JMJ. Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen once said, "the truth is still the truth even if nobody believes it; a lie is still a lie even if everybody believes it." (Forgive me, but I'm quoting from memory in case one or two words are wrong.) Arguably the greatest evangelist of the 20th century, he had a way of imparting things that stick with one forever. And he stated things in terms that folks of all walks of life could understand and grasp. During his prime in radio and television, everyone knew Archbishop Sheen, regardless of his or her religion.
Anyway, I had no sooner read those words than I thought of the myriad times I've heard (and I'm sure you have, too) someone say that they don't believe this or that aspect of the Catholic Christian faith. Shoot, I've even heard a lot of Catholics say it, it's that prevalent. D'you want an example? Ok. Many fundamentalist Protestants put a lot of emphasis on being "born again" or having "a personal relationship with Jesus." There's nothing bad about this; in fact it's salutary. Let's say the topic of confession comes up. What's the response on their part? "I don't believe a human being can forgive sins. Only God can do that--that's why I go straight to Jesus."
In striving to know Jesus intimately, the Protestant is, in fact, running away from Him and His Word. Remember when He said to the apostles after His resurrection, "Whose sins you forgive are forgiven; whose sins you hold bound are held bound. Couldn't get any plainer than that. Now before you object, sure, you can pray directly to Jesus--explain your sin and talk to Him about it. He'll give you whatever help you need. But you still need to go to a priest to be shriven and it's into Jesus' ear you're really whispering. And it's He that actually does the absolving since the priest is in loco Christi.
You get the idea. There are as many examples as there are stories in the Naked City. Jesus said, "I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life." There is only one truth and He died on a cross for our sins. To deny Him and His truth is like running away from a sticky situation. We may not understand Him but but we can't claim we're trying to draw closer to Him by turning our backs on the only Truth that really exists.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
"The Priest"
JMJ. I was watching the celebrant at Mass this morning and marvelled at how little like an alien he looked; remarkable, really, that he looked so much like me--and as a consequence of that alienness of his how deserving he is of our sympathy, prayers, our gratitude and loyalty.
Consider that each man voluntarily undertakes a journey of many years' duration. He leaves family and friends and sets out to follow in blind faith the commanding call of One whom he can neither see nor hear but Who exists as surely as do the seasons. And with each year the path he follows leads him further and further away from the familiar. With each step he severs one more of the ties that bound him to the world.
It's a journey fraught with danger and glory and sorrow and tears and laughter and a larger communion with our God Who alone can supply the strength and sustenance necessary for so arduous a trek. And when this man's time is fulfilled he prostrates himself before the throne of our King and His viceroy utters the words that will sever the last earthly tie and mark him forever as an alien set apart from the rest of humanity.
He has been tried in the furnace of God's love and majesty as few others have been. He can stand before the altar of the Lord and bring forth the eternal Creator from mere food and drink by the power of his words and the working of the Holy Ghost! He can take my sins and cast them far from me and can restore me to the sight of the God I have offended and feed a part of my humanity that some insist does not exist. Acting in persona Christi he will know many sleepless nights, the Evil One will target him with his darkest works, and he will never know the comfort of a wife and children of his own.
That was the being who evoked my awe this morning and I will aspire never to fail to express my gratitude to him and his brother priests for the sacrifices that they make for me. I am their spiritual child and I glory in calling them "Father."
Consider that each man voluntarily undertakes a journey of many years' duration. He leaves family and friends and sets out to follow in blind faith the commanding call of One whom he can neither see nor hear but Who exists as surely as do the seasons. And with each year the path he follows leads him further and further away from the familiar. With each step he severs one more of the ties that bound him to the world.
It's a journey fraught with danger and glory and sorrow and tears and laughter and a larger communion with our God Who alone can supply the strength and sustenance necessary for so arduous a trek. And when this man's time is fulfilled he prostrates himself before the throne of our King and His viceroy utters the words that will sever the last earthly tie and mark him forever as an alien set apart from the rest of humanity.
