Judging Jo Pa

One hears it often, even from those who aren't especially religious: "Judge not." If we we're honest with ourselves, what we usually mean when we appeal to this divine command is, "Don't judge me," while simultaneously permitting ourselves to judge others, often with a vengeance. We expect everyone else to be lenient with ourselves, but we are ruthlessly strict with them. Of course, this attitude is precisely the opposite of what Christ meant when He said:

Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? (Matthew 7:1-3)

So I was not particularly surprised when the nation (with the exception of Penn State devotees) came with their torches and pitchforks to Joe Paterno's door. By now, everyone who has not been living under a rock is nauseatingly familiar with the details of the case: Paterno's defensive coordinator and sometime-philanthropist Jerry Sandusky has been accused of child sex abuse and several Penn State officials charged with covering it up. An inappropriate encounter in a shower, a janitor too timid to tell the police what he had seen. A sordid affair indeed.

And then the bombshell: under mounting media pressure the Penn State Board of Directors voted unanimously to fire Paterno as head coach, refusing to let him retire at the end of the season, as he had proposed. And so the career of one of the longest serving and, arguably, best loved coaches in college football ends in a cloud of ignominy, with no reference to Jo Pa's complete innocence under the civil law, and rather mitigated guilt under the moral law. After all, he did not personally witness any abuse. He reported his second-hand information to his superiors in the University who told him, "Sit tight, we'll handle it."

Not that any of these considerations matters to the angry mob. They're mad. They hardly understand why they're mad but, damn it, they're mad! We might call this immediate, unconsidered reaction of outrage--as a priest friend of mine has--the "Nancy Grace Syndrome". It seems, sadly, that righteous indignation has become something of a national pastime. Surely there are other, more moderate views out there. I refer the reader to Father Robert Barron's Word on Fire Blog for just such a view. But they are not in the majority.

Quite frankly, I wonder very much whether, were I in Jo Pa's position, I would have acted differently. But this at least is clear: if I am to be judged according to the standard with which I judge others, I opt for leniency.

Come Rack, Come Rope

I recently read (twice) English novelist Evelyn Waugh's life of St. Edmund Campion, the Jesuit priest who was martyred under Elizabeth I. Perhaps it is a certain Shakespearean quality--a kind of tragicomedy--about Campion's story that draws me to him. Perhaps it is the surprisingly contemporary character of his story--his Gospel of peace and reconciliation increasingly perceived as a threat to Crown and State. In any case, I cannot help but admire this brilliant and brave companion of Jesus.

Campion began his career as an Oxford scholar, and proved himself among the brightest lights of the University. He won the good favor of the Queen when she made her famous visit to Oxford in 1569, and even earned the patronage of the Earl of Leicester, the Queen's favorite suitor. He was ordained a deacon in the newly established Church of England, and commenced his Theology studies.

As he studied the Church Fathers, however, his conscience weighed heavier and heavier upon him. Was it possible that the true religion, as Christ had intended it, had remained hidden for 1500 years, only to be revealed in these last days to a few English elites? He sought the good opinion of every learned person he thought might be able to resolve his doubts, but in vain.

Not yet desiring the life of an outlaw, he attempted to buy himself time by traveling to Dublin to assist with the establishment of the University there (later Trinity College). However, this endeavor was short-lived, and in 1571 he fled to France. At the English College at Douai, a haven for Catholic ex-patriots, he was reconciled to the Catholic Church, and began his studies for priesthood.

After ordination, Campion traveled to Rome, where he joined the Society of Jesus. His early years as a Jesuit were spent teaching in Vienna and Prague. But in 1580 a mission to England was established, with Jesuits at the helm. Their mission was a dangerous one, as the Mass was banned, and any priest found saying Mass, or any lay man or woman found harboring a priest for the purpose of saying Mass, was considered guilty of treason.

Still, Campion's small group, entering England by different ports, disguised as merchants and assuming false names, were able to slip past the authorities. For the next year they preached and administered the sacraments to those English men and women who remained faithful to Rome, moving from house to house, rarely staying more than a night. This proved a difficult task, as the Crown employed informants, professional "priest-hunters", such as the infamous George Eliot.

It was no suprise, therefore, that on 15 July 1581, Campion and his companions were discovered. Campion's arms were bound, and a piece of paper bearing the inscription "CAMPION THE SEDITIOUS JESUIT" was stuck in his hat. He was led to the Tower of London, where he was met by the Queen herself. Elizabeth asked Campion whether he acknowledged her as his rightful Queen, and promised wealth and high office in her church if he would renounced his faith. Campion acknowledged that she was his rightful Queen, but refused to renounce his faith.

After many grueling months of torture, which included being racked twice, and theological debate with Anglican scholars who refused him the use of texts or notes, Campion and his companions were collectively tried for treason. They were quickly convicted and sentenced to death, at which the group sang the Te Deum laudamus. Upon the scaffold at Tyburn, Campion prayed that the Queen have a long and peaceful reign. He was then hanged until he was half dead, his genitals cut off, his bowels torn out, and his mangled body beheaded and quartered, the parts to be disposed with according to Her Majesty's pleasure.

