Mercy Remembered

In this post, we look at what happens when we forget God’s love, and how we may be restored to relationship with our Father in Heaven.

Deep Wisdom from Kindergarten

A kindergarten teacher asks the kindergartners: “What happens when we forget that God loves us?”

The kindergartners respond, “We sin!”

The teacher is helping the little ones understand the mindset conducive to sin: forgetfulness of whose we are and who we are.

When we lose sight of our identity as God's beloved children, which flows from our relationship with the God who is love, we tend to fall into sin.

The word “fall” is used intentionally because that’s what it’s like: sin has a certain gravity that pulls us down into the pit whenever we let go of our relationship with God and forget who we are. 

Children give us a good example of this. I've noticed that little children tend to act up more when they are not receiving the attention from Mom and Dad that they long for. If they are not being affirmed in their parents' love, they get rebellious. They'll take any attention they can get whether it's good or bad. Are we like that, too? Do we tend to "act out" when we have forgotten or seriously doubted the love of God? 

Copyright 2016 by R. L. Drake

Memory Issues

My grandfather suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. His mental, physical, and emotional degeneration was tragic.

Granddad reached a point where he couldn’t remember my grandmother, his beloved wife of over fifty years, or any of his children. Granddad sometimes forgot who he was, too, his own identity seemingly lost in some dark closet of his brain.

On my visits, he often mistook me for my father, which was a bit awkward as he was not fond of my dad at all. He would say, gruffly, “Hello, Bob.” I found it best to just play along, because when corrected, he sometimes got agitated. So I’d respond with a hearty, friendly, “Hiya, Tom,” and hope for the best.

And yet, whenever he saw my little girl (now grown), he lit up and called her by name. It was amazing to see that recognition. Her face brought clarity to his mind, if only for a moment. Somehow, he would remember.

As I get older, I get nervous when I forget things. (The truth is, I’ve always been a little spacey! I have misplaced keys and papers for as long as I can recall). I worry that I will get the disease and forget myself, my family, and my friends.

When We Forget

The Israelites had memory issues, too. They had a tendency to forget who they were, and whose they were. After grand theophanies in which God would reveal his presence and do amazing deeds in their midst, they would be devoted to the Lord for a time, and then forget him, at least in practice. Consequently, they would also forget who they were. Then they would get themselves into all kinds of trouble.

The Israelites loved God, and they knew he loved them. Their very faith celebrated this reality. After all, God had said, “You will be my people, and I will be your God” (Exodus 6:7). But they tended to be forgetful. They sometimes forgot his warnings: “But if you do forget the Lord, your God, and go after other gods, serving and bowing down to them, I bear witness to you this day that you will perish utterly” (Deuteronomy 8:19). 

Copyright 2016 by R. L. Drake

At different points in their history, the Israelites replaced their allegiance to the Lord with the worship of “foreign gods,” the gods of the pagan tribes they shared land with, or of the lands they were exiled to. They forgot the covenant they shared with the Lord, which was their greatest source of security. They sacrificed to these pagan “gods” and made a mockery of their own religion by their misdeeds (cf. Deuteronomy 4:23, 8:19).

This is the narrative of the entire Old Testament. It’s a love story gone bad. And then good again, and then bad again, and so on.

Sometimes we Christians struggle with our own form of spiritual memory loss. We forget who God is, and so we begin to forget who we are. We replace God with gods of our own making: wealth, security, status, relationships, human respect, success, and so on. When these “gods” let us down, we find ourselves lost and confused. We become disoriented.

An acquaintance told me that on a motorcycle course his friend was counseled, “Don’t look where you don’t want to go!” When we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we seem to do all right. When we forget Jesus and focus on other “gods,” we risk getting off course, sometimes tragically.

Remember!

There’s that wonderful scene in the Lion King in which Simba, heir to the throne, fully grown physically, but not quite ready to take his place in the adult world, encounters the reflection of his deceased father, Mufasa, in the pond. His father emerges from the clouds above, and his deep, guttural voice lovingly but authoritatively commands his son, “Remember who you are. Rememmmberr!”

Simba would not become an adult until he claimed his identity as the Lion King, which carried not only privilege but responsibility. The only way to claim his identity was to acknowledge his filial relationship with his father.

Our true identity comes from our filial relationship with God.

In fact, two of the most important questions we will ever ask ourselves may be: Who am I? Who is my God? 

