This post is very... oh, what's the word...

A few weeks ago, I realized why I haven't finished my next blog post yet.  (Yes, it really has been over six months since I started writing it.)

It's the same reason why I take days to write a three-page philosophy paper for class.

It's the same reason why, as I have gotten older, my speech has become more halting, filled with parenthetical comments that threaten to sidetrack me from finishing the sentence I began.  My friends probably know what I'm talking about here.

It's the same reason that popular writers like Richard Dawkins or most political commentators can write so many words with so little value.

Nuance.

Lack of nuance is very easy to have.  It also tends to reveal a lack of intellectual discipline.

The use of nuance is a striving against, and an implicit admission of, the insufficency of the human mind to grasp the depth of reality, and of language to express it.  It's almost a kind of wisdom, of humility, and even of courage.

It seems that the more we are able to see into reality, the harder it is for us to talk about it.

After his mystical experience or vision toward the end of his life, the great philosopher Thomas Aquinas said that what he had written was like so much straw, compared to the reality of those things he had written about--and this was a man who was the master of nuance.  It makes one wonder how much we are missing, in every conversation, discussion, and argument, in every phone call and facebook post and blog post...  I suspect we're leaving out a lot.

Perhaps to recognize that, can itself be a kind of humility, a kind of wisdom.  Perhaps to keep talking and writing anyway, can itself be a kind of courage.

And perhaps ending this blog post is itself an act of mercy.

Evil Communications Corrupt Good Manners

The thought came to my relief that the gentleman might be what is popularly called a Rapper: one of a sect for (some of) whom I have the highest respect, but whom I don't believe in.
...
"The conferences of the night began," continued the gentleman, turning several leaves of his note-book, "with this message: 'Evil communications corrupt good manners.'"
"Sound," said I, "but, absolutely new?"
"New from spirits," returned the gentleman.
- Charles Dickens, "The Haunted House" (1859)

The above quote is almost entirely unrelated to today's blog post.  Forgive me.

We all know that "bad company corrupts good morals," right?

We also know that Jesus lived his life as an example for us to follow, right?

Then what in the world did Jesus mean by eating and drinking with tax collectors, prostitutes and other public sinners?! 

Does He want us all to lose our morals?  Doesn't He, of all people, realize we're fallen beings with concupiscence, weak in the face of peer pressure and temptation?

Yet Jesus also said, regarding one who gives scandal, "It would be better for him if a millstone were hung round his neck and he were cast into the sea, than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin" (Luke 17:2, also Matthew and Mark).

Something's gotta give.

It seems that Jesus, in dining with public sinners, was only offending (not technically "scandalizing" or leading into sin) the self-righteous scribes and Pharisees.  If only they had loosened up a bit, they could have enjoyed some pretty awesome parties with Jesus.

My question is this: to what degree should we associate with those whose moral standards are lower than ours, and to what degree should we avoid them?  When does it become no longer a case of building a relationship as a foundation for evangelization, and instead become a dangerous association to be avoided?

If you're in the workforce, it is likely that you are required to work with someone who has relatively low moral standards.  Yet for the sake of your work environment, or even just to be able to work together, you have to make some effort to be on friendly terms with your coworker.  So when does friendliness becomes dangerous, either in its likelihood to scandalize others by allowing them to class you with those of lax morals, or in its likelihood to laxen your own morals?

I'm not going to presume to lay out any groundrules for interactions with "immoral people," concerning how familiar we can safely be with them, or how distant we must be.  I think that would be a good topic for discussion.  What I can offer is one very practical suggestion, a very small part of the answer--but hopefully a useful one.

When I talked this problem over with a friend of mine, he unwittingly inspired me with this idea.  If we're going to talk about following Jesus' example in being friendly with sinners, then let's take a practical tip from Jesus, shall we?  Jesus didn't see a problem with eating with public sinners, so maybe we could start by going to lunch with these coworkers.  It's not like you're joining their family or anything, but yet it's a great opportunity for evangelization and just for getting to know them better.  For what better facilitator of conversation, than food and drink?  And what better way to get to know someone, than through conversation?

As for finding a complete answer to my main question on the parameters of friendships with those of different moral standards: let's have some conversation of our own below, shall we?

