A Reflection for Holy Week

This year, I was able to come back to New York to spend Holy Week and Easter in my home diocese!

Since I have been busy traveling, attending the Holy Week services, visiting close friends and mentors, praying with the wonderful nuns who graciously invited me to stay at their New York City monastery--and not to mention finishing my thesis!--here is a reprint of my Good Friday post from last year. I actually wrote this when I was a senior in college (in 2008), for an evening of reflection on the “Seven Last Words” at Seton Hall.

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“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” —Mark 15:34

In my mind at least, these words are the very essence of the entire Passion. Even while Jesus’ physical and emotional torments were truly horrible, they are nothing when compared with this, Christ’s spiritual suffering.

God is truly the source and sustainer of everything good. Without Him, even things which we would consider good for their own sake—things like friendship and human sympathy, or natural beauty or artistic accomplishment—are empty and valueless. God is incalculably greater than all that He has made, and He is, ultimately, the only source of all joy.

This is why we are called to love God “with all our heart, and with all our soul, and with all our strength” (cf. Deuteronomy 6:5), because as we grow in our faith God should become everything to us. I believe this is also why thousands of martyrs were able to relinquish all the things they held most dear in their earthly life; they understood that they were trading a small puddle for the ocean.

Of course Christians are still human, and we will feel pain when painful things happen to us. If we were to become seriously ill or lose someone close to us, it would be completely normal and healthy for us to grieve. Still, our faith could help us bear our grief with peace and hope.

But what if God Himself were to abandon us? Theologically, we know that God would never forsake any of us, His children. But in some sense, the question is not irrelevant.

For example, we now know that Bl. Mother Theresa of Calcutta, like many other great saints, spent most of her life under the subjective impression that God had rejected her, despite the abundant evidence to the contrary. Even if we ourselves never have a similar experience, we may still find it troubling that God would seem to behave this way towards someone who loved Him so much.

On a corporate level, the people of Israel—the nation whom God had chosen to be His own in a special way—seemed to have felt that God abandoned them during the period of the Babylonian captivity. Their experience is recorded in some of the psalms, as well as in the haunting lyrics of the book of Lamentations:

He has broken my teeth with gravel,
pressed my face in the dust;
My soul is deprived of peace,
I have forgotten what happiness is;
I tell myself my future is lost,
all that I hoped from the Lord.

The thought of my homeless poverty
is wormwood and gall;
Remembering it over and over
leaves my soul downcast within me.

(Lamentations 3:16-20)

In some ways, many of the crises plaguing the Church today can evoke similar reactions from contemporary Catholics. While issues such as the “culture of death,” the breakdown of the traditional family, scandal within the Church, and the increasing secularity of our society may not seem quite as dramatic as the Babylonian exile, they are nevertheless able to shake many people’s faith and prompt them to question Providence.

And yet even apart from all of this, this question is important simply because it was a part of Jesus’ Passion. By virtue of our baptism, we are all called to be with Christ in His Passion to at least some degree. As Jesus said, “Whoever wishes to be my disciple must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24) and “Can you drink to cup that I am to drink?” (Matthew 20:22)

We don’t stay with Jesus in His Passion because we like suffering, but rather because we love Jesus. I think probably most of us can wrap our minds around the idea of staying with Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane—we probably feel that we could keep watch for an hour.
Perhaps with great difficulty, we can even manage to stay with Jesus at the scourging, along the Via Dolorosa, and at the crucifixion. But how could we possibly manage to be with Jesus during the moment he uttered this cry of complete desolation? It would almost seem akin to finding ourselves in Hell!

I honestly don’t know exactly how it is that we can remain with Jesus even here. The only thing I can say is that if God calls us to it, then He must give us the strength that we would need.

But here in the deepest darkness it’s important to remember some other words from the book of Lamentations, found even here in the midst of arguably the most anguished verses in all of Scripture:

The favors of the Lord are not exhausted
His mercies are not spent;
They are renewed every morning,
so great is His faithfulness.
My portion is the Lord, says my soul;
therefore I will hope in Him.

Good is the Lord to the one who waits for Him,
to the soul that seeks Him;
It is good to hope in silence
for the saving help of the Lord.
It is good for a man to bear
the yolk from his youth.

Let him sit alone and in silence,
when it is laid upon him.
Let him put his mouth to the dust;
there may yet be hope.

(Lamentations 3:22-29)

If, with the help of grace, we choose to continue to love God through darkness, He will use it as an opportunity to configure us more closely to Christ. Our faith will be strengthened, our hope will be increased, and our love will be purified.

