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.

Obstruction of Justice

Today is World Youth Day. Instituted by Pope Saint John Paul II, this has been an annual celebration of the youth of the world, who are not only the Church's future, but her present as well.  While WYD is observed every year, Pope Francis thought it would be a good idea to hold the current biennial en masse celebration in Krakow, JPII's hometown, especially because it is the Year of Mercy, and Mercy was perhaps the greatest cause in his pontificate. The theme for the celebration is always taken from scripture; this year's theme is Matthew 5:7, "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy." 

By giving us the prayer we have come to call The Lord's Prayer, it is true that Jesus wanted to give us the paradigm of prayer "after His own Heart." That's one important thing that people seek from their spiritual mentors. But he also wanted to remind us of how everyone stands before God as beggars, totally dependent upon Him for everything we have and are.

At the same time, Jesus wants his disciples to seek the fullness of life (cf. John 10:10--which was the theme of WYD 1993, which I was privileged to attend). The abundant life that Jesus promises is far more than a list of goods or services that we might demand from God as if they were terms of surrender or for returning a hostage. We're talking about nothing less than participation in the life of the Blessed Trinity.

Is it possible not to want that? More to the point, is it possible to live as if we didn't want it–is it possible to choose against it? Jesus himself insists so. 

While even the pagan philosopher Aristotle noted that everyone desires happiness and fulfillment by nature, it's just that everyone's vision of happiness doesn't line up appropriately with each other's vision–and quite often they fail to line up with God's vision. We can in fact have a scorpion in hand when our son asks for an egg. When Jesus suggests so, we may think it preposterous (and certainly He meant the question rhetorically), but He sneaked in a grain of truth. All of Jesus's parables and comparisons reflect His keen understanding of our fallen human nature.

In this respect he is consistent with the Hebrew Scriptures that He learned. Say what you will about the content of the Old Testament, its divine and human authors knew well our tendency toward selfish corruption. As we read from Genesis, God couldn't even find ten righteous people in the city of Sodom, so He followed through on the decision to cleanse it by fire. As a literal event it may be hard to understand, but in principle not at all. 

Perhaps you've seen this election sign. Given the contemporary state of politics, one might be tempted to cast such a vote.

The Church's Catechism (1867) picks up on a centuries-old teaching tool that lists sins that cry to heaven for vengeance. Not that any sin is acceptable, but these are so heinous in God's sight that He demands immediate and total redress. 

First is the blood of Abel. Recall how God told Killer Cain, "Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground!" (Gen 4:10). The balance of the universe is thrown off by willful murder. Our dignity in the Heart of God ought to be our dignity in each other's hearts; when we treat each other otherwise, we are debasing our own dignity.

Then there is the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah alluded to in today's first reading from Gen 18. It has long been understood as sexual activity that physically contravenes human nature, involving persons of the same sex, or by extension persons of the opposite sex who have made a point of separating the two appropriate purposes of marital love: union and procreation.

More recent authors have demonstrated an amplified sense of their sin, to include a lack of concern for the needy. While this fits in with the other examples of vengeance-seeking sin, the most salient example is the one herein cited. Consult this article for more details.

The cry of the Israelites oppressed in Egypt (cf. Ex 3:7-10) also seeped out of the soil. Having heard it (of course God knew of it, but the Scriptures speak poetically), God decided at length to intervene through the initially unwilling agency of Moses. He may have been carrying around the guilt of his earlier Egyptian homicide, as if to object that he was in no place to advocate the cessation of oppression. That God deems otherwise attests to His mercy.

God's outrage at the cry of the foreigner, the widow, and the orphan is variously attested in the Hebrew Scriptures. These folks in particular were already disadvantaged, lacking their customary means of security. Israel of all nations should know better than to treat anyone as second-class citizens, because she herself had been so considered in her day.

Injustice to the wage earner is also reprehensible to the Lord. When people in power withhold the funds necessary to live a decent life, that is oppression along the lines of the offenses mentioned above.

These sins have one commonality: the intentional obstruction of human flourishing. We may wonder why God does not seem to punish these crimes immediately and unmistakably. Perhaps that will remain forever scandalous. But the consequences of these actions nonetheless proceed. The world is basking (basting?) in them right now.

Our heavenly Father invests us with understanding, freedom, and passions to respond gracefully to Him and to our fellow human beings. Again, we may wonder why God does not prevent people from failing to respond gracefully. But the perhaps central component to today's parable is a dual persistence: God's in allowing us to recognize our sins, repent of them, confess them, and to live forward with renewed attentiveness; and our persistence in doing those very things as often as we sin.

I Beg Your Indulgence

Starting off a post or speech with a dictionary definition is considered a cliché, so I will operate somewhat differently with this treatment of indulgences. They are considered a controversial concern among Catholics and our separated brethren, so much so that one hardly hears of them anymore. But that hasn't stopped the Catholic Church from offering and promoting indulgences, so we would do well to reflect upon their nature and purpose. This is especially the case in view of Pope Francis' declaration of a special "Jubilee Year of Mercy" and the particular indulgences that one can gain "for a limited time only."

