Living Water

I can't help but feel like I'm just stating the obvious when it comes to today's Gospel [John 4:5-42]. Jesus is the living water which never runs dry, never gets old, and never leaves us thirsty again.

I think part of the problem is that we already know that. Being raised Catholic, I've heard this before. It's familiar. It's nothing new.

Part of the problem is that we miss how radical this story is. What is going on in this Gospel passage is unheard of. Jewish men didn't interact with Samaritan women. Samaritan women (and Samaritans in general) were hopeless causes and had no chance at salvation. And it certainly was ridiculous to think that this Samaritan woman would
1) go and preach the "good news" to the town
2) the town would actually listen to her
3) the town would actually believe in Jesus

We miss the outrageousness of this story because we're 2,000 years removed from this culture and geography. We just don't get it.

We don't get it kind of like the disciples don't get it. They were Jews and they knew what the Messiah would look like, say, and do. They had Jesus in their midst, watched him perform miracles, listened to his teachings, and still missed the boat (Mark's portrayal of the disciples is particularly obtuse – which ought to give us hope).

But the point here is that an outsider did get it. The one all these holy Jews considered the scum of the earth was the one to realize who stood before her eyes, who spoke truth to her, and who offered her not only living water, but eternal life. We'll see this again on in a few weeks when a Roman centurion, standing at the foot of the cross after Jesus dies -- not a Jew or one of Jesus' disciples -- is the one who proclaims, "Truly, this man was God's son!" [Mark 15:39]

This was a radical message in Jesus' time and for the first Christians: Jesus offers salvation for all, and not just through God's chosen people, the Jews.

Even though we're 2,000 years removed from the impact of this message and its cultural and religious implications, we cannot grow numb to Jesus' offer to us, today.

Just because we know in our heads that in Jesus we find the only thing which will quench our spiritual thirst, it doesn't always follow that we know this in our hearts.

Jesus is our unending source of life, light, and love. He nourishes us, refreshes us, cleanses us, sustains us and offers us eternal life.

Just like the Samaritan woman, we have to not just know this but really know this, live this, and share this.

If she can get it and do it, so can (and should) we.

Discernment

So we know discernment is a process, but what does it involve? Especially when you love several things or you feel torn not between something good and something better, but forced to decide between two (or more) goods? My wife Anne talks about wishing for big red arrows to drop out of the sky and point her in the right direction.

But friends don't just tell their friends what to do with their lives. We support and encourage them -- and offer advice when they ask (or when they really need it). Because this is all about what is best for our friendship with God, we should approach discernment in much the same way. We need to take the time and effort to choose what is right, good, and true. If God just sent us big red arrows, sure, it'd be easy. But it wouldn't be our free choice. And God never compromises our freedom. That doesn't mean God doesn't help us along the way. We just have to know what to look for.

Again this is a topic for (and of many) books. But, briefly, the following steps should offer some guidance and direction:

1. Information. We need to inform ourselves of our options and what they entail. More often than not, a bad decision is simply the result of incomplete information (or too rash of a decision).

2. Turn outwards. Seek advice from others (especially those who know you well or who are familiar with the situation you are considering) and the wisdom available to you in Scripture and in the Tradition of the Church. Other people have a knack for recognizing problems and issues we might be blind to. And if we trust they have our best interest at heart, their advice can be invaluable -- even (and especially) if we don't like what they have to say.

3. Turn inwards. Discernment first and foremost flows in and through prayer. This prayer includes a reflection of our emotions: fear, anxiety, doubt, hopes, and dreams. Processing through all these feelings -- and again, being attentive to what our heart does with them -- and, as Jules Toner writes in Discerning God's Will, knowing that "to will God's greater glory is to will our own greater glory," means knowing that we will be happy in making God happy. Again, this process of discernment is about asking yourself, what decision will best enhance my friendship with God?

4. What do you want? Although our ultimate goal should be a life in which we desire what God desires from us, that is not mutually exclusive from what we want for ourselves. Jesus encouraged us to ask for what we want (Luke 11:5-13). Because our goal is friendship with God, we must understand that in the sense of mutuality, God wants us to make our own decisions based on what makes us (truly -- not based on aesthetics or pleasure alone) happy and fulfilled.

5. Harmony. As I have mentioned before, God doesn't expect that we be perfect; God wants us to be balanced. So seeking this harmony and balance is key. What will be best not only for our relationship with God, ourselves, and our friends and family (and others who will be affected)? Yet it's also essential to point out this is not to say that your discernment will not require great courage and strength, and facing adversity.

