Christmas 2009 from Pope Benedict
Source: http://www.zenit.org/article-27943?l=english
Dear Brothers and Sisters!
"A child is born for us, a son is given to us" (Is 9:5). What Isaiah prophesied as he gazed into the future from afar, consoling Israel amid its trials and its darkness, is now proclaimed to the shepherds as a present reality by the Angel, from whom a cloud of light streams forth: "To you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord" (Lk 2:11). The Lord is here. From this moment, God is truly "God with us". No longer is he the distant God who can in some way be perceived from afar, in creation and in our own consciousness. He has entered the world. He is close to us. The words of the risen Christ to his followers are addressed also to us: "Lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age" (Mt 28:20). For you the Saviour is born: through the Gospel and those who proclaim it, God now reminds us of the message that the Angel announced to the shepherds. It is a message that cannot leave us indifferent. If it is true, it changes everything. If it is true, it also affects me. Like the shepherds, then, I too must say: Come on, I want to go to Bethlehem to see the Word that has occurred there. The story of the shepherds is included in the Gospel for a reason. They show us the right way to respond to the message that we too have received. What is it that these first witnesses of God’s incarnation have to tell us?
The first thing we are told about the shepherds is that they were on the watch -- they could hear the message precisely because they were awake. We must be awake, so that we can hear the message. We must become truly vigilant people. What does this mean? The principal difference between someone dreaming and someone awake is that the dreamer is in a world of his own. His "self" is locked into this dreamworld that is his alone and does not connect him with others. To wake up means to leave that private world of one's own and to enter the common reality, the truth that alone can unite all people. Conflict and lack of reconciliation in the world stem from the fact that we are locked into our own interests and opinions, into our own little private world. Selfishness, both individual and collective, makes us prisoners of our interests and our desires that stand against the truth and separate us from one another.
Awake, the Gospel tells us. Step outside, so as to enter the great communal truth, the communion of the one God. To awake, then, means to develop a receptivity for God: for the silent promptings with which he chooses to guide us; for the many indications of his presence. There are people who describe themselves as "religiously tone deaf". The gift of a capacity to perceive God seems as if it is withheld from some. And indeed -- our way of thinking and acting, the mentality of today's world, the whole range of our experience is inclined to deaden our receptivity for God, to make us "tone deaf" towards him. And yet in every soul, the desire for God, the capacity to encounter him, is present, whether in a hidden way or overtly. In order to arrive at this vigilance, this awakening to what is essential, we should pray for ourselves and for others, for those who appear "tone deaf" and yet in whom there is a keen desire for God to manifest himself. The great theologian Origen said this: if I had the grace to see as Paul saw, I could even now (during the Liturgy) contemplate a great host of angels (cf. in Lk 23:9). And indeed, in the sacred liturgy, we are surrounded by the angels of God and the saints. The Lord himself is present in our midst. Lord, open the eyes of our hearts, so that we may become vigilant and clear-sighted, in this way bringing you close to others as well!
Let us return to the Christmas Gospel. It tells us that after listening to the Angel's message, the shepherds said one to another: "‘Let us go over to Bethlehem’ … they went at once" (Lk 2:15f.). "They made haste" is literally what the Greek text says. What had been announced to them was so important that they had to go immediately. In fact, what had been said to them was utterly out of the ordinary. It changed the world. The Saviour is born. The long-awaited Son of David has come into the world in his own city. What could be more important? No doubt they were partly driven by curiosity, but first and foremost it was their excitement at the wonderful news that had been conveyed to them, of all people, to the little ones, to the seemingly unimportant. They made haste -- they went at once. In our daily life, it is not like that.
For most people, the things of God are not given priority, they do not impose themselves on us directly, and so the great majority of us tend to postpone them. First we do what seems urgent here and now. In the list of priorities God is often more or less at the end. We can always deal with that later, we tend to think. The Gospel tells us: God is the highest priority. If anything in our life deserves haste without delay, then, it is God's work alone. The Rule of Saint Benedict contains this teaching: "Place nothing at all before the work of God (i.e. the divine office)". For monks, the Liturgy is the first priority. Everything else comes later. In its essence, though, this saying applies to everyone. God is important, by far the most important thing in our lives. The shepherds teach us this priority. From them we should learn not to be crushed by all the pressing matters in our daily lives. From them we should learn the inner freedom to put other tasks in second place -- however important they may be -- so as to make our way towards God, to allow him into our lives and into our time. Time given to God and, in his name, to our neighbour is never time lost. It is the time when we are most truly alive, when we live our humanity to the full.
Some commentators point out that the shepherds, the simple souls, were the first to come to Jesus in the manger and to encounter the Redeemer of the world. The wise men from the East, representing those with social standing and fame, arrived much later. The commentators go on to say: this is quite natural. The shepherds lived nearby. They only needed to "come over" (cf. Lk 2:15), as we do when we go to visit our neighbours. The wise men, however, lived far away. They had to undertake a long and arduous journey in order to arrive in Bethlehem. And they needed guidance and direction. Today too there are simple and lowly souls who live very close to the Lord. They are, so to speak, his neighbours and they can easily go to see him. But most of us in the world today live far from Jesus Christ, the incarnate God who came to dwell amongst us.
We live our lives by philosophies, amid worldly affairs and occupations that totally absorb us and are a great distance from the manger. In all kinds of ways, God has to prod us and reach out to us again and again, so that we can manage to escape from the muddle of our thoughts and activities and discover the way that leads to him. But a path exists for all of us. The Lord provides everyone with tailor-made signals. He calls each one of us, so that we too can say: "Come on, ‘let us go over’ to Bethlehem -- to the God who has come to meet us. Yes indeed, God has set out towards us. Left to ourselves we could not reach him. The path is too much for our strength. But God has come down. He comes towards us. He has travelled the longer part of the journey. Now he invites us: come and see how much I love you. Come and see that I am here. Transeamus usque Bethlehem, the Latin Bible says. Let us go there! Let us surpass ourselves! Let us journey towards God in all sorts of ways: along our interior path towards him, but also along very concrete paths – the Liturgy of the Church, the service of our neighbour, in whom Christ awaits us.
Let us once again listen directly to the Gospel. The shepherds tell one another the reason why they are setting off: "Let us see this thing that has happened." Literally the Greek text says: "Let us see this Word that has occurred there." Yes indeed, such is the radical newness of this night: the Word can be seen. For it has become flesh. The God of whom no image may be made -- because any image would only diminish, or rather distort him -- this God has himself become visible in the One who is his true image, as Saint Paul puts it (cf. 2 Cor 4:4; Col 1:15). In the figure of Jesus Christ, in the whole of his life and ministry, in his dying and rising, we can see the Word of God and hence the mystery of the living God himself. This is what God is like.