In a letter to his mentor, Cardinal William Allen, Campion wrote, "I have made a free oblation of myself to His Divine Majesty, both for life and death, and I hope He will give me grace and force to perform; and this is all I desire."

Saint Edmund Campion, pray for us!

Journey

I confess that I have had my fair share of frustrations with the Church. Or, more accurately, I have had my fair share of frustrations with people--of both high and low station--within the Church. I have repeatedly been vexed by the unkindness, incompetence, and sheer stupidity within its ranks.

And yet, despite the flaws of so many of its members, I cannot help but love the Body of Christ. Even in those moments when my frustration is most acute, I cannot help but appreciate the charity, strength and wisdom one finds in this community of faith. Indeed, twenty four years after my baptism, I frequently think to myself, "I think I'll convert to Catholicism today!"

Of late, nothing has affirmed that re-commitment like Father Robert Barron's Catholicism project. In his television documentary, currently airing on PBS stations around the country, and in its companion volume of the same name, Fr. Barron provides a delightful synthesis of Catholic faith and life. He draws not only on the Church's long and rich theological tradition, but also her art, architecture, music, and history. He invokes the wisdom of Augustine and Aquinas, the genius of Michelangelo and Bernini, and the faith of John Paul II and Mother Teresa. He takes one on pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Rome, and from new York to Calcutta. In short, Fr. Barron offers a faith that is truly incarnational, in contrast with the impenetrably abstract and ultimately unsatisfying spiritualities on the market today.

In the scenes of his documentary and in the pages of his book, God becomes incarnated, enfleshed, for the spiritual seeker. Here is the God who reveals Himself in the person of Jesus Christ, the God who deigns to live and move among His people, who identifies with them.

I highly recommend both the film and the book to every spiritual seeker, whether she be a novice or a proficient, with a prayer that she enjoy this "journey to the heart of the faith"!

Happy Halloween/Oiche Shamhna

I love Halloween. I always have. I love dressing up, telling ghost stories and watching horror movies, visiting haunted houses. Further, I think that there is something very psychologically and spiritually healthy about taking a long, hard look at evil and death, and even having a laugh at their expense. As C.S. Lewis said, "The devil cannot stand to be mocked." Here is a levity that comes from the Christian consciousness that evil and death no longer have any power over us.

Still, I recognize that Halloween is the object of no small amount of criticism in Christian circles, particularly in more fundamentalist circles. These generally well-intentioned Christians frequently (and often accurately) cite the pagan origins of Halloween, especially in the Irish harvest festival of Samhain (pronounced SOW-in). They say that such pre-Christian observances have no place in Christian life, that they are at best syncratistic, at worst idolatrous.

But what, historically, has been the Church's attitude toward pre-Christian cultures? What has been her missionary philosophy? Our modern term inculturation describes this ancient phenomenon aptly. Inculturation is the principle by which Christian missionaries affirm all that is good and true and beautiful in a culture, and reconcile it to the Christian faith. One recalls especially the great Jesuit missionaries of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, priests like Matteo Ricci, who so insinuated himself into Chinese culture as to become Chinese himself. He donned the garb of a Mandarin scholar, and so impressed the Imperial Court with his knowledge of astronomy and mathematics that he was able to convert a good number of them to Christ.

At the basis of the inculturation principle is the assumption that one can be fully Irish or Chinese or whatever AND fully Christian. After all, if Christ could be fully divine and fully human, so also could Ricci's converts be fully Christian and fully Chinese.

Which brings us back to Halloween/Samhain. The missionaries that first preached the Gospel to the Irish knew intuitively that they could not simply level Irish culture and build Christian culture atop it. Beyond being impractical, it is simply impossible, since Christian culture as such does not exist. Rather, they affirmed and reconciled Irish culture to Christian faith. The festival of Samhain was not only a harvest festival, but also a festival of the dead, a time when the spirit world was considered particularly close to our own. Christian missionaries recognized in this belief a shadow of the Christian belief in the communion of the saints, the connectedness of all who have died in Christ. Largely due to the experience of the Irish missionaries, Pope Gregory III (d. 741) fixed the date for the Feast of All Saints (or "All Hallows") on November 1.

Centuries later, Halloween/Samhain remains a festival in which we recall the reality and the imminence of the spirit world, in which we laugh at the devil and laugh with the saints, when we honor the God who reconciles all peoples and cultures to Himself, who has destroyed death and darkness forever.

"Got Hermeneutic?"

As I left class today, I passed by an older gentleman and a young lady seated at a table full of multilingual Bibles and various brightly colored pamphlets.  They seemed pleasant enough, unlike the "judgement and damnation" types that usually loiter around college campuses, so I stopped to chat.  The couple, it turned out, were father and daughter.  They were Jehovah's Witnesses.

Our differences of theological opinion quite naturally came up.  Our chosen topics of discussion were standard fare for Catholics and fundamentalists.  We talked about the divine inspiration and canonicity of the Biblical books, the origin of Catholic feasts and seasons, the veneration of the Saints, and the veneration of images (icons, statues, etc.).  We even discussed the Eucharist at some length; the JW's hold the curious view that Jesus only intended it to be celebrated once a year, like the Passover.

