BOOK REVIEW: Radio Replies, Vols I, II and III

For something different, I'd like to highlight what have to be three of the best books I've ever read--at least in regards to providing answers about the Catholic Faith.  The 3 Volume Set titled simpy Radio Replies by Father's Leslie Rumble and Charles Carty (Copyright 1942) tackle hard-hitting questions about the Catholic Faith.

The books are well-indexed and can be read cover to cover, browsed, or used as research tools to discover quick insights into Catholic thought on anything--and I mean ANYTHING.  The index in Volume 3 includes, for example, The Perpetual Virginity of Mary, Protestant Bibles, Marriage and Divorce, The Existence of God, Hell, Egyptian Mythology, The Problem of Evil, The Fall of the Angels and hundreds of other topics.

The questions were gathered by Fathers Rumble and Carty for use on their radio show and were submitted by Catholics, Protestants, Athiests and everybody in between.  There are very few softball questions and no cheap answers.  Logic, reasoning, faith and tradition are woven seamlessly into every answer.  It's not always easy to accept the good Fathers' answers without getting a little frustrated, a little angry (especially if you're on the non-Catholic side of the fence), but while the answers are clear-cut and offer no apologies, neither are they condescending, cutting or cruel.  They're grown-up answers for grown-up seekers who are able to absorb a few theological blows without breaking into tears and running for cover.

Excerpt from Radio Replies, Volume 3:

511:   We Protestants believe that each man should read the Bible for himself and accept the truth he discovers in its pages.

That is an unsound principle.  Many men fail to understand the true meaning of the Bible, and still more read wrong meanings into it.  Thus St. Peter says that there are many things in Scripture hard to be understood which the unlearned and unstable wrest to their own destruction.  The very fruits of such private interpretation should be sufficient proof that God could never have intended such a method.  For men have made the Bible support the most opposite doctrines and have established hundreds of distinct and irreconcilable sects, each claiming to represent the true religion of Christ.  God could never have intended a principle which would lead to such chaos.

927:  Surely the doctrine of hell is hard to believe even by Catholics.

It is no more difficult than any other revealed mystery of the Christian religion.  If a man can believe in the Trinity, the Divinity of Christ, or the Blessed Sacrament, he can just as easily believe in hell.  He has exactly the same motive for doing so, the authority of God for its existence.  Hell is as much a mystery of faith as any other revealed mystery.  We have to believe in it as God knows it to be, not as we imagine it to be.  As we can state simply that there are three Persons in one God without fully comprehending the complete significance of the doctrine, so we know that there is a possible final and eternal wreckage called hell.  But the nature of hell, and its reconciliation with all the attributes of God, are beyond our comprehension.  That however, does not justify us in denying the knowledge and veracity of Christ.  Our faith in Him compels us to believe in hell; and our belief in hell inspires us with a dread of sin.  You will notice that I say our faith in Christ compels us to believe in hell.  We look, not at the thing we are asked to believe but at the knowledge and veracity of the Christ who tells us to believe it.  The only really valid argument against hell would be to prove that Christ did not teach it, or that He did not know what He was talking about, or that He deliberately lied.  That our limited minds find difficulty in comprehending hell is no argument against it.  We expect that, in the presence of a mystery of faith.

The books are currently out of print, but can be picked up on Ebay and they're well worth the $45 or so you'll have to pay.  If you're interested in understanding true Catholicism and not the mush you may think is Catholicism, these are incredibly valuable resources.

UPDATE:  9/16/12:
I've just discovered that these books are available on Kindle and Nook...for $.99.  That is truly an amazing deal--less than 1 dollar for all three volumes in one, easy-to-read, electronic edition.  It's an absolute must-have.  You can find them under the Radio Replies title or by searching for author Leslie Rumble.  

Par for the Course

Question:  So you think the Catholic Church is right on EVERYTHING it teaches?  I don't know how you can say that--it sounds very "cultish" to me.

