Faith
The Prodigal Son
The story of the prodigal son is a famous one because of its relatability. We’ve all acted foolishly, like the prodigal. We’ve also experienced that deep love and relief that touches us through reconciliation. While the prodigal son well known, few of us have spent time thinking about his brother.
Jesus uses the imagery of parents and sibling many times throughout his ministry. There are the two brothers who the father asks to go into the field, one who agrees and never leaves, the other that refuses but eventually goes. There are the sisters, Mary and Martha, one preoccupied with temporal things, the other ready to rest in God’s presence. All throughout the Old Testament, we see stories of siblings working together and, more often, fighting.
The prodigal son tells his father that he’s dead to him, takes his inheritance, and dibs. His brother, however, stays. We read near the end about how this “good” son stayed and worked for his father, but we also get a glimpse of the brokenness of this parental relationship. The good son is resentful when he sees how well his brother is treated upon his return. It’s almost as if he stayed with his father, but couldn’t stand to be with him.
There’s plenty more to unpack in this parable. The Bible is relatively short, so every word and image stands for more than one thing. But I think it reminds us of the relationship that God wants with us. He doesn’t just want us to pray, but to pray actively. He doesn’t want us to just go to Mass every week, but to go joyfully. He doesn’t want us to just pick up our cross, but to embrace it.
Heaven is eternal life with God, so what does it say if we would rather not spend time with Him in prayer today?
True Gratitude
Thanksgiving is a remarkably calm period in my life. Not only does it signal the final few weeks of the year, but around this time, I get a palpable feeling of renewal. Major projects are winding down, and I start to ruminate on the bigger things in life. I reflect on the year that was, and start to plan for the year that is to come.
Amid this pause, we collectively take a breath and focus on gratitude. This year, my thoughts are turning more towards true gratitude. It’s simple, and right, that I should be thankful for the many helping hands in my life, or the relative peace that my family enjoys. But true gratitude goes back to the source; true gratitude orients our minds and hearts to the giver of all good gifts.
Our spiritual health functions in much the same way that our mental and a physical fitness do: all need daily attention. In a day stuffed full of commitments, we contend with the paradox of priorities. When the time comes for prayer, we feel that resistance to do something else on our list. We know the good that we ought to do, and too often choose something lesser.
Prayer isn’t about an appointment on the calendar or a time block in your day. It’s a connection with our core identity. Before He formed us, He knew us. Before we took our first breath, He knew all of our sin. Despite our failings, He chose to live and die just to be with us. He lives the deep longing of a parent to connect with their child. He patiently waits for a few moments of our day.
True gratitude is a recognition that everything that we are, and all that we have, finds its source in God’s love. Surrender to that love is the beginning of gratitude. By shifting our mindset, prayer goes from and obligation to opportunity. Prayer is a respite of calm in an ocean of chaos. The more time we spend in quiet conversation with God, the more our hearts become like His. As we draw ever nearer to Him, we experience a love that gives everything to us and for us. With that measure of wisdom, we can experience true gratitude for the many, many gifts in our lives.
Simple Truths
A common assumption is that children, because their minds are still developing, can’t process complex ideas. In trying to convey a point about something, we try to reduce it to the lowest common denominator. It’s true that children need help grasping complex subjects, but in my experience, they’re capable of much more than we give them credit for.
A child can’t explain to you how pistons fire within an engine, generating energy and torque, which is then sent to the wheels and moving a car. But they can understand and articulate how a driver pressing the gas peddle causes a response within an engine, which then moves the car. They operate at the 30,000-foot level, while adults can get much more granular.
There’s a debate in my parish about the proper sequence of sacraments for children. I’m used to the Baptism — Reconciliation — First Communion sequence, followed several years later by Confirmation. There’s another school that thinks that Confirmation and First Communion should be received together in the fourth grade. I think this misses the mark.
A second-grader can grasp the concept of the bread and wine becoming the Body and Blood of Christ. It’s a simple concept: Jesus said it was so, and so it is. Children are more disposed to accepting the basic tenants of faith because they aren’t jaded. They don’t let their personal experiences and theories get in the way. They can, as we all should, accept the reality of the Eucharist as an act of love and trust in Jesus.
A child doesn’t need to be able to explain transubstantiation to understand the majesty of the Eucharist. The simple truth is sufficient for them.
Confirmation, on the other hand, is a much bigger step. A child who receives this Sacrament accepts responsibility for their continued formation and learning. A recipient should have a solid command of basic theology, including explaining consubstantial and transubstantiation. They should be able to give a basic apologetic and know where to find answers when they need to find them.
The Church, like any human organization, tends towards bureaucracy, institutionalism, and organizational malaise. A child can accept and embrace the simple truths of our deepest mysteries. They should have the full benefit of the Eucharist at the earliest reasonable age, and not be denied years of sacramental participation simply to satisfy the theoretical musings of a few.