I shall offer piecemeal the definition that Pope Paul VI offered in his 1967 (post-Vatican II!) apostolic constitution Indulgentiarum Doctrina, cited in the second edition (2000) of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (Washington: USCCB. §1471).

As you might expect, it starts, "An indulgence is..." My commentary follows each segment, as you also might expect.

Here is the entire definition, posted to minimize scrolling: "An indulgence is a remission before God of the temporal punishment due to sins whose guilt has already been forgiven, which the faithful Christian who is duly disposed gains under certain prescribed conditions through the action of the Church which, as the minister of redemption, dispenses and applies with authority the treasury of the satisfactions of Christ and the saints." "An indulgence is partial or plenary according as it removes either part or all of the temporal punishment due to sin." The faithful can gain indulgences for themselves or apply them to the dead.

a remission before God
Before the definition proper, the CCC entry reminds us: "The doctrine and practice of indulgences in the Church are closely linked to the effects of the sacrament of penance." The sacrament of penance is, and forever shall be, the ordinary forum in which the Triune God imparts His mercy to Catholics. Here a duly-authorized priest declares,

God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace; and I absolve you of your sins (+) in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There'd be no reason for Jesus to declare to the apostles on the night of His resurrection, "Whose sins you forgive shall be forgiven them" (Jn 20:23), if He was not thereby entrusting them with the gift, mystery, and responsibility of mercy. As a hospital chaplain whose daily docket includes many marginal Catholics, I often find myself--I hate to use the word, "defending," but certainly presenting the rationale for sacramental reconciliation. It's a planting of seeds.

of the temporal punishment due to sins

Modern educational movements have moved away from the notion of punishment in favor of "consequences," suggesting that the teacher isn't being a meanie by taking away recess privileges for talking out of line or giving a zero grade for cheating. Rather, teacher and students mutually understand Y is what happens when you do X: it "follows" as a consequence of the disharmony and is not so much doled out as a punishment. Carrying the idea into the theological realm: God isn't displaying cruelty by sending an unrepentant sinner to hell; the descent into hell is the logical next and final step that such a person would take.

Cf. CCC 1472: "To understand this doctrine and practice of the Church, it is necessary to understand that sin has a double consequence. Grave sin deprives us of communion with God and therefore makes us incapable of eternal life, the privation of which is called the "eternal punishment" of sin. On the other hand every sin, even venial, entails an unhealthy attachment to creatures, which must be purified either here on earth, or after death in the state called Purgatory. This purification frees one from what is called the "temporal punishment" of sin. These two punishments must not be conceived of as a kind of vengeance inflicted by God from without, but as following from the very nature of sin. A conversion which proceeds from a fervent charity can attain the complete purification of the sinner in such a way that no punishment would remain." (emphasis mine)

"Temporal": this has not to do not merely with clock time (L tempus; or in Gk, kronos) but with any earthly effects of sin upon the sinner himself or those whom he has wronged. These consequences also can extend beyond the end of this life in "purgatory." When a harm is wrought, the virtue of justice (divine as well as human) demands satisfaction for that harm.

whose guilt has already been forgiven
The classic example is of the boy who breaks a window by throwing a baseball through it. His parents forgive him, but his parents rightly insist he pay for the window. The Sacrament of Penance (Reconciliation) forgives our sins, but we are granted the grace of cooperating with our restoration so we can "own" it. As with much else in life, we can't often take full or even partial credit for what we have, except that we were receptive to it. Forgiveness is, by God, "what we have."

There is another dimension of our past sins that may haunt us: in this life we cannot fully know the "ripple effects" of every sinful action or failure to act. Spiritual, emotional, and even physical consequences, extending around us and through generations, can serve to remind us of what we, or others, have done. When the past action is ours, we pray for mercy upon ourselves and for those we may have harmed; when the past action is another's, we pray for the person(s) and for all who have been affected or may yet be affected by them. Here, "it's the thought that counts," really does count for something, when it is united to the Divine Mind and Will.

The Devil is known to capitalize upon our realization of those temporal effects as they unravel, so that they become a source of torment and discouragement. Under the mantle of Our Lady and her Son, we need not be utterly confounded by the effects of our sins upon us and others, though we may shake our head and shed a tear at times. We must know this for certain and be assured of it: what we have confessed with sincere sorrow, God has forgiven and forgotten. When ripple effects unfold, we must persevere in the life of grace, doing the next right thing as promptly and quietly as possible, making interior declarations ("acts") of faith in the Lord's power and mercy toward us.

which the faithful Christian who is duly disposed
The "faithful Christian" does his or her best to observe the "precepts of the Catholic Church": attending Mass and receiving the Eucharist, observing the Church's disciplines regarding fasting and abstinence from meat, contributing to the temporal needs of the Church as generously as circumstances allow. To be "faithful" is not to be "perfect," but to be moving toward perfection by way of persistence, trust, and compassion. Due disposition to the reception of indulgences is nothing less than being "in the state of grace," to the best of one's awareness.

