Archive for the ‘Christianity’ Category

The Splendor of the Church

In Christianity on April 22, 2015 at 1:05 pm

My family does not yet believe in Saints. “Greet the saints around you,” yes. Capital-S, lives-of-heroic-virtue Saints, no.

Nor do their religious assemblies put much stock in the glories of Church. Their churches are local groups of believers, gathered for worship and service, governed by men and women in loose affiliation with like-minded believers. The believer is primary; the assembly is malleable—or if it is not, one simply finds or forms a new assembly more in line with one’s own beliefs.

Hence, while browsing in a Catholic bookstore, The Splendor of the Church caught my eye. Like Fr. James V. Schall’s title, The Order of Things, the title of Fr. Henri de Lubac’s book begs for attention.

More properly, His Eminence Cardinal Henri-Marie de Lubac († 1991), Henri de Lubac loved Christ’s Church for his entire life. He lived in service and fidelity to the Church, even during “the dark years.” Indeed, Méditation sur l’Église (retitled in English, The Splendor of the Church), was written during those years.

What makes this book remarkable? It is because The Splendor of the Church confirms that, long before the Church embraced me; long before the richness of catholic (which is to say, universal) Christianity became evident to me, the glories of the Church had been extolled for 20 centuries. For those of us from less than supportive families, or living in less than sympathetic communities, it is a great joy to be reminded history is on the side of the Church, and other women and men were drawn by the same transcendence.

The Catholic Church is a “standard raised among the nations” … a rallying point for all, “inviting those who as yet have not faith, and assuring her own children that the faith which they profess has the firmest of foundations” … She is the mountain visible from afar, the radiant city, the light set in a candlestick to illuminate the whole house. She is the imperishable building of cedar and cypress, which defies the passage of time in its awe-inspiring massiveness and gives to our ephemeral individualities their measure of confidence.  She is the “continual miracle,” always announcing to men the coming of their Savior and manifesting His liberating power in examples without number; the magnificent vaulting under which the saints, like so many stars, sing together of the glory of the Redeemer.¹

When a Catholic wants to expound the claims the Church has on his obedience he feels a certain embarrassment or, rather, a certain melancholy.  It is not that her title-deeds are inadequate. But when taken in the dryness of the mere letter, the claims do not do justice to something that is, as far as he is concerned, essential.  He can point to the facts of history, develop the arguments that are suitable to the occasion.  But when he has done all this, all he has done is to establish the fact that we ought to submit, as a matter of justice and our own good; he has not been able to convey the spontaneous leap of his own heart to obedience, nor the joy he feels in his submission.²

Thus, when we say to the Church, in the words which the Apostle used to Christ, Who founded her: “To whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life,” this is not in virtue of some fatigue of spirit, which seeks to place itself under an authority to escape the effort of thought and the labor of living; rather it is, as Newman put it, in virtue of a sense of coming to rest in the Catholic plenitude.³

 And that, by God’s grace, is Christianity Richly!


¹ Henri de Lubac, The Splendor of the Church (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1999), p. 46.

² Pages 265-266.

³ Page 271.


The Basis of Community

In Christianity on November 11, 2014 at 9:11 pm

If you are a regular reader of Christianity Richly, the importance of community is already clear. If not, click here and follow the links, because this present post is not simply about the the richness of community within the Church. This post addresses something more fundamental: how community came about; how the very basis of community arises from God’s own nature; and what the basis of that community means for you and for me.

If all community arises from God’s nature, then that certainly has implications for Christians (see John 17, particularly verse 21). But if community arises from God’s nature, we gain a better understanding of even “ordinary” friendship. We also gain insight about God’s purpose for us and guidance in terms of what response best suits that purpose. And finally, if community arises from God’s very nature, we can dispel a very common misconception about God and establish a right relationship with Him.

Let’s begin with the misconception. There is no better illustration than James Weldon Johnson’s (1871-1928) poem, “The Creation,” which begins:

And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I’m lonely—
I’ll make me a world.

God is not lonely. Moreover—and be attentive here—the fact He is not lonely is the basis for community. Why? Because non-loneliness begins in the Trinity, the three-Person Godhead. Fr. James V. Schall, S.J.’s magnificent book The Order of Things includes a chapter titled “Order Within the Godhead.” Note the word “order.” Fr. Schall does not mean “giving an order” or “ordering things rightly,” although that second meaning is close. By order, he means something more like the inherent structure of things; the true nature of things. So in that chapter his focus is the reality, the true nature of what the Trinity is.

Fr. Schall directly addresses the misconception in Johnson’s poem (a view held by some modern men and women):

Within the inner life of the Godhead there is a diversity of Persons such that God is in fact lacking no perfection, such as friendship … [this] means that what is not God … is not the product of necessity … what is not God need not exist. God would be perfect and complete even if there were nothing besides God.¹

Notice the statement “what is not God need not exist.” Just in case you or I miss the point, that’s us! God was not driven by some sort of loneliness to sit down (in Johnson’s poetic language) beside a river to think and think, until He thought, “I’ll make me a man!” The love, joy, and community among the three Persons of the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—were complete and perfect before the act of creating. We aren’t “needed.” That sounds discouraging but the reality is infinitely greater and more positive. Read on.

So what is the first thing we learn by correcting the “God is lonely” misconception? The Catechism of the Catholic Church answers comprehensively in its first paragraph:

God, infinitely perfect and blessed in himself, in a plan of sheer goodness freely created man to make him share in his own blessed life. For this reason, at every time and in every place, God draws close to man . . . In his Son and through him, he invites men to become, in the Holy Spirit, his adopted children and thus heirs of his blessed life. (From the Prologue)

By extension, then, Fr. Schall writes, “if God freely causes what is not Himself to exist, we can, on the basis of His own merciful purpose in creation, anticipate or expect that His loyalty or fidelity will be freely given to what He causes to be.” He created freely. Apparently He created joyfully, for Genesis 1 repeatedly says that God viewed what He created as good. He even created us in His own image, endowed with reason and free will.² And He blessed the man and the woman with everything needed for their welfare and creative activity (Genesis 1:28-31). What marvelous evidence that God’s intent toward us is loving; that He desires our good!

The second thing we learn from the Trinitarian basis of community is what Fr. Schall calls the “principle of return.” He writes:

Creation needs and has the capacity to respond to its own cause [God] in the manner in which its existence was originally given, that is, out of love or mercy, not necessity … This means that the highest point of contact between the inner life of God and the life of the world is at the point where an intelligent creature is capable of receiving a gift and returning it to its source.

In other words, we are intended to love God in the same way love is freely given and reciprocated among the three Persons of the Trinity. Fr. Schall concludes, “The inner life of God is complete in itself. What is not God [us] exists in order to reveal or reflect this inner order insofar as it can be imitated outside of itself.” Our lives in community are to mirror the Trinity!