In a certain sense, the Israelites were relegated to spiritual childhood until they could truly claim their identity as God's Beloved People. They struggled to be who they were meant to be, day in and day out (as we do, too). As a result of sin, they experienced slavery, serious family dysfunction, humiliating defeats in battle, and exile from the land they loved. They lived the life of the Prodigal Son. They did what we tend to do. They wandered far from God, into “distant countries” (cf. Luke 15:13). They squandered their inheritance. They found it impossible to be faithful to the covenant. It must have seemed that there could be no hope for restoration.

Until the Lord sent the Redeemer, Jesus Christ, in whom God would offer a new covenant, once and for all.

By baptism, we entered into this new covenant. We became adopted sons and daughters of God.

In Jesus, we know whose we are and who we are. We are God’s, we are His children.

Whether we have come to Jesus for the first time or have returned to him through the sacrament of Reconciliation following a painful sojourn into the “distant country,” we can be assured that when we are in friendship with Jesus Christ, we share in his filial relationship with God the Father.

Divine Forgetfulness

But there’s another aspect to the story of forgetfulness. That of God's forgetfulness.

When we repent of our sins and turn back to the Lord with all our hearts, he casts our sins behind his back (cf. Isaiah 38:17). It can even be said that he “forgets” our transgressions: “It is I, I, who wipe out, for my own sake, your offenses; your sins I remember no more” (Isaiah 43:25, NABRE). He always took Israel back. His love never faltered. And this is true for us, as well.

The sacrament of Reconciliation restores the relationship we neglected in our forgetfulness. And when our sins are absolved, God effectively remembers them no more. 

With the psalmist we can pray, “But I trust in your mercy. Grant my heart joy in your salvation, I will sing to the Lord, for he has dealt bountifully with me” (Psalm 13:6, NABRE)!

God’s mercy is so much greater than our sins.

That’s something very important to remember.

Trying to Grow Up!

In this post, we’ll examine the healing power of forgiveness. And the importance of keeping sharp objects out of small children’s reach.

I Just wanna Grow Up!

My son came down the stairs with a hefty Band-Aid lodged between his nose and upper lip, looking like a seven-year-old version of Groucho Marx.

When his mother asked him what he’d done, he casually replied, “I cut myself shaving.”

Joshua had borrowed his sister’s razor, having decided he is too big for the plastic toy razor we gave him last year.

My wife, nervously peeling the Band-Aid away to make sure there was no need for stitches, scolded Josh, “How many times have I told you to stay away from your sister’s razor!?”

But Josh just wants to be a man. Now.

Aren't we all like that when it comes to the spiritual life? We want to grow up NOW.

We sincerely desire to move from spiritual kindergarten to spiritual adulthood. We want, and rightly, to walk with the saints, God's spiritually mature children. But we fail. We forget it's a journey that takes time.

We can understand the frustration that Saint Paul articulated when describing our wounded human condition,

“For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want. Now if [I] do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me” (Ro 7:19-20, NABRE). 

It can be quite frustrating! What in the world is wrong with us?

I Want to be Free!

Sin is the failure to meet the demands of authentic love. In order to love, we have to be free. We want to be free. But we often entertain a false notion of freedom. We, like Adam and Eve, want to be captains of our own destiny, have it our way! We think we know the best way to achieve happiness (usually a shortcut), and we forget that exercising self-will tends to lead us into moral chaos, which makes it harder to love and to receive love.

Father Jacques Philippe put it this way:

“We have this great thirst for freedom because our most fundamental aspiration is for happiness; and we sense that there is no happiness without love, and no love without freedom. This is perfectly true. Human beings were created for love, and they can only find happiness in loving and being loved. As St. Catherine of Siena puts it, man cannot live without loving. The problem is that our love often goes in the wrong direction: we love ourselves, selfishly, and we end up frustrated, because only genuine love can fulfill us… There is true love, and therefore happiness, only between people who freely yield possession of the self in order to give themselves to one another” (Interior Freedom, pg. 13).

“Missing the Mark”

"Sin” originally meant “to miss the mark.” That makes so much sense! When we sin, it is usually because we strive for the good, for happiness, but aim poorly. For example: It is good to want to feed your family. But if you rob a bank to get money to do that, you are seeking a good in a very bad way.

We all sin. We have to get over that reality. The pope tells us time and again: we are sinners. Even a pope is a sinner in need of God's forgiveness. 