The Angel had said to the shepherds: "This will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger" (Lk 2:12; cf. 2:16). God’s sign, the sign given to the shepherds and to us, is not an astonishing miracle. God’s sign is his humility. God’s sign is that he makes himself small; he becomes a child; he lets us touch him and he asks for our love. How we would prefer a different sign, an imposing, irresistible sign of God’s power and greatness! But his sign summons us to faith and love, and thus it gives us hope: this is what God is like. He has power, he is Goodness itself. He invites us to become like him. Yes indeed, we become like God if we allow ourselves to be shaped by this sign; if we ourselves learn humility and hence true greatness; if we renounce violence and use only the weapons of truth and love.
Origen, taking up one of John the Baptist’s sayings, saw the essence of paganism expressed in the symbol of stones: paganism is a lack of feeling, it means a heart of stone that is incapable of loving and perceiving God’s love. Origen says of the pagans: "Lacking feeling and reason, they are transformed into stones and wood" (in Lk 22:9). Christ, though, wishes to give us a heart of flesh. When we see him, the God who became a child, our hearts are opened. In the Liturgy of the holy night, God comes to us as man, so that we might become truly human. Let us listen once again to Origen: "Indeed, what use would it be to you that Christ once came in the flesh if he did not enter your soul? Let us pray that he may come to us each day, that we may be able to say: I live, yet it is no longer I that live, but Christ lives in me (Gal 2:20)" (in Lk 22:3).
Yes indeed, that is what we should pray for on this Holy Night. Lord Jesus Christ, born in Bethlehem, come to us! Enter within me, within my soul. Transform me. Renew me. Change me, change us all from stone and wood into living people, in whom your love is made present and the world is transformed. Amen.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Philosophical Musings
William Rowe, in Can God be Free? (2004), gives us three propositions
A) There necessarily exists an essentially omnipotent, essentially omniscient, essentially perfectly good being who has created a world.
B) If an omniscient being creates a world when there is a better world that it could have created, then it is possible that there exists a being morally better than it.
C) For any creatable world there is a better creatable world. (pg. 120)
If B and C are true, then A is false. We don't want that. C looks plausible to me so I will not dispute it. I know there are those who would have no problem of denying C and argue that there is a best possible world but God does not have to create that one. Again, this looks intuitively false to me. It seems to me that if there is a best possible world, God, if He were to create, should choose that one. But if this is true, then if He were to create, He would have no freedom to choose any other world. God is not free. Now, I do think we can avoid C by arguing that there is a best possible set of worlds and that set consists of an infinite number of worlds. So God is free to choose from that set. That seems to get rid of that problem.
But let's suppose that C is true. Is B true? Rowe says,
For suppose a being selects a world W1 to create when there is a better world W2 it could have created instead. Surely it is logically possible that there be a being whose degree of moral goodness is such that when confronted with worlds W1 and W2, either of which it has the power to create, it will choose to create W2, the better world. And this would then be a better being than the being whose degree of goodness permitted it to select the less good world to create when it could have easily created the better world. (pg. 112)
It's a good argument but I think we can reject Rowe's principle. Arntzenius, Elga, and Hawthorne, "Bayesianism, Infinite Decisions, and Binding" (2003), argued that when we are dealing with a finite case, we are to pick the most dominant option. For example, if I have a choice of finitely many outfits to impress an honorable person, the rational thing to do is to choose the best outfit to wear. However, this does not work when it comes to infinite options. They argued,
Whenever one has no best option, there is no univocal answer to the question, "What should I do?" Suppose, for instance, that God offers to let you live any finite time of your choosing. Assuming that your utility is an increasing bounded function of the length of your life, there is no answer to the question: what life-span should you choose? Where there is a lowest upper bound on your utility, one could perhaps give useful vague guideline: pick a large number. By picking a large number, you can come very close to the lowest upper bound on your utility. So you should pick a very large number...In addition to the normative issue, there is something of a motivational puzzle here. What exactly would cause you to ask for one lifespan rather than another? But this puzzle is nothing new. We are already used to the idea that, pace Buridan, an ass confronted with equally attractive bales of hay will go to one of them rather than die of indecision. (16-17)
Now, suppose we take A/E/H's example of Satan cutting an apple into infinitely many pieces labeled by natural numbers. Eve may take whatever piece she wants. If she takes a finite amount of pieces, then she does not suffer. If she takes infinitely many of the pieces, then she is expelled from the garden. Her first priority is to stay in the garden and her second is to eat as many pieces as she can. Satan reasons she should eat the first apple because if she takes the first one, it is a finite number and she will not be thrown out of the garden. Even if she takes an infinite amount, she will still enjoy eating the pieces so she should definitely take apply #1. But Satan reasons the same way for #2, #3, ad infinitum. Of course if she accepts them all, she will be thrown out of the garden. Yet, as A/H/E have argued, the rational thing for Eve to do is to take a very large finite number of pieces.
Now, suppose in W5 Eve is the most rational human person in that world and the most rational she can get. In W5, she is put in the situation with Satan. She picks 4340 pieces although she could have picked 4341. Is she at fault? It seems that she is not. Could she be more rational if she picked 4341? Again, no. Is it possible that there is a more rational person than her? No. It seems that we cannot judge her degree of rationality by simply seeing how many pieces they picked. At the very least, we cannot judge whether there is a person more rational than her by simply looking at the choice she made. The reader can see how this can be applied to Rowe's argument. Rowe argued that the Expressive Thesis, the goodness of an agent's actions is expressive of the agent's goodness, is related to B (pg. 100). However, because there are an infinite number of possible worlds, this gives us the ability to see that the expressive thesis cannot be applied to God creating a world. The expressive thesis, like the dominant option theory, might be applicable to finite choices, but not necessarily to infinite choices. For example, Billy and Sally see that there are an infinite number of people drowning. There is a machine where they can press a number and an angel would save them from drowning. The machine can only accept a finite number. Billy pressed 8245 and Sally 8643. But Billy is very much like St. Francis of Assisi and Sally is a known murderer. Here we see that Sally is not morally better than Billy because she saved more people. We cannot reduce moral goodness by the action of the person. So, if God creates W456 and He could have created a better world, He is not at fault for creating W456.
The other ideas that came to my mind were
1) Worlds may be incommensurable. W1 has a lot of justice and W2 has a lot prudence. Which is better?