Even while we will seem to have lost all of our joy, we will be given newer, deeper joys that we would not have understood before. We will understand Christ in a new way when he said, “Once I was dead, but now I am alive forever and ever. I hold the keys to death and the netherworld.” (Revelation 1:18)

And this is the Pascal mystery—the center of our faith and the gift we in inherited at Baptism.

“Being” versus “Doing”

Sorry for the slow posting—I’m on the “home stretch” of writing my Master’s thesis!

Here is a comment I received on my last post, which discussed the appropriate apostolates for consecrated virgins vis-à-vis that of nuns and religious Sisters.

I did already respond to this comment at the bottom of the last post, but I thought I would reprint it here with a more detailed explanation. I’m guessing that it probably represents an area where I could have made myself clearer. But besides that, it also brings up some interesting points of discussion—something very much appreciated.

“The lives of cloistered nuns is not ‘limited’ in fact, the life embraces all that Christ loves!

In our Dominican way of life we are called to first be free for God alone. We are also called to be in the heart of the Order of Preachers, praying for the mission of the Order which is preaching and the salvation of souls which is hardly limited as it places us deeply within the heart of the Church.

Many contemplative nuns will tell you that they were attracted to this life because the active life is not ‘enough.’

The vocation of a contemplative nun is not about doing but about being.”

—Moniales

Dear Moniales,

I think understand what you mean, and I agree with you.

In this post I was NOT trying to say that cloistered religious life, or religious life in general, was “limited” in a full, univocal sense of the word—only that most religious communities are limited in the types of apostolates that correspond appropriately to their charism. Here, I was not using “limited” to comment on the objective worth or “effectiveness” of any one form of consecrated life, but rather as a reference to the set parameters which allows a community to be clear on its own proper identity.

Conversely, I was also not trying to say that the apostolate of religious communities were somehow “limited” in contrast with a supposedly “unlimited” apostolate of consecrated virgins. Instead, I was trying to explain that BOTH consecrated virgins and religious are limited in what they can do in terms of apostolate, but in different ways. I.e., whereas religious communities are usually “limited” to a specific kind of apostolate, I see consecrated virgins as ordinarily being limited by the boundaries of their home diocese. To put it roughly, religious are (usually) called to one type of apostolate, which can be done anywhere in the world; and consecrated virgins can be called to any type of apostolate for (usually) one specific place.

Certainly, cloistered contemplative religious life is “unlimited” in its scope or in its value for the Church. However, in terms of a concrete, practical understanding of apostolate, I don’t think it would be inaccurate to say that cloistered life is ordinarily “limited” to prayer.*

The Church teaches that prayer is the most universal apostolate of them all. But, full-time, formal prayer it is still not exactly the same thing as teaching, nursing, catechizing, ect. If a cloistered contemplative community were to take on this kind of active apostolate, my thought is that this would fundamentally change the charism of that community.

Incidentally, this is something that actually did happen to a lot of Benedictines in the earlier history of the Catholic Church in the United States. Solemnly professed, contemplative nuns would come to America to found what they thought would be enclosed monastic communities. But due to the various active apostolates they were asked to take on in response to American pastoral needs, these communities were no longer allowed to have solemn profession. And so potential monasteries of nuns instead turned into congregations of active or semi-active Sisters.

Of course, considering various religious communities or forms of consecrated life solely according to their tangible apostolate—i.e., what they “do”—is very two-dimensional, and ultimately inadequate. But here, it seemed like a regrettable but necessary “short cut” in order to express my point in a blog post of reasonable length.

I do believe that cloistered life, and consecrated virginity as well, are more about “being” than “doing.” However, because as temporally-bound human beings we cannot NOT do things, it is important that the things we do “do” be in accord with who it is that we are called to be. We can be concerned with properly expressing our vocation though our deeds WITHOUT thereby equating our active work with our vocation per se, or without regarding our apostolate as the totality of our consecrated lives.

However, my intention in writing my series of post on what it means to be “dedicated to the service of the Church,” is NOT to comment on any form of religious life, but rather to discuss the need for consecrated virgins living “in the world” to express their vocation in concrete ways throughout the course of their daily lives.

Although I myself have never been a member of a cloistered community, my thought is that, if there was (hypothetically!) a situation where a cloistered nun never engaged in any formal prayer, despite her religious profession she would not be living the fullness of the contemplative life.

