An Apple Prayer

Jesus, I know what people mean by that odd expression:
"being the apple of someone's eye."
It means a person is loved and cherished by the beholder.
But why the apple of one's eye?

Stevie Wonder used those words in his song:

"You are the sunshine of my life
That's why I'll always be around,
You are the apple of my eye,
Forever you'll stay in my heart."

But why the apple of one's eye?

I was curious, Jesus, and I had to find out.
So I went online, and there I found it.
"Apple of my eye" comes from the Bible!
In the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 32, verse 10.

Yahweh, your Father, was offering his people encouragement.
In the midst of their present problems, God reminded them
that he saved them from the desert,
and he said of Israel,
"I sustained him in a desert land,
in a howling wilderness waste;
I shielded him, cared for him,
guarded him as the apple of my eye."

I found where it came from, but I still didn't understand
why the apple of one's eye?

I had to dig deeper, Lord, and as usual,
I found a clue more mysterious than before.
I found that the Hebrew word in Deuteronomy
translated as "apple" originally meant "little man."
Ishown in Hebrew means "little man."

Again I had to ask,
"Why the apple (or little man) of one's eye?"
I had to dig deeper, Lord!

And, as usual, it's not clear why or how the Hebrews went
from "little man" to "apple,"
but I think the transition was something like this:

The "little man" was one's own reflection in the pupil of the eye of the beholder.
When I look into another's eyes I see myself!
I see a little person staring back.

But again, Lord, I had to ask why apple?
And as best I can make out,
when the passage in Deuteronomy was translated into Latin,
St Jerome rendered the Hebrew ishown with the Latin pupillam,
which is "pupil" in English.

And because people thought the pupil of the eye resembled an apple...
--well, as they say, the rest is history.

Somewhere, Lord, in all this searching there must be a lesson for me.

If I am the little man in your eye,
may I draw the conclusion that I am close to you, precious in your sight?

I join my prayer with that of David,
I pray,
"Guard me as the apple of the eye,
hide me in the shadow of your wings."

I am not worthy of such care and protection and love,
but I am grateful for your providence.
I still don't know why I would be "the apple of your eye,"
but I am glad that I can be seen there.

Taking The Gospel Seriously

The Gospel scares me.

I like the part about God's love, mercy and forgiveness. I like the assurance, "I will be with you always." I look forward to the banquet in the heavenly kingdom. These benefits make it "Good News" indeed.

What bothers me is the cost. This thing about taking up your cross, this expectation of poverty (especially this being "poor in spirit"), this requirement of loving one's enemies, this directive, "Take nothing for your journey" --all these seem anything but good news.

For 2000 years Christians have stumbled over and struggled with Jesus' radical teaching about "turning the other cheek," about "selling what you have and giving it to the poor," about "being the servant of all." Can he really mean it? Wasn't he exaggerating to make a point? Don't we have to be reasonable, measured, and cautious about how we interpret and respond to his message?

Some have said that St. Francis of Assisi is the only person in the past twenty centuries who was fully and genuinely Christian. He heard the Gospel and took it literally. He put his trust in God's care, he lived a life of poverty, he shied away from power and prestige.

And as a result of his efforts to live the Gospel as well as believe it, we have publicly hailed him as a great saint and privately whispered, "He was nuts."

Theologians and spiritual writers have put forth noble and even persuasive efforts to explain away the starkly demanding nature of Jesus' directives. But every time we hear the Gospel or meet someone living it more faithfully than we do, we are challenged to ask ourselves, "Am I really following Christ?"

I've tried to make peace with Jesus' imperatives by persuading myself that living the radical Gospel is the ideal and I shall always fall short. I can justify having a closet full of clothes, a nice car to drive, more than adequate shelter, and plenty of food by assessing these goods as necessary for my carrying out my ministry as a priest.

Of course I need a computer --it helps me spread the message and stay informed and in touch. Of course I need library shelves full of books --I can be accurate in my exegesis and creative in my preaching. Of course I need my CDs and DVDs and trips to Gettysburg --I must have distractions that will let me unwind and relax.