2) One can grant that B is true, that it is possible that there is a being better than that being. But how is that incompatible with A? We can reply this way: it’s true that there may be a being better than God. But that would be God. So in W1 God is unsurpassable. Now, in W2 there is a being that is better than God. But that’s God. I think K. Kraay makes that point.
3) It could be that A is wrong. God is contingent. Not contingent in the medieval sense, but contingent in the sense that there may be a possible world where God does not exist. But that doesn’t take anything away from God. God is still unsurpassable when it comes to benevolence, power, etc. It’s just that He does not exist in all possible worlds. The problem of this, of course, is that if the principle of sufficient reason is true, then this won't work.
William Rowe, in Can God be Free? (2004), gives us three propositions
A) There necessarily exists an essentially omnipotent, essentially omniscient, essentially perfectly good being who has created a world.
B) If an omniscient being creates a world when there is a better world that it could have created, then it is possible that there exists a being morally better than it.
C) For any creatable world there is a better creatable world. (pg. 120)
If B and C are true, then A is false. We don't want that. C looks plausible to me so I will not dispute it. I know there are those who would have no problem of denying C and argue that there is a best possible world but God does not have to create that one. Again, this looks intuitively false to me. It seems to me that if there is a best possible world, God, if He were to create, should choose that one. But if this is true, then if He were to create, He would have no freedom to choose any other world. God is not free. Now, I do think we can avoid C by arguing that there is a best possible set of worlds and that set consists of an infinite number of worlds. So God is free to choose from that set. That seems to get rid of that problem.
But let's suppose that C is true. Is B true? Rowe says,
For suppose a being selects a world W1 to create when there is a better world W2 it could have created instead. Surely it is logically possible that there be a being whose degree of moral goodness is such that when confronted with worlds W1 and W2, either of which it has the power to create, it will choose to create W2, the better world. And this would then be a better being than the being whose degree of goodness permitted it to select the less good world to create when it could have easily created the better world. (pg. 112)
It's a good argument but I think we can reject Rowe's principle. Arntzenius, Elga, and Hawthorne, "Bayesianism, Infinite Decisions, and Binding" (2003), argued that when we are dealing with a finite case, we are to pick the most dominant option. For example, if I have a choice of finitely many outfits to impress an honorable person, the rational thing to do is to choose the best outfit to wear. However, this does not work when it comes to infinite options. They argued,
Whenever one has no best option, there is no univocal answer to the question, "What should I do?" Suppose, for instance, that God offers to let you live any finite time of your choosing. Assuming that your utility is an increasing bounded function of the length of your life, there is no answer to the question: what life-span should you choose? Where there is a lowest upper bound on your utility, one could perhaps give useful vague guideline: pick a large number. By picking a large number, you can come very close to the lowest upper bound on your utility. So you should pick a very large number...In addition to the normative issue, there is something of a motivational puzzle here. What exactly would cause you to ask for one lifespan rather than another? But this puzzle is nothing new. We are already used to the idea that, pace Buridan, an ass confronted with equally attractive bales of hay will go to one of them rather than die of indecision. (16-17)
Now, suppose we take A/E/H's example of Satan cutting an apple into infinitely many pieces labeled by natural numbers. Eve may take whatever piece she wants. If she takes a finite amount of pieces, then she does not suffer. If she takes infinitely many of the pieces, then she is expelled from the garden. Her first priority is to stay in the garden and her second is to eat as many pieces as she can. Satan reasons she should eat the first apple because if she takes the first one, it is a finite number and she will not be thrown out of the garden. Even if she takes an infinite amount, she will still enjoy eating the pieces so she should definitely take apply #1. But Satan reasons the same way for #2, #3, ad infinitum. Of course if she accepts them all, she will be thrown out of the garden. Yet, as A/H/E have argued, the rational thing for Eve to do is to take a very large finite number of pieces.
Now, suppose in W5 Eve is the most rational human person in that world and the most rational she can get. In W5, she is put in the situation with Satan. She picks 4340 pieces although she could have picked 4341. Is she at fault? It seems that she is not. Could she be more rational if she picked 4341? Again, no. Is it possible that there is a more rational person than her? No. It seems that we cannot judge her degree of rationality by simply seeing how many pieces they picked. At the very least, we cannot judge whether there is a person more rational than her by simply looking at the choice she made. The reader can see how this can be applied to Rowe's argument. Rowe argued that the Expressive Thesis, the goodness of an agent's actions is expressive of the agent's goodness, is related to B (pg. 100). However, because there are an infinite number of possible worlds, this gives us the ability to see that the expressive thesis cannot be applied to God creating a world. The expressive thesis, like the dominant option theory, might be applicable to finite choices, but not necessarily to infinite choices. For example, Billy and Sally see that there are an infinite number of people drowning. There is a machine where they can press a number and an angel would save them from drowning. The machine can only accept a finite number. Billy pressed 8245 and Sally 8643. But Billy is very much like St. Francis of Assisi and Sally is a known murderer. Here we see that Sally is not morally better than Billy because she saved more people. We cannot reduce moral goodness by the action of the person. So, if God creates W456 and He could have created a better world, He is not at fault for creating W456.
The other ideas that came to my mind were
1) Worlds may be incommensurable. W1 has a lot of justice and W2 has a lot prudence. Which is better?
2) One can grant that B is true, that it is possible that there is a being better than that being. But how is that incompatible with A? We can reply this way: it’s true that there may be a being better than God. But that would be God. So in W1 God is unsurpassable. Now, in W2 there is a being that is better than God. But that’s God. I think K. Kraay makes that point.
3) It could be that A is wrong. God is contingent. Not contingent in the medieval sense, but contingent in the sense that there may be a possible world where God does not exist. But that doesn’t take anything away from God. God is still unsurpassable when it comes to benevolence, power, etc. It’s just that He does not exist in all possible worlds. The problem of this, of course, is that if the principle of sufficient reason is true, then this won't work.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
“Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary.”
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” says the Scriptures. Fr. Massimo Camisasca, in his book Terra e Cielo, says, “In the irresistibility of the sacrament, in his continuous donation, we learn that when there was nothing there was love.” In the beginning was the Word. In the beginning, when there was nothing, there was love. God can create things out of nothing. He can create something beautiful within awful circumstances. He can create trust in a person who had the shame of abandoning himself to another; He can put someone in front of him who can love him. He can create a people through which the world can find a sign of His presence, through which the world can encounter His human sympathy. When there was nothing, there was love.
