IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE

The following is a series of bulletin articles on the same topic, in their original condition)

(32nd OT A 2020)

Doubtless you’ve seen a spate of lawn signs demonstrating the bearer’s support of a political candidate. A few miles from my uncle and aunt’s home I noticed this bespoke declaration: “I’m an [redacted] / not running for anything / I just wanted a sign.”

“Wanting a sign” is the quasi-Messianic political mentality. “Here at last is the one who shall kiss our collective boo-boo and heal our every ill!” A hasty generalization, of course, but it’s the impression I get from the flags, the parades, etc.

Signs aren’t just for favored candidates. Now they also signal beliefs. “Hate has no place here” was an early favorite. Would anyone be so bold as to exhibit the end of the Apostles’ Creed on their front lawn: “In this house, WE BELIEVE IN THE HOLY SPIRIT / THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH / THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS / THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS / THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY / THE LIFE EVERLASTING”? What a sign it would be!

The winding-down of Ordinary Time is high time to unpack these dimensions of our faith. For now, however, I want to review the pious practice of gaining Indulgences, worth considering in November and all year long.

Sin entails “temporal punishment” alongside the eternal punishment we deserve. Christ forgives the sins for which we repent, taking them upon Himself. But they nonetheless leave a spiritual “residue” that gears us toward future sins, especially if we cling to them, long to commit them again, etc.

Our prayers, works, joys, and sufferings can help alleviate the temporal punishment due to sin, as we offer these on behalf of the faithful departed. Under certain specific conditions, we assist in the Church’s ministry of redemption, applying the “treasury of the satisfactions won by Christ and the saints.”

We don’t (in fact, we can’t) gain indulgences to buy anyone’s way out of hell, we can’t “bank” them against future sins, nor has forgiveness ever been “sold” through this practice. They do not operate in the precise manner of judicial “sentences.”

We must perform the prayer or action with a contrite heart, desiring freedom from all attachment to sin. We receive Holy Communion, go to Confession within a reasonable period, and pray for the Holy Father’s intentions (with, for example, an Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be).

What acts are indulgenced? Options include: an act of Spiritual Communion, a period of mental prayer, group rosary recitation, prayer for the dead at a cemetery, attentive reading of Sacred Scripture, and even the Sign of the Cross. Make a point of helping someone among the Church Suffering; someday it may be you.

(33rd OT A 2020)

Recently I mentioned a yard sign expressing belief in the six final articles of the Apostles’ Creed as something worth displaying. I want to unpack each of those articles. Today, then, is for the Holy Spirit (HS).

His divine personhood was revealed in its proper time even though he is the point of contact with faith and the life of grace. The HS is consubstantial with the father and the son, equally to be worshiped and believed, equally working in the plan of salvation, revealing Christ to the world.

We encounter the HS in the Scriptures, Sacred Tradition, and the Church’s “magisterium” (teaching authority). He comes to us in the liturgy, our own prayer, and the various ministers and ministries that build up the Church.

The major title for the HS is Paraclete or Advocate: someone called to the side of another, like a defense attorney, guiding us in speech and action.

Various symbols represent the HS in the Bible: water, anointing, fire, a seal, a hand, a finger, and a dove. Notice our new old baptismal font prominently features the last symbol.

The Spirit is the Agent of healing, transformation, communion, enlightenment, and peace. He imparts holiness and mission to believers. Jesus promised to send Him after his resurrection to guide the Church to all truth and to unity of faith.

He is at the origin of earthly and heavenly life. Cultivate a relationship with Him today, just for the asking.

(Christ the King A 2020)

Part Two of our “In This House” Yard Sign scaffolds off the Holy Spirit, since the Father and the Son send Him into the Holy Catholic Church” so that Christ’s faithful can be drawn into Trinitarian Communion and understanding of the Paschal Mystery as these are present in the Eucharist.

The Church’s mission is not an add-on to the Spirit’s mission, but its “sacrament” (CCC 738), for He is both Source and Giver of holiness (749). The Apostles’ Creed distinguishes believing the [One,] Holy, Catholic[, and Apostolic] Church from believing in her; this seemingly minute distinction tries not to confuse God with His works. [Nicene Creed added the bracketed parts]

“Church” comes from the Greek ekklesia, “to call out of,” suggesting an assembly of people for a religious purpose. The Hebrew Scriptures referred to Israel upon Mt. Sinai in those terms, so it was (super)natural for the Christian assembly to pick up on it. The Greek Kyriakos (“pertaining to the Lord”) lends itself to the German word for church: Kirche.

These images evoke the Church: Sheepfold, Flock, Field, Building/Household/Dwelling-Place/Temple/Family/People of God, Holy City/New Jerusalem/Bride of Christ. Church Father Tertullian famously asserted, “The world was created for the Church.” Since born of the Father’s heart as the sacrament of God’s communion with man, and foreshadowed by vagrant beloved Israel, why not?

The “happy fault” of Adam’s sin set into motion the eternal plan that God the Son (always with Father and Holy Spirit) would “reconcile the world to Himself.” Israel is Abraham’s brood, whom the prophets accuse of desertion in terms cultic and charitable.

Baptism unites members of the Church as priestly, prophetic, and kingly people to offer sacrifice, proclaim the Word, and extend truth and compassion.

The Church is distinguished by four “official” marks: one (because of her Source, Founder, Soul (HS); holy (because of Christ, though *growing in* holiness because of us); catholic (universal, “according to the whole, for the sake of the whole [human race]”); and apostolic (built on the Apostles who received from Christ and handed on to successor-bishops the teaching and sacraments).

(1st Advent B 2020)

The Church is the “Communion of Saints,” whether we are speaking of those “Militant” (slogging it out on earth), “Suffering” (undergoing Love’s purification from sin), or “Triumphant” (experiencing Love’s embrace in heaven). So this entry might better be renamed “Church, Part Two.”

All members share in the sharing of the spiritual goods that Christ lavishes upon all most tangibly in the Sacraments. Computers on the same network can access and print the same files from their current location. The Holy Spirit assures wireless fidelity to Who and What is being Communicated.

In the Byzantine Liturgy, the priest raises the Lord’s Body and Blood and declares, “Holy Things [sancta] to the Holy [sanctis].” The people remind the priest that One alone is holy. Play-acting? Posturing? Indeed not: though we are sinners, we are holy in our sincere desire to please God.

Where do we find the communion in this communion? In the faith we received from the Apostles; in the sacraments that impart divine life; in the charisms (special graces) that the Spirit distributes variously to be placed at the good of the whole; in the goods each one has and needs; in our mutual solidarity and deference.

