Dear Angel of Pleasure,
Please send this message to God for me.
Tell Him that I think he did a fabulous job those seven days*. Indeed, it was very good. I give Him five stars. Really. But well, you know the story: fruit trees & floods, exodus & exile, temples, wars, cribs and crosses. And still, even after that glorious Sunday, mortal flesh continues to find new ways to screw things up (or maybe we just merely repeat old ways).
Anyway, I'll make this brief. I think the human race could be just a little happier if we simply look back on those seven days and see that it wasn't so bad then, and it ain't so bad now. Sure people manage to falter and fall or downright act in the utmost heinous manner imaginable. Let's be real. And for the record, I'm not condoning such behavior. But in the end I'm led to believe that what God made is good, very good!
And so, Angel of Pleasure, I'm turning to you, because I don't think you get as much attention as say guardian angels, seraphim, cherubim, Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael, yet you can help us too. Ask God to send you forth into the world to strike our hearts like a tambourine whenever a grape bursts in our mouths or that savory tang of goat cheese tingles our tongues. Yes, whisper softly in our ears a song of our God when we see a sunset or a sprinkling of snow. Stoke the fading embers in our flesh when we breathe in the scent of a briny sea or a spicy kitchen, a field of daisies or piney woods. Tickle the spirit within us whenever we hear the chickadees sing, or a bow glide across a cello, or even whenever the doorbell announces another one of God's beloveds. And finally awaken our dead bodies when we feel the earth beneath our feet, the wind above our heads, and a loved one at our side.
If you can just send God this message, I'm sure He'll oblige, and hey, I'm sure you won't mind the extra hours either. These are desperate times for both man and angel alike.
Yours truly,
Ian
*I just thought I should reiterate that I'm not a biblical literalist, creationist, or fundamentalist. Surely you can see the figurative message in all this.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Sunday, March 9, 2014
If You Are the Son of God...
The narratives of today's First Reading and Gospel certainly have a lot in them to unpack. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of reason to have an entire book written about these scripture passages. For all I know, there may be one in existence already, but in either case I don't intend on writing one. Instead, however, I wanted to just offer some reflection on the particular phrase "If you are the Son of God..."
The tempter in today's Gospel (Mt 4:1-11) begins two of his accusations of Jesus with this phrase. I couldn't help but be reminded of the other times that a similar retort was thrown at Jesus in the Gospels. There is, of course, the line from one of the two criminals hung on a cross beside Jesus: "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us" (Lk 23:39) Or even at his trial before the Sanhedrin: "'If you are the Messiah, tell us.' But He said to them, 'If I tell you, you will not believe'" (Lk 22:67).
Jesus has a way of, well, not meeting our expectations of Messiah or Son of God. It's not surprising that nowadays Jesus is reduced by some seekers of the "historical Jesus" to little more than a revolutionary or apocalyptic prophet. I can't argue with the assessment that Jesus was indeed revolutionary in some sense of the word, and a prophet with an apocalyptic message (and I say "apocalyptic" without the connotation that it has unfortunately garnered of regarding "the end of the world"). Yet if one bases their denial of Jesus as the Messiah or Son of God strictly on the understanding that Jesus did not do any remarkable thing of divine proportions within history, then I think one has regrettably missed Jesus' point. For the record, I'm not criticizing anyone who doesn't hail Jesus as the Christ or Son of God, I'm merely subjectively objecting to this one tiny, little argument.
I reiterate that it appears Jesus is saying that being the Anointed One, even being God, is not what we expect. Being God is not about hurling down a lighting bolt and making a grand appearance. Did not God manifest Godself to Elijah in "the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12)? Being God's Anointed doesn't mean changing rocks into food, even when hungry. And it doesn't mean leaping off a building unscathed just because he supposedly can. God's way, as I understand it, is simple, unassuming, and unimposing.
And when it comes to feeding himself by utilizing some kind of extraordinary power, or even gaining all the world back from the grasp of Satan, or especially saving himself from the horrific and humiliating death on the cross, Jesus never takes the easy route. I'm reminded of the line Dumbledore makes at the memorial for Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie: "The time will come to choose between what is right and what is easy" (or however the line goes exactly). Yes, I did just tie in Harry Potter to a reflection on the Gospel. But is it not relevant to note that Jesus always chooses the path that is right, that is in accord with the will of the Father, that is always for the well-being of others rather than himself and not that which is easy?