“The Word was made flesh.” It is a difficult thing to trust another person, that is, to abandon ourselves to another. To abandon ourselves means to give our whole selves to another. Afraid to be disappointed, afraid to make mistakes, we start dividing the people whom we can entrust parts of ourselves to. With one person, I can entrust my problems. With the other, I can play a sport. With another, I can watch movies. With someone else, homework. We divide ourselves and become fragmented. We are afraid to allow another person to take hold of us in such a way that we become totally vulnerable. God, who has no need of man, entrusted himself to human hands—and suffered under Pontius Pilate. The Incarnate God had no fear of human flesh because he remained in the bosom of the Father. Within the great love of the Father, Christ gave his totality to all; he gives us His Spirit and calls us friends. He does not divide but unite. His makes us whole. He gives us peace so that we are not afraid to make mistakes, and so that we can take the risk of abandoning ourselves. It is only love that can make a man vulnerable to all. Within the motherly eyes of Mary that were filled with expectations for Israel and the cosmos, Christ learned to pray.
We hope on the unconditional mercy of God. The weight of the Incarnation shatters all of our preconceptions, our sins, and limitations so that we can rejoice in our humanity; the easy yoke of Christ gives us freedom. Freedom is to rejoice in being created. It is for this reason that the Incarnation, in God assuming a created flesh, reveals God’s absolute freedom. It is usually thought that being created is suffocating. We cannot control circumstances and we did not even have the ability to choose to exist. It is within this shameful condition, the fact that man finds himself suffocated in front of his humanity, that God became man. God became man and took upon himself our suffocations; suffocated by the weight of our sins, Christ died praying to his Father.
Romano Guardini said that it is easy to adore an Almighty, All-good, and All-knowing God. It is difficult to adore a God who became man. The God of Christianity, the God of the holy saints, is humble. In silence, we begin to listen to the Word-made-flesh in wonder. Silence keeps us in the state of wanting. It makes us sigh for meaning and, like suffering, creates compassion for the other and to receive oneself in another. In silence, we truly begin to see. Within the event of the Incarnation, we perceive and taste the love that surpasses our faith.
Notes on St. Paul
One of the remarkable traits of St. Paul was that in spite of the fact that he had suffered much in his life, he lived a life of hope. He once practiced Judaism (which is different than being Jewish), that is, he tried to purify the religion of his day by getting rid of any outside influence that might destroy the people of God; the stoning of Stephen is a great example of this. Like most Jews of that day, he longed for the day when Yahweh will come as king and they can live and worship freely. With sweetness, then, did he say these words, “I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me; insofar as I now life in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me”(Gal. 2:20). The word “Christ” should really be understood as Messiah. “I no longer live, but the Messiah lives in me.” This term signifies that it is the continuation of the Jewish narrative of Yahweh keeping His fidelity to His people. The God who chose Abraham, who saved the Israelites from Egypt, who forgave David, has come again to win the hearts of His people. He has come definitively so that His people’s cry for help becomes a cry of assurance and joy to Someone who knows what it is like to suffer. Through the Messiah, the Spirit of God has rested His heart in His people: “The Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness” (Rom. 8:6). St. Paul knew that his hope cannot be placed on his own efforts. He was certain that the world does not understand the logic of God’s love. He knew the sufferings caused by natural disasters. Persecution from the world and even the Church he had suffered. Yet, guided by the Holy Spirit, and therefore united to the Church, he asks, “What will separate us from the love of Christ?” (Rom. 8:35). Certain of Christ’s love, he expects his second coming at any moment. Not only is he certain of God’s infinite closeness and that He will come again to raise the dead, he has the expectation that God will act soon. God’s arrival is so soon that St. Paul advised some Christians to take the vow of virginity. Granted, we can look back and declare that he was wrong to think that the final things was going to happen in his generation. Yet, the essential aspect of his thought remains: God is dwelling in the cosmos and it requires a proper response, a proper attitude towards all things.
We can look at the political aspect first. As pointed out by many scholars, words such as “gospel,” “son of God, “Lord,” etc have political implications. The cult of Caesar was steadfastly growing and to declare that every name on earth and the heavens will declare that Jesus the Messiah is Lord was a political statement. But it is not a political movement in the sense of that which is endorsed by liberation theologians. Although we can say that the peace and love of Christ controls all Christians to the point of creating a culture, making even an impact in the political structures, St. Paul’s fundamental political aim is to cultivate a spirit of simplicity within the circumstances the Christians find themselves in. That is to say, to proclamation of the lordship to Christ is an affirmation of the ontological value of a human person to such an extent that he cannot be reduced to a structure, circumstance, or even his own actions. Here we understand why it is that St. Paul can declare that there is neither Jew, Gentile, male, female, slave, or free-persons in Christ while at the same time not making a political party against slavery. The love of Christ is such that even in the crippling situation of slavery, a Christian can find joy. It is a joy that comes from being possessed by Christ and allowing the Spirit to guide his cry to his God. The Christian is political in as much as the Crucified One is political: a failure in the eyes of the world, yet justice has come to the world in the form of mercy. It is this justice which the State cannot provide, no emperor or high priest of the second temple can give away. The response to God’s claim upon the world is not political action but poverty. The martyrs are a witness to this evangelical counsel as they showed their lives as that which belongs to their Redeemer. They possess all things because they are in Christ and Christ is in God. In a word, the martyrs have life. It is then reasonable to see that the age of the martyrs was followed by the monasteries. The monks were concerned with one thing necessary: glory. The human glory of God is precisely the logic of the cross, that which allows oneself to be led by the embrace of God: Into your hands, I commend my spirit.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” says the Scriptures. Fr. Massimo Camisasca, in his book Terra e Cielo, says, “In the irresistibility of the sacrament, in his continuous donation, we learn that when there was nothing there was love.” In the beginning was the Word. In the beginning, when there was nothing, there was love. God can create things out of nothing. He can create something beautiful within awful circumstances. He can create trust in a person who had the shame of abandoning himself to another; He can put someone in front of him who can love him. He can create a people through which the world can find a sign of His presence, through which the world can encounter His human sympathy. When there was nothing, there was love.
