There's Something Biblical About Mary

In studying the Catholic Church for the last couple years or so, I've had many "a-ha" moments: many times when something strange and bizarre suddenly clicked and made sense, times when light dawned and I saw something I'd never seen before.

Many of those moments of shocking, jolting clarity occurred in regards to Mary. I've spent hours writing about them, chronicling them, making notes and trying to relay what I thought was exciting, interesting information to others.

And then I found this video. Which does everything I was trying to do in about 11 minutes. With music. You can't beat that.

”Let those who think that the Church pays too much attention to Mary give heed to the fact that Our Blessed Lord Himself gave ten times as much of His life to her as He gave to His Apostles.” (Archbishop Fulton Sheen)

The Pelican of Mercy

I've been attending RCIA classes at St. Sebastian Parish in Byron Center, MI for the last few weeks. (RCIA, just to explain, stands for the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults). It's required (for the most part) training for anyone who is hoping to enter the Catholic Church.

At any rate, this past Tuesday, we toured the Historic St. Sebastian Church and I was introduced to the very Catholic world of statues and stained glass and altars and relics.

Amongst all the statues of Mary and Joseph and Jesus, was an image that seemed completely out of place: a pelican pictured in stained glass.

Now, a pelican in a church is weird enough, but it gets weirder. See, the pelican isn't just sitting there doing normal pelican-y things (whatever they might be). Instead, she is pictured striking her breast with her beak and drawing big drops of blood which then are gulped down by three or four young pelicans huddled beneath her wings. Perfectly normal, right? Sure! Of course! I mean really, what says "worship" and "Church" and "God" and "Love" more than a pelican being cannibalized by her young?

Naturally, my first reaction was surprise and, honestly, a little frustration. How in the world am I going to explain the bloody-pelican-window-thing to my less-than-enthusiastic-about-Catholicism wife?

I was wondering about the chances of her really staring at the window long enough to figure out it was a bloody pelican pictured there when I realized the leader of the RCIA class was talking. I tuned back in just in time to learn something.

Turns out, the pelican has been a cherished symbol in the Christian Church for hundreds of years. It was understood, all those years ago, that the pelican would, in times of hunger or extreme need, feed her young with her own body and blood, keeping them alive even at the sacrifice of her own life.

This tradition is evidenced in Christian Art as well as Christian literature. Saint Thomas Aquinas, in his Eucharistic Hymn Adore te Devote wrote:

Bring the tender tale true of the Pelican;
Bathe me, Jesu Lord, in what thy bosom ran---
Blood whereof a single drop has power to win
All the world forgiveness of its world of sin.

Because of this association with the sacrifice of Christ, the pelican is also displayed in many early depictions of the Crucifixion. Here she is seen at the top of the cross, feeding her young with her own blood:

Once the symbolism was explained--and once I'd listened with an open mind--the pelican (like so many other things Catholic) became understandable. And more than that: meaningful, profound.

Instead of shuddering at the weirdness of Catholic symbolism and iconography, I found myself drawn into it and appreciating it and letting it speak to me. The vividness of the image--the way it jumps out and shocks you with red blood and hungry young--makes you think. It's not clean. It's not safe. It's not sterile. But, then again, neither was the cross. The cross and the sacrifice of Christ caused Him real pain. The blood that poured from his hands, feet, side, back and head was real blood. The heart that was pierced was a real heart that had been beating just minutes before. The death he died was a real death.

Contained in that vivid, violent symbol of the Pelican of Mercy is the meat of the Christian story: Our Creator, in times of spiritual famine, gives himself to us and feeds us with His body and His blood. We were in danger of starving--still are as long as we are alive--and our Lord, not content to sit by and urge us on to goodness and life with mere words, jumped into the fray, struck his own breast and let the life-giving blood flow to us. It wasn't clean. It wasn't sterile. It wasn't easy. Redemption never is.

An hour or so later, I left that church that night with a new appreciation for the symbols and icons the Catholic Church has preserved and passed on through all the generations of Christians who've gone before me.

And if my wife notices the bird in the window and the blood, I'm not going to worry about what to say. It's the redemption story. In stained glass.

From the Rising of the Sun: Malachi's Prophecy of the Mass

Here's a remarkable verse from Malachi:

Because even among you the doors shall be shut, and one will not kindle the fire of mine altar for nothing, I have no pleasure in you, saith the Lord Almighty, and I will not accept a sacrifice at your hands.
For from the rising of the sun even to the going down thereof my name has been glorified among the Gentiles; and in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure offering: for my name is great among the Gentiles, saith the Lord Almighty.

--Mal 1:10-11

From the earliest times Christians saw this verse in Malachi as a prophecy regarding the Mass. St. Justin Martyr, in his Dialogue With Trypho (AD 155) quotes the passage and then explains: "It is of the sacrifices offered to Him in every place by us, the gentiles, that is, of the Bread of the Eucharist and likewise of the cup of the Eucharist, that He speaks at that time."

And really, can it be anything else? What other Sacrifice is offered, not by the Jews, but by the Gentiles (us) with incense? What other pure offering is offered from the rising of the sun to its setting in every place? The only offering that fulfills this prophecy is the Mass: the pure offering of Jesus in the Eucharist, offered around the world, every hour of every day.

Now, that's interesting, but what's even more interesting is the actual word used for "offering" is the Hebrew word minchâh. According to Strong's Hebrew Dictionary, the word means "a sacrificial offering (usually bloodless and voluntary): - gift, oblation, (meat) offering, present, sacrifice."

This is interesting because non-Catholics who look at this passage tend to interpret "offering" or "sacrifice" as a "sacrifice of Praise." Or possibly prayers and praises--in short, worship. However, that explanation simply doesn't account for the word, minchâh, used in the text.

In searching the Old Testament for other uses of minchâh, we find that most of those instances are translated as a "meat offering" (and none refer to a mere symbolic "sacrifice of praise").

What's more interesting is that a "meat offering" isn't what we might typically think. In fact, instead of including flesh of any kind, a meat offering was an unbloody offering of fine flour, unleavened and baked in an oven. Leviticus 2:4 explains this clearly and is really quite startling: "But when thou offerest a sacrifice baked in the oven of flour, to wit, loaves without leaven, tempered with oil, and unleavened wafers, anointed with oil". (see also Lev. 2:11).

But that's not all. According to Smith's Bible Dictionary a meat offering was just as we described above, but was also "generally accompanied by a drink offering of wine."

So, let's go back to the passage from Malachi (and the prophecy given to him by God) and ask ourselves: What pure, unbloody sacrifice of flour, unleavened and baked, in the form of wafers is offered to God by the Gentiles from the rising of the sun to its setting, in every place in this world and is accompanied by a drink offering of wine?

It can't be a "sacrifice of praise" or some other anachronistic concoction because the prophecy specifically refers to a "meat offering". The only sacrifice that completely fulfills this Holy Spirit-inspired prophecy is the sacrifice of the Mass.

We Are Catholic--Great Video

The Meaning of the Mass--Archbishop Fulton Sheen

Archbishop Fulton Sheen explains the Mass....

Infinitely Greater than Sports Cars and Sports: Pondering Heaven

"Oh, Bob's up there right now, putting for Birdie on the 18th on that flawless last hole in the skies."

You've heard drivel like that, too, at funerals all the time: "Aunt Madge loved to swim, you know. Can't you just see here up there, soaking in that crystal sea?"

But it's not just lay people who talk this way. I remember pastors talking about heaven. One particular case I remember involved cars. This pastor loved cars and he pointed out (in all seriousness) that "his" heaven is going to be filled with fast cars. In fact, he went on to say that heaven without cars wouldn't be heaven.

Another pastor I remember gave a sermon once pointing out that he loves to work, loves to be busy. "His" heaven, he said, "would be a place where he'd have a job to do."