But unlike the Trinity, our love is not perfect. Our fidelity is not complete. So what does this mean for our friendship with God? First, that we must repent and turn from our sins to restore community with the Source of community. Second, we must gratefully receive the gift offered—the love of God expressed in the death of Jesus Christ for our sins. Third, we must respond in gratitude and reciprocate God’s love through lives of holiness and service to others.

How do we do this?

[God in] His wisdom has found a way by which we can truly reach Him, can give our love to Him directly, and yet retain the unfettered liberality of friendship. He has found the way of Faith. By faith … we reach God Himself; yet such is the character of the knowledge born of faith that seeing, we see not; we know the one living God, yet remain unconstrained by His unbearable beauty, free to present before Him the priceless offering of friendship.³

Do you desire friendship with God? Do you want forgiveness for failings? Do you desire the basis for true community in your family? Do you seek to be united with the vast Communion of Saints? Then extend the hand of friendship to God, expressed through your faith. And join in the community that is only possible through the free gift and reciprocation of Divine Love.

That is Christianity Richly!


¹ The Order of Things, pp. 54-55. The quotations of Fr. Schall that follow in the running text of this post are drawn from pp. 54-59, a section of the chapter so conceptually rich, it should be read carefully and used as a basis for meditation.

² Any discussion of free will quickly ends up in deep waters. This post’s purpose is not to re-argue a topic that has been the subject of debate for millennia. Let’s save that for another day. As the Catechism, “The grace of Christ is not in the slightest way a rival of our freedom when this freedom accords with the sense of the true and the good that God has put in the human heart” (Catechism, “Human Freedom in the Economy of Salvation,” 1742).

³ The Prayer of Faith, by Fr. Leonard Boase, S.J., pp. 102-103. This book is difficult to locate, but well worth the effort. The title is linked to the search engine.

A final editorial note: when to capitalize personal pronouns and other references to God is a subject of much disagreement. James Weldon Johnson, in his poem, chose not to capitalize the personal pronoun for God. We’ll trust that was not a reflection of his theology. Fr. Shall prefers to emphasize God’s divinity and infinite otherness by capitalizing third-person singular references to God, as well as the his reference to “Persons” in the Trinity. I have followed Fr. Schall’s lead. However, other sources, including the Catechism of the Catholic Church, have chosen editorially to lower-case personal pronouns referring to God to create a smoother flow of the text for the reader. I understand and try to do that in my own writing by eliminating extraneous commas and other punctation marks, where clarity is not affected. If you wondered about He/he, Him/him, etc., in this post, hope this explanation the inconsistent treatment of upper and lower case answers the question.


A Day for Community

In Christianity on October 18, 2014 at 4:20 pm

On November 1, we celebrate Christian Community—All Saints’ Day. Previous posts on community¹ were not intended to mark this celebration, but still we can give thanks for God’s providential timing and add a quiet, “Hooray!” for All Saints’ approach, especially given the ghouls and ghosts our society celebrates at Halloween.

Now called The Solemnity of All Saints, this celebration once was titled Hallowmas, just as September 29 was Michaelmas (for the celebration of St. Michael and the Angels) and December 25 is still Christmas (for the celebration of Our Savior’s birth). Hallowmas was instituted to recognize and remember “the holy apostles, all saints, martyrs and confessors, [and] all the just made perfect who are at rest.”² Hallowsmas was sometimes called All Hallows. This led to the secular Halloween (short for “All Hallows Evening” or “Hallows E’en”).

Why should we care about All Saints? That’s like asking, “Why should we care about departed members of our biological families?” We care because those family members who were committed Christians nurtured us; they served as our examples; they prayed for us. The Christians in our families from previous generations served as beacons, guiding lights toward which we could walk on our own pilgrimage. As St. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11:1, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.”

We are encouraged to demonstrate the same discipleship and imitation of those whom, like St. Paul, the Church recognizes as Saints — particularly the martyrs. The Catechism of the Catholic Church says:

We worship Christ as God’s Son; we love the martyrs as the Lord’s disciples and imitators, and rightly so because of their matchless devotion towards their king and master. May we also be their companions and fellow disciples! (CCC 957)³

Not all Saints are martyrs, however. Others lived long lives of faithfulness to Christ. Equally significant, the Church recognizes there were (and are today) even more men and women whose lives of heroic virtue qualify them as Saints, but they are yet unknown to us. All Saints’ is a day to celebrate them, too.

Finally, all who have died in Christ and have entered eternity before us, whether formally recognized as Saints or not, are part of the same Body of Christ as we are:

[A]t the present time some of his disciples are pilgrims on earth. Others have died and are being purified, while still others are in glory, contemplating “in full light, God himself triune and one, exactly as he is.” 

All of us, however, in varying degrees and in different ways share in the same charity towards God and our neighbors  and we all sing the one hymn of glory to our God. All, indeed, who are of Christ and who have his Spirit form one Church and in Christ cleave together. (CCC 954)

How do we cleave, while separated by temporal death, as we presently are, from the Saints who are with Christ? One way is by asking the Saints to pray for us:

Being more closely united to Christ, those who dwell in heaven fix the whole Church more firmly in holiness…. [T]hey do not cease to intercede with the Father for us, as they proffer the merits which they acquired on earth through the one mediator between God and men, Christ Jesus…. So by their fraternal concern is our weakness greatly helped. (CCC 956)³

This in no ways contradicts the wonderful promise made in Hebrews 7:25, that Christ lives forever as our eternal High Priest to make intercession for us. But we can ask the Saints in heaven to pray for us, just as we ask family and friends on earth to include us in their prayers! The Saints are not indifferent to our needs. Have you asked for a Saint’s prayer recently? Just as we imitate the Saints’ holiness, we can ask their intercession. This privilege is underscored in during the Sacred Liturgy, when the priest prays:

Look, we pray, upon the oblation of your Church and, recognizing the sacrificial Victim by whose death you willed to reconcile us to yourself … May he make of us an eternal offering to you, so that we may obtain an inheritance with your elect, especially with the most Blessed Virgin Mary, other of God, with your blessed Apostles and glorious Martyrs, and with all the Saints, on whose constant intercession in your presence we rely for unfailing help. (Eucharistic Prayer III)

The immense richness of this doctrine, the great opportunity the Communion of Saints places before us, constitutes an entire section of The Catechism. It is very much worth our attention. But for brevity here, we can summarize and conclude preparation for All Saints’ Day with this:

None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself.  If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. Charity does not insist on its own way. [T]his solidarity with all men, living or dead … is founded on the communion of saints. (CCC 953)³

And that is is another magnificent example of Christianity Richly!


¹ See Community Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.

² In the eighth century, Pope Gregory III moved the date from May 13. That was the date on which All Saints’ had been celebrated since 609 or 610 when Pope Boniface IV consecrated the Pantheon in Rome to the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the martyrs (Sanctae Mariae ad Martyres). The Pantheon is still standing, of course, and well worth a visit.

³ Catechism of the Catholic Church. United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Libreria Editrice Vaticana (2011-11-02). Kindle Edition.



