Hillary, Trump, and Voting One’s Conscience

Hillary, Trump, and voting one’s conscience. If there’s a lull in a cocktail party conversation, bring up these three items.

If the polls are correct, never have both candidates in a presidential election been so disliked. The prevailing refrains are “I’m not voting for Trump. I’m voting against Hillary”, and vice versa. How can I choose at all when the alternatives are both so deeply flawed? How, especially, as a Christian, can I vote for either one?

Some Christians are wondering whether to vote at all. Or they’re thinking of voting for a write-in candidate. I can certainly appreciate those sentiments. But in the present situation, neither is morally viable. Yes, Trump is a loose cannon. He’s disturbingly narcissistic with no clear moral center. He’s said outrageous, insulting things to those who’ve dared to wound his monumental ego. His claims of being a Christian look like purely opportunistic moves to win the conservative Christian vote. Yet I’m convinced that he’s the lesser of the two evils.

A committed Christian simply cannot vote for Hillary. There are many issues in this presidential race. But Catholic teaching and the U.S. bishops have consistently stated that abortion is the decisive one, for several reasons. I’ll assume I’m mostly preaching to the choir here, so I’ll give those reasons briefly. First, abortion itself is the murder of a child by its mother. It is the ultimate child abuse. How abortion victimizes the mother herself is a separate issue. Second, as the most innocent and vulnerable of human beings, the unborn have special claims on our protection. Third, abortion kills 3,000 unborn babies a day in the U.S. alone. This is 9/11, daily. Definitely, some of Trump’s policies could harm many. But nothing he’s proposing will cause carnage on that level.

But although the tide of U.S. opinion has turned against abortion on demand, Hillary remains a stridently vocal abortion supporter. Hillary has apparently never met an abortion she didn’t like. She has openly said that up until birth, the unborn child has no legal rights whatsoever. She enthusiastically supports the HHS mandate. This mandate forces Christian institutions to provide insurance for contraceptives that are known abortifacients, as well as for abortions. She consistently has opposed any restrictions whatsoever on abortion, including abortions for sex selection or in the last trimester.

There is one empty seat on the Supreme Court, and several soon to be because of their occupants’ advanced ages. The next president’s appointees will heavily influence U.S. policy for decades to come. With all of Trump’s back-and-forths on policy, he has at least been consistent about appointing justices who uphold the Constitution and support restricting or eliminating abortion on demand.

Other factors make Trump the only moral option include the following. He has consistently spoken out on behalf of freedom of speech, which the “hate crime” stance of the Democratic Party is bent on eliminating. He hasn’t been as vocal about freedom of religion as I’d like. But Hillary has been vocal indeed about that freedom’s elimination. Most recently, she has said, “Cultural codes and religious beliefs have to change”. The federal government will be the one to force that. Elimination of such freedoms pave the way for totalitarianism. Such elimination is totalitarianism.

Perhaps the most compelling argument in favor of Trump is damage control. His impulsivity, arrogance, and self-interest are clouds with a silver lining. He lacks Hillary’s deadly consistency. He seems to have no firmly held ideals beyond self-interest. With the exceptions noted above, he’s all over the board.

Not so Hillary. She is very motivated. Her ideals, such as they are, are strong. As Yeats phrased it, “The best lack all conviction/While the worst are full of passionate intensity.”Under the influence of those she has so admired – Saul Alinsky (anarchist, petty thief and psychopathic enough to be called “callous” by Capone’s gang) and Margaret Sanger (foundress of Planned Parenthood and racist friend of the KKK and the Nazis), she is zealous and untiring in her goals. She will continue the work of her arrogant, dictatorial, and seemingly sociopathic mentor, the current president, and then some.

Politics makes strange bedfellows. Trump is no Christian zealot or paragon. But Hillary is assuredly an anti-Christian zealot. If elected, she will continue to attack Christianity as well as the foundational freedoms of democracy. Trump ain’t pretty. But choosing him is the only way to vote one’s conscience in this most difficult of presidential elections.

 

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Opened To the Invisible

We need to be opened to the invisible ways that God is working all of the time. Our hearts get dulled and we can barely see.

I can get blinded to miracles. Yes, there is the peace one feels after receiving Communion, in that quietness that is the highlight of the Mass. And no matter how my mind wanders, the Lord seems to arrest my attention at least during the Consecration. I’m somewhere else, and then my eyes are drawn and opened to the host and the chalice lifted up with the words, “This is My body…This is My blood.” But Mass can become routine. I get caught up in internal gripes about the music or the design of the church. I miss the one thing necessary.