Likewise, for consecrated virgins, I don’t think that it is truly “enough” for us to have simply received the Rite of Consecration to a Life of Virginity one day at a Mass (as important as this is), without letting the reality of our consecration influence our day-to-day actions in clearly demonstrable ways. It does not seem to me that canonical status as a “bride of Christ” in and of itself ensures that we are living a life that is really “consecrated” in the strongest sense of the term. Similarly, I’m not sure that it is really possible to be “dedicated to the service of the Church” in a primarily “spiritual,” abstract, and indirect sense—as I see it, dedication to the service of the Church would necessarily involve at least some sort of major commitment to visibly obvious, literal, and direct furtherance of the Church’s mission.**

So while the aspect of “being” in one’s vocation by far takes precedence over the element of “doing,” one’s actions are not at all irrelevant to one’s central identity. In some ways, “doing” is the full flowering of our “being.” While a tree is much more important than its individual fruits, you can still tell a tree by the fruit it bears.


*Although there are some notable exceptions to this, for the most part such communities only prove the rule.

**This is actually also the topic of my M.A. thesis, in case anyone was wondering.

“Dedicated to the Service of the Church”: Responses to Comments, Part II

In continuing my project to respond to all the comments (see my first set of responses here) I received on my December 13 post, “What Does it Mean to Be ‘Dedicated to the Service of the Church?’,” here is the comment I received from the first “anonymous” (which I have edited slightly for the sake of brevity; see the full comment at the bottom of its respective post):

“A fascinating post! Being a part of a religious community, one is limited by the directives of that community. Being ‘in the world’ gives one the opportunity to use one’s gifts to meet the needs of the world as one encounters the world. […] So when you say a consecrated virgin should have an occupation connected to the church—I agree—but I can easily see a consecrated virgin in the following occupations:

As a doctor—especially if the person accepts a modest income and dedicated a good deal of their practice to the poor and the underserved; as a teacher—again helping children who are in need of an education and in need of a Christian roll model; as a director of a non-profit organization that helps people who are homeless or poor or abused; [or] as a hospice worker, bringing comfort to the dying.

Sometimes, being affiliated with a church is not the best way to evangelize and reach the people who, as Christ said, were most in need of a physician. Sometimes the people most in need of the Good News don’t come to church at all.

So I think that—depending on one’s gifts—if a consecrated virgin worked directly with the church in a church ministry, that is wonderful. Those of us who are in the church will benefit greatly from her gifts—many of us in the church need to witness the beautiful model of sacrifice that consecrated virginity is. But I also feel that if a consecrated virgin found a way to bring the message of Christ to those she encountered, especially if her work were dedicated to being a servant of those in need, (Matt. 25: 31-46) like Christ poured himself out to be a servant—that is excellent as well.”

Dear Anonymous #1,

Many belated thanks for taking the time to write such a thoughtful comment! I agree with a lot of the things you mention here, but there are some important places where I think I would need to disagree, or at least make some distinctions.

First, I think you are correct in pointing out that, in terms of the ways in which individuals could serve the Church, they could be in some sense “limited” by the type of religious community they may join.

Speaking here with women’s religious life in the United States as my main point of reference and comparison, generally “active” communities have a specific apostolate or type of apostolate as part of their charism (i.e., their foundational spiritual identity).

For example, the Dominican Sisters of Mary see education and teaching as their own proper expression of Dominican spirituality, and the Little Sisters of the Poor were founded for the express purpose of caring for the impoverished elderly. The congregation of the Parish Visitors of Mary Immaculate exists to bring lapsed or wandering Catholics back to the faith, and while they accomplish this through a variety of ways (such as teaching CCD classes, running sacramental preparation courses for “over aged” children, ect.), they have a long-standing tradition of going door-to-door in search of the “straying sheep.” And although the Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal are not committed to any one specifc kind of work, they are exclusively dedicated to serving the underprivileged in poor neighborhoods.

Likewise, contemplative communities ordinarily have prayer as their only “work,” and often their prayer has a particular intercessory or apostolic focus—e.g., Discalced Carmelites pray for the diocesan clergy, Dominican nuns pray for the Dominican friars, and Passionist nuns pray for a greater spread of devotion to the Passion of Christ.