He has been tried in the furnace of God's love and majesty as few others have been. He can stand before the altar of the Lord and bring forth the eternal Creator from mere food and drink by the power of his words and the working of the Holy Ghost! He can take my sins and cast them far from me and can restore me to the sight of the God I have offended and feed a part of my humanity that some insist does not exist. Acting in persona Christi he will know many sleepless nights, the Evil One will target him with his darkest works, and he will never know the comfort of a wife and children of his own.
That was the being who evoked my awe this morning and I will aspire never to fail to express my gratitude to him and his brother priests for the sacrifices that they make for me. I am their spiritual child and I glory in calling them "Father."
Friday, January 13, 2012
"Ferrets"
JMJ. I'm glad that this blog is my own, to do with as I please. It is of no interest to anyone, with the possible exception of my friend, Bonnie. We (my wife, Linda, and I) put our dear Casper to sleep on Christmas day. He'd been ailing for some time and we knew that he would be leaving us soon. It was our privilege and our duty to help him to the Rainbow Bridge even though it was such a wrench in our hearts to do so.
I had taken another one of our boys, Kermit, in to see the vet today and met a lady and her daughter whose ferret, Daisy, had just been diagnosed with diabetes and maybe was in imminent danger of dying. The daughter was sad but her mother was just barely hanging on although she put a brave front on it. I could tell that she was distraught and asked what was going on. She told me of the diagnosis and said, "I can't get another one. I can't lose them so quickly. She's only 6!"
I knew exactly how she felt. No matter the age, the loss of a loved one is a terrible tragedy whether furry with four feet or furless with two. What matters is the love that they bring to our lives and into our hearts. Any loss hurts but how sterile our lives would be without those pesky intrusions that mean so much to us, regardless of how long they last. Our loves, furry or hairless, define us and make us more than we could have ever been without them.
I had taken another one of our boys, Kermit, in to see the vet today and met a lady and her daughter whose ferret, Daisy, had just been diagnosed with diabetes and maybe was in imminent danger of dying. The daughter was sad but her mother was just barely hanging on although she put a brave front on it. I could tell that she was distraught and asked what was going on. She told me of the diagnosis and said, "I can't get another one. I can't lose them so quickly. She's only 6!"
I knew exactly how she felt. No matter the age, the loss of a loved one is a terrible tragedy whether furry with four feet or furless with two. What matters is the love that they bring to our lives and into our hearts. Any loss hurts but how sterile our lives would be without those pesky intrusions that mean so much to us, regardless of how long they last. Our loves, furry or hairless, define us and make us more than we could have ever been without them.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
"My Conscience"
JMJ. God gives each of us a conscience. Pinocchio's conscience was named Jiminy Cricket. Mine, at least as far as this blog goes, is a silver-blonde pixie with a pony tail named Bonnie. My internal conscience frequently reminds me that I've been overly lazy and haven't up-dated this site in some time but we've worked together for so long that it doesn't mind if I don't act on his nudges for some time. Bonnie's not so easy to ignore. She'll fix me with a gimlet look and tell me how much she liked my last entry. With the emphasis on last.
Well, about a month ago she sent me a short e-mail containing the question, "What if all you had today was what you thanked God for yesterday?" I've never been hit before physically but I can imagine that it feels a lot like this did. An amazing epiphany of a sort. Do you remember Christ healing the ten blind men? Only one returned to say "thank you." I like to think that I'm a grateful guy, especially where God is concerned. I say grace before each meal and before I go to sleep at night.
But this question forces us to take a step back, inspect our lives, and really think about all that God has done in our lives. Because if we truly appreciate all He does for us then it behooves us to focus on His every blessing. When we do, our whole world expands and we look on life with new eyes, grateful eyes. Bonnie, thanks for all you do for me. Amen.
Well, about a month ago she sent me a short e-mail containing the question, "What if all you had today was what you thanked God for yesterday?" I've never been hit before physically but I can imagine that it feels a lot like this did. An amazing epiphany of a sort. Do you remember Christ healing the ten blind men? Only one returned to say "thank you." I like to think that I'm a grateful guy, especially where God is concerned. I say grace before each meal and before I go to sleep at night.