Sometimes it’s the ones who have no preconceptions who see the invisible most clearly. My friend and mentor, Dr. Bernie Klamecki, told me about his daughter-in-law’s experiences. They happened when she and her son Joe were first dating. She was utterly unchurched, but she wanted to go to Mass with Joe, since this was so much a part of his life.

After Mass was over, she asked Joe, “How did he do that?” “How did who do what?” “The man in the front with the robes on.” “You mean the priest.” “Yes. How did he do that?” “How did he do what?”, Joe asked in some exasperation. “Well, when he lifted up that round white wafer…” “The host.” “Yes, the host. He made all those rays of light flash out from it. How did he do that?” Joe was silent. “You didn’t see that?”, asked his girlfriend, confused. “No, I didn’t see that.”

Some time afterward, she and Joe went to a confirmation. After the Mass was over, she asked, “How did he do that?” Again, Joe responded, “How did who do what?” – although this time with a sense of, “Now what?” She said, “That man with the beanie on his head, and the robes.” “You mean the bishop.” “Yes, the bishop. How did he do that?” “How did he do what?” “Well, at the end of Mass, as he walked down the aisle, he was kind of waving with his hands.” “That was the Sign of the Cross. He was blessing the people.” “Yes. Well, when he was blessing the people, it looked like skyrockets were coming out of his head and landing on the people he was passing.” Silence. “You didn’t see that?” “No, I didn’t see that.”

A friend from another city whom I eventually sponsored into the Catholic Church was a devout evangelical Protestant. His wife was a committed Christian but openly and harshly anti-Catholic. Yet “Rob” felt increasingly drawn to the Catholic Church. He began to go to daily Mass, while honoring the precept of not receiving Communion. He didn’t dare tell his wife at first for fear of the quarrel this would generate.

At the Catholic church he’d been visiting, Rob had asked if there was a chapel or room where he could pray quietly during breaks in his day. A parishioner showed him the parish “Meditation Chapel”, actually a Eucharistic chapel. Rob had no idea what the golden box in the chapel was. He just found the chapel to be a peaceful place to pray.

Rob suffered from severe asthma, to the point where, even with medication, he could barely breathe. He told me that there were points that he thought he might die. “But when I went to that chapel, I found I could breathe. It was the only place in [that city] where I could breathe.” It was only later that he found out that it was Jesus Himself, present in the tabernacle, who was giving him life.

On my retreat earlier this month, I felt carried on a wave of intercessory consolation. I could feel the prayers of so many saints on earth and in Heaven, carrying me. It was a rare occasion in which my heart was opened to the invisible.

As C.S. Lewis notes in The Screwtape Letters, what is evident to our senses can grab our attention to the point of blinding us to what’s most important. “The things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Cor 4:18). Jesus walks with us at every moment, just as He did with the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Like them, we are “slow of heart to believe” (Lk 24:24). Like them, we get dulled to the reality of His presence and power,  and we are “kept from recognizing him” (Lk 24:16). Hosts of angels surround us. The prayers of the saints carry us. God’s love and grace sustain us at every moment. Let us strive to stay opened to that invisible reality.

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The Elements of Deep Friendship, Part II

Other elements of deep friendship include the ability to communicate what you enjoy about your friend. This doesn’t have to mean sitting down face-to-face, eyeball-to-eyeball, with, “You know, Tom, what I really like about you is ___, ____, and ____.” For most guys, for example, that would be wildly uncomfortable. We’ll tend to compliment what the friend has done, for example. “Wow, you did a great job on this deck…You didn’t seem nervous at all when you gave that speech…You really are the life of the party…” Or it can be through what you say about a friend, the friend being present, in a group setting. “I’m not able to memorize the movie scene by scene like Bob here…Naturally, Jim was pressing 200 pounds while I was struggling with 50…Our resident Scripture scholar here…” The ribbing that guys do with one another is a sure sign of affection, too. You know what the others like about you by what they give you the hardest time about.

With many women, often, direct compliments easily roll off of the tongue. That’s one of many reasons that women tend to make and keep friends more easily then men. “I love how you did up your house…That’s such a pretty dress…Your children are just angels…You’re such a good listener…I always feel like I can be at home with you…It’s so good to see you…” It’s amazing how well this “positive stroke fest” works among women, when for men it would just feel weird.

As any reader of this blog knows by now, I’m not a big fan of current Western pop culture. However, there’s at least one positive development (okay, there may be more than one).  In the past several decades, families and friends much more readily say, “I love you”, “Love you”, “Love you, buddy”, or some permutation of those words when ending a phone call or saying goodbye in person. Even that can become formulaic, but there’s a warmth there that earlier generations weren’t comfortable with. Hugs among relatives and friends are also more common. That’s all good – few better ways of letting someone know, “I care about you and enjoy your company.”