If a religious community were to abandon its own specific apostolate, in many respects it would change the fundamental identity of that community. Because of this, the Church speaks very strongly in several places about the need for each community to act in accord with their foundational charism. Even if a proposed new apostolate were to be more in accord with the actual needs of the diocese in which a particular community was located, the Church still requires that bishops respect the community’s foundational charism in all its traditional expressions.*

However, this is not the case for consecrated virgins, who are simply called to be “dedicated to the service of the Church” in a more generic sense, and not necesarily to any one particular type of apostolic work. A vocation to consecrated virginity lived “in the world” does not automatically entail a specific call to something like teaching or nursing in the same way that a vocation to a teaching or nursing religious congregation would.

And so even presuming that I’m correct when I argue that consecrated virgins should be dedicated to the service of the Church in a full-time and direct manner, this would still give an individual consecrated virgin a great deal of freedom, both to discern how she could best serve the Church according to her own particular talents and abilities, as well as to discern (hopefully with the help of her bishop) how her work could best respond to the areas of her diocese’s greatest need.

For a more concrete illustration of this:

One religious community that Catholic New Yorkers are all very proud of is the Sisters of Life. Founded by a late Cardinal Archbishop of New York for the purpose of working and praying for pro-life causes, the majority of their houses are still located in the metropolitan area, and as of right now they are still a community of diocesan right—which, in a nutshell, means that they have a very deep and direct connection with the Archdiocese of New York.

However, just because the Sisters of Life are for the most part situated in New York, and just because they are dependant upon New York’s Archbishop in a special way, it does not necessarily follow that their charism could be defined as: “meeting the general pastoral needs of this one particular local Church.” Even if Archbishop Dolan prayerfully decided that what New York really needed were religious Sisters who would teach in Catholic grade schools, this alone would not make it appropriate for the Sisters of Life to change their apostolate. (Yet conversely, because the Sisters of Life have pro-life work as an essential part of their charism, they can fulfill this aspect of their vocation just as well in any diocese in the world.)

But a consecrated virgin, on the other hand, does have the “charism” of being dedicated to her home diocese specifically. So in the hypothetical case mentioned above, if the Archbishop of New York saw a need for teachers in the local Catholic schools, a New York consecrated virgin would be free to take on an educational apostolate in response to that need. And if several years later the Archbishop felt that it would be important to have more catechists in the Archdiocese, new consecrated virgins could take on this apostolate (or previously consecrated virgins could change the field in which they serve). Yet in this case, the consecrated virgins who were catechists—or even those consecrated virgins who served the Church in an altogether different type of work—would be living the “charism” of consecrated virginity just as fully as the consecrated virgins who were school teachers.

But as for your next point, it is important to keep in mind that consecrated virgins aren’t just called to be merely “dedicated to service,” but are instead called to be dedicated specifically “to the service of the CHURCH.”

Because of this, I do believe that, with all other things being equal, it would be preferable for a consecrated virgin to work in some type of Church-sponsored institution. But I would also maintain—albeit in a qualified way—that a consecrated virgin could be truly “dedicated to the service of the Church” even if she were not working directly under the formal auspices of her diocese.

To begin with, sometimes the question of whether or not one works “officially” for the Church is more of a technicality than anything else. For instance, if I were to dedicate my life exclusively to solitary prayer and penance; or spend all my time creating liturgical art for Churches; or if I were to fund and operate my own soup kitchen; I might not be “working for the Church” in the sense that my archdiocese would not consider me to be offically an employee. Yet at the same time, it would be difficult to argue that these things would not constitute direct service to the Church.

As an actual historical example of this dynamic, the early Daughters of Charity, because they did not observe papal enclosure or profess solemn vows, were not initially considered to be true “religious” when they were founded in the seventeenth century. Instead, they were basically regarded as lay women who happened to live a common life and who professed the evangelical counsels privately. Yet, they were well-known for their self-sacrifice and generosity in serving the poor where they found them. So although the first Daughters of Charity therefore did not serve the poor with anything like an official mandate from the Church, they were still totally devoted to serving their neighbor out of love for Christ.

Similarly, since Christ calls His disciples to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, cloth the naked, welcome the stranger, and to visit the sick and imprisoned, anyone who spends themselves in the corporal works of mercy out of love for Christ would, in this sense, be fulfilling the Church’s mission in a real way.

Reasoning along these same lines, I think that a consecrated virgin could be truly serving the Church even if she worked in a non-Catholic, or even non-religious, charitable institution (that is, provided that that same institution did not embrace values or practice anything that was incompatible with the official teaching of the Roman Catholic Church regarding faith or morals).

