E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come!

Some more "great music" to kick off the Advent Season, from Paul Manz (1919-2009):

 

 

 

Immaculate Conception Novena - Christ the King Church, Springfield, IL (Nov 30 - Dec 8)

   Thanks to the many friends from near and far that came out to hear my talk at the Immaculate Conception Novena back on Saturday night at Christ the King Church in Springfield.  It was good to be back in Springfield.  As I said on Saturday night, it has become a very important event to get myself ready for Advent and Christmas to reflect deeply on some aspect of the Immaculate Conception, and to preach on that in this unique forum.  All the more, it is a joy... and in no small way, a relief... to return to Springfield to continue participating in this ministry.  The novena continues each night through December 8 with different speakers.  I have included a copy of the ad with this posting, listing the rest of the speakers.

   I'm really busy at the moment, but I will try to at least post some notes from my talk on the Annunciation, and Mary's response in faith.  This talk was a warm up to a larger project which I alluded to in my November 19 post.  My central thesis is that the initial response of Mary to the Annunciation (Luke 1:26ff, "How can this be, I do not know man?"), which for anyone else darkened by sin might have been a response of shame and distrust, was for her an opportunity to marvel in the glorious mystery of God fulfilling the promise of Eden... the promise which foretold that the "seed of the woman" would stomp the head of the serpent, while the serpent would only be able to strike at the heel.  The natural order and the rationality of it was to be superseded by a great intervention on part of God working through this simple peasant girl--a virgin.  Mary's response was so perfect and free, enabled by the special freedom she had been granted in being preemptively freed from the darkness of sin, that she alone, in faith, could invite the Word to truly (not just metaphorically) become flesh and dwell within her, and in doing so, dwell among us.  As we face the challenges of individual and institutional shame, arising from our (often-misguided) fears (one of the irascible passions) about the world which is in desperate need for the Good News of Christ, and as these fears block us from using the gifts of the Church to grow in holiness... the fear of going to Confession, of dealing with with 'irregular marriages', of including those on the fringes of the Church, of dealing with hot-button political issues like same-sex-marriage where enemies of the Church would rather shame the Church into silence... it is the inspiration of faith, exemplified by Mary and empowered by the Spirit, which drives us forward, confidently, into the "New Evangelization".

   The novena talks continue through Sunday night.  If you are in the Springfield area, I welcome you to attend; this is a wonderful way to enter into the Advent Season and to observe the beautiful mystery of our salvation played out in the faith and response of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Nine years...

   Today, November 19, 2013 is the ninth anniversary of my diaconal ordination along with three other classmates at the hands of Bishop Lucas at our Cathedral in Springfield.  Nine years.  Wow.  I look back, and it feels as if it were already a lifetime ago.  The joys and the sufferings that come with the grace of orders are unspeakably precious, complex, and humbling, to the point where it would really be an injustice to even try to explain them here.  In the face of it all, I can only give thanks, and repeat the prayer that has stuck with me all this time, "Lord I give you all that I have; I beg you to please make up the difference".

   In particular, those who have been following me know that this last year has been unbearably painful.  I am better now; indeed, in many ways I am at the absolute top of my game with respect to living into the life of praying and preaching the scriptures and contemplating the great mysteries of God in the great writings of the Church.  The sisters I am serving are a joy to be with, and an inspiration to confidence that all is right at the heart of the Church where these sisters are in their prayer, apostolic life, and struggles to live into their vocations more faithfully.  There is abundant fruit which this whole process is about to bear, I pray, which I would not have had otherwise to share, but I want to save that all for a gradual unveiling over the next few months as I finish my STL thesis.  In short, while I had originally planned to write about the apostolic constellation of Hans Urs von Balthasar (a project, which while interesting, never quite captured my imagination and zeal in the midst of the daily battles of parish ministry enough to get done), I am now working on integrating and preparing to present to the Church a thorough study of shame and sorrow--two of the modern 'anti-virtues' which modern psychology is all to ready to dismiss as irredeemably destructive to the human soul, but which the Christan Tradition understands rightly, and in the right context, as a beacon to conversion.  There's not a lot out there in literature about this subject except in a general and usually in an unhelpful light framed by contemporary categories.  Pastoral practice is not as sensitive as it probably should be with respect to how deep the pain of shame wounds so many of the faithful we look out and see from the ambo every Sunday in our churches.

   Why is it that people fear going to confession?  Why is it that it is easier to receive ashes on Ash Wednesday and eat fish sandwiches on Fridays during Lent than enter into a thoroughgoing program of penance?  Why do poor people begging for alms make us uncomfortable?  Why is it that there is possibly (according to some reports) a 10 times as many Catholics content to live in 'irregular' marriages than those who seek the assistance of our marriage tribunals?  Why is it that the priesthood scandal happened and was handled so badly?  I think at the root of these problems is one of the devil's favorite tools to oppress us: shame.  St. Thomas Aquinas has a radiant study of shame as an elementary component of sorrow and fear in the Summa.  Pope John Paul II has volumes to speak in his Theology of the Body catecheses about how shame diminishes the human person, alienating us from our very selves.  The scripture has dozens-no, hundreds-of references to shame in its pages.  The old joke is that 'Catholic guilt' is alive and well in so many of the faithful.  What can we learn from all of this?  Well, the narrative of my own story of descent into the depths of self-inflicted shame and then the collateral marginalization and betrayal heaped on afterwards is not that interesting, actually... and that's not the focus of this project.  I'm not intending to go into the business of personal 'testimony', except to preemptively affirm the grace and mercy of God in all things.  But what is important and what I have learned and am preparing to offer the Church through the lessons of the last year is a way of looking at shame and sorrow in a thoroughly Christian way that molds and tempers us to be the people Christ has called us to be--that calling out of darkness into his own wonderful light.  This is the living out of the Paschal Mystery every day of our lives as we battle sin and our own 'blind spots' of unrealized virtue (and vice).  This is where we struggle against our baser desires, both consciously and unconsciously, to die to self and live in Christ.  This is what we strive to overcome when we take an accounting of even the sins perpetrated against us.  Christians do battle with sorrow and shame every day of their lives until in the fulfillment of the kingdom in God's grace and mercy.  A healthier understanding of Christian shame may be the most important barrier to overcome in order to achieve the New Evangelization that seeks to renew the Church from within... not to mention, to help the Church be more credible and powerful in the realm of public discourse... against abortion, same sex marriage, contraception, divorce, war, slavery, poverty, indifference, even school bullying, not to mention so much more that darkens our world.  Overcoming shame is not about ignoring it, barreling through it without duly mourning our losses, or casting aside the sorrow associated with it as unhelpful and belligerent to the endless pursuit of happiness.  The 'perfection' of shame allows the moments of sorrow to be transformative in the Paschal Mystery of death to self and life in Christ.