However, two topics stood out among the others, the divinity of Christ, and the value of human wisdom, i.e. philosophy.

Anyone who knows anything about the Jehovah's Witnesses knows that they do not believe in the Incarnation, the doctrine that God became man in the person of Jesus Christ.  It is precisely belief in this doctrine (along with the attendant doctrine of the Trinity, that there are three Persons in one God) that distinguishes one as "Christian".  Thus, all Christians--Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant--as well as the JW's themselves, are in agreement in that the JW's are not, strictly speaking, "Christian".

And, on some level, the fact that the JW's are not Christian, that they do not believe in the divinity of Christ or in the Trinity, makes sense.  After all, in addition to the aforementioned doctrines, they also believe in an extreme form of "sola scriptura", the doctrine that "Scripture alone" is the source of Christian faith.  This idea, which originated with Martin Luther, has been held by all Protestants in some form or another since the Reformation in the sixteenth century.

For fundamentalists, this doctrine extends even to their method of Biblical interpretation.  If one's method is not itself derived from Scripture, then it is unworthy of consideration.  Thus, the Western (i.e. Greek) philosophical tradition, which has guided the Church in its interpretation of Scripture for centuries, is casually dismissed as "mere human wisdom".  Hence I say that it makes sense that the JW's do not believe in the divinity of Christ or in the Trinity.

After all, Scripture never explicitly says that Christ is divine.  Or, to parse it in philosophical terms, Scripture never says that the Father and the Son, while distinct persons, nonetheless share a divine nature.  Still less does Scripture say that the Spirit is a distinct person from both the Father and the Son, but an equal sharer in the divine nature.  As a Catholic, the ambiguity of Scripture on these essential points does not trouble me.  I rely on reason, on "mere human wisdom", to infer these things from the Biblical texts.

As I have said before, in other places, it seems very much that fundamentalists (and JW's certainly come under the "fundamentalist" umbrella) expend much effort convincing themselves that they do not have a "hermeneutic", a method of Biblical interpretation, beyond "open, read, understand".  If others have a hermeneutic that leads to conclusions different than their own, then they are exalting "mere human wisdom" above the Word itself!  Fundamentalists do not, perhaps cannot, realize that that this attitude is itself a hermeneutic, a method of interpretation.

How to argue with such absurdity?  In the end, you can't, at least not in a compelling way.  Fundamentalism occurs at the intersection of great passion and great ignorance.  And there is no arguing with ignorance.  As Scripture says, "Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself" (Prov 24).  And as Jesus says, "Do not throw your pearls before swine," they don't know what to do with them (Mat 7:6).  It may sound cliche, but all one can do is love them and pray for them.  So when I parted with my new JW friends I smiled, shook their hands, and took their literature with a promise to read it.

Meanwhile, I pray that the Spirit of Truth, who was breathed into Adam, giving him the ability to know and to understand--to philosophize!--may be breathed into them, and into us also, and guide us into all truth.

Check out this video featuring the very lucid and ever-insightful Jimmy Akin on the Church Fathers and Philosophy:

The Gospel According to U2

This past Sunday, which also happened to be the Feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, known colloquially by its Latin name Corpus Christi, I had the great privilege of seeing U2 live in concert.  The event was rescheduled from last year's original date, which was to bring the Irish rock legends to Spartan Stadium... before Bono threw out his back.  The co-occurrence of this concert and the liturgical fest is of no small import, as I will explain below.

But first, permit me to say that I believe U2 to be one of the most positive forces on the artistic scene today.  Anyone who is even slightly familiar with their music knows that it frequently speaks to spiritual, even explicitly Christian, themes.  Consider lyrics such as "You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains/ Carried the cross of my shame/ O my shame, you know I believe it"?  Or, "The real battle just begun/ To claim the victory Jesus won/ On Sunday, Bloody Sunday"? 

Lest anybody doubt the Christian commitments of the U2 front man, I recall an excerpt I read recently from his interview-style biop.  When asked about his own religious convictions, Bono responds with candor and no small amount of theological depth: 

I'd be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I'd be in deep s---. It doesn't excuse my mistakes, but I'm holding out for Grace. I'm holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don't have to depend on my own religiosity.... The point of the death of Christ is that Christ took on the sins of the world, so that what we put out did not come back to us, and that our sinful nature does not reap the obvious death. That's the point. It should keep us humbled . It's not our own good works that get us through the gates of heaven. (From Bono: In Conversation with Michka Assayas)

Um... wow.  

So what does U2 have to do with the most Holy Eucharist (despite goofy Anglican attempts to integrate their music into worship)?  I would suggest that the lads not only preach a very Eucharistic message, in the form of their music, but live a very Eucharistic life.  


The great gift of the Eucharist is not only the opportunity for real, physical and spiritual communion with Jesus Christ, but also the grace that empowers us to be Eucharist for others.  Christ, in His humility and love, comes to us in the form of bread and wine, to be our spiritual food and drink.  As He did two thousand years ago on Calvary, when He gave up His own life that we might have life, so He continues to do today, wherever the Mass is celebrated.  In the Eucharist, Jesus says to us, "Freely you have received; freely give" (Matthew 10:8).