But this question forces us to take a step back, inspect our lives, and really think about all that God has done in our lives. Because if we truly appreciate all He does for us then it behooves us to focus on His every blessing. When we do, our whole world expands and we look on life with new eyes, grateful eyes. Bonnie, thanks for all you do for me. Amen.
Friday, December 16, 2011
"Sanctuary"
JMJ. Forty-two years ago I was serving in our Navy, which like the rest of the country was embroiled in a little fracas in southeast Asia. The name of my ship was the USS Sanctuary, a hospital ship ported in Da Nang. We'd sail out every three days or so and steam up and down the coast, waiting to bring helos aboard with wounded soldiers and Marines. For the wounded, bleeding, and dying she was a safe haven, a true sanctuary from the horrors of combat.
We still need sanctuary. There is a war a-waging around us more frightful that that of Iraq or Afghanistan, Viet Nam, or Korea. It is a war of good vs. evil and it's being fought by men and women who look just like you and me both in the cities and countryside and on an invisible plane where the cheer-leaders are angels and demons.
But in war, unlike children's games, there are precious few places of safety, few places to rest away from the conflict unseen around us. Except Church, of course. Within the tabernacle of a Catholic Church or chapel the Prince of Peace waits patiently to refresh our lagging bodies and spirits. In a smaller way, Tilma, too, is a place of sactuary. For a short time one can leave behind the cares of life and the toil of battling the ungodly. For a short time the cares of battle are held at bay.
(Added 12.29.11 at a friend's request) During the Viet Nam war each serviceman was allowed a round-trip flight to the destination of our church (from a short list of choices.) The idea was to allow one a respite from the daily stress of life in a warzone. Like all good ideas it worked better for some than for others. Tilma is like that R&R. It's a short relief from the daily battle against the culture of death. One can clear away the mental cobwebs, sweep the decks, and return to the battle with renewed vigour. For us, the war is on-going.
And that's ok. For each of us the war's end will come soon enough and we will lay down our arms at the feet of the Divine Peacemaker forever. Amen.
We still need sanctuary. There is a war a-waging around us more frightful that that of Iraq or Afghanistan, Viet Nam, or Korea. It is a war of good vs. evil and it's being fought by men and women who look just like you and me both in the cities and countryside and on an invisible plane where the cheer-leaders are angels and demons.
But in war, unlike children's games, there are precious few places of safety, few places to rest away from the conflict unseen around us. Except Church, of course. Within the tabernacle of a Catholic Church or chapel the Prince of Peace waits patiently to refresh our lagging bodies and spirits. In a smaller way, Tilma, too, is a place of sactuary. For a short time one can leave behind the cares of life and the toil of battling the ungodly. For a short time the cares of battle are held at bay.
(Added 12.29.11 at a friend's request) During the Viet Nam war each serviceman was allowed a round-trip flight to the destination of our church (from a short list of choices.) The idea was to allow one a respite from the daily stress of life in a warzone. Like all good ideas it worked better for some than for others. Tilma is like that R&R. It's a short relief from the daily battle against the culture of death. One can clear away the mental cobwebs, sweep the decks, and return to the battle with renewed vigour. For us, the war is on-going.
And that's ok. For each of us the war's end will come soon enough and we will lay down our arms at the feet of the Divine Peacemaker forever. Amen.
"Lot's Wife"
JMJ. I've been meaning to write this entry for some time and I find that I can't put off my procrastination any longer. One of my favourite activities is mulling over the mystery of the mercy of God. Mankind's entire history is one long example of His mercy to us, starting with the disobedience of Adam and Eve and ending with the continual misdeeds of yours truly. We just can't stop messing up. Bigtime.
Ok, I admit that I'm human. [Gasp!] I sin, confess, and am forgiven. I sin, I confess, I'm absolved. An un-ending litany of mea culpas. I don't mean to keep messing up. In fact, I'd far rather not. I guess I'm just naturally paranoid which is why I keep thinking about the subject. After all, Peter asked Jesus in the Bible how many times we are to forgive and He answers seventy times seven. Shoot, Lot's wife looked back wistfully once and ended up as a pillar of salt!