We all think this way to some extent: we all have notions of what heaven will be like, of what heaven will contain.

But we also have ideas about what we hope heaven will not be like. Not too long ago, I was talking with a friend about Rob Bell's new book, Love Wins. In the course of the conversation, my friend pointed out that he agreed with Bell that it's a scary thought to imagine (as some do) that heaven is an eternity of us sitting around on clouds, stroking harps. "I mean, really" my friend explained, "who'd want to spend an eternity doing that? Wouldn't it get monotonous after just a couple songs?"

I've had the same thoughts. In fact, I've always imagined heaven to be composed of big (but easy to climb) hills. Hills that overlook valleys of flowers and tall grass, valleys filled with butterflies and absolutely NO mosquitoes or biting flies. A place of constant fallish weather (oh, about 70 degrees with a mild breeze) and, of course, no rain. I imagine spending my time sitting on one of those hills, watching the world below and relaxing. Like one big, long vacation.

When I'd read about the elders in Revelation, how they'd throw their crowns around the throne of God and fall down and worship on a regular basis, I'd get scared. I'd worry that all of heaven was going to be like that: all praise and no fun.

But it hits me now what a sad, misunderstanding of God all of these ideas represent.

Once we enter eternity, we're not going to be thinking about sitting on a happy little hill or our short game or taking a dip and catching some rays. Once we're in eternity Porsches and BMW's aren't going to matter.

We'll find ourselves in the presence of God. Not some boring, benign, grandfatherly figure who spends his day strolling through the rolling hills with bluebirds perched on his outstretched fingers. No. We will be in the presence of God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth.

We will be in the presence of the most Ancient of all Beings--a pure Spirit--less an old, wrinkled man and more a burning, consuming fire.

We will see a Being that our brains cannot even begin to fathom here on earth. And at the same time, we will see ourselves.

We will see ourselves as God sees us. We will know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the depth of our sins. We will know the pain we have caused our Father. We will initially mourn the hours we wasted on earth worrying about cars and golf and all that stuff. And we will know that we are only there by the Grace of that God and the Sacrifice of His Son.

And when we realize that: that we owe everything to this God who pulled us up from the depths because He loved us, we will kneel and we will worship with a depth and reverence greater than anything we've ever felt on earth.

It's ridiculous to think that when confronted with the presence and reality of God Himself we would choose to give even a single thought to a driving a fancy red car around swerving "professional driver on a closed course" hills or a golf ball over heavenly fairways. It's silly. It's sad.

God Himself is there--the point of and reason for our very existence--and we think we'll be interested in looking at or thinking about something else? Something less? And then we take it a step farther and tell ourselves that an eternity of praising God while we're in His presence is somehow "not heavenly enough?" That it's too boring? That we couldn't possibly spend an eternity doing that?

Instead, we will see the 24 elders around the throne and we will long to join in with them. Finally seeing our Creator and being able to bow and adore Him will be infinitely greater than sports cars and sports. To suggest anything less is to fail to grasp even the vaguest conception of God.

Tired of Thinking

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.

I've been tired. Really tired. Almost too tired to think.

Now, that's played out in our home with our kids who ask about 1001 questions every hour, but it's also played out in my faith.

For example, I've been exploring Catholicism for about 2 years now. Maybe longer. It's been an interesting journey, the hardest part of which has been the constant perspective shifts. Growing up in a staunchly Protestant family, I naturally have held, up until the last couple years, staunchly Protestant beliefs. So, to think Catholic thoughts is taxing. To think that those Catholic thoughts might possibly be correct is absolutely exhausting.

Earlier this week, I was hanging out in an Adoration Chapel at St. Francis parish right by my work. In the course of the time I was there, I found myself trying to come to terms with the Catholic concept of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. When my brain basically shut down at that point and said, "sorry, we're done here," I pretty much threw up my hands.

I was just too tired to think this stuff through anymore. Too tired to keep slogging uphill to overcome my previous beliefs and entertain thoughts of this new and ancient faith. I'd try to think about it, try to come to terms with what I believe, and my little brain would just shut down. No more juice.

To be honest, the whole experience made me angry. Faith shouldn't be this hard. I'm doing the best I can--I'm struggling to know the Lord better. I'm not sweating blood, but I'm sweating.

Well, I was sitting there, getting all angry and bent out of shape--you know, railing at God a little bit for making things so complicated--and then the verse above hit me: "and that (faith) not of yourselves: it is the gift of God."

Suddenly, things made sense: I've been struggling to grow my faith. I've been digging in and trying to do the lifting myself. But that's not how it works. Faith isn't something I pull off. It's a gift.

God is watching me struggle around on my own--watching my frustration and my exhaustion--and He's likely thinking: ask me, stupid. I'm waiting to help.

That all went through my head in a split second and I sat there for a few minutes longer before asking God to increase my faith. And suddenly, the load was lifted. It wasn't up to me anymore to shoulder the weight. It was only up to me to be ready and willing. God's here and he's looking for work.

The Shrine of the Cross in the Woods

This year on our vacation, we went to the Shrine of the Cross in the Woods in Northern Michigan. We all enjoyed this place immensely, spending at least 3 or 4 hours scattered over 2 visits.

Here's what the kids thought:

The First Ringing of the Alarm

He who does not love does not know God; for God is love.

--1 John 4:8

The phone call came as a bump in my morning, a little bump in the normal, steady flow of the day. The buzz caught me off-guard--a bit of a startling intrusion that snapped me out of my own world of thoughts and got my heart thumping a little faster--the way the unexpected usually does. I looked at the caller ID, recognized the number and flipped it open.

My quick "hello" was greeted with a slower one--a quieter one--and I realized almost immediately that the reason for the call wasn't a happy one.

I listened to the bad news and I felt appropriately bad. I felt bad for the situation, bad for the people involved, bad for their kids, bad for their parents, bad for the whole stupid thing.

And then it was over. The conversation ended and I hung up the phone and I did what I had promised (because I'm such a profoundly Christian man): I said a prayer.

"Dear Lord, please be with so and so and help them with such and such. They're in a tough situation, Lord, which you, of course, know. In fact, I probably don't even need to say that. I mean, the part about their situation. You were there for the phone call--you know what's going on. In fact, now that I think about it, you were there before she even called.

In fact . . . and this is really cool, Lord . . . you were there when the situation occurred that prompted the call. Now that I think about it, you probably prompted the call to me in the first place--so I could pray for them. Wow, Lord--you're using me to be your hands and your feet. Thank you, Lord. Thank you for bringing this situation about so I could be like you. Amen."

And that was that. I didn't feel bad anymore. I'd listened. I'd prayed. I'd been Jesus to my friend on the phone.

And then I continued with my day. I dealt with work problems and work projects. I wrote a blog entry about paint, a couple radio shows for tomorrow, and I made notes and plans for a weekly Manager's Meeting.

Eventually, 2:15 pm rolled around and I decided to sneak out for lunch. Not to eat, but to pray.

I drove to St. Francis De Sales, parked outside the adoration chapel and let myself in using my card key (I feel very important with my card key and use it even when the door is not locked just because I have one).

I let myself in and glanced, as always, at the candle. (I don't know what this particular candle is called, but knowing Catholics as I'm beginning to, I am absolutely convinced that there's a special Latin name for it). Whatever it's called, it was burning and that meant the Lord was present, body and blood, soul and divinity in the Blessed Sacrament inside the tabernacle--or, as I often think of it: the little box in the center of the room.

Out of respect and adoration, I genuflected (a word that feels foreign on my tongue, but an action that feels perfectly natural given the scenario) and made my way to one of the kneeling benches.

And I began to pray. I prayed and prayed in that stifling, unventilated room. Sweat ran down my back, trickled over my arms and beaded on my forehead. At several points, I stopped and just sat there for a few seconds, wishing they had a shower here for when I left. (And then I spent a few seconds wondering if that was irreverent.)

