Open Wide the Doors for Christ!

Part of the struggle of bringing Catholic social doctrine to the public sphere (to a great extent, what the Tertio program that I just returned from, was looking at) is the fact that our world is much less receptive to rational, nature-based, arguments than ever before.  Pope Benedict called this the dictatorship of relativism, but quite simply (if tragically) this is the "anything goes" mentality which rejects any objective, unchanging, everybody-can-figure-it-out, truth for a world based on "your truth" and "my truth".  Well, it's pretty simple, if you don't have an objective truth to mutually rely on, you really can't have a discussion: if you don't have any common ground, you can't have a conversation.  So what do we do when rational discussion breaks down?  How do we bring Christ's truth to the world?

I was discussing this with one of the Sisters of Life who were also attending the seminar, and she grinned when I brought up this question, and said "we just have to be martyrs!"  It was an answer I should have known, but it was one that led to a lot of thinking, and praying about, over the following weeks.  We talked about the exact same thing in our small-group discussions; how do we bring the truth of the Gospel to our modern, anti-Gospel, world?  The answer was hanging above our heads, where the crucifix showed us how Christ brought the Gospel to His anti-Gospel world; He didn't argue that God is love, He showed it.

We, of course, have to do the same thing.  And folks, these times where the anti-Gospel is so rampant, allow us to do just that - to proclaim with our lives, with our witness [martyras/μάρτυρας in the Greek], the truth of the Gospel.  People aren't convinced anymore by rational argument - fine - show them that the Gospel is true because your life is evidence for it.  Show them that following the truth of Christ isn't bondage, but freedom, not oppression  but joy.  And here's the key point that I wanted to make in this post: this is exactly the approach we need to take in the (so attacked today) realm of respect for life.  We must show the world that every human person deserves our respect and love by giving that respect and love to every human person.  It's easy to rally in support of the unborn - they're defenseless, yet we mercilessly, pointlessly, atrociously, murder them, that is an injustice that drives us to act.  It's "easy", in this sense, to show our love for the unborn (even if not socially beneficial nowadays), but what about when love is hard?  Our Lord calls us to "love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" - when was the last time you showed your love publicly for an enemy? Do we go out of our way to show love for those in Planned Parenthood who were recently exposed for selling the body parts of aborted babies?  What they did was unthinkable (though the logical, utilitarian, conclusion from legalized abortion), but how much time have you spent praying for them?  What about the ISIS-attacker, who recently assaulted (and nearly murdered) a tourist at the Colosseum?  What about the gay-marriage activists who have recently won the federal right for two men or women to marry each other?  We may be similarly repulsed by these evils, but does it drive us to love or hatred towards the persons committing them?  

Not for one instant am I saying that what these individuals have done is morally right.  Abortion is wrong because it is the destruction of human life (and selling body parts from that is tantamount to cannibalism), ISIS-executions are wrong for the same reasons (and so many others), and "gay"-marriage is wrong because it not only hurts any children that couple would raise, but destroys the fundamental element, purpose, and structure of society, and goes against one of God's first commands, to "be fruitful and multiply" (besides going against His creation itself: they're called "reproductive" organs for a reason).  What we should realize though is that all these terrible actions are rooted in a fundamental misunderstanding, or ignoring, of human dignity.  Murder and homosexual actions are wrong because human life is sacred, and we cannot destroy, or redefine, what God has created in His image.  But, here's the big point, we must not forget that innate sacredness, that made-in-God's-image, that ability to give and receive love, that is ours as human persons, in our outrage at rejections of that dignity.  Our reaction to sins against the human person must not lead us to commit sins against different human persons (the perpetrators of the original evils).  

To hatred, we must respond with love.  To a rejection of God, we must respond with prayer.  To oppression, we must respond with solidarity.  To terrorism, we must respond with charity.  This is as much of a challenge for me as it is for any of you I suppose.  The difficulty lies in hating sin, but loving the sinner, in making reparation for evil, but interceding for evil-doers.  It has nothing to do with being push-overs, but if we take Christ as our model, we see that love must be our answer, to those who love us, and those who don't.  Not a weak, "luv", but the greatest love: of laying down one's life for another (and his eternal life).  Only this kind of love will convert hearts to Christ because only this kind of love truly mirrors to the world the love of Christ. 