The world in which I live does not begrudge me these things, but I wonder how these blessings would strike my "foster child" in Nicaragua or the homeless in Cincinnati's Over-the-Rhine. Most people in Haiti would think they had died and gone to heaven if they had half of what I have.

And sometimes I wonder how these possessions strike Jesus.

I know what he said: "Blessed are the poor in spirit...Take nothing for the journey but a walking stick --no food, no sack, no money in your belts...Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself...Give to the one who asks..."

On occasion I acknowledge that some natural disaster or fire could take away all that I have. Then where would I be? On occasion I admit that someday I shall die. What will my survivors do with my precious junk? On occasion I hear the echo of Jesus' parable, "And where will all this piled up wealth of yours go?"

I have not yet reached the point where I can honestly say, "I don't care about my possessions" or "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away --blessed be the name of the Lord."

I console myself with the thought that I need these things right now, and when death approaches I can pray, "Here, Lord, all that I have I give to you!" And Jesus will smile at the contrast between what I offer him and what he has in store for me.

In the meantime, however, the Gospel still scares me.

To Be A Saint

What does it take to be a saint?

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says that the Church's "canonizing" some of the faithful is its way of saying that these people have practiced heroic virtue and lived in fidelity to God's grace (cf. #828).

The process does not imply that these canonized saints were perfect.

Jesuit priest and writer James Martin proposes in his book Becoming Who You Are that to be a saint one must be himself or herself. He borrows that insight from Thomas Merton's description of sanctity in his New Seeds of Contemplation.

As comforting as that insight is, the problem connected with it is the struggle to be authentic, to be really and truly who we are.

The Catechism says that in canonizing saints the Church is proposing them as models as well as intercessors (cf. #828).

It is the idea of saints as models that becomes treacherous, for it sounds as if we are supposed to become St Francis of Assisi or St Therese the Little Flower.

The modeling worth imitation is not to wear brown robes or live as an intinerant preacher; it is not that we enter a monastery and ape Therse's patience with nuns who were irritating.

The modeling that is to inspire us comes from our awareness that both of them became saints by being who they were --unique personalities set in the culture and circumstances of their times.

If we try to be St. Francis or St. Therese we fail to be ourselves, we fail to be authentic --we are taking on a false persona.

Father Martin selects Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen as two examples of uncanonized saints, and notes that both were flawed and sometimes sinful, revealing in their writings the difficulties they faced in trying to be patient, generous, kind, compassionate, open to others.

The test of true sanctity is whether we are willing to be who we are, and whether we seek to grow and mature into the full person we have the potential for being.

Martin recalls an episode in the life of Mother Teresa when she told an admirer, "Find your own Calcutta." She meant, you don't have to go to India to become a saint; find the place where you belong --the "bloom where you are planted" advice.

I doubt I'll live long enough to see Dorothy Day canonized. We know how dedicated she was to the poor, how faithful to the Eucharist, how self-sacrificing --all traits that fit in the criteria for canonization ("heroic virtue..fidelity to God's grace").

But we also know how flawed she was --her having an abortion, her having a child out of wedlock, her sometimes cantankerous moods and harsh words.

There has been a tendency to sanitize the lives of the saints, to paint a one-sided picture of their personalities and nature. Since we know much about Dorothy Day's life, will the Church be able to accept this flawed person and recognize her virtue and fidelity?

One of Dorothy's friends remembers discussing with her the report that it cost about $7 million for the canonization of Elizabeth Seton. Teasing Dorothy about her canonization some day, Mary Lathrop asked, "How much should we put in the kitty for yours?" Dorothy smiled, and said, "Oh, about fifteen thousand" (cf Dorothy Day: Portraits By Those Who Knew Her by Rosalie Riegel, p. 195.)

On another occasion someone suggested to Dororthy that she was indeed a saint, and Miss Day responded, "Don't call me a saint; I don't want to be dismissed that easily."

Dorothy wasn't opposed to saints or canonization, but she knew the tendency to sanitize their lives and perhaps thereby defuse the power that a social activist needed to accomplish good things for the poor.

