Everything is in vain without love

From a treatise on charity by St Maximus the Confessor (d. 662)

Charity is a right attitude of mind which prefers nothing to the knowledge of God. If a man possesses any strong attachment to the things of this earth, he cannot possess true charity. For anyone who really loves God prefers to know and experience God rather than his creatures. The whole set and longing of his mind is ever directed toward him.

For God is far superior to all his creation, since everything which exists has been made by God and for him. And so, in deserting God, who is beyond compare, for the inferior works of creation, a man shows that he values God, the author of creation, less than creation itself.

The Lord himself reminds us: Whoever loves me will keep my commandments. And this is my commandment: that you love one another. So the man who does not love his neighbour does not obey God’s command. But one who does not obey his command cannot love God. A man is blessed if he can love all men equally. Moreover, if he truly loves God, he must love his neighbour absolutely. Such a man cannot hoard his wealth. Rather, like God himself, he generously gives from his own resources to each man according to his needs.

Since he imitates God’s generosity, the only distinction he draws is the person’s need. He does not distinguish between a good man and a bad one, a just man and one who is unjust. Yet his own goodness of will makes him prefer the man who strives after virtue to the one who is depraved.

A charitable mind is not displayed simply in giving money; it is manifested still more by personal service as well as by the communication of God’s word to others: In fact, if a man’s service toward his brothers is genuine and if he really renounces worldly concerns, he is freed from selfish desires. For he now shares in God’s own knowledge and love. Since he does possess God’s love, he does not experience weariness as he follows the Lord his God. Rather, following the prophet Jeremiah, he withstands every type of reproach and hardship without even harbouring an evil thought toward any man.

For Jeremiah warns us: Do not say: “We are the Lord’s temple.” Neither should you say: “Faith alone in our Lord Jesus Christ can save me.” By itself faith accomplishes nothing. For even the devils believe and shudder.

No, faith must be joined to an active love of God which is expressed in good works. The charitable man is distinguished by sincere and long-suffering service to his fellow man: it also means using things aright.

Perfection

Sunday, Feb. 20, 2011
Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time—A

Leviticus 19:1-2, 17-18
1Corinthians 3:16-23
Matthew 5:38-48

Each and every human being is called to be holy, to be perfect. After all, we are created in the image of God, who is holy and perfect.

Impossible?

Difficult, yes, but not impossible, and it is not more difficult than the abundant assistance granted to us through Christ, through whom we can do all things. Superhuman strength is not required, only the will to turn away from the wisdom of this world.

The wisdom of this world tells us to look out for “Number One,” to exact “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” to never give or do more than what is necessary. This is all foolishness in the eyes of God because it never ends there. Violence begets violence.

God’s wisdom reverses the tide. Take no revenge, the Book of Leviticus tells us. In the Gospel, Jesus says precisely the same thing. A cutting remark answered with another quickly spirals into an argument—or worse. Grudges and acts of selfishness have similar capacities to build upon one another. However, when such acts are met with gentle yet firm kindness, mercy, and generosity, our “enemies” are taken aback. Love is given the space to take root and grow in the foolish light of the Cross, which reconciled us to God while we were still enemies.

God’s grace provides the strength to go the extra mile. Perfection is reached one step at a time on the path of holiness, and it all begins within each heart God has fashioned in His image. Love begets love.

Cats and Dogs

I am not much of a cat person. For me (and I know others disagree or could care less), man's best friend is a good dog.

There are always exceptions, of course. Socks the cat, who has adopted Saint Meinrad Archabbey as her home since late last summer, is one of those exceptions. As I've mentioned in previous posts, she showed up one day as a scrawny kitten, lapped up the attention by monks, guests, and students, and now earns her keep catching mice and enertaining guests. Guests to the monastery have made donations to help feed and spay her, and Br. Zachary has supplied a "cat igloo" on the guesthouse porch for the cat to take refuge from the wind, snow, and rain.

