The Temptation Triangle

“In my first article, Theophilus…”

I wanted that clause as the incipit for my second (though hopefully not last!) article for the Times News, because in that context it’s the only chance I'd get to riff on the beginning of the Acts of the Apostles, attributed to Saint Luke, which he begins by alluding to his “first book,” his Gospel, which detailed the actions and words of Jesus. Commentators understand “Theophilus” (Greek for “lover/beloved of God”) as a personification of anyone who might read what Luke wrote, at least from God’s point of view.

With that out of my system, I can engage in a bit of “l’esprit de l’escalier” (the spirit of the staircase): only at the bottom of the stairs, when I’ve left the party, have I thought of a better thing to say. This article seems perfect for the First Sunday of Lent, but it wouldn’t get to press for the appropriate clergy column. However, I’m relieved to note the themes expressed herein apply not just to the entirety of Lent, but like Lent itself does, to the whole disciple’s life.

This year of the Catholic Lectionary cycle features Mark, whose characteristically laconic style compresses Jesus’ wilderness fast to two verses of “just the facts.” So maybe this article would be better for Matthew or Luke’s year in the cycle. But another theme of Lent is heightened awareness of our mortality and our lack of guarantees as to whether we will ever pass this way again. The Muses don’t hang out on street corners just waiting to be picked up.

At last I get around to the point of this second article: an unrecalled source of inspiration moved me to ponder how the temptations of the first Lent correspond to other important realities of the Christian journey. Last year I made of them a graphic of concentric triangles and suspended it from the pulpit as I preached.

Each side of the outermost triangle lists one of the Satanic temptations as St. Matthew narrated them (4:1-11): Turn stones into bread; cast yourself from the Temple and expect to be rescued; receive the world in return for worshipping me. Moving toward the center of the graphic, each successive triangle mentions a corresponding idea or practice. It’s hard to describe, but I won’t retreat now.

When Satan submitted that Jesus should feed Himself in a time of intentional caloric deprivation, he wanted to erode Jesus’ trust in the Father’s wise and loving plan. That’s the aim of the Tempter’s every effort. The goods of this world make a good servant, but a poor master, yet is that not how things normally go for us?

Moving towards the center of the triangles, next we have what theology calls the “triple concupiscence”: the three avenues of temptation, or what I perhaps have coined the docents of the museum of sin: “sensual lust, enticement for the eyes, and a pretentious life” (1 John 2:15-17). In brief: the flesh, the world, and the devil. I can’t get away with saying any of these “made” me do what my will doesn’t intend (cf. Romans 7:15-22), but it sure feels that way sometimes.

Thus our first parents encountered the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (cf. Genesis 2:9,16-17). Perhaps God wanted to feed them from it all along, except for their grubby, grabby fingers. Better to have consorted with the “tree of life” (2:9), but the former’s fruit seemed “good for food, pleasing to the eyes, and desirable for gaining wisdom” (Genesis 3:6, the sides of the next triangle). See now why it’s not good for the man or woman to be alone?

Lent calls Christians to intensify the disciplines, not surprisingly three in number, that make disciples out of the curious crowd. We give them special attention during penitential periods so we may better appreciate their perennial importance in our lives. Jesus directs us to fast, pray, and give alms without fanfare, so that “your Father who sees in secret will repay you” (Matthew 6:4,6, 18).

Incidentally, the venerable option of sprinkling blessed ashes on people’s heads seems to convey the unassuming assumption of penance much more than a big ol’ cross. Then again, Jesus earlier told the crowds to “let their light shine brightly” (Matthew 5:16), so a cross might well convey how loudly His Gospel is meant to live within us. I take to paradoxes the “both-and” approach: letting the light shine is not flickering it like a disco ball.

The next level of triangles collapses into the very core of the graphic, where we find what Saint Paul called “the gift of God that you [Timothy, every God-fearer] have through the imposition of my hands” (2 Timothy 1:6). Paul explains, “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice but of”—get ready for another triptych—“power and love and self-control.” For purposes of this meditation I shall reverse the order, and tie it all together:

Turning stone to bread would temporarily quell the lust of the flesh, since the earth-fruit’s “goodness for food” is valid enough. But Jesus spots the bluff, and by His steadfast fasting—an exercise of self-control—steads Himself fast in the Father’s love.

Had Our Lord thrown His Body from the top of the Temple, a fleet of angels would have been at the ready. But the eyes didn’t have it, however pleasing was the prospect of divine daring. What a show it would have been, if only to Himself! Jesus rather gives Himself sacrificially, as Love does, not for the likes or retweets but for God’s glory and honor—and again, not surprisingly, for the fulfillment of His own mission: divine direction always promotes human flourishing.

