A Friend in Pain

I have a friend who injured a tendon in his ankle a couple of months ago. Several weeks in a boot resulted in no improvement, so he had surgery at the beginning of the year. Based on his comments, it sounds like the days after the surgery were very painful.

As a Catholic (my friend is also Catholic), I approach pain and suffering as an opportunity to be united with Christ. Through His Passion, He gave meaning to suffering, and we can unite our suffering to His, so that our suffering takes on meaning and becomes redemptive. It strikes me as bad form, however, to try to point this out to someone as they are experiencing the pain. The connection should be established before the suffering is entered into. The admonition to “offer it up” is not well received unless the soul has been properly prepared.

What then could I say to my friend in pain? To my delight, the liturgy came to my rescue in the form of the Collect prayer for Wednesday of the First Week of Ordinary Time. While I couldn’t come up with the words to tactfully say, “Hey dummy! Offer it up!” I could say, “I thought of you when I read this prayer from today’s mass.” He gave it a thumbs up, so I assume that it was well received.

O God, who willed that our infirmities
be borne by your Only Begotten Son
to show the value of human suffering,
listen in kindness to our prayers
for our brothers and sisters who are sick;
grant that all who are oppressed by pain, distress or other afflictions
may know that they are chosen
among those proclaimed blessed
and are united to Christ
in his suffering for the salvation of the world.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, you Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.

Lessons from Babe Ruth

In his EWTN homily for the Conversion of St. Paul on Wednesday, Fr. Joseph Mary MFVA, read a 1948 letter written by Babe Ruth shortly before his death. It is a touching letter, and deserves to be read more widely. The full letter is available online at the Catholic Resource Education Center, but here’s a brief excerpt.

I strayed from the church, but don't think I forgot my religious training. I just overlooked it. I prayed often and hard, but like many irrepressible young fellows, the swift tempo of living shoved religion into the background.

So what good was all the hard work and ceaseless interest of the Brothers, people would argue? You can't make kids religious, they say, because it just won't take. Send kids to Sunday School and they too often end up hating it and the church.

Don't you believe it. As far as I'm concerned, and I think as far as most kids go, once religion sinks in, it stays there—deep down. The lads who get religious training, get it where it counts—in the roots. They may fail it, but it never fails them. When the score is against them, or they get a bum pitch, that unfailing Something inside will be there to draw on. I've seen it with kids. I know from the letters they write me. The more I think of it, the more important I feel it is to give kids "the works" as far as religion is concerned. They'll never want to be holy—they'll act like tough monkeys in contrast, but somewhere inside will be a solid little chapel. It may get dusty from neglect, but the time will come when the door will be opened with much relief. But the kids can't take it, if we don't give it to them.

An Old Dog in January

The almost always colorful James Lileks writes in Wednesday's Bleat about his morose day. I can relate to what he's saying - the moroseness, the paternal anxiety, the progressively enfeebled dog. I get it.

January in Ohio is no fun either. The days are gray, and even when the air isn't frigid, there's a bite in the wind. We've pretty much avoided (as if we had anything to do with it!) snow so far this winter, but that's supposed to change soon. I can only hope that the new tires on my Focus help it handle a little more deftly than a toboggan, which is what it was like driving in snow last year.

Adding to the gaiety of the month is the great sugar crash of the holidays and knowing that the next holiday doesn't come round until April (unless you're a government worker), and that's Good Friday. There's not a whole lot of celebrating going on that day - the celebration is two days later on Easter Sunday. Until then, it's a long slog of five-day work weeks, sitting hour upon hour in front of my computer in my gray cubicle in a brick building under a gray Ohio sky.

Lileks writes of how he starts to fear the worst when his daughter's bus is twenty minutes late. She is his only child, so maybe his anxiety is heightened by the fact that he doesn't have any spares. On the other hand, with more children, maybe I get that many more opportunities to let my fears gnaw at me. Mostly though, my fears lock onto my dear wife, who drives our van like it's a formula race car (I exaggerate, but only a little). She has an excellent driving record, but whenever she's late in arriving somewhere or driving in bad whether, the spectre of horror enters my imagination. What would I do if I had to raise these kids without her? The power of sin is strong in me - even when I'm worrying about the safety of a loved one, I somehow manage to make it all about me. So I say a prayer and try, in vain, to put it out of my mind.

