The Beauty of God

Recently I attended a wedding in a grand old cathedral. Even without the lush flowers and glowing candles put in place for the wedding, the setting was magnificent. High arches, richly-colored marble floors and stunning stained glass windows were breathtakingly beautiful. The altar was huge, also of marble, and elaborately decorated with gold embellishments. Everywhere I looked there was beauty. The effect of all that beauty was to raise my thoughts and my heart to the Lord, Who is the source of all beauty. Later over dinner at the wedding reception, the conversation turned to the lavish Cathedral environment. Several people commented on the beauty of the place and how amazing it must be to worship in a space like that each week. One man, though, seemed almost angry at what he called “the huge waste of money” invested in marble and gold. He wasn’t Catholic, so he didn’t know what the tabernacle was for, and pointed out “that big gold box” near the altar and wondered “if they keep their money locked up in it.” I didn’t tell him that, indeed, our greatest Treasure was inside the tabernacle, since I knew he wasn’t open to hearing about the Eucharist just then. Most of the folks at the table laughed at his commentary and the conversation quickly moved on to other, lighter topics.

As Catholics, most of us have heard these kinds of comments before.  After all, some of the world’s grandest and most lushly-appointed Christian churches in the world belong to us (I won’t point out the golden, bejeweled temples of many of the world’s other religions).  I’ve talked with people who truly believe that the Chair of Peter in St. Peter’s basilica is really made of solid gold.  Actually, the visible chair, made of bronze and not gold, holds the relic of an oaken chair used by St. Peter.  Still, our Church is often criticized for what many people consider “hoarding” treasure of gold, art, and jewels rather than selling it to help the poor.  Facts are, most of the artwork is held in trust by the Church and not owned outright by it.  Each diocese around the world owns the buildings, etc. in it, not the Vatican anyway.  Aside from the legal facts, there’s a bigger issue involved here.

From the beginnings of the Church, believers have been called to make art as a way of giving glory to God.  In the Jewish tradition, temples and priestly vestments and utensils were made of precious materials as God instructed them to be ( 2 Chronicles).  God knows that the beauty of the world works on our human senses because He created beauty AND our senses.  We’re drawn to the beautiful because it reflects His beauty.  Over the centuries, the Church has given much of Her treasure (and continues to do so today) to help the poor in many ways.  No one can dispute that more people have been educated, given health care, housing and food by the Catholic Church than by any other charitable institution in the world. I think many people struggle with the Church’s wealth because they struggle with this in their own hearts and lives.

We remember the rich young man’s encounter with Jesus (Matthew 19:16-26) and the accusations of waste by the dinner guests when Mary anoints Christ with her costly perfume (John 12:1-8).  In both moments, Christ calls to us to love (and to give) without counting the cost.  Does He mean we should all give away everything we own?  Of course not.  Most of us have families to provide for and obligations to be met, so we need to balance our charity with our vocation in life.  Prudence is the key.  It’s okay to have “things” so long as your things don’t have you.  Giving to the Lord of our time, our talents, and our treasure, not only expresses gratitude to God for His gifts to us, but giving reminds us that the things of the world don’t own us.  God doesn’t need our money, but we need to give it away.

When we’re in love with Christ, we want to give Him everything.  And the BEST of everything.  So we build Him grand Cathedrals and we will them with the world’s most beautiful paintings and statues and mosaics and frescoes.  Our greatest composers dedicate their music to Him.  Like Mary, we give Him our best and we give it lavishly.  No price of silver or gold can ever match the price that God has paid for each one of us.  Heaven celebrates whenever one of us gives ourselves away to Him.  So go ahead, waste all you have, waste all that you are, on Jesus.  

“Take, O Lord, and receive my entire liberty, my memory, and understanding,and my whole will.  All that I am and all that I possess You have given me.  I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will.  Give me only Your love and Your grace; and with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more.”

—-St. Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits

Make A Resolution

No one’s going to save us, but us. The sooner that more of us understand this, the sooner we can begin to turn things around. We’ve got to realize that no government or president or king or pope can make it all okay for us. We can’t legislate our way out of all the problems we see around us. No presidential executive order is going to keep us from killing one another. Our Church leaders preach peace and love and mercy, but they can’t do it for us. We have to be the makers of peace and love and mercy. Us. No one else.

