dcn. jquinby's scribbles

I traveled for business today and landed early enough in the day to find a church where I could hear evening Mass. I walked for fifteen minutes, found the building, and then tried all of the wrong doors trying to get in. Someone noticed me, and I was welcomed, then ushered in. This is an urban church, surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers and all of the attendant noise and activity of a large city. Inside: candles and the altar. The choir chanted the entrance antiphon and the liturgy began. It was strange being the obvious outsider for once. They stand, rather than kneel, during Communion. The music was different than what I’m used to. But none of this really mattered, because the Mass is the Mass is the Mass. It is always and everywhere the same.

The homily focused on Amoris Laetitia, and then segued to today’s Gospel, John 10:27-30. Father allowed that pastoral imagery was somewhat lost on him, but then he related an experience he had as a young man: traveling to Paris for study and taking a day-trip to see the cathedral in Chartres. The cathedral, he said, reminded him of a great mother hen, roosting among the town and gathering it to herself like a brood of chicks. Chicken analogies continued for awhile, but they worked, and it was a lovely homily.

We keep chickens at home (for eggs and amusement) and here I had traveled two thousand miles to hear a homily on chickens. If the priest had somehow managed to work in a bee reference, I think I might have fainted. I left feeling better, as I always do. I certainly felt closer to home, even if everyone around me was a complete stranger. Before the liturgy began, a parishioner called for visitors to raise their hands. I did, as did another man from Indiana,

We may never see you again, he said, so it’s important for you to know that you are welcome here, and that this is your community too.

Mission accomplished. God bless you all.

One may look upon death, as did antiquity, as a shadowy, inexplicable fate hovering over existence and infusing it with melancholy. Or as science sees it: the simple fact of organic disintegration. Thus conceived, death belongs so intrinsically to life, that one might define life as the movement towards death. One may greet death ecstatically as the Great, the Unspeakable, the Dionysian Mystery in which life culminates; or one may relegate it to the farthest corner of the mind, crowding it to the very brink of the consciousness and behaving as if it were non-existent. Death may also be regarded as the ultimate way out of the labyrinth of existence, a leap to be taken calmly or in despair. But as soon as we compare any one of these conceptions with Jesus' words on the subject, it becomes obvious how differently he speaks. \ — Romano Guardini, The Lord

On the fifth Sunday of Lent, we hear about the raising of Lazarus. This is the last of the three Scrutinies undertaken by the Elect - those who will be received into full communion with the Church during the Easter Vigil. The scrutinies guide the Elect into a deeper understanding of repentance and belief.

First, Christ is the living water to the Samaritan woman at the well.

Second, Christ is the true light of the world, bringing sight to the man born blind.

Finally, today: Christ is the resurrection and the life.

In each of these encounters with the Lord, the individual is permanently changed. The Samaritan woman returns to her village and urges others to come and see this man who knew everything about her. The Lord remains with them, and many come to believe. The man born blind progresses from simple facts - I was once was blind, and now I see - to possibilities - He is a prophet and finally, to adoration: Lord, I believe.

Lazarus moves from life to death, and into life again. The Lord has raised others: the daughter of Jairus, the widow’s son. The former is in the intimate surroundings of her bedroom - she is only asleep, he says. The second is almost nonchalant - the young man is raised almost in passing, as the Lord and his followers encounter the procession of the bier at the city’s gates.

But Lazarus is raised before a great crowd in the Lord’s final miracle before entering Jerusalem. Moreover, Jesus deliberately waited before returning and did not mince words with his followers: Lazarus is dead, not “asleep,” like the young girl.

By the time he returns to Bethany, four days have passed since his friend was laid in the tomb. The sisters of Lazarus are mourning: Lord, if only you had been here. Jesus is deeply moved; he weeps. He orders the stone removed, prays to his Father, and calls to Lazarus “in a loud voice.”

…behind the visible event, deep in the last recesses of the spirit, rages a battle…It is against the enemy of salvation that Jesus warns. Christ conquers death by conquering him to reigns in death: Satan. And he does not vanquish by magic, nor by superior spiritual force, but simply by being what he is: invulnerable to the root and vital through and through. He is life itself, that life which is grounded in perfect love to the Father. This is Jesus' strength \ — Romano Guardini, The Lord

Here there is no subtle progression, only a sudden reversal. Lazarus emerges from the tomb, still wrapped in his burial cloths.