Deep friendships include reciprocity. Reciprocity can occur on two levels. Both ways help to maintain the health of the friendship. First, if there’s been no contact for a while, each friend takes the responsibility to reconnect. It’s true that introverted people, by definition, tend to seek out less social contact than extroverts. So one friend may be the one to call more often. But in a deep friendship, it doesn’t work for one person always to be the initiator. A strong friendship of many years can be easy to pick up after months or even a year or two without much contact, although taking even those friendships for granted is a bad idea. Newer friendships, like just-starting plants, require more maintenance and effort.

Second, in deep friendships, each takes equal responsibility to heal any rifts. One study of marital satisfaction found that the happiest couples weren’t those who argued least. But they were the best at mending fences after arguments. Each would take the initiative to reconcile quickly, and each was good at it. Friendships being less intense relationships than marriages, the rifts and mendings will happen less frequently. But they will happen.

Deep friendships are filled with gratitude. A good friend is a treasure. A really good friend is a rare gift indeed. Each party to such a friendship knows he or she is blessed. Each person is so glad the other’s in his or her life. They express this gratitude, directly or indirectly. It’s a mutual admiration society in the best possible way. It’s one of God’s greatest gifts in this life.

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The Elements of Deep Friendship, Part I

“A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter: he that has found one has found a treasure (Sir 6:14).” I was praying this Scripture the other morning. As I reflected on the marvelous friends the Lord has put in my life, I realized again how precious deep friendship is. In the following couple of posts, in no particular order, I’d like to outline the elements of deep friendship.

Deep friendship requires respect for the other’s philosophy of life and a common ethical foundation. I and a friend from graduate school, “Beth”, differed greatly in our religious and political views. But we were able to talk and enjoy each other’s company. Her questions or comments were sincere. She was committed to honesty, kindness, respectfulness, and general human decency. In contrast, one of our peers was okay with spinning the truth, if not lying, if it was to his advantage. Nothing egregious. Only with strangers, not friends or clients. But it limited how close I wanted to get with him, as likable as he was otherwise. While Beth and I have grown out of touch, that is only because of geographical distance and her husband’s not-too-veiled hostility to Christianity. She is a good soul I was glad I got to know.

Deep friendship requires basic maturity. Maturity is a complex concept. Faithful friends have issues. Everybody does.  But maturity assumes that your friend has good intentions unless you have good reasons to believe otherwise. A mature friend chooses his battles. He doesn’t make mountains out of molehills, but he faces issues when needed. A mature friend is willing to look at herself and take responsibility. Am I at fault? Could I have handled that better? Do I need to apologize?

Maturity includes being able to listen and to be okay with emotion. A good friend doesn’t have to be particularly emotional him- or herself.  Rich is a calm, practical, good-humored soul. He does not gush emotion. But he knows how to listen. He doesn’t joke, change the subject, or otherwise get uncomfortable when I speak about feeling topics. When we first got to know each other, my friend, Mark did all of those things. However, when I pointed that out, he was able to turn it around. That enabled us to become quite close.

Deep friendship arises from a “philosophy of abundance”. When I was engaged to my wife, Mary, the Lord seemed to speak to my depths. “Beloved, I have set a feast in your heart. You must invite others in to share that feast. People are starving for the love I have to offer.” That word changed me. I actually felt “full”. It was as if I was overflowing and needed to pour out the many graces I’d received. I’d previously approached some friendships from a sense of neediness. I feel restless or lonely or down: who can I call? How can this person help me feel good? What can I get? Now I felt I had something – much – to offer. I was bursting with it. I wanted to share the wealth. I was also better able to appreciate the wealth the other offered. But it was with gratitude rather than greed.

A philosophy of abundance means there’s enough to go around. With my friend, if I don’t have a chance to tell my story this time, there’ll be other opportunities. I don’t need to be possessive. Because I want the best for my friend, I’m glad he or she has other friends. In fact, seeing how my friend is with other friends is a joy. It displays his other facets. It reminds me of what makes her so likable.

Deep friendship is not a be-all and end-all. Deep friendships often begin with a sort of honeymoon. We really enjoy each other’s company. Our time together energizes us. It’s exciting to find out the way the other shares our passions or reacts so similarly to certain situations. For example, Ed and I have similar temperaments. We tend to “grrrr” and “arrrgh”, as well as laugh and get enthused, at the same situations. The differences between friends are also a source of delight. I have anything but a poker face. But my friend Anthony can tell the most outrageous stories without a trace of expression. You have to watch for his wife Jen’s eye-rolling to tell if he’s pulling your leg.

Inevitably, the honeymoon does end. You get to know each other’s faults, and then you decide what to do with those. If you both have the qualities outlined  above, or you are at least willing to grow in them, the friendship will flourish. You are grateful that he or she puts up with you anyway. Your friend similarly appreciates your patient love.