It's getting late from where I'm sitting, and I quickly wanted to tie in that rich and haunting First Reading of this Sunday: Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7. It is again a story of a tempter, and I just want to draw attention to the serpent's line : "You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil." Here's the thing: Were not the man and woman already made in the image and likeness of God (Gn 1:26)? Could it be that the woman and the man - I'll include him too, even though the text doesn't specify where he was or what he was doing during this little chit-chat with the serpent - missed the point about what it means or doesn't mean to be like God?
I recently learned from one of my professors that the phrase "knowing good and evil" (in Hebrew something like yodey tov v-rah - to the best of my transliteration) is an idiomatic expression for simply knowing everything. I bring this up because it might seem like having moral knowledge would be an innocuous and even laudable quality; whereas knowledge of everything borders that realm of great and awesome power that one can wield this way or that. And in any case, no one likes an insufferable know-it-all. I'm not denying that God has and exercises might and wonder in Sacred Scripture, but isn't one of the messages we receive, particularly in today's Gospel reading, that that is not what being God is about? So sadly, the woman and the man did not see themselves as being in the image and likeness of God. Furthermore, they reached instead to obtain a misconstrued image of God. Oh that they would have seen God - humble and self-giving - already in themselves.
Granted, a door-stop of a book could be written on these multi-faceted and layered texts. These are merely my own musings on the matter, and I don't presume them to be exhaustive or even sound.
I'll end with a line I heard a priest say regarding original sin: "It wasn't the apple in the tree; it was the pair on the ground." *rim shot*
Shalom.
The tempter in today's Gospel (Mt 4:1-11) begins two of his accusations of Jesus with this phrase. I couldn't help but be reminded of the other times that a similar retort was thrown at Jesus in the Gospels. There is, of course, the line from one of the two criminals hung on a cross beside Jesus: "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us" (Lk 23:39) Or even at his trial before the Sanhedrin: "'If you are the Messiah, tell us.' But He said to them, 'If I tell you, you will not believe'" (Lk 22:67).
Jesus has a way of, well, not meeting our expectations of Messiah or Son of God. It's not surprising that nowadays Jesus is reduced by some seekers of the "historical Jesus" to little more than a revolutionary or apocalyptic prophet. I can't argue with the assessment that Jesus was indeed revolutionary in some sense of the word, and a prophet with an apocalyptic message (and I say "apocalyptic" without the connotation that it has unfortunately garnered of regarding "the end of the world"). Yet if one bases their denial of Jesus as the Messiah or Son of God strictly on the understanding that Jesus did not do any remarkable thing of divine proportions within history, then I think one has regrettably missed Jesus' point. For the record, I'm not criticizing anyone who doesn't hail Jesus as the Christ or Son of God, I'm merely subjectively objecting to this one tiny, little argument.
I reiterate that it appears Jesus is saying that being the Anointed One, even being God, is not what we expect. Being God is not about hurling down a lighting bolt and making a grand appearance. Did not God manifest Godself to Elijah in "the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12)? Being God's Anointed doesn't mean changing rocks into food, even when hungry. And it doesn't mean leaping off a building unscathed just because he supposedly can. God's way, as I understand it, is simple, unassuming, and unimposing.
And when it comes to feeding himself by utilizing some kind of extraordinary power, or even gaining all the world back from the grasp of Satan, or especially saving himself from the horrific and humiliating death on the cross, Jesus never takes the easy route. I'm reminded of the line Dumbledore makes at the memorial for Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie: "The time will come to choose between what is right and what is easy" (or however the line goes exactly). Yes, I did just tie in Harry Potter to a reflection on the Gospel. But is it not relevant to note that Jesus always chooses the path that is right, that is in accord with the will of the Father, that is always for the well-being of others rather than himself and not that which is easy?
It's getting late from where I'm sitting, and I quickly wanted to tie in that rich and haunting First Reading of this Sunday: Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7. It is again a story of a tempter, and I just want to draw attention to the serpent's line : "You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil." Here's the thing: Were not the man and woman already made in the image and likeness of God (Gn 1:26)? Could it be that the woman and the man - I'll include him too, even though the text doesn't specify where he was or what he was doing during this little chit-chat with the serpent - missed the point about what it means or doesn't mean to be like God?