Community, Part 4

In Christianity on October 6, 2014 at 5:21 pm

Amy Welborn has written an absolutely wonderful book about prayer, titled The Words We Pray. In it she recounts her early prayer experience, which, although she grew up Catholic, was not unlike my own. “You’ve Got a Friend” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water” guided our contemplation. If it was a really good prayer experience, we cried.

Most of all, we both were convinced “praying with words that someone else had written” was not worth our time. In her view, memorized prayers were for children — not for a spiritually mature person. Memorized prayers, from my separatist protestant perspective, were for Catholics and high-church folks who didn’t understand the Gospel and didn’t have anything to say from their own Christian experience.

Enter the Communion of Saints. How wrong both Ms. Welborn and I were! That’s why this post is titled “Community, Part 4.” Early in her book, she expresses the reality better than I could (p. xvii):

The words of our traditional prayers are also gifts from the past, connecting us to something very important: the entirety of the Body of Christ, as it was then, as it is now, and as it will be to come.

Early in my Catholic Christian days, I was faced with “saying grace” before a meal with others in my parish. “Bless us O Lord,” our priest began, followed by others joining him praying, “and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ Our Lord. Amen.” What? Wait. Stop! The blessing was over before I got started. And worse, where was the extemporaneous prayer asking God to bless the food, but also to bless those around the table, the work of the Gospel in the world, and all the other needs pressing upon our minds and hearts?

Was there to be no extemporaneous prayer? No. Not at that moment. Certainly no one there was unmindful of the other thanks and requests that might be included. But those assembled wanted to pray together. As Ms. Welborn writes later:

Life on earth is a reflection of God’s nature. He creates a world in which none of the parts work in isolation, in which loving community is the ground of being and action¹

— including prayer. This is very much in contrast to the ruggedly individualistic prayer that characterized so much of my protestant fundamentalist and evangelical years. And yet,

We are not alone. We have billions of brothers and sisters, all of whom breathe the same air and whose souls look to the same heights for meaning and purpose.²

As a protestant, I assumed (or at least hoped) my brothers and sisters were praying along with me. How much more wonderful it is to be audibly joined in prayer, which encourages all of us to come before the Father, in the Name of the Son, by the Holy Spirit. Memorized prayer doesn’t somehow relieve us of worrying about what we ought to say to God. It supports us and brings us into community with others who want to express the same thanksgivings; the same needs; to the same God and Savior.

It’s just one more way of bringing us together in God’s love. I’m not living for myself alone. I’m joined with an entire Church, living for God’s kingdom in all it does.³


¹ Amy Welborn, The Words We Pray: Discovering the Richness of Traditional Catholic Prayers, p. 195.

² Ibid, p. xvii.

³ Ibid, p. 56.

Please also see Community, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3, as background to this post.

Angels and Saints

In Christianity on September 29, 2014 at 5:35 pm

On the nightstand in the guest bedroom of our home stands a statue of St. Michael the Archangel. Its purpose is to remind guests and ourselves of the protecting power of God. “He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.” ¹ Today’s Feast of the Angels (September 29), is a reminder that, in writing about Christian Community², God’s ministering spirits³ are very, very much among those in the family of our Faith.

The statue is modeled after Guido Reni’s painting of St. Michael, part of the altarpiece in the first chapel of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome. A marvelous copy by Giovanni Andrea Sirani, one of Guido Reni’s best students, hangs in the Museum & Gallery at Bob Jones University in Greenville, SC.

What does this have to do with community? With the Communion of Saints? Just this: as Catholic Christians celebrate and remember the lives of Saints daily, whose faith and holiness we are to imitate (1 Corinthians 11:1), these three ministering spirits — Michael (Daniel 10:13, 21, and 12:1; Revelation 12:7-9, and Jude 1:9), Gabriel (Luke 1:26), and Raphael (Tobit 12:11-22) — are very much among them.

For what reason? From Butler’s Lives of the Saints:

Of the good angels, we are called upon to give thanks to God for the glory angels enjoy and to rejoice in their happiness; to thank Him for His mercy in constituting such beings to minister to our salvation by aiding us; to join them in worshipping and praising God, praying that we may do His will as it is done by those blessed spirits in Heaven; and lastly, we are invited to honour them and implore their intercession and succour.  —September 29, from the entry for Michael the Archangel

Is this a blessing, as a result of being one of Christ’s own? Or is it nonsense, as some of our separated brothers and sisters would maintain? “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven” (Matthew 6:10). If our memory and honor of Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael impels us to more perfectly seek to “do His will as it is done by those blessed spirits in Heaven,” let me be nonsensical! One is reminded of John 13:8-9.

Even more beautifully, one is reminded of the The Anima Christi. Our prayers matter. They say a lot about who we are as Christians. Read Amy Welborn’s The Words We Pray. Then we can rejoice that on this September 29 day of celebration, we can conclude The Anima Christi with the words (translations vary):

In the hour of my death call me,
And bid me come to Thee.
That, with Thy Angels and Saints,
I may praise Thee
Forever and ever.  Amen


¹ Psalm 91:11, from the translation I memorized years ago, though other translations don’t differ in meaning.

² See also the first three posts about Community, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. In a very definite and fitting way, today’s post could have easily been titled “Community, Part 4.”

³ Hebrews 1:14

Community, Part 3

In Christianity on September 23, 2014 at 7:09 pm

In January 2014, I wrote two posts on community for Christianity RichlyCommunity, Part 1, and Community, Part 2. In those posts I began to explore how Our Lord used community as one of the means by which He drew me into the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. The importance of community, the degree to which it is integral to the Church, has become increasingly clear—so clear I now consider it a vitally important sixth reason why I am a Catholic Christian.

In some ways community is the visible manifestation of unity, one of the five original reasons I embraced the fullness of the Catholic faith. But community and unity go far beyond the visible unity that Christ intended for His Church on earth. Community also includes the invisible but very real unity we have with in Communion of Saints, “the greater part of the Catholic Church . . . beyond the grave where lies our ultimate destiny.”¹

We are very much part of a family that includes the Mother of God—the Mother Jesus Christ gave to be our Mother, too (John 19:26-27). We can be sure of her love and prayers for us today, just as her love and prayers were offered for the Apostle John, into whose earthly care she was given. Our family also includes the Saints of the Old and New Testaments. We are encouraged to honor them (Hebrews 11) and imitate their holiness (1 Corinthians 11:1). We are able to offer “loving and constant prayer for the departed,” our family and friends who have preceded us into eternity (2 Maccabees 12:38-46, 2 Timothy 1:16-18). All of this reflects “the truth that we are in communion with those in the world to come . . . that the Catholic Church is the one body on earth which is always adding to its members by Baptism, but never losing them by death . . . the heart of it is a community of love.”²

Should any of  this surprise us? No. As Kenneth Noakes writes:

In recent decades, there has been a recovery of the sense of the Church as communion, an understanding which was prevalent in the early centuries of the Church’s life when the sacramental sense was so strongly developed.  The goal of human life is communion with the Father in Jesus Christ . . . We are united with one another in Christ within His Church [those on earth and those alive in eternity], as we are united with the Blessed Trinity—we experience communion horizontally and vertically, as it were—when we share the Eucharist.³

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

Amen!  Christianity Richly.