Sometimes we sin in small ways. Sometimes in big ways. Sometimes in really big ways.

That's where forgiveness comes in.  

Unleashing the Power of Forgiveness

The Sacrament of Reconciliation is the meeting place of God’s infinite love and our miserable condition.

Spiritually speaking, we enter the confessional hunched and broken, shouldering a thousand pound bag of sin-stones; we exit the box, springing burden-free like a gazelle. People look at us strangely: What the heck happened to that guy/gal?

Freedom!

Someone was just released from the bondage of guilt and shame through an encounter with Christ in the confessional. Sin binds us. Christ frees us. And what does he free us for? Love! Love can only be lived in freedom.

The True Love Story

I wonder if one of the reasons our modern world is a mess is that we don’t appreciate the importance of mercy. Love Story, a popular movie from my childhood, had the main character say to her beloved, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Really? Heartstrings aside, good luck with that attitude!

A man I knew refused to speak to his own daughter for eighteen years after a disagreement they had when she was about twenty. A father and daughter estranged for eighteen precious years. Eighteen years, wasted!

They finally reconciled when she was nearly forty. They deeply regretted the long gap in their relationship. But, through mutual forgiveness, which freed them from the chains of resentment, guilt, and shame that they had carried for all those years, they were able to experience a beautiful, life-giving relationship for twelve years before the father's death.

The true Love Story is the story of God's mercy unleashed.

We see this truth demonstrated through the acts of giving forgiveness, asking for forgiveness, and receiving forgiveness.

Giving Forgiveness

Giving forgiveness is an expression of mercy.

When we forgive someone who has harmed us (as we recognize we must do in the Our Father), we open the door to deep healing, not only for the forgiven but for ourselves. Recently, a priest said that refusing to forgive is like continually picking at the scab of a wound. The wound never heals.

With forgiveness, healing begins. Forgiveness calls Christ, the Divine Physician, into the picture.

Asking for Forgiveness

To seek forgiveness from a person we've harmed is an act of mercy, too, because it often initiates the healing process. This act of humility on the part of the transgressor can relieve emotional pain for the injured person. Actually, it can bring healing to both parties. It is a win-win situation.

And if the injured party is not ready to forgive, at least we may rest assured that our side of the street is clean, and we see that have further opportunity to pray for the other to find healing.

Receiving Forgiveness

But there’s another important aspect of forgiveness: We have to practice the humility it takes to receive forgiveness--- from God, from one another, and even from ourselves (sometimes we are our harshest judge and jury).

Sometimes we go to confession, lay the bag of sin-stones at the priest's feet, and then on the way out the door, reclaim the bag and begin to lug it around again. The bag is like a phantom limb that we feel, but that isn’t really there any longer. Why? Because God forgave it. He took it and vaporized it. It no longer exists. It’s gone!

Jesus told St. Faustina that Judas' refusal to trust in God's mercy was a more grievous sin than his betrayal. St. Therese of Lisieux came to a similar conclusion, writing to a cousin, "What offends Jesus, what wounds his heart, is lack of trust" (quoted by Fr. Jacques Philippe, The way of Trust and Love).

We have the choice to either receive forgiveness and let our sins go, or to allow them to burden us for the rest of our lives (which makes it difficult at best to be of service to others).

Forgiveness helps restore us to wholeness.

Growing Up

The saints, our treasury of spiritual big boys and girls, teach us that a huge part of being a spiritual grown-up is to live a life of mercy. Mercy is an almost infallible sign of spiritual maturity.

Showing and receiving mercy is far more important than impressing others with the way we pray, or how devoted we appear at Mass. Mercy is what Christianity looks like when it's working out in the field.

Jesus was all about mercy. Look at the lives that were (and continue to be) completely transformed by his mercy. Mercy is his calling card. As Christians, it's supposed to be ours, as well. We are called to demonstrate mercy by how we forgive, how we ask for forgiveness, and how we receive forgiveness.

As the song says, they will know we are Christians by our love.

Will they? 

I suppose that's for us to decide.

"Pull Yourself Up" Won't Work Here!

A Time for Mercy

When Pope Francis called for a Holy Year of Mercy, I found his timing providential in view of rampant violence, suffering families, and individuals afflicted with addictions and the burden of emotional pain.