This last matter too can become an occasion of anxiety. Doubtless you've heard the story of Saint Joan of Arc: when her captors tried to torment her by asking whether she was in the state of grace, she famously and pithily replied, "If I am, may God keep me there; if I am not, may He put me there." If we are not aware of an unconfessed grave sin, we are likely in the state of grace.

Modern catechesis has eschewed that last phrase, perhaps objecting to a static understanding of spirituality as a "condition" or to sacraments as "things." Although the sacraments have a necessary, constitutive material dimension, they are expressions of our living relationship with the Triune God.

gains under certain prescribed conditions
These conditions traditionally include: being in the state of grace, going to Confession within a reasonable time period before or after the indulgenced prayer or action, and praying for the intentions of the Holy Father (see the website of the Apostleship of Prayer for details). Intentionally desiring the indulgence seems necessary, too; if I wanted to stretch the possibilities, I would say that a habitual interest in gaining indulgences, together with a regular reception of Confession, suffices. Here as elsewhere, the more mindful we are, the better.

through the action of the Church which, as the minister of redemption, dispenses and applies with authority
Just as sacramental absolution occurs "through the ministry of the Church" (see above), so does the Church carry out the activity of indulgences by Our Lord's directive. If you were to ask, "By His explicit directive?" meaning, "Is that in the Bible? Huh?" I would have to answer, "There are many words not explicitly found in the Bible, but there are many concepts that the Church's Tradition and Magisterium have given flesh to through 2,000 years of experience and reflection." Purgation of our temporal attachment to and punishment for sin is one of these realities. Sure, we can mention "Amen, I say to you, you will not be released until you have paid the last penny" (Mt 5:26) as a reference to the thorough fulfillment of just sentences. And we can get into the atonement sacrifice offered in 2 Maccabees, but it wouldn't much matter if you don't admit that book as canonized Scripture. We might as well pack up our marbles and go home, because I've lost my chops for argumentation. I'm liable to just stick out my tongue at you and walk away, thereby meriting more purgation.

Who would dare to affirm that he or she is fully prepared to participate in the Life of the Trinity? If I were to die today, I wouldn't be so prepared; but (Thou knowest, O Lord!) I believe, hope, pray that I would be disposed to that Life. God knows how I need to be cleansed of my many and profound attachments to sin.

Much of the contention about indulgences centers on this phrase the Church...minister of redemption. "Do you affirm that Jesus formed, instituted, and authorized the Apostles, their successors, coworkers, and followers as the very Church that continues the saving work of His Kingdom in the world?" That is the crucial question; if it sounds legalese, that's how I write. An affirmative answer will render indulgences not merely palatable, but rather worthwhile and helpful in our personal participation in the redemptive endeavor.

the treasury of the satisfactions of Christ and the saints.
This clause follows the "crucial question" posed just above. If "Jesus formed...the Church that continues the saving work of His Kingdom in the world," then how exactly does the Church do that? Each person's daily perseverance in holiness and mission is like a coin in the pot of "satisfactions of Christ and the saints." Head and members are all in on it. Naturally (Grace-fully) Jesus' contribution--His life, Passion and atoning Death--is primary. A close second is the life and com-passion of Our Lady. But the bond of Baptism unites all the baptized to the Head in such a way that our moral and sacramental lives, including our repentances, form the significant contribution of redeemed humanity.

We gain indulgences by offering works of prayer and/or charity that we intentionally unite to the work of Christ and the Saints in cooperation with the salvation of the world. Prayers and other good actions share in the eternal merit of God's action for us. All goodness comes from God. And yet, nobody forces us to do what we do. We experience our free will in the very exercise of it; we are not in fact being moved about like a marionette as we go about doing good (or evil!). Therefore our participation in the world's goodness is actual...and "satisfactual," precisely because God, the Source and Motive of all Goodness, is at work in us as we work.

While not every act of virtue is an indulgence per se, it is a participation in Christ's action that is of some use to the execution of His redemptive plan for humanity. Indulgences are what one might call the "blue-light specials" of the already-great savings offered by our commerce in the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. They are specially offered opportunities to intentionally unite our prayers and sacrifices to Christ for the good of ourselves and others.

An indulgence is partial or plenary according as it removes either part or all of the temporal punishment due to sin.
Unresolved temporal punishment due to sin is the stuff that God purifies from the soul through our acceptance of the trials of this life and through the residual, mysterious work of Purgatory. The power of Confession is such that all sin is forgiven, except in the case where a person intentionally withholds a sin out of shame or pride, which invalidates the whole confession. We traditionally say that such an unworthy Confession is sacrilegious, because it defies the purpose of Confession and flouts the proper exercise of it (i.e. honest thoroughness).

It is a good practice to have in mind as a habitual intention the forgiveness of all forgotten sins. In this matter we simply ask God's help and do the best we can at the moment. It is unnecessary and unhelpful to re-confess particular sins, except in the context of discussion with a priest-spiritual director when you are unpacking the previously unrecognized crevices of the past. And even there, a good confessor will urge caution, because the line between conscientiousness and scrupulosity is wafer-thin.