¹ From an essay by Graham Leonard titled “By Whose Authority?” in The Path to Rome: Modern Journeys to the Catholic Church, edited by Fr. Dwight Longenecker and first published in 1999 by Gracewing (Herefordshire, UK), p. 31.

² Ibid.

³ From an essay by Kenneth Noakes titled “Echoes of the Early Church: The Testimony of the Church Fathers,” in The Path to Rome: Modern Journeys to the Catholic Church, edited by Fr. Dwight Longenecker and first published in 1999 by Gracewing (Herefordshire, UK), p. 69.

A Family Pilgrimage

In Christianity on July 11, 2014 at 3:13 pm

Those who keep prayer journals and spiritual diaries usually find this discipline strengthens their faith. One of Advent’s joys is to prepare my journal for the coming year. I transfer as yet unanswered prayer requests, to continue to bring them to the Father. I also page through the year-to-come and note specific blessings from years past, to serve as encouragements. Those notes are my “stones in the stream.”¹

When July 1, 2014 arrived a note appeared: “A month of special grace for me as a result of having been received into The Church on July 27, 2008.” My first thought was “Thank you Lord. I need that grace. The last 18 months have been pretty rough.” That thought was followed by the question, “And what will the grace be, Lord?”

God knows what grace remains to be given, but one was already granted in the first octave of the month: to spend four hours with my brother-in-law, Neil Willett, who is persevering in the Faith amidst his courageous battle with a brain tumor (glioblastoma multiforme). Immense grace was granted through Neil, on a family pilgrimage—a journey of spiritual significance.²

We discussed books. He pointed out the volumes he wanted me to have. We discussed Saints, whose examples God gives us to follow.³ We discussed suffering and how his is being offered up for others. I don’t fully understand Colossians 1:24, but admiration and gratitude overwhelm me as I see my brother-in-law valiantly striving to live out what we do understand.

He spoke of the encouragement I have been to him. Dear Lord, how can this be—when he is so far ahead of me that I only follow the Light from fires at camps he has pitched in the distance? Neil grew up in the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Faith and prayed I might find it.

We prayed “Bless us, O Lord” before a meal. I joined his prayer in the bond of communion that comes, certainly from The Eucharist and a common Liturgy, but also from simple shared prayers. We talked of music and of growing up in the same town. We listened, via the Web on our iPads, to shared songs.

My past year has been even less than light affliction (2 Corinthians 4:17). Hear St. Francis de Sales: “Consider the pains that the martyrs have endured, and think how even now many people are bearing afflictions beyond all measure greater than yours.” Yes Lord. And St. Francis de Sales again: “None of your sufferings can be compared to His.” No Lord. Never. Thank You for patiently suffering misunderstanding, scorn, abandonment, betrayal, scourging, unendurable agony, and so much more for us! “Passion of Christ, strengthen me. O good Jesus, hear me. Within Thy wounds hide me.”

We whispered a prayer in parting, just for now, Neil and I. “For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us,” which Neil finished with, “and on the whole world”—his benediction on our time together and for me.

Loving Father, grant a miracle for Neil and for those of us who love him! The paralytic was healed, the official’s daughter was raised, the blind were given sight, the mute to speak, and the woman who simply touched the hem of Your garment was made well. Yet we know You have given us a miracle—miracle upon miracle: You have given Yourself.

Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.


¹ Joshua 4:1-24. The stones were visible, incarnational reminders of God’s faithfulness; His active intervention on behalf of His people.  Notice too, the 12 stones placed in the stream at Joshua’s instruction (Joshua’s name means “YHWH is salvation”). They prefigure the 12 Apostles placed in the stream of life by our Greater Joshua, our Lord Jesus Christ (who intervened in history by His Incarnation and whose name means “God saves”).

² See “A Modest Pilgrimage.”

³ Hebrews 11; 1 Corinthians 11:1-2.

A Modest Pilgrimage

In Christianity on March 29, 2014 at 5:12 pm

Christian pilgrimage is a rich tradition. Some of us first encounter the notion of pilgrimage as students, studying Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Others arrive at the idea intuitively, wanting to see Jerusalem and The Holy Land, or St. Peter’s in Rome, or Notre Dame in Paris. On these pilgrimages and others, the journey is one of spiritual significance. A pilgrimage is not just “travel,” with a religious destination at its end.

With that in mind, let me propose a modest pilgrimage—to Greenville, South Carolina. The town is chronicled in “Letter Nine” of George Weigel’s wonderful short book, Letters to a Young Catholic. Heady stuff, to be listed with St. Peter’s (“Letter Two”), the Sistine Chapel (“Letter Eight”), Chartes Cathedral in France (“Letter Twelve”), The Basilica of the Holy Trinity in Kraków (“Letter Fourteen”), etc. Some measure of modesty is regained, however, when one notes “Letter Six” is about Chesterton’s pub, The Olde Cheshire Cheese.

Why on earth would South Carolina, where Catholic Christians represent less than 4% of the population—the least Catholic state in the U.S.¹, save Mississippi and Tennessee—be a point of pilgrimage?

St. Mary’s Catholic Church
The reason is the public prayer of the Church, “Why and How We Pray,” as George Weigel terms it in describing St. Mary’s Catholic Church, the mother church of Catholicism in Upstate South Carolina.

We live at a time when the Sacred Liturgy is celebrated in ways ranging from awkward to awesome. By God’s grace, Fr. Jay Scott Newman has made worship during Solemn Mass at St. Mary’s “awesome,” in the truest sense of the word: reverent, transcendent, and content-rich, as the Church’s public prayer must be. The prayers of the liturgy are underscored by a program of sacred music second to none, thanks to Choirmaster Arlen Clarke and Organist Robert Lee. The beauty of the church architecture, the visual coherence of St. Mary’s campus, and a robust program of Christian education all confirm that Christ is Truth, Beauty, and Goodness. Come, let us adore Him!

Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church
Over the years since Weigel’s book was published in 2005, robust Catholic orthodoxy has continued to take root in Greenville’s red clay soil—finding favorable conditions for growth and health.  Perhaps this stems from a biblically literate population, as a result of the strong fundamentalist/evangelical history of the region, many of whom are now experiencing a longing for “More Christianity,” in Fr. Dwight Longenecker‘s fine phrase. Fr. Longenecker is pastor of Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church in Greenville, a vibrant parish of families and faith-filled young Catholics. His own pilgrimage began in an evangelical family, followed by graduation from fundamentalist Bob Jones University, and then theological studies at Oxford University.

Most readers will recognize Fr. Longenecker’s allusion to C.S. Lewis’ much loved Mere Christianity. A longing for more Christianity recognizes, implicitly at least, that the trajectory of protestant belief since the 16th century has been largely subtractive: remove books from the Bible, deny God’s continuing grace conveyed through the Sacraments, and express the Faith as a set of propositions to be believed, as much as a Person to be followed. This is almost certainly the basis for Dr. Scot McKnight’s findings in “From Wheaton to Rome: Why Evangelicals Become Roman Catholic.” More Christianity is possible and God-ordained—it is Christianity Richly!

