Ubi Petrus

We find ourselves today standing in the glow of the news of the Resurrection so brilliantly proclaimed just two days ago on Easter Sunday, a truth so incredible it takes us eight days to say it and fifty days to celebrate it.  Eight days for the Octave of Easter in which we now find ourselves, which reverberates with the echoes of the seemingly incomprehensible news that not only has the Messiah come, but he has come as one of us; not only has he come as one of us but he even went so far as to die for us; that not only did he die for us but he has risen just as he said – risen not only as a ghost but with his wounded body intact and indeed glorified.  Let us take the time this eight days, this fifty days, to allow these truths – these mysteries – to sink in not only to our hearts but our heads.

Surrexit Dominus, alleluia, alleluia!
Surrexit Dominus vere, alleluia, alleluia!

There have been about a half a gazillion (no you’re right, probably more) posts made since Pope Francis was elected to the Seat of Peter.  I want desperately to love this man, and there are many many reasons to do so.  His genuineness, his affability, his deep love for the poor, his orthodoxy, his deep reverence for the Eucharist – all of these things are readily obvious right on the surface of this man.  Though I do not recall him first-hand, I’m told he reminds many of Pope John Paul I particularly in how he smiles so frequently (ironic given the rather spurious stories passed around about him that some thought he never smiled).

There is just one thing that keeps sticking for me though.  Every time I watch him at Mass or any liturgical function he opts for the lowest denominator in dress.  Yes, I’m really that shallow, but we’ll get there in a minute – you can put the stick down for now.  You see I live in a world almost bereft of beauty.  Aside from my wife and my children – who are, without a doubt, jewels of the finest grade – so much of the rest of my life is dull compounded upon dreary tied together with plain.  As a software engineer I live in a world of zeros and ones – even as a performance engineer my days are surrounded by numbers, facts, statistics, algorithms and data structures, all of which have the beauty and elegance of a clod of dirt.  Beauty simply does not enter into the daily equation.

Similarly I haven’t the slightest hint of artistic abilities – I can’t paint, draw, sketch, sing or play an instrument (okay so I can make a few notes on a trumpet but that’s the extent of it).  My wife can make crafts of dazzling beauty and does so almost without a thought, but me, yeah, I can draw a straight line if the ruler is taped to the page.  Beauty, being one of the Transcendentals, is something for which we as humans were made by God to long for, along with Truth and Goodness.  The latter two I can pull off on my own in studies and attempting to do good works as inspired by the Lord but Beauty no, sorry, that one I have to look outside for.

I’ve tried appreciating fine wines (that is way too expensive for me and takes many years to properly develop the palate), baking (yeah, uh, every other loaf I bake is pretty decent but certainly not Beautiful), I’ve even tried classics of literature.  They are all interesting, but none of them holds the unspeakable potential of the Mass.  And I’m not just talking about your average run-of-the-mill parish Mass with decent singing of hymns that were hip and trendy at the same time as the first go-round of bell bottoms, altar servers who on occasion have to get a nudge to actually watch what’s going on and vestments with all the artistic qualities of a blank canvas (who ever thought a solid-colored chasuble with zero ornamentation was a good idea anyway?).  I’m talking about a Mass where you have to stop yourself and even the atheist admits, “these people are serious about what they’re doing.”

If I wanted – nay, needed – to experience something truly beautiful in these past years a Mass with Pope Benedict XVI was never that far away.  Not only was there almost bound to be distinct precision by the servers but harmony throughout.  For those who think I’m picking an aesthetic nit, the precision and harmony in the movements by the servers should instantly remind you of the actions of the angels ministering in Heaven.  I have no doubt the angels are not twirling their cincture around their finger when bringing our gifts to God’s altar in heaven.