   As easy and perhaps as logical as it might have been to simply walked away from it all and not made it to the completion of this year nine, I embrace this cross and the promises of Orders more completely and more lovingly for the glory God is trying to work through my imperfections.  Trust me, the temptation of simply disappearing has been keenly before me--and it would be an eminently logical choice to make for so many reasons.  And who knows, there are probably people out there who still wish that I'd keep walking into that darkness... that would be one of the Devil's greatest desires--to completely destroy a minister of the Church.  But today, nine years hence and all the more, I am all the more certain that this call is not about me and my desires and ambitions and comfort.  For some reason, I am still standing... but it is not through my own strength, that's for sure.  It is all about announcing the Gospel in the good times and the bad... announcing the Gospel, whose herald I am through my unworthy sharing of Orders.  I am going to continue to give it all I have, with the hope and confidence that God will make up the difference.

   Greetings and blessings to my ordination classmates and my diaconal brothers out there.  This is a celebration I share with so many of my brothers in the permanent diaconate, both in my own diocese, as well as those who have been so formative to my ministry elsewhere.  May God continue to enfold all of us in his strength and in his mercy as we continue about the work he has set before us.

All Souls, Amadeus, and Antonio Salieri, the "Patron Saint of Mediocrities Everywhere", Part 2

   Yesterday in part 1, I retold the story of the 1984 movie, Amadeus, ending with a clip of the amazing dictation of the Confutatis from Mozart's Requiem (K. 626).  While this is, at best, an apocryphal story, like many such stories, the drama is perhaps a greater illumination of the truth of the human condition than actual historical events.  In Salieri, a rival of Mozart who so desperately longed to be touched by God through music, we peer into the human heart's most desperate longing, its most urgent imperative, that of "amadeus," which means "love of God".

   The wound tormenting Salieri as he listened to the inspired music of  Mozart was that of envy.  Envy is more than simply the desire of something that belongs to another.  Envy, at its core, is sorrow over another's good... when the good of another person is perceived as an evil or privation to me.  There is merit in desiring good things--in wanting to have the talent to play piano like a concert pianist, or to be the top of one's class at high school or college, to have friends and admirers like a celebrity, or to own a nice car like the neighbors.  But such desires can easily lead us to do destructive, jealous things to others, while hallowing out in our own souls the ability to love that which is good.  Thus envy is a dangerous, seductive sin.  According to Dante, only pride is more serious and insidious an enemy.   In more subtle forms, envy is expressed through gossip (destroying another's good name), diminishing another's good fortune (discounting the good of something that belongs to another... "Having a Timex is just as good as having a Rolex... all they do is tell time, anyway"), or turning away from the good altogether, ("Johnny is so much better at baseball than I am, I think I'll play basketball instead").  These more subtle forms of envy tend to point to narcissistic wounds living as parasites within our souls... parasites fed by our own sense of inadequacy, and inflamed by a corrupted sense of justice that the goods of another should, in righteousness, instead belong to us.  The classic antidote to envy is the "cardinal virtue" of 'fraternal love'-- a love that rejoices in the good of others, and in doing so rejoices in the gifts of God.  Such virtue is most difficult to obtain, as it requires a deep surrender of self-interested desires.

    And so, after watching nearly two hours of Salieri being mercilessly wounded by envy, we come to the final reel, where he is finally toe-to-toe with his antagonist, who is dying in bed before him.  The text before them says, "Confounded are the damned, doomed to unending flames.  Lord, call me among the blessed.  I kneel down in prayer, my heart contrite as ashes; carry me unto final health."  Before laying out the first notes, Mozart pauses for a moment, looking off into space, and then focusing on Salieri  Mozart asks,

   "Do you believe in it?"

   "What?" asks Salieri.

   "A fire which never dies, burning you forever?"

   Salieri, perhaps with a great deal of self-knowledge, replies, "Oh, yes."

   "Possible?"

   Salieri refocuses the attention of Mozart and in a moment, Mozart conjures up the very flames of hell in a fitting tone-poem: trumpets and tympani accenting downbeats, violins feverishly running up and down the scales, and the martial rawness of the men's voices, proclaiming, "Confutatis!  Maledictis!  Flambis acribus addictis, Confutatis maledictis!"  Suddenly this frightful scene is punctured by the angelic song, "Voca, voca me. Voca me cum benedictis!"

   I think that Salieri knew what hell was about.  He had been there, and the curtain was parted even further that evening as Mozart dictated that section of the Dies Irae.  Hell is not about horned monsters in red jumpsuits carrying pitchforks.  It might not have even been about the specific sins and shortcomings of life in themselves.  Hell is fundamentally the eternal alienation from God.  Mozart, laying before him in final agony had yet to experience the depths of that kind of alienation, and was, perhaps, at a crisis of faith.  "Oh, yes."  Salieri believed in the flames.  Indeed, the 'voice of God' heard in the inspired music of Mozart had tormented Salieri, who was still trapped in that deep spiral of envy.  God would not 'send Salieri to hell,' but rather, Salieri's corrupted desires in envy and his wounded pride transformed the experience of God's glory into hell for him, and there he would stay. "Confounded are the damned!  Doomed to unending flames!"