Prince of Peace Catholic Church
Finally, while on pilgrimage to Greenville be sure to visit Prince of Peace, where Fr. Christopher Smith, STD/PhD is is Parish Priest. Fr. Smith is a Greenville native and a convert to Catholic Christianity, as are Frs. Newman and Longenecker. Fr. Smith celebrates the Sacred Liturgy in both the ordinary (English) and extraordinary (Latin) forms. In addition, his two homily series—The Creed in Slow Motion and The Mass in Slow Motion—are wonderfully helpful guides to understanding the Christian faith itself, as well as the rich culmination of 20 centuries of Christian worship. Both series are available on the church’s website.

Finally in terms of why one might make a pilgrimage to Greenville, the work of these three extraordinarily gifted shepherds bears much hope for dispelling centuries of misunderstanding of the Catholic Faith. If one reads Eamon Duffy’s, The Stripping of the Altars, or Dom Bede Camm’s, Forgotten Shrines, the terrible consequence of hostility between Christians becomes clear. In the southeastern part of the United States, where English roots and amazing tales about “what Catholics believe” walk hand in hand, these men and their parishes model Christian charity without abandoning the immense richness of “the faith once delivered to the saints” (Jude 1:3).  May we pray earnestly for that day, when all will see and understand Christianity Richly!


¹ 2010 Religious Census: Religious Congregations and Membership Study (RCMS)

Community, Part 2

In Christianity on January 2, 2014 at 10:00 pm

I grew up in a small family: 2 sisters, 4 grandparents, 1 aunt and 1 uncle. My Mom was an only child. My Dad had one sister. Perhaps this is one reason why community¹ in the Church is important to me. But the importance of  community and the Communion of Saints is greater than any comfort it gives me.

January 1 is the Solemnity of the Holy Mother of God, a holy day of obligation for Catholic Christians. On January 1, we recall the First Council of Ephesus in 431. The Council was assembled because the Patriarch of Constantinople, Nestorius, had objected to the title Theotokos (Greek for “God-bearer” or Mother of God) being given to the Virgin Mary. His point was that no creature could bear The Creator.

The Council taught otherwise. We must call Mary Theotokos, the Mother of God, because failing to do so would sever the Divine and the human in Christ. The dilemma of how a creature could bear The Creator is not resolved in Mary; it is resolved in Jesus Christ², the God-Man Who took the flesh of the Virgin Mary and became man to to accomplish our redemption.

What does any of that have to do with community? The Lord’s great act of love and condescension puts a new face, literally, on the meaning of community. This is infinite, eternal community—His solidarity with us in our flesh; in our joys and sufferings of our lives; in experiencing death. Jesus Christ, fully man and fully God, paid the penalty for our sin that we might live eternally. That is community!

Still, a short postscript can be added to show yet another dimension of community. After Mass on January 1, I paused to kneel at the Crèche beside the altar. My wife and I had been away over Christmas and this was my first opportunity to pay homage to The Holy Family in this way. I was joined almost immediately by several others, parents and children of the parish—unforced, unprompted; motivated by love for our Lord. What joy! We didn’t need to speak. We were united in Christ and in this visible display of devotion. What a wonderful sense of family; what a joy-filled demonstration of community in Christ.

That experience also demonstrates the days of the Liturgical Year we call “Holy Days of Obligation” are actually “Holy Days of Opportunity.” In the liturgy, in the community, and most of all in The Eucharist, we are always given much more than we could ask or deserve.

Come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. That truly is Christianity Richly!

¹ If you have begun your exploration of community with this post, Part 2, then be sure to see Part 1 and Part 3, as well.

² Fr. Jay Scott Newman, January 1, 2014 homily at St. Mary’s Catholic Church, Greenville, SC. I have footnoted this statement because it was one of the most incisive in his homily, but I am indebted to Fr. Newman for the substance of much of this post. I simply have placed it in the context of thinking about community.

Community, Part 1

In Christianity on January 2, 2014 at 9:59 pm

When the Christianity Richly blog was launched in 2009, several posts described my reasons for entering “the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.”¹ If you’ve read the About link (located beneath the large, red Christianity Richly masthead at the top) you’ll know my journey was based on certainty, history, unity, authority, and liturgy.

Over the years since entering the Church, an important sixth reason has become clear: community. The Apostles Creed concludes

I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting. Amen. 

Not surprisingly, the communion of saints is viewed differently by Christians who protest that “the holy catholic Church” simply means the invisible body of true Christians, the members of which are known only to God.² But even while holding that position, protestant assemblies sometimes encourage members to “greet the saints around you.” Ah, now we are getting closer to the truth!

While authority remains first among the reasons for becoming a Catholic Christian, the importance of the communion of saints was always apparent.  A simple example: from the first time I knelt beside strangers in a Catholic Church, it became clear—from this very unaccustomed posture—that a greater consciousness of the needs of others, and their devotion to God, resulted. No longer was I surrounded by seemingly self-sufficient, individualistic Christians, relaxing with their legs and arms crossed, in the pews. The sense of community that comes from kneeling with others to worship God was (and is) powerful.

Yet this example only scratches the surface of what the communion of saints is, a reality that is is vitally important to understand. In the posts that  follow, perhaps together we can begin to grasp the importance of the communion of saints to our daily lives—yours and mine. I encourage to read on, Community Part 2Community Part 3Community Part 4, and even A Day for Community.

¹ See this article about what are called “the four marks of the Church” (one, holy, catholic, and apostolic). For it is in community that we find Christianity Richly.

² If the Apostles Creed, or the concept of the communion of saints, are new to you may want to read the material at the red-highlighted links as background.

Our Aslan

In Christianity on October 18, 2013 at 2:35 pm

Who Shall Climb” (a meditation on Psalm 24) asked how a Christian can live in joyful hope, when faced with a standard that is insurmountable: clean hands, a pure heart, and no desire for worthless things. I fail. That’s joyful hope?

The Apostle Paul seems to have experienced the same tension. Read Romans 7:15-25. It’s important we know we aren’t alone. God be thanked for the communion of saints who have gone before us and shared their struggles with us.

At the end of “Who Shall Climb” our reason for joyful hope was identified: Jesus Christ met the insurmountable standard. In love and mercy, he died for our sins as the sacrifice supremely acceptable to God. His cross becomes “the bridge perfectly fitted to that fissure we shall have to cross”¹ — the gap between the holiness of God and the sin of man.

As we look at the altar during the liturgy of the Mass, we do well think of C.S. Lewis’ memorable picture in The Chronicles of Narnia. Aslan, the Christ-figure in Lewis’ allegory, allows himself to be put to death on The Stone Table for Edmund’s sin. Susan and Lucy witness the result of Aslan offering himself in Edmund’s place. His majestic mane is shorn, he is tied to the table, and slain. In the sacred liturgy, are we really conscious of our Savior Jesus Christ, “our Aslan,” during this re-presentation of Him offering Himself for us?

