wednesday of Holy Week Part I
During the retreat I read the Life of Anthony, by St. Athanasius. It tells of the life of St. Anthony of the Desert, who with St. Paul of Thebes is one of the great founders of Christian monasticism. Much of the work describes his encounters with demons, temptations, evil spirits, and exorcisms. Now, since we are all very convinced in this modern world that such things do not exist, these kinds of stories might seem anachronistic.
Now, putting aside for the moment that such things do exist, I just want to talk about the confidence with which Anthony approached these encounters. It can be for us a great asset in combatting temptation. Often times we can feel that temptation is so strong that it is inevitable that we will succumb to it, but if we listen to Anthony's view on demons and temptation, we might begin to recall that we are made in the Image of God, and called to a freedom that makes sin and the powers of evil pale in comparison:
After reading such sayings from Anthony, I see that he can be a powerful intercessor for us in times of temptation of all kinds. Whenever selfishness begins to manifest itself in us, in whatever way (greed, pride, lust, gluttony, envy, ...) let us ask Anthony to help us to live up to our Dignity, crushing temptations against the Rock who is Christ when they first appear, before they have the opportunity to grow into something more dangerous.
Now, putting aside for the moment that such things do exist, I just want to talk about the confidence with which Anthony approached these encounters. It can be for us a great asset in combatting temptation. Often times we can feel that temptation is so strong that it is inevitable that we will succumb to it, but if we listen to Anthony's view on demons and temptation, we might begin to recall that we are made in the Image of God, and called to a freedom that makes sin and the powers of evil pale in comparison:
"We must not fear them,
even though they seem to assault us
or threaten us with death,
for they are weak and have power to do nothing
except hurl threats."
"For these antics they deserve instead
to be ridiculed as weaklings."
"But if they held no sway over the swine,
how much less do they hold over people made in the Image of God!"
After reading such sayings from Anthony, I see that he can be a powerful intercessor for us in times of temptation of all kinds. Whenever selfishness begins to manifest itself in us, in whatever way (greed, pride, lust, gluttony, envy, ...) let us ask Anthony to help us to live up to our Dignity, crushing temptations against the Rock who is Christ when they first appear, before they have the opportunity to grow into something more dangerous.
Random Bavaria photo:
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| Beneath Hohenschwangau Castle |
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