Finally, there is the dog. Toby is not the close friend and collaborator that Jasper is to Mr. Lileks. Yet I am quite fond of him, and it pains me to see him struggle with the steps and the linoleum. When we go out, he has to negotiate a step down from the kitchen to the mud room. He long ago lost the ability to make the transition with grace. Now, he has to start his run a step or two away, and if anything enters his trajectory, he's running into it head first. He's plowed into my legs full-bore many times after I've inadvertently stepped into his path.

We have gates on the deck to keep the dogs (we have two) from accidentally (accidentally to us, intentionally to them) getting out and running loose around the neighborhood. When they need to relieve themselves, we hook a cable to the collar and let them off the deck individually, then come back later to unhook the cable and let them back onto the deck. The deck has two steps down to the ground. Yesterday, when I went to bring Toby in, he was waiting for me on the second step. I opened the gate, and he tried unsuccessfully to climb the one step to the deck. He had to go back down to the ground, two paces back, and make a run at it.

It makes me wonder how many years the old dog has left in him.

I know there will be sunny days between today and Good Friday, but this week it's all gray. And I know that my wife and kids have guardian angels aplenty, such that the probability of serious incident is small. And I know that the life span of a lab mutt is about twelve years, and Toby is pushing eleven. Still, these things eat at a person. That much, at least, I know that I have in common with James Lileks.

Ordinary Time

I mentioned to my kids yesterday that the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord was the last day of Christmas and that Ordinary Time began today. My two oldest, both of whom earned high honors on the high school honor roll last quarter, both asked if that meant we gained or lost an hour.

Sigh.

Apostle or Presbyter?

Michael Barber, writing over at The Sacred Page, has posted a compelling argument that the author of the fourth gospel was the Apostle John. Most of us have always assumed that the Evangelist and the Apostle were one and the same, but many modern "scripture scholars" have turned critical (and doubtful) eyes upon the authors of many of the books contained in the Bible.

Barber is confident that he is correct in attributing authorship to the Apostle (under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, of course), and he ends with a strongly worded conclusion.

In conclusion, I want to say that, at first blush, it would seem that the "academically responsible" approach would be to remain noncommittal about Johannine authorship. However, I'm coming to the conclusion that the opposite is true. Hedging on Johannine authorship seems to betray an unwillingness to acknowledge the coherence of the early testimony with the internal evidence.

One wonders if such reluctance is motivated by other concerns. Clearly, asserting that someone like the rich young ruler is the author of the Fourth Gospel seems to stretch the limits of credulity. Rather, it would seem the unanimous patristic witness was reliable when it held that the Gospel the manuscripts all call "The Gospel According to John" was written by, well... er, John.

Who are these "scholars" who "betray an unwillingness to acknowledge the coherence of the early testimony with internal evidence?" In Jesus of Nazareth, From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration (Doubleday 2007), Pope Benedict XVI seems to stake out a postion ("I entirely concur . . .") that draws a distinction between the Apostle John and another John, the Presbyter, who wrote the Gospel.

. . . in Ephesus there was something like a Johannine school, which traced its origins to Jesus' favorite disciple himself, but in which certain "Presbyter John" presided as the utimate authority. This "presbyter" John appears as the sender and author of the Second and Third Letters of John (in each case in the first verse of the first chapter) simply under the title "the presbyter" (without reference to the name John). He is evidently not the same as the Apostle, which means that here in the canonical text we encounter expressly the mysterious figure of the presbyter. He must have been closely connected with the Apostle; perhaps he had even been acquainted with Jesus himself. After the death of the Apostle, he was identified wholly as the bearer of the latter's heritage, and in the collective memory, the two figures were increasingly fused. At any rate, there seem to be grounds for ascribing to "Presbyter John" an essential role in the definitive shaping of the Gospel, though he must always have regarded himself as the trustee of the tradition he had received from the son of Zebedee.

I entirely concur with the conclusion that Peter Stuhlmacher has drawn from the above data. He holds "that the contents of the Gospel go back to the disciple whom Jesus (especially) loved. The presbyter understood himself as his transmitter and mouthpiece" (Biblische Theologie, II, p. 206). In a similar vein Stuhlmacher cites E. Ruckstuhl and P. Dschullnigg to the effect that "the author of the Gospel of John is, as it were, the literary executor of the favorite disciple" (ibid., p. 207).