Likewise, in theory a consecrated virgin could also be “dedicated to the service of the Church” even from within what we would normally consider a secular career—IF she was demonstrably and sacrificially committed to doing charitable work as her primary occupation. Your idea of a medical doctor working for a low income in an impoverished area would a perfect example of this. Other examples might include a lawyer dedicated to advocacy work for the poor or disabled, a teacher who worked with special-needs children and their families, or an accountant who worked primarily with non-profit charitable organizations.

But, I don’t think the situation would be the same if, for instance, a consecrated virgin was working as a medical doctor in a wealthy suburb for a usual doctor’s salary. There is a distinction that has to be made between, on the one hand, simply bringing one’s Christian values to the secular work world or glorifying God by means of professional excellence; and on the other, dedicating one’s entire life in a total, radical, direct, explicit, and exclusive way to the furthering of the Church’s mission.

The former description of “service” is the obligation of all Christians, and, insofar as it can be considered a specific “call” within the Church, is actually the proper vocation of the laity.** But it seems to me that consecrated people—by virtue of their being “consecrated,” or specially “set apart” for the things of God in a way that goes beyond that of all the baptized—are called to the latter definition of service to the Church.

Finally, when you say that: “Sometimes, being affiliated with a church is not the best way to evangelize and reach the people who, as Christ said, were most in need of a physician…” I would have to disagree on the grounds that, in baptism ALL Catholics are affiliated with the Church!

But taking your statement more in the spirit in which I think you meant it, I would tentatively lean towards agreeing that sometimes a more subtle or hidden Christian witness might be most effective in certain circumstances. While I strongly believe that bold expressions of Christianity are something very much needed by the Church today, I think you make a good point when you mention that “…sometimes the people most in need of the Good News don’t come to church at all.” I can also see how someone uncertain or even totally lacking in their faith might be initially “put off,” or feel somewhat frightened or “judged,” by a priest or religious, or by someone whose special consecration in the Church was obvious.

However, when relating these issues to consecrated virgins, the question is not so much: “What is the best means of evangelization in general?” as much as it is: “What kind of witness is most appropriate for consecrated virgins according to their own proper state in life?”

I would answer that, because consecrated virginity is a PUBLIC state of consecrated life within the Church, that it would be most appropriate for a consecrated virgin to serve the Church and to bear Christian witness in a more visible and obvious way.

This is not to say that I don’t believe anyone is called to be “unseen leaven in the world,” or to evangelize in a subtle way—only that I don’t think this is the true vocation of consecrated virgins. For women (and men as well) who feel drawn specifically to a “hidden” apostolate, the Church does recognize this type of call in the vocation of membership in a Secular Institute.

Or, if a woman feels called to a spousal relationship with Christ within the context of a lay lifestyle and with a minimum of formal exterior structure, she is free to make a private vow of virginity. In fact, I think that a private vow might be the best and most theologically consistent option for women who sense a vocation to a life of dedicated virginity, but who feel called neither to be “set apart” from the lay faithful nor to change their exterior occupations in any dramatic way.

Ultimately, all Christians are called to serve the Church in ways which harmonize with their various states in life, and everyone without exception is called to holiness. But precisely because of this, in order for consecrated virginity to have any special meaning as a vocation, consecrated virgins would have to be called to a level dedication to Christ and the Church which goes beyond one’s baptismal obligations. The Church sees consecrated virginity as a call to be “more closely united” to God;*** however, one cannot actually fulfill this call by simply resolving to observe those things to which all Christians are already bound.

notes:

* For examples, see the 2004 Directory for the Pastoral Ministry of Bishops (Apostolorum Successores), par. 100:

“While zealously defending the common discipline of religious institutes, even with regard to individual members, the Bishop should himself respect and require others to respect the rightful autonomy of institutes of consecrated life and societies of apostolic life, without interfering in their life and government and without claiming to be the authoritative interpreter of their original charisms.”

** See the Code of Canon Law, canon 225:

Ҥ1. Since, like all the Christian faithful, lay persons are designated by God for the apostolate through baptism and confirmation, they are bound by the general obligation and possess the right as individuals, or joined in associations, to work so that the divine message of salvation is made known and accepted by all persons everywhere in the world. This obligation is even more compelling in those circumstances in which only through them can people hear the gospel and know Christ.

§2. According to each one’s own condition, they are also bound by a particular duty to imbue and perfect the order of temporal affairs with the spirit of the gospel and thus to give witness to Christ, especially in carrying out these same affairs and in exercising secular functions.”