This message of Christ is also the message of U2.  Bono is one of the greatest philanthropists in the world.  Consider the ONE campaign to cancel Third World debt, and the RED campaign for AIDS relief in Africa, each founded through the magnanimity of Bono.  I would suggest that it is not coincidental that Bono, who is a committed Christian, is also so giving.  Charity is the heart of the Christian life, and Bono has learned that virtue in the school of the Eucharist.  

Dominican Sojourn

I recently had the pleasure of meeting many of the Dominican Friars of the Province of Saint Albert the Great (Central U.S.A.), which is based in Chicago. The occasion was the Solemn Profession of vows of one of their lay brothers--in Dominican parlance, "cooperator brothers"--Brother Paul Byrd, O.P. Everyone should read his excellent blog about the life and work of a Dominican Cooperator Brother.

After the Mass, in which Brother Paul professed perpetual poverty, chastity and obedience, his Dominican brothers hosted a dinner reception. I'll say this: the Dominicans are a lively bunch! After everyone had taken their seats at table, in walked Brother Paul, who was greeted with cheers, applause, and no small amount of banging on tables and twirling of napkins. Wine was served, and as dinner was ending, a positively ancient Friar rose to propose a toast to Fr. Michael, who has served as Prior Provincial for the past eight years. He received a standing ovation from his brothers.

"Dominican joy" is a common theme in the life and work of the Order of Preachers. Founded by St. Dominic de Guzmán in Spain in the thirteenth century, the Order was largely committed to the correction of Albigensianism. Albigensianism is essentially an iteration of Manichaeism, which is partly a perversion of Platonism, whereby the material world--particularly the human body--is believed to be inherently evil. According to this most un-Christian of doctrines, the body is not to be disciplined, by flagellation or fast, but destroyed. In the squalor of the thirteenth century city, the Albigensians were to be seen on every street corner, telling the poor that they were better off for their woes. Amidst this absurdity entered the white-robed Friars who stubbornly insisted that "God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good" (Gen 1:31).

There is, indeed, some truth to the phrase, "there is nothing good or evil but thinking makes it so." Or, as Chesterton rephrases, "there are no bad things but only bad thoughts; and especially bad intentions," and if the path to hell be paved with anything, the one thing it cannot be paved with is good intentions. Drink is not evil, nor even drinking; only drunkenness is contrary to the Divine Will. And as Augustine advises, "few are they whose sins should be treated with severity."

Which is, perhaps, why Dominicans enjoy life so much; at least, they enjoy those things that make life worth living: food, drink, friends, laughter, art, religion. In fact, as I dined with my new Dominican friends, I could not help but think of Belloc's famous rhyme:

Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There’s always laughter and good red wine.
At least I’ve always found it so.
Benedicamus Domino!

Frustrations and Disappointments

I often reflect upon how the Lord, when He called Father Abraham, simply instructed him, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you" (Gen 12:1b). Notice that the Lord merely said, "Go." He didn't specify how far, or in which direction, or what lay at the end of the road. Such knowledge, then as now, was unnecessary. Faith, and trust in the Lord's providence, was essential. Not only that, but the Lord expects us to cooperate with His grace. Or, as the Chinese proverb goes, "The longest journey still requires the first step."

My own faith journey has taken some unexpected, and at times, disappointing and frustrating turns. This is especially true of my vocational discernment. Marriage or priesthood? Diocesan or religious? Marriage or priesthood (again)? Carmelite or Franciscan or Dominican? And, of course, there's the panic that ensues when one considers, what if it's "none of the above"!

In the midst of this anxiety, I hear a word from the Lord: "Someday, we will look back and laugh, and praise God for our disappointments and frustrations."

In other words, what we perceive today as disappointments and frustrations we may well understand tomorrow as blessings from the Lord. Abraham is a good example; how anxious he must have been when the Lord told him to uproot himself and his family and leave behind everything he had ever known! Of course, the other biblical model is Jesus himself. There is a temptation to read the Gospel accounts of Christ's death and resurrection as if everyone knew the end of the story. But, of course, they didn't. There was very real anxiety amongst the apostles that the mission had failed, that Jesus was another failed Messiah.

But then, that glorious morning when, against all expectations, they found the tomb empty! I rather imagine Jesus sitting there in the tomb, the burial cloths falling off His glorified body, and as He reflects on where He has been, and on the frustrations and disappointments He has known in His life, the Savior laughs.

For those troubled by frustrations and disappointments in their own faith journey (and isn't everybody?), I highly recommend Fr. Timothy Gallagher's excellent synthesis of Ignatian discernment, Discernment of Spirits: An Ignatian Guide for Everyday Living.

Blessed John Paul "the Great"

Christus resurrexit, alleluia!

Well, Finals are finally over, and this blogger can finally take some time to rest (between blogging, of course, as well as work and studying Hebrew)! One of the greatest blessings--if not the greatest--since I last posted, is surely the beatification of Pope John Paul II, or as we are bound to call him now, "Blessed" John Paul!