Pope Francis challenged us to not only receive and rejoice in God’s mercy but to show that same mercy to others. It’s high time, he seemed to be saying, that we Christians practice the mercy that God has given us. We have the opportunity to do this in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, and in our dealings with one another every day.

Copyright 2016 by R. L. Drake

In order to understand mercy, we have to recognize, first, I suppose, our need for mercy on a personal level. So we have to use some culturally unpopular “s” words. We are all sinners. We all need a savior. To put it bluntly: without a savior, we are sunk. We are like a drowning man, with no hope for salvation but for the man on the boat with the life preserver. We recognize that the man on the boat is Jesus Christ.

Disintegration

What is sin? I think it was St. Pio who said, in simplest terms, that sin is infidelity to love. 

God is love, and so, when we act against God, we act against love. Sin, in essence, is the betrayal of a relationship, the most important one we could ever have, that with God. “Against you, you alone have I sinned; I have done what is evil in your eyes” (Ps 51:6, NABRE). As Pope Francis has reminded us, we all fall at some point in our lives.

Copyright 2016 by R.L. Drake

Sin is a kind of disintegration. We start to fall apart under the weight of our sin. To be integrated is to be whole, complete. Sin shatters us. It breaks us into pieces, into fragments of ourselves. Love, on the other hand, brings integration, wholeness, unity. After all, what else is a saint but a fully integrated human being? A saint lives in unity with God, unified in himself.

We all crave unity within ourselves and unity with God. In Catholic terms, we call this unity communion. We yearn for the perfect happiness of heaven. We were made for communion with God and with one another. Really, we were made for love, which only happens in the context of relationship. When we sin, we undermine our relationship with God and each other because we act against the demands of love. Saint Pope John Paul II said that the only proper response to a person is love.

When I sin, I not only betray love but I diminish my capacity for love. I compromise my integrity by denying my own meaning and purpose, which is to love. If love is selfless self-giving, then sin is a selfish self-seeking at the expense of others. Through sin, I deny my identity as a child of God.

Sin that is deadly, which we call “mortal,” takes me all the way to the “distant country” that the prodigal son ventured into (cf. Lk 15:11-32). Deadly sin is a squandering of my inheritance as a child of God (cf. Lk 15:13). When I commit deadly sin I, in effect, orphan myself.

Sin that is not deadly, what we call “venial sin,” weakens my bond with God as Father, but it doesn’t sever it. Venial sin may be a wandering off the porch of my Father’s house, but it isn’t a decisive cleaving of my relationship with the Father and His family (the Church) by going all the way to the distant country.

Still, venial sin can begin to blind me to reality and the demands of love, and mortal sin becomes more likely “[E]vils surround me until they cannot be counted. My sins overtake me, so that I can no longer see. They are more numerous than the hairs of my head; my courage fails me” (Psalm 40:13, NABRE). Before I know it, I can cross the property line, make the trek into the distant country, and find myself far from the Father's house. For those of us who have made the trek at some point, or points, in our lives, we know the desolation of being in that land of famine.

Bootstraps Won't Work Here

We need a savior to restore the relationship. In the economy of salvation, there is no room for the All-American, “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” mentality. In fact, if we’re honest with ourselves, we’re the ones who made the mess we need salvation from. Do we honestly think we can make our way out of our messes, using the same mind and will that created them in the first place? Left to our own devices, we usually make things far worse.

The Good News is, God’s love is so much greater than our sins. “He has not dealt with us as our sins merit, nor requited us as our wrongs deserve” (Ps 103:10, NABRE). In Jesus, we experience redemption. “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us” (Ps 103:12, NABRE).

God hears our cries for mercy and heeds them with tender compassion and love. We cry, with the psalmist, “Look upon my affliction and suffering; take away all my sins” (Ps 25:18, NABRE). And God responds with the Word who was made flesh, Jesus. We encounter the merciful Lord in the Sacrament of Reconciliation and Penance. In Jesus Christ, God reaches down to extend his hand of friendship in the midst of the messes of our lives. To borrow a line from Robert Browning, "Such ever was love's way: to rise, it stoops” (A Death in the Desert). 

Such is God's merciful way.

In the next post, we'll look at the power of forgiveness, one of the most powerful defenses against the Enemy who seeks to destroy our relationship with God and one another.