The first step toward canonizing Dorothy Day was taken in March of 2000; the Vatican officially declared her "a servant of God."

I won't hold my reath until the process moves to the next step, declaring her venerable. But in the meantime I will enjoy the consolation that one of her friends suggested, "Knowing Dorothy's dark side, I can live with my own."

In the final analysis canonization is a nice honor but it doesn't make one a saint. Sanctity is what Thomas Merton noted, "For me to be a saint means to be myself," authentically.

My Commonplace Book

I hadn't looked at it for a long time --my commonplace book. It's a note book in which to record quotes and comments I find noteworthy. I started this one back in 1975.

It reminds me of what I was reading in those days, and what struck me as insightful.

If you have the stomach for it, I'll select some:

"The worst sin toward our fellow creatures is not to hate them but to be indifferent to them; that's the essence of inhumanity." (George Bernard Shaw)

"Many a man wishes he were strong enough to tear a telephone book in half, especially if he has a teenaged daughter." (Guy Lombardo)

"In your marriage it only makes sense for both of you to paddle in the same direction. Otherwise you'll only go in circles." (Marabel Morgan, The Total Woman)

"I was in love with a beautiful blonde once --she drove me to drink-- 'tis the one thing I'm indebted to her for." (W. C. Fields)

"Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest." (Mark Twain)

"Sometimes the only thing it takes to get an elephant out of your way is to drop a peanut." (Unknown)

"America is the only nation in the world that is founded on a creed. That creed is set forth with dogmatic and even theological lucidity in the Declaration of Independence, perhaps the only piece of practical politics that is also theoretical politics and also great literature." (G. K. Chesterton)

"She's been knitting with only one needle for years." (Unknown)

"Omnia videre, multa dissimulare, et pauca corrigere." (St Bernard) I think Pope John used to say that too: "See everything, turn a blind eye to much, correct a little."

I still keep a commonplace book, especially to help my poor memory when I want to add some flavor to a homily or what I'm writing.

When some unfortunate soul comes to clear out my belongings because I've gone either to nursing home or cemetery, he'll come upon this commonplace book and wonder, "What's this?"

He probably won't guess that it's a chronicle of the insights I picked up along life's journey, but if he does figure it out I hope he'll notice where the wisdom came from --from many people of various backgrounds, but all of whom gave a second thought to the meaning and humor of life.

Reading Between The Lines

I have often prayed, "God, don't make me read between the lines."

I prefer to know what God wants in some situations rather than have to try to figure it out. God, however, laughs. It seems the Divine One prefers faith to knowledge, and continues to drop hints rather than spell it out.

One of the ways I try to figure out God's suggestions is to look for a thread. If the same idea comes up in differing contexts and from a variety of sources I become suspicious, "Maybe God's trying to tell me something."

That's the way I came to admire Dorothy Day.

Over several months, in books I was reading, the name Dorothy Day kept coming up. I thought I detected a thread connecting me to her story so I bought her autobiography The Long Loneliness.

Her story led me to the film Entertaining Angels (Moira Kelly as Dorothy, with Martin Sheen and Brian Keith). Then came the publication of her diaries, The Duty of Delight.

It was this last book which especially caught my attention. I had to smile when I read the notations for May 5 and 6, 1944. Dorothy was visiting The Grail (a women's spirituality center) in Foster's, Ohio. She wrote about having to walk to Mass in the nearby church, St. John's.

"We crossed the high bridge," she said, " walked a half mile down the highway, turned down a side road and came back by another bridge and down the river to the church." She was describing the descent to the church of my baptism. It was my parent's parish, and there I was baptized April 9, 1944.

The coincidence of time and proximity struck me. I wonder if I could have attended Mass with Dorothy Day --even if I was but an infant.

As I thought about it, I remembered that one summer in my teenage years I was hired to cut the grass at the Grail Farm where Dorothy stayed. I have a vague recollection that there used to be a marker on the property commemorating her visit. (I went back to look for it a couple years ago, but the farm had been sold and the marker was nowhere to be found.)