*** Cf. the suggested homily in the Rite of Consecration to a Life of Virginity.

World Day of Consecrated Life 2010

I’m finally getting around to posting this! Here is the full text of the Pope’s homily for the World Day of Consecrated Life, celebrated on February 2, the Feast of the Presentation (but moved to the following Sunday, February 7, in the United States).

Emphases, in bold, and comments, in red, are mine.

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Pope’s Homily on Day of Consecrated Life: “A School of Trust in the Mercy of God”

VATICAN CITY, FEB. 2, 2010 (Zenit.org).- Here is a translation of the homily Benedict XVI delivered today during vespers on the feast of the Presentation of the Lord in the Temple, which is also the 14th Day of Consecrated Life.

Present at the liturgical celebration were members of the Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life.

* * *
Dear Brothers and Sisters!

The feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple is a celebration of a mystery of the life of Christ, linked to the precept of the Mosaic law that prescribed for parents, forty days after the birth of their first-born, to go to the Temple of Jerusalem to offer their son to the Lord and for the ritual purification of the mother (cf. Exodus 13:1-2.11-16; Leviticus 12:1-8).

Mary and Joseph also fulfilled this rite, offering -- according to the law -- a couple of turtle doves or pigeons. Reading things in greater depth, we understand that at that moment it was God himself who presented his Only-begotten Son to men, through the words of the elderly Simeon and the prophetess Anna. Simeon, in fact, proclaimed Jesus as “salvation” of humanity, as “light” of all nations and “sign of contradiction,” because he would reveal the thoughts of hearts (cf. Luke 2:29-35).

In the East this feast was called Hypapante, feast of meeting: In fact, Simeon and Anna, who met Jesus in the Temple and recognized in him the Messiah so awaited, represent humanity that meets its Lord in the Church. Subsequently, this feast spread also to the West, developing above all the symbol of light, and the procession with candles, which gave origin to the term “Candlemas.” With this visible sign one wishes to signify that the Church meets in faith him who is “the light of men” and receives him with all the impulse of her faith to take this “light” to the world.

In concomitance with this liturgical feast, Venerable John Paul II, beginning in 1997, wished that the whole Church should celebrate a special Day of Consecrated Life. In fact, the oblation of the Son of God -- symbolized by his presentation in the Temple -- is the model for every man and woman that consecrates all his or her life to the Lord.

The purpose of this day is threefold: first of all to praise and thank the Lord for the gift of consecrated life; in the second place, to promote the knowledge and appreciation by all the People of God; finally, to invite all those who have fully dedicated their life to the cause of the Gospel to celebrate the marvels that the Lord has operated in them.

In thanking you for having gathered in such numbers, on this day dedicated particularly to you, I wish to greet each one of you with great affection: men and women religious and consecrated persons, expressing to you my cordial closeness and heartfelt appreciation for the good you do in the service of the People of God.

The brief reading, which was just proclaimed, treats of the Letter to the Hebrews, which brings together well the motives that were at the origin of this significant and beautiful event and offers us some ideas for reflection. This text -- which has two verses, but very charged with significance -- opens the second part of the Letter to the Hebrews, introducing the central theme of Christ the high priest.

One should really consider as well the immediately preceding verse, which says: “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession” (Hebrews 4:14). This verse shows Jesus who ascends to the Father; while the subsequent one presents him descending toward men. Christ is presented as the Mediator: He is true God and true man -- that is why he really belongs to the divine and to the human world.

In reality, it is properly and only from this faith, from this profession of faith in Jesus Christ, the only and definitive Mediator, that consecrated life has meaning in the Church, a life consecrated to God through Christ. It has meaning only if he is truly Mediator between God and us, otherwise it would only be a form of sublimation or evasion. (I do not think this can be emphasized enough!)

If Christ was not truly God, and was not, at the same time, fully man, the foundation of Christian life as such would come to naught, and in an altogether particular way, the foundation of every Christian consecration of man and woman would come to naught. Consecrated life, in fact, witnesses and expresses in a “powerful” way the reciprocal seeking of God and man, the love that attracts them to one another. The consecrated person, by the very fact of his or her being, represents something like a “bridge” to God for all those he or she meets -- a call, a return. (For me, statements like this are often a call to an examination of conscience; ie, I have to ask myself, am I truly being this kind of “bridge?”) And all this by virtue of the mediation of Jesus Christ, the Father's Consecrated One. He is the foundation! He who shared our frailty so that we could participate in his divine nature.