   But as he writes the notes, assembles the lyrics, and scores the Confutatis, for once, and perhaps the only time in his life, the voice of God, mediated through the dying Mozart, invites Salieri to participate in something... divine.  But in this participation, Salieri still did not possess that voice in and of himself.  He was not to be the instrument of God's glory... just the secretary.  God was not about to let him, a mere "mediocrity", share in the smallest part of his glory.  God himself would 'kill' Mozart to seal Salieri's fate.  "[God] kept me alive to torture.  Thirty-two years of torture... thirty-two years of slowly watching myself become extinct.... my music growing fainter... all the time fainter."  While perhaps embracing the satisfaction of contributing to Mozart's demise in a small way, the joke would ultimately be on him: Mozart was dead, but his music would live on, assuring Salieri's defeat as a forgotten man and composer.  Over thirty-two years, his life would become a testament to the completeness of his defeat.

  It seems that in that moment, after the trauma of a failed attempt at suicide (perhaps as a final failed attempt to escape the judgement of God), and after the retelling of his story in confession, a revelation comes upon the elderly Salieri.  In his struggle and enduring woundedness, he finally discovers that he was not to be a champion of divine music, but rather the 'patron saint' of mediocrities everywhere... an example to all those who would never measure up to their greatest dreams and aspirations, of those who will never know the blessing of God's favor... perhaps even of those who fought God and lost.   As one who has suffered and lost, as one who has finally discovered himself and his humble place before God at the end of that struggle, he (and not the priest) can finally offer an authentic 'absolution' to other 'mediocrities' -- an act of mercy and simultaneous self-forgiveness which brings about deep internal reconciliation and peace.  It is an act that would not be possible without the deliverance of re-telling the story and encountering God's mercy in a transformative way. [It is not a sacramental absolution, of course, but the same kind of 'absolution' that flows from compassion for others like him who struggle for self-acceptance and healing in the midst of woundedness... it is like the peace found in and offered by former alcoholics or drug addicts who make it their mission to assist others in overcoming addictions.]  The cackle of Mozart's insane laughter is no longer a mockery of Salieri and his woundedness but is instead an affirmation of the divine joke that Salieri now 'gets'... his new destiny is to rest in the 'fraternal love' that heals envy and joins him in that same 'fraternal love' to mediocrities everywhere, starting in the sunlight of the new day at the asylum.

   Tune in tomorrow for part 3.  All Souls Day (November 2), is, in a certain way, a celebration of that yet-to-be-redeemed woundedness in us all that alienates us from God, yet promises to reveal the surest path of our redemption in his love and mercy.  The 'poor souls' of purgatory enjoy God's favor as heirs to the kingdom while still longing for the complete healing and purification found in his mercy...

All Saints, Iconoclasm, and Intercessory Prayer...

   A few days ago, a YouTube video appeared on the Internet that generated the predictable discussion on various Catholic news sites and blogs... and rightfully so.  I find it providential that it showed up right before All Saint's Day, which opens a wonderful discussion for why the Church honors the faithful who have gone before us and who have been crowned, by God's grace alone, with the crown of heavenly glory.  It also provides an opportunity to discuss why Catholics and most Christians accept the premise that, as part of the Communion of Saints, we can call upon the prayers and merits of our brothers and sisters in faith to intercede for us before the throne of God.  The video depicts a Muslim cleric who declares that idolatry is a sin, that "only Allah will be worshipped [in Syria] and that only the rule of Allah will be established... we won't accept anything by Allah, the religion of Allah, and the teaching of the Prophet." (according to the attached translation).  and proclaims Allahu Akbar as he smashes a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  The video is out there on YouTube, but the link isn't working right.  If I can find the link pointing to the right video, I'll post it up.

     A couple of comments are in line.  First of all, idolatry is a sin, and any actual worship of graven images is explicitly prohibited by divine positive law and further by the virtue of true religion.  Christians who worship statues and images, use talismans and charms for 'luck', and replace the worship of God with the worship for things of this world are surely in grave sin (given all the usual circumstances: grave matter, full knowledge, and full consent of will).  One will notice of the Islamic faith that there are no images of Allah adorning mosques, or even images of the Prophet Muhammad available for religious veneration.  This zeal is an expression of the holy desire not to be distracted by images that cannot carry to weight of God's presence and glory-- images that open the potential for idolatry.  Thus depictions of Muhammad are generally met with great offense, especially in Sunni sects of Islam.  To this day in Islamic countries, it is often considered extremely rude and a violation of personal dignity and integrity to take photographs of individuals without their permission -- the image is something sacred belonging to the person, and is not to be 'captured' or 'exploited' by hostile eyes.  A person is diminished by having his/her image captured and taken away.  Thus, when we consider the Blessed Virgin Mary whom the Muslim people also venerate (albeit to a lesser degree than Christians), there can be tremendous confusion caused by all the sacramentals of statues, images, and other devotional artwork that typically adorn a Christian Church.  Do Christians give worship to Mary... worship which is due to God alone?  Why would they light candles or offer insence before statues or images or even relics if they weren't worshipping them?  This attitude is not unlike certain Protestant iconoclasts across the ages who have frequently embraced the short-sighted polemic that "Catholics worship statues".  Only a small bit of consideration shows how wrong-headed that assertion is.