Then, last month, while I was staying at St. Procopius Abbey in Lisle, Illinois, I saw a lithograph of Dorothy Day hanging in one of sitting areas of the Benedictine monastery. I took a photo of it. It was the first time I ever stayed in a monastery, and outside the door to my room is a picture of Dorothy Day!


Finally, last week, while reading Rosalie Riegle's book Dorothy Day: Portraits By Those Who Knew Her, I came across a new piece of information: "...Dorothy became a Benedictine oblate. She chose St. Procopius Abbey of Lisle, Illinois, because of its special work toward the reunion of Rome and the Eastern church."

Those experiences are what I mean by "a thread." And I ask myself, "Is God trying to tell me something? What am I to learn from Miss Day?"

God says several times in the Bible, "My ways are not your ways." In spite of my efforts to get God to change and do it my way, the Divine One insists on a heaven-inspired modus operandi in dealing with things (and people) on earth.

I'm sure I will continue to ask God not to ask me to read between the lines, especially in critical matters. And I'm equally sure that both Father and Son will continue to do things their way.

My hope is that the Spirit will be there to guide me, to help me enjoy the detective work, to assist me in the adventure of reading between the lines.

Standing In The Mystery

When you deal with God you deal with mystery. For this reason it's not suprising that there are differences in our perceptions, in our theologies, in our spiritualities.

The Bible opens with two variant perceptions. In Genesis 1 the author thinks of God as transcendent, above and beyond creation; a God who says, "Let it be," and it happens.

In Genesis 2 a different author thinks of God as immanent, with us, in the world, with human qualities. God reaches into the soil to form the body of man and then breathes into the body the breath of life.

Two stories of how God created human beings, two differing perceptions of God.

Similar variety exists in theologizing about how God saved the world. Some theologians emphasize the resurrection of Jesus as the moment of his glorification; others focus on Jesus' crucifixion and death.

The author of 1 Peter 1:3 says God gave us salvation "through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead." The author of John 3:14 says that salvation comes through Jesus' being "lifted up," an ambiguous term which in that context has the dual meaning of crucifixion and exaltation. He compares Jesus' crucifixion to Moses' creating a bronze serpent for the people to look at and be healed.

Which is the source or means of our salvation? In reality we would have to say both. The crucifixion and the resurrection are one act of love.

Because we are dealing with God, we are dealing with mystery, and successful dealing with mystery requires what is often called "non-dualistic thinking." Instead of black-and-white, either-or thinking, we are necessarily led to a lot of gray areas and both-and acceptance.

Those most advanced in the spiritual life, those experienced in contemplation and mysticism, come to acceptance of ambiguity and mystery.

Franciscan friar Richard Rohr proposes that Jesus was a non-dualistic thinker. In the beatitudes we see this kind of mindset: Blessed are the poor...those hungering for righteousness...the persecuted and the slandered.

Our immediate reaction to the idea that someone is blessed when he's persecuted or hungry or in pain is negative. It makes no sense --at first.

Wisdom often comes from standing in the question. The rush to judgment may stifle new insight and growth.

Of course we have to make judgments in many areas of our lives. Conscience must decide whether an act is right or wrong, and we cannot straddle the fence or fall into a relativism which fails to distinguish good from evil.

At the same time there are areas of our lives where living with the uncertainty and probing both sides are to our advantage.

There is tension in celebrating both Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Mature Christians embrace that tension, and allow this non-dual experience to color our thinking and living.

Being open to God's transcendence and immanence, to the Church's holiness and sinfulnes, to opinions liberal and conservative is no easy matter. Most of us want answers, and we want them now. The wait, the uncertainty, the poverty of non-resolution threaten our spiritual equilibrium and peace of mind.

But in truth we must be hesitant to resolve every issue with an immediate and often one-sided response.

To jump to a conclusion too quickly militates against one of the major beliefs of Christianity, namely that Jesus is both God and man, divine and human. After two thousand years we are still wrestling with the consequences of this revelation.

Christ's very being is an invitation to non-dualistic thinking. In the light of his both-and nature we must stand in the mystery.