 

The above was said to me a couple of weeks ago by a friend who stood there with wide eyes and a slight upward turn at the corners of his open mouth.  He was literally astounded that I was willing to "go out on a limb" and claim that the Catholic Church is correct in all of her official teachings--that, in fact, she cannot err.  To him, such a claim was so preposterous that it could only be made by the brainwashed member of some insidious cult.

His stance on this issue is really quite interesting and is worth breaking down and analyzing because it exposes a very bizarre logic at work.

When you look closely, you see that my claim that the Catholic Faith is 100% correct in it's teaching and doctrine--that it is, in matters of faith and morals, infallible--necessarily, in his opinion makes that same faith faulty, suspect and on par with the groups who indoctrinate their followers, live in compounds, and encourage the emptying of bank accounts into the "Leader's" coffers. 

However, if I'd have claimed the Catholic Faith to be subject to error, that I had no idea how "right" they were on any given subject and that they had no more authority than anybody else, then, by his standards, the Catholic Faith would NOT have been nearly as suspect, faulty or "cultish".  It would simply have been "normal."

The very fact that I claim that it's right, necessarily means, in his opinion, that it's wrong.   However, if I'd claim that it was wrong on certain things--perhaps many--that would have freed my friend's conscience enough that he could, without guilt, conclude that it may be OK afterall.   

That's unusual reasoning to say the least, but I understand where it comes from.  Many in the Protestant world are completely unfamiliar with the concept of 100% accuracy in faith and morals.  We (I say "we" as I haven't officially left this world, yet) would rather cling to a notion of "fundamentals"--those basic or core beliefs that all faiths must hold in order to be deemed truly "Christian".  Get these things "right" and you're OK--and all the other stuff is just extra.  It's fluff.  To claim 100% accuracy in teachings is, however, as my friend said, bordering on brainwashed.

And yet, is it really impossible to believe that the Church of God could be infallible?  Now, I'm not dealing with the arguments or questions of whether the Catholic Church is the one Church of God.  I'm not dealing with the question of whether the Catholic Church is in fact infallible.  Those are topics for another post.  What I'm asking here is simply this:  is it impossible--against reason--that the Church of God could be infallible in its Doctrine and Morals?  

I think almost all Christians believe in some concept of infallibility in Christian teachings--we just don't often think of it in those terms.  For example, were the disciples infallible in their teachings?  Not in their actions (as St. Peter demonstrates), but in their teachings--the doctrines they passed on--were they infallible?  Or could they make mistakes?  Could the letters they wrote, which later became the Bible, and the early sermons they preached have been interspersed with error or did the Holy Spirit protect the teaching?

If not--if the Holy Spirit did not ensure their teachings and protect them from error--then how do we know what in the Bible is true and what isn't?  If that's the case, then we can't know anything.  At best, we can hope.  Or believe.  But assurance is out the window.

However, if the Holy Spirit did protect and ensured the accuracy of the teaching, then what was His reason for doing so?  Was it to merely preserve the early believers from being presented a false faith?  Was it only the first generation He was concerned with?  Or is God concerned with all believers through all ages?

If God is not concerned with the spiritual development of all believers through all ages, then we're out of luck in ways we cannot even comprehend.  If God only cared about the spiritual development of first generation or second generation Christians, then He's really no better than a deadbeat dad who spiritually sired a large family and then casually walked away to leave them to fend for themselves.  In short, if God doesn't care about our spiritual development, what hope do we have?

On the other hand, if He is concerned with the spiritual development of all believers through all ages--and all Christians (except maybe the Unitarians) will argue that He is not just concerned, but actively and critically concerned--then isn't it at least possible that He would do something (if He could) to ensure that the faith is handed on accurately and 100% free from error through all those generations?  (After all, what teacher would elect not to deliver lessons that were 100% free from error if it were in her power to do so?)

