I think it an odd phenomenon but a most interesting one.
It used to be that liberal ideas were promoted by the younger clergy, and the older priests held fast to the conservative.
Today it seems that just the opposite is true.
An association of US Catholic priests is being formed to offer fraternal support to brother priests and to give a united voice to priests who share common concerns.
A recently formed group of 400 priests in Austria, the Austrian Priests' Initiative, has pledged itself to reforms in priestly ministry and Catholic practice which are likely to put them at odds with their bishops and the Vatican.
The Association of US Priests (AUSCP), on the other hand, says that protest and disagreement are not on their agenda.
The chairman of AUSCP, Father David Cooper of Milwaukee, says the association will focus over the next four years on celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Second Vatican Council, and is planning a major convocation on the sacred liturgy.
There already exists the National Federation of Priests' Councils in the United States, and its president, Father Richard Vega, says he supports the objectives proposed by AUSCP and doubts any competition between the two groups.
An association of Catholic priests in Ireland has strongly criticized the New Roman Missal translation and endorses having married priests. A similar organization has been formed in Australia.
Prior to the AUSCP organization meeting in Mundelein in August, about 250 priests responded to a questionnaire about forming such an association. The most popular objective identified by the priests was implementation of the vision and teachings of Vatican II.
Other areas of interest included encouraging the laity to become fully involved in the life of the Church and promotion of the rights of all believers.
What catches my eye, especially in regard to AUSCP, is the age of the members. The median age is 71.
It is my impression that some of younger clergy are less than enthusiastic about AUSCP and about the various manifestations of priests associations in other parts of the world.
The Association of U. S. Catholic Priests is soliciting support and membership across the country, encouraging new members to propose their expectations for AUSCP and indicate how they might contribute to achieving these expectations.
Is there a divide between younger and older priests? If so, what will be the consequences for the Church and especially for parish congregations? We have reason to fear a house divided.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
The New Translation Is Coming
I've heard and read a lot of discussions about the translation of the new Roman missal.
The primary criticism is that the effort to be "faithful to the Latin text" has led to complex sentence structures and a stilted form of English.
Gabe Huck, the former director of Liturgical Training Publications (LTP), the publishing house owned by the Archdiocese of Chicago (Cardinal Francis George fired Huck ten years ago) recently wrote an article complaining about the translation.
Huck offered an example, a prayer we will use in Advent: Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ with righteous deeds at his coming, so that, gathered at his right hand, they may be worthy to possess the heavenly kingdom.
I have to agree that this translation sounds like the work of a computer translator. Not being fluent in Spanish, I often resort to the computer to translate letters from my foster child in Nicaragua. I can usually get the gist of what she is saying but the English translation is awkward and unconventional.
Priests and laity alike are divided in their opinions about the implementation of the new missal and its translation this coming Advent.
Some are eager, saying they look forward to a translation that at last reflects the Latin, the language of the Roman Church. Others think the new prayers will be far more difficult to phrase, enunciate, and understand. Some priests are certain they will stumble over the wording and the congregation will be unable to hear the words as prayer --even if both presider and laity have rehearsed the texts before hand.
Many dioceses have presented a variety of educational programs to prepare clergy and laity alike. Many presenters spin the new missal as an opportunity to review what we do at Mass and renew our active participation.
When D-Day arrives on November 27 it will interesting to see how the new missal is implemented and received.
It is likely that the congregational responses will become second-nature within a few weeks. Changing from "And also with you" to "And also with your spirit" won't be a major challenge for the people in the pew.
But the presider at the chair and the altar will have a far greater challenge. He will have to review each day's Mass propers, assess how to phrase and enunciate the prayers, and try to execute the recitation in a prayerful manner despite the complicated and often poor English sentence constructions.
Huck remembered Monsignor Ronald Knox's observation in Englishing the Bible: "You can have a literal translation or you can have a literary translation; you cannot have both."
The trial for Catholics will be which kind of translation best supports and promotes a praying community.
The primary criticism is that the effort to be "faithful to the Latin text" has led to complex sentence structures and a stilted form of English.