   Of course, Catholics do not worship statues... nor do baseball fans.  Case in point: in front of Busch Stadium there are bronze statues of Stan Musial and other Cardinal greats.  These graven images call to mind the teams and the summers of Cardinal greatness... the heroes whose stories and athleticism continue to inspire players and fans alike unto our own day.  What is it that we honor about these players that are immortalized in stone and metal?  We honor their work ethic and their raw talent.  We honor the example they give to kids who are trying to learn the sport, and the memories of those who came out the the ballpark to cheer him on in years gone by.  It reminds us of our own fathers who took us to the ballpark, perhaps years ago, to watch these great players, and it remains as a testament to the tradition of excellence years ago, and provides something to aspire to in years to come.  This monument honors not, primarily, the person of Stan Musial, but all of the virtues and ideals his baseball career represented.  As far as I know, there is not a religion of "Musial-ism" being formed that meets around that statue or any other image of Stan-the-Man.  It is a public sign of of an honor and respect, intended to call to mind the common memory of one who played the game exceptionally well.

   Fast forward to All Saints Day and the 'Cult of the Saints'.  The saints share in God's glory, by the gracious gift and initiative of God alone.  They are not gods, nor do they have any dignity worthy of worship.  They are, however, 'hall-of-fame' players whose virtues are worthy of honor and imitation as we struggle to find our way home to God.  Images serve to remind us of those virtues, which sometimes seem unreachable and unobtainable in our fallen state.  The are intended to inspire.  Rather than being something which distracts us from the glory of God, these images can offer us a metaphor, if you will, pointing to the grace of God working through the often rough-hewn struggle of humanity.  And so, if these figures do share in the glory of God, we know that they are no longer dead, but live in Christ.  Living in communion with Christ before the throne in heaven, they give worship and praise to the Lamb for all time.  All reverence shown to them--the saints--and their reminders (statues, images, relics, etc) is ultimately reverence and worship to Almighty God who has crowned the saints in his own manifest glory. 
   We often ask our brothers and sisters in Christ to pray for us and our needs.  Even the  most 'fundamentalist' of Christians tend to ask one another... "pray for my mother having surgery", "pray for a successful outcome in an upcoming test," "pray for me in this time of struggle".  These are all worthy prayers.  Why?  Because it is an invitation to members of the Mystical Body of Christ to express their mutual concern and care for one another by way of prayer and worship before God.  Yes, we do have a 'direct line' to God in our prayer, without the need of intermediaries, and we should use it.  But how much more powerful and protected is an intention offered through the ministry and communion of the Church... a communion which proceeds from the very union and love of Father, Son, and Spirit.  God knows our needs, even before we might pray for them, but to give voice to that prayer in the community of the Church opens the minds and the hearts of the faithful to seeing the outcome of that prayer manifest, not as an act dependent on the mistaken merit of personal piety or, worse still, an attempted "manipulation" or appeasement of the mind and will of God by saying just the right words, but instead, as an outcome divine providence, communion, and love.  Before the Father, in the Spirit, Christ prays for his Church, offering himself and his sacrifice for all of those joined to him.  Should we do no less than imitate the Master in this act of divine worship?
   The saints do not distract, but rather inspire fervent prayer within the Body of Christ, the Church.  Their example and union with us as brothers and sisters in the flesh and as blessed, justified, glorified members of the Church calls to mind the preternatural glory of the human condition, restored by a Christ who intercedes for us all before the Father.  As Christ prays for us, we pray for one another who belong to the Mystical Body of Christ.  Certainly idolatry is a sin, and perhaps for some a temptation... mindless prayer seeking worldly glory and manipulation of divine will is not worthy of the title 'worship'.  Where it does happen, I think the Muslim cleric would have it right... destroy the statues, bury the rosaries, burn the books, cast off the relics that are misused in idolatry.  Authentic prayer is found in the groanings of the human heart reaching out to the Holy Spirit in an effort to praise our creator and seek union with him.  The Church on heaven and earth is here to be a society of mutual support and encouragement as we struggle with our more base desires, that our prayer may be truly fitting in the worship of God alone. 

Just because...

Here's one of the world's great young organists, Felix Hell, playing variations on Ralph Vaughan Williams' Sine Nomine (For All the Saints) by John Weaver in concert at Trinity (Episcopal) Church on Wall Street.

 

 

You think this is pretty good?  You ought to hear him play the Guilmant Finale from Sonata No. 1 on the same instrument...

Finally, a gentle, but not-so-subtle reminder for Catholics far and wide... GO TO MASS TODAY (November 1, 2013).  

All Souls, Amadeus, and Antonio Salieri, the "Patron Saint of Mediocrities Everywhere", Part 1

   As many of my friends know, I deeply enjoy watching and collecting good movies.  If asked my favorite, without a doubt, I point to the 1984 Academy Award winner, Amadeus, which is a drama based on the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, as seen through the eyes of one of his rivals and contemporaries, Antonio Salieri.  While the account is a fictionalized dramatization of the rivalry between the two men, it speaks so deeply to the human heart, the human desire to encounter and possess the divine, that the story is, so to speak, probably better than the truth.

   The story opens with a despondent Salieri (F. Murray Abraham, Academy Award winner for Best Actor in this role), now an old man, crying out in the darkness of night, "Mozart!  I confess I killed you! ...Forgive me Mozart!"  After hearing a scream behind the locked doors of his apartment, we find that he has taken a knife to himself in an attempt at suicide, after which he is whisked away to an asylum and patched up.  The next morning a priest comes by on his rounds and begs Salieri to offer his confession and make peace with God.  Salieri proceeds to narrate the story of his rivalry with Mozart (Tom Hulce), from the very beginning.

   Salieri remarks how he was never encouraged to develop his musical talent; his father  "didn't care for music".  The child prodigy Mozart, on the other hand, was carted all around Europe, performing 'like a trained monkey' for courts of royalty and ecclesiastical nobility, under the encouragement of his father, who taught him everything he knew.  Upon his own father's death (which Salieri interprets as a 'miraculous gift'), Salieri finally has the freedom to take up his muse and with much success rapidly rises through the ranks of the musical elite, becoming the court composer in Vienna, writing more then 40 operas, and winning wide acclaim as one of the most accomplished composers in Europe.