Now, I think we can all agree that if He can't accomplish that--if it isn't in His power to ensure that the faith is taught accurately and free from error through all generations--then He isn't God and we can quit thinking about all of this because it's a waste of time.

But if He is God as we believe, then nothing is outside of His power and He therefore certainly could preserve His Church through all the ages and ensure that the faith she teaches, from the beginning to the end, from Day One to Day the Last, is the true and infallible, unadulterated faith.

So after all of that, we're left with this:  if God is who He says He is and if He truly is concerned about the  spiritual well-being of all His children, earnestly desiring their salvation, is it really unbelievable that He would take active steps to guarantee the faith?  He died to save us.  Protecting the faith from error would require significantly less effort. 

Again, I'm not arguing right now that the Catholic Church is that Church that Christ established and I'm not arguing that she is infallible (I believe both suppositions, but am not arguing them now).  I'm simply arguing that the notion of infallibility shouldn't surprise Christians.  It shouldn't shock us.  It shouldn't evoke laughter, ridicule or condescension from us.  From the world, yes.  But not from Christians.

If we react to the notion of infallibility in a Church and argue that it's impossible or that anyone who believes such a thing is "drinking the kool-aid", then it's only because we've forgotten the Founder of our Faith.  We've forgotten Christianity wasn't founded by a man or a group of men.  The Christian religion was founded by Jesus Christ.  And Jesus Christ is God.

When we remember that then suddenly Infallibility and Protection from Error and Guarantees and All Truth aren't strange expressions, exceptions to the rule or lofty ideals never to be realized.  When we look to God as the Originator, perfection is just par for the course.

A Far Green Country Under a Swift Sunrise

As [my wife] and I struggled and talked and prayed all through that autumn of 1984, the tug-of-war inside of me was between "Am I mad?" and "Show me, dear Christ, Thy spouse so bright and clear."  Could I introduce this fissure into our very household?  How could I possibly head for a Table other than the one at which my dear lady made her communion from week to week, and at which I had brought up my children, and, indeed, at which I myself had worshipped for twenty-five years?

--Thomas Howard, Lead, Kindly Light (p. 64-65 )

So writes Thomas Howard, an Anglican convert to Catholicism, about his journey to Rome.  And I find myself echoing his thoughts, though certainly not his prose, as I weigh the same decision and mull the same looming consequences:  what will happen to my children if I pull up stakes and head for that strange and ancient country?  What about my wife?  

My dream was always to be a father and to live in a comfortable little house and close enough to a small Baptist or Reformed church that we could walk there on crisp, sunny Sunday mornings.  That's what I pictured, what I wanted.  And that's what I have:  a thriving church filled with kind, friendly and real people.  

My children are happy there.  My wife is happy there.  And I was happy there until a couple of years ago when I found myself suddenly face to face with the authentic Catholic Church. (I say "authentic" because as Archbishop Fulton Sheen once accurately wrote "There are not a hundred people in America who hate the Catholic Church. There are millions of people who hate what they wrongly believe to be the Catholic Church — which is, of course, quite a different thing.")

That certainly summed up my experience.  I had always pitied the Catholic Church and the poor Catholics with their mumbled Hail Mary's, their rote prayers, and dry, dead faith.   I knew from vast amounts of experience (which I gained by listening to various preachers talk about Catholics) that Catholic Churches were places of despair where the misinformed throng was taught to "earn their way to heaven", to "bow in worship to Mary" and to completely ignore the saving work of Jesus, replacing the "real" Christ with a sissy who was bossed around by his mother.  (I remember an ex-Catholic in one of the churches I attended explaining that the "Catholic Jesus" he'd been raised to believe in was a "namby-pamby Jesus."  And that he was glad to finally have found the "real Jesus" here.)

So, when I looked into the claims of the Catholic Church--mostly just to disprove them with my tremendous Biblical knowledge (of which I was humbly proud)--I began my search with no fear at all of being converted.  In fact, I began my study with no fear at all that it would even develop into something that could accurately be described as a "study".  I figured it would be an afternoon (maybe two) of reading and then I figured I'd step in with my great wisdom, derail the Catholic arguments easily and handily, and be back home in time for dinner.