Gabe Huck, the former director of Liturgical Training Publications (LTP), the publishing house owned by the Archdiocese of Chicago (Cardinal Francis George fired Huck ten years ago) recently wrote an article complaining about the translation.
Huck offered an example, a prayer we will use in Advent: Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ with righteous deeds at his coming, so that, gathered at his right hand, they may be worthy to possess the heavenly kingdom.
I have to agree that this translation sounds like the work of a computer translator. Not being fluent in Spanish, I often resort to the computer to translate letters from my foster child in Nicaragua. I can usually get the gist of what she is saying but the English translation is awkward and unconventional.
Priests and laity alike are divided in their opinions about the implementation of the new missal and its translation this coming Advent.
Some are eager, saying they look forward to a translation that at last reflects the Latin, the language of the Roman Church. Others think the new prayers will be far more difficult to phrase, enunciate, and understand. Some priests are certain they will stumble over the wording and the congregation will be unable to hear the words as prayer --even if both presider and laity have rehearsed the texts before hand.
Many dioceses have presented a variety of educational programs to prepare clergy and laity alike. Many presenters spin the new missal as an opportunity to review what we do at Mass and renew our active participation.
When D-Day arrives on November 27 it will interesting to see how the new missal is implemented and received.
It is likely that the congregational responses will become second-nature within a few weeks. Changing from "And also with you" to "And also with your spirit" won't be a major challenge for the people in the pew.
But the presider at the chair and the altar will have a far greater challenge. He will have to review each day's Mass propers, assess how to phrase and enunciate the prayers, and try to execute the recitation in a prayerful manner despite the complicated and often poor English sentence constructions.
Huck remembered Monsignor Ronald Knox's observation in Englishing the Bible: "You can have a literal translation or you can have a literary translation; you cannot have both."
The trial for Catholics will be which kind of translation best supports and promotes a praying community.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Renewing Patriotism
I just returned from the holy land --not Israel, but Gettysburg, PA.
Nearly a century and a half ago General Robert E. Lee brought his Confederate army north from Virginia into Pennsylvania with the hope of engaging the Federals in a decisive victory and bringing the war to an end.
His effort there can rightly be called "the high water mark of the Confederacy" and his loss there can rightly be called "the turning point of the war."
Last week a different Lee invaded Pennsylvania. The remnants of the tropical storm caused flooding along creeks and rivers in several east coast states. People had to evacuate, property was destroyed, a few lost their lives.
By comparison the misery caused by Lee the invader was worse than the misery caused by Lee the storm. By comparison the misery suffered by the flood victims was worse than the misery suffered by us fool-hardy, drenched-to-the-skin visitors to the battlefield --but either scenario gives a whole new meaning to "Lee's Miserables" (apology to Victor Hugo).
Even in the rain I enjoyed the opportunity (as General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain put it) to join generations of reverent men and women who will come "to see where and by whom great things were suffered and done for them...to ponder and dream."
Each visit (I have been there maybe 20 times) renews respect for the sacrifices made by the men and women of both sides. Each visit re-inspires patriotism, a love of country based not on some naive assumption that we are perfect but upon the realism that despite our nation's faults we share a land, a constitution and a heritage unparalleled in human history.
And this blessing requires work and sacrifice and occasional battles to preserve.
The attacks on our country on 9/11/01 at least momentarily woke the sleeping giant, and most citizens rallied and responded with demonstrations of sympathy for the victims, of respect for the police, firefighters and military, of our dependence on divine providence.
On a visit to Gettysburg, General Chamberlain recalled his experience of the battle and his perception of the field. He said, "In great deeds something abides. On great fields something stays. Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger, to consecrate ground for the vision-place of souls."
On his visit to Gettysburg President Abraham Lincoln denied that we could dedicate, consecrate or hallow this ground. Rather, said Lincoln, "The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract."
And immediately Lincoln made an appeal to patriotic fervor, "It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated to the unfinished work which they have, thus far, so nobly advanced."
I suppose it is in the light of the observations of Chamberlain and Lincoln that I think of the battlefield at Gettysburg as "the holy land."
But neither do I discount my personal experiences on that field. I have not seen ghosts. I have no relatives who fought there. But Chamberlain is right, something abides, spirits linger.