I recently learned from one of my professors that the phrase "knowing good and evil" (in Hebrew something like yodey tov v-rah - to the best of my transliteration) is an idiomatic expression for simply knowing everything. I bring this up because it might seem like having moral knowledge would be an innocuous and even laudable quality; whereas knowledge of everything borders that realm of great and awesome power that one can wield this way or that. And in any case, no one likes an insufferable know-it-all. I'm not denying that God has and exercises might and wonder in Sacred Scripture, but isn't one of the messages we receive, particularly in today's Gospel reading, that that is not what being God is about? So sadly, the woman and the man did not see themselves as being in the image and likeness of God. Furthermore, they reached instead to obtain a misconstrued image of God. Oh that they would have seen God - humble and self-giving - already in themselves.
Granted, a door-stop of a book could be written on these multi-faceted and layered texts. These are merely my own musings on the matter, and I don't presume them to be exhaustive or even sound.
I'll end with a line I heard a priest say regarding original sin: "It wasn't the apple in the tree; it was the pair on the ground." *rim shot*
Shalom.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Lent, Mourning, Compassion?
Ash Wednesday has come and gone - that funny day when more Catholics (and even some non-Catholics) go to a weekday, non-obligatory mass than they do any typical Sunday mass. I suspect attendance may nearly rival that of Christmas or Easter. But hey, I can't criticize people for showing up for the celebration of Holy Eucharist. Oddly enough though, I think the phenomenon of wearing a visibly ostentation symbol of conversion upon one's forehead on the very day the Gospel advocates praying, fasting, and almsgiving in secret is not a little ironic. I also can't help but think that the reception of said symbol is the big draw for most people. But who am I to presume what is in a person's heart for attending mass. Furthermore, it's not as if I wasn't wearing the ashes all day myself. I'm not dogging ashes; I just think the paradox between public witness and private conversion is a little amusing.
So yes, Lent is here. A favored season on mine, but one I so rarely feel prepared to enter into. At first I ask myself why should it matter if I'm ready or not. I mean, isn't that the point of Lent - to prepare for Easter? All well and good, but I guess even a sojourner on his way to a significant destination still prepares his gear and provisions before setting out. For your information, I'm not much of a hiker or camper, so I could be wrong. Either way, at this point it makes little difference. Lent is here now, and now is the acceptable time. What is God calling me to do, to change, to listen to?
Compassion strikes as one of those qualities worthy of reflection this year. It goes with out saying that to suffer with someone (the literal meaning of "compassion"), is no easy or pleasant feat. It's hard enough to endure my own sufferings, let alone empathize with another person's pain. I'm currently aware of someone who is going through trials beyond measure right now. Yet as he spoke about the serious medical predicament of someone in his family, I said nothing - not even an "I'm sorry." Since then I just recall the words of Jesus,"Blessed are those who mourn" (Mt 5:4).
There is a time for suffering, for mourning, for sorrow. One only need be reminded of the canticle from Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), or at least the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" by The Byrds. Mourning is one of those unsavory states no one enjoys residing in. And I don't know about you, but when someone's day is darkened by tragedy, it's kind of uncomfortable to be around them, to share in their sorrow. But I know that when my life is touched by grief or pain, and I see the world and everyone around me going about with smiles on their faces, it can hurt all the more just to show up and be present. It's like the lyrics of the song "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis have come to life... well except for the whole bit about breaking up with someone. It's worth, then, being aware that this is the reality for so many others and that maybe they just need someone to acknowledge and accept their grief.
Now I know I'm perilously bordering the old adage "misery loves company," but I'm not suggesting that a person in pain need surround him or herself with sad, sulky people or that folks should feel obligated to match their neighbor's level of mourning. The world does go on after all. But it is still our duty to "bear each other's burdens" (Gal 6:2). I can make someone's suffering just a little easier by showing that I actually do care - a word, a gesture, a prayer. A little bit of empathy can go a long way, difficult and uncomfortable though it may be at times. In the end, however, the latter half of that beatitude may indeed be fulfilled: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
So yes, Lent is here. A favored season on mine, but one I so rarely feel prepared to enter into. At first I ask myself why should it matter if I'm ready or not. I mean, isn't that the point of Lent - to prepare for Easter? All well and good, but I guess even a sojourner on his way to a significant destination still prepares his gear and provisions before setting out. For your information, I'm not much of a hiker or camper, so I could be wrong. Either way, at this point it makes little difference. Lent is here now, and now is the acceptable time. What is God calling me to do, to change, to listen to?
