Author: DVO

There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in. Whatever else Leonard Cohen had in mind when he coined that phrase, it says something about how wisdom, compassion, and morality seep into our lives. Fr. Rolheiser writes that there is a crack in everything, and our culture is no exception. Despite tremendous technological progress and even some genuine moral achievement, all is far from well with the world. People are falling through its cracks, and it is these persons – the sick, the unattractive, the broken, the disabled, the untalented, those with Alzheimer’s disease, the unborn, and the poor in general – who are the crack where the light is entering. They give soul to our world. Imagine how soulless it would be in a world where only the strong, the young, the healthy, the physically attractive, the intellectually bright, and the achievers have a place! Imagine how soulless a world would be that views the disabled, the unborn fetus, the physically paralyzed, and the dying as having nothing to offer! Too often, even in our churches, we no longer stand where Jesus stood, where the cross stood, namely with the helpless. We stand instead where vested interest stands, be that the vested interest of the business world, the academic world, or pop culture. Such a world would be able to recognize neither the birth nor the death of Jesus because compassion, morality, and wisdom seep in precisely through what is helpless and marginalized. Our present culture is drawing ever nearer this soullessness. Those who fall through the cracks of the culture are indeed the crack where the light gets in. If our world has any real soul left, if indeed we still even understand the words wisdom, compassion, and morality, then it is because someone who has no power in the culture, someone who has been marginalized and rejected, has shared a gift with us.

G.K. Chesterton once said that one of the reasons he believed in Christianity was because of its belief in the Trinity. Fr. Rolheiser writes that if Christianity had been made up by human people, it would not have at its very center a concept that is impossible to grasp or explain: the idea that God exists as one but within three persons. How do we understand the Trinity? We don’t! God, by definition, is ineffable, beyond conceptualization, beyond imagination, and beyond language. The Christian belief that God is a trinity helps underscore the rich mystery of God and how our experience of God is always richer than our concepts and language about God. Many of the most powerful myths ever told arose out of the experience of God’s overwhelming richness and the ancient peoples’ incapacity to conceptualize God and God’s activity in any singular way. Whatever else might be said about polytheism and ancient myths about the gods and goddesses, ancient religious practices, and the incredible canon of mythology that these produced speak of how rich, untamed, and beyond simplistic imagination and language is the human experience of God. The ancients believed that their experience pointed to the existence of many deities. And then a massive shift took place: Judaism, soon followed by Christianity and Islam, introduced the strong, clear, doctrinaire idea that there is only one God. Now all divine power and energy were seen as coming from a single source, monotheism, YHWH, the Father of Jesus, Allah. There were no other gods or goddesses. But from the time of Jesus’ resurrection onwards, Christians began to struggle with simple monotheism. Their experience of grace and God’s action in the world was at odds with their simplistic conception of monotheism. The Council of Nicea in 325 gave us the creedal formula we profess today: There is one God in three persons; except they wrote that formula in Greek, and the words there state literally that God is one substance in three subsistent relations. That formula isn’t meant to give us perfect clarity. To what does this call us? To humility. All of us, believers and atheists, need to be humbler in our language about God. The idea of God needs to stretch, not shrink, the human imagination.

The Gospels tell us that one of the things that distinguished Jesus from the other religious preachers of his time was that he spoke with authority, while they didn’t. Fr. Rolheiser asks: “What gives words authority? What gives them transformative power? There are, as we know, different kinds of power. There’s a power that flows from strength and energy. We see this, for example, in the body of a gifted athlete who moves with authority. There’s power, too, in charisma, in a gifted speaker or a rock star. They, too, speak with a certain authority and power. But there’s still another kind of power and authority, one very different from that of the athlete and the rock star. There’s the power of a baby, the paradoxical power of vulnerability, innocence, and helplessness. Powerlessness is sometimes the real power. If you put an athlete, a rock star, and a baby into the same room, who among them is the most powerful? Who has the most authority? Whatever the power of the athlete or the rock star, the baby has more power to change hearts. The Gospel text today has the Jewish authorities asking Jesus where he gets his authority. Jesus spoke in ways defined by the Greek word exousia. We don’t have an English equivalent, but we have a concept. Exousia might be described as the combination of vulnerability, innocence, and helplessness that a baby brings into a room. Its very helplessness, innocence, and vulnerability have a unique authority and power to touch your conscience. Jesus spoke with vulnerability, and innocence gave his words a special power and authority. What moves the world is often the powerful energy and charisma of the highly talented, but a different kind of authority moves the heart.”

Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that forgiveness is the one thing we do not do well. Lack of forgiveness is our Achilles’ heel. Everywhere we turn, somebody is nursing a grudge; somebody has a history that justifies anger; and somebody is protesting that, in their case, the call to forgiveness does not apply. All of which is an infallible sign that our hearts are not near the size of our faith. We rationalize this non-forgiveness in every way: “I have a fierce desire for justice, and there can be no forgiveness until there is justice.” “I have been victimized and therefore am above the demand for forgiveness – at least right now, at least as it pertains to this particular thing, or at least as it pertains to this particular person or group.” “Nobody knows my pain, and pain such as mine justifies my bitterness and anger.” “The challenge to forgive is easily spoken by those in power and those who have done the wrong – I wonder how they would feel if they were on the other end!” In each of these cases, unspoken but present, is the subordinate clause – “and thus I have the right to hate!” In each case too, unspoken but present, there is the bracketing of a key subordinate clause in the Lord’s Prayer “as we forgive those who trespass against us.” To err is human to forgive is divine. Forgiveness is not something we human beings can do all on our own. Forgiveness is a non-human power that God gives to the world in the resurrection of Jesus. For many, the pain they have endured that challenges forgiveness is something they will struggle with their entire lives. That is why we must continue to seek God’s assistance over and over and over again. Forgiveness is the only thing new in the world, the one sure sign that there is a God.  

Why is this “What do you want?” question so important? Fr. Rolheiser, the author of The Holy Longing and Sacred Fire, writes that what lies deepest inside authentic faith is the truth that God is the object of all human desire, no matter how earthy and unholy that desire may seem. That implies that everything we desire is contained in God. Yet, accepting this is a challenge. Fr. Rolheiser writes, “Do we really believe that God is the real object of our desires? When we look at all that is beautiful, full of life, attractive, sexually alluring, and pleasurable on earth, do we really think and believe that this is contained in an infinitely richer way inside of God and inside the life into which God invites us?” The answer for many of us is no. But what if you tried a little experiment? What if we asked ourselves, “What do I want?” and see if we could trace the answer back to God? Can we search for that desire and find peace in knowing that God is there for us? Maybe we desire to travel, pray more, or spend time with a loved one. Write your answers down. Then, ask yourself, “What do I really want?” The word “really” is essential here because it leads straight to the heart of your yearnings. Are your desires in line with God’s will for your life, or are they distancing your life from having God at its center? God desires joy and happiness for each of us in fulfilling the focus He created for us in being the best version of His creation.

Sr. Chris Koellhoffer writes that to confirm something is to verify it as being true or accurate. It means putting any doubts about a particular matter to rest. Today’s feast of the Visitation shows three ways God confirmed Mary’s calling to her. First, the Visitation tells us how Mary and Elizabeth—both made pregnant miraculously—offered an emotional confirmation to each other. You can imagine these two women talking excitedly about all that has happened to them: one who conceived despite her old age and the other who conceived without human intervention. They share their joys, concerns, and hopes for their children. Second, the Visitation describes a physical confirmation when the baby John leaped into his mother’s womb. Luke called this a leap of joy, indicating that it went far beyond a baby’s normal kicking. That leap confirmed for Mary how special her baby was. Third, the Visitation gave Mary a prophetic confirmation. Elizabeth called Mary “the mother of my Lord,” confirming that Mary’s child was more than just an ordinary baby. Luke also tells us that Elizabeth said these words because she was “filled with the Holy Spirit.” This confirmation shows you the Lord wants to confirm that he is working wonders in you, even if it doesn’t feel like it. He wants to let you know that he is pleased with you and is happy to keep working with you, doing whatever it takes to build up your faith.  