6. Persistence. Discernment is not easy and it does not always lead us to a simple or straight path. But by being persistent in our discernment, we can continue to be open, aware, prayerful, and seek the harmony and balance which makes us thrive. And if we should choose wrongly (and that happens even to the best of us; there were plenty of saints who made rash and stupid decisions, thinking they were following God's will), we should not be discouraged, but continue to tune into what will best shape and enhance our friendship with God.

Discernment is not only an ongoing process; it is a life-long process. We should never "finish" discerning how and where God call us next.

Instead, during times of consolation (feeling renewed and strengthened by God), we must be attentive to what we are doing so we can continue on the path of what is right, good, and true. And in times of desolation (when we feel abandoned by God absent from His presence or love), we must do three things: pay attention to what we have done (or are doing) which might have caused this state; remember the times of consolation and recall the lessons we learned from what is right, good, and true (because we might have lost our way); and TRUST that God will continue to protect and provide for us. Because God never fails.

Our friendship -- and flourishing -- means too much to Him.

What does God want from me?

What does God want from me? This is a question we should never tire from asking ourselves. Even if we are convinced we are on the right path, we must humbly reflect on where and how God is calling us to a deeper, richer, and fuller relationship with Him. And this involves discernment.

Discernment is different from decision-making, but before I jump into the process, let us first understand our goal, and then discuss how to reach it.

I think St. Ignatius of Loyola says it best when he writes, in The First Principle and Foundation,

The goal of our life is to live with God forever.

God, who loves us, gave us life.

Our own response of love allows God's life to flow into us without limit.

All the things in this world are gifts of God,

presented to us so that we can know God more easily

and make a return of love more readily.

As a result, we appreciate and use all these gifts of God

insofar as they help us develop as loving persons.

But if any of these gifts become the center of our lives,

they displace God and so hinder our growth toward our goal.

In everyday life, then, we must hold ourselves in balance

before all of these created gifts

insofar as we have a choice and are not bound by some obligation.

We should not fix our desires on health or sickness,

wealth or poverty, success or failure, a long life or a short one.

For everything has the potential of calling forth in us

a deeper response to our life in God.

Only our desire and our one choice should be this:

I want and I choose what better leads to God's deepening His life in me.

People who know me know that one of my favorite phrases is "Let go and Let God." This is a mantra we need to keep present in our minds. We need to let God be God, which means first and foremost realizing our finitude, limits, and lack. We are not God and we cannot know (in the same sense that I know 2+2=4) His will for our lives. But we can discern where and how our heart is tugged so that what you are passionate about meets a need that exists in our world. Surely, we are called to be Men and Women of God, Men and Women for Others, Men and Women of LOVE and that implies an obligation of ACTION which benefits others.

So where do we start?
In the First Principle and Foundation text quoted above, St. Ignatius refers to the "grace of indifference" which means that we should not seek (or prefer) to be sick or healthy, rich or poor, happy or sad, successful or unsuccessful. Our desire should be a radical openness to the love and life of God and a deep trust in God's providence and plan. So first, we have to be open.

Then we need to be attentive to how the Spirit moves us. The first question to ask ourselves is, "what makes me happy?" Following your passions is surely a solid way to discover your niche, as God uses what you do best (and what you love to do) to respond to the hurt, hunger, and need that others have. So being aware of when you feel most alive is a key to knowing what God wants from you.

And then we must be patient, because this is a continual process of growth and development and God's revelation to us. It isn't as if, at some magical age or date or single experience that we "know" what God wants of us or who God calls us to be. It is a constant, unending process. This is the story of how we become friends with God. This is how we learn to become the best and fullest versions of ourselves. And it all starts with what St. Ignatius describes in the First Principle and Foundation.

Transfiguration

The Synoptic Gospel authors specifically make the event in today's Gospel [Mt. 17:-19] the pinnacle of Jesus' public ministry. The story of the Transfiguration immediately follows the most essential question of the Gospels (Jesus asks his disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" [Mt. 16:15]). In the Transfiguration, which closely parallels the theophany (appearance of God) in the story of Moses and the burning bush on Mount Sinai, Jesus, the Word became Flesh, is revealed as Divine.