Living the Gift of Mercy

When we turn on the news or peruse the internet (or even look into the mirror), we recognize the need for Divine Mercy. We live in turbulent and confusing times. Sin and darkness threaten to obscure the truth that we know in the depths of our hearts, that we are made in the image and likeness of the God who is love, and that the goal of life is no less than heaven, and our purpose here is to glorify God by living Christian love.

Copyright 2016 by R. L. Drake

It's dangerously easy to get lost, to wander from the path, and to forget who we are and what our purpose in life is. In our wanderings, we may aimlessly roam in and out of self-inflicted pain, seeking the happiness that can only be found in communion with God and one another. We tend to aim off the mark, in other words, to sin.

We see this tragic reality in our own lives (if we're honest with ourselves), in the lives of those we love, and in the larger global community, as well. From the brokenness in our families to the conflicts between nations, we see that sin shatters communion. Sin dis-integrates what is meant to be integrated. It is interesting to note that a root of the Greek word used for "devil" in the New Testament means "to scatter, to throw across."

The assurance of God's mercy is an invitation back to the wholeness and integrity that bring peace of soul. God calls us to communion, and wills to put us back together when we, having disintegrated ourselves through sin, finally return to Him for healing through the sacrament of Reconciliation and Penance.

It has been said that mercy is the form God’s love takes when it meets our human misery. Mercy is where my sorrow and remorse for sins meet God's boundless love and compassion. Mercy granted and received restores us to our dignity as children of God and brothers and sisters of His Son, Jesus Christ.

Mercy reintegrates us and brings us back to our former spiritual health. In the more literal translations of the New Testament, the prodigal son, having squandered his inheritance in selfish pursuits, acknowledged his true poverty and "came to himself," rather than the less literal, "came to his senses." In other words, the lost son came back to who he really was, who he was meant to be. It was then that he began the journey back home, where his father eagerly waited, prepared to extend limitless mercy to his wayward child.

The degree to which I am open to receive God’s mercy is proportional to the degree to which I am willing to extend mercy. It seems that the door to mercy in our hearts serves both as an entry way for God’s mercy to us, and as an exit way for our own to be extended to others.

Living Mercy

In order to live the gift of mercy, perhaps we might begin by reflecting on a time recently when someone extended a healthy measure of mercy to ourselves, the healing it brought, and the opportunity for reconciliation and new life.

Copyright 2016 by R. L. Drake

We might ask, “Is there someone in my life to whom I need to extend mercy? Is there someone from whom I have withheld my mercy out of resentment or bitterness?”

And think of the countless times that God has extended his boundless mercy to us. Thank Him for those occasions of mercy. Perhaps pray Psalm 32, slowly and with the intention to live it.

For further reading on how we can practice the gift of mercy this holy year, there’s a terrific article on the subject at Catholic Exchange: Year of Mercy: Time to Heal Wounds.

An Invitation to Mercy

In reading the Bible, one finds that the salvation history of our forebears in faith, the ancient Jews, is a colorful one, replete with family drama, intrigue, dysfunction, and sin. Their relationship with God was an up-and-down one at best. They lived a cycle of fidelity-infidelity-repentance-renewal. The amazing constant in all their wanderings and returns was God's Divine Mercy.

Isn’t that our own story, as well? A cycle of fidelity-infidelity-repentance-renewal. That’s the genius of the Scriptures: they name reality for what it is. And they not only depict our reality, but they also point to the solution to humanity’s woes: the Redeemer, the one who brings us back home. Jesus Christ, the Divine Mercy of God, comes to save us from our sins. He redeems what was lost and restores us to right relationship with our Creator, and one another.

Pope Francis called for a Jubilee of Mercy, which began on December 8, the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, and is to to conclude on Christ the King, November 20, 2016. His invitation is for the Church to make a pilgrimage of sorts through this holy year, and to rediscover the mercy of God that we see portrayed so exquisitely in the parable of the Prodigal Son (cf. Luke 15:11-32).

With the intention of concentrating on this theme personally, I read a beautiful book titled, The Return of the Prodigal Son, a modern spiritual classic by the late Father Henri Nouwen. I recommend reading it at some point as you journey through the Holy Year of Mercy.

The book is a deep meditation on the parable that Jesus told in order to illustrate the wild and boundless love of His Father. Mercy is its central theme.

Following a prayerful study of Rembrandt’s painting, The Return of the Prodigal Son, Father Nouwen learned some profound and startling truths about himself, and about God.