Even in that most special of friendships, marriage, my spouse is not to be my everything. God is. Jesus is enough for me. He will provide, directly or through others, what I need. He will do the same for my spouse, family, and friends. That knowledge takes a great deal of pressure off of everyone concerned. No one but God has to be the savior. Touchiness and drama lose their power, because the stakes are not as high. In Christian friendships, the knowledge that you each have a Friend, Who knows your warts completely and loves you utterly, supplies for human faults and frailty.

I’ll look at other qualities of deep friendship in my next post. To be continued…

 

 

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The Sacrifice of Isaac

The sacrifice of Isaac (Gen 22:1-19) forces the question: What do I hold most dear? Promised a child at age 75, Abraham waited 25 years more for Isaac’s birth. A few years later, when the Lord commands Abraham to sacrifice the promised son, He pulls no punches. He knows precisely the depth of the sacrifice He is requiring.“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” “Your son, your only son…whom you love“.

In the end, God does provide the sacrifice, a ram with its horns caught in a thicket. Isaac’s life is spared. Father and son walk back down the mountain together. But what Abraham must have gone through! How did he hold it together on that walk up the mountain? How much did his hand shake as he took out the knife? And Isaac. What did this do to him? To his relationship with his Dad? In Frederick Buchner’s novel, The Son of Laughter, Isaac, nearing death, tells his son Jacob the story of the near-sacrifice. By the time he’s finished, Isaac is shaking, wailing, tearing up the earth and scattering it on his head. “I was not always as you see me now, my son!”

In her poem, “Abraham to kill him”, Emily Dickinson portrays God as a petty tyrant.  Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac placates Him – for now.  Dickinson’s Christianity was, at best, ambivalent. Committed Christians know that God is not cruel or abusive. He takes no delight in ruining father-son relationships or making unreasonable demands. So what was He doing?

There’s no simple answer. We know that although God ultimately spared Isaac, He freely gave the sacrifice of His only son. Truly, God provided “the lamb for the burnt offering.” We also know that Abraham’s faith and obedience changed the world forever. Had he not offered up Isaac, I would not be writing this post. You would not be reading it. To use Rich Mullins’ beautiful image, when Abraham looked up to count the stars (Gen 15:5),  “one star he saw had been lit for me” –  and for you. All believers in the God of Israel, Jews and Christians, believe because of Abraham’s belief.

But the main fruit of the sacrifice of Isaac was to show Abraham his own heart. How much do I trust God? Will I surrender everything – everything – to Him? Will I trust that whatever I give Him, He will give back a thousandfold? Do I believe that His grace is sufficient, that He cannot be outdone in generosity.

On an immeasurably more minor note, Mary and I are going through our own sacrifice of Isaac. Our son Michael is moving into his own apartment this week. It’s time. He just celebrated his 22nd birthday. His friends are starting to get married, and one couple already has their first child. He’s been champing at the bit ever since graduating college. We know that it’s – literally – the right move.

We know that this kind of thing happens all the time. A billion more difficult events happen every moment. Spouses, parents, and children die. War, famine, pestilence, poverty, chronic or fatal illnesses, homelessness devastate. A billion far worse things. It should be no big deal.

But it is. Arggh. We almost lost him as a child, first to miscarriage, second to bacterial meningitis. We homeschooled him through high school. A year away at college, and he was back to finish college here in Omaha while living at home. We are so used to his always being home. There would always be a light under his door, the sound of the fan in his room, his dirty dishes and plates left on the counter, the sound of his violin, guitar, or vinyl records booming from his bedroom. There’d always be the less frequent but still treasured talks late at night about his work, his latest projects, his many passions and enthusiasms.

Sure, we’ll see him. He’ll visit us, we’ll visit him. We’ll probably take occasional vacations together. We’ll text and talk. God willing, there’s be marriage and grandchildren. But it will be visiting. Each time, he’ll go to his home, we to ours. This will never be his home again.

So, I’m a mess. Mary’s a mess. We’ll get over it, we know. Probably sooner than we can imagine. It is a little Isaac amidst the Isaacs that everyone offers all the time. The key is truly to offer each Isaac freely, to place it on the altar of one’s own accord. If it’s torn from us, it’s not an Isaac, unless at some point we say “Yes” to the loss. We don’t want to stop Michael from moving, and realistically, we couldn’t even if we did want to. But it matters that we face this needed transition with a willing heart. He desires our freedom from an over-attachment to everything that is not Him so He can give Himself – and all things besides – completely to us.