And if one is quiet long enough what he predicted for visitors proves true: "The shadow of a mighty presence shall wrap them in its bosom, and the power of the vision pass into their souls."
He continued, "This is the great reward of service. To live, far out and on, in the life of others; this is the mystery of Christ, --to give life's best for such high sake that it shall be found again unto life eternal."
Patriotism is listed among Christian virtues. Pro Deo et patria --for God and country. It's why we go to Church, and why I go to Gettysburg.
Nearly a century and a half ago General Robert E. Lee brought his Confederate army north from Virginia into Pennsylvania with the hope of engaging the Federals in a decisive victory and bringing the war to an end.
His effort there can rightly be called "the high water mark of the Confederacy" and his loss there can rightly be called "the turning point of the war."
Last week a different Lee invaded Pennsylvania. The remnants of the tropical storm caused flooding along creeks and rivers in several east coast states. People had to evacuate, property was destroyed, a few lost their lives.
By comparison the misery caused by Lee the invader was worse than the misery caused by Lee the storm. By comparison the misery suffered by the flood victims was worse than the misery suffered by us fool-hardy, drenched-to-the-skin visitors to the battlefield --but either scenario gives a whole new meaning to "Lee's Miserables" (apology to Victor Hugo).
Even in the rain I enjoyed the opportunity (as General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain put it) to join generations of reverent men and women who will come "to see where and by whom great things were suffered and done for them...to ponder and dream."
Each visit (I have been there maybe 20 times) renews respect for the sacrifices made by the men and women of both sides. Each visit re-inspires patriotism, a love of country based not on some naive assumption that we are perfect but upon the realism that despite our nation's faults we share a land, a constitution and a heritage unparalleled in human history.
And this blessing requires work and sacrifice and occasional battles to preserve.
The attacks on our country on 9/11/01 at least momentarily woke the sleeping giant, and most citizens rallied and responded with demonstrations of sympathy for the victims, of respect for the police, firefighters and military, of our dependence on divine providence.
On a visit to Gettysburg, General Chamberlain recalled his experience of the battle and his perception of the field. He said, "In great deeds something abides. On great fields something stays. Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger, to consecrate ground for the vision-place of souls."
On his visit to Gettysburg President Abraham Lincoln denied that we could dedicate, consecrate or hallow this ground. Rather, said Lincoln, "The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract."
And immediately Lincoln made an appeal to patriotic fervor, "It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated to the unfinished work which they have, thus far, so nobly advanced."
I suppose it is in the light of the observations of Chamberlain and Lincoln that I think of the battlefield at Gettysburg as "the holy land."
But neither do I discount my personal experiences on that field. I have not seen ghosts. I have no relatives who fought there. But Chamberlain is right, something abides, spirits linger.
And if one is quiet long enough what he predicted for visitors proves true: "The shadow of a mighty presence shall wrap them in its bosom, and the power of the vision pass into their souls."
He continued, "This is the great reward of service. To live, far out and on, in the life of others; this is the mystery of Christ, --to give life's best for such high sake that it shall be found again unto life eternal."
Patriotism is listed among Christian virtues. Pro Deo et patria --for God and country. It's why we go to Church, and why I go to Gettysburg.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The Patience Of God
Of all the qualities we see in God, patience is the one I find most amazing.
I have heard of artists, musicians and intellectuals who are unusually talented and creative, but woefully lacking in self-control and forbearance.
A concert pianist rages because the piano bench is too low. A diva on the stage goes into a tantrum about her co-star's poor performance. A professional lecturer fumes over the audio feedback.
Those intent upon perfection inevitably find flaws, faults, and failure in the settings and personnel with whom they work. And sometimes the demanding perfectionists lose their tempers; they rant, rail and rave at the offending party and even the innocent around them.
God, on the other hand, shows remarkable patience. The Perfect One tolerates the imperfect. The Sinless One endures sinners. The Creative One bears with the clumsy.
If anthropologists are right, that homo sapiens has been around for some 200,000 years, then those of us who believe that "thinking man" is the deliberate creation by God have much to explain.