We consider Mary herself as a type, or foreshadowing, of the Church. As Mother of God-the-Son, she is mother of us all in the order of grace. She continues to pray for and in us, begging the Holy Spirit to fill and govern the faithful to be such. Her consent to God’s will perfectly models discipleship.

Mary and all saints deserve dulia/douleia, Latin/Greek for “honor.” Mary receives hyperdulia, or exceeding honor. Still it necessarily falls short of the latria/latreia, or worship, we owe God. The Rosary and Angelus especially express that honor, joining us to the contemplating Church. Mary’s charm and glory lay in helping us reflect and respond more deeply, the better to fit ourselves to dwell in the place Jesus has gone before us to prepare.

(2nd Advent B 2020)

The Forgiveness of Sins might be my favorite of these “In This House We Believe In” tenets. It builds on the first three. Our Lord breathed the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles—the Church’s Shepherds—with the specific expectation to forgive sins (cf. Jn 20:22- 23).

Baptism is the primary locus for forgiveness. We don’t tend to think about that because most Catholic baptisms (few as there are nowadays) are sweet, “innocent” children. What sins have they be forgiven of? The Original, for sure, if no personal.

Adults preparing for Baptism do well to prepare for their Baptism with the same examination of conscience that a “convert” would make in his or her first Confession. It’s a life to consider, a life that promises to be changed—because forgiven.

The “movements of concupiscence” endure after the water hits the head: we turn our passions into our masters when they were meant to serve us; it’s harder to recognize what’s true and choose what’s truly good. With the deck so stacked against us, what’s our chance?

Thank God Baptism is not our only opportunity for mercy. “The Church must be able to forgive all penitents their offenses, even if they should sin until the last moment of their lives” (Roman Catechism, quoted in CCC 979).

As with the Eucharist, one wonders how we have failed to “awaken and nourish in the faithful faith in the incomparable greatness of...the mission and the power to forgive sins through the ministry of the apostles and their successors.” No angel can do it, just as no angel became man like God did.

I am but a weak and sinful instrument of Christ the High Priest, to whom He nonetheless has entrusted the power and the command to forgive. But even Jesus didn’t just indiscriminately go about forgiving people who didn’t ask for it.

Wait: there was that one guy He told to “pick up your mat and walk,” though first He said, “your sins are forgiven” (cf. Mt 9:5). That man’s presenting problem was paralysis, but Jesus spotted the deeper paralysis that sin causes the human will, intellect, and passions.

It really was no easier for Jesus to forgive than to cure; which act, however, is easier for us to believe He could and would accomplish in us?

(3rd Advent B 2020)

The week of the “rose” Advent candle and vestments seems appropriate for the IIE column to consider “The Resurrection of the Body,” for Jesus rose from the dead to declare divine vanquishing of sin, suffering, and death.

His Resurrection from the dead becomes the pattern for those who love Him and strive to keep His commandments. Without the Resurrection our belief, our worship, our moral living, and our prayer are vain.

“Hope in the bodily resurrection of the dead established itself as a consequence intrinsic to faith in God as creator of the whole man, soul and body” (CCC 992). What He “bothered” to create, He equally “bothers” to redeem.

Earlier in the Jewish history, one achieved immortality by living in the existence and memory of succeeding generations. By the time of the Maccabees there was a stronger sense of God’s vindication of the just with continued life.

Jesus embodies this hope in His own Person, “the Resurrection and the Life” (Jn 11:25). Each act of bodily resuscitation pointed to that final revival He predicted as “the sign of Jonah” (Mt 12:39).

His first disciples were “witnesses to His Resurrection,” whether as dinner companions or otherwise. Nevertheless the apostolic testimony has had its opponents. Spiritual continuation alone is enough for some people.

The separation of soul from body puts the human person in an incomplete, waiting state. Upon His second coming, Jesus will signal the Resurrection of just and unjust to conditions reflective of their holiness and virtue. “Some to everlasting life; others to reproach and everlasting disgrace” (Dan 12:2).

We will keep a certain intelligibility: people will recognize us, although, please God, we’ll be free of the limitations we experienced on this earth. Mindful of those limitations in ourselves and others, we treat our own and others’ bodies with due reverence. The suffering deserve particular regard.

The death we experience on account of sin is contrary to the Creator’s intention for us, but God the Incarnate Son chose to experience this death, His human body absorbing (for want of a better word) the sins and sufferings of all humanity of every place and time: expiation motivated by and received in love.

This life is, on the balance, a good one. It is a gift of God and we want to make it a gift to God. All the same, especially as time passes, we might experience an increasing longing to be free of “this mortal coil” and to be with God forever. This life is so precious that in no form can we repeat it (no reincarnation!).

Why would we want to? What we do want, however, is to prepare ourselves for Resurrection Life by repenting and confessing our sins frequently, by striving to walk in holiness and virtue, by invoking the intercession of the Mother of God and St. Joseph, patron of a happy death.

(4th Advent B 2020)

The last segment on the Creed: the Last Things! (Life Everlasting)

Hours before sitting down to type this column I visited a local health care facility to commend a sister in Christ to her Creator and ours: “May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion, with Mary, the Virgin Mother of God, with Joseph, and all the angels and saints.”

Our opportunity either to accept or reject the divine life ends with our death. Precisely how God reveals Himself to our innermost hearts is mysterious and varied, but this much is certain: In His mercy He wants to draw us to Himself and away from all that distracts us from Him.

I am writing this on the memorial of St. John of the Cross, who famously declared, “At the evening of life, we shall be judged on our love.” Upon our death God immediately ratifies our choice for or against Him.

We must confess all mortal sins—serious matter, committed with full awareness and freedom—as soon as possible. There’s no Confession after death.

Even in those attachments we dimly recognize the human person’s longing for complete fulfillment, which only heaven can accomplish in us. In every pleasure we seek, deep down we want divine life and love: we want to be with Christ.

“The life of the blessed consists in the full and perfect possession of the fruits of the redemption accomplished by Christ. He makes partners in His heavenly glorification those who have believed in him and remained faithful to His will.”

The traditional term for the life of heaven is the “Beatific Vision,” which always seemed to me like the largest imaginable movie theatre: everyone facing the same way, feasting their mouths on snacks and their eyes on God. Not quite, I suppose, but the reality is something that hasn’t even dawned on us.