In the face of cultural chaos, some of us stockpile food and weapons. We expect some kind of holocaust and we want to be prepared for it when it comes. Others see our problems and place the blame for them on anyone who is not like them: the immigrant, the corporate giant, the minority or the majority, anyone who is different is seen as a threat. Some of us join gangs. Some of us join militia groups. Some of us drop out of society: we don’t vote, don’t go to church, don’t know our neighbors, don’t invest in anything outside our own immediate families. But most of us are somewhere in the middle. We obey the law, we work hard, we love our children—and when we look at the world we live in, we no longer recognize it.

The values and shared beliefs that were once the fabric of the country of our childhood seem to be gone. Family life is in shreds with absent fathers, broken homes, and widespread poverty. Our children face an economic future more tenuous and difficult than we can imagine. The rule of law seems to have eroded at every level of society. We fear the policemen that we used to run to for help. Our country, founded by immigrants, now looks for ways to lock our doors to keep immigrants out. Both in our country and in our neighborhoods, we’re battening down the hatches and pulling up the drawbridges. The fabric of our culture is unraveling, thread by thread—and we’re the ones with the scissors.

As a Catholic, my faith in Christ sustains me and gives me hope. But sustenance and hope are just the beginning of the Gospel. Jesus doesn’t call us to be sustained and hopeful in our bunkers. He calls us to follow Him. Our faith has to be lived out in the world and not just in our prayer rooms or it’s meaningless words. If we don’t transform our culture with the living faith of Christ, how can we call ourselves Christians? He went into the temple, into the streets, and into homes to engage people. He fed and healed.  He touched the lepers and comforted the sorrowful. The faith He shares with us is a living, breathing faith and not an intellectual exercise or a social commentary. He went to where the hurting people were and gave them love and mercy. And that’s what we have to do, too.

Christ didn’t die on the Cross and rise on Easter morning to save our civilization. He died and rose again to save our souls. Saving civilization is up to each one of us. We’re the salt and the light—or we’re supposed to be. We’re the ones called to share our cloaks, to walk the extra mile, to feed the hungry, and visit the sick and imprisoned. We have to throw open the doors of our hearts to the hurting and the marginalized. Catholics celebrated a “Holy Year of Mercy” in 2016. We heard it preached to us almost every Sunday and many of us engaged in missions and programs of evangelization and welcome. Many more of us heard it preached to us and then did nothing more. The mercy that God offers us has to be shared with others. It can’t be a gift that we receive but don’t pass on.

Sometimes we Christians are good at making a point — but not so good at making a difference.   It’s time we put our faith in action. That’s our purpose: to serve Christ by being Christ to others. This is how our culture can be brought back from the wilderness we’re now in. We have to live our lives for the One Who ransomed them from death, knowing that we “can do all things through Christ Who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13).

“Lord, teach me to be generous.

Teach me to serve You as You deserve;

to give and not to count the cost,

to fight and not to heed the wounds,

to toil and not to seek for rest,

to labor and not to ask for reward,

save that by knowing that I do Your will.”

—–St. Ignatius Loyola

You’re Never Truly Lost

One Christmas when I was very small my parents told us that we were going to spend the holiday with our grandparents. This was a new and exciting thing for me. We always spent a few weeks in the summer with them in Texas, but we’d never been there for Christmas. I began to imagine how fun this was going to be! I’d get to see all my Texas aunts and uncles and to play with my cousins. And, of course, spending time with my grandparents was a great treat. Since we rarely got to see them, they completely indulged us with treats and attention. The more I thought about it, the more excited I became about our trip.  

But, wait a minute. Just hold on a minute here. If I was in Texas instead of Georgia, how would Santa Claus ever find me? How would he know to bring all the toys I’d asked for to my grandparents’ house? Sixty years later, I fully remember the horror and the panic of that moment. My mother assured me that Santa would find me and that I shouldn’t worry about it. She could usually put any of my fears to rest, but this time, I just wasn’t sure she knew what she was talking about. I kept on worrying about it. I fretted on the car trip out there and for the days leading up to Christmas morning. All the fun I’d anticipated having on this special trip was tainted by that nagging voice in my head: “Will Santa find me? Will he still bring me my toys?” Of course he did find me and he brought me all I’d asked for and more. I’d like to say that I realized Christmas wasn’t about getting toys from Santa, and that I’d ruined the time with my Texas family because of my greedy little heart. But I was only six years old and at the time all I cared about was presents.  