“The Word was made flesh.” It is a difficult thing to trust another person, that is, to abandon ourselves to another. To abandon ourselves means to give our whole selves to another. Afraid to be disappointed, afraid to make mistakes, we start dividing the people whom we can entrust parts of ourselves to. With one person, I can entrust my problems. With the other, I can play a sport. With another, I can watch movies. With someone else, homework. We divide ourselves and become fragmented. We are afraid to allow another person to take hold of us in such a way that we become totally vulnerable. God, who has no need of man, entrusted himself to human hands—and suffered under Pontius Pilate. The Incarnate God had no fear of human flesh because he remained in the bosom of the Father. Within the great love of the Father, Christ gave his totality to all; he gives us His Spirit and calls us friends. He does not divide but unite. His makes us whole. He gives us peace so that we are not afraid to make mistakes, and so that we can take the risk of abandoning ourselves. It is only love that can make a man vulnerable to all. Within the motherly eyes of Mary that were filled with expectations for Israel and the cosmos, Christ learned to pray.
We hope on the unconditional mercy of God. The weight of the Incarnation shatters all of our preconceptions, our sins, and limitations so that we can rejoice in our humanity; the easy yoke of Christ gives us freedom. Freedom is to rejoice in being created. It is for this reason that the Incarnation, in God assuming a created flesh, reveals God’s absolute freedom. It is usually thought that being created is suffocating. We cannot control circumstances and we did not even have the ability to choose to exist. It is within this shameful condition, the fact that man finds himself suffocated in front of his humanity, that God became man. God became man and took upon himself our suffocations; suffocated by the weight of our sins, Christ died praying to his Father.
Romano Guardini said that it is easy to adore an Almighty, All-good, and All-knowing God. It is difficult to adore a God who became man. The God of Christianity, the God of the holy saints, is humble. In silence, we begin to listen to the Word-made-flesh in wonder. Silence keeps us in the state of wanting. It makes us sigh for meaning and, like suffering, creates compassion for the other and to receive oneself in another. In silence, we truly begin to see. Within the event of the Incarnation, we perceive and taste the love that surpasses our faith.
Notes on St. Paul
One of the remarkable traits of St. Paul was that in spite of the fact that he had suffered much in his life, he lived a life of hope. He once practiced Judaism (which is different than being Jewish), that is, he tried to purify the religion of his day by getting rid of any outside influence that might destroy the people of God; the stoning of Stephen is a great example of this. Like most Jews of that day, he longed for the day when Yahweh will come as king and they can live and worship freely. With sweetness, then, did he say these words, “I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me; insofar as I now life in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me”(Gal. 2:20). The word “Christ” should really be understood as Messiah. “I no longer live, but the Messiah lives in me.” This term signifies that it is the continuation of the Jewish narrative of Yahweh keeping His fidelity to His people. The God who chose Abraham, who saved the Israelites from Egypt, who forgave David, has come again to win the hearts of His people. He has come definitively so that His people’s cry for help becomes a cry of assurance and joy to Someone who knows what it is like to suffer. Through the Messiah, the Spirit of God has rested His heart in His people: “The Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness” (Rom. 8:6). St. Paul knew that his hope cannot be placed on his own efforts. He was certain that the world does not understand the logic of God’s love. He knew the sufferings caused by natural disasters. Persecution from the world and even the Church he had suffered. Yet, guided by the Holy Spirit, and therefore united to the Church, he asks, “What will separate us from the love of Christ?” (Rom. 8:35). Certain of Christ’s love, he expects his second coming at any moment. Not only is he certain of God’s infinite closeness and that He will come again to raise the dead, he has the expectation that God will act soon. God’s arrival is so soon that St. Paul advised some Christians to take the vow of virginity. Granted, we can look back and declare that he was wrong to think that the final things was going to happen in his generation. Yet, the essential aspect of his thought remains: God is dwelling in the cosmos and it requires a proper response, a proper attitude towards all things.
We can look at the political aspect first. As pointed out by many scholars, words such as “gospel,” “son of God, “Lord,” etc have political implications. The cult of Caesar was steadfastly growing and to declare that every name on earth and the heavens will declare that Jesus the Messiah is Lord was a political statement. But it is not a political movement in the sense of that which is endorsed by liberation theologians. Although we can say that the peace and love of Christ controls all Christians to the point of creating a culture, making even an impact in the political structures, St. Paul’s fundamental political aim is to cultivate a spirit of simplicity within the circumstances the Christians find themselves in. That is to say, to proclamation of the lordship to Christ is an affirmation of the ontological value of a human person to such an extent that he cannot be reduced to a structure, circumstance, or even his own actions. Here we understand why it is that St. Paul can declare that there is neither Jew, Gentile, male, female, slave, or free-persons in Christ while at the same time not making a political party against slavery. The love of Christ is such that even in the crippling situation of slavery, a Christian can find joy. It is a joy that comes from being possessed by Christ and allowing the Spirit to guide his cry to his God. The Christian is political in as much as the Crucified One is political: a failure in the eyes of the world, yet justice has come to the world in the form of mercy. It is this justice which the State cannot provide, no emperor or high priest of the second temple can give away. The response to God’s claim upon the world is not political action but poverty. The martyrs are a witness to this evangelical counsel as they showed their lives as that which belongs to their Redeemer. They possess all things because they are in Christ and Christ is in God. In a word, the martyrs have life. It is then reasonable to see that the age of the martyrs was followed by the monasteries. The monks were concerned with one thing necessary: glory. The human glory of God is precisely the logic of the cross, that which allows oneself to be led by the embrace of God: Into your hands, I commend my spirit.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The Word was Made Flesh
No one has ever seen love and God is love. “Why sketch an outline, why arrange limbs, why provide him with an acceptable stature, why imagine a beautiful body? ‘God is love.’ What color has love, what outline, what shape? We see none of these things in it, and yet we love” (Augustine, Sermon 34.3). Unseen, the heart sighs. “No one can see glory but he who is in glory; there remains both the desire and the intellect of those who are not in it” (Aquinas, Quodl. 8, q. 7, 1. 16). And yet we love because our heart demands to give itself. Kept to itself, the impossibility of redemption lurks in the background. Loneliness becomes the habitat of the heart, the heart without a presence that it can be naked to. Yet, even a lonely heart beats because it is seen. “Adam, where are you?” Man cannot hide from the One who looks for him. “Where are you?” Such is the proposal of God to humanity. Adam fails to see God because of the lack of certainty he has put himself in; within the bush, Adam cannot see and therefore know the world around him. He has lost his place. Mystery becomes the eclipse of God. Prayer becomes a monologue.