Professor Jessica Coblentz explains that, like many biblical adages, “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first, is often excised from its context and rehearsed by Christians as a comforting promise. However, when we encounter the familiar phrase within the context of this exchange between Peter and Jesus, its message is quite unsettling. With words of exhaustion and perhaps frustration, Peter reminds Jesus of all he has surrendered for discipleship. Jesus affirms his followers’ sacrifice and promises better things now and a glorious life to come. Yet, accompanying this good news is a significant caveat. Not only must Peter continue to live with the discomforts of social and economic insecurity, but he must also endure ‘persecutions’ he cannot yet fathom. In Jesus’ clear-eyed account of discipleship, the difficulties and comforts of Christian life are bound up together. Our hope for the life to come does not protect us from challenges but spurs us to love our enemies. It does not shield us from God’s difficult calling but encourages us to live humbly and resist what hinders the reign of God today.” This is the call and reality that all of Christ’s disciples face. The Lord simply asks us to give him our all as he gave his all for us. 

Today we celebrate the Memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church. Scripture presents some very clear aspects of Mary and some that have confused readers. On this first day after celebrating Pentecost, we are retaken to the upper room where the disciples have gathered along with “some women, and Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers.” Here we see Mary in her fidelity to her son’s mission, but some may ask, “Jesus had brothers?” No, the term brothers refer to extended family members and others close to Mary. We have also seen confusion about the relationship between Mary and Jesus. Some will quote the scripture verse where a child says to him, “Your mother is here, trying to see you,” and he answers, “Who is my mother?” Then, pointing to the people sitting around him, he says, “Those who hear the word of God and keep it are mother and brother and sister to me.” Is Jesus distancing himself from his mother here? No. He’s pointing out the fundamental link between them. Among all the people in the gospels, Mary is the preeminent example of the one who hears the word of God and keeps it. For this reason, more than because of biological motherhood, Jesus claims her as his mother. Giving birth to Christ is something more than biological. The love of a mother is the veil of a softer light between the heart and the heavenly Father. “Mother” is one word that cannot be defined in a single phrase. That one word embodies all the love a human being could offer. These beautiful thoughts on motherhood are appropriate today as the Church celebrates Mary, the Mother of the Church, the Mother of purity and chastity, the Mother who understands human suffering, and the preeminent Mother of the Poor. Mary, the Mother of Jesus, is the mother of humanity.  

In 1994 Fr. Ron Rolheiser commented on the nature of Pentecost being blocked within the church because of those who will not move on to the Vatican II reforms or those who now want to return to the pre-Vatican II life. I am posting an adaptation of his comments as we still appear to be fighting to return to a pre-Vatican II church, which is theologically understood as the pre-ascended body of Christ. Fr. Rolheiser wrote: “For us to receive the Holy Spirit, we must, like the original disciples of Jesus, let the church we once knew give us its blessing and ascend to heaven so that we can receive the spirit for the ecclesial life that we are living. And this is not happening. Vatican II recognized the need to name a death and claim a resurrection, a new life. So this is our situation: We live in a post-Vatican II church, but the body of the pre-Vatican II church remains with us ungrieved, unreverenced, unascended, and unable to give us its blessing. And the atmosphere within the church precisely manifests this debilitating situation. What is evident from all of this is that we lack a fresh spirit and the Holy Spirit on both sides. Too little charity, joy, peace, patience, goodness, long-suffering, fidelity, mildness, faith, and chastity is left. We need a new pentecost. And that pentecost will happen only when all of us, liberals and conservatives alike, with deep reverence and love, let the old ascend and give us its blessing. But this will happen only when we understand the church of the past for what it was and is, the resurrected body of Christ, waiting to ascend, calling us to the Mount of the Ascension to impart its blessing.”

Melanie Rigney asks the question, “Does it sometimes seem that God loves someone else more than he loves you? Maybe it’s a friend whose life is golden: great health, a circle of wonderful family and friends, a workplace, or a volunteer ministry that suits them perfectly. Meanwhile, you seem to face a new challenge, large or small, every day. Where’s the justice in that? Jesus tells Peter in response to his question in today’s gospel reading of his relationship with John, “What concern is it of yours? You follow me,” his friendship with others isn’t our business, beyond the gift we may have of introducing Christ to those who don’t know him. All we need to focus on is listening to his call and following where he leads. There’s an enthusiasm that comes from the wetness of fertility that can make the soul swell with feelings of creativity, warmth, and immortality. God is in that. But there is also a bareness that comes from a deeper place, a heat that threatens to dry out the very marrow of the soul, a dryness that shrinks all swelling, especially pride, and leaves us vulnerable and mortal by bringing the soul to kindling temperature. God is in that dryness no less than in the wetness of fertility because, in that painful longing, we feel the eros of God and the motivation of Christ.