What is so special about that? Well, many things to be sure. It was well documented that when the Messiah would come, the signs would be so clear that he wouldn't have to reveal himself; he would simply be known (which is one of the reasons Jesus remains silent before the Sanhedrin and Pontius Pilate). The appearance here, on a mountain (the heights of which were connected with being "close to God" -- again reminiscent of the burning bush and the reception of the 10 Commandments), with Moses and Elijah (the greatest prophets, whose return would signal the coming of the Messiah), and revelation of Jesus' divine nature (the voice that comes from the sky: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”) all function as BIG FLASHING SIGNS the Gospel writers use to say: HEY! PAY ATTENTION! JESUS IS THE ONE!

So there's a LOT of theological significance to today's Gospel. Allow me to point out two of the most essential:

1) Jesus is revealed in this moment as both fully God and fully man. Here, as Saint John Damascene writes, "Christ was transfigured, not by acquiring what he was not but by manifesting to his disciples what he in fact was: he opened their eyes and gave these blind men sight."

Jean Corbon explains it this way:
The Transfiguration of the Word gives a glimpse of the fullness of what the Word inaugurated in his Incarnation and manifested after his baptism by his miracles: namely the truth that the body of the Lord Jesus is the sacrament that gives the life of God to men. When our humanity consents without reserve to be united to the humanity of Jesus, it will share in the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4); it will be divinized ... the divinization of [human beings] will come through sharing in the body of Christ.
So not only is Jesus revealed in his full nature to us in this moment, but once again, we recognize that the Eucharist is the source and summit of our existence -- because it is in this moment that we are transfigured into the Body of Christ.

2) After this experience, Jesus charges, "Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead." Why does Jesus insist that this story remain a secret?
Actually, this happens several times in the Gospels -- most often after Jesus performs a miracle. When blind men can see, the deaf can hear, the mute can speak, and lepers are healed, Jesus implores, "Do not tell anyone about this." But why?

Because Jesus is more than a miracle worker. He's more than a powerful teacher. Jesus was not just a prophet or a life coach. He is God. But Jesus demanded that people not share what he had done until the whole story unfolded. Only after his death and resurrection would all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place and it make sense.

I wrote in a previous post about how I have found most Catholics struggle with two basic tenets of belief:
1) That Jesus was both true God and man.
2) That the Eucharist is more than a symbol; it is actually the Real Presence of Jesus Christ.

Today's Gospel responds to these very questions and we learn we have to look no further than the Transfiguration to find our answer: that Jesus is more than a miracle worker and powerful teacher, he is God. And that, just as in today's Gospel, the man Jesus is Transfigured into his Divine image, so also we are transfigured in the Eucharist when we receive the Body of Christ; we too become divinized.

Small wonder the Synoptic writers made today's Gospel the pinnacle of Jesus' public ministry. It doesn't get much more important than that!

Ways to Pray: Our Cross

"Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."

- Mark 8:34

Words are good; pictures are better. May this serve you in your prayer:

One of my favorite Mother Teresa quotes is,

"I know God would never give me more than I can handle; I just wish He wouldn't trust me so much."

Faithful Citizenship

I remember being so excited to turn 18. Freedom, independence, adulthood.

Ah, yes. And responsibility.

And perhaps one of the most important responsibilities is our duty as citizens. In the midst of the primaries and as we decide our party candidates, it is worth noting that we have a moral obligation to be informed when it comes to the issues and what the candidates stand for.

It is a grave and gross misunderstanding to think that all Catholics must be either Republican (as the Religious Right would like us to believe) or Democrat (as those concerned with social justice would argue). Truthfully, neither party encapsulates what it means to be Christian in entirety, which makes our job that much more difficult. What is more, it's up to us to tell the parties what we value -- and not the other way around. So the answer is getting more involved in politics, not less.

There are a lot of people who are uncomfortable with this. They believe that the separation of church and state means that religion should keep out of politics. But our faith -- and especially the way Jesus calls us to work for justice, peace, solidarity, and to build up the kingdom of God here on earth -- has a necessarily public function. The final words at Mass remind us of our mission: Go in peace to love and serve the world. We have work to do -- and yes, it is political!

The truth is that church and state ought to have the same goal: promote the common good while defending the rights and dignity of individuals. And because the state doesn't always live up to this role, the church (and the faithful) need to hold the state accountable. This doesn't mean that we diminish the separation of church and state. Instead, the church acts as the Old Testament prophets did: calling out the government when it abuses power and subjugates people. In this way, we are called to be servants and heralds of the good news and this means educating ourselves and getting involved in the political process.