While others had woken up at an ungodly hour for the Royal Wedding the day before, I slept in front of the TV, alarm set for 4:00 am, so as not to miss a moment of the blessed event. EWTN is fine, but for my money the best coverage was provided by NBC, which featured commentary from papal biographer George Weigel and the eminent theologian and evangelist, Father Robert Barron of the Archdiocese of Chicago and Word on Fire Ministries.

While I struggled to stay awake at that early hour, I did catch several key moments in the ceremony, held in St. Peter's Square to accommodate the 1.5 million pilgrims who flooded Rome for the historic event. After sleeping through my alarm, I awoke just in time to hear Pope Benedict read out--in Latin--the proclamation of beatification, which officially declared JP2 to be among the blessed in Heaven. The beautiful song, "Aprite le Porte a Cristo" ("Open the Door to Christ"), composed especially for the event, was sung, and the enormous tapestry of a smiling JP2 was unveiled. Meanwhile, a small phial of the late pontiff's blood, encased in a shining silver reliquary, was brought forward for the veneration of his successor.

All in all, the ceremony was breathtaking, as befits the man who is bound to be known as the most influential man of the century, not only within the household of the Church, but also in the wider world. His legacy, if I may thus summarize: The value of a human life is defined by nothing more or less than the love of God, and that this divine love is the grounding force of the universe, as well as the sure path to peace.

For those interested in the life and times of the Blessed, I highly recommend George Weigel's book, Witness to Hope: The Biography of Pope John Paul II, as well as its sequel, The End and the Beginning: Pope John Paul II--The Victory of Freedom, the Last Days, the Legacy.

Blessed John Paul the Great, pray for us!

Why "Christian Witness"?

Well, spring is officially here, and nothing says spring to a Michigander like apple blossoms (except robins, but that wasn't a template option). Hope you enjoy the new look.

I thought a reminder of why I have entitled this blog "Christian Witness" might be in order. This blog was inspired, in large part, by World Youth Day 2008 in Sydney, Australia. The theme that the Holy Father chose was the scripture you see at the head of this page, "You will receive power when the holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses" (Acts 1:8). In his "Message On the Occasion of the XXIII World Youth Day", Pope Benedict XVI observed that "the Holy Spirit continues today to act with power in the Church, and the fruits of the Spirit are abundant in the measure in which we are ready to open up to this power that makes all things new" (5). Further, "By allowing themselves to be guided by the Spirit, each baptized person can bring his or her own contribution to the building up of the Church because of the charisms given by the Spirit, for 'to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good'" (6, cf. 1 Cor 12:7). Finally, he declared, "Together we shall invoke the Holy Spirit, confidently asking God for the gift of a new Pentecost for the Church and for humanity in the third millennium" (8).

I was, at that time, experiencing something of a spiritual renewal in my own life. I was learning about the power of the Holy Spirit, as manifested in His charisms, and about the grace of the "new Pentecost". I began, that summer, to discover my own gifts, and to consider how I might best use them to build up the Church. I was especially intrigued by the idea that the Spirit is the "first agent of evangelization", and therefore of witness, as articulated by Pope Paul VI.

Now, "witness" in the context of this blog has a twofold sense. First and foremost, it denotes a witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ; that God exists and that He has revealed Himself in the person of Jesus Christ, who out of love for mankind suffered and died, and on the third day rose again as a proof of His divinity and a promise of eternal life for those who believe in His Name. However, it also denotes a particular manner of seeing things, aided by the light of the Holy Spirit. By this reading, even as I "witness to" the Gospel, I also endeavor to "witness" literature, music, film, politics, etc., from a uniquely Christian perspective. Whether this endeavor is successful will be for my readers to judge. (So please comment on my posts!)

O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit did instruct the hearts of Thy faithful, grant that by the same Spirit we may be truly wise, and ever rejoice in His consolation, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

La Santa Madre

I recently read an excellent biography of the great saint and Doctor of the Church, Teresa of Jesus, by Cathleen Medwick. Ms. Medwick, while neither a Spaniard nor a Catholic--she is, in fact, an American Jew--captures perfectly the flavor of 16th century Spain, as well as the wit, determination, and chutzpah of la Santa Madre in Teresa of Avila: The Progress of a Soul.

I must confess that, when it comes to all things Teresian, I am very biased. Teresa is my best friend in heaven, the true companion of my soul. Still, I think that Medwick's book is as thorough and honest a reading of the life of the revered saint as one may find outside of her own autobiography, the Vida de Teresa de Jesus ("Life of Teresa of Jesus"), perhaps more so given Medwick's unique perspective. After all, Teresa was herself ethnically Jewish; her grandparents were conversos, Jews who were baptized in the Reconquista of Ferdinand and Isabella. (In an interesting turn of providence, three great Carmelite saints and spiritual masters, Teresa of Jesus, John of the Cross, co-founder with Teresa of the Discalced Reform, and Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, or Edith Stein, the brilliant philosopher and martyr of Auschwitz, were all ethnically Jewish.) Medwick's Teresa is a sign of contradiction: as a nun, bold yet humble, as a religious superior, firm yet loving, and as a reformer of her Carmelite Order and founder of monasteries, industrious yet completely trusting in God's providence.