Scarcely thwarted by human fidelity, ever hoping to disprove it as with Job (1:9-11), Satan suggested Jesus bow before him, offering a large reward at a larger price. But the King and Center of all hearts knows the Prince of This World has not his day, but only his hour. Without pride, therefore, Jesus denies the devil. Why pick a fruit desirable for gaining wisdom when You have all the wisdom to be had? The power of prayer is Jesus’ connection to the Father in the Holy Spirit.

In His sacred humanity, God the Son learned to maintain this bond through the loving example of Mary and Joseph. It is not infused in us, although we do well to recall how ardently we must abide with those who “imposed hands” on us—those whose spiritual, emotional, and even physical proximity fostered our faith. Their involvement eventually enables us to walk with confidence in the Way of Christ.

Even so, “sin is a demon lurking at the door: his urge is toward you, yet you can be his master” (Genesis 4:7). No rest for the weary, as they say, except with the Spirit that God humanly entrusted to and through you.

Containment Considerations

On Monday I was participating in the funeral of a priest’s mother for the first time since my own Mom’s funeral last July. When I got into the car to drive down to the cemetery, I checked my email. The Diocese comes up as a VIP sender, and this message was VI.

The public celebration of Mass is canceled until further notice on account of COVID-19. Priests are allowed to keep the church open for periods of private prayer and to hear confessions (though even this the government would not recommend in the normal close quarters).

The range of feelings that accompany the reception of such news is understandable. At first I suspect very few would have been relieved, but even the earlier notice that had dispensed all Catholics in our diocese from the obligation could have relieved those who were genuinely afraid to go but were also afraid not to.

I suspect the majority feel disappointed, and a substantial minority angered by the decision. They think it betrays a lack of trust on the part of our bishops. “Wouldn’t God preserve from harm those who dared to assemble on the Lord’s Day, as is

our custom (cf. Heb 10:25)? And wouldn’t someone who got sick and died as a result of going be an instant martyr?

“The Eucharist is our food and drink, per the Lord’s own directive. Certain saints like Catharine of Siena lived on Him alone for periods of time.  Now we are being starved to death, as if some corrupt government were inducing famine.”

As a priest, I feel saddened for those who have contracted COVID-19, for the increasing number of fatalities. In the daily Mass I now live-stream from my chapel, I pray for those who suffer and those who care for them. Tomorrow, on the solemnity of the Guardian of the Redeemer, I will pray for his protection on us all. I can’t imagine that the God-Man did not get colds, and that His mother or foster father didn’t dote on Him in those sad days.

God knows, whenever we are sick, we feel some measure of isolation, of not wanting to be touched or cared for. In such moments we are particularly united with our Lord upon the Cross. His sense of abandonment was infinitely greater than our own (it was more than a “sense”), even though our own is a small but meaningful share of it.

My honest feelings also include dereliction and guilt. Somebody online quoted Mary Magdalene: “They have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they laid Him“ (Jn 20:13). Someone else recalled a line from the Song of Songs: “At night I sought him on my heart loves; I sought him but I did not find him” (3:1).

But here’s the thing: I know where He is – He’s in our Tabernacles, and we are not openly encouraged to open them up for public consumption. More often than not, that “public” includes groups of 10 or more! Just now I’m reminded that our Lord had the apostles seat people in groups of fifty upon the miraculous mountain (cf. Lk 9:14).

This city will be consigned to flames because fewer than ten won’t be found (cf. Gen 18:16-33).

Yes, I know where Jesus is. It feels like I’m playing a game of keepaway. Of course I would not refuse giving Holy Communion to someone in dire need, or even someone who asked. But right now we are heading for the times of tumbleweeds gracing our streets.

People have appreciated the service of live-streaming or otherwise recording Masses we say privately, "we" meaning my own bishop and many priests and bishops around the globe. Brother priests: does it feel like exhibitionism to you? Of course we have been doing this for years, because of the many shut-ins in our parishes, but now everybody is a shut-in with respect to the Sacred Synaxis! "You can look but you can’t touch."

Someone said very quickly into our quarantine that this Lent is unique.  We are not just in Lent: we are in Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Tomb time.

The reports suggest this could go on for a long while, and get worse before it gets better, as things usually do. With reports of mobile confessionals, speculation about the validity of telephone confession, and who knows what about the Eucharist Himself, it may be the time for creativity. Our parishes shouldn’t become catacombs just yet. Or should they?

My reading today revealed that the appropriate measure for “social distancing” is 6 feet. Incidentally, that’s how far we’ll be from the nearest human being when we’re buried: 6 feet from their feet. Social distancing is acceptable as a health precaution, but not as a way of life.

I just saw a tweeted opinion that these weeks without widespread access to, and indiscriminate reception of, the Eucharist might increase appreciation for it. We all need to start discerning the Body better (cf. 1 Cor 11:29).