After a long time of praying and sweating and thinking about showers and the True Nature of Irreverency, I shifted off the kneeling bench and slumped back into my chair. I checked the clock: It was almost time to head back to work. I decided that for my last few minutes, (because I'm quite big-hearted and like to let God do His thing from time to time), I'd sit silently and let God speak to me.

Now, I'll be honest and admit that God normally doesn't speak to me when I do this. I just sit there in silence for about 10 seconds and then my brain thinks it hears something and says: "Was that Him?" And then I listen really hard for about 10 more seconds. "Nope. Just a bird. Out by the window. Oh yeah, there he goes. What's that thing he's got? A cigarette? Oh, no--it's a sucker-stick. Wonder where he picked that up? What's he doing with it? Taking it to his nest? Do male birds even have nests? I bet they don't make them themselves. Probably just find one that's already done and . . . what was that? Was that Him?"

I normally do this for about 5 minutes and then I just figure God doesn't have anything to say and I go back to asking for things.

Well, today I sat there, staring at the Tabernacle, imagining Jesus standing right in front of me, trying to wrap my brain around the Catholic idea of the Eucharist. And while I sat there, doing all these things, a sudden, single thought shot through my head: "You go through all of this but don't love."

Reading it just now, it seems vague. But when I thought it today, I didn't have to ask what He was getting at or if it was really Him speaking. I knew the answer to both questions: It certainly was Him and He was talking about my phone call from earlier today. Or rather, He was using my phone call from today to make a larger point about my life in general.

It was painfully clear and painfully painful. In the 10 minutes or so that followed, I very clearly was confronted with the ugliness that our words can so easily hide. I realized how I can muster some emotion when necessity dictates. I can feel bad when I should. I can get a lump in the throat when things call for one, but that's about it.

There's no way in this world that I can say I feel another's pain as if it were my own. I don't churn and ache inside when friends struggle through tragedies. I don't lose sleep over their hurts. I rarely even lose my appetite.

Oh, I like to think that I'm Jesus' hands in this world, but I realized today how much of a sick joke that thought really is. Jesus touched lepers: I can't even google images of lepers. Jesus built His life around the needs of others: I cringe when the phone rings because I'm afraid somebody might ask something of me. Christ wept. I yawn and look at my watch.

God made it abundantly clear to me today that Love bleeds and cries. Love doesn't "feel bad". Love doesn't "say a prayer" and then move on. Love is aching muscles, blistered feet and dirty hands. Love is inconvenient. But the amazing thing is that it's only inconvenient in the beginning when it's just awakening.

When Love finally opens it's eyes, it hungers. It hungers to give and touch and heal and carry and it won't be satisfied until it's poured itself out at the feet of another.

Because that's what Love did.

For me, I've got to be honest: Love's still sleeping. But maybe morning's coming. Maybe today was the first ringing of the alarm.

Come On Christians, History Is Not Our Enemy!

I've just been booted out of a weird facebook argument regarding, of all things, the deity of Christ. A couple of parties took up the position that Jesus is NOT God--that he is subservient to the Father--a subordinate, a lesser being. Oh, they argue that he's still important, but that he's simply and clearly NOT God.

To back up their position, they toss around many scripture passages--passages like John 10:29 where Jesus says "My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all." They point to verses like this and exclaim, "See, Jesus himself admits he's not God."

That's their argument--and they've got a large number of verses that, quite honestly, on the surface, seem to support their case. However, the "Jesus IS God" group has its own share of verses. They point to John 1:1 ("the Word was with God, and the Word was God") among others.

Unfortunately, as clear as these passages seem, the "Jesus IS NOT God" crowd has a different interpretation. Oh, their intepretations aren't completely straightforward and they're certainly not orthodox, but they are, at least, feasible.

And so these groups battled on and on and on, each citing more and more scriptures to back up their case.

Finally, the "Jesus IS NOT God" group resorted to this argument that, sadly, in my opinion won the debate: "The Bible has claimed, from its inception, that there is only one God. Not until the 7th Century did this view become distorted and warped in Christian teaching. Not until the 7th Century did anyone start to make the claim that Jesus is God."

Now, this claim is absolutely so ridiculous and absurd that it should have been scuttled immediately. Yet, sadly, the "Jesus IS God" crowd had no response at all. They simply tossed out more and more Bible verses but they never dealt with the bizarre, bald-faced lie. And that strategy of non-engagement allowed the claim to stand and anybody reading it with an open mind (and no background in Christian history) would have to conclude that the claim went unchallenged because it was true.

But it's not true. And it only takes a beginning understanding of Christian History to refute it. Yet the "Jesus IS God" crowd let it stand and the reason is simple: they fear anything that even smacks of Tradition and they shun Christian history.

What a sad, pathetic stance. As Christians, we should never be afraid of the Truth--whatever that Truth is. Christ our Lord is Truth. No exploration into Truth is going to be anti-christ.

In regards to this bozo claim that the 7th Century was the first time we see Christians referring to Christ as God, let's see how quickly history refutes the idiocy.

Let's look at two writings from St. Ignatius, an early Church Father that gives evidence that Christians of that period already thought of Christ as God. First, let's look at his Letter to the Ephesians where he writes:

"For our God, Jesus Christ, was conceived by Mary in accord with God’s plan: of the seed of David, it is true, but also of the Holy Spirit" (Letter to the Ephesians, 18:2).

In another letter, his Letter to the Romans, St. Ignatius writes:

"[T]o the Church beloved and enlightened after the love of Jesus Christ, our God, by the will of him that has willed everything which is" (Letter to the Romans).

These letters were written around AD 110, so that makes them very early witnesses to the beliefs of the early church, but what's even more interesting is that St. Ignatius was actually a hearer of the Apostle John.

So what we have is a hearer (possibly even a student) of the Apostle John who goes on to become the Bishop of Antioch confirming, at the very beginning of the second century--possibly even during the lifetime of the Apostle John himself--a belief in the Divinity of Christ.

This is well earlier than the claim in the silly facebook argument and so it completely refutes it. However, there's more information we can glean. For example, if St. Ignatius is representing a distortion of the teaching of the Apostles, we would have to admit that the very first generation of Christians after the Apostles had already screwed up the message. That means, before the Doctrine of the Trinity was addressed, before the Canon of Scripture was compiled, the Church had already screwed up--and not just on something little. They had attributed Divinity to a mere man. That would mean the Apostles--at least John--were terrible teachers. It would also mean we would sincerely need to question ANYTHING we believe as Christians. If they could be wrong about Christ being God that early, how do we expect them to get anything else right?

Take the Scriptures for instance. If the early Christians screwed up Christ's Divinity and mistakenly thought and taught that a mere man was God, how in the world are we to believe that these same Christians somehow miraculously figured out which books should be included in the Bible and which books were spurious? If they start with an unorthodox, heretical understanding of Christ, how do we seriously believe these same flawed men would figure out which books shouldn't be included in the Bible?

Now, the "Jesus IS NOT God" crowd places as much importance and significance on the Bible as the "Jesus IS God" crowd. They just have a different interpretation. A look at history and then some fundamental logical reasoning shows that if their view is correct, then even the Scriptures they cling to are not reliable. Their position is untenable. They're basing their case on the words of a document that, if their claim is true, has extremely limited value.

When we consult history in the case of the Jesus IS or IS NOT God argument, we can instantly dispel the ridiculous claim that Christians in the 7th Century pulled the Divinity of Christ out of the air.

However, that's not all history does for us. History in this case shows that the very earliest extra-biblical sources--the people who were taught by the Apostles--the people who spoke the language the Bible was written in--support the consistently historical Christian viewpoint that Christ Jesus is God the Son--one in substance and being with the Father.