If, as is most likely, our souls remain attached to the sinful patterns in our lives, God will want to purify us. Sonja Corbitt, of Ascension’s “Fulfilled” series asserts that Purgatory is “a Person, Not a Place”: we behold the One Who had been receiving from us far less than He deserved, and the realization of that deficit is painful, yet hopeful.

The Church has long honored the offering of reparation for the faithful departed. The Eucharistic Sacrifice is the greatest prayer to offer, with almsgiving, indulgences, and works of penance a close second.

The free and definitive rejection of divine love is “Hell.” We might wonder how one could possibly get to that point. Apparently, by Jesus’ own admission, it is not only possible, but popular. The temptations against other- centered love are many and enticing, and people don’t clamp onto them by accident.

Ask yourself whether you have committed a violation of the literal sense of any of the Ten Commandments without having repented and confessed it. Numerous other offenses derive from those literal examples and are just as worthy of our honest consideration.

The Lord is all too willing to forgive those who courageously approach Him in the person of His priests, whom he sent to loosen the bonds of sin. Anticipate the Last Judgment now by making an honest Confession.

(Holy Family B 2020)

IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE / IN THE HOLY SPIRIT / THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH / THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS / THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS / THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY / AND LIFE EVERLASTING.

That was the yard sign on someone’s lawn, or at least the digital idea for a yard sign, during the election cycle that now seems forever ago, and seems to be going on forever more.

The only secure transfer of power that will take place is at the end of time, “when Jesus hands over the Kingdom to God the Father after He has destroyed all dominion, authority, and power” (1 Cor 15:24). 

This yard sign series will not continue interminably. Contrary to our experiences or ruminations about it, neither will our life just keep going and going. It will have an Amen—which happens to be the last word of the Creed, as well.

According to the Catechism: “Amen comes from the same root as the word ‘believe.’ This root expresses solidity, trustworthiness, faithfulness. And so we can understand why ‘Amen’ may express both God’s faithfulness toward us and our trust in Him” (1062).

You may remember the “Chalkboard of Catholic Contents” series I recorded several months ago. Newest versions of the Treasury of Prayer booklet contain it. To be precise, they contain the “Chart of Catholic Contents”, because it’s now a simpler graphic instead of a photo of an actual chalkboard. [It also underwent some revision. (Ed.)]

At the bottom of the original photo, I drew a sort of pendulum with two Latin phrases on the sides. On the left was Fides Quae and on the right Fides Qua. The literal meanings of these are: “The Faith Which” and “The Faith By Which.”

We can speak of Faith as both content and relationship. As the existence of both Bible and Catechism indicate, there is a “content,” propositions, stuff we believe regarding the Nature of God and the Church, how it is to be celebrated and lived.

Catechesis had dwelt so much on what we believe (fides quae) that we ignored the value of the believer in the economy of salvation. We might now be reaching the proper balance after some reactionary decades where the value of the relationship ended up eclipsing the content of the faith.

“Amen” circles back to “I believe,” as the word reinforces both fides quae and qua: I believe this (quae) and I believe this (qua).

St. Augustine calls the Creed a “mirror” that we do well to look at, “to see if you believe everything you say you believe. And rejoice in your faith each day” (qtd. in CCC 1064).

God is always the truth of truths, the One faithful to his promises. Jesus’ use of “Amen” in teaching was a way of reinforcing the truth and the importance of what He was going to say. Jesus Himself is the Amen (Rev 3:14), the living proof of the Father’s promised love.

Although we regard the Consecration of the Mass as the “moment of truth” when the Word-become-flesh becomes Food-for-flesh, the entire Eucharistic Prayer is the event. The Eastern Churches call it the “Anaphora,” the “Offering-Up.” How do you pin mystery to a moment?

If anything, the Consecration finds completion in the “Great Amen,” where priest and deacon raise the Holy Things for the view of the Holy God and His Holy People in a word of glory (the literal meaning of “doxology”): Through/with/in Christ, all glory is Yours, Father forever. And the people say? ______!

Tweeting Globally, Loving Locally

“Almighty God, grant that we may always conform our will to Yours and serve Your Majesty in sincerity of heart.” Last weekend’s collect begged God to grant us two things in His loving kindness: the exterior action of conformity and the interior attitude of sincerity. As usual, another both/and proposal: interiorly intend what God wills, and exteriorly act in accord with it as best we can.

“What God wills” is, in the broadest sense, everything that happens. He either chooses it if it is good, or permits it if it is evil. We are sometimes astounded at what God permits in this world, what He lets people get away with. But again, note two things: “I” am part of “people,” and the Lord doesn’t let anything “get away from” His notice, as if He had been out on break while it happened.

How could God permit His Beloved Israel to be the poor lad’s cap that the bully neighboring nations tossed about in the schoolyard? The kindest of those nations, the Reuben to Joseph, was Cyrus of Persia. He conquered Israel, but extended freedom of movement and worship to every land he acquired. Somehow the Lord of Israel was his leader too, despite whatever pagan statues were on his mantle.

Or how could the Son affirm His Father’s “abandonment” upon the Cross? Only thereby to draw forth from that greatest suffering the greatest love by which we exist and gather.

God willed the Pharisees minds subtle enough to have idolized their complex takes on the Law of Moses, enough to have crafted a scheme to trap Jesus. Yet they were no match, despite how thick they tried to lay it on Him. “You don’t care about anyone’s opinion, Jesus…but we do, so whaddya think?” Jesus remained unflustered in His response to their ruse. “Since this coin has Caesar’s face, it must belong to him, so give it back. But you have God’s face; you are made in God’s image, so give yourself back.”

How fitting, that the readings for Cycle A of the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time, which falls around the same time every year, fall now in a leap, major U.S. election year! Leap in faith we must to consider how the image in which we were made might speak to the image in which our coin is made. They’re connected, all right, because you and I are here, called not so much to carry change as to be it.

St. Paul points out how the Thessalonians have the virtues of faith, hope, and love, which we call the “theological virtues” because they pertain directly to God. They equip us for relationship with Him. Their infusion into the souls of the baptized allows the baptized to act as God’s children and to be hardwired for heaven. These virtues enable us to strive for holiness and virtue and to root out their contraries in every area of our lives, including politics.

Officials must strive, like their constituents and electors, to conform themselves to God’s will with sincerity of heart. They must genuinely represent and work toward the interests they profess, and their interests must be in step with the moral law. Unlike the Pharisees, they can’t have anything or anyone up their sleeve. They must not use people or positions as means to the end of occupying a seat in any branch of government.