On Hashtags in General, and One in Particular

This is my first blog post of the new year, patient reader, mostly because I am undisciplined. True to form, I am publishing it on Ash Wednesday, among the busier days in a priest's year. There was a sizable window between the noon service and the 5 PM Confessions (followed by 6:30 PM Mass and subsequent Stations of the Cross) to cut-and-paste this article from the upcoming parish bulletin. 

This Lent I have chosen to refrain from social media, but I think I'll refine that to "not scrolling or checking notifications on social media," which enables me to post and scram. So be kind and decent! No lewdness, profanity, or unkindness. Contact me on messaging apps, email, phone, or in person.

Last November the outdoor parish sign declared, By Death He Trampled Death, and below it #mementomori. By now many of you know that the eight-pointed character technically called the octothorp (no relation to Jim) has in more recent years been called the number sign or the pound sign. Music calls it the sharp sign, to raise the note a half-step (as the character itself shifts). Online parlance dubs it the “hashtag” (perhaps resembling hash browns? You got me).

The hashtag is a kind of organizing tool for social media. Posting persons will share a word or phrase (characters uninterrupted either by spaces or punctuation), beginning the content with a hashtag. Then, whenever one wants to search for that sort of content elsewhere, one simply would enter or click on that hashtag and examples would appear. Hashtagged items, inside or outside the online context, tend to be considered trendy or important.

They say that death and taxes are the two universally unavoidable realities. Both merit our attention this time of year. We should pay the latter by 15 April, while the due date of the former is not known to us. We “prepare” taxes by gathering forms, receipts, and other relevant information, and entering many personal numbers into formulae that determine how much we owe Caesar. How do we “prepare” for death? What’s the schedule for debts to God?

We know God deserves worship and respect, on His terms outlined by the Church. We know our fellow human beings deserve honor and respect in relation to God, their creator and ours. “Pay to all their dues, taxes to whom taxes are due, toll to whom toll is due, respect to whom respect is due, honor to whom honor is due. Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law” (Romans 13:7-8). 

While we may either pay our taxes incrementally during the year based on what we know we should pay, or we may wait until the end, the debt of love is ongoing and merits attention well in advance of the accounting day.

Dying humbles us, as does aging. We find ourselves able to do less than we could before. People often transition to a point of not knowing what to do, or how to communicate. That’s the incremental tax payment. Some people unexpectedly must render life’s lump sum, when everyone might have thought there was more earning and achieving ahead. From our perspective it might look too random, and who could fault our frustrations?

One of Lent’s best purposes is to draw these realities before our eyes. If they’re already before our eyes, we don’t necessarily get a pass, but here we recall the divine economy offers various opportunities: now to assist fellow sufferers, now to be assisted. The hashtag of remembering death becomes once again the pound sign: the sign to pound the pavement in service of life.

The morbid nature of the #mementomori movement need not sour us. Some people admittedly are drawn to it more than others for how cool it looks. Maybe not cool, but authentic: the realities of death remind us to live, and to do so eagerly. The need to live is always before us, as are the needs of living. God help us to stay sharp.

Seize the Joys

This coming Sunday is "Lætare Sunday," so named for the first word of the Entrance Antiphon (Isaiah 66:10-11).

Lætare, Jerusalem, et conventum facite, omnes qui diligitis eam; gaudete cum lætitia, qui in tristitia fuistis, ut exsultetis, et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestræ.

Rejoice, Jerusalem, and all who love her. Be joyful, all who were in mourning; exult and be satisfied at her consoling breast.

At this halfway point in the penitential season of Lent, priests may wear rose colored vestments. They catch the eye, reminding us of the joy that the risen Christ already has brought to the world:

Deus qui per resurrectionem Filii tui, Domini nostri Iesu Christi, mundum laetificare dignatus es: praesta, quaesumus, ut per eius Genetricem Virginem Mariam, perpetuae capiamus gaudia vitae.

God, who through the resurrection of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, has deigned to rejoice the world: make it so, we ask, that we may seize the joys of everlasting life through His Birth-giver the Virgin Mary. (Author's translation)

One of the (pre-new translation) Lenten collects refers to Lent as "this joyful season" that God gives us each year.

Huh?

We may wonder what there is to be joyful about. We lose sight of the resurrection, or consider it the proverbial carrot before the ecclesial horse, rendering it practically irrelevant to our lives.

It is time to reclaim the joy of faith in the resurrection, which persists in the face of darkness;  the darkness cannot overcome it (cf. John 1:5). The joy of the resurrection provides the context in which we may rightly consider any debilitation of soul or body: "It is so that the works of God might be made visible" (Jn 9:3).

Live so that the works of God might be made visible: that is the summons of the risen Lord.

Treasure Amid The Trash

Recently I got to talk to one of our PREP ("CCD") classes about the Scrutinies. The Scrutinies are minor rites in the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA). Candidates for Baptism ("the Elect") are invited to examine themselves more deeply with regard to their readiness to be initiated.