If today there is an eclipse of God (M. Buber), it is because we have lost the experience of being looked at with a sense of love and gratitude for our unique existence. We have lost the awareness of ourselves and therefore exile and slavery crept into our world. This is why Henri de Lubac noted that man can build a world without God but only a world which turns its back on man. It would be superfluous to analyze which came first, the lost of the experience of God that led to the lost of our sense of humanity or the lost of our compassion for humanity that led to the eclipse of God. What must be affirmed is that the human being failed to submit himself to the gaze that defined his humanity and personality, that he preferred autonomy rather than dependency on the Fatherhood of God. This line from Theophilous of Antioch pertains to our discussion: “You will say to me, ‘Show me your God.’ And I tell you, ‘Show me first the man who is in you, and then I will show you my God’” (Ad Autolycum libri tres, I, 3). Any thought of God that does not reveal (and therefore experience) humanity is a failed utopia. There cannot be any dichotomy between the revelation of God and the revelation of humanity, for God is the light that exposes humanity. The experience of the glory of God is an experience of our worth and uniqueness. We cannot achieve deification unless our humanity has been embraced by God, unless we embrace our humanity with God. “How can you be a god when you have not yet become a man? How can you be perfect when you have only just been made? How can you be immortal when, in your mortal nature, you do not obey your Maker? You must hold the rank of men before you partake of the glory of God” (Against the Heresies IV 39, 2-3). It must be noted that for Irenaeus, the glory of God is man fully alive and so to partake in the glory of God is for man to fully embrace what he is made for. This requires that he holds the rank of men, that is, stay as a man and not a god. Only when he has accepted himself as man, that is, one who is dependent on the gaze of God, can he, paradoxically, become a god. Only in obedience to the immeasurable light of his heavenly Father can he achieve an existence that transcends the corruptible world. As Joseph Ratzinger stated, “Man can become God, not by making himself God, but allowing himself to be made ‘Son’” (Dogmatic Theology vol. 9: Eschatology, CUA Press 1988, pgs 64-65).
Responding to Theophilous of Antioch would be very difficult because it is especially manifesting our humanity that is troublesome for us. How can we show the man who is in us if we ourselves have distorted our own image, if we have experienced a lack of gaze that awakened the desires inherent in us? It is not problematic to give examples when that gaze is lacking: A baby who has been abandoned by his mother, a child who lacks the gaze of both a mother and a father, a woman who has experienced infidelity from her husband, and so on. How can we show our humanity when the distance between human persons is far enough that we do not need to look at each other to communicate? What can close the distance between us? What can liberate us from the inhumanity we have experienced? How can we be free to look at the true, the good, and the beautiful? Free enough that “one does not keep one’s eyes in one’s pocket” (Claudel)?
No one has ever seen love and yet we are seen with love. It is that innocent and pure eyes of that babe in the manger that produces the smile of the virgin mother. That non-condemning innocent gaze asks to be held. The question “Where are you?” becomes more dramatic and demands a renewal of decisiveness towards life. “Where are you when there is this babe to be held?” In the smile of the virgin mother is the certainty that there is no love that fails to satisfy life. Virginity is the acknowledgment that Christ alone can satisfy the heart. This is why a mystic is satisfied with life: everything speaks of Christ. It is virginity which keeps married people alive to each other with that tender gaze that Christ arouses in them. It is not simply chastity, that is, moderation, but the understanding of the other as the gift of God, the presence of Christ in life. Without virginity, marriage becomes burdensome and provokes a sigh of resignation rather than a sigh for meaning and love. Virginity is the pure heart which sees God. The one who sees God is one who understands why reality satisfies him. This is why it must be often repeated that virginity is not abstinence from sex but rather positivity. It is the embraced proposal from the Other. It is seeing that the darkness in the world is the overshadowing of the Spirit of the Father and the Son, the radiant glory of the crucified One who reveals that reality is mysterious.
The seen and unseen coincides in the person of Christ, the humanism of God. God Himself, in infusing His Spirit to a human being, manifested the humanity we cannot expose. The Word which speaks the language of love (Spirit) is the sustenance and meaning of life. The Word-made-zygote in the womb of Mary is the lamb that conquers the “spirit of the lion” (Nietzsche) and brings back to man the freedom to erect his head before the glorious One who sees him with an unconditional look of mercy. Every experience of one’s worth comes from the affirmation of another. This is not dissimilar to the original experience of a baby who experiences reality from the smile of his mother. It is not, however, only an experience of worth the child has but an affirmation of his ontological existence. Hans Urs von Balthasar noted,
It is clear that a conscious subject can only awaken to himself and his distinct selfhood if he is addressed by one or more others who regard him as of value or perhaps as indispensable. When a child learns from its mother that it is ‘her treasure’, it becomes aware not only of its ‘worth’ (dignitas individui) but specifically of its uniqueness…The most emphatic affirmation can only tell him who he is for the one who values him or loves him. (Theo-Drama vol. 3, Ignatius Press 1992, pg. 205)
The existence of a child possesses a certain uniqueness that does not simply call out to be loved, but loved in a way that corresponds to his uniqueness. What cannot be separated, however, are his uniqueness and the way he is loved. Our humanity can now be revealed because God, in becoming man, has beckoned us. Pain, suffering, and darkness can never be an excuse for refusing to embrace life because even in the suffering God has from man’s abandonment, He manages to keep His eyes on him. “It seems to me that nothing prevents man from rejoicing in whatever he finds painful. For while he is sad at the troubles caused by virtuous living in the flesh, he rejoices in his soul because of that same virtue, because he sees, as something already present, the beauty and dignity of what is to come” (Maximus the Confessor, Quaest. ad Thal. 58). This is the new humanity, the humanism of God, man with God. There is now a gaze that infuses the spirit of freedom and love into the hearts of man. It is the gracious gaze that brings out the confident cry of a new song to the Lord. Even sin does not blindfold Him. Without this gaze, even love cannot satisfy the lonely heart. “He came to create a need, a thirst that his disappearance will render unquenchable. And at the same time he came to bring the satisfaction of this need, to place the answer in our hands, to offer himself as the sole remedy for this one fundamental craving of our nature that is its own gratification. He came to place himself at our disposal, to join forces with us. Son of God, he came to show us how to be sons of God” (Paul Claudel, I Believe in God, pg. 75). The Sun of glory has broken the eclipse away. Prayer is no longer a monologue but an invitation for the consummation.