History is not something to be feared. It fleshes out our faith and gives it depth. Every new generation of Christians doesn't need to start from scratch. There's a world of work done by great Christians, men and women who loved our Lord. We can stand on their shoulders. We don't need to reinvent the wheel.

Something With a Beat

My family and I attended Mass at a new (to us) church a few weeks ago. My wife has friends who attend there and it's been one of those things on my "to do" list this summer.

Well, a month ago, we got around to it and while my wife is certainly not ready (or even, to be honest, remotely interested) in changing churches (and faiths), we all enjoyed the service.

The Priest delivered a good, scriptural homily about the necessity of having a personal relationship with Jesus. The music was decent, the congregation read along with the scripture readings and, most importantly for me, the service had a sense of reverence to it that I've found lacking so many other places I've visited.

This was God's house--there was no question about that. We weren't here to socialize, chit-chat, or "connect". We were here primarily for one purpose: to worship our Divine Creator and our Blessed Savior. This wasn't a place where you all-too-casually come to "hang out with the Lord" and "get your praise on."

There were no pulsating lights, timed perfectly to every thump of the bass drum. There were no choppy black and white videos meant to introduce the sermon topic to the attention-deficient disordered. There were no props. No skits. No liturgical dance.

It was old-style worship--ancient, in fact--drawing phrases from as far back as written records go into early Christianity.

In short, it was a profound experience for me. I left feeling I'd finally found my home. After the last two years of studying Catholicism, I felt I'd finally found a church that exhibited the beauty and reverence I'd read about.

And then we went back....

This past Saturday we walked in and right away I was instantly put on guard: the Priest milling in the back by the baptismal font was not the same as several weeks ago. He was a stand-in. A substitute. And I instantly started wondering if he would be as good.

Well, he wasn't.

The Mass was a little... sloppy, for lack of a better word. He forgot some of the liturgy. He stumbled over this and that. He shot from the hip on a couple of prayers rather than consulting the Big Red Book. He cracked a few more jokes than I would have liked. His homily was shallow. Almost cheesy. A little too Robert-Schuler for me, if you know what I mean.

All of these things played in my mind and even though I'm not Catholic, I kept thinking I was witnessing some sort of liturgical scandal. (Yes, I'm an "over-reactor" if ever there was one). My blood pressure started to rise, my palms got sweaty, my heart started beating a little harder and my brain was whirling.

When Mass ended, we shuffled out of the building and made our way to the van. As we climbed in, my wife asked a question that's pretty typical: "Well, what'd you think? Did you like it?"

I responded with a quick and disgruntled, "Not really. It wasn't nearly as good as last time. That Priest wasn't even remotely as good as Monseigneur Bob." And we drove away.

That was over 24 hours ago. And for the last 24 hours I've been frustrated over that service. That was supposed to be my "new home". God had led me there, I thought. Now, I didn't know what to think. Had I completely misinterpreted? What was God trying to tell me?

And then I stumbled on an article about 20 minutes ago. An article about why Catholics are leaving the Church to become Protestant. After reading that article and the comments posted by other readers, I'm beginning to realize how wrong I've been in my thinking. Not about Catholicism--but about Church.

The article, and many of the commenters (Catholics by their own admission) argued that the Catholic Church has not adapted with the changing times--they've failed to provide liturgies that "touch the heart and emotions." Protestant churches do these things and therefore, the obvious solution (in their eyes) is for the Catholic Church to "Get it's Protestant on." The Church needs worship services that are more fun, that are more appealing to the younger generation, more "with-it". In short, they need to out-Protestant the Protestants.

As I read the comments and the article itself, I realized my error from this past weekend and the trap that I and so many of these "commenters" and people leaving the Catholic Church have fallen into: the notion of that Church is just another form of entertainment that should be graded and critiqued as such.

This is exactly what I did after Saturday's less-than-stellar Mass. I graded my experience at Mass as if it were a summer movie. I asked the BIG questions: How was the plot? Did it develop nicely? How about the characters? Were they likable? Did they engage my interest? Did the story impact me on an emotional level? Was I captivated, enthralled, pulled in? Did the story suspend my disbelief? Did the 2 hours breeze by leaving me wanting more as the final credits rolled or was a I looking at my watch, wishing for less?

I rated that Mass and that Priest as if it was a movie and he the lead actor and I gave both an unenthusiastic 2 stars. But that's the mistake: Mass isn't a movie--it's not entertainment--and the Priest doesn't play the lead.

Mass is about worshiping our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who is really and truly present upon the altar under the appearance of bread and wine. It's about Christ's perfect sacrifice--the unblemished and pure sacrifice offered to God from the rising of the sun to its setting (Malachi 1:11). Mass is about being forgiven and thanking God from the depths of our soul that He condescended to our level and opened the doors of paradise.

The Priest can be astonishing in his delivery--a gifted orator--or he can drone on and on monotonously and indefinitely. It doesn't matter because the Mass isn't about him. Whether he's an amazing orator or whether English isn't even his third language, doesn't make a difference: the words of Consecration are the same and the effects are the same. Jesus becomes truly and really present, body and blood, soul and Divinity and we are transported back in time, so to speak, to Calvary. The sacrifice for our sins is made--not again--but the one and only time. And we are witnesses to it.

We stand there indifferently like the soldiers or the crowds just looking to see some blood, or we kneel there in reverence and awe and heart-break and gratitude. But either way, whatever the state of our heart, we stand there and behold, whether we realize it or not, "the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world."

And in that moment, as we kneel there, we join the heavenly Liturgy as depicted in the book of Revelation. We honor the lamb, appearing as one who'd been slain--and we honor Him who sits on the throne. We give glory to God our Father, Christ our Brother and the Holy Spirit and in so doing we experience as much heaven as earth can hold.

Then it ends. And we walk to our cars and discuss the entertainment value of the homily. Or the singing voice of the Cantor. And we wonder if maybe we should try one of those "fun" churches next week. You know, one with a band. And some drums. Something with music you can tap your toe to--something with a beat.

The Pillar and Bulwark of the Truth

Well, thanks to Facebook, I've been involved in another bizarre "conversation" that, while weird and frustrating at times (and which, in the end resulted in my being ejected from the discussion and blocked from the page), was still quite informative.

For starters, this particular conversation grew over an argument about whether or not Jesus is God. For a while, I watched from the comfort of the sidelines as the parties of both camps threw scripture verses out there, each side refuting the interpretation of the other side's scriptures. When that didn't work each side resorted to throwing out his own version of this particular appeal: "if you would just look at the clear and unambiguous words of Scripture, you would see the truth."

Aaaah, that sounds so reasonable, doesn't it? It's an appeal to common sense. It's a "come, let us reason together" moment. It seems like the way to solve the problem: let's just go to the text, say a little prayer for guidance, read the words, shake hands and walk away united. It should work, right? Unfortunately, it doesn't. Sure it seems reasonable, but that's as far as it goes. Deep down, it's fundamentally flawed thinking.

The problem isn't with the words of scripture, per se. It's the meaning those words are imbued with. In the argument I was watching unfold, both camps took the same words and each read remarkably different ideas into them--contradictory ideas in fact. Their own ideas.

Neither side could understand how the other could not read their particular proof texts and not come away convinced. And so, inevitably, the conversation devolved into who's led by the Holy Spirit and who's a servant of Satan.

As the opinions piled up and the number of posts increased, we "learned" that everyone's level of spirituality was directly related to the strength of his agreement with either of the two sides. For example, if you happened to agree with Side A, then Side A thought you were a Saint--a Biblical scholar of staggering proportions. However, side B typically thought you were a rube. On the other hand, if you, by chance, should agree with Side B, well then, it was clear (to Side B) that you were a powerful theologian--a visionary, able to cut through the clutter, lucidly beholding (and expounding upon) great spiritual mysteries. Unfortunately, Side A comfortably and knowingly assumed you were going to hell.