The distractions of this world count for nothing in the face of this final, ultimate truth. Death, as Guardini writes, is not something that is simply tacked on to our life, but rather the direct outcome of the sort of live we live. In the act of our dying, a condition that is already present in our sinful nature asserts itself but which nevertheless should not exist. The totality of our disordered existence is made manifest in a single moment.

…Thou shalt lie down\ With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,\ The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,\ Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,\ All in one mighty sepulchre. \ — William Cullen Bryant, Thanatopsis (ll. 34-38)

To live a life of faith in Christ is to deny mortality the final word on the matter. The path to that blessed assurance leads first through Gethsemane and Golgotha.

Lazarus himself largely fades from view afterward but the word of his raising quickly spreads, one of the main reasons for Jesus causing such a commotion on entering Jerusalem a few days later. He is welcomed by jubilant crowds who will ultimately call for his execution.

Filled with the power of the Spirit, he hastens to be alone. There in the deep silence of the wilderness, in prayer and fasting, the storm within him swings itself still; and when temptation comes, it is not repulsed by struggle, but seems to ricochet effortlessly against the invulnerability of freedom sprung from divine necessity. Then Jesus begins his task. \ — Romano Guardini, The Lord

From the Gospel reading on the first Sunday of Lent: following his baptism by John in the Jordan, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the desert to fast and pray for forty days. Having entered the wilderness to fetch us back from exile, as St. Ambrose writes, the Lord contends with the master of the world. He is tempted three times.

The first and second temptations - squarely aimed at appetite and ego - are both met with responses from Deuteronomy: One does not live by bread alone and You shall worship the Lord, your God, and him alone shall you serve. The Law given to the Israelites is repeated by the Word which has fulfilled it.

The final attempt comes with a sense of desperation: a direct challenge, and an appeal to scripture as well:If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from this high place, for it is written that the angels will guard you, lest you so much as dash your foot against a rock? Marvel at this: even the Devil can quote scripture when it suits him. “If you are the Son of God,” he says, daring Him to prove it.

Jesus again responds with the words of the Law: you shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.

First: our senses and ego. Later: self-doubt and second-guessing. Our senses and appetites are not bad, for by these we know the world and desire things that are good. Introspection and self-examination are also good, inasmuch as they provide a means for improvement. Even so, this is where the adversary will meet us. Small shortcuts here and there, complete with rationalization. Or later on, self-doubt which causes us to either shrink from the moment or rush headlong in, driven by vanity. We will be tempted. Many times, we will fail. But sometimes we will not fail. Sometimes we will take a tiny step towards our perfection.

In neither case are we alone in the desert, however empty it may seem.

The ascent of the Easter mount is the by far the most serious and difficult climb the Christian will find in the liturgical year. This is in keeping with the fact that Easter is the high point of the entire year, the pivot on which our holy faith depends; for the resurrection of Christ was the greatest of His miracles and most strongly substantiated His claim that He was the Son of God. As St. Paul said, “if Christ be not risen again, then is our preaching vain, and your faith also vain” (1 Cor. 15:14). More than anything else, the resurrection clearly and conclusively demonstrates that the dead Christ on the cross on Good Friday was God, and thus corroborated all His teachings as to the redemption of mankind and the institution of the one true Church. \ — Rev. Bernard Strasser, O.S.B., With Christ Through the Year

After tonight we part ways with the sensual, pagan world for awhile. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. We follow Christ into the desert for 40 days, fasting and praying with Him, spending Passiontide in preparation for the great feast of Easter. This is a time of thought and reflection, prayer and almsgiving, penitence and patience. At the far end of this journey lies the Upper Room, the Cross, and further still, the empty tomb.

In the special way particular to this season, we will enter most deeply into the Paschal mysteries, recapitulating the entire history of salvation. We will follow the Master on the road to Jerusalem, welcome him as the Messiah, and then join the crowd to call for his death. There is a place for us to stand at every step along the way.

The Gospel reading for today (Mark 5:1-20) is the story of the Gadarene swine.