Would that people become more conscientious without descending into scrupulosity! The latter is not a sin, but rather a mental wound, a species of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, which more than errs on the side of conscientiousness in favor of a debilitating level of attention. Our addiction-prone world might more quickly favor casualness or laxity in some matters--though this suggestion may itself reflect the "all-or-nothing" thinking so familiar to addicts. Most well-meaning people, I suppose, fall somewhere along the spectrum of laxity-to-scrupulosity. And even there you will find inconsistencies in how individuals demonstrate along the spectrum, depending on what interests them. Such is life.

The textbook (Enchiridion, Greek for "item in the hand") on Indulgences was revised a few decades ago, establishing two categories of indulgences. "Plenary," the full remission of temporal punishment, was already around. "Partial" was the umbrella term that took in previous values such as days, years, and "quarantines" (forty-day stints) that had been assigned to prayers and actions. Certain prayers (e.g., "My Jesus, Mercy!"), known as ejaculations (because you kinda just "threw them out there"--Latin e, out of + jacere, to throw), might have received "300 days, once a day," or "300 days, each time [said]", or "7 years and 7 quarantines," depending on how the Church had classified them.

Numeric values could lead to a legalistic notion of gaining indulgences akin to that national debt clock that just keeps on increasing. Of course we want to pray regularly and mindfully; St. Paul urged us to pray "without ceasing" (1Th 5:16). That exhortation provides the background for the Desert Dwellers' famous "Jesus Prayer," which people to this day are known to recite, sometimes with the aid of knotted prayer ropes not unlike rosaries.

But if you thought the numbers were supposed to be "time off Purgatory," as if praying 30 "My Jesus, Mercy"s would rack up 3,000 fewer days you or the intended recipient would spend in Purgatory, you're wrong.

In the early centuries of the Church, "they" say that sacramental reconciliation tended to be reserved for graver sins (e.g. adultery), and graver sinners celebrated it on relatively few occasions in comparison to the ideal current practice. Penances were assigned and conducted publicly. They were exercises in humility: you might have stood outside where the community gathered for worship and asked their prayers.

Numerical values previously assigned to indulgenced prayers had some connection to the sentence-penances levied in the early Church. As the sacrament developed into the "auricular" (by ear) form we use today, some person or committee or whoever--probably over the course of time--attached numerical values to prayers. I guess there was a relative increase in value according to the content of the prayer or the action. I don't believe Confessors or ecclesiastical tribunals wrote up any kind of "invoice" for sins with corresponding penances, but it would not surprise me if such were the case, somewhere.

Charitable contributions are numerical in nature, especially when they deal with "legal tender." Can you see, then, what might give rise to the practice of promoting charitable contribution on the basis that it would relieve one's post-mortem purgation? Can you see how Dominican friar Johannes Tetzel's infamous alleged line, "When a penny in the coffer rings, another soul from Purgatory springs" could be subject to diverse, usually unfavorable interpretations throughout the vagaries of history (not unlike modern-day soundbites)? [It was originally in German, so it must have sounded even more curious.] Now we can surmise that there was some grace-graft going on, perhaps a lot of it; but we affirm that it definitely was a corruption of a good thing.

The faithful can gain indulgences for themselves or apply them to the dead.
And so, we must keep in mind the big picture: every prayer, every self-denial, and every offering participates in the goodness and mercy of God. Baptized Christians are granted the special privilege (and isn't every privilege a responsibility and a summons?) of "participating in the goodness and mercy of God" by intentional, profound repentance and regular Confession, by faithful reception of the Eucharist, and by prayer/service for the Church/world to whom they belong--in other words, by being a Catholic.

We can intend that the merits of Christ and the saints be applied to ourselves. It sounds like "banking" against the day of the Lord. Be extremely careful of the legalism of which this smacks. God is not mocked. Conscious and free participation in vice doesn't just get wiped away by mouthing prayers and doing good things for show. Can people benefit from those prayers and works? Sure, but "the Lord sees into the heart" (1 Sam 16:7, cf. Mt 6:6), and He is well known for bringing good out of evil even as the perpetrator of evil deserves--and the evil itself demands--redress.

It would seem to me that every prayer, self-denial, and offering of ours benefits us in some fashion. "The measure with which you measure will in turn be measured out to you" (Mt 7:2, one of the closest articulations to karma we have). Or again, "Wisdom is vindicated by her works" (Mt 11:19). Wouldn't it be best to think of others in need first, even if it suffices to give to "Father's Discretionary Fund," for God to distribute to whom He wills? If we need it, we can trust that we'll get it. After all, it is God's own life and love--Grace--which is not a thing anyhow, but a love-relationship.

The dead in-process-of-purification are the primary intended recipients of indulgences. We who still have legitimate control over our actions and affections want to express unto the dead the solidarity that for thousands of years has galvanized the Communion of Saints to do that thing they do. If we had any say in it, we'd hope that the intensity and duration of their mysterious post-mortem purification be no more than necessary. Of course, we should figure that our just God would want it that way, too; but the unification of our desire with God's is, after all, the aim of all prayer and charity.