For Your Sake God Has Become Man

The Office of Readings for Christmas Eve features a selection from a sermon by Saint Augustine. Here are the first two paragraphs:

Awake, mankind! For your sake God has become man. Awake, you who sleep, rise up from the dead, and Christ will enlighten you. I tell you again: for your sake, God became man.

You would have suffered eternal death, had he not been born in time. Never would you have been freed from sinful flesh, had he not taken on himself the likeness of sinful flesh. You would have suffered everlasting unhappiness, had it not been for this mercy. You would never have returned to life, had he not shared your death. You would have been lost if he had not hastened ‘to your aid. You would have perished, had he not come.

How fortunate we are that God did not leave us to our fallen fate! But clearly, it seems to me, the belief in this truth has vast implications for our whole outlook on life. What would be the implications of being consigned by Original Sin to our sinful flesh without redemption? As Christians, our relationship with God is radically different from those who do not accept the divinity of Christ and his redeeming sacrifice. I'm thinking primarily of Jews and Moslems, who, like Christians, believe in the one God.

At Christmas time, we celebrate the fact that the Son of God took on a human nature and entered the world as one of us so that we might receive the sanctifying grace lost by our first parents. He entered the world as a helpless infant, just as any other man would. On this blessed Christmas Day, let us celebrate our common humanity with Christ and all of God's children.

Merry Christmas!

Outside My Window

The short reading selected by the editors of Magnificat for today’s (December 12, Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe) morning prayer was from the Song of Songs. It speaks of the end of winter and the appearance of flowers.

He says to me,
“Arise my beloved, my beautiful,
and come!
For see, the winter is past,
the rains are over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth.”
(Song of Songs 2:10-12)

Maybe the imagery invoked by the passage is appropriate for the Third Week of Advent. But this is the second week of December. The first day of winter is just over a week away. Here in Ohio, the temperatures have failed to climb above freezing for the last several days, and, although warmer temperatures are coming, the forecast is for rain.

I found it difficult to read without noting the contrast with conditions outside my window.

The Clay and the Potter

On the First Sunday of Advent this year (Cycle B), the Lectionary had us read a passage from chapters 63 and 64 of the Book of Isaiah. That’s in the post-exile, messianic part of the book. The last line of the selected passage reads,

Yet, O LORD, you are our father; we are the clay and you the potter: we are all the work of your hands.

In the New American Bible, this is Isaiah 64:7. In my New International Version and my Revised Standard Version, this is 64:8. The difference appears to be in where to end chapter 63 and start chapter 64. Silly me! I had thought that the chapters and verses were standardized by St. Jerome in the fourth century.

But I digress from what I thought was interesting.

On Friday of the First Week of Advent, the Lectionary directed us to an earlier chapter of Isaiah, where the prophet is leveling his indictment against Israel, describing how she has been unfaithful to the covenant. The passage used at mass begins with verse 17 of chapter 29, but the verse immediately before it draws an interesting contrast to the selection from the previous Sunday:

Your perversity is as though the potter were taken to be the clay: As though what is made should say of its maker, “He did not make me!” Or the vessel should say of the potter, “He does not understand.” (Is 29:16)

Which chapter, 29 or 64, more closely reflects the prevailing attitude of our culture today? Are we clay that acknowledges the potter and are willing to be worked into a useful vessel, or do we think that we can shape the potter to our desires? Israel had to be conquered and sent into exile to move from the hubris of Is 29:16 to the humility of Is 64:7/8. I pray that we might respond to a more gentle correction, even as I doubt that anything short of extreme will get our attention.

Joy and Sorrow

For those who pray the Rosary, Mondays typically bring meditation on the joyful mysteries. During my Monday morning reflections lately, I can’t help but notice the proximity in the mysteries of joy and sorrow. At least two of the joyful mysteries of the Rosary are closely related to two of the Seven Sorrows of Mary.

The fourth joyful mystery is the Presentation, Recounted in the second chapter of Luke’s Gospel, Mary and Joseph took the infant Jesus to the Temple, in accordance with the Mosaic Law. Yet the joy of the Presentation is tempered by the encounter with Simeon: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” (Luke 2:34-35) This is the first of Mary’s seven sorrows.

The fifth joyful mystery is the finding of Jesus in the Temple. This scene also comes from the second chapter of Luke, when Jesus is twelve years old. Before he was found, however, he was lost. Mary and Joseph did not find him until the third day. The search for the lost Jesus is the third of Mary’s seven sorrows.