Story: It is the end of July, 1941, in Auschwitz, and the Nazi's choose 10 individuals at random to die as a punishment for the escape of three of their fellow prisoners.  Fr. Maximilian Kolbe steps forwards and offers to go in place of another man who had cried out upon being chosen for this terrible death (starvation and dehydration in an underground cell).  The shocked Nazi official authorizes the swap, and the 10 men march off to their deaths.  Two weeks later, having sung hymns or knelt in prayer for most of that horrendous time, Fr. Kolbe is still alive and is killed with an injection of carbolic acid.  The guards place his body in a coffin and cremate it.  St. Maximilian Kolbe is an amazing example of love, but not only for the man who's place he took, but also for the guards who he prayed for, and surrendered to, even after they had tortured him, and then sent him to this excruciating death.  That love had an effect!  Not only did Franciszek Gajowniczek (the one whose place was taken by Kolbe) get to return to his family after WWII, but even the Nazi guards, seeing that incredible witness of Christ-like love, were moved to place his body in a coffin and respectfully carry it to the cremating ovens.  That was the only time in Auschwitz that we know of a "respectful" burial, and those guards did that because they saw something different in Kolbe, they saw love in the midst of hatred, grace in the midst of hell, a saint in the midst of sin.  

We're called to that same witness, that same courageous love, which doesn't attack evil with evil, but displaces it with the greater power of charity.  We may not convince the world with our arguments, but we will with our Christ-driven, and given, love.  In a world of great sin, saints are all the more visible.  

"By this all men will know that you are My disciples, 

if you have love for one another." 

- John 13:35 - 

As promised, here's the second half of my experience as subdeacon, and how it forced me to do some serious discernment and deepening of my relationship with God.

On Holy Saturday morning, myself and my brother headed over to St. Rose to practice for the Easter Vigil that we would both be assisting at that evening (him as MC, myself as subdeacon).  I won't go into the whole practice, because that would be really repetitive once I explained the liturgy itself, but it was a moment of resignation to God's Will.  Now that I had been subdeacon once, at the Good Friday liturgy the day

I practiced chanting a bit that afternoon, trying to smooth out the transitions between words and make sure I knew the starting note, cadence, emphasis, and other important details.  It took several run-through's before I got through the entire thing without mis-pronouncing, or mis-singing something, but by that evening I was feeling reasonably confident that I wouldn't completely mess them up.  I spent plenty of time hanging out with my cousins - playing outside, chatting, struggling through some Mario Kart - and we had several delicious meals (thanks mom!), and around 9:30 PM we all headed over for the vigil Mass.

What struck me was that the whole experience wasn't nearly as daunting and overwhelming as I thought it would be.  For Good Friday I thought that being subdeacon would be incredibly difficult, and it wasn't easy by any means, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought.  On Holy Saturday, again, I thought that things would be impossible - complex, tricky, important, uncomfortable - and, again, it wasn't easy, I certainly had to throw myself out there, learn to do new things, push myself out of my comfort zone, but it wasn't really all that bad.  I didn't quite enjoy myself, but I started to see the positives and not the negatives, how the experience was leading me to grow, to giving myself more to others, to abandon myself a bit more to God.  Certainly God's grace was working!  

The ceremony began with the blessing of the Paschal candle and the Exultet, during which my only task was to hold the crucifix - a simple task, but one that became taxing on the arms after 20 minutes or so.  I was already vested in tunicle, amice, and alb - which was a bit less unpleasant than on Good Friday, but still felt weird - and what kept going through my head was the fact that I would soon have to chant one of the four lessons (going through salvation history).  As it always seems to happen, time kept going forward, and eventually the Exultet finished, I set the cross down, and the readings started.  I had a few more minutes before mine (while the first two were chanted), but then had to step up to the ambo, take a deep breath, and start chanting.  I was nervous, and sweating, and afraid, but the first word came out pretty well and then everything just flowed smoothly until the end (like a minute later).  Following that - summarizing a lot - I eventually got the cross again, we had the blessing of the baptismal water, the renewal of baptismal promises, the second half of the litanies, and then Easter Mass!  Unfortunately, most of the Mass I was concerned with what I had to do next, so I wasn't paying too much attention, but it was a beautiful, exciting, joyous ceremony.  Simplifying things greatly, I basically followed the deacon's cues on where to stand/move and the only exceptional things that I did were to chant the epistle (thankfully it was short, I started on a note that I could hold throughout, and I held the melody throughout - success again!  Thank you God!) and hold the paten during the canon and consecration (another somewhat awkward moment, but one that brought me closer to Christ as I knelt there and adored my risen savior in the Eucharist).  The rest of Mass spun along as usual - I didn't invalidate anything, or light anything on fire, or otherwise make too many mistakes - and then the triumphant closing hymn began and we processed out.  