Rightly have our Pope and Bishops reaffirmed the killing of innocent unborn as a primal scourge and sin. You can’t do much else in life if you aren’t allowed to be born. But “what you can do” isn’t all it’s about, either: that’s used to justify genetic and embryonic selection, embryonic stem-cell research at one end, and assisted suicide/euthanasia at the other end. It also leads to the attitude behind racism and other forms of oppression. Matter matters, because God informs it.

As my stalwart parish bulletin readers know, I go to the social media to inspire, to inform, and to entertain, and to seek the same from others. My favorite podcast is “Clerically Speaking,”* two younger priests talking about whatever you might imagine. In one of their features, they report quality Twitter content. 

One such presence, Fr. Joseph Krupp (@joeinblack), recently said this: “I’m getting calls and visits from people who want to convince me to preach in support of Biden or Trump. I’m using the opportunity to ask for help feeding the poor. No one has said yes yet. If we were as passionate about Jesus as we are about our candidate, it would change the world.”

Helping the poor is an aspect of parish life we cannot ignore. Now, it doesn’t have to happen on our campus for “the parish” to be doing it. When you help at home or somewhere else, keep in mind, that’s “the parish” helping the poor. Spiritual poverty matters alongside material poverty: all those works of mercy glorify God and help their intended recipients.

I haven’t preached much on abortion, at least directly, but over the years I have counseled women and men who were involved in abortions and have repented. Those conversations have changed me as a human being and as a priest. They show me how central Mercy is: God’s love bringing great good from great evil. The number of innocent lives affected, inside and outside the womb, cries out for greater awareness, acceptance, and action upon this truth.

I cannot understand how a politician can support unmitigated access to abortion or constrain citizens to pay for it. I further cannot understand how a politician might neglect the various fearsome conditions that encourage abortion. That leaves this voter in the lurch.

Our “consumer culture” has long formed us to use people and love things, when the Gospel would form us to love people and use things. We can speak of Jesus as “healer of nations” because He first healed people. People fed with the Eucharist must feed others spiritually and materially so those people can be strengthened to make good choices. Starving each other with empty or corrupt talk is no political path, nor should it fly within families.

Political involvement is good, but we must be cautious, especially in these days, to avoid a certain cult of political figures. Don’t be deceived into thinking “the right person” will prevent everything from falling apart. Because of the Fall of the human person, everything in this world is going to fall apart, as if by design. Don’t invest all of you, especially the worst of you, in candidates and parties engineered to disappoint. 

The political change we seek, like personal conversion, begins at home, with concrete service. Legislation and jurisprudence matter, yes, but concrete service is closer to you than the White House, Capitol Hill or Supreme Court. When Pope St. John Paul II spoke of a Culture of Life, he intended Catholics to be Catholics, people of good will to be such, by equipping mothers and fathers and children concretely as we alone can.

One more Tweet: Brother Simon, OSB (@monksimonosb), quoting a fellow Benedictine: “Until you are convinced that prayer is the best use of your time, you will not find time for prayer.” I must consider my personal relationship with God in prayer the most reliable place where God works.

Recall this weekend is World Mission Sunday. On 1 October we celebrated St. Therese of Lisieux, co-patroness of the missions, who from the age of 14 to her death 10 years later never left her convent. You get that? The missions, sustained by the prayers of an immobile mover of hearts.

Despite whatever happens in this election, whatever part you or I might choose to take in it, remember: God is in control. And you and I, do best to be available to Him as locally as possible in prayer and service, surrendering the control we’d like to have over the particulars.

*Much of the structure and some of the content of this proposed homily came from my listening to Episode 114 of “Clerically Speaking,” which I humbly yet forcefully recommend to your open ears. It's a "proposed homily" because Deacon Joe was scheduled to preach this weekend, yet I inadvertently prepared the above homily anyhow.

Where’s The Fire

Pentecost takes me back to two separate though related occasions in my life: number one (chronologically speaking) was my first “mock” homily, preached to my classmates and homiletics professor. It pretended to celebrate the Feast of the Visitation (31 May). The second day usually falls close enough to it: 8 June 2003, on which the Church celebrated Pentecost, and I my first Mass in Thanksgiving for having been ordained priest the day before.

The two feasts bear a profound relation insofar as Mary, Spouse of the Holy Spirit, was the first to communicate the Lord Jesus (who fully reveals Father and Holy Spirit as well) to the world, specifically to her cousin Elizabeth. The Holy Spirit, ever leading disciples “to all truth” (Jn 16:13), came upon Our Lady and the Apostles as a driving wind and tongues of fire.

This last manifestation—fire—was my chosen homiletic image for the Visitation. St. Luke tells us: “Mary proceeded in haste to the hill country” (Lk 1:39). In haste: the Greek μετὰ σπουδῆς pretty much means, “as if this were her business” (was she not her Son’s first and best teacher of what it means to be “about My Father’s business”? [Lk 2:49]). 

Sometimes when we see someone scampering about in haste, we ask them, “Where’s the fire?” Mary uniquely could have responded to such a perplexed passerby: “The Fire is within me.” She, the Bearer of Life, was the first “driving wind” to enlighten, embolden, and sanctify.

+ + +

The prophet Isaiah spoke of a “veil that veils all peoples” (25:7). We’ve been wearing masks that can obscure our voices, pinch our vision when we’re not wearing them properly, and in any case cause us layers of irritation—at the discomfort itself, yet also at the epidemiological and governmental reasons we’re wearing them. We want to shield not our sight or sound, but any possible droplets of COVID-19.

Meanwhile we show a certain obscurity and even obtuseness with our misuse of tongue and pen, fingers and feet. Hatred enters and escapes us, hardly veiled. We respire in fire, but of a spiritually destructive sort.

The latest ignition has been the riots in many cities across the U.S., but at their heart is righteous anger at police officers’ fatal violence toward Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd, the most recent of millennia worth of racial violence. Had they not been black men, Arbery and Floyd presumably would not have been treated as they were, unto their humiliating deaths. Even though Floyd’ had exhibited actual criminal behavior, it received a gravely disproportionate response.

Widespread desecration and destruction are by no means a meritorious reaction; by proportionate means they are worth police response,.Yet dimly they reflect the burning of hearts for that justice which will bring true peace to the world (recall Pope St. Paul VI’s famous dictum: “If you want peace, work for justice”). It’s almost a type of what Saint Paul today referred to as “all creation...groaning in labor pains...as we wait for...the redemption of our bodies” (Rom 8:22-24). Not only do we not know how to pray as we ought, we also don’t know how to act, instead favoring to react.