Socks (perhaps we should call her Scholastica,which would be more fittinging in many respects) is such an exceptionally friendly, playful, people-loving cat that she almost seems like a dog sometimes. On this sunny, unusually warm February Sunday afternoon, I took a walk outside. Waiting for me, it seemed, outside the monastery door near the rock garden was Socks, who ran to greet me. I sat down on the steps for a minute, and she wasted no time hopping into my arms to have her neck and ears scratched. Within seconds, she was purring contentedly. When I got up to continue with my walk, she began prancing around and showing off atop the retaining wall, so I stopped to take a few pictures (I had remembered to grab my camera before going outside). Naturally, this prompted her to become even more animated. What a ham.

Below is Dixie, the dog I had for 13 years before coming to the monastery in 2006. Giving her up (to a good family) was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I never saw her again--she died almost three years ago. It may be difficult for some to understand, but Dixie taught me a lot about life. Although I "saved" her from the pound when she was a very sick, scrawny, and timid puppy, in very real ways Dixie helped "save" me. I will probably always miss her.

I doubt she would have gotten along too well with Socks. Then again, for Dixie, Public Enemy No. 1 was not a cat, but the S-Q-U-I-R-R-E-L.

Dixie (1993-2008) on squirrel patrol in our former back yard.

Yes or No

Sunday, Feb. 13, 2011
Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time—A

Sirach 15:15-20
1Corinthians 2:6-10
Matthew 5:17-37

The choice is ours.

Drawing on God’s commands to the Israelites as communicated by Moses (Deuteronomy 30:15-20), today’s first reading from Sirach uses the word “choose” three times. “Before man are life and death, good and evil, whichever he chooses shall be given him,” we are told. We can either choose to trust in the ways of God or to trust in our own ways.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus emphasizes that he has not come to abolish the commandments given to the Israelites in the time of Moses, but to fulfill them—to deepen our understanding of them. God’s Word to us through the ages is made present to us in the person of Jesus. “I say to YOU” is a personal address by Jesus to each one of us.

His concern is that we live our lives by something more than merely observing rules of conduct or attempting to avoid breaking them. What counts is the spirit with which we do things. Love, after all, is a decision. It is choosing the good, choosing life.

When we do this, our eyes are opened more fully to the mysterious, hidden wisdom of God so that we can grow to maturity in the Spirit by following Christ.

May our “Yes” mean “Yes,” and our “No” mean “No.”

Mysterious and visible

Church of Notre Dame de Liesse (Our Lady of Joy) in Annecy, France.

Some more thoughts from my Ecclesiology and Ecumenism course relating to the work of Charles Cardinal Journet, a Swiss theologian (d. 1975) who was an instrumental figure of the Second Vatican Council. We are currently reading the first chapter of his Theology of the Church, and were asked how Journet describes the visibility of the Church. Following is what I came up with.

—Br. Francis

Cardinal Journet speaks of the Church as both mysterious and visible, with the chief emphasis on mysterious. He draws upon the analogy (and spiritual reality) of the soul manifesting itself through the body. So, the invisible soul of the Church fashions, nourishes, and directs the visible body, bringing to light what is unseen. Journet’s view of the Church is incarnational and Trinitarian—the invisible Holy Spirit is the soul of the visible Church, the Body of Christ, who manifests Himself as an offering to God the Father.

The mysterious, invisible, and divine life that animates the body makes visible and communicates His presence through the movement of the various members of the Body, just as a person’s interior disposition reveals itself through his or her words and actions. Journet notes that these external manifestations—i.e., works of love—comprise the Body of the Church, and are the means through which Christ is made visible in the world—a visibility, he says, that is distinct from that of human societies.

This “evangelical sanctity,” as Journet terms it, of the individual members of Christ’s Body (lived authentically, of course) is what combines to make the Church visible. However, the Church is also made visible through the hierarchical dispensation and reception of the authority entrusted to her, namely in the teaching of the Word of God, worship, the sacraments (especially the Eucharist), and common prayer.