And when you're at lunch with your atheist coworker, just remember, actions speak louder than words... so mind your manners.  Or do I mean morals?

A Post about Patmos...and Divine Mercy

I meant to post this earlier, but I had to help my sister this evening with her term paper, so I didn't get the chance to write this until now.  But God's divine mercy is always in season.

To all you Catholics: I hope you were paying attention during the first reading at Mass this morning, the Second Sunday of Easter, a.k.a. Divine Mercy Sunday.  Why?  Because it was about John on Patmos!  Hence today's Patmos post, if I may be Captain Obvious for a moment.  The reading began thus:

I John, your brother, who share with you in Jesus the tribulation and the kingdom and the patient endurance, was on the island called Patmos on account of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus.  I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, "Write what you see in a book..." (RSV-CE2; the translation used at Mass says "scroll")

Also, it's the inspired word of God, which seems to me reason enough to pay attention.  (It's okay, I might have been distracted too, if I hadn't been the lector assigned to read it aloud before priest, people, and Almighty God.)

But even if you were paying attention, the whole point of this post probably wouldn't have occurred to you.  You see, the reading was taken from "Rev 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19", which makes you wonder what's so bad about 11b that it had to be taken out... or 14-16 for that matter.  Upon reading the entirety of Rev 1 today, I was blessed with a reflection on Divine Mercy that seemed too beautiful to keep to myself.

It appears that verse 11b wasn't such a loss, for purposes of liturgy... "Write on a scroll what you see," 11a, is followed by "and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira..." et cetera. (By this time the lector is completely tongue-tied and unable to finish the reading.)  Okay.

The greater loss is verses 14-16, which further describe the "one like a Son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest" from verse 13.  If you open your RSV-CE2 Bible, you will see that the description continues:

His head and his hair were white as white wool, white as snow; his eyes were like a flame of fire, his feet were like burnished bronze, refined as in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of many waters; in his right hand he held seven stars, from his mouth issued a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength.

We have a greater than Saruman here.

The reading continues with verses 17-18:

When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead.  But he laid his right hand upon me, saying, "Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive evermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.

My friends, the omitted description makes all the difference for our Divine Mercy Sunday liturgy.  No, it's not because Mass will take thirty seconds longer (if your lector is particularly slow).  It's because the picture is so much more vivid... and it makes so much more sense.  What I mean is this: as we heard it, John hears a loud voice, turns around and sees one like a Son of man standing amidst lampstands and wearing a long robe with a gold sash.  Next thing you know, John falls like a corpse to the floor!  Is John a former slave, that he stands in such awe and fear of men wearing gold sashes? (Cue: Dan Brown-esque backstory, based on a recently-discovered long-lost manuscript fragment of the Acts of John, believed to be written by Mary Magdelene)

With the omitted verses, however, the reading makes much more sense.  The Son of man has "eyes like a flame of fire... his voice was like the sound of many waters... from his mouth issued a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength."  Yeah, I'd fall flat on my face too.

But aside from being more vivid and making more sense when the omitted verses are included, this reading presents an even stronger image of divine mercy--more fitting, considering today's feast.  The Son of man in His glory is an overwhelming, awe-inspiring sight.  Any rejection of Him through sin is an unspeakable offense against His infinite goodness, against the perfect justice of His eternal law.  Yet when John falls at His feet, He says: Fear not.  Do not be afraid.  I AM the living One; I have conquered death for you, out of My infinite mercy, and there is nothing left to fear for those who follow Me.

And when we fall, we too can trust that in our repentance He will lay His right hand upon us and say, "Do not be afraid."  Praised be His Divine Mercy forever.  Amen.

High School Drama. No, Really.

Friends,

It has been well over a month since my last post.  Among the many reasons for this, I wish to point out the obvious problem of not having something to say; sometimes the inspiration just isn't there, often for weeks.  Then suddenly tonight I found I had something on my heart that demanded to be shared with my friends... only, I wasn't sure what it was.

What I mean to say is: I'm not sure what I mean to say.

A few hours ago I attended a high school drama.  No, not prom.  I mean an actual drama, or rather a comedy: a Broadway show put on by a local Catholic high school.  I went in with rather low expectations, but was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed it and how good the production was, for a high school.  It was a good evening.  I attended with several friends, whose company was enjoyable as always, and my expectations for the show itself were exceeded.