Looking back, I have just begun to see the positives of the whole experience.  Of course, as I think I've been emphasizing (probably too much), being subdeacon was hard.  Not so much in the sense that what I did was difficult, even the chanting wasn't terribly scary, but I just didn't feel ready to step into that role, to put on the amice, and tunicle, and beretta.  I think I was scared of the reminder that the whole experience evoked in me of what I was in seminary for - to become a priest - and that ordination is a (God-willing) fast-approaching reality.  Ordination, now 4 years out (if everything goes as usual) is something that I don't think about too much - it's scary, it's putting myself totally in God's service, it's a commitment to live like Christ, which is audacious, incredible, beautiful, and terrifying - but being subdeacon reminded me of that eventual goal.  It put me in a position much closer to the priest than ever before; I had a part in the liturgy unlike "just" serving or reading.  However, by offering up the whole ordeal/experience to Christ, I was able to bring myself a bit closer to Him, to more deeply love Him at least a little bit (especially because it was during the triduum).  I guess I see the whole experience as a sort of Good Friday or Holy Saturday.  Obviously, it was nothing like the suffering and death of Our Lord, but it did involve a bit of suffering and dying to self, something that always seems necessary for holiness.  But something that I have come to realize is that in being subdeacon - certainly it was hard, it was death to self - but it was also Easter, it was also a moment that God filled with grace.  The Paschal mystery is all about how God bring good out of evil - specifically the greatest good of salvation out of the worst evil, the death of Jesus.  Through the smidgen of suffering and fear that I endured in being subdeacon, He brought me closer to Himself.  God made me realize that being a priest entails precisely this kind of laying down of my life for God and for all of His children.  You know what, seminary is a lot of fun, even during finals week (right now) there's a camaraderie and excitement to being with all the other guys and knocking out finals together.  Seminary is about turning yourself over to Christ, but it doesn't hurt all that much usually.  Being subdeacon wasn't much fun, I really, really, didn't want to do it.  Yet, in doing it, I was brought closer to Christ than in doing the hard things (that are fun) in seminary.  Those moments allowed me to realize things that I hadn't thought about during many hours in prayer, the hardest of finals, or my favorite passages of Scripture.

Yeah, so in conclusion I guess I learned to trust more in God.  Not only that He would get me through doing hard and fearful things, but that He is capable of bringing great good out of things that I can't find good in, or I find very difficult.  Reliance on God - it's easy to think about and hard to live out, but such is the goal of sanctity.  Jesus I trust in You!

Of all my classes, probably my least favorite (at this point) is Introduction to Theology.  Unfortunately, it seems to be a very basic introduction to Christian theology, and while it's probably great for the person who doesn't know about Christ or the Christian faith, for me it's a bit basic, and just not Catholic enough.  It is also my first class on Monday, so I have an even greater reason to - you know - not look forward to it.  So that was my way of thinking about it when getting ready to go to class this morning; however, I have been trying to see things in a more positive light (seeing the glass half full)  - I guess accepting everything as God's will for me and giving it my best effort.  So, I was happily surprised to easily find two things to take away from class today.

The first example occurred when we were talking about faith and how it can change and mature over time.  Surprisingly the teacher began by talking about St. Bernard of Clairvaux's Four Degrees [Stages] in the Love of God.  Namely, 1: love of self, 2: love of God for what God can do for us, 3: love of God for God's own sake, and 4: standing in God's love, so that one loves as God loves.  Now, I'm not going to even try to delve into the spiritual depth of these stages (I am sure that St. Bernard would be appalled by the summarized way I rattled them off), but I was happily surprised to find them in this particular theology class and I will now have to look further into them.

The second thing that I found positive this morning was the teacher's question on why we run to God upon experiencing evil (in one form or another) and not when we see something good.  I'm kind of extrapolating here, but why do we tend to ignore God until we run into something bad, and only then start looking for Him?  Shouldn't we look for, and thank God, when we find something good?  I mean God created the good, not the bad - shouldn't we be thankful?  I thought it was a good question, and, once again, will have to think about it more later.

There you have it; two positive things I took out of theology class.  (I guess I should thank God for them - time to start counting my blessings...)