We can exult in the "happy fault" which brought about Good Friday and at the same time sing with St. Augustine, "We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song."

Communion of Saints

Historians think that belief in the Communion of Saints slipped into the Apostles' Creed sometime between the 5th and 8th centuries. The Apostles' Creed was originally a statement of beliefs for instructing converts in the fourth century.

The meaning of the expression "communion of saints" has been disputed. Some think it originally meant "a sharing in holy things," such as participation in the faith and the sacraments. Others propose that the expression referred to "the fellowship of saints" (saints being the martyrs, the confessors, or perhaps all the baptized.) The most common interpretation today is the latter.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes the communion of saints as "the unity in Christ of all the redeemed, those on earth and those who have died."

In his book Catholicism Father Richard McBrien explains it in these terms: "The spiritual union of the whole community of believers in Christ, living and dead. Those on earth are called the Church Militant. Those in purgatory are the Church Suffering. Those in heaven are the Church Triumphant."

In other words, a person need not be canonized to be considered a part of this communion or fellowship; even the souls undergoing purgation are considered "saints." And believers still living on earth qualify too.

I saw artistic representations of this belief, this communion of saints, in two parish churches recently --the one was in St. Elizabeth Seton Church, Naperville, Illinois; the other was in St. John Church, West Chester, Ohio.

Artist and former teacher at the Chicago Academy of Fine Art Lilian Brulc created six murals on the rear walls of St. Elizabeth Seton Church in Naperville. In her depiction of the communion of saints Brulc chose 52 individual persons as examples of virtue worthy of imitation.

Some of her choices are to be expected: Elizabeth Seton, Mary, Joseph, Therese of Lisieux, John the Evangelist, Francis of Assisi. Others may come as a surprise: Isaiah the prophet, Fabiola, Raphael the Archangel, Joanna the wife of Herod's steward Chuza, Pier Giorgio, Gabrielle Bossis.

Some are canonized, others are not. Bossis, who died in 1950, was included because of her devotion to the Blessed Sacrament; Giorgio, who died in 1925, was known for his living out the Beatitudes, and his body remains incorrupt. They serve as examples that sanctity comes in many shapes and sizes, and all, whether officially recognized by canonization or not, can be worthy of the title "saint."

In St. John Church, West Chester, there are six extraordinary bas reliefs of Elizabeth Seton, Oscar Romero, Thea Bowman, Dr Tom Dooley, Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, and Dorothy Day.

A committee of parishioners, as a new parish church was being designed, chose these six as emblematic of the communion of saints, as models of Christian life in the modern world. Elizabeth Seton, wife, mother, widow, convert, foundress of the Sisters (Daughters) of Charity in the United States. Oscar Romero , advocate for social justice, the martyred bishop of El Salvador.

Thea Bowman, African-American, convert to Catholicism, religious Sister, witness to Gospel values in her teaching and her struggles with cancer. Dr Tom Dooley, US Navy medical officer, selflessly serving the huge refugee camps in war-torn Viet Nam.

Cardinal Bernardin, former Archbishop of Cincinnati, falsely accused, reflected Gospel values in clearing his name and enduring his fatal bout with cancer. Dorothy Day, social activist, pacifist, servant of the poor and broken through the Catholic Worker Movement.

Perfection eluded nearly all of those honored in the murals and the bas-reliefs, but each reflects the courage that comes from Christ when weak humanity opens itself to the power and presence of God.

In his book Becoming Who You Are Father James Martin, SJ, addresses the call to sainthood: "...whether we work in a corporate office in midtown Manhattan or as a housewife in a small house in Iowa. Whether we are caring for a sick child late at night or preparing a church dinner for hundreds of homeless men and women. Whether we are listening to a friend tell her problems over a cup of coffee or slogging late hours at work in order to help put our children through school...Whether we are rich or poor, young or old, straight or gay: all of us are called to our own brand of personal holiness."

As Thomas Merton put it, "For me to be a saint means for me to be myself."

The Communion of Saints inspires us to be who we are --in Christ.