We could dedicate a whole blog -- much less several lengthy posts -- to the roles and responsibilities Catholics have when it comes to the public dimension of our faith, the demands of citizenship, and how this plays out in the issues. Allow me to make a few brief summary points:

1) As the US Conference of Catholic Bishops reminds us, Catholics cannot be single-issue voters. Catholic Social Teaching requires that we stand up for the poor, vulnerable, and oppressed. We are called to be a voice for the voiceless and defend and promote life in all its forms. This means caring about the unborn just as much as the inmates on death row or children living in poverty, without access to proper education, or excluded from basic health care resources.

2) Good luck finding a candidate that is against abortion, the death penalty, the war in Iraq (and spending trillions of dollars on military and defense contracts), who has plans to provide broader access to education, health care, and social security, and who defends the rights and dignity of immigrants, seeks to conserve energy and our natural resources ... among other issues Catholics ought to care about. Voting might feel a tad like choosing the lesser of two evils, but that doesn't mean we can shirk our responsibility -- and this essential opportunity -- to effect change and establish a more just society.

3) I am NOT saying that there is one right candidate out there. In fact, I am dismayed that we live in the greatest country on earth and this is the best we can scrounge together to lead our country and world. But just as God has to work with the "earthen vessels" He has, we too have to make do with what we have. And far too often we pick a candidate and then think that person will have the status and access to make the change we desire. This is entirely backwards. Instead, we should think that, with the right person in place, we should have the status and access to effect the change we desire. So don't think that this will all be over on November 4. As Winston Churchill said, "It is not the end or the beginning of the end; it is the end of the beginning."

The truth is that the Religious Right has come to power because it has convinced Christians that God cares more about abortion and gay marriage than anything else. Funny. I don't remember Jesus talking about abortion or gay marriage. But in the 73 books which make up our Bible, there are literally thousands of passages about poverty (I'm not exaggerating; there are more than 2,000 verses about poverty between the OT and NT). I'm not saying abortion isn't a tragic and sinful act. It most certainly is. But it can't be the only fight we fight when 30,000 children DIE EACH DAY of hunger.

People always say you should never discuss politics or religion. These issues are too personal and too contentious. But the reality is that these two issues -- perhaps more than any two -- are what shape and give significance to our world. We might ruffle some feathers -- actually, scratch that. We will definitely ruffle some feathers along the way. But the search for what is right, true, and good can't be afraid of a little discomfort.

I encourage you to learn more. The USCCB is a great place to start.

To read the 2007 "Faithful Citizenship" document in full, visit: http://www.usccb.org/faithfulcitizenship/FCStatement.pdf

For a one page summary or other Faithful Citizenship information, visit: http://www.usccb.org/faithfulcitizenship/

For more information about the candidates, visit: http://www.ontheissues.org/default.htm

Real Love on Valentine’s Day

St. Valentine's Day is all about showing gratitude to ALL the people in our lives who show us love. Surely, that is something worth celebrating!

But we also know that today has become quite the Hallmark Holiday. It's almost as if we lose the point of Valentine's Day -- love -- in this over-hyped profit-driven, rose petalled, chocolate-covered, greeting card-laden smorgasbord.

What is love, anyway? Many writers -- far more articulate and insightful than me -- have attempted to explain what love is and what it is like for centuries. The reflexive property tells me that since 1 John 4:8 says "God is love" then love must be God.

This might sound funny, but it's true. All love comes from God. And all our experiences of love -- real love -- share an essence of God. This love -- descending from God's perfect and complete essence -- is agape. Agape is selfless, generous, and unlimited and it's what God offers us each and every day, and in no greater way than through His Son, Jesus the Christ.

We are called to share this love with one another (which we know from the Golden Rule, Greatest Commandment, etc.), which is not actually agape, but philia. Philia love is fraternal, about solidarity and inclusiveness -- even to the extent that we love beyond those who love us back, love more than those we know well, and even love those who hurt us or hate us. When Jesus said "love your enemies" he meant it.

This philia love -- which we might celebrate today between good friends and close family -- can also be applied to our relationship with God. Gregory of Nyssa tells us the whole goal of our lives is to become friends with God. In the same way we have friends to support, encourage, and even challenge us, so too, God desires to be our friend. Although friendship is usually reserved for peers, God desires to be in relationship with us, involving a mutual sharing of love, give and take, and a deep and intimate bond.