  It isn't until some years later, when Mozart appears at a concert at the palace of the Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg, that Salieri and Mozart formally meet.  Mozart is to direct a concerto, and Salieri muses whether the radiant talent of someone with Mozart's reputation might be "written on [his] face"... "who could he be?"  And so, the camera pans across a room full of young men, dressed in waistcoats and finely-powdered wigs, engaged in polite conversation.  One face after another, Salieri scrutinizes the room, looking for signs of one blessed by divine favor.  A loud, boisterous rogue fiendishly chasing a woman momentarily distracts Salieri, until in his wanderings he finds himself alone in a room, surveying sweets and treats to be served at the event (Salieri was noted to be a 'sweet-tooth' in real life).  Into the room comes the young rogue and the object of his pursuit.  Along with Salieri we witness a vulgar, bizarre, flirtatious exchange between this couple.  Meanwhile, as the party continues in another room, the whisper goes out, "where's Mozart?"   A few moments later, in the distance, we hear the opening cadences of the glorious concerto, and the young rogue jumps up, shouting, "they have started without me!"

   Salieri remarks as an old man, "That was Mozart!  That giggling, dirty-minded creature I had just seen crawling on the floor!"  Put-off by the young man, Salileri was nonetheless captured and enraptured by the unspeakable beauty of his musical output.  In the years that followed, Mozart would come to Vienna and gain fame and notoriety by way of his music that Salieri could only see as a divine gift... a gift he desired and sacrificed everything for... his industry, his humility, even his chastity.  But he determined that he had not received 'the blessing' of the divine music which animated Mozart... a music which was written as no other: finished, complete, perfect, as if dictated from the mind and voice of God himself.   "I was staring through the cage of those meticulous ink strokes at an absolute beauty."  After being insulted and shamed by Mozart in the court and in public, and after discerning that a prima donna of his affections was fiendishly deflowered by this man-child, Salieri declared himself an enemy of God... for what good god would speak through the gross immaturity of such a beast?  "There is no God of mercy," Salieri confesses, "just a God of torture."  At a crisis point, we see him praying, begging, "Dear, God, enter me now.  Fill me with one piece of pure music.  One  piece with your breath in it, to show me that you love me.  Show me one sign of your favor, and I will show mine to Mozart."  After a final spiritual crisis which he discerns as God's final rebuff, Salieri decided that his job in life was to destroy this impertinent little man who was an insult to all that is just and good and holy.  Looking upon the crucifix, Salieri laments, "We, you and I, are enemies... because you choose as your instrument a boastful, lustful, smutty, infantile boy... and give me for reward only the ability to recongize the incarnation."  Setting the crucifix on a burning fire, he continues, "Because you are unjust... unfair... unkind... I will block you.  I swear it.  I will hinder and harm your creature on earth as far as I am able!"  And so the movie proceeds tit-for-tat, until Salieri determines that the best way to get at Mozart would be an act of psychological warfare, ending in Mozart's murder.  In this he could "finally triumph... over God!"  (In the scenes where Salieri is an old man in confession, the early morning and day has now given way to the intense darkness night... it has been quite a long confession!)

   Shortly following the death of Mozart's father, observing the anguish in Mozart's heart over  his father's passing as expressed in the opera Don Giovanni, Salieri covertly commissions a musical setting of the Requiem (funeral) Mass, which he plans to receive and publish as his own composition.  He's not quite sure how to kill Mozart, squeamish about the prospect of actually having to physically end his life.  "First I must obtain the death Mass, then I must achieve his death... it's one thing to dream about it, but quite another... when you have to do it with your own hands."  But in writing the Requiem (along with the intense need to write for the opera in order to bring money into the house to pay large debts) Mozart begins a slow journey into insanity, ill-health, drunkenness,  and even estrangement from his wife.

  After the premiere of The Magic Flute, we see Mozart collapse.  Upon being returned to his home with Salieri's assistance, he seizes the opportunity to push him over the edge... he 'delivers' the message to Mozart that the Requiem must be completed... tonight... and thus begins a scene which is perhaps one of the most spiritual in all of cinema: Salieri receives the dictation of music for the Confutatis, a section of the foreboding liturgical sequence, Dies Irae:

Latin	English (in poetic translation)
Confutatis maledictis, Flammis acribus addictis: Voca me cum benedictis.	The wicked are confounded, Doomed to flames unbounded: Call me with thy saints surrounded.
Oro supplex et acclinis, Cor contritium quasi cinis Gere curam mei finis	Low I kneel in submission, Like ashes is my heart’s contrition; Help me in my last condition.

Tune in tomorrow for part 2 of "All Souls, Amadeus, and Antonio Salieri, the 'Patron Saint of Mediocrities Everywhere'."

Homily notes: 30OT-C - The Merton antidote to religious exceptionalism

   Today's Gospel from Luke (18: 9-14) presents the familiar parable about the Pharisee and the tax collector who go to the temple to pray.  The Pharisee, wrapped in his own self-righteousness praises God that he is not like 'other men' in their foibles, imperfections, and sin.  The tax collector, unable to even raise his eyes, proclaims, "have mercy on me a sinner".  Perhaps the Pharisee was a better man, perhaps the tax collector was deserving of all the self-condemnation that he could muster, but the question Jesus gets at is, whose prayer was heard by God?  The Pharisee was the center of gravity in his oration... using the personal pronoun "I" no less than 4 times in the short verse we get in the Gospel (at least in the English version).  He was separate from God and separate from other men in his self-justification... in a bizarre kind of isolation caused by his status as a 'religious person'.  The tax collector had no illusions about himself, other than being in need of God and in need of reconciliation with God and, presumably, his fellow man.