But it didn't go that way.  Instead of finding the Catholic Church I'd always heard about, I found something all together different.  Something ancient and yet vibrant.  Something tied indelibly to history and yet current and, to use a sadly overused and twisted word, relevant.  To put it simply:  I found Christ.  And not the "namby-pamby" Christ that my ex-Catholic friend had warned me about.  I found a blood-and-bones Jesus who loved and suffered and died and rose.  In short, I found the same Jesus I'd always known about--and yet I found him in what seemed the most unlikely of all places.

Still, this didn't completely sway me.  I remember thinking that this was good news (I have a number of Catholic friends and it was a great surprise and comfort to discover that they may indeed be "saved" after all and that I needn't worry about them as much as I had been) but I still believed them to have a faith full of errors and misguided devotions.  

However, that initially startling discovery of Christ in the Catholic Church did lead me to dig a little deeper:  after all, there was no fear of my conversion to Catholicism, so I might as well try to understand their strange ways a little better.

And so I've done for the last 2 1/2 years or so.  I've read books by Protestant converts, countless conversion stories and basic introductions to the faith.  When those made more sense than I thought possible, I looked to Protestant sources to refute this belief system and get me back on track.  However, instead of finding reasoned arguments against Catholicism, what I found was sad, angry and vitriolic.  Even with my limited study, I was able to see that many of the arguments presented by "ex-Catholics who left the Church when they found Jesus" were simply not based in fact or in a firm understanding of their previous Catholic faith.  In some cases, I found what I can only believe were lies (supposed ex-Catholic priests with a poorer understanding of the Eucharistic mysteries than I myself had after reading just a few books or researching for more than 10 minutes on the internet).

Neither confirmed nor comforted by my Protestant compatriots, I went back to Catholic sources to see what they had to say about themselves.  I picked up the Catechism, dipped into the writings of various Saints and looked into the documents written by the early Church Fathers.  After that, it was time to tackle Conciliar documents and encyclicals.  All of these were rooted in Scripture and the writers, rather than having a disdain for the Word of God (as I'd been taught) actually held the Bible in high regard.

By the end of all this--or actually, part way through--I discovered that something had shifted in my thinking:  instead of reading to disprove their doctrines, I was reading to understand them better.  At some point in the journey, I'd come to the very remarkable (in my opinion) point that whenever a Catholic Doctrine or Teaching seemed bizarre and unnatural and pagan and unholy, it's very likely that I simply didn't understand it. (Afterall, when I read the love for Christ that is apparent in the writings of the Church's Saints and Doctors, who am I to so quickly and easily conclude (with my immeasurable storehouse of Biblical Knowledge) that I had succeeded where they had failed?  That Saint Thomas Aquinas, or Saint Augustine, or Saint Louis de Montfort failed to discern true Christianity whereas I, Daniel Hansen of Zeeland, Michigan, was able to grasp the fruit the giants couldn't reach?  To make that claim is a failure to think critically and honestly on my part.  Or at the very least, it gives evidence of a tremendous over-confidence in my own cognitive abilities.  For someone with my limited experience and knowledge to dispel out of hand, without more than a few moment's thought, the entire canon of St. Thomas is, to put it mildly, arrogance in the extreme).

At any rate, I found that I was no longer reading to refute, but reading for clarity, for understanding.  Before long, the strange phrases, "our Blessed Lord" the "precious body and blood" and many others felt comfortable and, more importantly, Right on my tongue.  The holy water, the icons, the statues, the rosaries, the beads, the Saints, the feasts, the liturgy, the confessional . . . all not only made sense to me but actually have become essential to the full expression of my faith.