Is there something to be learned about life here? Can we conclude from this that joy and sorrow often walk hand-in-hand?

I thought of this again while attending mass on Thanksgiving Day. The month of November starts with All Saints Day and All Souls Day. Throughout the month, our parish has a book prominently located within the sanctuary with a lit vigil candle. The book lists members of the parish who have died during the preceding year. Even on the day set aside to give thanks for God’s blessings, we were reminded that some were no longer with us. We can hope that they are in heaven, or at least being cleansed in purgatory with heaven as their ultimate destination, but we can’t know with certainty. At any rate, we are deprived of their company in this life.

Must every moment of joy be touched with a hint of sorrow?

Courtly, Theological, and Poetic

In his sermon for the Solemnity of Christ the King, Fr. Robert Barron previews some of the prayers in the new English translation of the Roman Missal, which goes into effect this coming Sunday. He ties it all together by noting that the language is more courtly – one would never use street language in a royal court. It is also, he says, more theologically dense and poetic.

After hearing the translation that we’ve been using for all of my adult life, and then hearing the new translation, both supposedly from the same Latin source, it is hard for me not to feel as though somebody cheated me out of my liturgical heritage!

The Cost of a Family

Just the other night, my dear wife turned to me in exasperation, asking, “Where is all of our money going?” (She might not have used those exact words, but you get the drift.” Like the answer to a prayer, the United States Department of Agriculture provided the reason way back on June 9. I just happened to hear about it on the radio this morning.

The USDA estimates that a middle-income family can expect to spend about $227K over the next 17 years on a child born today. The government agency even provides a nifty little calculator, allowing you to estimate how much you spend each year for your little ones. We have seven kids – the calculator only allows for six. However, the average cost comes out very close to $10K per child per year. You can do the math for seven kids.

Can there be any doubt that, in the view of the United States government, children are a tremendous financial drain? The effect of a report like this is to discourage young couples from embarking on the adventure of parenthood.

Stuck on Seven

Every other year, the Lectionary walks Catholics through St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans during the weekday masses (weeks 28 through 31 of Ordinary Time). Those who only attend mass on Sunday take a trip through Romans every third year, in Cycle A (2011 is a Cycle A year). The Sunday readings from Romans occur from the 9th to the 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time.

When the Lectionary takes us through Romans, I try to follow along. I think I do a pretty good job of tracing Paul’s logic through the first six chapters, but I always seem to miss the turn at Chapter seven. I have to back up and re-read, and back up and re-read, and back up and re-read yet again before I start to think that maybe I’m reading it correctly. By correctly, I mean according to the Catholic rules that say it has to fit in with everything else.

Anyhow, because I get hung up on Chapter seven, I tend to fall behind when the rest of the Church moves on. Friday of Week 30 is in Chapter nine (or would be, if it weren’t superseded this year by the Feast of Sts. Simon and Jude), and Saturday is in Chapter eleven. I am truly thankful for the Church’s guidance, but I need to get caught up. I hope I don’t have to read any of Chapters eight through eleven more than twice!

Tax Plans

Herman Cain is enjoying some popularity as a Republican contender for the presidency of the United States. His big idea is a 9-9-9 tax plan. Huntsman, Romney, Perry, and all the others have a tax plan. There’s only one problem: the President doesn’t determine tax policy. He can suggest what he wants to Congress, but the rates and types of taxes that can be collected (legally) are out of his hands. The centerpiece of Cain’s campaign to win the job is something that’s not in the job description.

That’s not to say that the President can’t do anything to affect the economy of the nation. All of the bureaucratic agencies that interpret legislation to impose regulations on businesses and individuals across the country are part of the Executive Branch. The President can negotiate trade agreements (subject to Congressional approval) that impacts imports and exports. Plus, of course, all of those federal government offices spend money, and reducing discretionary spending would reduce the amount of tax revenue necessary to balance the budget (or, more likely, reduce the size of the budget deficit).

So when do the Republican candidates get a chance to shoot themselves in the feet with their foreign policy proposals?

A Fifth Question

The gospel for the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle A) is the parable of the wedding feast from Matthew 22. The gospel has a short form, verses 1-10, and a long form, which add verses 11-14. Our priest this morning chose the short form, and in his homily, he focused on four questions asked when an invitation is received: the who, what, when, and where. The short form of his homily is that our king, God, invites each and every one of us to communion with him right here and right now.