What is your Isaac right now? What is the one person, possession, goal, dream – good in itself – that God is calling you to put on the altar? What is “your son, your only one, whom you love”? Give it to Him. Trust Him. He knows you. He knows your heart. He asks for your  Isaac. Because you are His Isaac, His son or daughter, His only one, whom He loves.

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The Vine and the Branches

Our Men’s Bible Study is currently going through John 15, where Jesus speaks of the Vine and the branches. Note that He says, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Not, “I am the Trunk, you are the branches” – as if we’re plugged into, but still separate from, a central core. The Vine is the branches.Without the branches, there is no Vine. In Jn 14, Jesus has just told the disciples that He is in the Father, and the Father is in Him, and Jesus is in the disciple. Whoever sees Jesus sees the Father, and whoever sees the disciples sees Jesus. The Father’s life is in Jesus, and Jesus’ life is in the Father. In a mysterious way, the disciple is Jesus, lives His life, while remaining him- or herself.

Jesus’ life runs through the disciple, like sap through the vine. Without His life, the disciple withers and bears no fruit. The disciple must have a life of prayer, a habit of remaining in Jesus, of always referring to Him, of being guided moment by moment by His Holy Spirit. Otherwise, his or her most dedicated and energetic attempts at ministry will fail. They may spring up, like the seed in rocky soil, for a while. But they will fail. Without a foundation of prayer, parish programs, church ventures, or individual ministries won’t endure. They won’t lastingly touch people. They will bear no more fruit than does a cut-off branch.

I myself need to keep constantly aware, as a Catholic clinical psychologist, husband, father, brother, and friend,  that apart from Jesus I can do nothing. I must have a life of prayer. I must pray daily. I need the Eucharist and Confession. I need to meditate on the Word of God. I need fellowship with brothers and sisters in the Lord. I need to sit in Jesus’ presence and experience His “radiation therapy” that cleanses, heals, and redirects me.

There are surprisingly few faithfully Catholic mental health professionals who integrate their faith into their work with their clients, even in a strong Catholic city such as Omaha. There’s enough work here, easily, for a dozen more Catholic psychologists. “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest” (Mt 9:37-38).

But in order to give myself space and time to abide in Jesus, to recharge, I need to be able to say “No”.  It’s tough to say “No” to new clients who you know are in crisis and would benefit from a Christian approach to therapy, when there are few places to send them. But it has to be Jesus’ work, not mine. I do no favors by draining myself dry. I become withered and useless. I must return continually to the Wellspring. I must strive to remain in the Vine, or I’m wasting mine and the client’s time.

I have an 8-day silent retreat planned for this August 10th-18th. (Please keep that in prayer.) I want it so badly I can taste it. The Lord, in His grace, is still touching clients through me. But I can’t wait to plug into Him for a luxuriously long stretch of time, while I unplug from everything else. I can do nothing without Him, but with Him all things are possible. Perhaps by the retreat’s end, I’ll have deeply assimilated that truth, of the Vine and the branches, once more.

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Either-Or

Either-Or was the mantra of Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish Christian existentialist. The story goes that children would harass him, following him in the street while crying out, “Either/Or! Either/Or!” His first work, Either/Or, outlines the two ultimate answers to the question, “How should we live?” He uses the device of two series of essays, both with fictional authors. One is an avowed hedonist, the other a sober Protestant minister. Their radically different views of how to live put flesh on St. Paul’s words, If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied… [If that’s the case,] ‘Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die'” (1 Cor 15:19,32).

This last weekend, my family and I were privileged to go to the wedding of my son Michael’s very good friend, Joe Becker. The Beckers are a devout, very close family, as are the family Joe married into. Their open affection for one another, lively faith, and ability to celebrate love and family marvelously crystallized the “Or” side of “Either-Or”.

Several scenes at the reception captured this. Joe’s sisters, Joe himself, and many others were awash during his dance with his mother to the classic, “What a Wonderful World”. To those who know their beautiful bond, the dance was no empty gesture. Joe’s mom, Kim, is an icon of deep motherly love for her 10 beautiful children. Joe is all heart, a man without guile whom to know is to love.

Later in the evening, Joe’s sister Teresa and her husband Mariano danced with their little girl perched on Mariano’s shoulders. He held Teresa’s waist while she gently held their toddler steady on her daddy’s shoulders. Meanwhile, another sister, Anna, danced with her husband Charlie, their month-old baby resting between them in a baby carrier sling. The love circulating among the little families, the unabashed joy in each other’s company, was radiant. Love had led to marriage. Marriage had led to a further outpouring of love. The delightful fruit of that committed love perched on Mariano’s shoulders and rested on Anna’s bosom.