For Teresa, the Discalced Reform was, ulltimately, God's own project, and God would see it completed. Perhaps a little context is necessary here. By the 16th century, the Carmelite Order, which has been founded in the Holy Land in the 13th century, had strayed from the austerity and prayerfulness of the primitive Rule, especially in Spain, where noble ladies were permitted to bring lapdogs and servants into the convent, adapt the habit to reflect their superior station, and come and go freely from the convent, to the neglect of their religious duties. Teresa's own convent of La Encarnacion was no exception. Moved by a voice from heaven, she established the first reformed convent, called descalzo ("discalced" from the fact that the nuns wore not shoes but simple hemp sandals), San Jose de Avila in 1562, with many more to follow throughout Castile and Andalusia.

While Teresa authored many books throughout her long life, including her spiritual masterpiece, Las Moradas ("The Mansions", more commonly known in English as The Interior Castle), as many commentators point out, her greatest work was her reform movement, which eventually bore fruit in many communities of strictly enclosed, contemplative nuns, as well as friars who, due to the requirements of their various ministries, were less strictly enclosed, but no less contemplative. To this day, these sons and daughters of Mary, Queen and Beauty of Carmel, live lives of prayer and quiet sacrifice, constantly interceding for the people of God.

A good companion to Medwick's biography is the nine-part Spanish mini-series Teresa de Jesus, directed by Josefina Molina and starring Concha Velasco as Teresa.

Religion, Violence, and True Peace

I finally had the opportunity to see The Stoning of Soraya M. The film, set in Iran in 1986, is based on the true story of a woman named Soraya. Soraya is a good, compassionate woman; she consoles the local mechanic when his wife dies, and even agrees to work for him, cooking, cleaning, and caring for his mentally handicapped son. When her abusive husband, Ali, desires to marry a younger "woman" (she is fourteen years old), he asks for a divorce, and enlists to local mullah (cleric) to help him. In return, he will grant Soraya a portion of their property and custody of their two daughters (he will, of course, take their sons). Meanwhile, the mullah will attend to any other needs, with the expectation of forming with Soraya a "temporary marriage", called a mut'ah, which is allowed by Sharia (Islamic law). Unwilling to give up her dignity to become what she calls a "holy whore", Soraya refuses to grant the divorce.

Ali, infuriated, conspires with the mullah to charge Soraya with adultery, which is a capital offense according to Sharia. They produce false witnesses, including Soraya's employer, a simpleton who is easily coerced. Together with the spineless mayor, and despite the best efforts of Soraya's noble aunt, Zahra, they convict and brutally stone Soraya to death. Buried waist deep with arms bound, Soraya is forced to watch as her own father, husband and young sons take part in the bloody scene. The next day, an Iranian-French journalist, in need of an auto mechanic, happens upon the small town. With a bit of stealth, Zahra leads the young man to her home, where she insists that he listen to her story, and tell it to the world.

Soraya's story, though saddening, must be heard, especially in the West, where we have such little direct knowledge of Islamic culture. I assert that if there is a tendency to violence in Islam--as there clearly is--it has less to do with "extremism" (whatever that may mean) than with Islam's basic conception of God. As Christians, we believe Deus charitas est, "God is love" (1 John 4:16). The appropriate faith-response to the God who is love is love. Muslims, we might say, believe Deus voluntas est, "God is will". The only appropriate faith-response to this God is submission, hence the name "Islam" (Arabic, "submission"). Because God's will is absolute, it must be done, whether by persuasion or by force.

Muslims have a custom of adding "peace be upon him" whenever they speak the name of Muhammad. I would suggest that Christians, when speaking the name of Jesus, add "who IS peace." Because only in the God who reveals Himself in Jesus Christ, and who provides in Him a model of non-violence, compassion, and love, can we truly have peace.

Why Believe in Jesus of Nazareth?

Today, as part of my Lord's Day observance, I watched the excellent documentary, The Case for Christ, based on Lee Strobel's book by the same name. In the film, Strobel, a journalist for the Chicago Tribune and former atheist, ably presents the evidence--collected over the course of years and with a journalist's critical eye--for belief in Christ.

Here are just a few highlights of the film:

The historical reliability of the Gospels. Strobel argues that, while one may choose to believe or not to believe that the four canonical Gospels (i.e. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) are divinely inspired, one cannot deny that they are reliable historical sources. He notes the scholarly consensus that the Gospels were written within the lifetime of the Apostles (i.e. before 90 A.D.). In other words, they were authored by, or with the assistance of, eyewitnesses to Jesus life, death, and resurrection. Further, since the proclamation of these Gospels was a community event, and that many of these eyewitnesses were still living in the community, they surely would have corrected the Gospel accounts had they strayed from the truth.