Post-mortem purification is, at depth, a mystery. Nevertheless it contains within itself the seed and promise of life with the Trinity. The Being-Purified are being purified for something--the something which turns out to be everything. The dogma of purgatory is a corollary to the reality and relevance of sin. It further speaks to the justice that God and sin demand of sin's practitioners. But it pertains most of all to the mercy of God, who "desires that no one perish, but that all be saved and come to the knowledge of truth" (1 Tim 2:4).

Here is a splendid reflection on this subject matter, to which is attached another helpful primer on indulgences.

Suffering Well

Patient Reader: Below you will find the article that appeared in a recent issue of the AD Times, the newspaper of the Diocese of Allentown (Allentown Diocese--Anno Domini--see what we did there?). Text in bold did not appear in the original article.

When I visit the hospitalized and elderly, I sometimes offer a prayer that I adapted from the Church’s Pastoral Care of the Sick and Roman Missal: “Father, Your Son and Our Savior Jesus Christ accepted our sufferings as a model of patience and strength in human illness. Hear the prayers we offer for [N.] and for all who suffer distress of body or soul. Help them to realize that You have called them to holiness by joining their sufferings to the sufferings of Christ for the salvation of the world.”

If you think such formalized prayers take a lot to say and a lot to live, I agree on both counts. For that reason, I like to say them slowly and live them slowly. I’m lying: I don’t like to live them slowly! A watched coffeepot never brews; an impatient patient never heals.

The word “patient” comes from the Latin pati, which means “to suffer, endure, put up with,” or the most basic sense, “to wait.” Pati also yields “passion,” the intensity that accompanies lovers toward love’s fulfillment. Suffering persons are also in love: they long for health and vitality, and cannot wait until they get there.

We draw only so many breaths in this life, and perhaps we pay little attention to the balance until more breaths are behind us than ahead. Meanwhile we have no guarantees that we shall retain the full use of our physical or mental faculties. 

Therefore it seems helpful to savor each breath as we draw it, each feeling as we feel it, each option as we ponder it, and each decision as we make it.

In whatever condition we currently find ourselves, while we have our faculties, we can decide to suffer well. What a curious choice! For the sake of clarity, let’s unpack it:

First, to suffer well is to recognize Jesus as the Son and Savior of Man, who alone accomplishes “universal and definitive redemption from sins” (CCC 432). He does this by taking on our human nature, entering completely into the joys and sorrows of human experience.

Did you ever consider that, by virtue of the Incarnation, Jesus accepted not just every single sin, but also every single human suffering: every pain, disappointment, and inconvenience? Upon the holy and life-giving Cross, Our Lord endured that twinge of diabetic neuropathy, the sting of that insult, that hour-long traffic jam, and that fear of perpetual infertility. From His vantage point—the best seat in the house—it’s all under control.

The problem is, we can still slog through life without necessarily considering the real-time presence of Christ in our sufferings. As a result, we begin to complain. We begin to compare our perception of how our lives are going with how we think it should be going, or how someone else’s life seems to be going—or how they want us to think it’s going. 

Practically speaking, God becomes less real and relevant in those dreary moments, and our suffering loses its value.

We can regain the value of our suffering by keeping Jesus’ Passion foremost in our minds, in weather foul or fair. Practicing in the fair may make it easier in the foul.

With the onset of each unwelcome experience, we can pray in groans to this effect: “I unite myself right now to You, Lord Jesus. As You suffered for me and with me, so I suffer for You and with You. Please accept this offering, Lord, as small it may seem, and please share it throughout the world and throughout the ages [accounting for the Holy Souls in need of post-mortem purgation] so that it may benefit whomever You will.”

I say, “pray in groans,” because you probably might not be inclined to formulate such a pious formula in the midst of pain and distress.

A couple of months ago, I was in an accident that landed me in an emergency room for most of that day with a wide laceration on my left heel and lots of deep bruises in the foot. In those first hours the thought “Thank God, it could have been far worse,” mingled with fears that I would hardly be able to walk straight, let alone run, by next year’s Boston Marathon. 

On that ER bed I did my awful best to unite my pains and anxieties with those of Our Lord upon the Cross, with the hopes that my offering could help facilitate someone’s repentance and conversion.

I am happy to report that I am recovering appropriately, although it’s not as fast as I’d prefer. At every turn in this process I have noticed how impatient a patient I am. 

But Our Lord is so patient with us! He lets us go, gives us the freedom to gripe until we return once again to our senses. In the meantime, the experience has been an opportunity to grow in compassion for the people I visit in the hospitals and nursing facilities I serve.

Even as the human race exists in a sort of “communion of sin,” joined by our profoundly wounded human nature and its self-seeking tendencies, the Church incorporates men and women into the Communion of Saints, forgiven and redeemed by the Precious Blood of Christ. 