   As I preached to a house of sisters this morning, standing among them in their Sunday habits, myself wearing the ornate vestments which are part of celebrating Mass, I could not help but muse on the dangers of 'being separate'... for we are.  That separateness is in circumstance and practice however, but not in substance.  It is a separation in service, not in need.  It is to be a sheep-ish shepherd among the flock, "smell[ing] like their sheep", as Pope Francis remarked at his first Chrism Mass.

   The sheep share a deep communion and identity with the Lamb once slain.  Indeed, the Lord embraced our humanity as something not beneath him, that he could live our life and die our death, feeding us with his Body and Blood, that we could have his life in eternity.  If we find that our prayer separates us from our humanity, Christ's humanity, and/or our relationship with others, then I think there's a clue that we are on the wrong path.

   There is a radiant passage from Thomas Merton's 1966 book, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, which I think provides the perfect antidote to that sense of separation which the religious life (and religious service in general) threatens.  Indeed that separation not only yields the fearful tendency towards unreflective and smug self-righteousness, but perhaps sometimes in the more-recollected, it yields that death-dealing feeling of inadequacy or dualism between what one is and what one hopes to become.  For many in this latter mind-set fearfully aspire to become, as Merton calls it, a pseudo-angel, rather than fully human.  (Been there, done that, have the trophy.)  In this parable, then, the challenge is to embrace the humanity that Christ himself embraces, while engaged in the struggle to finish the race and obtain the crown of righteousness in God's grace alone.  (cf. 2 Tim 4: 6-8, 16-18, which is our second reading.)  Without further ado, here's Merton:

   In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut [less than a block from the Cathedral of the Assumption], in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I was theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers.  It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness.  The whole illusion of a separate holy existence is a dream.  Not that I question the reality of my vocation, or of my monastic life: but the conception of "separation from the world" that we have in the monastery too easily presents itself as a complete illusion: the illusion that by taking vows we become a different species of being, pseudo-angels, "spiritual men", men of interior life, what have you.

   Certainly these traditional values are very real, but their reality is not an order outside everyday existence in a contingent world, nor does it entitle one to despise the secular: though "out of the world" we are in the same world as everybody else, the world of the bomb, the world of race-hatred, the world of technology, the world of mass media, big business, revolution, and all the rest.  We take a different attitude to all these things, for we belong to God.  Yet so does everybody else belong to God.  We just happen to be conscious of it, and to make a profession out of this consciousness.  But does that entitle us to consider ourselves different, or even better, than others?

   This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud.  And I suppose my happiness could have taken form in the words: "Thank God, thank God that I am like other men, that I am only a man among others."  To think that for sixteen or seventeen years I have been taking seriously this pure illusion that is implicit in so much of our monastic thinking.

   It is a glorious destiny to be a member of the human race, though it is a race dedicated to many absurdities and one which makes terrible mistakes; yet, with all that, God himself glorified in becoming a member of the human race.  A member of the human race!  To think that such a commonplace realization should suddenly seem like news that one holds the winning ticket in a cosmic sweepstake.

   I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate.  As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now I realize what we all are.  And if only everybody could realize this!  But it cannot be explained.  There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around like the shining sun!

   This changes nothing in the sense and value of my solitude, for it is in fact the function of solitude to make one realize such things with a clarity that would be impossible to anyone completely immersed in the other cares, the other illusions, and all the automatisms of a tightly collective existence. My solitude, however, is not my own, for I see now how much it belongs to them — and that I have a responsibility for it in their regard, not just in my own. It is because I am one with them that I owe it to them to be alone, and when I am alone, they are not “they” but my own self. There are no strangers!

   Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed…I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other. But this cannot be seen, only believed and “understood” by a peculiar gift.

Homily Preview: Christ the King (34OT-C)

   Am I really that far ahead that I am thinking of a homily that's a month out, yet?  Well, remember, this feast is this weekend in the extraordinary form...
   The ancient philosophers thought that all learning in this world was simply a matter of becoming re-acquainted with the truth which is 'out there', and which we all hope to re-join when we leave the corrupt, dark world behind.  Yeah, well, that perspective seems a little dualistic to me, but maybe there is a bit of truth to that viewpoint.  Case in point, I saw an amazing quote from the teachings of Archbishop Fulton Sheen on a comment from another blog, and it brought back a wonderful sense of remembrance that only comes the grief and joy of encountering forgotten wisdom...

   Speaking of the Kingship of our Lord vs. the kings of the earth, Sheen says:

The masses were generally interested only in wonders and in security. When He multiplied the loaves and fishes, He startled their eyes. When He filled their stomachs he satisfied their sense of social justice. That was the kind of king they wanted, a bread king. “What else can religion do for man, anyway except give him social security;” they seemed to ask. The masses tried to force Him to become a king. That is what Satan wanted, too! Fill gullets, turn stones into bread, and promise prosperity—this is the end of living for most mortals. Bur Our Lord would have no kingship based on the economics of plenty. To make Him King was His Fathers business, not theirs: His Kingship would be of hearts and souls, not digestive tracts. So the Gospel tells us He fled into the mountains Himself alone, to escape their tinsel crown and tin sword. How close the masses were to salvation. They wanted life; He wanted to give life. The difference was in their interpretation of life.  Is it the business of Christ to win followers by elaborate social programs? This is one form of life. Or is it the business of Christ to be willing to lose all the stomach-minded at the cost of reaching the few with faith, to whom will be given the Bread of Life and the Wine that germinates virgins? From that day on, Christ never won the masses; within twenty months they would shout, “Crucify!” as Pilate would say, ‘Behold your King.’”