Strobel also easily refutes the argument that the Gospels are unreliable due to inconsistencies among the different accounts. He demonstrates that these inconsistencies are relatively insignificant and observes that, in a court of law, were the testimonies of many witnesses identical, the first objection would be "collusion", that the witnesses had conspired to produce a false testimony. In this respect, the small variations among the four Gospels only add to their credibility; they do not detract from it.

The consistent witness to the personality of Jesus. Strobel also refutes the argument that it is impossible to know who Jesus really was or what He really did, considering the proliferation of apocryphal "gospels" and other scriptures, particularly originating from the Gnostics (an early Christian sect that taught that matter was inherently evil and that salvation was achieved through esoteric knowledge, in Greek, "gnosis"). These Gospels, however, are universally recognized by scholars as being written well after the Apostolic era, and present a portrait of Jesus that is often disconsonant with the earlier, eye-witness accounts of Jesus and His ministry.

The joint witness of the empty tomb and the blood of the martyrs. For Strobel, as for most Christians, the primary issue is Jesus' resurrection from the dead. He observes several idiosyncrasies (as we might call them) about the Gospel accounts of the resurrection. For instance, the Gospels report that it was women (including Mary Magdalene, a woman with a dubious past) that were the first witnesses to the resurrection. Strobel argues that, had the story been fabricated, the Gospel authors certainly would not have relied on the witness of women, distrusted as they were in first century Palestine. Further, the Gospels report that it was Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish governing body that condemned Jesus to death), who offered his new tomb for the burial of Jesus. Surely the Gospel authors would not have reported this potentially embarrassing fact had they fabricated the story. Finally, Strobel observes that after His resurrection, Jesus appears not to a select few, but to hundreds of people. Many, if not most, of these early witnesses to the resurrection gave up their lives in martyrdom rather than deny what they saw with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, and touched with their own hands. And not only these, but others who were initially opposed to Jesus, such as the Pharisee Saul of Tarsus (a.k.a. Paul the Apostle). It is highly unlikely, Strobel argues, that people would choose to die for what they knew was false.

Strobel, fine journalist that he is, has certainly done his homework. I highly recommend this film to both believer and skeptic alike.

Watch the entire film here (or on Hulu.com):

Angels With One Wing

I recently finished Anne Rice's Of Love and Evil, the second novel in the Songs of the Seraphim series. Toby O'Dare, a hit man who has known profound grief, is visited by Malchiah, an seraph who bears a message of God's mercy and the need to make reparation for sin. Thus far, that opportunity has involved travelling back in time and space ("Angel Time") to protect God's chosen people, the Jews, from persecution. In the first novel in the series, Angel Time, Malchiah brings Toby to thirteenth century England where, in the guise of a Dominican friar, he defends a Jewish family that has been falsely accused of murdering their young daughter. Similarly, in this second novel, Toby is taken to sixteenth century Rome, where he intervenes in the case of a Jewish physician, who has been falsely accused of poisoning his Christian patient. It is a delightful series, well-grounded in the Catholic theological tradition with much owed to Thomas Aquinas, the "Angelic Doctor", that creatively explores the rapport between angels and humans. One hopes that Ms. Rice's recent defection from the Church (which is a topic for another post) will not adversely impact the series.

Here a just a few things that I love about the series:

It recognizes angels as the personal representatives of God's love and protection. In other words, God could--and often does--protect and guide us humans directly, but His love is such that He creates spiritual beings for the sole purpose of bearing His love to us.

It acknowledges the reality of spiritual warfare. If there are spiritual beings who have chosen from the moment of their creation to love and serve God and to collaborate in our salvation, then there must also be spiritual beings who have chosen to not love and serve God and who work toward our destruction.

It has an historical perspective. There can be no doubt that Ms. Rice is an enthusiastic student of Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance history. I am particularly appreciative of the fact that Rice has chosen neither to defame the Church (in a Dan Brown-esque way) nor to ignore her very real faults and failures through the centuries. Especially heartbreaking is the mistreatment of the Jews in Medieval and Renaissance Europe.

On a final note, I thought that a quotation prefacing the book reflects well the overarching theme of the series:

"We are each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another."
--Luciano de Crescenzo

Highly recommended.

"She Who Conquers the Serpent"

After following with awe and wonder the festivities surrounding the December 12 celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe--both north and south of the border--I realized that I knew next to nothing about the Morenita, her appearance to Saint Juan Diego or the miraculous tilma imprinted with her image. So, when I happened upon Paul Badde's María of Guadalupe: Shaper of History, Shaper of Hearts in a Catholic book shop in Savannah, I leaped at the chance to learn more. Badde, a German journalist and former papal aide (to John Paul the Great), weaves together the history and science of the tilma with his own journey of discovery, which takes him from Germany to Mexico and from Jerusalem to Rome, in the footsteps of the Morenita.

Perhaps more amazing than the miraculous qualities of the tilma itself (which continue to confound modern science) are the conversions that the encounter with the Morenita has occasioned, from the day of Juan Diego to today. Badde recalls how the Spanish conquistadores, the worst possible missionaries, "were incapable of evangelizing the Aztecs" (145). That came with the appearance of the Blessed Mother to a poor Indian man on Tepeyac Hill (just outside modern Mexico City) in December 1531. She came in the guise of an Aztec princess, proclaiming the Gospel of her divine Son, whom she bore in her womb. As proof of her visitation, she left behind her miraculous image on Juan Diego's tilma (a kind of cloak woven of agave fibers). A shrine was soon built in her honor.