No one has ever seen love and God is love. “Why sketch an outline, why arrange limbs, why provide him with an acceptable stature, why imagine a beautiful body? ‘God is love.’ What color has love, what outline, what shape? We see none of these things in it, and yet we love” (Augustine, Sermon 34.3). Unseen, the heart sighs. “No one can see glory but he who is in glory; there remains both the desire and the intellect of those who are not in it” (Aquinas, Quodl. 8, q. 7, 1. 16). And yet we love because our heart demands to give itself. Kept to itself, the impossibility of redemption lurks in the background. Loneliness becomes the habitat of the heart, the heart without a presence that it can be naked to. Yet, even a lonely heart beats because it is seen. “Adam, where are you?” Man cannot hide from the One who looks for him. “Where are you?” Such is the proposal of God to humanity. Adam fails to see God because of the lack of certainty he has put himself in; within the bush, Adam cannot see and therefore know the world around him. He has lost his place. Mystery becomes the eclipse of God. Prayer becomes a monologue.
If today there is an eclipse of God (M. Buber), it is because we have lost the experience of being looked at with a sense of love and gratitude for our unique existence. We have lost the awareness of ourselves and therefore exile and slavery crept into our world. This is why Henri de Lubac noted that man can build a world without God but only a world which turns its back on man. It would be superfluous to analyze which came first, the lost of the experience of God that led to the lost of our sense of humanity or the lost of our compassion for humanity that led to the eclipse of God. What must be affirmed is that the human being failed to submit himself to the gaze that defined his humanity and personality, that he preferred autonomy rather than dependency on the Fatherhood of God. This line from Theophilous of Antioch pertains to our discussion: “You will say to me, ‘Show me your God.’ And I tell you, ‘Show me first the man who is in you, and then I will show you my God’” (Ad Autolycum libri tres, I, 3). Any thought of God that does not reveal (and therefore experience) humanity is a failed utopia. There cannot be any dichotomy between the revelation of God and the revelation of humanity, for God is the light that exposes humanity. The experience of the glory of God is an experience of our worth and uniqueness. We cannot achieve deification unless our humanity has been embraced by God, unless we embrace our humanity with God. “How can you be a god when you have not yet become a man? How can you be perfect when you have only just been made? How can you be immortal when, in your mortal nature, you do not obey your Maker? You must hold the rank of men before you partake of the glory of God” (Against the Heresies IV 39, 2-3). It must be noted that for Irenaeus, the glory of God is man fully alive and so to partake in the glory of God is for man to fully embrace what he is made for. This requires that he holds the rank of men, that is, stay as a man and not a god. Only when he has accepted himself as man, that is, one who is dependent on the gaze of God, can he, paradoxically, become a god. Only in obedience to the immeasurable light of his heavenly Father can he achieve an existence that transcends the corruptible world. As Joseph Ratzinger stated, “Man can become God, not by making himself God, but allowing himself to be made ‘Son’” (Dogmatic Theology vol. 9: Eschatology, CUA Press 1988, pgs 64-65).
Responding to Theophilous of Antioch would be very difficult because it is especially manifesting our humanity that is troublesome for us. How can we show the man who is in us if we ourselves have distorted our own image, if we have experienced a lack of gaze that awakened the desires inherent in us? It is not problematic to give examples when that gaze is lacking: A baby who has been abandoned by his mother, a child who lacks the gaze of both a mother and a father, a woman who has experienced infidelity from her husband, and so on. How can we show our humanity when the distance between human persons is far enough that we do not need to look at each other to communicate? What can close the distance between us? What can liberate us from the inhumanity we have experienced? How can we be free to look at the true, the good, and the beautiful? Free enough that “one does not keep one’s eyes in one’s pocket” (Claudel)?
No one has ever seen love and yet we are seen with love. It is that innocent and pure eyes of that babe in the manger that produces the smile of the virgin mother. That non-condemning innocent gaze asks to be held. The question “Where are you?” becomes more dramatic and demands a renewal of decisiveness towards life. “Where are you when there is this babe to be held?” In the smile of the virgin mother is the certainty that there is no love that fails to satisfy life. Virginity is the acknowledgment that Christ alone can satisfy the heart. This is why a mystic is satisfied with life: everything speaks of Christ. It is virginity which keeps married people alive to each other with that tender gaze that Christ arouses in them. It is not simply chastity, that is, moderation, but the understanding of the other as the gift of God, the presence of Christ in life. Without virginity, marriage becomes burdensome and provokes a sigh of resignation rather than a sigh for meaning and love. Virginity is the pure heart which sees God. The one who sees God is one who understands why reality satisfies him. This is why it must be often repeated that virginity is not abstinence from sex but rather positivity. It is the embraced proposal from the Other. It is seeing that the darkness in the world is the overshadowing of the Spirit of the Father and the Son, the radiant glory of the crucified One who reveals that reality is mysterious.
The seen and unseen coincides in the person of Christ, the humanism of God. God Himself, in infusing His Spirit to a human being, manifested the humanity we cannot expose. The Word which speaks the language of love (Spirit) is the sustenance and meaning of life. The Word-made-zygote in the womb of Mary is the lamb that conquers the “spirit of the lion” (Nietzsche) and brings back to man the freedom to erect his head before the glorious One who sees him with an unconditional look of mercy. Every experience of one’s worth comes from the affirmation of another. This is not dissimilar to the original experience of a baby who experiences reality from the smile of his mother. It is not, however, only an experience of worth the child has but an affirmation of his ontological existence. Hans Urs von Balthasar noted,
It is clear that a conscious subject can only awaken to himself and his distinct selfhood if he is addressed by one or more others who regard him as of value or perhaps as indispensable. When a child learns from its mother that it is ‘her treasure’, it becomes aware not only of its ‘worth’ (dignitas individui) but specifically of its uniqueness…The most emphatic affirmation can only tell him who he is for the one who values him or loves him. (Theo-Drama vol. 3, Ignatius Press 1992, pg. 205)
The existence of a child possesses a certain uniqueness that does not simply call out to be loved, but loved in a way that corresponds to his uniqueness. What cannot be separated, however, are his uniqueness and the way he is loved. Our humanity can now be revealed because God, in becoming man, has beckoned us. Pain, suffering, and darkness can never be an excuse for refusing to embrace life because even in the suffering God has from man’s abandonment, He manages to keep His eyes on him. “It seems to me that nothing prevents man from rejoicing in whatever he finds painful. For while he is sad at the troubles caused by virtuous living in the flesh, he rejoices in his soul because of that same virtue, because he sees, as something already present, the beauty and dignity of what is to come” (Maximus the Confessor, Quaest. ad Thal. 58). This is the new humanity, the humanism of God, man with God. There is now a gaze that infuses the spirit of freedom and love into the hearts of man. It is the gracious gaze that brings out the confident cry of a new song to the Lord. Even sin does not blindfold Him. Without this gaze, even love cannot satisfy the lonely heart. “He came to create a need, a thirst that his disappearance will render unquenchable. And at the same time he came to bring the satisfaction of this need, to place the answer in our hands, to offer himself as the sole remedy for this one fundamental craving of our nature that is its own gratification. He came to place himself at our disposal, to join forces with us. Son of God, he came to show us how to be sons of God” (Paul Claudel, I Believe in God, pg. 75). The Sun of glory has broken the eclipse away. Prayer is no longer a monologue but an invitation for the consummation.