Compassion strikes as one of those qualities worthy of reflection this year. It goes with out saying that to suffer with someone (the literal meaning of "compassion"), is no easy or pleasant feat. It's hard enough to endure my own sufferings, let alone empathize with another person's pain. I'm currently aware of someone who is going through trials beyond measure right now. Yet as he spoke about the serious medical predicament of someone in his family, I said nothing - not even an "I'm sorry." Since then I just recall the words of Jesus,"Blessed are those who mourn" (Mt 5:4).
There is a time for suffering, for mourning, for sorrow. One only need be reminded of the canticle from Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes), or at least the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" by The Byrds. Mourning is one of those unsavory states no one enjoys residing in. And I don't know about you, but when someone's day is darkened by tragedy, it's kind of uncomfortable to be around them, to share in their sorrow. But I know that when my life is touched by grief or pain, and I see the world and everyone around me going about with smiles on their faces, it can hurt all the more just to show up and be present. It's like the lyrics of the song "The End of the World" by Skeeter Davis have come to life... well except for the whole bit about breaking up with someone. It's worth, then, being aware that this is the reality for so many others and that maybe they just need someone to acknowledge and accept their grief.
Now I know I'm perilously bordering the old adage "misery loves company," but I'm not suggesting that a person in pain need surround him or herself with sad, sulky people or that folks should feel obligated to match their neighbor's level of mourning. The world does go on after all. But it is still our duty to "bear each other's burdens" (Gal 6:2). I can make someone's suffering just a little easier by showing that I actually do care - a word, a gesture, a prayer. A little bit of empathy can go a long way, difficult and uncomfortable though it may be at times. In the end, however, the latter half of that beatitude may indeed be fulfilled: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Monday, March 3, 2014
Lent's Approaching... I Guess I Should Write Something
When I was in 8th grade I had a particularly moving Lenten experience. I'm sure I had given up sweets or some trifle thing like that, but I also made a commitment to read the Bible - a chapter a day. To no surprise, I don't think either exercise made that particular Lent the spiritually reinvigorating season that it was. Neither was praying a decade of the rosary a night.
Don't mistake me. I think reading the Bible is a great thing... I'm a scripture student, it's kind of what I'm into. And having some gastronomical discipline ain't so bad either. My point is that, aside from being an anomalously over-pious adolescent, Lent kindled something within me which, despite my best efforts, I have never been able to reduplicate any other year. With that in mind, it is fair to say that all the spiritual reading, and all the rosaries, and all the sugary denials don't make the season... what?
What was it then that made those forty days and forty nights different than all the others of previous and subsequent years? Was it merely youthful piety? It's possible. Did God simply pour out a double-portion of grace to me that year? First of all, I am loath to think that grace is a thing which can be quantified. Second, is not God's grace (in whatever non-quantifiable terms you can imagine it now that I've dug myself a hole) equally present and freely offered. That leaves me to believe that, while indeed the Spirit itself is the source and cause of all Lenten joy, one's disposition, openness and receptivity makes all the difference.
I suppose in 8th grade I was thirsting for conversion in my life, and since then, though I anticipate Lent with eagerness, I have not been as willing as I was to change and to really listen to God. All too often I enter the season of Lent hoping for the consolations I had once had, thinking maybe by doing this or not doing that they will come. Lord knows over these years I have been and will perpetually be in need of conversion. That doesn't change. But what can be different is how receptive I am to God's call to turn back to him with my whole heart.
So whatever I do or don't do, however I fast, pray and give, may it be with an open heart that is seeking God, seeking the Resurrected Christ.
Shalom.
Don't mistake me. I think reading the Bible is a great thing... I'm a scripture student, it's kind of what I'm into. And having some gastronomical discipline ain't so bad either. My point is that, aside from being an anomalously over-pious adolescent, Lent kindled something within me which, despite my best efforts, I have never been able to reduplicate any other year. With that in mind, it is fair to say that all the spiritual reading, and all the rosaries, and all the sugary denials don't make the season... what?