Torrents of Mercy
We have a sanitized view of Jesus’ crucifixion. Although we have visuals of it everywhere, the sheer brutality is almost too difficult to think about. Jesus’ torture and execution were not an academic exercise. It was an act of total love and surrender, a bold statement about the dignity of the human person and the sacredness of life that changed the course of human history.
There is no limiting principle to God’s mercy; that’s one reason it is so unfathomable. How can God forgive such grievous offenses? How can He continue to put up with our habitual sin, our failure to course correct, and our inability to live the truth of the Gospel and trust in His love?
It’s because of this that I love the image of Divine Mercy. In it, mercy flows from Christ’s body, but the word that we use, _torrents_ is so descriptive. It’s not a ripple, or a wave, it’s a strong, overwhelming, gushing flow that overcomes everything in its path.
Why is it necessary for this mercy to flow with such vigor? It’s because God understands us intimately; He lived as one of us. He knows the challenges that we face, and the courage required to live the life that He made us for. Think about just a few of the things we’re asked to do. As parents, we’re to care for and raise new life. We have to help our children navigate a broken world, to discover their moral compass, and to internalize the importance of a relationship with God.
We are tested, tempted, and tried in almost every moment of the day. God Himself knew this reality. That’s why, out of the depths of His love and through His own genius, He made this mercy available for us, if only we are to ask of it.
Building a strong habit of prayer is an excellent offense in overcoming our natural weaknesses, but perfection is just not possible. When we fail, we must pray for the humility to be completely inundated with the torrents of God’s mercy.
Constant Renewal
The great spiritual lesson of St. Francis was that the key to a healthy spiritual life is to have a mindset of constant renewal. We live in a fallen state, among a fallen world, and to enter into the presence of God, we must reclaim the perfection that He intended for us. That is no easy task, nor is it a one-and-done type of objective. It’s the work of a lifetime.
Impermanence is the nature of life; things are always in motion and changing. Embracing a mindset of constant renewal inspires a sense of exhaustion, but also one of hope. When we set out with a new goal, it’s all too easy to plan out every single step, become overwhelmed, and give up on the entire project. It’s also easy to become inspired and hopeful, no longer feeling trapped in your current reality.
Constant renewal is a principle that can help us in our daily decisions. When you wake up in the morning, and you know you should spend a few minutes in prayer, it can guide you into your prayer space. It can remind you of your goal, and lead you into the steps and habits that will get you there. It will give you the grace to fail, knowing that you won’t be defined by your past mistakes.
We seek comfort and stability in a world that’s continually changing. Victories once won can be frittered away by quitting the habits and discipline that got us there. The great paradox in all of this is that by submitting ourselves to discipline and diligence, we are truly free to live the lives that God intended for us.
Overrun
Temptation is a very personal thing. Each of us struggle with our blend of habitual sin. It’s not that we’re failures in the spiritual life, it’s that we all have our weaknesses. After weeks, months, and years of confessing the same things, it’s tempting to let ourselves be overrun.
Why keep fighting a losing battle? Why keep going through the same cycle, never with a different result? Why fight a battle for 80 years when it seems like we’ll never beat that sin?
The answer is found in our failings. The battle has already been fought, and won. The battle is not ours to fight, it is God’s. Why should we accept our reality as his children, and then resign ourselves to lesser things? We were made for greatness, and we were made to be loved.
The feeling of being overrun with sin is a tool of the devil. As CS Lewis masterfully illustrated in _The Screwtape Letters_, if we can be simply worn down to the point of giving up, then darkness wins. While we may feel overrun, we can never be made to give up. That’s a choice that we have to make ourselves.
For the first time in my life, I’ve successfully kept to a “Bible in a Year” reading plan. The Old Testament is shockingly graphic, full of the best and worst of humanity. The brilliance of it all is that the story of the people of Israel is our story. We are close to God, and at other times, we cast Him off. Despite it all, He remains faithful.
Never give up, never surrender; finish the race and win.
Plese Destroy
I took my son to Confession this weekend. He’s still pretty new to the Sacrament, so each time he goes, I print an Examination of Conscience for him to pray through.
He happily received the Sacrament, came back to our pew, and did his penance. I asked him if he was ready to go, but he replied that he needed a pen. I pulled one out of my pocket, handed it to him, and watched as he wrote on the outside of his carefully folded paper, “Plese Destroy.”
I assured him that we could shred it when we got home, but he insisted on first tearing it into pieces, right there in the pew, before we could leave. It was the perfect teachable moment. We talked about how what he was doing, destroying the paper that had his sins written on it, is precisely what just happened to him in Reconciliation. God tore up his sins, never to remember them.
Catholicism is deep, wide, and very complex. I love exploring theological ideas and theories, but often it’s the simplest things that connect us most closely to God’s heart.
Behold, Your Mother
Catholics catch a lot of shade from other Christians over the idea that we don’t live the Bible. A closer look under the hood would revel just how intertwined Scripture and Catholicism truly are, and not just because we gave the world the Bible. From the way we decorate the sanctuary, to the priest’s vestments, to the words we pray, the daily life of the Church is deeply linked to the Old and New Testaments.