If human beings are made in God's image, if God has a plan for humanity, if the Creator is really concerned about and involved with creation, how are we to interpret human history before Christ, or before Abraham, or before the first signs of religion, law, and morality appear?
If the universe began 13 billion years ago with a "big bang" (a clashing of cymbals) by the Great Orchestrator, we have to conclude that God was in no hurry to create human beings.
Not only are we late-comers to the universe, but Jesus comes on stage very, very long after the curtain first rises, long after human beings made their appearance.
One of the traditions recorded in Genesis wrestled with these mysteries. More than 3000 years ago some of our ancestors told the story of God's creating human beings, of placing them in an ideal setting, of man's rebellion, of the consequences of sin, and, perhaps most importantly, of the conviction that human beings would be able to over come the evil they had unleashed against themselves.
"The Lord God formed the man out of the dust...the Lord God then took the man and settled him in the garden of Eden...and God asked, 'Have you eaten from the tree from which I had forbidden you to eat?'...and God said to the serpent, 'I will put enmity between you and the woman, between your offspring and hers; and they will strike at your head while you strike at their heel.'"
The Genesis tradition provides insight. Human history is a strange mixture of divine and human action, a patchwork of rebellion and second-chance.
And through the whole patch-work story runs the thread of unbelievable patience on the part of God.
The Gospel accounts suggest that Jesus had his moments of frustration: "Will you also go away?...have I been with you so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?...Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Behold, the hour is at hand..."
But in the final moments Jesus could still muster divine patience, "Father, forgive them; they know not what they do."
God's patience, the divine ability to wait, is amazing.
And recognition of that divine attribute has a soothing effect on us. If God can be patient with us, perhaps we should be patient with others and ourselves as well.
Jesus' initial invitation to his disciples is "Come, follow me." That proposal implies movement. Accepting Jesus as Lord is simply the first step. We're going somewhere.
Our Christian lives are an evolution, a process of ongoing development.
God waits patiently for the seed to fall to the earth and die so that it can sprout and bring new life. And God waits patiently for us to do the same.
God is wondrously patient!
I have heard of artists, musicians and intellectuals who are unusually talented and creative, but woefully lacking in self-control and forbearance.
A concert pianist rages because the piano bench is too low. A diva on the stage goes into a tantrum about her co-star's poor performance. A professional lecturer fumes over the audio feedback.
Those intent upon perfection inevitably find flaws, faults, and failure in the settings and personnel with whom they work. And sometimes the demanding perfectionists lose their tempers; they rant, rail and rave at the offending party and even the innocent around them.
God, on the other hand, shows remarkable patience. The Perfect One tolerates the imperfect. The Sinless One endures sinners. The Creative One bears with the clumsy.
If anthropologists are right, that homo sapiens has been around for some 200,000 years, then those of us who believe that "thinking man" is the deliberate creation by God have much to explain.
If human beings are made in God's image, if God has a plan for humanity, if the Creator is really concerned about and involved with creation, how are we to interpret human history before Christ, or before Abraham, or before the first signs of religion, law, and morality appear?
If the universe began 13 billion years ago with a "big bang" (a clashing of cymbals) by the Great Orchestrator, we have to conclude that God was in no hurry to create human beings.
Not only are we late-comers to the universe, but Jesus comes on stage very, very long after the curtain first rises, long after human beings made their appearance.
One of the traditions recorded in Genesis wrestled with these mysteries. More than 3000 years ago some of our ancestors told the story of God's creating human beings, of placing them in an ideal setting, of man's rebellion, of the consequences of sin, and, perhaps most importantly, of the conviction that human beings would be able to over come the evil they had unleashed against themselves.
"The Lord God formed the man out of the dust...the Lord God then took the man and settled him in the garden of Eden...and God asked, 'Have you eaten from the tree from which I had forbidden you to eat?'...and God said to the serpent, 'I will put enmity between you and the woman, between your offspring and hers; and they will strike at your head while you strike at their heel.'"
The Genesis tradition provides insight. Human history is a strange mixture of divine and human action, a patchwork of rebellion and second-chance.
And through the whole patch-work story runs the thread of unbelievable patience on the part of God.