As it happened, I had also witnessed the “Either” of the Either-Or dichotomy earlier that week. I was installing Covenant Eyes, a Christian web filter, on my new smart phone. I needed to type in a sexual search term to test the filter. Immediately several images came up (due to my smart-phone-challenged errors, which two hours with Covenant Eyes’ phone team resolved). The images were of sex without love and without commitment – of body parts in contact without hearts, minds, or human beings truly touching at all. The images were sterile, desolate, and sad. These were men and women whose protective fatherliness and nurturing motherliness were erased in depersonalized animality. They exhibited everything and showed nothing.

Either-Or. As Israel prepares to enter the Promised Land, Moses issues a final exhortation. He knows that they may forget the Lord who has rescued them from Pharaoh’s hand. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live” (Deut 30:19).

The Catholic approach to sexuality – to life itself – can seem needlessly strict and ultimately anti-sex, a list of “noes”. No sex until marriage. No contraception. No divorce. Modesty in dress. No unchaste glances. No flirting. No porn. The worldly approach, by contrast, can seem free, open, fun, and exhilarating. I can have sex, in person or virtually, with just about anyone at anytime. No consequences. No pain. Victimless crimes.

However, sometimes real life can look like death, and death like life. The hedonist in Either/Or seeks pleasure after pleasure in a relentless flight from boredom, restlessness, and transformative suffering. Our culture does the same, reaping the deadly harvest of millions of abortions, rampant STDs, collapsing marriages and families, pointless lives. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps forth in its petty pace from day to day..” “Let us eat, drink, have sex, for tomorrow we die.”

The fruit of years of Christian commitment – of parents, grandparents, siblings, and of the couple themselves – overflowed at Joe and Valerie’s wedding celebration. Persevering love – of Jesus, of family, of integrity, of real life itself – were the deep roots out of which flowered a Tree of Life under with many, many can shelter. “I have come that they might have life, and life to the full” (Jn 10:10). “Choose life…”(Deut 30.19). Either-Or.

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“Lord, If You Had Been Here…”

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” These words, from the gospel passage about the raising of Lazarus, hold all the sorrow in the world. Martha and Mary, Lazarus’ sisters, each speak them as soon as they meet Jesus (Jn 11:21, 32). They’d sent word to Jesus almost a week before to come and heal Lazarus.

John writes, “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that he was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was” (11:5-6; emphasis mine). An inexplicable passage: so this is how you treat those you love, Lord? Yet He does love them, each uniquely. The rest of the episode bears this out.

Martha is the first of the three siblings to appear. She and Mary appear in two other gospel passages. In Luke 10:38-42, Martha is preparing the meal. She complains to Jesus that her sister Mary, rather than helping, is sitting at Jesus’ feet, listening to Him. In John 12:1-8, Martha is again serving the meal. Mary anoints Jesus’ feet with costly perfume and dries them with her hair. Martha is active and practical, a doer and a speaker. Mary is receptive and demonstrative.

In this episode, Martha is typically active, going out to meet Jesus. Her first words to him are, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” In the ensuing dialogue, Jesus challenges her to have faith. She does, to a point. But later, when Jesus orders the tomb to be opened, she speaks up. “Lord, by this time there will be an odor.” He again urges her to trust Him.

The image I have of Martha is of a pillar, washed by a waterfall of sorrow. She loved Lazarus. She wished he hadn’t died. She openly confesses this to the Lord. But she does so standing straight, gazing straight in Jesus’ eyes. “Here I am. Here’s my sorrow. Help me.”

Mary is sitting at home, waiting for her Lord to summon her. When He does, she comes to meet Him, crying out, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” She falls at His feet, weeping, with heart laid bare. So another Mary (Magdalene) will when she recognizes her Risen Lord by the empty tomb (Jn 20:11-17). Jesus does not speak to Mary. He does not urge her to have faith. He weeps, weeps with her and the crowd.

Finally, there is Lazarus. He is dead. He is bound up with linen bandages. He cannot act, speak, wait for a summons, or weep at Jesus’ feet. He is powerless in every way. Jesus calls him out from death with a loud voice, and tells the mourners to unbind him.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother, mother, daughter, husband would not have died…I would have seen the signs that she was going to kill herself…my parents would not have divorced…I wouldn’t have been raped, abused, bullied, excluded, abandoned…he wouldn’t have cancer…she wouldn’t have had the affair…I wouldn’t have mental illness…I would have had a chance to say goodbye.”

We may be the more stoic, practical type, like Martha – so Jesus urges us to hang on and have faith. We may be more passionate and emotional, like Mary – so Jesus weeps with us. We may be utterly unable to speak or move or act, like Lazarus – so Jesus comes to the tomb where we’re all bound up. He speaks power into our lifelessness, and sets us free.