And all of this occurs because the Bible is exceedingly clear and unambiguous in all matters, right? And we'll know we're right because we know we're led by the Holy Spirit--and that's His job, right? To lead us into all truth? And even though the other people we encounter may SAY they're led by the Holy Spirit, we'll know whether or not that's true by this simple litmus test: do they agree with what we say Scripture says? If they agree, they pass and are clearly spirit led and are brothers and sisters who should be embraced. If they disagree with our positions--and since we KNOW we are spirit-led--we therefore know that they are . . . yes, you guessed it: Devil Spawn. Satan's Emissaries. Servants of Beelzebub.

Now, I'm not here to knock the Bible in any regard. The Bible is the written word of God, handed down to us through the Apostles and various followers of our Lord. The Bible is a tremendous gift from God to the world. And yet, nowhere in the Bible do we read that the Bible is the SOLE rule of faith. In fact, we read in 1 Timothy 3:15 that the "pillar and bulwark of the truth" is the Church of Jesus Christ--not a written word. In fact, Paul's passage reads as such:

¹⁴ Although I hope to come to you soon, I am writing you these instructions so that, ¹⁵ if I am delayed, you will know how people ought to conduct themselves in God’s household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth.

Paul WRITES Timothy instructions (the written WORD of God), but he doesn't tell Timothy that these writings are the pillar and foundation of the truth. That position is reserved for the Church of the Living God. The writings are instructional and helpful and definitely important--but they are not the Pillar and Bulwark or foundation of the truth. No writing can be that since the writing itself requires interpretation. The only entity that can provide interpretation is a teaching authority: the Church.

I would love to believe that the Holy Spirit leads each of us to understand Scripture for ourselves in ALL MATTERS. I would love to believe that we're all equally valid interpreters of the Word. It's a nice idea. It puts a lot of power in our hands. If it's true, we're all theologians, we're all experts on doctrine, we're all Doctors of the Church.

But if it is true, why is there so little consistency? If the Holy Spirit is leading us all, why is there so much variance in our beliefs? And we must be careful not to opt for the "easy-out" answer--the answer given almost everytime this question is asked: "we disagree in non-essentials, but in essentials, there's unity."

Really? Is the Spirit so weak? He's only able to persuade unity in certain doctrines, but other things are outside of his control? He is said to lead into ALL truth and yet, we so often are willing to accept just some.

So why aren't we united? It's what Jesus wanted. Why can't the Holy Spirit pull it off? If the original plan of God was to give us the Bible and then provide the Holy Spirit who would lead us (each one, separately) into all truth, then why in the world hasn't it happened? Human error? Human sin? These are things God didn't foresee?

God knew the system of personal interpretation would be flawed, would lead to much disunity, many arguments and widespread division, but He proceeded with it anyway just because He couldn't come up with a better idea? Does that makes sense?

But what if we're wrong about this notion? What if we're incorrect about God's plan regarding the Bible and the teaching of truth? What if He never meant each one of us to pick it up and find out the truth for ourselves all by ourselves? What if He established an authority--a teaching authority--a pillar and foundation of the truth? What if this was the authority who would be led by the Holy Spirit and pass on the teachings of the Lord accurately? What if this authority was created in order to teach infallibly and guide the faithful?

If we can believe that the Holy Spirit can guide each of us personally into all truth, preserving us from error, is it such an impossibility to think that He could do the same with the Church?

Gaining the World, Losing Our Souls

If you haven't already noticed, we're heading into another election cycle. We're due to elect another (or re-elect the old) President. And while the internet and the TV news shows and Talk Radio (both conservative and the (really bad) liberal versions) are talking about the economy and jobs, about the falling dollar and rising gas prices, it's imperative we Christians don't lose focus of what should be the key issue of any election: abortion.

Oh, I know that results in groans and grumblings from both sides. After all, being a one-issue voter is out-of-fashion at best and simple-minded or flatly unintelligent at worst. At least that's what we've been told.

In the last couple years I've run into countless conservative friends and acquaintances who make the case that with this election, we need to be "open-minded." We need to vote for the fiscally conservative candidate regardless of party. We need to put people in office who are going to work towards debt reduction, controlled spending, etc. I've been told that if there's a candidate in a given race who will stand for those things, we need to vote for him or her, regardless of party lines. I've been told that doing so is "responsible". To do so is to be politically astute. It's to care about my country. It's to be patriotic.

And yet, I can't do it. Because that's not how I think. I guess I'm that dyed-in-the-wool one-issue voter. And my one-issue is abortion. Every vote I cast hangs on a candidate's stance on abortion. Period.

I will not vote for my pocketbook at the expense of human life. I will not vote for jobs or for lower gas prices at the expense of the millions of babies who are dismembered in the womb for the sake of convenience.

Now, that doesn't mean that I can't do both. Many candidates will support strong, fiscally conservative platforms while at the same time maintaining a rigid pro-life stance.

I'm just saying that in this current climate of Tea Parties and fiscal conservatism, I pray that we as Christians don't lose sight of what should be the core issue in American life and politics.

Debt and jobs and the economy and social security are all about money. Abortion's about the soul.

Here's Fr. Frank Pavone from Priests for Life talking
about what a Dismemberment Abortion is.

So, You Don't KNOW You're Saved? You've Got to Be A Catholic!

"So, you're not SURE of your salvation? You've got to be a Catholic!"

The person who says this typically starts shaking his or her head at this point, probably offering up a prayer for me. (Which, by the way, I'll gladly take!)

Just recently, this happened again--this time in the middle of a deep and profound discussion of the type that can only occur on Facebook. I was discussing a particular theological issue with an acquaintance online and, inevitably, when the discussion started to grind to a halt, my acquaintance pulled out this worn and tattered line and blasted it across the page. Apparently, for him, my admission, "I hope one day to be saved," was tantamount to admitting I'm not really a Christian.

"One that cannot even say whether they are saved or not," my friend wrote, "cannot even know whether the things they are speaking are from God."

So basically, by my admission that I don't know whether I will be saved in the end or not, I have, in my friend's mind, disqualified myself from any and all theological discussion. He concludes with "you are a Catholic, hook, line and sinker."

Well, before I bow out of any and all theological discussion, I would like folks who are fully confident that they WILL be saved at their death, to consider one thing--and hopefully, in so doing, realize my position with more clarity than they heretofore may have.

THE HYPOTHETICAL SITUATION
Let's consider the situation of a man--a Baptist Pastor. He's been a Pastor for 30 years. He's led countless souls to Christ. He's gone on mission projects. He goes door to door and hands tracts to Catholics and Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses and other cultists. He hums Amazing Grace during every single shower.

He's a Christian. He's living the Christian life. He loves his Lord and has given his heart to Christ.

But then, as sometimes happens, he spots a Sunday School teacher that looks really good in her thick, woolen ankle-length skirt. One thing leads to another and before you know it, he's fallen. The two have an affair. When they're caught, they're unrepentant. They LOVE each other after all. They break up their families, divorce and move in together. Slowly, over time, they turn their backs on Christianity and quit going to church, praying or worshipping at all. Then, one day, the ex-Pastor, while driving home from his job at the Supermarket, has an accident and dies.

What happens to that man? Is he still "saved?" What does his ex-congregation say?

Well, I was raised in a church where this happened (more or less) and I can tell you what that congregation said: They concluded, to a person, that the man--their pastor of 30 years--had never been a Christian in the first place. After all, once we're "saved"--once we give our heart to Christ for real, then Christ will not let us go--He will complete His good work in us and bring it to completion. Once we accept Him, we WILL be saved.

That's what my church believed. And so, when we were confronted with a situation (that, sadly, isn't uncommon in any of our churches), we need to deal with the logical fallout of our position. For my church (and many "once saved, always saved" adherents), the solution is to make the sweeping claim: So and So was never REALLY saved in the first place.