If anything could be said about any of the saints, they suffered well, uniting themselves with their Lord for the salvation of souls. How I long to be in that number!

Who's Got All The Dirt?

The other day I was making coffee when, after a couple of minutes into the brewing cycle, I sensed that something was amiss. Liquid began to drip over the side of the carafe. I opened the lid and spotted the culprit: the basket and hot water spout were out of alignment, which threw off the brew. Fortunately I was able to salvage some of it, much stronger than normal. As I figured, my first cup also revealed grounds at the bottom: good grounds for a homily!

What here we call grounds, in another setting we might call “dirt”—which has been well defined as “matter out of place.” Farmers don’t refer to the earth of their crops as “dirt”; rather, they call it “soil.” But when the kid drags it into the house…then they call it “dirt”! Are we so much concerned with hygiene as with order and propriety--“a place for everything and everything in its place”? That was a charm of Israel’s Law: it gave them order and harmony. On top of that, as we notice in the First Reading, the Israelites imagined that the neighboring nations admired and envied them for possessing that Law—and behind that, they admired their intimate relationship with their God. Obedience to that Law was the way the Israelites maintained union with God in every facet of their lives. Unfortunately the constant temptation was to identify literal obedience with pleasing God. That’s why Jesus so often railed against the Pharisees: many of them followed the literal traditions without necessarily paying attention to the meaning underlying those traditions.

We hear enough in the Gospels about Pharisees who are turned off by Jesus’ stern convictions, but not so often about any who heard His convictions and took them to heart. No doubt there were some who paused long enough to get honest with themselves, to place their lives humbly in the pure light of Incarnate Truth: Jesus, Himself the Law’s Only Perfect Fulfillment. Now as then, the way to fulfillment is found in Him, and not in attempted obedience to Law, in which we cannot help but fall short and reveal our need for Grace.

Can we allow God to see the “dirt” in our lives, so that He can purify us and fill us with His nourishing Word and Sacrament, whereby we can offer Him fitting worship and obedience? Whether or not anyone else takes notice of us, to compliment us on our wisdom and intelligence, can we appreciate what is best for us and seek that with all our hearts? With such a disposition of heart, we may notice the dirt in others’ lives just as much as before, but it won’t bother us so much in light of our own. We may even be inspired to seek conversion together, and therefore more effectively.

The Tonight Show and The Baptism of the Lord

While Johnny Carson may remain for many the all-time favorite host of The Tonight Show, I am also fond of the newest host, Jimmy Fallon. He has a whimsical, self-effacing wit, and embraces technology in his skits. He fits in with the younger generation [although, after the first Mass, an older woman came up to me, put her arm on my shoulder, and said, "I like Jimmy Fallon, too" and walked along--which made the day]. Whatever shoes he's had to fill, he seems content to be himself.

Just the other night Jimmy was interviewing actress Nicole Kidman. He recalled that they had met ten years before. On that occasion, a friend of Jimmy called him to say that he wanted to bring Nicole Kidman by his apartment.

Jimmy later realized, and Nicole affirmed, that it was a set-up date, and he’d given her a rather bland reception: playing video games, not talking much. Nicole then revealed that she had been romantically interested in Jimmy, but he was clueless about it! Imagine: he could have been Mr. Nicole Kidman—if he wasn’t so—aargh! The whole interview unraveled rather humorously after that admission, but they took it in stride. Although the awkwardness of the past could not be erased or redone, the interview opened the door to a new perspective in friendship.

Many times in life we recognize a choice before us, and many times there doesn’t seem to be a choice. In that instant when Jimmy realized the opportunity he’d missed, the audience also could see the present outcome, where both are happily married with children.

After watching the interview I wondered whether there were any times I was simply unaware of others’ intentions about me, and how things might have been different, especially if I had handled them better. But that practice is a kind of spiritual and emotional quicksand. My thoughts needed to turn to a more productive and worthwhile theme: the mysterious workings of God’s Providence, which aims to reinforce within each of us our fundamental identity as God’s beloved son or daughter.

That’s what Baptism does for us: makes us children of God, heirs of heaven, temples of the Holy Spirit, and members of Christ’s Mystical Body, the Church. It frees us from the Original Sin and, in the case of adults, from any personal sins we have committed. Baptism confers upon us a new identity and a new mission, leaving behind the way that leads to death. Though, like Jimmy with Nicole, we may be unaware of God’s loving intentions for us, through Baptism He inaugurates for us the strange and wonderful journey that is discipleship, where, though we participate freely, there is always Another Hand at work.

Along our life’s course we will stray, we will miss the mark, we will sin. Not just instances of wry regret like the way that Jimmy Fallon initially regarded Nicole Kidman, but snubs of the most meaningful relationships of our lives: intentional choices against God’s commandments to love Him above all things and our neighbor as ourselves. But no sinful choice that we ever make will erase our splendid identity as God’s beloved, made for communion with Him. That’s not to say that we can’t reject that communion or don’t need to repair it; but, even if we rejected it completely, we’d still have been made for it, which would add all the more to the frustration that is hell.