Wondering which ancient vestment the Holy Father would be wearing was always more than just a touch exciting.  The vestments were so very often themselves a study in theology written in brocade and cloth – no space was wasted in telling the story of some part of our Salvation.  Even his change of crosier from that used by Popes Paul VI and John Paul II was a study in history.  The one thing all these did though was proclaim, “God is near, God is real, He has done everything for you – do everything for Him“.  Look at some of the ancient vestments he wore, contemplate the fact they took months – or longer! – for someone to make.  Even though some of the vestments didn’t fit him just right (let’s face it, not every Pope has had the same body – just look at John XIII and John Paul II as simple examples) they all cried out “there is nothing not worth doing for God, no matter how uncomfortable“.  Even more so, “there is no such thing as too much when it comes to God“.

There is no such thing as too much when it comes to God.

Look at Christ beaten and crucified and say, “this is too much for you” or “that is too much for you”.  It’s incongruous – one simply does not fit with the other.

All you who tell me that I am worked up over nothing, or that I should appreciate simplicity, I beg you to simply mentally spend a few moments in my proverbial shoes.  You want to tell me I’m obsessing over trivialities that’s fine, I readily admit I am a small, weak and sinful man worried far too much about many things of little consequence – I’m not exactly likely to be written into an extended version of the Lives of the Saints.  But if you want to tell me of your deep abiding love for the poor inspired by simplicity, I only ask you to have a little pity for those who are poor in beauty.  That vestment that sighed at and its deep and long history might well have been the greatest glimpse into the beauty of Heaven some of us are likely to see any time soon.  Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me a sinner.

I’ll get back to the MMQB series shortly, but I only have a smidge of time to write something that’s buzzing in my head since Mass this morning.  In the first reading this morning we hear from the 2 Kings 5:1-15, the story of Naaman the Syrian leper who is cured by Elisha.  The problem is, Naaman doesn’t like what Elisha tells him he has to do to be cured (simply wash seven times in the Jordan) and goes away angry.  Only after counsel (and, I’d have to guess uninvited counsel at that) from his servants does Naaman do as Elisha told him and is indeed cured of the leprosy.

What was the problem with what Elisha had told Naaman to do?  It was not that it was too strenuous a request – indeed the problem was quite the opposite. ““My father,” they said, “if the prophet had told you to do something extraordinary, would you not have done it? All the more now, since he said to you, ‘Wash and be clean,’ should you do as he said.” (2 Kings 5:13)  The problem was not that he was requested to do something too difficult, too severe – the problem was that he was asked to do something entirely too simple, so simple in fact that his pride was insulted and he went away angry.

For all the kibbutzing we do about how hard it can be to be a good Catholic (and let’s face it, we all do at some point or another) it’s really a very simple request – as I posted yesterday, it all boils down to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” (Lk 10:27)  I know I, for my part, would rather be given some high, grandiose and seemingly impossible task to do – something I could really sink my teeth into and use as obvious inspiration like that mountain peak still afar off.  Being asked the difficult and even the impossible appeals to our egos and if we’re asked for something simple it seems like a letdown, and sometimes just like Naaman we walk away angry or at least disinterested.  But God isn’t after our egos, he’s after our hearts – expecting him to entice the former rather than the latter is the way of the devil.

So c’mon, I dare you (and, yeah, me) to try that seemingly too simple to bother thing to which Jesus has called us.  Love.  With your whole heart, all your soul, and all your strength.  You might find that it takes just a wee bit more work than washing seven times in the Jordan, and the end result won’t just be a body free of leprosy but a soul free to soar to the heights of unimaginable bliss.

I remember to this day watching the ceremonies after the death of Pope John Paul II and wondering just who in the world could possibly take on the role of Pope after this man.  He was, of course, the only Pope I’d known and he seemed to fill the fisherman’s shoes in a way so unique as to be unrepeatable.  I’d made my way through many of his Papal writings and admittedly struggled at times to hold in tension all the various points he made in his particularly spiral logic, circling ever closer to the truth that was at the center.  I think it even effected how I wrote some papers in college, most likely to the chagrin of some of my professors.