Our text insists on more than on faith, but rather on “trust” with which we can approach the “throne of grace,” from the moment that our high priest was himself “put to the test in everything like us.” We can approach to “receive mercy,” “find grace,” and “to be helped in the opportune moment.” It seems to me that these words contain a great truth and also a great comfort for us who have received the gift and commitment of a special consecration in the Church.

I am thinking in particular of you, dear sisters and brothers. You approached with full trust the “throne of grace” that is Christ, his Cross, his Heart, to his divine presence in the Eucharist. Each one of you has approached him as the source of pure and faithful love, a love so great and beautiful as to merit all, in fact, more than our all, because a whole life is not enough to return what Christ is and what he has done for us. But you approached him, and every day you approach him, also to be helped in the opportune moment and in the hour of trial.

Consecrated persons are called in a particular way to be witnesses of this mercy of the Lord, in which man finds his salvation. They have the vivid experience of God’s forgiveness, because they have the awareness of being saved persons, of being great when they recognize themselves to be small, of feeling renewed and enveloped by the holiness of God when they recognize their own sin. (A beautiful thought to keep in mind this Lent!) Because of this, also for the man of today, consecrated life remains a privileged school of “compunction of heart,” of the humble recognition of one’s misery but, likewise, it remains a school of trust in the mercy of God, in his love that never abandons. In reality, the closer we come to God, and the closer one is to him, the more useful one is to others. Consecrated persons experience the grace, mercy and forgiveness of God not only for themselves, but also for their brothers, being called to carry in their heart and prayer the anxieties and expectations of men, especially of those who are far from God.

In particular, communities that live in cloister, with their specific commitment of fidelity in “being with the Lord,” in “being under the cross,” often carry out this vicarious role, united to Christ of the Passion, taking on themselves the sufferings and trials of others and offering everything with joy for the salvation of the world.

Finally, dear friends, we wish to raise to the Lord a hymn of thanksgiving and praise for consecrated life itself. If it did not exist, how much poorer the world would be! Beyond the superficial valuations of functionality, consecrated life is important precisely for its being a sign of gratuitousness and of love, and this all the more so in a society that risks being suffocated in the vortex of the ephemeral and the useful (cf. Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation, Vita Consecrata, 105). Consecrated life, instead, witnesses to the superabundance of the Lord’s love, who first “lost” his life for us. At this moment I am thinking of the consecrated persons who feel the weight of the daily effort lacking in human gratification, I am thinking of elderly men and women religious, the sick, of all those who feel difficulties in their apostolate. Not one of these is futile, because the Lord associates them to the “throne of grace.” Instead, they are a precious gift for the Church and the world, thirsty for God and his Word.

Full of trust and gratitude, let us then also renew the gesture of the total offering of ourselves, presenting ourselves in the Temple. May the Year for Priests be a further occasion, for priests religious to intensify the journey of sanctification, and for all consecrated men and women, a stimulus to support and sustain their ministry with fervent prayer. (Although the Rite of Consecration does not explicitly say this, I do believe that consecrated virgins living “in the world” have a special call to pray for the priests, bishops, and seminarians of their home diocese.)

This year of grace will have a culminating moment in Rome, next June, in the international meeting of priests, to which I invite all those who exercise the Sacred Ministry. We approach the thrice Holy to offer our life and our mission, personal and community, of men and women consecrated to the Kingdom of God. Let us carry out this interior gesture in profound spiritual communion with the Virgin Mary: while contemplating her in the act of presenting the Child Jesus in the Temple, we venerate her as the first and perfect consecrated one, carried by that God she carries in her arms; Virgin, poor and obedient, totally dedicated to us because [she is] totally of God. In her school, and with her maternal help, we renew our “here I am” and our “fiat.” Amen.

[Translation by ZENIT]

Ash Wednesday

Here is the first section of one of my favorite poems, “Ash Wednesday” by T.S. Eliot. T.S. Eliot was born and educated in the United States, but later moved to England and became a British subject (and so both countries claim him as their own). He lived and wrote during the twentieth century, and his earlier poems aimed at capturing the sense of moral aimlessness that pervaded the culture of that era.

After a religious conversion, Eliot’s later poetry reflected his new-found spiritual insights; and, while still recognizing the reality of existential despair, his later poetry expressed to the reader the possibility of true and real redemption. (By the way, his later poems make excellent—if challenging—spiritual reading. Right now, I often bring his “Four Quartets” with me to the chapel when I make my Holy Hour.)