What was it then that made those forty days and forty nights different than all the others of previous and subsequent years? Was it merely youthful piety? It's possible. Did God simply pour out a double-portion of grace to me that year? First of all, I am loath to think that grace is a thing which can be quantified. Second, is not God's grace (in whatever non-quantifiable terms you can imagine it now that I've dug myself a hole) equally present and freely offered. That leaves me to believe that, while indeed the Spirit itself is the source and cause of all Lenten joy, one's disposition, openness and receptivity makes all the difference.
I suppose in 8th grade I was thirsting for conversion in my life, and since then, though I anticipate Lent with eagerness, I have not been as willing as I was to change and to really listen to God. All too often I enter the season of Lent hoping for the consolations I had once had, thinking maybe by doing this or not doing that they will come. Lord knows over these years I have been and will perpetually be in need of conversion. That doesn't change. But what can be different is how receptive I am to God's call to turn back to him with my whole heart.
So whatever I do or don't do, however I fast, pray and give, may it be with an open heart that is seeking God, seeking the Resurrected Christ.
Shalom.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Pilot
I suppose the mission statement for this blog is simply to share the fruit - the fruit of grace, the fruit of faith, the fruit of pondering and musing over life's experience as I procrastinate on more pressing daily tasks. I can't really say the fruit of wisdom, for I don't consider myself a wise person. And in the unfortunate event that something I say is interpreted as wise, all I can say is that wisdom only derives from God's grace. That is, wisdom, like whatever veritable nonsense I'm bound to disseminate, is the produce of a source and not the source of produce.
A little about myself: I'm a guy in his early twenties with an impractical B.A. in religious studies and am about to begin an even more impractical M.A. in biblical studies. Why? Because I love learning about Sacred Scripture, especially from an academic perspective. I don't believe faith and reason are in competition. The same goes for historical/literary/anthropological-criticism of the Bible and scripture's inherent sanctity. There's room and proper place for both. I'm also Catholic and love being Catholic. That being said, I'm not a fundamentalist, or a "Jesus-freak," or very evangelical by nature. I don't like extremism of any kind: religious, political, ideological. One might say I'm lukewarm. I wouldn't disagree, but it's not an admirable quality of mine. I just hope I don't get spat out like a Laodicean cherry pit.
It is possible that the title, "Sharing the Fruit" may get interpreted as an allusion to an incident in Genesis in which one person shared some fruit with another in the Garden of Eden. This episode in the narrative was part of a chain of events which allegorically explain the fall of humanity. So will the fruit of this blog do likewise? Ha! I should be so lucky (and burdened) to wield half as much influence in the world. These are just my thoughts. Take them or leave them for what they are. I'm not speaking ex cathedra, folks. Here's my disclaimer: I'm not trying to speak with authority, so any heretic-hunter out there can put his/her pitchfork down.
A little about myself: I'm a guy in his early twenties with an impractical B.A. in religious studies and am about to begin an even more impractical M.A. in biblical studies. Why? Because I love learning about Sacred Scripture, especially from an academic perspective. I don't believe faith and reason are in competition. The same goes for historical/literary/anthropological-criticism of the Bible and scripture's inherent sanctity. There's room and proper place for both. I'm also Catholic and love being Catholic. That being said, I'm not a fundamentalist, or a "Jesus-freak," or very evangelical by nature. I don't like extremism of any kind: religious, political, ideological. One might say I'm lukewarm. I wouldn't disagree, but it's not an admirable quality of mine. I just hope I don't get spat out like a Laodicean cherry pit.
It is possible that the title, "Sharing the Fruit" may get interpreted as an allusion to an incident in Genesis in which one person shared some fruit with another in the Garden of Eden. This episode in the narrative was part of a chain of events which allegorically explain the fall of humanity. So will the fruit of this blog do likewise? Ha! I should be so lucky (and burdened) to wield half as much influence in the world. These are just my thoughts. Take them or leave them for what they are. I'm not speaking ex cathedra, folks. Here's my disclaimer: I'm not trying to speak with authority, so any heretic-hunter out there can put his/her pitchfork down.
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