“Lord, if you had been here…” Sometimes that’s all we can say to Him. It’s not an accusation; not even, exactly, a reproach. It’s an unspoken plea. “Jesus, here’s my heart. It’s broken. I am naked before You. I haven’t got the words to ask for what I need. I’m not sure I even know what I need. But something, some part of my life has died, and I need You to be my Resurrection. I need You to be my Life.” Whoever we are, He meets us where we’re at and gives us what we need. It may be after four days, or weeks, or months, or years of being locked in the tomb. But He meets us.

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Independence Day – Sean E. Stevens, Ph.D.

The celebration of Independence Day gains particular poignance in a year when freedom of religion, of speech – of thought – has steadily lost ground in the U.S. But true freedom comes from identity. We are freest when we know most truly who we are.

The Men’s Bible Study at my parish, St. Robert’s shifts into lower gear during the summer, but a few of us (the Few, the Proud) are going through the Gospel of John a couple of chapters at at time. We just covered chapters 7-9 this Saturday.

In chapter 9 of John, Jesus heals a man born blind. The man’s blindness isn’t his fault. He is born into a world scarred by sin, where injury, illness, and defects are a normal part of existence. And like him, we are all born blind. We need the light of Jesus to show us our identity. When we are firmly grounded in that, we find a freedom to be bold, to speak and to act, that can be breathtaking.

Look at the man born blind. Few of those who passed him day after day did. Once healed, his neighbors weren’t even sure if he was the blind beggar they’d passed day after day (9:8-9). He had to tell them. He was an outcast, just as invisible to them as they were unseeable to him. And then Jesus – unasked, unanticipated – heals him. “‘Go, wash in the pool of Siloam.’ So he went and washed and came back seeing” (9:7). In the verses that follow, the man progresses from being a nobody to being a somebody, from being ignored to speaking up, from ignorance of Jesus to worship.

When first asked, he knows Jesus’ name but not where he is (9:11-12). But as he is repeatedly questioned, first by his neighbors, then by the Pharisees, he comes to see more clearly who Jesus is and speaks more and more boldly. To his neighbors, he says, “He is a prophet” (9:17). The Pharisees say that Jesus, healing on the sabbath, must be a sinner. The man responds, “Whether he is a sinner, I do not know; one thing I know, that though I was blind, now I see”(9:25). Their opposition and ridicule only increase his boldness until he begins to question them: “Do you, too, want to become his disciples?” and implicitly, “How in the world can you deny that a man with such power comes from God?”(9:27-33).

When the Pharisees insult him and throw him out (9:34), Jesus finds him and invites him to be a disciple. The man sees, believes, and worships Jesus (9:35-38). From the freedom to speak boldly – he, a nobody, to the Pharisees, the “Somebodies” of his day – arises the freedom to worship the One who freed him.

Jesus gives sight. Jesus gives freedom. He can only give what He has, and he sees, speaks, and acts with perfect vision and perfect freedom. But His perfect vision and perfect freedom come from Another: the Father. Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus attributes all that he is, speaks, and does to the Father. “My teaching is not mine, but his who sent me” (7:16). “If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing; it is my Father who glorifies me” (8:54). “The works that I do in my Father’s name, they bear witness to me” (10:25). “[K]now and understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father” (10:38).

Finally, Jesus so receives all that He is and does from the Father that He can say with absolute authority, “I and the Father are one” (10:30). The gift of all the Father has and is to Jesus comes from the Father’s love. Jesus passes on this gift to us by laying down His life for us. “For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life, that I may take it again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again: this charge I have received from my Father” (10:17-18).

Jesus not only gave the man born blind his sight: He gave him his identity. The man came to know that he was worth healing, that he had a face and a voice. Out of this identity he speaks with boldness to the powers that be. Out of this identity he is able to see who Jesus is, and he is able to give himself back, freely, to Jesus in worship.

The U.S., as much as we love it, is fast descending into a “soft totalitarianism” that tells us who we are, what we should think, what we should think, and how we should act. Our identity, the State says, is children of the State. We should look only to It for who we are, what we need, and what we should think, say, and do.

The government is our Big Brother: we simply need to trust It. It knows what’s best for us. If we but surrender our freedom to It, Big Brother will take care of us. It kindly, mercifully, thoroughly cleanses our minds of all that would not take on Its loving, gentle yoke. It does this through Hollywood, the news media, and most of all through the propagandizing machine of the public school system. “Come to It, all you who labor and are heavily burdened by trying to figure out who you are, what your purpose is, how to think and feel.” Let It do all of that for you. Become as little children and receive Its kingdom. Stop hating: accept. Stop judging: tolerate. Stop being: be absorbed.