The Gospel accounts suggest that Jesus had his moments of frustration: "Will you also go away?...have I been with you so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?...Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Behold, the hour is at hand..."
But in the final moments Jesus could still muster divine patience, "Father, forgive them; they know not what they do."
God's patience, the divine ability to wait, is amazing.
And recognition of that divine attribute has a soothing effect on us. If God can be patient with us, perhaps we should be patient with others and ourselves as well.
Jesus' initial invitation to his disciples is "Come, follow me." That proposal implies movement. Accepting Jesus as Lord is simply the first step. We're going somewhere.
Our Christian lives are an evolution, a process of ongoing development.
God waits patiently for the seed to fall to the earth and die so that it can sprout and bring new life. And God waits patiently for us to do the same.
God is wondrously patient!
Friday, August 26, 2011
A Little Learning...
"A little learning is a dangerous thing..." So said poet Alexander Pope.
This truth comes home to me whenever I try to delve into the subtleties, connotations, and even mistranslations of passages in the Bible.
My "little learning" is in the biblical languages: Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek.
To cut to the chase, I am trying to figure out what Jesus meant when he cried out from the cross, "Eli, eli, lema sabachthani" (as Matthew 27:46 records it).
The Matthean text immediately translates this Aramaic expression into Greek, which we recognize as Psalm 22:2, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
I have often found consolation in this expression of anguish --in the Book of Psalms it is the lament of a soul who feels abandoned by God. It borders on despair. In fearful loneliness, someone's broken heart cries, "Why?"
To think that even Jesus had this struggle I can better accept my own moments of confusion and doubt. For a moment even Jesus experienced the agony of being left alone by a hiding God.
On occasion I have referred to this verse as comfort to the grieving or the overwhelmed. This is the dark night of the soul!
More recently, however, I have come to question my using Jesus as a model of near-despair.
My questioning began when I read George Lamsa's research on idioms in the Bible. Lamsa (1892-1975) was an Assyrian author (born in what is now Turkey) whose native language was Aramaic, the language we are pretty sure Jesus spoke.
Lamsa noted that in the Greek version of Matthew's Gospel (Lamsa grew up reading the Aramaic) the evangelist gave the original Aramaic and then he or a later editor translated the Aramaic expression into Greek.
The evangelist and Lamsa note that those standing beneath the cross misunderstood, thinking that Jesus was calling on the prophet Elijah.
Our Greek version of Matthew's Gospel clarified Jesus' Aramaic words by identifying them as Psalm 22:2. Lamsa, however, concluded differently.
He argued that if Jesus were quoting the psalm he would likely have said it in Hebrew. And if he were translating the Hebrew into Aramaic he would have used the word "nashatani" not "shabacktani."
Lamsa explains that "nashatani" means "forsaken me," but "shabacktani" means "kept me."
Thus, in Lamsa's understanding of the Aramaic, Jesus was saying, "My God, my God, for this I was kept," meaning, "this was my destiny --for this I was born."
The academic world with its Aramaic grammar and etymology offers little support for Lamsa's interpretation.
In Lamsa's defense, however, I would be so bold as to suggest that maybe the earliest Christians saw in Psalm 22 a prefiguring of the sufferings of Jesus: "all who see me mock me...like water my life drains away...so wasted are my hands and my feet that I can count all my bones...they divide my garments among them, for my clothing they cast lots."
Maybe these descriptions were applied to Jesus because they thought he was quoting Psalm 22 or maybe these descriptions so fit what happened to Jesus that they put Psalm 22:2 into his mouth.
Lamsa reasoned, "The disciples and women who were from Galilee never for a moment could have thought that Jesus said God had forsaken Him. How could He say that when He had told His disciples that the whole world would forsake Him, even they, but that the Father would be with Him."
All my questioning and research does nothing to the final verdict --Jesus suffered and died for our salvation!
On the other hand, I would like to know what really happened on that Friday on Golgotha, outside the walls of Jerusalem.
Perhaps the evidence has been taped and archived and part of eternity can be spent in reviewing the footage and seeing and hearing what actually happened nearly 2000 years ago.
Once again "a little learning" has forced me back to the books and left me with still more questions than answers.