Journet notes that this visibility here and now is seen dimly, since it is immersed in the visibility of a fallen world. The Church’s mission, therefore, is to transfigure matter by spirit, to transform what is dark into light.

All this is intimately intertwined with the humanity and divinity of Christ, whose Body as the Church extends His presence here and now, as He makes all things new before He comes again.

“Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up,” Jesus said, referring to His body (John 2:19) prior to His passion and death. After His resurrection, He tells the apostles, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:18-20).

Food for thought

I am taking a class this semester on Ecclesiology and Ecumenism, which thus far has been quite thought-provoking, to say the least. Our instructor is Fr. Guy Mansini, O.S.B., and we have begun by reading some works by Jean-Marie-Roger Tillard, O.P., St. Augustine, Pope John Paul II (his 2003 encyclical letter Ecclesia de Eucharistia), Charles Cardinal Journet, and also Lumen Gentium, one of the principal documents of the Second Vatican Council. For each reading, we are given a couple questions to answer in a short essay. Below is my most recent submission. It is no masterpiece, but I thought it might be worth sharing (and if I turn out to be totally off-base on the subject, I promise to either correct or retract as the case warrants).

-- Br. Francis

Why is there no Church without the Eucharist? So to speak, what is the “ecclesiological accomplishment” of the celebration of the Eucharist?


Holding the key to this question, it seems, is 1Corinthians 11:23-26, the oldest written account we’re aware of that describes the institution of the Lord’s Supper. The passage explains the practice of the Early Church as received from Christ and handed on to us through the Apostles. The paschal mystery—the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ—is the central and sustaining event in the faith of the People of God and life of the Church. The gift and mystery of the bread and cup was entrusted by Christ to the Church, through the Apostles, at the Last Supper on Holy Thursday of the Triduum, as He told them: “Do this in remembrance of me.” As John Paul II points out in Ecclesia de Eucharistia, the Last Supper foreshadows what follows over the next three days.

The Eucharist, then, signifies and makes fully present this singular event, uniting it with all eternity. This ultimate sacrament of the unity of the People of God expresses what it is and what is achieved by it—the salvation of mankind through Christ’s gift of self on the cross. As we sing during the celebration of the Eucharist, “When we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim your death, Lord Jesus, until you come in glory.”

If, as St. Augustine says, we become what we receive in the Eucharist, then we offer ourselves with, in, and through Christ as His Body for the salvation of the world. As the Church, we pray as Christ through the Holy Spirit that all may become one body, and one spirit in Him as a total offering to God the Father.

So, it is through the Eucharist that the Church becomes a sign and sacrament of the salvation of mankind as obtained by Christ through the paschal mystery we celebrate. As the Body of Christ, we are a living sacrifice of praise through that Whom we receive and that Whom we are.

Salt and Light

Sunday, Feb. 6, 2011
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time—A

Isaiah 58:7-10
1Corinthians:2:1-5
Matthew 5:13-16

God’s presence and power shine most brightly through human weakness. Cases in point: Sarah, Moses, Hannah, David, Isaiah, Peter, Paul, Augustine, Francis, Ignatius of Loyola, Thérèse of Lisieux, Mother Teresa, and many, many more throughout the course of salvation history.

When we are weak—not insincere or arrogant weakness, but truthful, humble weakness—then we are strong. Weakest—and strongest—of all is Christ, God made man, crucified as a common criminal as he saves us from our sins and defeats death.

With a true awareness of who we are before God, our light breaks through the darkness like the dawn; like a glowing, mountainside city in a dark countryside; like a lamp lit to illuminate a shadowy room, or like a stained glass window in a church. Human frailty does not prevent us from drawing closer to God. Rather, when it is freely acknowledged, it becomes the seasoning of our redemption, purifying and preserving us in the name of God.

When the light of the Gospel shines through our shortcomings, failures, and faults, we come to know that our faith rests not on human wisdom but on the power of God.

This is what it means to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world.