   The political implications in our search for a perfect society, engineered by entitlements and unrestricted license masquerading as "freedom", are readily apparent.  All too easily we roll over on our backs and allow ourselves to be enslaved by the contentment of "Bread and Circuses" offered by our kings.  "My tears have become my food day and night, while men say to me all the day long, 'where is your God?'"  (Ps. 42:3)   Noneother than St. Thomas More's political philosophy offers us the image of "Utopia" (Greek: "no where"), a mythical land where human cooperation and ingenuity soothes the injustices of the day.  But his fictional world is just that... fictional.  What More offers in this brave, new world is mere satire.  Even if a political system should work well for a while, (which in and of itself is an unbelievably difficult undertaking given the fallen nature of man,) the perception (which is never true in reality) of earthly perfection crushes human spirit which has been created and is destined for a greater calling, which is happiness in God alone.  While we rightfully work to stem the injustice in the world, our calling is not to this world, but to the Kingdom which is to come.  The graces of plentiful food, peace, justice, wealth, and success in the here-and-now are but tears and mourning in the sight of what is yet to come.  "Where is your God?"  "Rejoice heartily, O daughter Zion, shout for joy, O daughter Jerusalem!  See your king shall come to you; a just savior is he, meek, and riding the foal of an ass... the warrior's bow shall be banished, and he shall proclaim peace to the nations.  His dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth."  (Zechariah 9: 9-10)

Homily thoughts, 28OT-Thursday: Tout est Grâce!

   Three overlapping images appear in today's liturgy.

   First, October 17 is the memorial of St. Ignatius of Antioch.  He is a most notable martyr of the first generation after the Apostolic age.  Perhaps a disciple of St. John the Apostle, and a contemporary of St. Polycarp, St. Ignatius produced seven notable letters to early Christian communities, and is best remembered for his Letter to the Romans, which he wrote (chapter 4) on his way to Rome for execution as a Christian martyr.  In this letter he begs the community, "I am writing to all the Churches and enjoin all, that I am dying willingly for God's sake, if only you do not prevent it.  I beg you, do not do me an untimely kindness.  Allow me to be eaten by the beasts, which are my way of reaching God.  I am God's wheat, and I am to be ground by the teeth of wild beasts, so that I may become the pure bread of Christ."  The Eucharistic reference shows Ignatius' understanding of his suffering and sacrifice as a reflection of the Lord's own offering hidden under the signs of bread and wine.  It is an offering circumscribed by time and place and circumstance, that nonetheless transcends this world, sanctifying the Church by courageous witness, and leading Ignatius, himself, into the hands of the Eternal Father.

   The Gospel (Luke 11: 47-54) finds Jesus hounding the pharisees and scribes about their complicity in the dishonor, persecution, and death of the prophets... from their own time back to the foundation of the world.  "You have taken away the key of knowledge.  You yourselves did not enter and you stopped those trying to enter."   The religious leaders Jesus addresses are not only guilty of the blood of a man of God, but they also find themselves and the entire nation blinded to God's intentions and glory revealed in their midst.

   Finally, St. Paul writes (Romans 3: 23-26): "... all have sinned and are deprived of the  glory of God.  [All who believe] are justified by his grace through the redemption of Christ Jesus, through faith, by his Blood, to prove his righteousness, because of the forgiveness of sins previously committed, through the forbearance of God--to prove his righteousness in the present time, that he might be righteous and justify the one who has faith in Jesus..."

   Blood.  Suffering.  Faith.  Grace.  All of these images coalesce in the person of the suffering Christ: the Victim walking the the Way of the Cross to Calvary for the salvation of the world and the redemption of sinners.  An image that is to be taken up by us--we who have been called to take up our crosses and follow him.

   Reflecting on these images, I was drawn to the fictional, but all-too-real, story of the  young, suffering, unnamed priest in Georges Bernano's most famous novel, Diary of a Country Priest (1937), which is remembered even more fondly as a 1951 movie from France, directed by Robert Bresson and starring Claude Laydu.  Appointed to his first pastorate as the Cure of Ambricourt, the unnamed priest finds a sleepy little town that is not particularly welcoming to him or to the faith he proclaims as their parish priest. He laments that his parish "is bored stiff... like so many others!  We can see them being eaten up by boredom and we can't do anything about it.  Some day, perhaps, we will catch it ourselves--become aware of the cancerous growth within us.  You can keep going a long time with that in you."

   And so the story shows the young priest struggling to make a go of it... but he is beaten down by his duties: taunted by the catechism students, lectured by the parishioners and townspeople about how he is to do his job and how he is to fit into their society, celebrating daily Mass alone--save one malefactor whose gaze is intended to challenge and intimidate him.  His diet is most austere; he walks or rides a bike from call to call.  He must travel to the next town to see a brother priest, and farther to see the dean.  In time, we find that he is dealing with some kind of physical ailment, which is later diagnosed to be stomach cancer.

   So his challenges are not only spiritual and pastoral, but also physical.  In the midst of all of this gloom and doom, ambivalence and condescension, hostility and death, the 'spiritual heart' of the book is the probing modern question: "is faith enough"?  This is a serious question that does not have simple, pat answers.  Indeed, it goes to the heart of what many moderns would call 'existential angst': this young priest was failed by his parish, failed by his Church, failed even by his own bodily strength and health.  Would faith be enough to help him persevere... as a pastor ...as a priest ...as a man?  While the book is outstanding in setting up this tension, the power of the movie version, I think, is carried even farther by the director, who, reportedly 'grew up Catholic' and embued his movies with many Catholic themes, but found himself, after his experiences as a prisoner of war a "Christian atheist"... a man struggling with his own faith.

   He has a profound answer, "Faith is not a thing which one 'loses,' we merely cease to  shape our lives by it."  In choosing not only to stay faithful, but in chosing to persevere, the priest cooperates a grace that neither the most hardened sinner nor the lapsed, unconscious church-goer can resist.  For God's love and grace permeates the world, drawing all things to himself, and demanding a response in faith--be it affirming or negating.  The little priest faces down temptation and the devil--evil itself--not unlike our Lord who went into the desert for forty days and forty nights to be tested.  Like the Lord, this little priest will not be alientated from the Father in the midst of trial and tribulation, rather, he is strengthened by an understanding of his weakness, and his reliance upon God's grace in all things.  This is how the wrenching challenge of faith forms him, and keeps him centered in God, rather than drawing him away in the midst of the disasters that would claim his life and livlihood.