Pope was right about the dangers and intoxication of "a little learning," but I'm not so sure that drinking largely really would bring sobriety.
Said the poet: "A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again."
This truth comes home to me whenever I try to delve into the subtleties, connotations, and even mistranslations of passages in the Bible.
My "little learning" is in the biblical languages: Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek.
To cut to the chase, I am trying to figure out what Jesus meant when he cried out from the cross, "Eli, eli, lema sabachthani" (as Matthew 27:46 records it).
The Matthean text immediately translates this Aramaic expression into Greek, which we recognize as Psalm 22:2, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
I have often found consolation in this expression of anguish --in the Book of Psalms it is the lament of a soul who feels abandoned by God. It borders on despair. In fearful loneliness, someone's broken heart cries, "Why?"
To think that even Jesus had this struggle I can better accept my own moments of confusion and doubt. For a moment even Jesus experienced the agony of being left alone by a hiding God.
On occasion I have referred to this verse as comfort to the grieving or the overwhelmed. This is the dark night of the soul!
More recently, however, I have come to question my using Jesus as a model of near-despair.
My questioning began when I read George Lamsa's research on idioms in the Bible. Lamsa (1892-1975) was an Assyrian author (born in what is now Turkey) whose native language was Aramaic, the language we are pretty sure Jesus spoke.
Lamsa noted that in the Greek version of Matthew's Gospel (Lamsa grew up reading the Aramaic) the evangelist gave the original Aramaic and then he or a later editor translated the Aramaic expression into Greek.
The evangelist and Lamsa note that those standing beneath the cross misunderstood, thinking that Jesus was calling on the prophet Elijah.
Our Greek version of Matthew's Gospel clarified Jesus' Aramaic words by identifying them as Psalm 22:2. Lamsa, however, concluded differently.
He argued that if Jesus were quoting the psalm he would likely have said it in Hebrew. And if he were translating the Hebrew into Aramaic he would have used the word "nashatani" not "shabacktani."
Lamsa explains that "nashatani" means "forsaken me," but "shabacktani" means "kept me."
Thus, in Lamsa's understanding of the Aramaic, Jesus was saying, "My God, my God, for this I was kept," meaning, "this was my destiny --for this I was born."
The academic world with its Aramaic grammar and etymology offers little support for Lamsa's interpretation.
In Lamsa's defense, however, I would be so bold as to suggest that maybe the earliest Christians saw in Psalm 22 a prefiguring of the sufferings of Jesus: "all who see me mock me...like water my life drains away...so wasted are my hands and my feet that I can count all my bones...they divide my garments among them, for my clothing they cast lots."
Maybe these descriptions were applied to Jesus because they thought he was quoting Psalm 22 or maybe these descriptions so fit what happened to Jesus that they put Psalm 22:2 into his mouth.
Lamsa reasoned, "The disciples and women who were from Galilee never for a moment could have thought that Jesus said God had forsaken Him. How could He say that when He had told His disciples that the whole world would forsake Him, even they, but that the Father would be with Him."
All my questioning and research does nothing to the final verdict --Jesus suffered and died for our salvation!
On the other hand, I would like to know what really happened on that Friday on Golgotha, outside the walls of Jerusalem.
Perhaps the evidence has been taped and archived and part of eternity can be spent in reviewing the footage and seeing and hearing what actually happened nearly 2000 years ago.
Once again "a little learning" has forced me back to the books and left me with still more questions than answers.
Pope was right about the dangers and intoxication of "a little learning," but I'm not so sure that drinking largely really would bring sobriety.
Said the poet: "A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again."
Friday, August 19, 2011
Recapture The Vision
Thomas Meton is probably the best known monk in America, but he was not beyond criticizing monasticism.
Franciscans follow the example of St Francis, but many of them will readily admit that their father Francis would be highly critical of the way they live.
Christians claim to follow Christ, but sometimes, in some cases, even Jesus would have a hard time seeing a reflection of his Gospel in what they say and do.
Merton said in his Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander that certain conceptions of monasticism "seem to me to be simply a fancy-dress adaptation of what we are claiming we have renounced."