That's why, upon leaving the parking lot, I was surprised to notice that I was experiencing a very strong feeling of sadness or melancholy.  I think there were multiple unrelated causes for this feeling, but my efforts to figure them out were largely unsuccessful.  It was very strong, however, so I stopped by the adoration chapel on my way home, in search of a little peace and clarity.  (So you're not the first ones I'm sharing this with.)

"Why do I feel so... meLANcholy?"

The two causes that first came to mind were: 1) nostalgia, and 2) the situation of teens in high school today.  Mostly the latter.

Nostalgia, because I have been involved in musicals before, usually on the musical end of things as the pianist and musical coordinator.  I know the blood, sweat and tears that go into a musical production, and the giddy thrill of accomplishment.  Tonight, I saw that all again, but as an outsider.

The second cause of my sadness, more powerful than nostalgia, was what I can only describe as a renewed realization of the situation of high school teens today.

I'm still a bit confused, and I'm extremely tired, so I'll be brief.  Just from being on a high school campus and seeing the cast members and their peers who attended the show, I felt a new realization that every single high school student is unique and different.  I also got to see how that uniqueness and diversity oftentimes gets covered over with two coats of mainstream.

I felt a renewed sadness for the state of teenagers in general, with all their emotions and stress, family problems and confusing influences, surrounded by noise and pressure and obnoxious peers.

Combined with that was a slight feeling of helplessness, like there was nothing I could do for them.

And all that contributed to about 45% of my sadness.  The reasons for the other 55%, though still partially unclear to me, are irrelevant here.

I'm sorry I don't have any deep thoughts about--or solutions for--the problems of teenagers to offer here.  For those of us who aren't their parents, teachers, mentors, or friends, there's not much more we can do than pray and set an example.  But if I'm ever a priest in charge of a school, I'm going to do away with prom and instead run dance classes for the teens every week.

So: high school kids today.  Full stop.  Now you're probably feeling my sadness a little bit, too.

Unworthiness and Call

Listening to Deacon Dennis at Mass this morning, I was struck by a word he used--unworthiness--and I realized: Today's Sunday Mass readings all centered around two themes: unworthiness and call.

They really do go together.  In the first reading, Isaiah recognizes his unworthiness before God.  Then God cleanses him to do the Lord's work, and asks, "Whom shall I send?"  Isaiah responds, "Here am I; send me."

In the second reading, St. Paul speaks of himself as "the least of the apostles," as one "from his mother's womb / Untimely ripped."  (Okay, that was Macduff, but same idea... Apparently St. Paul read Shakespeare...)  Abnormally born.  Stunted in some way.  By referring to himself in this way, St. Paul shows an acute awareness of his past as a persecutor of Christ.  Yet he is also aware of his call to preach the gospel.  It does not matter whether it be preached by Peter or any of the twelve, or Paul.  It is the same gospel, and the same call to hand it on--and God does not call the qualified, He qualifies the called, as Fr. Brett Brannan writes.  We are aware of our unworthiness, but this merely highlights that our call is not about us, or our own message, or our own glory--it is about God's work, for God's glory, so our unworthiness is no excuse.

In the Gospel reading from Luke, we see Simon Peter on his knees before Jesus, so conscious of his own unworthiness that he asks Christ, his best friend whom he has also proclaimed to be God, to depart from him.  And Christ simply replies, "Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men."

Perhaps it is often only after we recognize our unworthiness that Christ's call to us begins to sound insistently in our hearts, for it is then that we are ready to undertake it, unto His glory and not unto our own--and thus unto our salvation.  It is in our recognition of our unworthiness that we are able to do God's work: "My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Cor. 12:9)

And, as St. Paul says in the next verse, "For when I am weak, then am I strong."

None of us are "worthy" to do God's work.  But take comfort in this: God doesn't call the qualified; He qualifies the called.




 

Below, let me give you today's readings again... only, the lectionary is copyrighted material and not for reproduction without prior written permission, so I'm using my beloved and beautiful...wait for it... King James Version!!!  Which is a perfectly fine version in most circumstances.