A man is tormented by unclean spirits, wandering throughout “the tombs.” He threatens others and himself. Attempts to bind him are unsuccessful. These spirits recognize the approaching Lord, and drive the man forward to fall at the feet of Jesus. Spare us, they beg, for we know who you are. We are Legion, there are many of us. He commands the spirits to enter a nearby herd of swine, which are driven to madness, plunging off of a cliff and into the sea.

A crowd gathers at the commotion and meets the man, now well. He is calmly sitting, dressed and in his “right mind.” Witnesses relay what has happened to the onlookers. Greatly disturbed at the events, the crowd implores Jesus to depart. The restored man, for his part, pleads for the Lord to “remain with him.”

But Jesus would not permit him but told him instead,\ “Go home to your family and announce to them\ all that the Lord in his pity has done for you.”\ Then the man went off and began to proclaim in the Decapolis\ what Jesus had done for him; and all were amazed.

This curious ending catches my attention. Rather than the usual instruction to “tell no one,” the restored man is explicitly told to go and proclaim what has happened. Unclean spirits, torment, and disease are types (used in the scriptural sense) of sin. An encounter with the Lord restores this man and rids him of his disorder. Now calm and brought back to right reason, the man rightly wants to remain with the Lord, maybe indefinitely. How can he be blamed? Who hasn’t experienced moments of love and belonging so profound that we wished they could stretch to an eternity? God has other plans. This restoration is to drive us to move purposefully along our true road. He returns to community, leaving the dead behind for the living, proclaiming what the Lord has done for him.

We are to be active rather than static. The freedom given to us is freedom to choose to move in the directions God has knitted into our very being.

Jesus came with his disciples into the house.\ Again the crowd gathered, making it impossible for them even to eat.\ When his relatives heard of this they set out to seize him,\ for they said, “He is out of his mind.”\ — Mk 3:20-21, Saturday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time

In brief, here are two reactions of the world to the Christian life fully lived. In the first, the crowd gathers, hungry to be near him. Perhaps they came as many did, for physical healing, or out of simple curiosity. Word has doubtlessly spread of this healer who spoke with a strange, new authority. Those from afar are drawn near. His relatives - those closest to him - respond differently. Something is clearly wrong. At best, he is unwell; at worst, possessed by a devil. There is a hint of scandal.

We easily notice interruptions in patterns. An intentionally Christian life is an interruption in the current of the world, an eddy which lives in the stream but gyres and wends its own way. Attention is caught, interest piqued.

How do we, react in the face of witness which challenges us? Do we examine the person, impute motives, tidily categorize, rationalize, dismiss? God speaks to us through others, in their words and actions, even if the other may not fully realize his own participation. We ought to have the ears to listen and the eyes to see.

There may be occasion for us to bear Christian witness in word or deed. If the attention turns to us, what then? How well do we bear the scrutiny? Do we invite or repel? Do we smooth things over, quick to resume our place in the pattern, or do we stand fast?

…human action is a part of time, and when its hour has passed, the act is also a thing of the past. With Jesus it was different. He was man and God in one, and what he did was the result not only of his human will and temporal decision, but also of his divine and eternal will. Thus his action was not merely part of transitory time, but existed simultaneously in eternity. — Romano Guardini, The Lord

Msgr. Guardini is writing about the mysterium fidei – the unfathomable mystery of the Eucharist. What could I possibly add to all that has been said? The words of institution stand on their own, and cannot suffer interpretation or mental gymnastics that allow us to do anything else but take them as they are: literally. Here is no mere symbol or tidy metaphor. This is my body, this is my blood. Did those around him understand? Possibly no better than we do, and probably less than we do, as the Advocate had not yet descended. Even so, the mind fails in attempts to truly understand, and thus: the Paschal mystery. At most, we can listen, approach, and trust. This will suffice.

So many prayers and hymns have been written about the Eucharist - the Anima Christi, Pange Lingua. It’s the Canticle of Simeon, the Nunc Dimitis, that comes to my mind in those moments after receiving. My eyes have indeed seen him under the appearance of bread and wine, exactly according to his word:

Now Thou dost dismiss Thy servant, O Lord, according to Thy word in peace;\ Because my eyes have seen Thy salvation,\ Which Thou hast prepared before the face of all peoples:\ A light to the revelation of the Gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel.