Today I saw a photo of graffiti upon St. Patrick’s Cathedral: true profanation (L. pro+fanum, in front of the temple). True to form, I started reading the social media rejoinders. One: “All the churches in the world could burn down, and it wouldn’t be as bad as one child being molested by a priest.” Abusus non tollit usum, the Romans pithily reminded, but the kernel of truth and goodness here still obtains: human dignity is not to be violated, nobody no-how.

Return to Pentecost. As the Jewish feast of Shavuot it marks the collection of countless wheat sheaves into one granary. Eventually fire enters to transform wheat into bread. The Holy Spirit unifies and clarifies, undoing the original sin and its myriad offshoots. The primal defiance of God, further exemplified in the hate of one’s own brother, registered finally as a Babel-ing failure to communicate truth, goodness, beauty, and unity-within-diversity.

This the Spirit undoes in His descent of supernatural gifts (wisdom, fortitude, and the rest; Lk 4:18; Is 61:1), which in turn yield joy, patience, kindness, long-suffering, self-control, and other fruits (Gal 5:22). These gifts and fruits, uniformly sought and applied, would at last reconnect a disparate, disparaging humanity, turning prehistoric Babel into the new and eternal  Jerusalem. That is the hope dreadfully spelling itself out in the world in these days of viral vitriol. Clarify and purify the heart of the world, O Spirit-Fire!

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Almost a side note now, but something I never tire of telling: My alma mater of Nativity B.V.M. High School (Pottsville, PA) was built atop Lawton’s Hill, which once had been used as a KKK demonstration site. The chapel windows form a golden cross, which remains lit at night as if to redeem the crosses burned there years before. One way to make a statement, as to how the ardent devotion and service of Christians will channel the light of hope.

"Lest We Forget"; Of Michael Christopher and Christopher Michael

My latest Coronatide Consideration comes at the cusp of transition time, when the five counties in our diocese act in consort with civil authorities in permitting public Masses, albeit with still-appropriate safety precautions. The Gospel (Jn 16:29-33) packs the punch, which our deacon delivered deftly. As for my follow-up, I cannot say much, except everyone was left standing.

Jesus' disciples claimed to appreciate His long-awaited clarity, though He never meant to be murky to them. In fact, the Lord observed, they still won't get it, "for had they known it, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory" (1 Cor 2:8); they would never have done their part by abandoning Him at the moment of truth.

"Speaking plainly, with no more figures of speech"! I wonder where that would leave me, or any other poetically-plumed penman. Penmen of note like John McCrae of In Flanders' Fields fame, Recessional's Rudyard Kipling, or my man Hopkins' not-quite-titled "The Soldier," which starts with "YES."--fittingly expressing the consent of every redcoat and tar to their service.

In our day, to that last point, I would add "whitecoat" and "whitecap" to include nurses, doctors, and everyone in the way of this hidden harm, COVID-19. Many fallen heroes among them, too.

YES. Where would our world be without its poets? Some soldiers and patriots might opine poets' oft-controversial positions are posturings, virtue-signals, plain nonsense at best or subversive at worst. Casting things in a different light was never out of season, except in countries that weren't free.

The freedom in which we celebrated the Mass this morning was in some sense never withheld from us, although most bishops and priests considered it best to contain folks as much to their homes as possible, given how close quarters like churches can be flash-points for the sickness.

Today's open-air method is among the options when things officially open on 1 June. By then we will have an FM transmitter to spread the Word. (This morning I learned the transmitter is supposed to be coming tomorrow! Oh, to have been a little quicker to the draw when in other purchases a slower draw might have helped.)

Mass is at once a sacrifice, a banquet, and a memorial. The "Mystery of Faith" acclamation is ingredient to that part of the canon called Anamnesis (Gk, not-forgetting), according to Jesus' command to "do this"--take, break, bless, give, eat, and drink--"in remembrance of Me." Be with us yet, lest we forget, and do we!

Just as Memorial Day exhorts us not to forget the men and women "who more than self their country loved, / and mercy more than life," so every day's Memorial Offering mystically transports us to that moment of supreme truth, goodness, and beauty, the mountain of mercy that lends meaning to every sacrificial offering, large and small.

Please God, these days will remind us of the constant need for remembrance, in the Biblical sense that God remembers: acting concretely on behalf of the one in question.

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Sarah Coleman, top row, second from left; Helenann Welker, bottom row, last at right

My late mother was the best friend of Sally Coleman since high school and nursing school days. They both went on to be faithful and caring wives, mothers, and Licensed Practical Nurses.

They were so close, and so closely pregnant, that they made a kind of pact to name their children together. The first one to emerge was Michael Christopher Wargo (sharing her husband's first name); the second, a few months later, was Christopher Michael Zelonis (a name Mom had in mind and heart for years).

These two boys were in each other's company only a handful of times over the years, as their families' lives went on, fortunately enjoying periodic episodes of quality and quantity. This was much the case in the last fifteen years, after my Dad died in 2004. Mom had become an occasional beach bum in the Wargo pool. Many laughs and reminiscences shared, including a June 1977 birthday party of Michael when the two of us were in the same playpen--photo to follow. I met him as if for the first time at another party, years later.

Mom accompanied the Wargo family in moments delightful and difficult, especially when Michael, who had served his country nobly, took his own life on 20 May 2013, after an arduous struggle with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which had taken a few family tolls prior to that day. As they do, every survivor was left holding the proverbial bag, mourning and speculating.

Many and varied are the battles of the "War at Home," as it has been termed, where servicemen and women still fall, often despite the best efforts of those around them--often amid a certain unawareness of those around them, or within themselves.

Mr. and Mrs. Wargo have since given their lives to foster mental health awareness and care for our veterans. They further honor their son's memory by volunteering for the "Valor Clinic" and "Mission 22," which has honored veteran victims of PTSD with steel silhouettes, including Michael's near the trailhead in his native Lehighton. I pass and pray often, while on the run. The templates of these soldiers are scheduled ("virus-permitting," Sally says) to repose permanently--appropriately, by name--in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, come October, having made a tour of duty in several spots.

Learning that my latest assignment would be in Lehighton was a joy, especially knowing the Wargos all my life, and even Sally's parents George and Margaret Coleman, who tolerated the precocious five-year-old who hung around George's typewriter stand at "the Auction" (the Hometown Farmer's Market). Margaret thought enough of me to buy me a religious item of my choosing at the one Catholic goods stand. I chose a crucifix, which I still have. God bless her, she still thinks of me so, with sharpest mind, in her 90s.