   And so, this priest does nothing less than courageously taking on the cross of Christ, and preaching from that cross.  He avoids cynicism and bitterness as he marches the lonely road that can only result in his own demise, choosing to love deeply in the midst of existential angst, to sacrifice greatly for the ignorant and unmoved, and to accept his lot as a sign of God's grace.

   Even when when his health becomes too compromised to go on, he seeks the fraternal consolation of a fallen-away priest friend, inviting this former cleric into the drama of his struggle with faith.  It is this man from the past--from better days--who absolves his dying friend, who provides hospice in the final hours, and who finally writes the dean of Torcy when the struggle is over.  While we do not know the circumstances of why this priest-friend left ministry (although we do see him cohabiting with a woman), we can sense that his response was another, perhaps less hopeful, response to the ultimate priestly wound which is a deep participation in the grace of the cross.  "Tout est Grâce!" (translated, "all is grace," or perhaps, "grace is everywhere!"), says the young priest in his dying breath.  Faith did not abandon him in his suffering, but his faith helped him to be formed by that suffering into an even more perfect alter Christus, drawing the world and its pain, its doubt, its alienation into his own passion, yet pointing to the grace of God in it all.

   Indeed, all is grace.  It is what binds the martyr, the sinner, and the Lord, drawing us into our own response in faith.

Homily prep 28OT-C: St. Louis Zoo!

    A spiritual director recently instructed me to go to the zoo... it's a long story, but I finally did it today.

   It seemed like a wise thing to do in preparation for this weekend:  the first reading from 2 Kings 5 retells the story of Naaman,an Aramean general who came to Israel at the advice of a humble slave girl to seek healing from his embarrassing case of leprosy.  He encountered a very suspicious king upon arriving in Israel, who thought that Naaman was using his visit and this cover story to simply reconnoiter the land for an upcoming invasion.  Elisha intercedes before the king and takes up the case, however.  Elisha tells the general to wash in the local waters--a piece of advice the general takes badly, for "are not the rivers of Damascus, the Abana and the Pharpar [all rivers back home], not better than all the waters of Israel?  Could I not wash in them and be cleansed?"  It seems foolish to do follow what appears to be arbitrary advice of this prophet (ironically, in ancient Israel the word for 'prophet', nab'i, is sometimes translated as 'madman').  After all, Naaman went through all the effort and risk to trek across the desolate lands with his retinue to come to this 'man of God', and he expected some razzle-dazzle.  But he was simply given the instruction to wash?!

   But God had a particular plan for Naaman in that particular time and place, which could not be satisfied elsewhere or in another context.  Maybe it was rooted in this response to that little slave girl (the most insignificant of figures measured against the glory of an accomplished general).  God was not looking for 'faith' so much as perhaps merely his humble 'openness' to the little slave girl (a symbol of the vulnerable nation of Israel?) whose encouragement to see the prophet was simply an invitation to an encounter with the living God.  From this encounter, Naaman found healing, he came to encounter the God of Israel, and he even found the desire to cart home some of the local soil that he, too, could worship this new-found God righteously in his own land.



A capybara!  See a previous reference
to their 'non-meat' status here.

   And so, I went to the zoo today.  There are pictures of me having been there as a little one... way before I even really have any memory of it... so it's been more than 35+ years since I have been at the St. Louis Zoo.

   My trip today was yet another step in simply learning how to 'be'.  To encounter the world on its own terms, and marvel in the glory of all that is around, without carrying my mental or written checklists of things to do everywhere I go.  The goal was not to see the whole zoo, or even to be particularly 'productive' today, but to be amused with whatever came up, to observe the behavior of all the human animals, to enjoy some ice cream, to simply to 'be' and let that be praise to God in itself.  I would never have gone out and done that on my own when busy with a parish and an office.  There was always something that needed to get done there--something that needed to get checked off or taken care of.  But I went to the zoo today.  And I did it at the advice of another 'man of God' who was not looking for another blood-letting demonstration of faith, but a simple 'openness' to what the time and space and environment might provide.

Rhinoceros

   I'm not sure how successful I was in my 'non-mission' 'mission'.  Very quickly, I was noticing that I was going by every pen and trying to find and take a picture of the animal... it was the middle of a warm afternoon, and most of the animals were laying around looking dead.   But once getting a photo, I found myself efficiently moving on to the next pen, and the next, and the next.  In time, I found myself also becoming annoyed by parents who were dragging their (usually little) kids from pen to pen to pen also, not allowing them to simply 'be', but instead appearing to be running on an invisible, mental checklist or schedule.  You see, kids, even when there is a giant elephant 50 yards away in all its glory, will still tend to sit down on the ground and play in the dirt, or pick at wads of chewed gum, or kick rocks along the walkway, or such.... and when they are distracted from these simple joys, that's when they cry and fuss, making their parents all the more pushy, and so on and so on.  Kids are the 'pro's at 'simply being', except that they have parents who tend to slowly beat it out of them from a very early age--much as I would probably do with my nephews, and much as my parents probably did for me, and their parents did before them...

Hyena... but is it dead?

   So I went along, from the big outdoor exhibits to the primate house to the herpaterium.  It was a good afternoon, doing what I would not have otherwise done for myself in another place or time.  As much as I tried to be 'open', my heart was just not settled enough to encounter a great epiphany today.  But I suppose that's excuse enough to go back maybe in a week or two.  I need to practice this "simply being" thing quite a bit more.

  I suppose I could look up a professional photo of an elephant on the Internet or read about the comparative physiology of salt-water fish in an old textbook I have (it is quite interesting how they regulate osmotic balance in their tissues), I could sit in my easy chair and go anywhere in time and space with a good book, but today was simply a day at the zoo.