However, while seeming to solve the problem, this solution doesn't really work. Think of this: do we really believe that the pastor of 30 years, who led all those retreats and mission projects and altar calls believed that he himself was not saved? Do we really believe that all people who fall away from Christ before death truly spent their lives knowing they weren't really saved? Does that make any sense? Sure, some of them were frauds. But all of them?

No, reason will not allow us to claim that every single believer who's ever walked away from the faith, never thought they were saved in the first place. Surely, at least some--even just one--in all of history, truly believed he or she were saved only to find out "he or she wasn't".

And, if that's the case--if even one person in all of history truly believed he was saved only to fall away from Christ and discover, too late, at death that he really wasn't--then we have to wonder how sure is this "assurance"? Of how much value is our confidence when we can be tricked into believing something that's not true?

If the Pastor in our hypothetical situation thought he was saved, was sure he was saved, only to discover, when he walked away from Christ that he apparently wasn't, how can any of us know we will be saved? How can we know that there's not a moment, lurking in our future, where something will happen that will shake our faith and cause us to reject Christ and his promises? We can't.

THE CATHOLIC UNDERSTANDING
And that brings me to the Catholic understanding as I, still a non-Catholic, understand it: to simplify, salvation is a process. It's something that has happened, it's something that is happening and it's something that will happen in the future. (Catholic friends/readers feel free to comment and correct/adjust my explanation).

To put it another way: I am saved right now. Should I die right now, in this present condition of heart, at this moment, I am confident that I will be saved. However, the condition of my heart right now, is not necessarily the condition of my heart tomorrow. Hence, St. Paul's command to us to work out our salvation with fear and trembling--taking nothing for granted.

And that is what I'm trying to do with God's help: work out my salvation--staying true to Christ, relying on his Grace and Power and cooperating with Him--so that I can confidently hope that one day, I will be saved.

This is what Paul talks about with his race analogy--the marathon. The Christian life isn't about coasting. It's not about making a one-time decision and sitting back.

The Christian life is about running. It's about the journey and, most imporantly, it's about finishing. Christ told us to persevere, to remain in Him, to stay connected to the vine. That's why Paul writes, in 1 Corinthians 9:27:

but I buffet my body, and bring it into bondage: lest by any means, after that I have preached to others, I myself should be rejected.

Paul himself understands the importance not just of running, but of finishing. He works (with God's help) to stay true to Christ so that, in the end, he will not have preached to others only to be rejected himself. That doesn't sound like the language of a man who knows without a doubt that his salvation is a done-deal.

And this is exactly what the Catholic is saying when he expresses uncertainty about His salvation: We cannot see the future and therefore, cannot know how we will choose to respond to God. Yes, God is at work in us, but God has also given us the gift of free will. And that means we can reject Him. It means we can walk away from Him. Despite the wishes of John Calvin, God doesn't normatively exert an irresistable Grace. Certainly, nothing in this world outside of our own will can pull us away from Him, but the one aspect of our world that God has willingly relinquished dominion over is our free will.

He allows us the gift of choosing Him, so that, in the choosing, our love is authentic, rich and deep. However, the gift of choosing means we also have the option of rejecting. Just as we can make the good decision, the wise decision, so can we make the wrong one. God gives sufficient Grace to ALL people so that ALL people CAN choose to follow. But not all will. Likewise, once we choose to follow, we have to continue daily to choose to follow. Paul supports this when he writes to the Corinthians:

Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you. (1 Corinthians 15:2)

Paul writes that we are "being saved" as long as we "hold fast to the word I preached to you." He doesn't say "you believed the word I preached and now are saved." No, IF we hold to the teaching, we will find ourselves "being saved." It's a process. It's the journey. It's the Christian life.

Catholics (and many Protestants as well) acknowledge this. They understand the very simple fact that we do not know the future and cannot know for certain what our final state of mind toward God will be. If we remain in God through life, we will indeed be saved. But there's the rub: none of us can know--with our finite minds--that we will continue to choose to remain in God.

That's why Paul would write, as we mentioned above, "work out your salvation with fear and trembling" (Philippians 2:12) That's why he encouraged us to "run so as to win the race" (1 Corinthians 9:24). That's why Jesus said, "only he who perseveres to the end will be saved" (Matthew 24:13).

Yes, Jesus said, we can KNOW we will be saved. And we can KNOW this--as long as we continue to persevere. What we cannot know, until we actually do it, day by day, is whether or not we'll persevere.

An Act of Consecration to the Sacred Heart of Jesus

An incredible prayer.

And can you imagine the joy in death if we truly lived our lives like this?

Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I consecrate myself to Your Most Sacred Heart. Take possession of my whole being; transform me into Yourself. Make my hands Your hands, my feet Your feet, my heart Your heart. Let me see with Your eyes, listen with Your ears, speak with Your lips, love with Your heart, understand with Your mind, serve with Your will, and be dedicated with my whole being. Make me Your other self. Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, send me Your Holy Spirit to teach me to love You and to live through You, with You, in You and for You.

Come, Holy Spirit, make my body Your temple. Come, and abide with me forever. Give me the deepest love for the Sacred Heart of Jesus in order to serve Him with my whole heart, soul, mind and strength. Take possession of all my faculties of body and soul. Regulate all my passions: feelings and emotions. Take possession of my intellect, understanding and will; my memory and imagination. O Holy Spirit of Love, give me an abundance of Your efficacious graces. Give me the fullness of all the virtues; enrich my faith, strengthen my hope, increase my trust, and inflame my love. Give me the fullness of Your sevenfold gifts, fruits and beatitudes. Most Holy Trinity, make my soul Your sanctuary.

Teach Me Your Ways--A Little Ignatian Spirituality

Teach Me Your Ways

Teach me your way of looking at people:
as you glanced at Peter after his denial,
as you penetrated the heart of the rich young man
and the hearts of your disciples.

I would like to meet you as you really are,
since your image changes those with whom you
come into contact.

Remember John the Baptist’s first meeting with you?
And the centurion’s feeling of unworthiness?
And the amazement of all those who saw miracles
and other wonders?

How you impressed your disciples,
the rabble in the Garden of Olives,
Pilate and his wife
and the centurion at the foot of the cross. . . .

I would like to hear and be impressed
by your manner of speaking,
listening, for example, to your discourse in the
synagogue in Capharnaum
or the Sermon on the Mount where your audience
felt you “taught as one who has authority.”

—Pedro Arrupe, SJ

Changing the World

Sometimes it's easy to fall into the mindset that we're not accomplishing anything. I mean really, I do the marketing for a chain of paint stores based Holland, Michigan. And while I enjoy my job, am grateful for the work, and believe in the company...making stunning photoshop ads about paint and what it will do for your home isn't exactly earth-shattering stuff. It's definitely not the stuff of which dreams are made.

There was never a day in college where I walked into a class and thought..."someday, someday I'll "arrive". Oh, yeah...someday, I'll be making paint ads."

Nope. In college, I was going to be "Somebody" (capital "S"). I was going to do "Something" (capital "S"). In fact, that's why I didn't mind spending all that money: It was just a down payment on my future.

Yeah, then I graduated.

I don't remember exactly what happened, but somehow I ended up not being "Somebody" or even "somebody". Somehow I ended up not doing "Something".

Instead of the Esteemed Professor, the Accomplished Writer, the Philosopher, the Pastor, I ended up being the "Paint Guy": father of six, husband of one. The big dreams and the college-visions faded away into the reality of work-a-day life. And from time to time, it's easy to fall into the mindset, as I said earlier, that I'm not accomplishing anything. But then I found this from the Book of Sirach (one of those "extra" books in a Catholic Bible) and I realized I'm looking at things upside down:

Some [men] have left behind a name and men recount their praiseworthy deeds;
But of others there is no memory, for when they ceased, they ceased.
And they are as though they had not lived, they and their children after them.
Yet these also were godly men whose virtues have not been forgotten;
Their wealth remains in their families, their heritage with their descendants;
Through God's covenant with them their family endures, their posterity, for their sake.
And for all time their progeny will endure, their glory will never be blotted out;
Their bodies are peacefully laid away, but their name lives on and on.
At gatherings their wisdom is retold, and the assembly proclaims their praise.