I found myself not just looking at them with the eyes of wonder one might have at a museum filled with strange and unusual artifacts, but with real and sincere (and aching) longing.  The Catholic faith of the ages came to life before my eyes and lit a fire in my chest.  Yes, part of it's a yearning for the past--for the ancient cathedrals filled with stained-glass and symbolism and hymns that must be chewed before they can be absorbed--but that's not all.  It's also a longing for sublime and serious and weighty liturgy and for worship that is not based on a thumping beat but which is instead grounded in the once-and-for-all sacrifice of Christ "made present" in the Eucharist.  And yet, even that is not the sole reason for my longing for communion with Rome.  I feel, in a remarkable and undeniable way, that Christ is calling me.  To disobey for the sake of convenience is not an option.  I want to be obedient above all.  

And that brings me back to the quote we started with at the beginning of this ramble.  Thomas Howard was in this same place and was wondering the same things and dealing with many of the same issues.  His wife wasn't ready for the journey.  How would their relationship fare when the most important part of their lives--their faith--was something they didn't share?  And what about the children?  What would become of them? 

I find myself asking those same questions.  My wife and I have argued and discussed this long into the morning on many occasions.  My children are aware of the Struggle, the Quest (or, as it's more often called:  Dad's Catholic "Thing") and often ask, on any given Sunday, whether we're going to "Dad's" church or "Mom's"?  

I don't know, right now, what the outcome of all this will be.  And though I'm hesitant to even use this analogy because I've learned over the last couple years that I'm no "Father of Faith", neither did Abraham know the outcome of his journey up the mountain with Isaac.  He only knew God had called him to go and to be willing to give up all that made sense and abandon that to Him.  

That's what I will struggle to do in the next year as I plan to enter the Catholic Church next Easter.  And yet, like Abraham (who I'm convinced had more than just an inkling that God would "come through in the end") I'm convinced that He'll work things out to our benefit. 

Right now, the journey is dark and lonely--for all of us.  My children are floundering between faiths, my wife feels alone and I feel the weight of monumental decision-making and the fear of the Second-Guessers, the "What-if-Your-Wrongs" and my own worries that my journey is internally and personally driven.  And yet, I believe that, at the end of this, God will bring us back together--here on earth, mind you and not just in the world beyond--and I am confident that rather than being dark and dreary and frightening and empty, that place He will bring us to will instead be thriving and beautiful and unmistakably, undeniably Right--or, as J.R.R. Tolkien put it in The Lord of the Rings:  we'll see "the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and . . . rolled back, and [we'll behold] white shores and beyond . . . a far green country under a swift sunrise.” 

Mary: Merely the Womb that Carried Jesus to Term?

I've been engaged in a number of conversations with various non-Catholic Christians who are opposed, heart and soul, to the Catholic Church.  And while they usually have a laundry list of favorite grievances, one of the biggest that usually crops up in any conversation revolves around perceived Catholic "worship" of Mary.

Thoroughly convinced that Catholics make too much of Mary--that their devotion steps well over the line into idolatry and blasphemy--non-Catholic Christians often argue that True Christians should steer clear of that dangerous ground and leave Mary alone.  "After all," someone asked me in a recent exchange, "why honor her?  She was just a regular woman.  The only thing that made her different is that God picked her to carry Jesus to term."  

Really?  That's all that made her different:  she carried Jesus to term?  Other than that, she was just like everyone else?

In another post, someday in the future, I'll tackle the issue of devotion to Mary.  But before we get to that, we need to first address this idea that Mary was just a regular woman.  And the reason we need to start here is  because so much of the non-Catholic disapproval of devotion to Mary hinges on the fact that they think of her, speak of her and regard her in this mundane, common manner.  It's a common argument amongst non-Catholics and yet, the reason this argument is espoused is due not to reasoned thought, but rather to a failure to reason--a resolute refusal to think things through to their logical conclusions and to realize the ramifications of their arguments.