Because Christ, the incarnate God, took the penalty for our sin, Psalm 24 reveals the basis for joyful hope! We are told  to “let Him enter, the King of Glory,” followed by the obvious question — in effect, “OK then, but who is this King of Glory?” The divinely inspired answer: “The Lord, the mighty, the valiant; the Lord the valiant in war.” If we are fighting spiritual warfare (and we are according to Ephesians 6:12), then Who better could be on our side than the most valiant; the mightiest in spiritual warfare?

In that fight He also engages the communion of saints on our behalf. In verse 10, Psalm 24 asks once again, “Who is this King of Glory?” The psalmist answers, “The Lord of hosts.” The Grail translation of the Psalms says, “The Lord of armies.” Hosts — armies! — of saints through the centuries stand at-ready to assist us; to pray for us; to pray with us.

May we live in gratitude daily for our Aslan’s extraordinary compassion and mercy, the mercy of Jesus Christ. While we may not meet the standard of Psalm 24 perfectly, our Lord did, and offered that perfect righteousness on our behalf. That is truly . . . Christianity Richly!

¹ Paul Claudel, A Poet Before the Cross (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1958), p. 50.

Who Shall Climb?

In Christianity on June 3, 2013 at 2:51 pm

We underestimate God’s grandeur, I suspect, when we conceive it to be quite an easy thing to save us.     —Fr. James V. Schall, S.J., The Mind That is Catholic

For any of us who wrestle with Psalm 24—one of the Psalms that opens the Liturgy of the Hours—then morning prayer can feel like Jacob’s struggle at Peniel (Genesis 32:25-31). We are left alone with two staggering questions answered by a standard we cannot keep: “Who shall climb the mountain of the Lord? Who shall stand in His holy place? The man with clean hands and pure heart, who desires not worthless things ….”¹ Do not depart from us, Lord, until you bless us! But how can You, according to this standard?

How can sinful man approach the holiness of God and live? Israel trembled before the mount enveloped in smoke “because the LORD had come down upon it in fire” (Exodus 19:16-18). Isaiah cried out, “Woe is me, I am doomed!” (Isaiah 6:5) and Peter implored the Savior, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8).

Ludwig Wittgenstein expresses well the anguish of unworthiness, the gap we feel between ourselves and God: “The Christian religion is only for one who needs infinite help—that is, only for one who feels infinite anguish.”² Clean hands? A completely pure heart? Never a desire for that which is worthless or frivolous, much less sinful? Woe is me, for I fall far short of that standard!

This series of posts, “Who Shall Climb?” offers answers for those of us who need infinite help. Do you? A country preacher opined, “You gotta get ’em lost, before you can get ’em saved.” While Catholic Christians use a different language to speak of salvation, one still must begin with a deep sense of unworthiness—not simply angst, but being conscious of having fallen short of a standard to which we shall be held accountable. Christian discipleship is a revealed religion, not of our own making. We cannot choose the parts we like and leave behind those we don’t.

Do you “conceive it to be quite an easy thing to save us?” in Fr. Schall’s words. If not, give thanks to God and ask him to increase your sorrow for all you have done contrary to His standard; contrary to your best self; contrary to what God made you to be. We live in a world that for the most part no longer sees sin. No error could be more deadly.

Who shall climb the mountain of the Lord?
Who shall stand in His holy place?
The man with clean hands and pure heart,
who desires not worthless things

There is the standard. But there also is One Who met this standard we have failed to meet: Jesus Christ. Christ’s role is foreshadowed in Exodus 19, where Moses becomes mediator between God and the trembling people. Christ’s accomplishment is lauded in Luke 1:75—where Zechariah prophesies that we shall be free to worship God without fear, holy and righteous in His sight all the days of our lives. And Christ’s way was the Cross, which Paul Claudel³ likens to the plank perfectly fitted to that fissure we shall have to cross, the gap between God and man.

Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain … that He may instruct us in his ways, that we may walk in his paths.     —Micah 4:2

¹ Psalm 24:3 (Grail Translation)

² Quoted in Magnificat, July 1, 2012

³ In his magnificent book, A Poet Before the Cross

A Poet Before the Cross

In Christianity, Lent on February 14, 2013 at 4:27 pm

Here we are again, friends, entering into the holy season of Lent.

Once again, Paul Claudel is accompanying me — nay, leading me, on our long walk toward the Cross of Christ. Many times I have cited Claudel’s book, A Poet Before the Cross, over the past four years. See Lenten Reading, Say What You Mean, The Reality of It All, No Forced Faith, Lent is Approaching, and Entering Holy Week 2010.

Yet like the Sacred Scripture Claudel so deeply reveres, or a friend or spouse whose warmth and complexity constantly reveal new delights, A Poet Before the Cross  has a similar ability to point us to Christ in new ways each lenten season.

What of this, today? More than can be said! Begin with Claudel’s almost parenthetical phrase, buried in a footnote, which reminds us during Lent to attend to our “works of mercy, which will give us the right to complete our course in the exterminating presence of time” (footnote 11, pp. 15-16). “The exterminating presence of time.” How could one not hear the echoes of yesterday, Ash Wednesday’s liturgy, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Therefore “repent, and believe the Gospel.”

Or who could scorn a writer, in love with Sacred Scripture, who plainly asserts “we should humbly admit with the Church and the Fathers that the Bible is the word of God, and the Holy Spirit is the constant inspirer who from one end to the other guided the pen and mobilized the vocation of diverse writers.” Yet Claudel moves between dogmatic assertion (welcomed, in this era of Bible-doubters) and poetic, metaphorical visions that sweep us into our Lord’s presence.

For example, Claudel’s affirmation of God’s revelation in Scripture was preceded by one of the loveliest possible meditations on the lily of the valley, the Chalice, and the Cross! The three end up so intertwined, the mind’s eye sees Christ suspended as Infinite Chalice on the Cross, arms upraised but with the incarnate weight of his Holy Body draped between them — like the slender stem of a lily, beneath the bowl formed by His arms, arms capable of containing and embracing the entire world (1 Timothy 2:3-6).

Or what of a writer who so gracefully describes Sacred Scripture as “vast synclinal areas” (p. 12)? Synclinal? Indeed! “Inclined down from opposite directions, so as to meet.” Is our Bible not a book composed by numerous authors, in diverse places over many centuries, yet one Story? Does this syncline not also picture the meeting of our sin and God’s grace? But is this syncline not also a reminder of Claudel’s meditation on the Lily, through which moment and accident are drawn-up into meaning? “On that elongated stem which it uses to reach to the bottom, to draw up life through the moment and the accident, the flower [we might say Flower] . . . opens to the planned arrangement of a concentric universe” (p. 7).