Who can embrace Lady Poverty as Francis did? And wash the sores of lepers? And settle for the hermit's tunic, cord and sandals? And respond to life's troubles with "Peace and good!" as Francis did?
How can we take Jesus seriously when he instructs his followers to turn the other cheek, sell what we have and give the profits to the poor, and take no money or change of clothes when we are out on a missionary journey?
Some pundits explain that the example of the earliest monks, mendicants and missionaries was simply that --an example. It was not, these critics say, something to be slavishly imitated, but rather their example was an ideal to be pursued, a guide for direction --but always, always in moderation!
Those pundits may be right. But if monasticism and the dream of Francis and the Gospel of Jesus are to be effective today (in this 21st century), it means we have to keep coming back to them, keep re-visiting the ideal, keep judging our modus operandi in the light of these models.
One of the major efforts and benefits of the gathering of bishops at the Second Vatican Council was the insistence on looking back to the origins of the Church and the teachings of Christ.
There were some "new things" to merge from that Council, but in large measure the "changes," especially in liturgy and ecclesiology, were prompted by returning to the past. The overall mentality of the Council Fathers was not liberal but conservative. It was a conservative mindset that wanted to reclaim the ancient ways; it was a liberal mindset that wanted things to stay as they had developed during the Middle Ages.
Although the Vatican's interview (some call it inquisition) of the religious Sisters over the past few years was not always well-received, one postive result came from the encouragement that the Sisters should return to the charism of the founders of their orders.
The Sisters and Daughters of Charity reflected anew on the life and example of Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton. The Poor Clares revisted the model set by St. Clare. The Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament reviewed the ministry and spirituality of Mother Katharine Drexel.
Going back to the past is at the heart of recollection, reflection and retreat.
Going back to the past does not denigrate progress or undermine adapatation to current needs and circumstances. But going back to the past reminds us about where we came from and why we undertook the journey in the first place.
Look at the way the Church (the hierarchy) operates today. Look at the in-fighting between so-called theological traditionalists and progressives, between liturgical conservatives and liberals, between laity and clergy. Look at the personal and private ways you and I live our Christian commitment.
And then ask, "Is this what Jesus had in mind?"
Most of us will assess that the world is too much with us, that ego is in control, that the Gospel has been diluted to serve our own weaknesses and sense of well-being.
Periodically we must stop, go back, and re-assess. A return to our origins helps us re-capture the vision, and only in its light can we truly move forward.
It is still another paradox of the spiritual life: to advance you must go back.
Franciscans follow the example of St Francis, but many of them will readily admit that their father Francis would be highly critical of the way they live.
Christians claim to follow Christ, but sometimes, in some cases, even Jesus would have a hard time seeing a reflection of his Gospel in what they say and do.
Merton said in his Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander that certain conceptions of monasticism "seem to me to be simply a fancy-dress adaptation of what we are claiming we have renounced."
Who can embrace Lady Poverty as Francis did? And wash the sores of lepers? And settle for the hermit's tunic, cord and sandals? And respond to life's troubles with "Peace and good!" as Francis did?
How can we take Jesus seriously when he instructs his followers to turn the other cheek, sell what we have and give the profits to the poor, and take no money or change of clothes when we are out on a missionary journey?
Some pundits explain that the example of the earliest monks, mendicants and missionaries was simply that --an example. It was not, these critics say, something to be slavishly imitated, but rather their example was an ideal to be pursued, a guide for direction --but always, always in moderation!
Those pundits may be right. But if monasticism and the dream of Francis and the Gospel of Jesus are to be effective today (in this 21st century), it means we have to keep coming back to them, keep re-visiting the ideal, keep judging our modus operandi in the light of these models.
One of the major efforts and benefits of the gathering of bishops at the Second Vatican Council was the insistence on looking back to the origins of the Church and the teachings of Christ.
There were some "new things" to merge from that Council, but in large measure the "changes," especially in liturgy and ecclesiology, were prompted by returning to the past. The overall mentality of the Council Fathers was not liberal but conservative. It was a conservative mindset that wanted to reclaim the ancient ways; it was a liberal mindset that wanted things to stay as they had developed during the Middle Ages.