For example, let's start with this:  many non-Catholics sincerely feel it's a requirement of faith and their love for Christ to drag Mary down to "our level".  Conversely, they feel that any veneration or honor paid her must be profoundly offensive to God the Father and Jesus the Son and almost certainly the Holy Spirit as well.  That's the thinking.  But does that make any sense?  Let's pare it down even further and ask it this way:  is it really right and true to say that one of the best ways to lift up the Lord and exalt His name and honor the Father, Son and Holy Spirit is to verbally assault or trivialize or blandly ignore Christ's Mother? 

Is this how it works in our world, in our experience?   Are we honored and pleased when someone praises us and then verbally backhands our mom?   Of course not.  If someone were to do that, we'd be offended.  Or angry.  (Or, if we feel neither of those emotions, it likely could be suggested that we're rotten, defective, thankless children.)

And yet, somehow, we think that with Jesus, this situation is somehow different.  Somehow we imagine that nothing demonstrates our love for Jesus quite as much as when we argue that "the woman who bore You was simply a vehicle to get You here.  A womb to carry You to term.  A birth canal for you to enter through?"  Really?  We really feel that's a legitimate way to honor the Lord?   

As bizarre as it sounds, apparently the answer is yes.  At least, that's the view many non-Catholics are endorsing when they criticize, downgrade and/or trivialize Mary.  That's exactly what's going on with my non-Catholic friend.  His argument, remember, is that Mary is nobody special:  she was picked simply to "carry Jesus to term."  In other words:  once Jesus was here, born, breathing the air in that stable on that first Christmas night, Mary's job was over.  Done.  She could clock out.  God had no more use for her.  She had gloriously fulfilled her Supremely Utilitarian Role and could now slink back into the shadows of obscurity from whence she came.  Isn't that the story?  Isn't that the Christian narrative?  Isn't that the resounding teaching of scripture?

Of course not.  It's sad to even suggest it.  The short-sighted nature of the statement completely overlooks the roll of a Mother.  Mothers don't simply and only carry a baby to term.  Oh, that's the beginning--but that's all it is:  the beginning.  Once the baby's here, the real work begins in earnest.  There are diapers to be changed, feedings to be accomplished, clothing to be washed (and re-washed and re-re-washed) and hours and hours of holding and rocking and lullaby-singing. 

Babies, after all, need full-time attention and love and are psychologically damaged when they don't get it.  Mothers nurture, protect, teach, love, inspire, patch bruises, hug away hurts, nurse broken hearts and dry tears.  Mothers capture every moment in their memory (even in Jesus' day, when cameras and iPhones weren't readily accessible):  the first toothless, drooly smile.  The first real, honest-to-goodness laugh (as well as what caused it).  The first steps, the first words, the first teeth, the first day of school.  Mothers capture these memories and ponder them in their hearts.

But that's not all.  While they're snapping pictures, catologing and archiving every little moment of their child's , life, they're also continuing to teach, to shape, to lead.  And perhaps most of all, a Mother spends her life living vicariously through her child.  And I don't mean this in some derogatory, modernist, mom's-got-to-let-go-and-get-her-own-life kind of way.  I mean, a Mother feels pride when her child excels, pain when he suffers, sorrow when he aches and joy when he's happy.  A Mother's life is indelibly bound and wound with and through and around her child's and the relationship that results is truly unlike any other human relationship.

And that is the relationship that Mary had with Jesus.  In fact, that's not taking it far enough:  that is the relationship that Mary had with God--her Creator.  The "most Christian" of us (if that terminology could be used for this one instance) still doesn't have a relationship with God quite like the relationship Mary had with Him. 

God takes our lives and our hearts and makes us look like Him.  But with Jesus, God made Him first look like her.  And then, He made her look like Him.  When the neighbors peaked at the baby for the first time, they may have pointed out that "he has his Mother's eyes" or "his Mother's chin."  After the Cross, the Resurrection, and the Ascension, the early Church began to look at her and started to point out that "she has her Son's heart."