It was never far away: at my desk. St. Anthony has come through for me on lesser things with greater effort.

The pastoral delicacy surrounding self-wrought deaths is something that alas, not all priests, have exercised. I wonder sometimes, when it comes to any commendation in circumstances perhaps awkward, shameful, or volatile, how we do it. A Power Greater, no doubt, even when (only God knows why) that Power seemed utterly inaccessible to them, or they felt utterly unworthy of His regard--which in fact could never have been stronger, at any point.

Lord God of Hosts (armies), be with us yet, even when, for that final moment, we forget.

Containment Considerations 8: I Need Cash Now

A couple of weeks have transpired since my last isolation reflection, and this is the eighth of that unspecified series. Both of these facts suggest it has been going on far too long. It promises to continue, at least in this part of Pennsylvania.

For many people, the containment doesn’t seem to have been going on at all, whether that’s because their usual business hasn’t involved much physical contact to begin with, their business has become unusually affected with the result of more contact (such as our noble first responders), or simply because they have been flouting the governmental directives.

As a parish priest, the core dimension of my ministry has not changed in the sense that I have not stopped offering daily the holy Mysteries entrusted to me by my bishop nearly 17 years ago. I have not stopped celebrating the Sacraments, proclaiming the Gospel, or caring for souls. I’ve just had to do it differently.

The World Online, like every novelty, has intrigued me since I first laid eyes on it. Here’s another shiny boulevard of Evangelization and self-expression! Which of those two purposes I have appreciated and enlisted more, varies depending on when you ask me what I’ve done with it today. I’m nothing if not inconsistent!

Sometimes those purposes look and sound rather similar. To this point, following up on an earlier post in which I laid out my ecclesiastical heraldry, I’ve actually changed a major component: my motto. It’s my expectation that you don’t fool with this stuff once it’s in print, but I do nothing if I don’t defy expectations, alone or with others.

My previous sacred slogan was Matthew 13:52, in which, after Jesus laid out a series of teachings on the kingdom of heaven in the form of parables, He closed out with a simple simile as the last parable in that series (like this episode, the 8th).

Ever the teacher, Jesus asked His followers, “Do you understand these things?” Upon their affirmative response, Jesus said, “then every scribe instructed in the kingdom of heaven is like the head of a household who brings forth from his storeroom both the new and the old” (profert de thesauro suo nova et vetera).

For my purposes (and those of the kingdom of heaven, I dare say), as a "scribe" I start off—and end up—both a recorder and an interpreter. That’s always the case whether the writings are sacred or secular. Traditore, tradutore: The one who hands things on for posterity, hands them over for betrayal. Not to say the original meaning is entirely lost, but like the genetic phenomenon of microchimerism, someone else gets handed on as well: something old, something new.

In jettisoning the phrase profert de thesauro suo nova et vetera, I am not altogether parting with it. Even though it will not appear below the crest, it still shows up in my thoughts, words, and actions. That’s how my new motto was germinating while I was working with the old one, and not surprisingly, that’s how the old one has been working since I’ve started with the new one. The more I cling to either of them, the more I suspect I am doing so in error: No rest for the wary.

I have turned my mind, for now, to chapter two of Saint Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians. He goes to some length and depth to make clear the purity of his ministerial motives. When it comes to human praise, he is not in it to win it. In verse seven, he compares the apostolic labors of his coterie to a nursing mother; in verse eleven, he compares it to a father's exhortation and insistence. There is something poignant to his inclusion of both parents in his comparison.

But the phrase that pays here is verse eight, where Saint Paul relays: "with such affection for you, we were determined to share with you not only the Gospel of God, but our very selves as well, so dearly beloved had you become to us" (non solum evangelium Dei, sed etiam animas nostras). When it comes to mottos, either one is somewhat large. Normally I don't see many over five words. So this is par for my course: why say in 500 words what you can say in 1000?

Speaking of which: This post had a main point, and I'm just getting to it. In an effort to convey "our very selves" as sometimes I do more than the Gospel of God as such, I sneaked up to the choir loft before my Zoom Pastoral Council meeting last night to record myself playing on the organ the operatic theme for the cash advance company J. G. Wentworth.

My only intention, to line the collective pockets with a little levity. That said, if they wanted to send cash now for a new Allen organ, I wouldn't refuse it.

The video has garnered a generous response from my friends on both the Facebook and the Twitter. I'm certainly humbled and grateful. It goes to show the solidarity of people in crazy times. We're all going through it.

As for my talent: Knowing the caliber of musicians alongside whom I've been playing in concert bands for thirty years, I make no claims at proficiency. What I lack in talent, I compensate for in willingness and schmaltz.

I just spied a quote from St. Jane Frances de Chantal: "Hell is full of the talented; heaven of the energetic." If I can bring the two together, following the "both/and" principle of Catholicism evident in both of my motto selections, I might hit the middle ground of Purgatory--and even that is temporary in favor of heaven.

Moving back to the Gospel of God, I include here my homily from this morning, in which I tried to tie together the readings and saints of the day to my exploits from last night. If we can't view current events--especially music and other cultural expressions--in light of the Gospel, why do we even culture?

Containment Considerations 7: This Time It’s Personal

In my last post, Theophilus, I unpacked Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “The Wreck of the Deutschland.” Here I submit a poiema (Gk, handiwork) a little more personal.

One friend called it a curious thing to be about when bored. After a pause I rather suggest it is an item of culture emerging from leisure. Granted, ecclesiastical heraldry is not everyone’s area of interest, but it has been one of mine since I was a kid.

Back then it was tied up with fantasies of promotion and pageantry; now it exemplifies Job’s longing for his words to be written down (19:23, also in the subheading of this blog). Dangerous, the desire to codify and “emblazon” the self, for words so often fail the Word.

Learning it was not just a thing for bishops lent me some courage to concretize, even this early in life and ministry. Others far younger than I have done so, even “right out of the gate.” Much of it is consistent with the cultivated “brand” so essential for marketing and social media. I shall continue to cherish the photo of my classmate and me prostrating at our Ordination to Priesthood; in a very real sense that is the most personally-revealing image available for me, and my best side as well.

There’s the shield, and the explanation of it. The easiest part is the priest’s black galero (ceremonial clerical hat) from which two tassels suspend. Colors and numbers of tassels differ by ecclesiastical rank or office; priests will use varied elaborate patterns for the cords that extend from the galero.