If you were willing, and able, to keep up with John Paul II’s logic as it worked its way to a conclusion you would be rewarded with an incredibly in-depth understanding of whatever issue it was he was writing on.  As someone who truly enjoys wringing every last aspect out of a question I felt right at home with this writing style.  Yet simultaneously by the time I was done wrangling my way through his dense prose I was, simply, exhausted.  His writings could be incredibly profound but yet also incredibly exhausting.  A part of me knew the average Joe out there simple did not either care enough nor have the patience to wade through his works to understand why the prevailing public opinion was so often misinformed.

Then I listened to the homily at the funeral, delivered by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, and saw an entirely different way of portraying the truth.  He was simple without being simplistic, humble in a way that you could almost feel.  I’d heard some about this man over the years and the fact that he was disliked intensely by all the right people lent him a certain credibility in my book.  But this man, this “God’s Rottweiler” as he was called, stood there simple, humble and meek.  Was this the same man?  I knew then and there that he was going to be elected the next Pope.

Being the bookworm I am I simply had to start digging into his writings.  I had, of course, no idea just how voluminous they were – this could be a project I will never finish in my lifetime.  The very first book of his that I read was his The Spirit of the Liturgy.  It was incredibly well-researched yet without the dryness or pomposity that can come from the very well-read.  In my insufficiently humble opinion nobody should venture to talk about the Liturgy without having gone through this book at least once; even if you don’t agree with everything he writes you simply owe it to yourself and to the Church to wrestle the points with someone who has an intense interest in the topic.

From there I went on to read his Introduction to Christianity.  Expecting (remember, the word in the title is “Introduction”) a broad but shallow introduction to many topics of the faith I was simply unprepared for the depth and technical precision of this work.  Some days I struggled to barely make it through a couple of pages in my short available reading time.  By the end of the book however I was incredibly glad to have put in the time to make my way through it.

I now have a good chunk of a shelf full of his books, from Salt of the Earth to the Jesus of Nazareth trilogy including the last work and yet I have only barely begun to scratch the surface of his writings.  He inspired me to subscribe to Communio, which with the first installment I received helped me to realize just how little I really know both on the technical topic of theology in general and Catholic theology in specific.  That was a dose of humility I definitely needed.

I could go on and on about how this Pope has changed the way I look at Liturgy, the Church, humanity and even God Himself (let’s face it, who was expecting his first writing as Pope to be on such a simple topic as Deus Caritas Est – “God is Love”).  I think, above all, he has taught me one very valuable lesson – without love all the intellectual firepower in the world is ultimately useless.  This is a man who could write and speak circles around just about anyone on topics of theology and philosophy but yet remained humble and loving enough to teach in a way that often makes you just say “oh, of course, that should have been obvious to me all along”.  Writing that now makes me realize that it does, indeed, all come down to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” (Lk 10:27)  Perhaps the best way to give thanks to God for blessing us with this man as Priest, Bishop, Cardinal and Pope is to take up again and anew that call.

Thank you Papa Bene for your many years of diligent service to the Lord’s Church and indeed all people of the world.  Thank you Lord for the gift of a man with such a loving heart and soaring and gracious intellect.  May we have the humility to be led by his teaching and the love to put others before ourselves and You, Lord, above all.

A rather strong reminder, to me at least, that we must insist on beautiful celebration of the sacraments rather than banal in a vain attempt to seem more relevant.  The beauty in the Liturgy should reflect the beauty in your soul, those two reflecting mutual beauty in a kaleidoscopic rush that cannot but draw others to see what has caused such a wonderful thing to come about.  Beauty – true beauty – is evangelical.

This Sunday we heard probably one of the most quoted parts of the New Testament in St. Paul’s 1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13.  Many of us, myself included, have it as one of the readings for our wedding Mass.  It is both a challenging (“love is patient” as my wife chided me earlier) and comforting (“Love never fails“).  This is such a powerful reading it wold be very easy to focus only on it alone and leave the others in the background, but I believe that would be a mistake.