What occurred thereafter is something wholly unique in the annals of world history: not only were the Aztecs converted to the religion of their often brutal conquerors, but the conquerors themselves were inspired to lay down their swords and live in peace with the Aztecs. Badde observes:

After the apparition, both military cultures, people who before were seeking to annihilate each other, literally began to embrace each other like lovers before this picture! ... There are no more Spaniards or Amerindians. From that moment there was a radical new beginning: the Mexicans have been shaped into a new people. (146)

Badde observes further:

Evangelization went very deep, with colossal speed, for both Aztec and Spaniard. Eight conquistadors of Hernan Cortés' inner circle became churchmen, Franciscan, Dominican or hermit. No one campaigned as passionately and boldly for the rights and defense of the Aztecs as the mendicant orders. (148)

Never has such a reconciliation of peoples and cultures occured in recorded history.

A final, interesting fact: it is likely that the Spanish title Guadalupe is a corruption of the Nahuatl (the language spoken by the Aztecs) Coatlaxopeuh, which means "she conquers the sepent" (Cf. Genesis 3:15, wherein "he" has also been interpreted as "she").

Let us pray that Mary, the Queen of Peace, might reconcile all her children to each other and to her divine Son, especially in her own Land.

Justice, Mercy, and "True Grit"

I recently saw the Coen brothers' remake of the 1969 classic True Grit, based on the novel by Charles Portis. The film stars Jeff Bridges (formerly John Wayne) as the aging and cantankerous U.S. Marshall Reuben "Rooster" Cogburn. When an Arkansas man is killed in cold blood by the outlaw Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin), his precocious fourteen-year-old daughter, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld), vows to bring the killer to justice, and hires Coghburn to help her. Joined by LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), a pompous Texas ranger who also has a claim on Chaney, the unlikely pair pursue the outlaw and his gang into Indian territory.

The film begins with a verse from Proverbs: "The wicked flee while no man pursueth" (28:1a). This is a clear reference to Chaney who, after killing Mattie's father and stealing two California gold pieces and a horse, flees the small frontier town, despite the fact that none "could be bothered to give chase." This is consonant with the character's cowardice and slow-wit, but it is also indicative that he still retains a shred of conscience. Indeed, Mattie says, Chaney "must learn that there is nothing free in this world, except the grace of God." The line might strike the viewer as somewhat out of place; what, after all, does God's grace have to do with a story primarily concerned with earthly justice?

[SPOLER ALERT] In the end, Cogburn, with the help of Mattie and LaBoeuf, gets his man, whom Mattie has the pleasure of shooting herself. However, the recoil from the rifle knocks her backward into a pit where she is bitten by a rattlesnake. Cogburn pulls her from the pit, attempts to extract the poison, and rides all day and night to deliver the injured girl to a doctor. As a delirious Mattie looks to the starry heavens, she murmurs, "He's getting away." "Who's getting away, sis?" Cogburn asks. "Chaney," she responds. The line is, I would suggest, an intimation that Chaney, having been served justice on earth, has received grace and mercy in heaven.

In fact, I believe that the entire film is--aside from a rousing good Western--a sustained reflection on justice and mercy (i.e. grace), which are not mutually exclusive categories. Recall Mattie's comment about "the grace of God". This is the law of love, by which God says, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice" (Mat 9:13). This does not mean that criminals like Chaney should go unpunished, which would be a simplistic denial of justice. It does, however, mean that justice must be tempered by mercy, something that Mattie learns the hard way. In the end, we learn that while Cogburn saved Mattie's life, the doctor could not save her arm, which has been amputated. The symbolism is clear: Mattie's single-minded search for justice has taken a part of her. She is, ever after, an incomplete woman.

Indeed, the true model of both justice and mercy (or love) in the film is the uncouth--and often drunken--Cogburn, who selflessly risks his own life to save Mattie's. He descends into the snake pit in order to pull Mattie out (recall Christ's descent into hell), extracts the poison from her hand (note the close association in Latin of the words for "healer" and "savior"), and delivers her to safety. Not only is Mattie an icon of the fallen soul, but Cogburn is an icon of Christ who heals and saves.

The thematic meatiness aside, the film also boasts some wonderful Old Western action. Particularly delightful is the climactic scene wherein Cogburn rides one against four, reigns in teeth, firing two navy pistols. "I mean to kill you today Ned [the film's other villain], or see you hanged" says Cogburn. "I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man" taunts "Lucky" Ned Pepper. "Ned, you son of a b***h!" Cogburn cries, as he charges forward, guns blazing. You can almost hear the Duke laughing with glee from his seat where Justice and Mercy reigns. In fact, it is reminiscent of the second half of that verse from Proverbs: "but the righteous are bold as a lion" (28:1b).

Highly recommended! The Brothers Coen are (to employ a Hebrew pun) the high priests of film!