--Sirach 44:8-15

Those verses and the sentiment they convey put everything in perspective. My job, my calling, my career isn't to be one of those guys who leave behind a name and deeds that men (and women) will be talking about.

But that's OK, because God still has a plan for me: He wants me to be the other kind of guy the passage talks about: you know, the one "of which there is no memory, for when they ceased, they ceased."

And while that seems like a bit of a downer at first, it's not really all that bad.

See, I've been put here on this earth to be a regular guy. To work a regular, sometimes boring, sometimes thankless, rarely glamorous job. To drive a little purple (yes, purple) 1996 Chevy Cavalier. To live in and someday own a little blue house in Zeeland.

And, to be the father of 6 children.

And that is the biggest, most important, most earth-shattering experience I can imagine. Five souls are entrusted to my care (one soul returned to God shortly after her birth). And it's my job--my vocation--my calling--to raise them so that, one day, they will step into an eternity with Christ.

If I can do that, with God's help, I won't care whether anybody knows I ever lived. I won't care that I never pulled that six-figure salary. I won't care that I drove a little purple girl car and never once owned a vehicle that looked manly. I won't care because my wealth will be in my family, my heritage will be in the descendants of my children.

I've got the chance, right now, to do something, to teach my kids something that will last well beyond my lifetime--something that can reach to my grandkids and the grandkids of my grandkids. I can pass on a faith--a real, living faith in our Lord. I can instill in them a desire to obey His commands and to love others in the same manner that He loved us. And in so doing, I have the chance to make an impact well beyond my already-determined number of years.

Some of us explode onto the scene and live huge lives, moving mountains, changing the world. Others live in the shadows of the shadows of those mountain-movers. But we can still change the world.

Looking at the Floor

Before we go to bed each night, we try to work our way, as a family, through the Daily Readings. (The daily readings are simply the scheduled Scripture passages read in Catholic Churches around the world on any given day).

Anyway, typically, one of the kids (we've got 5--all under 10) starts us off with a prayer and then we move into the passages for the day.

Tonight, my oldest son prayed and when he finished, before we started reading, I asked them a question:

"What do you think about when Caleb's praying?"

They all looked at me with that blank look that kids perfect sometime around the age of 3. They were hoping--I could tell--that the question was rhetorical and that I'd just move on. But I didn't--I pressed them: "what do you think about when Caleb--or anybody--is praying?"

Well, the answers came trickling in at that point and the basic concensus was that they closed their eyes and thought about what the person was saying.

Funny--that's what I do as well. I sit there, close my eyes, adopt a posture of thoughtfulness . . . and I think about what so and so is saying.

How empty.

We're talking to God. Creator of all things. The one who made the flowers, the grass, the fields and the trees. Birds. Air. Clouds. The earth, the universe, the galaxies. God who has existed from all times--no beginning, no end.

We're talking to God--the same God who created Adam and Eve, who walked in Eden, who spoke with Moses from the burning bush, who parted the Red Sea.

We're talking to the same God who spoke when Jesus came out of the water at his baptism and when he was transfigured.

We're also talking to our Lord, Christ, who walked this earth as a real man. Who had dirty, dusty feet and who, from time to time, smelled like sweat. Who bled real blood and died a real death for us on a very real cross.

The same Lord who rose from the dead three days later and offered his hands and feet and side to Thomas.

We're talking to the Holy Spirit who has worked in our world and in our lives from the dawn of time. The same Holy Spirit who descended upon Jesus like a dove, who inspired the writers of the Scriptures and who guided the leaders of the early Church and Christians through all ages.

We're talking to God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.

We're talking to the Triune God.

And yet, that's not the miracle.

The miracle is: He's listening.

And yet, all my family apparently does is sit there. And act holy. And think about what someone else is saying.

We're standing at a window that peeks out into eternity and rather than stand on our tiptoes and peek through the glass, we're choosing to keep our eyes on the floor.

An Excerpt from Thomas Howard's "The Night is Far Spent"

The following essay was originally a lecture given at Gordon College by Thomas Howard on June 1995. Howard, according to his biography, was raised in a prominent Evangelical home (his sister is well-known author and former missionary Elisabeth Elliot), became Episcopalian in his mid-twenties, then entered the Catholic Church in 1985, at the age of fifty. Howard is a highly acclaimed writer and scholar, noted for his studies of Inklings C.S. Lewis.

My guess is that a great clutter of bric-a-brac swims into your imagination when you hear of Catholic spirituality: rosaries, holy water stoups, crucifixes, little plastic Saint Christophers for your dashboard, and laminated holy cards depicting pastel-tinted saints with their eyes cast soulfully up into the ozone, not to mention all the polychrome statues and banks of candles flickering in little red glass cups (there are even electric candles that have a bogus flicker).

My guess is also that I am addressing at least three groups of people all stirred in together here in this assembly. The biggest group of you would locate yourselves in that wing of Protestantism known as Evangelicalism and will have been brought up in Evangelical households. A second group will tell us, "I was a Catholic until I was fifteen, then I met Jesus", or "I was Catholic until I was seventeen, then I, became a Christian." A third group of you are Roman Catholic even as we speak and may possibly have discovered that some of your colleagues here are very far from satisfied that your Catholicism qualifies you as a Christian. There may also be a fourth group, namely, those of you who are trying to shuck off whatever remnants of the Christian religion are still clinging to you so that you can get on with your own agenda.

Let me see if I can throw any light on this topic of Catholic spirituality so that the whole array of us may grasp things in a fairly clear light.

Click here to read the rest of the essay (it's worth it!)

The Greatest Prophecy We've Never Read

One of the things I've most loved about this study of the Catholic faith is the additional books you get with every single Catholic Bible! It's almost like one of those TV special offers: "Buy the Bible today and we'll throw in not one, not two, but SEVEN extra books! That's SEVEN extra books for the same price you'd pay for a regular Protestant Bible!",

Two years ago, I wouldn't have cared about the "special offer". I didn't want their extra books--books undoubtedly tossed in to support those Crazy Catholic beliefs with which many of us Protestants are familiar.

Yet, when I started this study--to prove a Catholic friend wrong, by the way--I decided I needed to be fair and do some research into how these books became part of their Scriptures and why Catholics didn't clue as to the fact that their Bibles were bastardized versions of the original text.

Well, in my search I found something interesting: history (as it has in so many aspects of this search) had a different story to tell than what I had always believed. I discovered quite quickly that it was quite possible the Catholics didn't add the books, but that we took them out.

Well, that was enough to pique my interest. I picked up a Catholic Bible and I still remember nervously cracking it open. I felt that even reading it was somehow blasphemous. And yet, I resolved to at least give it a try. I flipped it open and the first unfamiliar book I found was the Book of Wisdom, written in the 1st or 2nd Century BC. The first passage I read was this one from Chapter 2 in which the writer refers to the "Just Man" and the people who don't accept him:

13[The just man] boasteth that he hath the knowledge of God, and calleth himself the son of God. 14He is become a censurer of our thoughts. 15He is grievous unto us, even to behold: for his life is not like other men's, and his ways are very different. 16We are esteemed by him as triflers, and he abstaineth from our ways as from filthiness, and he preferreth the latter end of the just, and glorieth that he hath God for his father. 17Let us see then if his words be true, and let us prove what shall happen to him, and we shall know what his end shall be. 18For if he be the true son of God, he will defend him, and will deliver him from the hands of his enemies. 19Let us examine him by outrages and tortures, that we may know his meekness, and try his patience. 20Let us condemn him to a most shameful death: for there shall be respect had unto him by his words. 21These things they thought, and were deceived: for their own malice blinded them.