One of the biggest stumbling blocks for Christians is the way that the Catholic Church reveres Mary. That’s an odd thing to object to, when Mary’s place in Salvation History links the Old Covenant to the New.
The Fourth Commandment is to honor thy father and thy mother. Seems strange to ignore the mother of Jesus?
In the ancient kingdom of Israel, the queen is not the wife of the king, but the king’s mother. Jesus took His rightful place on the throne of David, making Mary his queen.
On the Cross, Mary stood at the feet of Jesus, along with John, the apostle that He loved. He said to Mary, referring to John, “Behold, your son.” To John, “Behold, your mother.” There’s a cultural context here. In ancient times, a woman was dependent first on her husband for social and economic support. We know that Joseph, her spouse, died before Jesus even began His public ministry. Jesus would’ve taken on that role of protector. Now, at the cross, she loses her only child, a son. She was at grave risk of becoming destitute, until Christ entrusted her to John. John, an apostle, was one of the first bishops of the Church. So to entrust Mary to John was to ask him to care for her materially, but also to make her mother of the Church. This is reinforced when Christ calls John her son.
We do not worship Mary, or ask her intercession superstitiously. Rather, we respect the place of honor that Christ Himself gave to her: the queen Mother of the Church. Holding Mary in this place of honor is not an invention of the Church or a theological musing, but Catholics taking seriously the truths entrusted to us in Scripture. Mary is our mother, and we treat her with the love and respect that she deserves.
Come Let Us Adore
Although I’m a cradle Catholic, I’ve never really read the entire Bible. I learned about parts of it in school, and of course have heard it during Mass, but until this year, I’ve never sat down to study the Bible in a narrative form.
Looking at the Bible, the Old Testament is far longer than the New Testament. It’s the story of the people of Israel, and although I’m not Jewish, it becomes clear how their story is my story. The mistakes that they made in relationship with God are the same ones that I make today. The daily life of the Church is entirely biblical: from the way we decorate our Churches to the prayers we pray.
In the history of Israel, the Ark of the Covenant plays a central role. God dictated exactly how the Ark should be built, decorated, and even carried. Initially, the Israelites were faithful to God’s instructions. But, given time, complacency set in. In the book of 2nd Samuel, the great King David was working on returning the Ark to its rightful place in Jerusalem. We read, though, that the Ark was not being carried by the priests as God asked, but on an oxen-pulled cart.
On the journey, it looked like the cart was going to tip over, and an Israelite man reached out to steady the Ark; God struck him dead. This shocked David to his core, and he became angry with God. Sound familiar? This Israelite appeared to be trying to do something good, keep the Ark from tipping over, and yet God responded harshly. David was so upset and frightened, that he stopped the journey. He left the Ark in the house of Obed-edom, a Philistine.
2 Samuel tells us that the Ark was physically present in Obed-edom’s house for three months, “and the Lord blessed Obed-edom and all his household.” This was not a household of the chosen people, but that of an occasional enemy. Yet, in God’s presence, they couldn’t help but be blessed.
In every Catholic Church, all throughout the world, is a tabernacle, an Ark of the New Covenant, God physically present in our midst. He sits there in repose, longing to spend time with us, longing for relationship with us, longing to ease the burdens of our lives with the grace He has prepared for us.
Adoration is an opportunity to enter into God’s rest. It’s a chance to give ourselves permission to not worry, to not fret, to not be concerned with the stresses of our daily lives, but to pause and encounter the eucharistic Christ. Like Obed-edom, when we spend time in God’s presence, we can’t help but be blessed.
Comfort
Last night, when my work for the day was done, I laid down in my very comfortable bed. I recently replaced my pillow, which made for an extra cushy experience. The late summer heat was kept at bay by my air conditioner, backed up by my ceiling fan. I used a supercomputer that easily fits into my pocket to turn off all the lights in my house, arm my security system, lock my doors, and turn on a white noise machine, so no loud noises would disturb my sleep.
We live in a world of peak comfort. We have access to every piece of human knowledge, the ability to travel the world through powered flight, and view any work of art on a screen. Musicians play their music for us, at will, through our speakers, and we have more minutes of video to watch than we could ever possibly get around to.
What have we done with this comfort? Despite overcoming almost every natural barrier, we haven’t found happiness. Like the people of Israel, we have a direct connection to knowledge of God, but we choose not to let it change us. They had the prophets, we have the Eucharistic Christ and all of His words. Still, we are asleep.
It’s good for us to harness technology and use it to power our betterment. We can use our phones to pray using the Hallow app, or to doom scroll away our day on social media. We can use air conditioning to protect us from dangerous heat, or to resist spending time in God’s creation. We can use medicine to correct dysfunction, or to cause death and destruction.
The people of Israel had little comfort in the world, and they turned away from God. We have all the comfort in the world, and we still turn away. It’s time to wake up.