The verb scrutari means "to examine, search," specifically through trash (scruta). I told the children to think of a necklace or something else of value that might have fallen into the waste can. Having exhausted other possibilities, they would head to the trash in hopes of finding the lost article. In the same way, the Elect sort through their sinful past to discover and affirm the gift of faith that will lead them to the Easter Sacraments. Those of us who have already been initiated join them in a deeper self-searching and renewal of faith.

The Gospel readings for the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Sundays of Lent are the texts in which the faithful of all stages encounter Christ, the Valuable Article, amid the rubbish of sin, sickness, and death.

The Samaritan Woman at the Well (Jn 4:5-42) meets the man who "told me everything I have done," and finds Him to be more than an insightful and intriguing figure. She is moved by the meeting to share her story with her fellows.

The Man Born Blind (Jn 9:1-41) is treated to a Messianic mudpie that opens his eyes and increases his faith. The fact that Jesus heals him on a Sabbath incites the Pharisees to conspire against Jesus from that point onward, thereby revealing their own stubborn blindness.

Jesus raises Lazarus (Jn 11:1-45) from the sleep of death in order to reveal Himself as "the Resurrection and the Life," and He pointedly asks Lazarus' sisters, "Do you believe this?" The Lord  conquers these enemies in us because He has made us His friends.

I hope these fourth graders attend Mass and pay more attention to these stories. The whole point of PREP, I reminded them, was to encounter the Lord Jesus, to rise in knowledge and fall in love with Him within His Church. If they are courageous enough to keep seeking Him amid the refuse of their own lives, they will unearth, and want to share, the boon of a relationship with God.

The Ash Mash, Always In Fash

I have a few moments in between Masses to offer a reflection or two about this non-obligatory yet culturally and spiritually popular festa in cinerem, known as "Ash Wednesday."

Since I first started receiving ashes, and more acutely since I first started applying them, I've preferred the traditional declaration, "Remember [man] that you are dust and to dust you shall return" (memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris). Of course the contemporary challenge to "turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel" is valid and effective as well, because it is the desired human and Christian response to the fact of mortality.

To date I do not recall anybody coming up to me for ashes with their tongue stuck out. One priest who was leading a retreat told that story and said that he gladly obliged, figuring that the recipient was either not accustomed to going to Mass or unwittingly treated it like any other Mass. We of a kinder, gentler Church might have chosen differently; but who am I to judge?

My best tale from today: when I applied ashes to one individual with the mortality memento, he thanked me – and I responded, under my breath, "don't thank me!" 

I didn't cause the human race to be subject to the ravages of sin, suffering, and death! No, but I accepted God's call to apply the remedy to sin, suffering, and death, even as I needed it.

The spiritual disciplines of a disciple (from the Latin discere, to learn) are prayer, fasting, and almsgiving/charity. To these I add watchfulness, perhaps the result of the first three.

"What do you mean by watchfulness?" Glad you asked. At all times we are under the perspicacious eye of the Primordial Enemy of Salvation and Transcendence (PEST). Being of angelic personhood, he will always be keener and wilier then we. Therefore we must unite our consciousness in real time with our Lord and Lover, attending to Him at once within the privacy of our "rooms" (as Jesus suggests today in Mt 6:4-6) and in His divers human disguises. If we try to do that for so long as one minute, we'll begin to notice the resistance seethe within us. This is not a failing, but rather an opportunity to remind ourselves of God's providential care, intended specifically for us in these God-awful circumstances.

A priest-friend reminded his Facebook friends that, while ashes are available today, the Gospel and the Eucharist (and, I would add, the Communion of Saints, ourselves included) are also available at each and every iteration of the Lord's One Saving Sacrificial Banquet. Cultural Catholics treat Ash Wednesday like some local baseball fans treat the day when every guest receives a free Jimmy Rollins bobblehead doll. God takes what He can gets, but maybe God also expects more out of us. "Well, that'll teach God to have expectations," our snarkier selves might retort.

One would surmise that an All-Knowing God neither has nor needs to have any "expectations" for us, as if He is somehow "waiting" upon our responses; but "one gets the feeling that God is on the journey, too" (St. Teresa of Ávila), so maybe in our limited time-space experience, the foreknowledge of God (Whom we oft imagine as "waiting at the end" vs. "present all the while") mysteriously permits our free action. We don't have to have it figured out; we just have to live it.

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Forgiveness is one of the major aims of Lent. Forgiveness of self always seemed like a strange concept to me, but the longer I run, the more I perceive its relevance in my life. Here is an article that might help you in this lifelong, needful spiritual discipline.

And here's a fun exercise from the Fellowship of Catholic University Students (FOCUS), who encourages people to post ashen photos and descriptions in the Twitterverse and Facebookia under #ashtag: a 21st century media m-ashup.