But God the Son fully identified Himself with the human race by becoming man and submitting Himself to the baptismal waters. He knew and owned His identity as the Father’s Beloved and the Savior of mankind. Through Baptism He invites all to receive that dignity and to walk in that dignity each day. In view of that wise and loving plan, God will use even our sins and our missed chances for His glory and for the good of all. Though much of life may cause real and deserved shame, God allows us to participate in our redemption and renewal.

The Light of Laney

I must confess a tendency not to "jump on bandwagons." Even as I say this, numerous exceptions come to mind. To qualify, then: I demonstrate a grumpy-old-man resistance to popular items or causes, only to capitulate to many of them in time.

Now not all such causes or items are equally weighted. Only the most heartless would intentionally ignore the untimely illness and death of 8 year old Delaney "Laney" Brown. I had been only mildly aware of her situation by my cursory reading of the local paper. Then I began to see information about a Facebook page dedicated to her. Perhaps my alleged aversion to bandwagons stunted my interest earlier; more probably, I was consumed with my own negligible concerns. Soon, however, I "liked" the page and joined in prayer for the accomplishment of God's will in her life as well as for the patient and joyful acceptance of that will by her loved ones.

(The latent "bandwagon" undercurrent sounded something like this: "There must be hundreds or thousands of children around the world dying from disease, famine, mishap, malice, or war; so why does this girl garner such compassionate attention?" Because I put this thought out there, I know I am subjecting it to your appraisal. Be consoled to know, however, that I was the first to condemn it! Better to divert my fickle attention to one person, than to withhold it out of a semblance of respect for "the many"!)

What makes Laney so special is what makes every girl and boy so special: she is the willed result of the Creator God. As devout Christians, Laney's parents evidently related her illness and death to their faith in Divine Providence, who sees more than we can see at any given moment of human history; who, with unfathomable simplicity, sees every person's unique and unrepeatable life, with its myriad matrices of interactions, in a most complex whole. "For those who love God all things work together for the good" (Rom 8:28).

Christians recognize each person as one created in the image and likeness of the Triune God, the eternal Communion of life and love. They consider each person as a brother or sister of Jesus, who in His tragic life as God-made-man, freely and consciously offered Himself to the Eternal Father in atonement for our sins, to reconcile us with God and one another. Each person is endowed with understanding and freedom that are fully and ideally actualized in the act of faith, the merciful cleansing of baptism, and in daily participation in redemption through worship and service.

When it comes to a 7 or 8 year old person, however--one whose understanding and freedom are only beginning to develop, in whom no sane person would posit serious sin--it becomes very difficult to accept suffering and death. Pope Francis himself recently declared that, if he could obtain one miracle, it would be an end to the suffering of innocent children.

Reference to departed human beings, especially children, as angels is rather common. People have assigned that designation for God knows how long. Artists portray portray cherubs with chubby, innocent baby faces. On Christmas Day, millions watch "It's A Wonderful Life" with its reference to virtuous people "earning their wings" upon death.

Be certain of this: Angels are pure spiritual beings, of a superior intelligence and will. They are, and forever remain, distinct from human persons. Death does not graduate human persons (young or old) to the existential rank of angels. I respectfully exhort a reconsideration of this practice out of respect for the uniqueness of the human person, who, unlike an angel, is material as well as spiritual: a creature of body and soul. The body is not a hindrance to human fulfillment, even though it seems to cause people so much trouble, so soon in life.

The consummation of Laney Brown's earthly life--on Christmas Day, no less--understandably prompted thousands of angelic elevations within minutes of her passing. I understand the sentimental motivation of their words, no doubt offered in a spirit of compassion and solidarity. Angels' total consecration to the will of God, engaging them purely in divine worship, makes their connection to little children very obvious. In advocating adults' reverence for children, Jesus noted, "Their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven" (Mt 18:10). Children--and adults--have angels. "Guardian" angels, we call them. (Hence our parish name!) But they will not become angels.

The classic passage from the Letter to the Hebrews comes to mind: "To which of the angels did God ever say, 'You are my son; this day I have begotten you'?" (1:5). The sacred author emphasized this in the first segment of his letter. God took on the form of a human being, not an angel. In a sense, it wouldn't have taken much "effort" for the invisible God to assume a typically invisible entity. But it wasn't the angels who needed redemption, not even the rebellious ones; indeed redemption wasn't even possible for them, given the impossibility of their repentance. For human beings, repentance and redemption are possible, by God...and only so.

In the Incarnation Christ our God fully and authentically identified with material human existence, including the orientation to suffering and death that are courtesy of original sin. Including, too, the hesitation that human beings often experience because of our material nature. In their spiritual superiority, angels chose their "one direction" with everything in them, all at once. But we human beings employ our understanding and freedom along the space-time continuum. We can, and do, change our minds--sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Thank God for the ability, and the need, to keep making changes in our lives!