God’s providential care! Apparent moment and accident are drawn up into our sight, to examine  and “come to knowledge of the truth,¹” by showing all that happens is arranged in a coherent, loving whole in the Cross of Christ. We see from both sides of the syncline now, to the point where the moments and accidents of our lives meet Christ. Do we suffer? He suffered. Do we feel alone? He was infinitely alone.² Do we feel unfairly treated? He received the unfairest treatment of all. Yet He has already won the victory over this and more, for us!

May your Lenten season begin, as mine, with this sense of wonder at God’s Love, as we walk toward the Cross of our Redeemer — the Love that reconciles all, explains all, and sustains all.³

¹ 1 Timothy 2:4 again

² Matthew 27:46

³ John 14:6

Advent in Tough Times

In Christianity on December 17, 2012 at 11:29 pm

For Advent, I have been reading Advent of the Heart: Seasonal Sermons and Prison Writings, 1941-1944, by Fr. Alfred Delp, S.J.  Father Delp was executed on February 2, 1945, in Plötzensee prison, only three months before the Nazi capitulation on May 7, 1945. He had been imprisoned for opposing the Third Reich.

His first published writing about Advent was a play, “The Eternal Advent,” written in 1933 for the students at Stella Matutina School in Feldkirch, Austria—a Jesuit boarding school where he was assigned to work as prefect. The intended performers were children, a fact that is very sad but fitting, perhaps, in light of the terrible tragedy at Sandy Hook School in Connecticut during Advent 2012.

Despite the seemingly senseless loss of Fr. Delp’s own life, and despite the loss of life in the play (soldiers, coal miners, and prophetically, a priest), Fr. Delp’s theme was—and is—hope. Granted, it is not a blind hope; an easily maintained hope. As the dying priest in the play says, “My friends, believe it, we have to suffer a lot and hang on. Only then is it Christmas.”

What, then, is the eternal Advent hope for which we are to wait? Just this: that God will come. That He will come, as He did in Bethlehem, but that He also will come in the most difficult times of our lives. In Scene 1 of the play, a group of despair over their comrades and even their enemy’s loss of life:

All of them—on both sides—they’re all just stretching their hands out toward happiness. They all just want to be happy and content.  They all stretch out their hands. But nobody reaches a hand out to meet them. Nobody fills their empty hands with happiness and peace.

Their battalion then comes under attack. The speaker and all with him are killed. But at the end of the scene, after some time, a dead soldier slowly rises and speaks:

Dead soldiers, and you who live because they died here, all of you who . . . stretch your hands out toward happiness: one day God’s hand will touch you! One day His hand will come over you, stroke your hot foreheads, heal your bleeding wounds, fill your empty hands.

All of you who secretly stretched out your hands toward happiness: someday, Someone will come and take your hand!

This is the Advent hope in tough times—and for all time.

Honest Prayer

In Christianity on December 13, 2012 at 10:51 pm

Is prayer difficult for you? It is for most of us, at one time or another. Yet a wonderful pastor once told me that, if he awoke during the night, he simply said, “Jesus, I love you.” Honest prayer.

Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, now in eternity, wrote about honest prayer in his book As I Lay Dying. He prayed the familiar child’s nighttime prayer throughout his whole life: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Honest prayer.

Maybe we find prayer difficult because we think we need to say a lot, or pray more than we’re able to say. God be thanked, in such times, the Holy Spirit prays with us—indeed, prays for us!¹ But a heart in love with Christ always wants to bring its own prayer offering, however small. That’s why I’ve begun writing down simple prayers spoken by others. I want them at times words don’t come easily.

Here are a few, if you need them, too.

Keep on loving those who know You!
– Psalm 36:11, Grail Translation

Do not leave behind You a big crowd when You turn away from here, but have mercy on us.
– 8th Century Old English Advent Lyrics quoted in December 2, 2012, Magnificat

I dare to beg You, Father, forgive us! Not everything is wrong. Infuse those who persist in faith with courage and hope.
– The documentary, The Polish Pope (Polski Papiez)

¹ Romans 8:26-27

Eating Without Hunger

In Christianity on December 12, 2012 at 9:07 pm

“Whenever the Church dons solemn purple vestments, it always means that serious question are being set forth . . . ,” wrote Fr. Alfred Delp, S.J., in Advent of the Heart: Seasonal Sermons and Prison Writings, 1941-1944. I’m grateful to the editors of Magnificat for including Fr. Delp’s meditation in their December 2012 issue.

As I’ve reflected on my own response to Advent this year, the following analogy came to mind:

To seek to enjoy Christmas, without Advent, is like seeking to obtain the satisfaction a good meal provides, without hunger.

This, perhaps, is the primary cause of our oft-cited disillusionment with Christmas. For, like the hunger that prompts us to eat—indeed, makes us eager to do so—to come to Christmas without sensing any need for it leaves us wondering, “Why I am even doing all of this . . . the decorating, the shopping, the gatherings? I’m exhausted. I’d have been happier with a warm bath!”

Christmas celebrates the coming of Christ. But it’s easy for that to become an abstraction, an cheery, semi-sacred tradition. Fr. Delp’s words help refocus our attention where it belongs. Christmas celebrates the coming of our Savior! To understand this event’s immense significance, we must connect Christmas to the hunger, the need, that makes it meaningful.

That hunger is expressed in the deep longings we feel; the dissatisfaction; the sense of “something-not-right-ness.” The longer we meditate on this, the more likely we are to realize that not-right-ness is at least partly our fault—the result of our failings, of our sin. The not-right-ness is the result of what we have done and what we have left undone. What are those actions (and failures to act) in your life? In mine?

Self examination makes us realize we need a Savior! We are, in Fr. Delp’s words, facing one of life’s serious questions. God be thanked that, in the despair to which our examen can drive us, we also can exclaim with St. Paul, “Miserable one that I am! Who will deliver me?”¹

God be thanked, we can answer that question as St. Paul did: “Who will deliver me? Jesus Christ our Lord!”

May the purple garments of Advent remind us of our need, and may we give thanks always to God for His gracious response in giving His Son, our Savior. Let us approach our Heavenly Bread with true hunger and deep gratitude.

¹ Romans 7:24a

Reason and Revelation

In Christianity on December 11, 2012 at 5:56 pm

Two of Fr. James V. Schall’s wonderful books came to my attention a few months ago. The Mind That is Catholic & The Order of Things are among the most important, most helpful, books I’ve encountered in years.

Not long after I had read Fr. Schall’s The Mind That is Catholic, I noticed the following posting to Facebook by a friend:

If we have to use a “God” from above to teach us right from wrong, then we’ve already failed. Integrity is measured when nobody is watching. It’s doing the right thing without promise of reward, it’s avoiding the wrong thing even when there are no consequences for doing the wrong thing.

Fr. Schall often addresses the relationship between reason and revelation. His books speak directly to what my friend was trying to say. With apologies in advance for this very long post, and with credit to Fr. Schall for what follows, this was my comment:

What if the issue is not needing a “god” from above to teach us right, but using our knowledge of right to teach us there is a God above?