Everything on the shield is the meaty part. There are persons far more versed than I in these matters, whose opinions I have consulted online unbeknownst to them. They suggest that the shield is not a place to display one’s curriculum vitae or personal preferences (“favorite things“).

The presentation and description below indicate I have not taken that direction. I am not alone, I suspect, in this regard. If it is an offense punishable by law, I extend my hands for the cuffs.

Ever inclined to self-justify, my explanation of the “charges“ (elements) on the shield will reveal the extent of the infraction. A respected brother priest and fellow armiger (arms bearer) related how personal the coat of arms is. The bishop who ordained me uses his as an examination of conscience.

While I had a very intentional layout in mind, I entrusted the depiction of it to Luis Alves of Reidarmas.com, whose portfolio and pricing were equally acceptable. He worked with me, made suggestions based on his knowledge of the craft, and behold, the outcome:

Exceedingly close to my sketch, though far neater.

The official description:

“Front the point of view of the bearer, moving dexter to sinister, right to left:

A field of gules (red) is divided by a vertically flowing river (a pale wavy) of azure (blue) whose banks are argent (silver).

A pair of opposing swords, both silver with gold (or) ornaments, bisect the river diagonally, rising upward from right to left.

Two additional charges: at lower right, a blazing fire of silver; at upper left, a plow of gold.

The black galero with two black tassels, customary of a diocesan priest.”

The motto: profert de thesauro suo nova et vetera (Mt 13:52).

Continuing with my abridged yet amplified explanation:

Red and blue are colors in the Zelonis and Welker family coats of arms, at least according to the online researcher I consulted (not the same one as above). At any rate, they are also the colors of the Saint Clair School District where I attended Kindergarten through Sixth Grade. Saint Clair Catholic (grades 7 and 8) used a lighter blue. The crest of the Diocese of Allentown is predominantly red. One-third of the Lithuanian flag is red, and one-half of Poland’s as well. Blue is the quintessential Marian color.

Silver and gold are used for second and first place respectively—both high ranks, but ranks nonetheless. “Speech is silver, silence is golden,” says the proverb. Brass instruments typically are of one or even both colors. My alma mater, Nativity B.V.M. High School in Pottsville PA, claims gold (as well as green).

As the legend goes, Saint Christopher carried the toddler Jesus across a river, exemplifying priestly, sacrificial love. I enjoy running along rivers and roads.

The bottom, ascending sword recalls the Lithuanian heraldic “vytis” (knight), while the descending sword hearkens to Archangel Michael (the patron of my first parish, in Minersville PA)’s thrust into Satan. The priest preaches the “two-edged sword” known as God’s Word (cf. Heb 4:12).

Verbal and visual creativity accompany the swords crossing the rivers: together they form the ascending “sharp” symbol that indicates a musical note raised one-half step from its standard value. It also reminds of the “pound sign” or “hashtag” used in communications media. My linguistic love (including the language of music) attempts to share “not only the Gospel, but our very selves as well” (1 Thess 2:8).

I have cherished the burning bush of Exodus 3 since finding an icon of it during academic research (in a book). The Fathers of the Church compared Mary’s perpetual virginity to the bush aglow with, yet unconsumed by, divine love. I appreciate the connections between the Scriptures and the Church’s  thinkers and pray-ers.

The plow is a charge on my alma mater St. Charles Borromeo Seminary’s crest. Alves used a different plow, for what it’s worth.

The elevation of golden plow above silver burning bush show how prophetic eloquence, however valuable, is nothing if not subordinated to deeds of love—putting hand to plow (and not looking back in regret as to how I could have said it better!). Since kings—leaders—“cultivate” service by performing and inspiring it, the plow completes the “prophet/priest/king” triad, even if it’s something of a stretch.

The motto was the hardest part to decide even though I came up with it fairly early in the crafting process. Before taking Latin in high school, I would see bishops’ mottos, all wrapped up in ribbons, and try to pronounce and translate them.

How bold it is for people to choose one particular phrase, from Scripture or elsewhere, to summarize or guide their lives! I enjoy reading each armiger’s rationale and weighing its personal applicability. Sometimes I spy a phrase and it becomes my motto du jour, eventually to be consigned to forgetfulness, occasionally to resurface years later; eventually I started to keep a file and highlight possibilities in my Nova Vulgata.

So why this one?

No possibility that I’ve ever considered is without merit, even if another succeeded it moments later. The new ones don’t invalidate the old ones. This pattern reveals a reverence for tradition and innovation, for archival dust and creative juices.

As a writer (“a scribe”), specifically one ordained for priestly service to the Church (the Kingdom in seed form), I am, as Jesus described, “like the head of a household (more so as a pastor, though no less as a teacher or a hospital chaplain) who brings forth from his treasury (thesaurus!) the new and the old.”

Church history has not ignored the testamental overtones of “old and new,” nor do I. Teachers try to present eternal verities in new packaging, to new generations of students, although they often find the older packaging is useful and beautiful as well. Social media, thanks to the current Corona-Crisis, has furnished a new or more frequented mode of operation for most of us to communicate the Gospel and our own “prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day.”

Since learning of it early in the seminary, the “Both-And” approach of Catholicism has become very important to me. The divine perspective harmonizes realities that seem contradictory at first, the Incarnation chief among them. How can God also be man? In Christ, He is fully both; to exclude the presence and operation of one nature in favor of the other is not only heresy, it is lunacy.

Human beings likewise must seek the middle path where virtue and sanity often reside, as hope strides the excesses of presumption and despair. It’s not “all on God,” nor is it “all on us.” That virtue registers highly with me: as the sharp sign raises a musical note, so my ministry, music, writing, life are called—in weakness and defeat as well as their opposites—to glorify God and make unto Him a pleasing offering.

A Six-Pack of Containment Considerations BONUS: Recking the Wreck

Many of you know my devotion to Jesuit priest/poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. His magnum opus, the "Wreck of the Deutschland," seems to epitomize his faith, his ministry, his life.

For all the joy points of his life, and for all his virtues and talents, Hopkins labored under an incessant  sense of futility. Disappointment from family; struggles in belief and experience of God's Presence; lackluster performance as a teacher and curate: these befell him and no doubt finally felled him, even if typhoid appeared on his death certificate.

He, too, was a fatality from a plague that was besieging Dublin in the late 1880s. Perhaps a coincidental detail, but not entirely.

Physical maladies are to some degree evidence of spiritual maladies. Sickness and death are consequences of sin. Now mental illness is not a personal fault, as if there were a direct correlation between "who sinned, this man or his parents?" and his plight (cf. Jn 9:2). They are, however, realities that as such are related causally. Even so, sometimes sins can catalyze conditions, as in the contribution of abuse or combat to PTSD.