We can suppose that a young child may at some point muster enough understanding and freedom to choose in a manner displeasing to his parents, and therefore to God. Mommy or Daddy aren't happy with the child. Why--because Junior did something that the parents didn't prefer? On some level, yes, but we soon recognize the inadequacy of that motivation. Any human parent would bristle at a child's willfulness, but is quickly humbled to recognize the kernel of their own adult willfulness. Junior "offends" Mommy or Daddy, but at heart Mommy and Daddy are saddened because he is exhibiting self-will in opposition to God's wise and loving plan for his life as parents are attempting to model it for him. With patience and care parents strive to guide their children to obey their rules for the best possible reason: because to disobey them would "offend Thee, my God, who are all-good and deserving of all my love."

I never had the privilege of knowing Laney Brown. It's hard enough for me to get to know many of our young parishioners, I admit. But I would imagine that she may have at some point displeased her parents in some minor matter. No doubt her parents, like most others, swiftly and tenderly would have forgiven her and guided her to better choices, all in the name of change and growth. Human beings can do this. Angels can't. (Isn't it grand to be a person? A grand trial, no doubt, but a grand pleasure and distinction as well!)

Now that Laney's arduous struggle has ceased, we can be as certain as humanly possible that her parents, and above all her heavenly Father, have forgiven all things (if there was any personal sin to speak of). We have seen how bravely she accepted her sufferings and in fact galvanized the rest of us in our struggle to accept those sufferings. Whatever obscured God's loving presence in her, is caught up in God's purifying, transforming embrace. Given the grace of the Communion of Saints, Laney likely has great intercessory power in others' lives--her dear parents and all her family, her friends and schoolmates, the untold millions of people who united their thoughts and prayers with her in these short months, weeks, and days.

At the same time, let's continue to flood heaven with those kind movements of soul, as her family needs them now more than ever. We can't let this--them--become just another bandwagon.

Eternal rest grant her, O Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon her; may she rest in peace.
May her soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen!

She made us wonder who was supporting whom!

Bathe this child in the splendor of Your eternal kingdom of light

Head Games

Several years ago, a priest thought that this hat would look good on me and decided to give it to me.

People will be Russian to buy them

The hat has been in my self-storage unit the second floor of my Mom's house until I recently unearthed it, to my great delight. I needed the right weather conditions to wear it.

Now that it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, I have been wearing the hat. In my self-consciousness I have been paying more attention to people who pass me on the streets and in shopping plazas--not for their sakes, mind you, but because of the hat.

This happened just today. I saw a couple get out of their car, and the young woman was grinning. At me!? I quickly continued walking toward the store, which turned out to be the same one they had entered (somehow I'd lost track of them). This conversation ensued:

He: "Hey, nice hat."
I: "Do you mean that, or are you just making fun of me?"
He: [feigning sincerity, backtracking, making excuses, otherwise being unmasked for his idiocy]

Take note, patient reader, that the preceding conversation took place in my mind. By the time I entered the store, the couple was minding their business, paying no noticeable attention even to the most paranoid me.

This mental maelstrom moved me to have a real conversation. Returning to my car with its hands-free connectivity, I called a friend, to whom I laid out the whole situation. He deftly waded through the slush:

He: "Do you like the hat?"
I: "I do."
He: "So wear the hat."
I: "I am."

My friend reminded me that my strained interior monologue would find healing by recalling the true nature of who and what I am, and being at peace with that. He knows well that this has been an arduous endeavor for me, but like a good friend, he has accompanied me thus far and has no plans of giving up on me. I have not always been such a stalwart companion to the people in my life, I concede; but if our Second-Chance-Giving God sees fit, He will arrange further interactions.

In our conversation I thought of another man with a unique hat who, if he were anything like me, would be a bit self-conscious right now.

Time Magazine's annual honoree for 2013, Pope Francis, wears the white zucchetto. Thanks to ubiquitous cameras, the entire world has seen him wash a woman's feet, embrace physically disfigured people, and do many other things that are making people alternately cringe in disdain and leap for joy. They have heard him declare the Person and Mission of Christ as the basis for every Church teaching and discipline, leaving some with the impression that cultural concerns need to be, at best, contextualized, at worst, ignored.

Since the advent of news magazines and television programs, and especially in the days of the Internet, every Pope has been photographed and evaluated from every angle. "Heavy hangs the hat that wears the crown," or miter; but it seems that the Holy Fathers have gone about their Father's business with joyful determination, self-un-consciousness.

Consider Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI. Since his abdication of the papacy, he has been permitted to continue wearing the white zucchetto. The satirical Catholic news site Eye of the Tiber fabulates Benedict's quiet sadness upon reading of his successor's fame. If, as far as we know, Pope Francis discharges the duties of Bishop of Rome without becoming curved in on himself*, we can surmise that Pope Emeritus Benedict's interior conformity to Christ, and protection from public scrutiny, will suffice to guide him gently to the Trinity's embrace.

*"Curved in on himself" (incurvatus in se): St. Augustine's famous description of my life

A vibrant relationship with God enables us to wear the hat of our vocation without becoming excessively concerned about the dimensions of our head.