It all seems so easy - too easy, actually. After all, my name is on the guest list, and I'm right here, and it's right now. If all I have to do is accept the invitation, then I should be golden. But in the long form of the gospel, verses 11-14, some of those who showed up, even though they were invited, were kicked out because they were improperly attired. And although Father covered four standard questions in his homily, a fifth begs to be asked. How?

Clearly, there's more to it than just being me, right here, right now, and saying, "I accept."

Sleepy Football Friday

Friday night in these parts means one thing: high school football. Okay, I'll make a small concession. There is a shrinking group of elderly folks for whom every Friday means BINGO. I worked Friday night BINGO for a while, back before babies five, six, and seven. The Friday night BINGO attendance has been in steady decline for the last ten years.

This Friday night started a little unusually, with a call from my mother-in-law. She wanted to invite her daughter, my lovely wife, to see a movie. This happens less often than a blue moon. Unfortunately, my wife's mom must have forgotten that her grandson plays on the football team, and two (three if you count their cousin) of her granddaughters play in the marching band, which places their dad (that would be me) firmly in the stands watching, while their mom stays home with the youngest children. And so, my wife politely demurred.

Amy really only stays home with Michael and Erin. Catherine is in sixth grade and has discovered the social aspect of going to football games to hang out with her classmates and meet other students from the opposing schools. She promises me that she doesn't talk to the boys. And then there's Jamie, the three-year-old. She looks forward to attending the football game each week, where she cries for popcorn, suckers, and whatever other concession stand confections she sees in the hands of other children. I can usually put her off until half-time.

This week was an away game. Jamie nodded off on the drive there, and the last few minutes before arriving at St. Henry, Catherine and I spent trying to keep Jamie awake. Our team played well and brought home a 34-7 victory, taking their record to 5-2, with good chances for post-season play. The season is going well for them, but the players are starting to feel a little beat-up. Jamie, on the other hand, didn't make it to the end of the game. As the time ran out in the fourth quarter, I carried a sleeping bundle in a blanket to the car for the drive home.

Don John and Lepanto

During my morning rosary run today, I was very much aware that today is the Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary. More to the point, I was aware that the Memorial was established in thanksgiving for victory over the Ottoman Turks at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. The rosary was ardently prayed before (and during, by those not engaged) the battle, and the victory by the Holy League was attributed to the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

In a spare moment this morning, I reread Chesterton’s Lepanto. It is stirring verse, celebrating the courage of Don John of Austria, at a time when other western leaders couldn’t be bothered to come to the defense of Christendom. 440 years ago, at the age of 24, Don John led a hastily-assembled fleet into battle and, in the process, saved western civilization. He is said to have told his men, “There is no paradise for cowards.”

Here I am, about to turn 42, raising my family in a bucolic village in fly-over country. What am I doing to save western civilization from all the threats that it faces in the modern world? I know God doesn’t call us all to be a Don John. I know about the Little Way of St. Therese, and how some of us are just called to be little purple flowers in God’s garden.

And yet, there’s always the whisper of a doubt in the back of my mind that maybe I was (or am) called to something more and my own laziness or cowardice got in the way.

To all of those who clearly have not been cowed, and who have taken positions on the front line, my hat is off to you. You have my respect, my admiration, and my prayers.

Ennui, Apathy, Acedia

My spiritual life is not being lived at the level it should be. I know that’s always going to be true – even a high-functioning mystic (and that’s definitely not me!) is gong to feel spiritually incomplete on this side of the beatific vision (i.e., the presence of God enjoyed by the holy souls in heaven). But I’ve been occupying a place lower than I should reasonably expect.

I have to admit that it’s largely my own fault. Today’s gospel is about perseverance in prayer. I, however, am easily deterred. I’ve neglected the Liturgy of the Hours (not that it’s required, for lay people), and it’s been a long while since I’ve made a holy hour. I make excuses for the lapses, usually claiming that other responsibilities demand my attention. The liturgy has not been a refuge. I’ve attended, but entering fully into the mystery has eluded me. The only prayer that I can admit to is the rosary, silently recited on a finger ring while running.

Spontaneous prayer has never been a strong suit of mine. When I try to express my prayers in words, two things happen: First, I quickly run out of words and start repeating myself with words that are completely inadequate to begin with. Second, I find myself having to take back the literal meaning of the words themselves. My prayers end up being a vague uplifting of spirit and intentions.