For the sake of brevity, I’d like to tie this second reading in with just the Gospel reading and leave other connections for later or as work for others.  In fact I’m going to look at just one line from this second reading as it pertains to the Gospel reading.  With luck I can keep that under 1,000 words.

In verse 6 St. Paul tells us, “it [love] does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.”  This also means that sometimes love, to truly be love, is compelled to correct errors on the part of others that they may more fully participate in the joy of truth and love.  Sometimes, in love, we have to tell others what they don’t want to hear.  Our goal must never be purely to make people uncomfortable (for that would be to desire ill for someone which is the polar opposite of love) but rather to help bring them to a more full understanding of the truth which in the end is the only way they will be truly happy.  If you’ll pardon a little bit of an excursion into philosophy, let me elaborate just a smidge.  Aristotle tells us the proper object of the intellect is truth, and the proper object of the will is the good.  Even the most basic Christian teaching tells us that the ultimate truth is God, who is Truth itself, and the ultimate good is God from Whom all good comes.  We are happy to the extent our intellect and will are directed toward their proper ends, so therefore helping another to come closer to this end is, all else being equal, helping them to become happier – even if at this particular moment in time they don’t want to hear it.

In the Gospel Jesus tells those gathered in the synagogue the very truth that “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (Lk 4:21)  The people were, for a time, willing to hear this and take in what he said.  Then, altogether too quickly, questions formed in their minds and they demanded proof.  Not only did Jesus refuse to comply (and why he would refuse is the topic for another time) but he went even further and hinted that their unwillingness to listen and accept in faith what he was saying would result in good news for the Gentiles.  At this they attempted to lead him “to the brow of the hill on which their city was built, that they might throw him down headlong.”

Jesus had just told them that not only was Scripture being fulfilled in their hearing but that they must accept it on faith and that it would redound for good not only to them but to other peoples as well.  Their reaction was not one of willingness to be open to what they were hearing – they tried to kill him!  Sometimes no matter how great, how wonderful, the news is we might have to share with others they just simply aren’t going to want to hear it because it will mean they have to change somehow, and they might even try to kill us for it.

Think of how many topics in the modern world today we have that could be spliced into this story, where a joyful truth simply explained results in insults and threats.  Gay “marriage”, contraception, abortion, even topics like immigration and a preferential option for the poor all can result in dangerously violent reactions.  Yet we are called, in love, to do just as Jesus did – tell them anyway and allow them to accept or reject the truth.  To decline to help another better understand the truth for fear of ridicule, chastisement or even punishment is to withhold love from the other which is something we as Christians can never do.  If more of us had the courage, and even moreso the love to help others to the truth this world would be a far different place.  Do you love those others in your life enough to draw them to truth and the ultimate happiness which results?  Even if they might object for a time?  “A servant is not greater than his master.” (Jn 15:20)

This would be a great video to open any catechetical session on the Mass, both for young kids as well as older and even for sessions with adults.  The great variety of views and accents of the various speakers are also a great witness to the true universality, the catholicity of our Church.

Something rather odd struck me at the Gospel reading this past Sunday, during which we heard the story of the Wedding Feast at Cana.  After Jesus changes the water into wine he has the servants take some to the headwaiter who then says something that must have been rather disturbing to the bridegroom, “Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now.” (Jn 2:10)

Now, in the culture of the time it would have been a serious cultural faux pas for the bridegroom to not have been sure to provide enough wine for all those in the wedding party to last during the week-long celebration.  This was likely, at least partly, the motivation behind Mary’s request to Jesus.  Much theological ink has been spilled over their very brief discussion but what struck me this time was that this poor bridegroom did still get embarrassed, just not in the way that it originally would have happened.  I have to imagine the headwaiter’s comment to the bridegroom as anything better than a backhanded compliment, although I can’t yet seem to find much scholarly input on this particular sentence as everyone tends to focus rather on the miracle Jesus performs and Mary’s intervention.