He wrote,

"For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow all the guidelines of the spiritual life--- pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures--- and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself. I have failed many times but always tried again, even when I was close to despair. 

Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realized that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not 'How am I to find God?' but 'How am I to let myself be found by him?'"

As one who struggles with scrupulosity, I found this passage to be a powerful reminder that Christianity is a religion in which God seeks us out, rather than us having to try to seek him out. He reveals Himself to us in many ways that culminate in the ultimate act of love, the incarnation, death, and resurrection of His Son, Jesus the Christ. I don't have to kill myself trying to impress God with my efforts. I don't have to wear myself out trying to be lovable enough for the Father to notice me.

What is called for is not passivity, but an active opening of my heart to His love, a love which will reform me and complete the work begun at my baptism (hopefully, in spite of my best efforts to thwart His good work).

As I make my own pilgrimage through the Holy Year of Mercy, I hope to take this challenge to heart:

What do I need to let go of in my life that prevents me from allowing myself to be found and loved into fullness of life by God?

Lessons Learned from an Encounter with Mary and the March for Life

I had the opportunity to attend the March for Life in Washington DC with a few good friends this past week. We made it a pilgrimage of sorts.

We visited Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary on the way, and we went for a walk along the Stations of the Cross that leads to the Grotto and the small adoration chapel on the hill.

As we walked the Stations of the Cross, it began to snow. The snow melted the moment it landed. When we arrived at a scene of the crucifixion, up on a hill, I was struck by the effect the melting snow had on the face of Mary, looking up at her crucified Son. The water that streamed over her cheek had the appearance of tears.

I was moved by the realization that Mary’s look was one of deep sadness and reverent love, not despair, and not anger.

It made me think.

When we come to Mary, her gaze is never one of condemnation, though it was for our sins that her blessed Son was brutalized and killed.

Her look is one of deep compassion. If you have ever watched the movie, The Passion of the Christ, you may recall the eyes of the Blessed Mother, played so beautifully by the Romanian actress Maia Morgenstern, as she looks at the viewer—you and me--- while the lifeless, bruised and bloody body of her Son rests limply in her lap. Her eyes are not accusatory; they are hauntingly sad, and they seem to ask, “Do you see? Do you see what he has done for you?” Her longing that we do see is palpable in the long, drawn out look we receive from the screen.

Do I? Do I see?

Do I recognize what her Son did for me? Do I know that he would have done it for me even if I were the only person on earth? Do I recognize the Love demonstrated by the Son who willingly surrendered Himself to the fate that I justly deserve through my sins?

As I gazed at the face of Mary in the lightly falling snow I thought of a love that is just beyond my reach, and even comprehension.  It beckons, but we cannot grasp it or even receive it without aid. We must be lifted up. Only in God may we reach this love.

The March for Life, which we walked the following day, was a potent reminder that love is not an illusion, or a fleeting emotion, but it is a force to be reckoned with. It breaks down thick walls of evil and fear; it smashes the barriers that stand between the human heart and God. God is love (cf. 1 Jn 4:8), and God is all powerful. He who abides in love abides in God (cf. 1 Jn 4:16).

To see so many (half a million or so at last report) people, unified for the cause of life, was a testament to the power of love to overcome. While I felt a certain pride in the fact that the Catholic faith dominated the march in terms of presence, I was edified and energized by the fact that there were others there that do not share our Catholic faith, and even, at times, disagree with its teachings. And yet we stood as one, in the power of love.

The many seminarians, religious, and priests, and the thousands of lay faithful, brimming with joy, were such a powerful witness to the love of Christ to all around them.

Illustration copyright 2015 by Leighton Drake

Hearts will change when they encounter changed hearts. People will come to be pro-life when we demonstrate pro-life love authentically. When we affirm the beauty and goodness of life through our witness, people will take notice.

I speak from experience as one who once took the “easy” stance of neutrality on the issue of abortion. I saw it as a personal choice, and though it was an ugly reality, it seemed perhaps a necessary evil. Before I became Catholic, I simply did not see the truth. But, through my conversion as a young man in my twenties, I learned to see life through a completely different set of lenses. I came to appreciate life in a way that made me understand the depth of the evil of abortion. It was the witness of the Church, in her unfaltering affirmation of the beauty and dignity of life, that God used to change my heart.

This doesn't mean we don't speak truth. Nor do we soft-pedal it. But we must speak truth in a spirit of authentic charity, or we don't have a chance of being agents of conversion for anyone. And we must remember we "speak" truth most convincingly by our actions.