Sometimes, that feels entirely inadequate. My daughter was in the hospital recently. I knew that I should pray for her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do any more than the vague lifting of intentions. I can only guess that this is what St. Paul was getting at when he wrote, “we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.” (Rom 8:26)

That’s not the only reason for my spiritual listlessness. I follow the headlines in the Catholic press, but the only stories that seem to be new are the scandalous ones. Every message from the pope or one of the bishops just seems to be a repetition of what’s been said before. No matter how inspirational the words might be, my reaction lately is an indifferent shrug. The need to reject relativism? Already heard it. A new initiative encouraging families to put Christ in the center? Well, duh!

In short, what I feel is at variance with what I know. I know that what is needed is perseverance. I know that the liturgy is the work of the church and that the Eucharistic celebration makes present the entire Paschal Mystery. I know that reality doesn’t depend on my feelings or on my perception of it. I know that dryness happens, and prayer shapes the soul even then. I know these things, but not feeling the fire is a real drag.

Advice to Timothy

According to Magnificat, the Lectionary gives options for today’s first reading: “Today, the Gospel of the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is obligatory. However, for the first reading and the psalm, one can choose between the texts fo the Thrusday of the Twenty-Fourth Week in Ordinary Time or those of the memorial.” I had two observation upon reading the selection from the first Letter of Saint Paul to Timothy (1 Timothy 4:12-16).

First, what a wonderful reference to the sacrament of Confirmation: “Let no one have contempt for your youth, but set an example for those who believe, in speech, conduct, love, faith and purity. Until I arrive, attend to the reading, exhortation, and teaching. Do not neglect the gift you have, which was conferred on you through the prophetic word with the imposition of hands by the presbyterate.”

The second requires a little background. We’ve got a fellow in our men’s group who is of the faith alone, once saved, always saved variety. Paul advises Timothy, “Attend to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in both tasks, for by doing so you will save both yourself and those who listen to you.” If Timothy’s salvation was assured and could not be lost, then why is Paul telling him that he will save himself by perseverance?

Centurions and Widows

It’s a fairly common practice, when meditating upon the scriptures, to put oneself in the story. In some narrative passages, there a multiple characters with whom we are invited to identify.

Monday’s gospel reading (Luke 7:1-10) was the healing of the Centurion’s servant. The Centurion, a gentile, recognizes the power and authority of Jesus, and makes profound statements of humility and faith: “I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof . . . but say the word and let my servant be healed.” We echo these words at every mass when we say before receiving communion, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” [The words of the response will be changed in the new translation of the missal to further highlight the relation to the scripture passage in Luke.] In our paraphrase of the Centurion, we take on the role of both him and his servant.

The same can be said of Tuesday’s gospel (Luke 7:11-17), in which Jesus brings back to life the dead son of the widow of Nain. We are invited to see ourselves as both the widow, upon whom Christ has compassion, and the son, whose life He restores.

The Centurion, in his faith approached Christ through the elders of the Jews. We often approach Christ in the sacraments through the mediation of His Church. The widow, weeping for her dead son, is like the Church, weeping over the spiritual death of her children brought on by sin.

He wants us to be alive in the Spirit and not dead in sin. Reconciliation and new life await us in the sacraments. The only thing that He asks of us is humility and faith.

Human Energy

There are occasional signs that I’ve drunk deeply from the well of popular science fiction. Today, for instance, I received a magazine in the mail. On the back cover was an advertisement, the left half of which was a picture of an attractive, middle-aged Asian woman. On the right, in progressively large text, were the words, “The world needs more than oil.” Below this statement, in a hand-stamp styling were the words “We agree” and two signatures. Back on the left, near the bottom of the Asian woman’s photo, was an oil company logo and “Human Energy ®.”

“Oh my God!” I thought. “They’re sticking people in stasis pods and harvesting them for electricity just like in The Matrix!”

Ha! That was just some silly movie. They couldn’t really do that, could they?

[Note: the ad is really promoting natural gas, but it’s necessary to read all the fine print to find that out. I’m no marketing genius, but this strikes me as a really lousy advertisement. The agency that designed the ad should be fired, and whoever approved it should be demoted.]

[Further note: I showed the ad to my 17-year old son, who’s never seen The Matrix. He said that it made him think of a bunch of Chinese folks pedaling away on stationary bikes to generate electricity.]