But that's, only scratching the surface of this unique relationship.  Remember:  Jesus lived with Mary for thirty years.  He spent just three with "us" in his ministry and look what happened:  he changed the world.  In just three years, he completely changed those coarse fishermen into leaders.  In three short years, He turned the religious system of the Jews on its head.  In thirty-six months He effectively changed the entire course of human history.  Think what change must have taken place in the soul of Mary over the thirty years they spent together.

During those thirty years of scriptural silence, Mary lived with God in her home in physical form.  She could speak with God and actually, physically, hear him speak back.  Not just once or twice on some mountain top in the middle of some profound religious experience, but day in and day out for thirty years.  From "pass the salt" to "what did Moses really look like?" to "what was it like before there was anything but You in existence?" 

If you had twenty minutes with God--face to face--what would you ask Him?  Mary had thirty years.  The questions could come slowly and could delve deeply because there was no rush.

But that's not all:  God lived under her roof.  Can you imagine what that must have been like?  Oh, we conjure in our minds  pictures, for example, of Jesus laughing.  We often joke that God has a sense of humor--especially when we watch the Cubs.  Mary however, knew the facts on both of those counts:  she saw Jesus' first laugh and hundreds more.  She knew exactly what he found truly hilarious--she understood his sense of humor:  knew when he was laughing for real and when He was laughing politely at something that really wasn't all that funny (we've all been there).  She knew all of that and, hard as it is to fathom, was most likely able to make the God of the Universe laugh so hard his stomach hurt and tears rolled.

But that's still not all:  when He was a boy, there were likely times she sat up late with Him, holding Him on her lap or in her arms until He fell  asleep.  And then, when He awoke, she would be there, ready to jump awake at the sound of his voice.  Mothers are like that, after all. 

When He was startled, she was there.  When He was hungry, she was there.  When He was happy, she was there.  When he was frustrated, nervous, excited, concerned, she was there. 

There were no "can you not watch and pray one hour with me?" questions for Mary.  She'd likely been doing that ever since that first Christmas night.

Mary was given the role, the job, the opportunity, the blessing, the gift of being the human being, chosen amongst all human beings, who was to comfort, care for, nurture, hold, protect and, yes, carry to term, the God of all creation.  

Pause for a minute.  Let that sink in:  she raised God in His human form.  The same God Who watched Adam and Eve, Who threw them out of the garden and Who promised a new Woman and a new Son who would set things right.  This is the same God who spoke to Abram, changed his name, promised him a people and came through on that promise.  The same God Who spoke to Moses in a burning bush, Who rained plagues down on Pharoah, Who led he Israelites through the Red Sea and, eventually, into the promised land. The same God Who spoke through the prophets and Who promised redemption.  That same God, all-powerful, only-wise, everlasting, took up residence in the womb of a young Jewish girl and then later referred to her as "mama" (or, at least, the Aramaic equivalent).

It's mind-boggling to think of the impact that must have had on Mary.  

And it's also mind-boggling to imagine that a simple human being could be asked by God to have that kind of an impact on Him.  

We are called to love Him and praise Him and honor Him.  She did that all--and it came more naturally to her than to anybody else in all of history.  Why?  Because only she could love God in exactly the same way a  Mother loves a Son.  It's an effortless, fluid love.  You don't have to work at it.  To struggle for it.  To reach for it.  Ask any mother and they'll tell you:  one look into that wrinkled, twisted, one-eye-open, matted hair face of her baby and she's head over heels in love.  Before he or she's spoken a word, mom's hooked.  

Mary loved God in that way.  And yet, though the love came easy, it cost her dearly.  For only she, in all of human history, truly lost a Son when we gained our redemption.

To call her a "vehicle"--a woman chosen to simply carry Christ to term--is to overlook all rational thought, to throw aside honesty, and to play far too cold and calculating with the heart.  And besides, it can't sit well with her Son.