The people who stood on the sidelines of the march holding placards that read things like, “My Body, My Choice,” must not be vilified. They must be seen as human beings who do not see the full truth of the beauty and dignity of all human life, for various reasons. There are undoubtedly wounds—deep wounds--- in them from which their blindness comes. Like the rest of us, they need conversion and healing. They need to encounter the love of Jesus Christ, who will show them the truth, goodness, and beauty of all human life, including their own.

The moment we make the pro-choice man or woman an object of scorn, we turn them into an object in our minds. Once we have objectified another human being, we have failed to love. In that moment, we have turned from Christ, and back inward, toward our smaller selves.

The beauty of the march was the joyful faith, hope, and love demonstrated by the youth there. They reminded me that our faith and our hope and our love are theological virtues: in other words, they are gifts from God, received at our baptism. They are the gifts that will change the world. We are reminded that sour-faced saints, to use the image of St. Teresa of Avila, act as a counter-sign to the true Gospel.

Only Love will conquer all. That love is the love that enabled Mother Mary to look upon us with not scorn or hatred, but only the deepest love and compassion, in spite of our complicity in the death of her Son. May we turn to Mary in our attempts to stand for life, and rely on her intercession and her witness of faith, hope, and love.

Have a Nice Day at the Catholic Cafe!

The poverty in what is often called "cafeteria-style" or "pick-and-choose" Catholicism is that it fails to entrust one's life completely to the sovereignty of God. In a word, it is a failure to wholeheartedly trust in the Lord. 

Copyright 2015 by Leighton Drake

This post is intended for Catholics because Protestants, by the very nature of their religion, deny the authority of the Catholic Church. So for them this is a non-issue. I believe they are wrong in their position concerning the authority of the Catholic Church, but to be wrong does not imply a lack of integrity or sincerity. They are following what they believe to be true and I give them the benefit of the doubt they are doing this with integrity. I have known a lot of very holy Protestants that could teach some Catholics (including this one) a thing or two about being an on-fire disciple of Jesus Christ.

But for the Catholic, the authority of the Church to teach in Christ's name is a huge issue. One could argue it is the issue. Why? Because the doctrines of the Trinity, the Eucharist and all the other sacraments, the divinity of Jesus Christ, and the rest, receive their authority through the ministry of the Church that Christ founded.

And if the Church has been given the authority to teach in the name of the Author of life (see the root for the word "authority"), then one would be unwise to dismiss the teachings of the Church on any matter. On the other hand, if the Church does does not possess that authority, Catholics are following a man-made religion and may very well risk their eternal salvation. 

It is not the purpose of this post to argue for the God-given authority of the Catholic Church. For an excellent and concise treatment of this, I recommend the book, By What Authority, by Mark Shea, a former evangelical Protestant turned Catholic. 

I would rather like to briefly address the question: 

If the Catholic Church was founded by Jesus Christ, and was bestowed by Him with the authority to teach in His name on matters of faith and morals, as the Catholic Church claims, how does one justify to oneself the picking and choosing of articles of faith and morals without risking disobedience to the Lord Himself? 

I know: it is a big question. But I think it is an important one. 

When I came to the doors of the Catholic Church (literally--- and they were locked, incidentally--- but that is a story for another time), I found myself facing that question head-on. I knew I could not, with any integrity, become Catholic unless the Church could claim the authority of Christ Himself. If He was not the Head of the Body, as Paul said, I could not with integrity be part of that Body.

If Christ was not the Head of the Catholic Church, the Church was no more than a man-made institution that basically made its claim upon the Gospel of Jesus Christ without any authority to do so. This would be, to my mind, the height of arrogance, and I could have no part in it. 

I poured myself into study and investigation (I was much younger in those days and could be up till all hours of the night and still function the following morning). I desperately wanted to be a Protestant because most of my extended family, including my beloved mother, were Protestant. I also had--- perhaps a silly notion--- dreams of becoming a minister (quite a stretch for a guy who months before had claimed agnosticism and shunned all forms of Christianity). 