Even a child will object, when a playmate cheats at a game or steals a toy, “That’s not right! That’s not fair!” We do so at an early age, without our parents ever providing a complete list of things that are “fair” or not. The child is improvising, applying ideas about right and fair, based on some deeper sense. Where do we get our ideas about right and fairness?

In grand terms, what is being discussed here is the relationship between reason and revelation. Reason alone is enough to suggest we should treat each other decently; show integrity. But the question remains, “Oh, really? Why?” We might answer, “Well, because it works. The world is a better place if we do.” But serious thinkers from Machiavelli, to Nietzsche, to Albert Camus would argue that’s not the case at all. Machiavelli would say it’s better to get what you want. Camus would argue it’s all meaningless anyway.

Is it possible then, that reason as we use it (“Well, of course it’s right to behave with integrity!”) points to a larger reality only available to us ultimately through revelation? If so, then reason and revelation work hand-in-hand.

People rightly object to revelation without reason: “Oh, that’s just a myth about an arbitrary, made-up ‘god’ telling us what to do.” However, if reason can point us to a reality not fully available to us without revelation (yet consistent with reason), that’s huge! It’s a basis for believing “all the pieces fit together”; that this life isn’t an inexplicable puzzle, or worse still, a meaningless one.

The fact we intuitively understand what’s right, and encourage others to live with integrity, may well point us to God who wired us that way. If so, that is a much more powerful basis for striving to live with consistent integrity, because the Source is real and the possibility of doing so successfully really exists. We are living to be our true selves, not what we imagine we ought to be because some arbitrary god pointed a terrifying finger at us and commanded us to “do this or else!”

That relationship between reason and revelation, and the Church’s encouragement for us to use both, is, it seems to me, one of the incalculable blessings we enjoy in living-out Christianity Richly!

More Time to Write?

In Christianity on December 11, 2012 at 5:34 pm

Perhaps I should say “Merry Christmas” now, given the infrequent opportunities I’ve had to post to Christianity Richly during the past four months. Still, what’s that saying? “Hope springs eternal?”

Hope should spring eternal, of course. It is not simply one of the seven virtues, but is one of the three “theological” virtues (faith, hope, and love) given to us and nurtured by God. Nevertheless, I have a somewhat more earthly reason for hope in 2013, as well: a change of job responsibilities, which should allow more time to write.

I’ll still offer best wishes now for a happy, healthy, and most of all, holy New Year in 2013. But I hope to be present here at Christianity Richly more often, soon. Until then, may God bless you according to the riches of His grace in Christ Jesus, now and in the coming year. Let us give thanks for the blessing of this Advent Season and the coming of our Lord. That is the basis for Christianity—richly!

The Boundaries of the Possible

In Christianity on July 30, 2012 at 3:32 pm

Moral theology might sound like a dry topic—not what most of us would choose as exciting reading. Yet I recommend Catholic Moral Tradition, by Monsignor David Bohr. The riches of God’s love break through, page after page.

This morning I was particularly struck by Bohr’s discussion of hope as a motivating force in our discipleship. As background, let’s quickly review the seven Christian virtues:

  • Cardinal virtues (“cardinal” in the sense of basic or foundational): prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance
  • Theological virtues (“theological” in the sense of divinely prompted, or infused, in us):  faith, hope, and love

Most of us know St. Paul’s soaring chapter on love (1 Corinthians 13). It concludes, “So faith, hope, [and] love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” Notes on the chapter explain love is given preeminence because, unless tongues, prophecy, faith or even self-sacrifice are motivated by love, they are of little value. Moreover, beyond time—”when faith has yielded to sight, and hope to possession” of our eternal inheritance in Christ—love will remain.

Presently, however, we live within time. Hope is essential. “Hope is faith and love on a journey,” writes Msgr. Bohr, quoting William Lynch, SJ.¹  Msgr. Bohr then continues:

Hope . . . can only be made known to us through symbols, images, and parables. Hope . . . appeals to our imaginations rather than to our intellects. For the imagination . . . is the gift that envisions what cannot yet be seen, the gift that proposes to itself that the boundaries of the possible are wider than they seem.²

The boundaries of the possible are wider than they seem! Wider than our failures. Wider than the rancor of the 2012 presidential campaign. Wider, even, than the whole world’s problems. Imagine that! Hope is the “interior dynamism that exudes confidence, perseverance, peace, joy, and serenity in the midst of life’s storms . . . anchored in God’s forgiving and reconciling love manifested in Christ.”³

This is the Christian hope described in Romans 8:18-25. This is the hope that anticipates Philippians 2:9-13. This is Christianity Richly!


¹ William F. Lynch, Images of Hope (New York and Toronto: A Mentor-Omega Book, 1965), page 27.

² Bohr, Catholic Moral Tradition, p. 129.

³ Ibid.

Pools of Water

In Christianity on July 17, 2012 at 2:35 pm

As much as we rightly bemoan it, our Christian experience inevitably includes occasions of falling into sin. For myself, if not for Saint Paul¹, I often think of the Apostle’s “thorn in the flesh”² as concupiscence: the tendency to sin; to do that which is contrary to God’s will, as well as our own good.

Yet even our sin provides an occasion to be reminded of the richness of God’s mercy and to give thanks.

The favors of the LORD are not exhausted, his mercies are not spent; they are renewed each morning, so great is his faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

This is a perfect example of God answering our prayer from the Responsorial Psalm last Sunday, when our response to Psalm 84 was, “Lord, let us see your kindness, and show us your salvation.” Salvation! Saved from weeping and bemoaning our sin. Verse 7 of that Psalm talks about passing through the Baca valley. Baca is sometimes translated “the valley of weeping.” Yet what is God’s promise?

As they pass through the Baca valley, they find spring water to drink. Also from pools the Lord provides water for those who lose their way. (Psalm 84:7

How often do you and I lose our way? Yet we have the promise of God that He will restore us through the Sacrament of Confession and Penance, and in doing so, we shall go on “from strength to strength, and see the God of gods on Zion” (84:8).

May it be so, O Lord, as we give you thanks for your love and mercy. That is Christianity Richly!


¹ Romans 7:14-25 suggests that, as highly we venerate this beloved Apostle (as I do — St. Paul, pray for us!), he experienced the flesh warring against the spirit, too (Galatians 5:17).

² Commentators differ on what the thorn was. Some say a physical malady. Others, including Church Father and Doctor of the Eastern Church, St. John Chrysostom, say the thorn was opposition to St. Paul’s preaching of the Gospel. See here. Yet Scripture may have multiple senses without resulting in equivocation or confusion, as declared by St. Thomas Aquinas in Summa Theologica, Question 1, Article 10. Hence, we are not distorting Sacred Scripture to see the thorn in the spiritual sense as the tendency to sin, which we so much wish were removed from our lives.

³ If you followed the web link, you may have noticed a difference between the text I quoted (from my 2004-2005 printed edition of The New American Bible) and the USCCB New American Bible online. Some of the differences are addressed in online footnotes, e.g., for 84:8, but not for 84:7.