Friday, December 05, 2008
Musings on Advent
There is a tendency to think that the Christian's response to the materialistic utopia is activism; the response to the world that is obsessed with "having" is "doing." Especially during Lent, we often hear people not simply giving up such and such an object or activity, but making promises such as “I will be kinder to my co-workers,” “I will try to obey my parents,” “I will be kind to my brothers and sisters,” “I will pray more,” “I will go to Mass more,” etc. Frankly, these promises do not usually last and it is usually rooted in the egotistic mentality that we can achieve salvation; notice on how it is focused on "I will." Activism fails simply because it distances itself from the contemplative character of Christian existence, "It's You!." The story of Mary and Martha is evidence that life is not about doing, but rather being. The Christian of the twenty first century is either a mystic or a moralist.
The mystic is not a person who is in solitude, but rather one who is aware of a Presence that dominates and sustains every aspect of his being. The awareness of a mystic is that which recognizes a presence that arouses the heart and responds with openness and attentiveness that allows the totality of the person to be brought into light. This is why the first mystic is the Virgin. Her virginity is the promise of the Incarnation and therefore salvation. Virginity is not abstinence but rather availability to the triune tenderness of the Father. It is the summit of love, the existence of a person who is fully satisfied with God. Here we can understand Fr. Carron’s remark that the problem of Martha is not about action vs. contemplation, but one about depth: Martha failed to be satisfied in her work. Virginity seen not as abstinence but rather availability, is the character of every Christian, the vocation of every human life. It is the awareness of the satisfaction that the Presence of Christ brings in this world; it is the hundredfold.
Virginity comes with toil, however, and a continuous alertness towards the One who has come eucharistically is necessary. Without this continuous Marian and receptive form of existence, life becomes a burdensome passive form of existence. Rather, the mystic is one who is certain that God's faithfulness has the form of friendship and therefore he is never alone; friendship becomes promise and sign. It is in this way that we understand that the Church is the embodiment of the Spirit of Christ. The Spirit plunges into the depths of man’s sheol and interrupts the loneliness man has created by raising him into the very life of the Father. The Church’s holiness consists in crying out to the Father, “Abba!” within the depth of the hell the world has put her in.
The Church, in her virginity, waits for the consummation of her Groom: “Wait for the Lord. Take courage. Wait for the Lord” (Ps. 27). She is alert and cannot look back (Lk. 9:59-62), even in the past, because she is erected and her head is raised towards Him who will not allow a hair on her head to be destroyed (Lk. 21). That she is by her very nature eschatological does not mean that she disregards the present moment but rather the present moment is the embrace that promises the consummation between herself and her Spouse who has taken her out of harlotry. It is the constant embrace between Christ and the Church that gives certainty to Christians that they are never abandoned, even in death, and their lives are never monotonous, boring, and burdensome because they carry the easy yoke of Christ.
In this way, we understand that the best description of Advent is virginity: the contemplative transparency the Christian has for Christ in all things. In the Christian’s virginity there is sign of the never ending carnality of the Logos, the salvation of man. Virginity gives men hope that the impossible, God-made-flesh, can happen, that it has happened.
There is a tendency to think that the Christian's response to the materialistic utopia is activism; the response to the world that is obsessed with "having" is "doing." Especially during Lent, we often hear people not simply giving up such and such an object or activity, but making promises such as “I will be kinder to my co-workers,” “I will try to obey my parents,” “I will be kind to my brothers and sisters,” “I will pray more,” “I will go to Mass more,” etc. Frankly, these promises do not usually last and it is usually rooted in the egotistic mentality that we can achieve salvation; notice on how it is focused on "I will." Activism fails simply because it distances itself from the contemplative character of Christian existence, "It's You!." The story of Mary and Martha is evidence that life is not about doing, but rather being. The Christian of the twenty first century is either a mystic or a moralist.
The mystic is not a person who is in solitude, but rather one who is aware of a Presence that dominates and sustains every aspect of his being. The awareness of a mystic is that which recognizes a presence that arouses the heart and responds with openness and attentiveness that allows the totality of the person to be brought into light. This is why the first mystic is the Virgin. Her virginity is the promise of the Incarnation and therefore salvation. Virginity is not abstinence but rather availability to the triune tenderness of the Father. It is the summit of love, the existence of a person who is fully satisfied with God. Here we can understand Fr. Carron’s remark that the problem of Martha is not about action vs. contemplation, but one about depth: Martha failed to be satisfied in her work. Virginity seen not as abstinence but rather availability, is the character of every Christian, the vocation of every human life. It is the awareness of the satisfaction that the Presence of Christ brings in this world; it is the hundredfold.
Virginity comes with toil, however, and a continuous alertness towards the One who has come eucharistically is necessary. Without this continuous Marian and receptive form of existence, life becomes a burdensome passive form of existence. Rather, the mystic is one who is certain that God's faithfulness has the form of friendship and therefore he is never alone; friendship becomes promise and sign. It is in this way that we understand that the Church is the embodiment of the Spirit of Christ. The Spirit plunges into the depths of man’s sheol and interrupts the loneliness man has created by raising him into the very life of the Father. The Church’s holiness consists in crying out to the Father, “Abba!” within the depth of the hell the world has put her in.
The Church, in her virginity, waits for the consummation of her Groom: “Wait for the Lord. Take courage. Wait for the Lord” (Ps. 27). She is alert and cannot look back (Lk. 9:59-62), even in the past, because she is erected and her head is raised towards Him who will not allow a hair on her head to be destroyed (Lk. 21). That she is by her very nature eschatological does not mean that she disregards the present moment but rather the present moment is the embrace that promises the consummation between herself and her Spouse who has taken her out of harlotry. It is the constant embrace between Christ and the Church that gives certainty to Christians that they are never abandoned, even in death, and their lives are never monotonous, boring, and burdensome because they carry the easy yoke of Christ.
In this way, we understand that the best description of Advent is virginity: the contemplative transparency the Christian has for Christ in all things. In the Christian’s virginity there is sign of the never ending carnality of the Logos, the salvation of man. Virginity gives men hope that the impossible, God-made-flesh, can happen, that it has happened.
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