By all accounts, Hopkins lived if not a charmed life, then certainly a comfortable one. The causes of his personal plague are, as for many of us, mysterious. Even if he knew their origin, daily decisions did not desist, and he attended to them carefully and heartfully. As with many artists, his art emerged through the rolls of his mental and emotional wringer, or at least it was in his soap.

Hopkins wrote considerably in his youth, winning a school prize for one poem, "The Escorial." Entry into the Catholic Faith, and soon into the Society of Jesus, convinced Hopkins he needed to set aside childish things (cf. 1 Cor 13:11) by burning his poetry and resting his quill.

Only after his Jesuit superior suggested that a poem be written about a recent nautical disaster did Hopkins (cue the Rocky theme) return to training, to retell a fight not in his beleaguered brain, but "in wind's burly and beat of endragonèd seas" (Wreck, 27).

In the manner that God brings forth good from evil, Hopkins' shipwreck reckoning won him a second wind, which lasted the rest of his harrowed days. Hopkins' interior torments and physical problems were the shipwrack that yielded a harvest of poetry, the "tempest [that] carr[ied] the grain" for God to us.

Storm-as-salvation, or salvation-through-storm, reflects the tension of opposites, much the work and play of Catholic theology and spirituality. No poem of Hopkins, I suggest, demonstrates this more starkly than "The Wreck of the Deutschland."

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Hopkins experienced his own conversion to Roman Catholicism as a turmoil in the first several stanzas. God is "giver of breath and bread," all things needful, but He seems to jilt as to Job. "Thou hast bound bones and veins in me, fastened me flesh, / And after it almost unmade, what with dread, / Thy doing" (1).

Nobody forced him, but the forces within him were wild weather: "the midriff astrain with leaning of, laced with fire of stress" (2). There was nowhere else to turn except to the Eucharistic Lord Himself, and there he thrusted himself as a graceful pigeon to its destination (3).

"Mined with a motion" (4) was the title of a book that analyzed themes in Hopkins' poetic corpus. Not one whit witless, his words achieved their aim, precisely because his aim was Truth: the truth of his perceptions and experiences, yes, but above all Christ, the Way, Truth, and Life (Jn 14:6).

This truth is evident to one who seeks and "sifts" it from life's storms and assertions. "Since, tho' he is under the world's splendour and wonder, / His mystery must be instressed, stressed" (5). These last two words are Hopkins coinages: "instress" is the force that an image ("inscape") exerts upon the mind, to which the mind must apply itself ("stress") as vigorous teeth to a Red Delicious. God is dreadfully evident everywhere, but not without purposeful sensory and spiritual effort.

The mystery of God-Evident originates not in the magnificent mysteries we celebrate today, lamentably via-satellite for most, although the initial kerygma (apostolic proclamation of Christ)  might try to convince us otherwise. What would have been the first thing on their minds? He is risen! This itinerant preacher ("going in Galilee") originated not only in the embrace of Father in the Holy Spirit, but in the "Warm-laid grave of a womb-life grey; / Manger, maiden's knee;" (7).

Death and life commingle in every aspect of the God-Man's earthly sojourn, and in everyone else's. Our trials can move us, as they moved Hopkins, "To hero of Calvary, Christ,'s feet--" with a certain felt inevitability: "Never ask if meaning it, wanting it, warned of it--men go" (8).

Human hardships contain a salvific purpose, a literal salve (both in the English sense of healing and in its Latin root, the salutation made to Mary in the eponymous "Hail, Holy Queen." But herein lies the tension: divine purification presents as both "lightning and love...a winter and warm"; its Origin, a "Father and fondler of heart...hast wrung," at once producing obscurity and mercy (9).

God's purpose for us at every turn is our turning to Him, our conversion. He can accomplish this, according to Hopkins, after the striking strides of Saint Paul, or the waiting-working of Saint Augustine; either way, mercy and mastery "in all of us, out of us" are His objective (10).

Conversion and its sibling repentance are many-faceted, but in every respect a death. Though, like its sibling suffering, physical death is the consequence of original sin, it was meant to be the fire that welded a soul to its Fatherly Frame.

Death personified reads off a catalog of options (usually his, not ours): a sword, a flange (think the loose ligature on the space shuttle Challenger), a rail[road] accident, a beast's fang or a flood. There are more prevalent counterparts, such as the COVID Operation currently underway.

The time for perceived invincibility is long past. Our clever cloth masks are no firm prophylactic against a virus, though we may wear them to an optional outing. "But wé dréam we are rooted in earth--Dust!" There is little room for foolhardiness, for "Flesh falls within sight of us": every day the death toll climbs. Who among us is exempt from the reaper's swing? (11)

"Wreck" goes on to describe the details of the occasion: the passengers (12), the outset (13), and the impact both physical and spiritual (14ff), on the passengers and upon Hopkins himself as one who heard the news from an admittedly comfortable remove (24).

Several aspects merit Hopkins' attention: an heroic but fatal rescue attempt (16); the number five referring to both the nuns and to Our Lord's wounds (22); one nun's bold invitation for Christ to "come quickly" (24); the primacy of ordinary life ("the jading and jar of the cart"; 27) as the venue for spiritual insights and growth.

Christ came for salvation, much the need for Germany, which had far less to boast with Luther than with St. Gertrude (20). Salvation extended more intimately, in Hopkins' hopes, to the religious renegades of his native England. Just as St. Peter discerned the gruesome gravity of God ("the unshapeable shock night"), Hopkins noticed the poignant celebration surrounding this wreck, namely Mary's Immaculate Conception (it happened the day before that Solemnity).

This was all God's work, and Hopkins apprehended this after enough rumination on secondary points. "He was to cure the extremity where he had cast her" (28), and the nun's candid confession, he prayed, could help his own people repent and be converted, thus rendering this shipwrack a harvest (31).

God is in control (32). Harshly or gently, He wields the sword of mercy, swinging it even in the direction of the dead and the near-dead (33). Could that sword touch and "royally reclaim his own" British hearts? Everyone else's?

If so, it would happen as everything else has: in the tension of opposites: "kind, but royally reclaiming his own; a released shower...not a lightning of fire" (34).

The final stanza sums it up with the intensity of the last strains of Ravel's Bolero. The cavalcade of consonants, the arabesque litany spelling out the One Who fain would remember English souls all the way back to Himself.

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