Although the Vatican's interview (some call it inquisition) of the religious Sisters over the past few years was not always well-received, one postive result came from the encouragement that the Sisters should return to the charism of the founders of their orders.
The Sisters and Daughters of Charity reflected anew on the life and example of Mother Elizabeth Ann Seton. The Poor Clares revisted the model set by St. Clare. The Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament reviewed the ministry and spirituality of Mother Katharine Drexel.
Going back to the past is at the heart of recollection, reflection and retreat.
Going back to the past does not denigrate progress or undermine adapatation to current needs and circumstances. But going back to the past reminds us about where we came from and why we undertook the journey in the first place.
Look at the way the Church (the hierarchy) operates today. Look at the in-fighting between so-called theological traditionalists and progressives, between liturgical conservatives and liberals, between laity and clergy. Look at the personal and private ways you and I live our Christian commitment.
And then ask, "Is this what Jesus had in mind?"
Most of us will assess that the world is too much with us, that ego is in control, that the Gospel has been diluted to serve our own weaknesses and sense of well-being.
Periodically we must stop, go back, and re-assess. A return to our origins helps us re-capture the vision, and only in its light can we truly move forward.
It is still another paradox of the spiritual life: to advance you must go back.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Too Busy To Pray
I've gotten busy again --too busy to pray.
There are Masses in various parishes, talks to various groups, preparations for future parish missions, and of course household chores.
I can find time to "say my prayers" but setting aside time to pray has not been a priority.
There's more to praying than saying prayers. I've come to the conclusion that Catholics say too many prayers and do too little praying.
At least fifty-percent of praying ought to be silence. It's emptying the mind of words and being silent.
Prayer without words is more difficult than reading the divine office (the liturgy of the hours) or saying the rosary.
Prayer without words requires (or at least seeks) full focus on God. It includes a willingness to just be in God's presence, to enjoy God's company, to experience rather than talk about the "otherness" and the "closeness" of God.
When I'm too busy to pray I'm too busy!
It's time to prioritize, to begin spiritual exercise anew, to be rather than do.
Nearly all those who write about prayer insist on silence -quieting the mind so the heart can hear --being silent so God can get a word in edgewise. The more I talk the less I learn.
The daily prayer of the Jew (cf. Deuteronomy 6:4) begins with the word "Listen."
Moses got the people's attention with the simple command, "Be silent, O Israel, and listen!" (cf. Dt. 27:9).
In the midst of Jesus' transfiguration a voice from the cloud was heard to say, "This is my chosen Son; listen to him" (cf. Luke 9:35).
And here I am, doing it again. I sit here multiplying words, filling a blogpost because I think it is expected of me --when in fact I should be listening.
"Shh," my soul says to me. "Be quiet --at least for little while. Hush."
There are Masses in various parishes, talks to various groups, preparations for future parish missions, and of course household chores.
I can find time to "say my prayers" but setting aside time to pray has not been a priority.
There's more to praying than saying prayers. I've come to the conclusion that Catholics say too many prayers and do too little praying.
At least fifty-percent of praying ought to be silence. It's emptying the mind of words and being silent.
Prayer without words is more difficult than reading the divine office (the liturgy of the hours) or saying the rosary.
Prayer without words requires (or at least seeks) full focus on God. It includes a willingness to just be in God's presence, to enjoy God's company, to experience rather than talk about the "otherness" and the "closeness" of God.
When I'm too busy to pray I'm too busy!
It's time to prioritize, to begin spiritual exercise anew, to be rather than do.
Nearly all those who write about prayer insist on silence -quieting the mind so the heart can hear --being silent so God can get a word in edgewise. The more I talk the less I learn.
The daily prayer of the Jew (cf. Deuteronomy 6:4) begins with the word "Listen."
Moses got the people's attention with the simple command, "Be silent, O Israel, and listen!" (cf. Dt. 27:9).
In the midst of Jesus' transfiguration a voice from the cloud was heard to say, "This is my chosen Son; listen to him" (cf. Luke 9:35).
And here I am, doing it again. I sit here multiplying words, filling a blogpost because I think it is expected of me --when in fact I should be listening.
"Shh," my soul says to me. "Be quiet --at least for little while. Hush."
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