I firmly believe that to show our love of God we need to obey Him to the best of our abilities. I truly do. But my life before Jesus was fun in a very decadent way. And it felt good. That's how Satan tricks us into putting our souls in jeopardy--he makes sin so darned attractive. Now on the one hand I so want to show my love for Christ and on the other I can't help but look back over my shoulder at what I've left behind. I made the right decision twelve years ago and there are no regrets--just memories of what I was before.
That, and a tremendous gratitude to God that He is as merciful as He is or I'd have been a pillar of salt a long, long time ago.
Ok, I admit that I'm human. [Gasp!] I sin, confess, and am forgiven. I sin, I confess, I'm absolved. An un-ending litany of mea culpas. I don't mean to keep messing up. In fact, I'd far rather not. I guess I'm just naturally paranoid which is why I keep thinking about the subject. After all, Peter asked Jesus in the Bible how many times we are to forgive and He answers seventy times seven. Shoot, Lot's wife looked back wistfully once and ended up as a pillar of salt!
I firmly believe that to show our love of God we need to obey Him to the best of our abilities. I truly do. But my life before Jesus was fun in a very decadent way. And it felt good. That's how Satan tricks us into putting our souls in jeopardy--he makes sin so darned attractive. Now on the one hand I so want to show my love for Christ and on the other I can't help but look back over my shoulder at what I've left behind. I made the right decision twelve years ago and there are no regrets--just memories of what I was before.
That, and a tremendous gratitude to God that He is as merciful as He is or I'd have been a pillar of salt a long, long time ago.
Monday, November 28, 2011
"Mea Culpa"
JMJ. Well, Advent has begun, and with it the new Roman Missal is now in use. And, as is usually par for the course, it's got the folks in the pews up in arms. (Those who don't normally come to Mass are totally clueless. They'll come to church for Christmas and when they haven't the faintest idea why everyone else is saying something entirely different they'll blame the Pastor for not telling them ahead of time. Go figure.)
Why the change? Well, it all goes back to Vatican II. It was Rome's intent to make the Mass more understandable to the people and in this she succeeded. In her haste to effect these changes, though, the translations from the Latin to the vernacular, specifically English, were less than precise shall we say. Not wrong, mind you, just imprecise. Finally, after forty-some odd years, the Church decided that this looseness had to be snugged up.
Now you might ask what the big deal is anyway. The big deal is that imprecision can lead to misunderstandings in doctrine. And that IS a big deal. Looseness in a recipe results in less than satisfactory food; laxness in doctrine might be enough to send someone down a wrong theological path. When salvation is on the line I'll re-learn some new words. For all the whining and complaining we will look back on these changes, scratch our collective heads, and wonder what the hu-hu was all about.
[To my one faithful reader--that I'm aware of anyway-- I say mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa for the huge hiatus between postings. Chalk it up to laziness, dear lady. I promise to try to do better.]
Why the change? Well, it all goes back to Vatican II. It was Rome's intent to make the Mass more understandable to the people and in this she succeeded. In her haste to effect these changes, though, the translations from the Latin to the vernacular, specifically English, were less than precise shall we say. Not wrong, mind you, just imprecise. Finally, after forty-some odd years, the Church decided that this looseness had to be snugged up.
Now you might ask what the big deal is anyway. The big deal is that imprecision can lead to misunderstandings in doctrine. And that IS a big deal. Looseness in a recipe results in less than satisfactory food; laxness in doctrine might be enough to send someone down a wrong theological path. When salvation is on the line I'll re-learn some new words. For all the whining and complaining we will look back on these changes, scratch our collective heads, and wonder what the hu-hu was all about.
[To my one faithful reader--that I'm aware of anyway-- I say mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa for the huge hiatus between postings. Chalk it up to laziness, dear lady. I promise to try to do better.]
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