I remember reading that and thinking "what the heck?" These books were supposed to contain weird Catholic beliefs--you know, stuff about eating babies and statue worship and yet here was probably the most vivid prophecy concerning the death of Christ contained in the Bible.

In a future post, I'll try to lay out some of the history behind the different versions of the Catholic and Protestant Bibles. As for now, I just wanted to share something I'm betting 99% of my Protestant friends and family have never read....

Jesus Knew How We'd Take It And He Still Said It

It's important to remember who Jesus is. He is human, yes, but also God. A prophet. The Prophet. Jesus is one in being with the Father. As He Himself says, "I and the Father are one" (John 10:30).

We know that He had a tremendous knowledge of events that were to come and John writes that "He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made" (John 1:1-2).

Jesus is one with the Father. He was with the Father from the beginning. Jesus is, in every way, God. That's Christianity.

And God, as we know, knows all. He's not bound by the constraints of time. All things are NOW to God. He's omniscient. That's why Paul could write "for those whom he foreknew, he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the first-born among many brethren" (Romans 8:29).

Jesus, being one with God in nature, shares this ability. Jesus, in the beginning, was with God (John 1:1) and knew all that God knew. Sure, Jesus apparently gave up some of this knowledge temporarily when he became human (He admitted He didn't know when the last day would be--that only the Father knew). But Jesus also acknowledged "I did not speak on my own, but the Father who sent me commanded me what to say and speak. And I know that his commandment is eternal life. So what I say, I say as the Father told me” (John 12:49-50).

One of these things Jesus said "as the Father told him" was the well-known "you must eat my flesh and drink my blood" command in John 6.

We need to stop and think about that for a moment: When Jesus entered heaven after His ascension, He and God didn't get together, take note of how the early Church was interpreting Jesus' words literally, and conclude "Well, we blew that. We probably should have been a little more clear--probably shouldn't have been sooooo in love with the metaphor. Oh well, eventually--millions of souls later--we'll send some Reformers to straighten things out and get the Church back on track regarding that bread and wine thing."

Jesus knew ahead of time the impact those words would have on the Church through the first 14 or so centuries of Christianity and yet, He didn't temper them. He didn't soften them. He didn't retract them or clarify them when He was confronted except to stress the literal interpretation even more strongly.

Jesus had the ULTIMATE opportunity as a speaker and teacher: He had the ability to know ahead of time--an eternity ahead of time--how people at any given point in time would understand His words. He had an eternity to fine-tune, to hone His message.

And with all of that foreknowledge, that time, Jesus said what He said. And He did so KNOWING fully how it would be interpreted by the vast majority of Christianity. So, either Jesus was fully cool with the vast majority of Christian history misunderstanding (and blaspheming) His teachings, or . . . He said what He said because He KNEW the Church would get it right....

The Authority to Forgive Sins

In the midst of this study of the Catholic Faith and an examination of my own beliefs, I've run into Scripture passage after Scripture passage for which my former/current (I'm still journeying, afterall) tradition offers me no good explanation.

For example, here's a passage I've read hundreds of times and yet I never once caught the ending of it until just recently when I looked at it with a Catholic understanding.

The passage is Matthew 9:1-8. Read it and see if the last line surprises you or not. I'm betting that some of you at least will leave the computer and go check it against your own Bibles--just to make sure I haven't toyed with the wording. (That's the first thing I did when I stumbled upon it on a Catholic website explaining the Biblical roots for the Sacrament of Reconciliation).

Anyway, here it is:

And getting into a boat he crossed over and came to his own city. And behold, they brought to him a paralytic, lying on his bed; and when Jesus saw their faith he said to the paralytic, "Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven."

And behold, some of the scribes said to themselves, "This man is blaspheming."

But Jesus, knowing their thoughts, said, "Why do you think evil in your hearts? For which is easier, to say, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Rise and walk'? But that you may know that the Son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins"--he then said to the paralytic--"Rise, take up your bed and go home."

And he rose and went home.

When the crowds saw it, they were afraid, and they glorified God, who had given such authority to men. Matthew 9:1-8

The word that caught me off guard is the last one: "men". Matthew clearly writes that the people were amazed that God gave this authority--the power to forgive sins if we read back a verse or two--to MEN. In the plural.

If you do a parallel study of multiple translations, you'll find there's no getting around it. This or that particular translation may opt for the phrase "people" or "human beings" or "men", but whatever word is selected, that word is always plural.

Now, when Matthew, guided by the Holy Spirit, wrote the words "they glorified God, who had given such authority to men," what do we think he was talking about? Is there any point in the history of Christianity--any point in recorded Scripture--in which God gave men--not a man, not just Jesus, but MEN--the authority to forgive sins?

Well, I can only think of one, John 20:21-23 which reads:

Then said Jesus to them again, "Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you." And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, "Receive ye the Holy Ghost: Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained."

This is the foundation of the Catholic understanding of Confession--the Sacrament of Reconciliation. And this is just a beginning introduction. The verses need to be weighed and parsed and history needs to be consulted before any kind of understanding one way or another can be reached. And I'll do my best to get to that later.

But for now, I wanted to throw it out there because it shows that while Protestants may disagree with Catholic theology regarding confession, they really can't honestly claim that there's no Biblical support for it.

Stop Quoting the Church Fathers, They're Not Scripture!

Often, when I write about the Church Fathers, the following statement arises: Why bother quoting these people? They're not authoritative. Their writings aren't scripture. Whatever they said about this or that is worthless if it's not clearly taught in the Bible.

Well, I bother quoting from the early Church Fathers for a number of reasons:

• FIRSTHAND WITNESSES. Many of the Early Church Fathers were taught by the Apostles (or, at least, were taught by people who were taught by the Apostles). No historian worth his weight would throw out the testimony of firsthand and secondhand witnesses. This testimony provides valuable information into HOW the Apostles understood Scripture and HOW the Apostles taught certain doctrines. Scripture doesn't interpret itself and many passages allow multiple interpretations (just look at the Catholic/Protestant debate as well as all the different sects within Protestantism). Since multiple interpretations are possible, I would think any true Bible scholar would be interested in how the people closest to the Apostles actually understood these teachings.

• NO LANGUAGE BARRIER. Another reason to look at the writings of the Church Fathers is that these men literally spoke the language in which the New Testament was written. We rely on interpretations and lexicons. They could pick up an original text and read it with understanding. No nuance of the text, which for us can be lost in the translation, was hidden from them.
  

• UNDERSTANDING of TRADITIONS. The early Church Fathers grew up amongst the traditions of the Jewish culture. The same traditions that underlie the New Testament. They were aware of them. They made sense to them. We on the other hand, have an outsider's understanding of these traditions. An example is the Jewish understanding of the Passover. Understanding these traditions suddenly makes it clear WHY the early church understood Jesus' words "This is my body" to be literal. We miss this because we have no concept of the tradition in which it's steeped.

• THE FIRST BIBLE COMMENTARIES. Finally, few Bible scholars today would think of examining a passage of scripture, especially a complicated or troublesome passage, without referring to one or more of the countless Bible Commentaries available on the market. A trip to the local Christian bookstore reveals hundreds of these works on the shelves. And countless pastors and theologians make use of them. And yet, while making use of these Bible Commentaries written by men 2000 years after the fact, we would think to disregard the Biblical analysis of Christian writers who lived just decades after Christ walked he earth?
  

These are just a few reasons why the writings of the Church Fathers are valuable. No, their writings aren't scripture, but they provide insight that simply can't be found anywhere else as to the authentic interpretation of Scripture and the life and times of the early Church. We can ignore them, but to do so is to ignore history in favor of something of our own creation.