 

First Reading: Isaiah 6:1-8

(minus the part about the seraphim's wings--really!?  You're gonna selectively cut out half a verse from the lectionary and make it Isaiah 6:1-2a, 3-8 instead of just 1-8?!  Seriously...)

 

King James Version (KJV)

6 In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.

² Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.
³ And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.
⁴ And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.
⁵ Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.
⁶ Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar:
⁷ And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.
⁸ Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 15:1-11

King James Version (KJV)

15 Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand;

² By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain.
³ For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures;
⁴ And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures:
⁵ And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve:
⁶ After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen asleep.
⁷ After that, he was seen of James; then of all the apostles.
⁸ And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time.
⁹ For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.
¹⁰ But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.
¹¹ Therefore whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye believed.

Gospel: Luke 5:1-11

King James Version (KJV)

5 And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret,

² And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.
³ And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon's, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
⁴ Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
⁵ And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
⁶ And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.
⁷ And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
⁸ When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
⁹ For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:
¹⁰ And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.
¹¹ And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.

De Senectute

At work about a month ago, I had the great pleasure of working with an extraordinary, and yet very ordinary, ninety-two-year-old gentleman.  You would have never guessed his age, to look at him--he looked at least ten years younger than that.  (I told him he looked like he was just seventy.)  He was courteous, humble, and sociable, his mind clear as crystal and sharp as a knife.  This gentleman was only the latest of the many elderly folks I have known or met in my lifetime.  Something about this particular gentleman, however, gave rise to an entirely new and rather frightening question in my mind concerning old age.

At first, my thoughts were rather comforting: I merely wondered whether his good-natured attitude was the result of the wisdom gained from many years of life.  It is comforting to think that most people, even those who seem to be ruled by their passions, will "grow up" sooner or later.  And it seems logical, since we know that the strength of one's senses and bodily appetites tends to decrease with old age.  Could it be that in growing old, people become kinder in spite of themselves?

Then I had a second thought, a much more frightening one.  Maybe his good nature is the result of his upbringing.  That would make sense, too--perhaps more sense.  Cicero, in his De Senectute, or On Old Age, writes, "[T]o deserve all these compliments of mine, old age must have its foundations well laid in early life."  I may have taken that quote a bit out of context; I'm not sure.  But Cicero also emphasizes that the complaints many make about old age are due to deficiencies in character, not to old age itself.  And if that can be applied to the virtues of old age--amiability and wisdom, for example--then it seems that Cicero would not attribute the wisdom of the elderly simply to their having experienced many things.  And neither should we.

Now, the ninety-two-year-old gentleman I met grew up in an earlier time--in his case, the 30's and 40's.  People were raised differently back then.  The situation of children in "civilized" countries today is something unique, never seen before in history--and very different from ninety years ago.  And I don't mean that in a good way.

If wisdom in old age comes more from upbringing and personal character than from simply growing old, then I am afraid to imagine what our generation will look like in old age.  Our current situation gives little evidence that we'll be anything other than a bunch of unprecedentedly self-seeking, arrogant, unintelligent, isolated, cranky old coots, either ironically trying to avoid death at all costs while having our bodies cosmetically altered to death and starved to death on obsessive health food diets, or else euthanizing ourselves willingly at the first sign of decaying physical health.

Allow me to insert some humor into the midst of this gloom--writing about obsessive health food diets made me think of the first part of this video:

Comedy Central

Sorry about that distraction...  Oh yes, as I was saying: if one's attitude and demeanor in old age is exclusively (or primarily) dependent upon one's personal character (in which one's childhood upbringing plays a critical role), then I am terrified at the thought of my generation sixty years from now.

Another possibility, of course, is that the unwise have attempted to slouch through life without good habits of personal character or much genuine intellectual activity, and upon reaching old age, have reduced themselves to a state of dependency and been largely relegated to nursing homes where no one sees them, leaving only their wiser peers (the ones we help cross the street every day) in circulation, as it were, to deceive us into thinking that all elderly folks are like them.  If this is the case, our future is even bleaker than we had thought: if previous generations were that bad, we can hardly imagine what ours will look like.

I think, though, that some combination of these factors contributes to a person's attitude in old age.  For now, I remain hopeful that there is something about growing old that mellows a person, brings greater wisdom (though it be only human wisdom), and makes one kinder, all forecasts to the contrary notwithstanding.