I’d like to say also that I never again allowed myself to be distracted from the real meaning of Christmas—but that wouldn’t be true either. I found it easy, and even great fun, to be caught up in the materialism of a worldly Christmas. It was too many useless gifts, too many frantic activities, and too much exhaustion at the end of the day. It was only when I’d begun to reclaim Advent in my life that Christmas became more spiritual and much less material. I don’t know why I resisted the Church’s teaching on Advent for so long. I wanted to put the Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving and shop until I dropped at every spare moment. I didn’t want to waste a festive minute on prayer or reflection, much less on fasting or charitable works. I wanted to rush right into Christmas and then be completely worn out and a little depressed on December 26.  

These days, I’ve learned to savor every moment leading up to His birth. I re-read favorite devotions and Scripture. I spend time in Advent, rather than just money. And I’ve recognized that Christmas BEGINS on December 25 and lasts those famous “12 Days” until January 6 and the Feast of the Epiphany when we celebrate the coming of the Wise Men. I hope you and your family embrace the season of Advent and, as it draws to a close, that you’re prepared to welcome the Christ Child into your heart. I hope you take the time for prayer and reflection and make the most of moments shared with your family and friends. And remember what my mother told me on that Christmas in Texas: Don’t worry. He’ll always find you.

“Who among us will celebrate Christmas correctly? Whoever finally lays down all power, reputation, honor, vanity, and arrogance beside the manger. Whoever remains lowly and lets God alone be high.”

—–Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The Waiting Time

Dark comes early on these December days leading up to Christmas. The cold begins to settle in my bones. When the sun sets the little daytime creatures in the woods retreat to their nests and burrows. In the hours to follow, the liquid dark will fill in every hollow as the frost of almost-winter coats the fallen leaves and the bare branches. The quiet is a different kind of silent night in the woods this time of year. Like the chill of the air, this quiet is a solid thing, with a weight and substance of its own. It’s as if the earth itself is whispering, “Slow down. Wait. Be still.” The world is holding its breath. In a couple of weeks, on the solstice, the earth will begin to journey to the light and warmth once again. But right now, these are the dark days of waiting and longing in the cold quiet of long and frosty nights.  

It’s no wonder that the Church celebrates the birth of Jesus in the winter. Life is at its most hidden in the winter. Days are short and the weak light of the sun gives little warmth. We stay bundled inside our own little burrows, hidden and safe. We can imagine, if we try, the Virgin Mary with the Word of God growing quietly inside of her. She moves more slowly now, and with more deliberation. She spends more of her time thinking of her Son and His coming into the world. The darkness of the world is soon to be illumined by His great Light. Everything she does is affected by His presence within her. She waits. She prays. She hopes for His birth as any mother hopes for the coming of their baby. Yet the Virgin also knows Who her Son is and knows as well the road He must travel. The bloom of God within her will one day pierce her immaculate heart.  

There exists a delicate balance in these Advent days. A balance between light and dark, life and death, action and reflection. Above all, it is a time of learning to be patient. We wait to hear His voice. We stop focusing on the busyness of the world to reflect on eternal things. We prepare the manger of our hearts to receive our Savior. We put aside our wants so that we can meet the needs of the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the outsiders in our community. Every Advent is another opportunity to be light in the darkness. We waste this time of patient preparation if we allow ourselves to be caught up in the world’s push to purchase and display and out-do. We can’t be merciful if we’re in a competition. Mercy thrives in humility and service. And patience.  

In the cold dark nights of winter, a great Light is coming. Our waiting is a gift to the Light. As we learn to conform our will to His will, we love more, we forgive more. We know that love is kind, but it is, first of all, patient (I Corinthians 13:7). We wait. We prepare through our repentance and our almsgiving. We share our abundance with those who have less. Patient love endures in hard times. It grows in the heart that turns to the Light despite the coldness of a world that despises her King. Winter roots hold life and the promise of the coming spring. In the dark and cold, they grow strong and sturdy. And when the Light returns, they’re ready. They send forth new life. This is our calling—to prepare ourselves for the Light that is coming. Alleluia.  

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits and in His word, I hope…”

—–Psalm 130:5

It’s Personal

During this season of Advent, we’re called to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ, both at Christmas and at the end of time.  We should examine our lives and ask ourselves—“Am I ready for Him?”