In “Ash Wednesday,” Eliot describes the banality and weariness of sin, but also alludes to the possibility of salvation, and poignantly expresses the need to “cast all our worries on God, because He cares for us.” (cf. 1 Peter 5:7)

***

Ash Wednesday (part I)

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

— T.S. Eliot (1927)

Just for fun...this is me with my ashes this year. The priest who gave me the ashes really got me good this time!

A Sidewalk Chalk Drawing…

…from Ave Maria, Florida!

I came across this drawing on my way back from Mass earlier today, and I thought it was too cute to pass by without taking a picture.

It illustrates the story of Jesus’ walking on water, recounted in Matthew 14:23-33.

The stick figure on the left is presumably Jesus, since he’s standing on top of the waves and is saying “Do not be afraid!” in his word bubble. The stick figures in the boat are the apostles, since as describes in the Gospel passage, they are exhibiting their fear by crying “Ghost!”

I’m not sure about the artist—was it a precocious grade-schooler, or a stressed-out graduate theology student trying to revisit the halcyon days of childhood, before midterms and thesis writing?

On argument against a graduate-student artist is that the drawing does not represent the Gospel account with total accuracy—specifically, the happy-face sun would not seem to correspond with the evangelist’s description of this episode as occurring in “the fourth watch of the night,” and during a violent storm.

But, it made me smile all the same.

Feast of St. Agatha

Today is the feast of St. Agatha, one of the Church’s earliest consecrated virgin-saints. She is believed to have suffered martyrdom around the year 250 A.D., in Catania, Italy, during the Decian persecution.

According to tradition, St. Agatha appeared in a vision to St. Lucy in order to encourage the latter consecrated virgin to hold fast to the faith during her own martyrdom. This “visitation” is commemorated in a proper antiphon for the feast of St. Lucy:

Orante, Sancta Lucia, apparuit ei beata Agatha, et consolabatur ancillam Christi.

(While St. Lucy was praying, Blessed Agatha appeared to her, and she consoled the handmaid of Christ.)*

The second reading of today’s Office of Readings is a beautiful homily from the ninth century by St. Methodius of Sicily:

(Emphases, in bold, and comments, in red, are mine.)

***
From a homily on Saint Agatha by Saint Methodius of Sicily, bishop

The gift of God, the source of all goodness

My fellow Christians, our annual celebration of a martyr’s feast has brought us together. She achieved renown in the early Church for her noble victory; she is well known now as well, for she continues to triumph through her divine miracles, which occur daily and continue to bring glory to her name. (Among other things, the intercession of St. Agatha is held to have prevented a volcanic eruption.)

She is indeed a virgin, for she was born of the divine Word, God’s only Son, who also experienced death for our sake. John, a master of God’s word, speaks of this: He gave the power to become children of God to everyone who received him.

The woman who invites us to this banquet is both a wife and virgin. To use the analogy of Paul, she is the bride who has been betrothed to one husband, Christ. A true virgin, she wore the glow of pure conscience and the crimson of the Lamb’s blood for her cosmetics. (This particular image seems jarring to us now, but here I think St. Methodius was trying to convey the idea that St. Agatha found her beauty in her love of Christ.) Again and again she meditated on the death of her eager lover. For her, Christ’s death was recent, his blood was still moist. Her robe is the mark of her faithful witness to Christ. It bears the indelible marks of his crimson blood and the shining threads of her eloquence. She offers to all who come after her these treasures of her eloquent confession.

Agatha, the name of our saint, means “good.” She was truly good, for she lived as a child of God. She was also given as the gift of God, the source of all goodness to her bridegroom, Christ, and to us. (Here, we have an early example of the idea of a consecrated virgin’s self-gift to Christ being a gift to the wider Church as well.) For she grants us a share in her goodness.

What can give greater good than the Sovereign Good? Whom could anyone find more worthy of celebration with hymns of praise than Agatha?

Agatha, her goodness coincides with her name and way of life. She won a good name by her noble deeds, and by her name she points to the nobility of those deeds. Agatha, her mere name wins all men over to her company. She teaches them by her example to hasten with her to the true Good, God alone.

Prayer:

Lord,
let your forgiveness be won for us
by the pleading of St. Agatha,
who found favor with you by her chastity
and by her courage in suffering death for the gospel.

Grant this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

* Translation from the companion booklet to CD “Women in Chant: Gregorian Chants for the Festal Celebrations of the Virgin Martyrs and Our Lady of Sorrows,” by the Abbey of Regina Laudis.