The Gospel reading (Mark 3:1-6) tells the last of a series of encounters between the Lord and the Pharisees in Caparnaum. He has healed a paralytic, dined with sinners, forgiven sins, and – in their eyes – profaned the Sabbath. Their reaction has changed from awe, to anger, and finally, to conspiracy with others in common cause. The final straw was the restoration of a man’s withered hand. The law allowed for the saving of a life on the Sabbath, but this man was not in imminent danger.

The Lord, knowing their thoughts puts the question to them: is it lawful to do good or evil on the Sabbath? His response to their silence is to heal the man with a word. So intent were they on catching a violation of the rule, it escaped notice that the very source (and fulfillment) of the Law stood before them.

The tools of piety are not ends in themselves. They should point the way to the true end, or they threaten to imprison us by our own shortsightedness. Focusing too closely on minutiae risks trapping us in an endless feedback loop of examination and correction. Like the Pharisees, we will ultimately be unable to pin down the Son of Man, however purely are intentions began before descending into a madness of our own making. He will not find the way out - He is the way out, and we have but to conform ourselves to his will to follow.

It is better to remain silent and to be than to talk and not be. Teaching is good if the speaker also acts. Now there was one teacher who “spoke, and it was made,” and even what he did in silence was worthy of the Father. He who has the word of Jesus can truly listen also to his silence, in order to be perfect, that he may act through his speech and be known by his silence. Nothing is hidden from the Lord, but even our secrets are close to him. Let us then do everything in the knowledge that he is dwelling within us that we may be his temples, and he God within us. He is, and will reveal himself, in our sight, according to the love we bear him in holiness.\ — Saint Ignatius of Antioch, bishop and martyr

Seek silence within and without. Within, to still the voice that carries our attention away from Him. Without, to find ourselves, however briefly, in the deserted places where he used to go to pray. Then we too can echo Samuel: Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.

It is not easy today. Perhaps it has never been easy to find silence. Parents of children certainly know this. We crave silence to gather our thoughts, and rest for a while in the knowledge that the littlest ones are in bed asleep. For a moment, we can relax our guard. Sleep will be after us soon as well, but until then…night moves through its courses and all things are in silence.

Where we live, the nighttime stillness is broken only by the occasional passing car. When the wind is right, we can hear trains in the distance. Sometimes a dog from the farm next door. Owls. The occasional riot of coyotes passing through the fields and woods. I remember holding a baby in the small hours of the night and longing to get back into bed. Then I thought about the Trappists at the monastery in Conyers, who were preparing to start their day with Matins. Their silence was being broken by softly-chanted psalms.

As Creation imperfectly reflects the One who made it, its sounds can let us hear Him, and maybe loudest of all in moments of silence amidst praise.

Woe to me if I say “I am a Christian” – possibly with a side-glance at others who in my opinion are not, or at an age that is not or at a cultural tendency flowing in the opposite direction. Then my so-called Christianity threatens to become nothing but a religious form of self-affirmation. I “am” not a Christian; I am on the way to becoming one – if God will give me the strength. Christianity is nothing one can “have”; nor is it a platform from which to judge others. It is a movement. I can become a Christian only as long as I am conscious of the possibility of falling away…The real danger is that of becoming within myself unchristian, and it is greatest when my will is most sure of itself. I have absolutely no guarantee that I shall be privileged to remain a follower of Christ save in the manner of beginning, of being en route, of becoming, trusting, hoping and praying.\ — Roman Guardini, The Lord

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.\ — Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

Polemic is the order of the day. Thoughtful discourse is abased by a microsecond culture. The immediacy of communication incites a concomitant urge to respond in kind, and bereft of meaningful, authentic human contact as a touchstone for empathy, we have created a subhuman storm of whispers. Any feeling or notion can find immediate confirmation, and where can this help but lead? We are like ships, navigating by lights we carry with us, rather than looking outside of ourselves to a fixed point of reference.

As Christians, we trust because we know God will not test us beyond our strengths. Likewise, we must beware, for the greatest obstacles to salvation are the walls that we pile up on our own, out of our misplaced passions or secret vanities. We can indeed find comfort in Truth, and fly there for refuge. What we cannot do is let comfort become complacency. Scripture is clear on what is to be expected of those to whom much is given.

Lord, keep us ever mindful of who we are, what we are about, and inspire in us humilitas et caritas. Rescue us from the cells we have built for ourselves and help us to remember with kindness our fellow prisoners.