 Many of us will go to confession and many parishes will offer Advent penance services to make this more convenient for us at such a busy time of year.  Advent is always a hopeful season because our hope is in Christ, Who never disappoints.  We wait and we watch for Him and we remember and celebrate the great gift of His Incarnation.  God chose to leave His heavenly throne to be born as one of us, to live and to live, to work and to suffer as one of us.  He came to save us from our sins and to die in our place so that we can know heaven for all eternity.

This is all true, of course.  But until you allow Christ to transform these facts into a deep and true relationship with Him your life is incomplete and unredeemed.  You may have a religion, but not a living faith.  There’s a time in all our lives when we have to know in our hearts:  Christ died for ME.  No theory or historical review will work.  Christ suffered and died on the cross for me.  For my sins.  And no sinner deserved that less than me.  You hear Him say to you:  “I love you so much t I want nothing more than to suffer and die for you, to set you free, to give you full life.”  I think our Evangelical brothers and sisters get this right, and we can learn from them.  Before Jesus, there was an abyss between man and God, larger, wider, darker and deeper than the depths of the sea.  No amount of our own efforts could span it.  No matter how many burnt offering we sacrificed, it remained.  Steadfast.  Immense.  Heartbreaking.  We longed for the Light, yet we stumbled on in the darkness of our sins.  Only a baby born in a stable could reach from heaven and into our hearts.

God could have saved us in another way.  It didn’t have to involve the cruel death of His only Son.  But God always heals us personally, never at a distance, and never without involving us in the healing.  Think of all the miraculous healings that Jesus accomplished.  All the times He spoke with the afflicted person, touched them, comforted them and asked them what they wanted Him to do for them.  It’s just the same with you and with me.  He wants to know us, to know who we are and we need.  Of course, He already knows, but His heart’s desire is to be in a relationship with us.  He’s asking you, “What do you want Me to do for you?”  We have to play an active part in building the Kingdom of God, first in our hearts and lives, and also in the world.

Life is short.  Eternity isn’t.  We only get one chance to get it right.  You can’t go through life as a spectator of your own redemption.  You have to be an active player and the context of our redemptive work in in His Church.  He never meant for us to work out this life (or the next one) on our own.  He gave us a Church and through this Church, His holy Scripture (Matthew 16:18).  The story of Scripture is God’s unfolding love for us.  Christmas is the promise of that love made known to us in the flesh.  Jesus loved you as He lay in Bethlehem’s manger, surrounded by the warmth and smell of the animals.  He loved you as He taught in His Father’s house, as Mary and Joseph searched for Him.  He loved you for thirty years as He worked with Joseph in Nazareth and grew to manhood in Mary’s holy and loving home.  He loved you when the devil tempted Him in the desert, and when His cousin John baptized Him in the river.  As He called each of His disciples to follow Him, He called you to do the same.  Every time He healed a leper, forgave a sinner, or made a blind man see, He was healing and forgiving you, too.  That night in the Garden, while you and the others were sleeping, He felt the weight of your sins crushing Him, and He loved you more.  When they led Him away in the chains of your slavery to sin, He was thinking of you and loving you.  Every blow of the whip on His scourged back cried out, “Love! Love!,” as He bore the pain that you and I deserved.  Jesus created the shrub that grew the thorns that tore His scalp when the soldiers (that He created and loved and died for) crowned Him.  He caused the seed to grow into the tree that made the wood of His Cross.  He created the ore that made the iron for the nails and the spear that pierced His side.  As He hung there, pouring out His life for you and me, He held those nails and that wood in existence as they pierced His Body and drained away His human life.  His eternal joy was in giving Himself away for you, so that you could be saved.

Salvation isn’t a theory or a study course.  Salvation is a Person—Jesus, the Christ.  During this season of Advent, consider if your relationship with Him is the center of your life.  If it isn’t, this is the time to make it so.  Today is the day to make yourself ready for His coming.  There’s a beautiful message in every Mass where we affirm that we are waiting for God “in joyful hope.”  That’s what Advent is:  a time of joyful hope.  Don’t waste this opportunity to say “yes” to the love of Christ.  Not a theory.  Not an idea—but the love of the Person Who made you and Who died for your sins, in your place.  Make no mistake:  it’s personal.

“What good does it do me if Christ was born in Bethlehem once if He is not born again in my heart through faith?”

—-Origen (184 – 253 A.D.)