However, the wise words of C.S. Lewis, from his classic work, Mere Christianity, haunted me:

I hope no reader will suppose that "mere" Christianity is here put forward as an alternative to the creeds of the existing communions--- as if a man could adopt it in preference to Congregationalism or Greek Orthodoxy or anything else. It is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms. If I can bring anyone into the hall I shall have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not in the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meals. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in.... And above all you must be asking which door is the true one; not which pleases you best by its paint and panelling. In plain language, the question should never be; "Do I like this kind of service?" but "Are these doctrines true: Is holiness here? (C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, from the Preface, emphasis mine)

Through prayerful study, I became convinced that Catholicism is true, and I remain convinced, more than ever, by her claims to authority. (Frankly, from a fleshly point of view, sometimes I think it would be much easier to not be Catholic! But truth must always trump comfort.)

I was twenty-eight when I began the process of initiation into the Church, a process that is wonderfully marked by occasions of conversion and rites that take the human person's faith journey with utter seriousness, and offer a depth of conversional opportunities sorely lacking in many ecclesial communities. 

When I made my profession of faith for the first time, I did so with the conviction that I was "all in." I had tried life on my terms, and that was an utter "fail," so I happily submitted myself to the teaching authority of Jesus Christ, whom I had asked to be Lord of my life, displacing a myriad of idols I had knelt to over the years. 

One of the toughest teachings I encountered was--- not surprisingly--- the Church's teachings on contraception. Not because the teaching didn't make sense--- I read Humanae Vitae to become informed on the reasons for the Church's teachings, and found it brilliant and beautiful, and so prophetic--- but because, frankly, I was terrified. What if we ended up with twenty-odd children (following the example of St. Catherine of Siena's parents!)?

But, scared as I was, the words of Christ, "Fear not!" echoed in my mind as I determined to follow Him all the way, not just part of the way. How arrogant would it be for me to approach the Blessed Lord and say, "I will follow you, Lord--- but on my terms"!

My fears, of course, proved to be a waste of energy. The blessings of openness to life and working in cooperation with God's bodily design through Natural Family Planning over the years has been immeasurable. The Church's teachings on marriage and fertility have done more to mature and strengthen my faith in God's providential care than anything else, in fact. The big, scary "Yes" of submitting to God's authority regarding fertility makes the countless opportunities to say "Yes" to the Lord in other areas of the spiritual life much less daunting. The "Yes" to God's plan in marriage leads to life in the fullest sense.

On the other hand, to treat the Church's teachings like optional culinary items on a buffet table is to cheat oneself of the fullness of faith. It is simply a poverty to live a half-hearted commitment to the Catholic faith.

The only reason to believe and follow anything is because it is true. And Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life (cf. Jn 14:6). He also said to the Apostle Simon Peter, "You are Peter [rock], and on this rock I will build my church, and the powers of death shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" (Matt 16:18-19, RSV).

Either the Church teaches in the Blessed Lord's name, or it doesn't. Once it is acknowledged that the Church was founded by Christ and has the authority to teach in His name, it is impossible to pick and choose what one believes to be true from the deposit of faith with any integrity. "Cafeteria-style Catholicism" becomes an act of sheer arrogance and futile subjectivity.

People come to the Church because they need Jesus. They seek communion with God. People who say they have a relationship with Jesus but don't need the Church are missing the whole point of Jesus' mission. He came to save a lost humanity, and in doing so He established a family, the family of God, and to be part of that family is to be part of His family. The Church is the "universal sacrament of salvation" (cf. Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church). The Church is the way He established to bring us into communion with Him, and through Him, with the Father, by the power of the Holy Spirit Who proceeds from the Father and the Son. In the life of the Church, we live in relationship with the Blessed Trinity.

When I say "Yes" to the Church, I am saying "Yes" to Jesus. I am, in a sense, living the spiritual reality of Mary, who gave her fiat to God in the fullness of time so that we might have eternal life. Imagine Mary saying to the angel Gabriel, "Let most of it be done to me according to your word... most, but not all."

Sort of loses its spiritual power, doesn't it?

She gave God her full, unconditional "Yes."

We are called to imitate her and do no less. In imitating Mary in her response to God, we open the door to Jesus.

People need Jesus! It's not rocket science.

That's the beauty of the Eucharist, by the way: Jesus is wholly "given for you" (cf. Lk 22:19).

Will you be wholly given for Him?

"It is not hard to obey when we love the one we obey," said Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, admired by Catholics and non-Catholics alike for the depth of her Christian witness.

To obey the teachings of the Church for love of Jesus brings a depth of life and joy that we will never know if we live a "conditional" Christianity.