I’ve been playing over in my mind why this particular point stuck in my head this time and I believe I’ve found it to lie in the fact that I have a particular aversion to public embarrassment and so am always very sensitive to it whenever it comes about even for others.  Looking into this, however, I see something else as well.  Had the bridegroom known of his impending embarrassment he would have sought intervention.  Mary, seeing what the bridegroom did not, interceded on his behalf.  I have the sneaking suspicion however that she didn’t expect exactly the kind of resolution Jesus provided.

You see, most of us, when we ask for God to provide us a way out expect it to be a nice clear stroll through a sunlit meadow.  Sometimes, when it fits His plan, that’s what happens.  Many times, however, because of an understanding that far exceeds our capacity to comprehend, He leaves the brambles and the poison ivy and the pointy little rocks there as well.  Could Jesus have turned this water into a wine that would have made nobody expect anything unusual had happened?  Absolutely.  Could He have done it in a way that never drew anyone’s attention to what had happened?  Of course.  Instead, however, He did what God always does – He not only gave, but He gave completely and to what we could only consider would be excess.  Just as God could have, by virtue of being God, redeemed us by fiat but did not and rather gave us His Son to not only live among us but to die and then rise again from the dead, so Jesus could have given this unsuspecting bridegroom an inferior wine but instead gave him the best of wine despite the momentary discomfort that came with it.

My school teachers always told me I had to have a conclusion paragraph so let me end with this:  despite our most sincere desires and prayers and even the prayers of the saints, God will give us exactly what we need rather than what we want and sometimes what we need isn’t quiet as comfortable as we’d hoped.  God may choose to work an extravagant miracle right before our eyes and we need to be willing to take that miracle for what it is, accept it and act on it even if it doesn’t match up to our expectations.  We must “believe in him” just as His disciples did and trust that He really does know what He is doing.

Well I’m two posts in and I’ve already missed my deadline, but trust me with good reason.  Since it is so late into the week already I’ll keep this one short, which is probably a wise idea anyway.  This past Sunday we heard the story of the visit of the Magi from the Gospel of Matthew (Mt 2:1-12).  I’d like to focus on just one small part of this reading for today.

In Mt 2:3 we read, “When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.”  Given what we know of people in Herod’s position we can likely understand why he would be troubled.  Would this new king unseat him?  Would the rumor of his coming be enough to cause an insurrection?  Would Rome think he had lost control and punish him for it?  All of these things are bad enough to trouble a man holding what was really a tenuous position – lose favor for any reason and he could find himself washing potatoes or worse for the rest of his life.  But notice the second half of the sentence – “and all Jerusalem with him.”

Why would all of Jerusalem be troubled?  After all, this was their long-awaited savior – no matter whether their expectations leaned more to the spiritual or the temporal this would seem to be a cause of joy, not unease.  One thing that is almost unalterable about human nature – we are always at least a little afraid of change.  No matter how bad now feels, at least we know what it is.  This new king would almost inevitably cause significant changes in their lives.  Even if those changes proved to be for the better, it is incredibly easy to get comfortable in what is already now.

I know for me when I come to realize (and I do, over and over again, right before I get SQUIRREL distracted and forget again) that Christ truly is Lord and King along with that realization comes an incredible unease.  Let’s face it, I’m no saint.  But if I’m going to admit to Christ’s Kingship and His right to place demands on my actions and attitude that means I have to change, and not “some day” or “right as soon as I’m done with this” or “as soon as I can get that out of the way”.  Now.  I may be a screw-up, but I’m a fairly “good guy” screw-up.

That, right there, is the modern day trap.  We’re not called to be a “good guy” or “good girl” – we’re called to be saints.  Now that unease that the people in Jerusalem felt hits home.  No matter how good things might become, things were going to have to change.  They were going to have to change.  It’s our choice whether we let that fear overwhelm us or whether we set our own faces like flint and start walking our path toward the Lord, no matter how many times we fail.  Be not afraid!