NO.  We are CHRISTIANS. We receive our identity from Jesus Christ alone, Who receives His identity from the Father. He is The Word spoken by the Father, and in St. John of the Cross’s words, “In that one Word, He said everything.” Yet God has more to say, through us, the Body of Christ. In Jesus, each of us is a word as well, spoken with equal love, by the Father to the world. The world needs the word that each of us is, desperately – although it hates, murders, harasses, ridicules, excludes, and otherwise tries to silence us. We need to stay firm in our vision, bold in our speech, absolutely free to live out of our identity as beloved children of the Father, so that others might see and be free. All in love, brothers and sisters – we must be free of hatred most of all. Fire off the skyrockets! This is our Independence Day.

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God the CEO

An image of God I’ve been running up against lately is “God the CEO”. In this view, God isn’t quite as far removed from our daily lives as with Deism (in which God is the Watchmaker Who started off the universe and now lets it run its course: perhaps observing, but never intervening). God the CEO is tremendously busy, running the universe, fielding prayer requests, and fixing up our mess-ups. He’s got a trillion things to do, all of them more important than my petty concerns, so it’s best not to bother Him.

Now, Freud’s theory is that God is an illusion created by man: He is simply my earthly father writ large and projected onto the faceless cosmos. His knowledge, power, ability to punish and reward, and other awe-inspiring qualities are inflated versions of fatherly qualities as the latter would appear to a small child. The societal benefits of such a belief is to keep us morally in line even as grown-ups: kids can get candy, computer time, and fun activities as rewards; and time-outs, loss of privileges, or spanking as punishments, whereas adults get Heaven or Hell.

Naturally, Christians reject Freud’s belief that God is a human, fictional construct. Once we have entered into a relationship with Jesus Christ, and through Him to the Father,  we experience that God is far more wonderful than any human father – however marvelous – could ever be. Christians have experienced God’s overwhelming goodness and love – overwhelming even in its glimmering hints here on Earth, not too mention “the glory to be revealed” (Rom 8:18) in Heaven. Even what “we see indistinctly, as in a mirror” is dazzling; how will the “face to face” be (1 Cor 13:12)?

On the practical level, however, many Christians who’ve experienced God’s awesomeness are still influenced by the Deist or Freudian versions of God. They’ve made Him finite: really, really big, but still finite. To do this is to miss that infinity isn’t just “bigger” than finitude: it’s an entirely different order of being. Such a mindset is revealed in statements like, “I’m fine with praying for other people’s needs, but not my own.” Or, “God’s got bigger things to worry about than my problems. So many people have it worse than I do.”

As noted above, this stance assumes that God, as the Celestial CEO, has a limited amount of time and energy and attention to devote to an enormous number of demands. Just as only the most important concerns go to the Big Cheese, and only the higher-ups get an audience with him, so God can only attend to the Really Big Issues, and has time only for Really Holy People. Out of a misguided humility,  then, I’ll try to handle my problems as best I can, myself; I don’t like to bother Him; who do I think I am, anyway?

Less obvious manifestations of making God a larger-than-life CEO, perhaps more common to Catholics than other Christians, involve little expectation that God would actually speak in my heart or work miracles in answer to my prayers: “That’s for saints, and I’m no saint!” Non-Christians may reinforce this stance: “Do you think you have a personal pipeline to God?” One secular musician satirized the idea of absolute religious truth in a song, “I Know What God Likes”, along the lines of “God likes Republicans/the military/guns/the South/Christians”: implying that to claim divine revelation (public or private) is simply arrogant and ignorant.

But God is not a CEO. He is infinite. His power, love, mercy, goodness, energy, and attention are not divided. All of Who He is and has are exclusively, completely, constantly focused on you. His radiance and majesty are all for you. At the same time – because He is infinite – His attention, love, goodness, power, etc. are exclusively, constantly, etc. focused on me; and on all those you and I love, hate, and are indifferent to. You are, at the most practical level, the only person in His gaze and in His heart. He loves only you; gave His Son for you alone for you alone; delights in you alone; wants to reveal all that He is and wants to only you; infinitely desires only your attention, time, trust, love; mind, body, and soul. And so for every person, ever.

So – “BOTHER” Him with your petty concerns, with the least little problem you have. Expect Him to speak to your heart; to work miracles in your life, and, through you, in others’ lives. Bask in His attention and love. You do have a personal pipeline to God: so does anyone who receives Him. Immerse yourself and all those He puts on your heart in the ocean of His goodness: it’s all for you; it’s all for each one of them.

God the CEO wants to meet with you; He wants you to move into the executive suite; you are His right-hand man or woman. As with Charley in “Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”, He wants you to have it all: the whole company, the whole inheritance, the works. “I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full” (Jn 10:10). “Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it” (Ps 81:10).

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