But of course, like many things in life, we have taken this gift -- so good and pure -- and we have corrupted it. Instead of celebrating the philia love we experience with friends who have become like family or family we cherish as friends, we've grown obsessed with eros, which is not just sexy, about desire or romance, is self-interested. That is not to say that in a bond shared by lovers that eros doesn't seek to make the other happy. But it is a realization that, at bottom, I make you happy because you make me happy. That's not the kind of love we receive from (or should give to) God.

Now I could go on about how it is utterly insane that we have the same word, love, to describe how much we like pizza, a pair of jeans, or a movie as the word to describe Jesus' actions on the cross. But I don't want to be a downer on Valentine's Day.

Instead, amidst the cards, candy hearts, and chubby, half-naked little winged boys flinging arrows perhaps today we should reflect on the real love we experience from God, which flows through our family and friends, which affirms who we are and who we wish to become, heals and forgives us when we falter and fail, and yes, even pushes us to be better versions of ourselves and reach our God-given potential.

After all, it is this love -- generous, selfless, and unlimited -- in which we find God near and present to us day after day; this love gives us meaning, purpose, and direction.

I think God could probably do without flowers, chocolate, or a card, but when was the last time you said thank you for the real love in your life?

Waking Up

I have to laugh when I see the new commercials for Diet Pepsi Max. "Wake Up, People!" screams the TV. Right. Our problem is we're too tired, overwhelmed, and stressed. Of course the solution is something you can buy.

Anthony de Mello, a Jesuit priest and profound spiritual writer, wrote a great deal about "waking up" to God. He explains it better than I can, so I will defer to his words:

Spirituality means waking up. Most people, even though they don't know it, are asleep. They're born asleep, they live asleep, they marry in their sleep, they breed children in their sleep, they die in their sleep without ever waking up. They never understand the loveliness and the beauty of this thing that we call human experience.

Waking up is unpleasant, you know. You are nice and comfortable in bed. It's irritating to be woken up. That's the reason the wise guru will not attempt to wake people up. I hope I'm going to be wise here and make no attempt whatsoever to wake you up if you are asleep. It is really none of my business, even though I say to you at times, "Wake up!" My business is to do my thing, to dance my dance. If you profit from it, fine; if you don't, too bad. As the Arabs say, "The nature of rain is the same, but it makes thorns grow in the marshes and flowers in the gardens."

Paraphrasing de Mello now, if the problem is being asleep, the cure is waking up. But most people aren't interested in a cure; they want relief. The cure is painful.

But as we all know, the cure is necessary to be healed. And this is why we have Lent. To try to get people to wake up; to heal our relationship with God, others, and even ourselves.

We are just now completing the first week of Lent. Some take this liturgical season very seriously and are making more time for prayer, concentrating on fasting, and increasingly concerned for others. They are learning this is no small task. But kudos to you for jumping out of bed and waking up!

Many others might find the extra time, effort, or concern just too overwhelming. We prefer to hit the snooze button and pull the covers over our head. We're just too tired. We're just too busy. And hey, God understands.

Sure, God understands. But He also wants more for us and from us. So if Lent hasn't made a difference in your faith life, take the first step: get up and out of bed. It's time to wake up.

Don't be too hard on yourself if you hit the snooze button one more time. Or maybe even a few more times. We are, after all, imperfect.

But trust me. When you do wake up, you'll be SO glad you did.
And you'll be amazed at all you did, felt, learned, and grew during that time you'd otherwise just be laying in bed!

Where is Your Joy?

Making time for prayer is hard enough. Making time for prayer and reading these long posts? That's just too much to ask.

So a quick one today:

Although Jesus and the saints offer us great wisdom, insight, and encouragement, sometimes the most incisive observations are made from those outside our tradition.

For example, one of my favorite lines from Friedrich Nietzsche is, "You say you are a Christian. Where is your joy?"

And Gandhi, who often spoke about how the New Testament and life of Jesus inspired much of his nonviolent activism, when asked why he himself was not a Christian, responded, "I like your Christ. But I do not like your Christians because they are not like your Christ."

We have work to do, don't we?
Of course we do. That's why this is a journey; it's a life-long process.
But at the same time, we can't fool ourselves into thinking that we will have that perfect relationship with God later, when we'll have more time, experience, or wisdom.

The first disciples thought Jesus's return was close at hand. Much of the New Testament wields a sense of urgency that we have not adopted. But we simply cannot take for granted that our faith can wait until tomorrow.

The Gospel today is one of my favorites of all time [Mt. 25:31-46]. Jesus speaks about the end times and the separation of the sheep and goats. Our judgment – which might come sooner than we think – rests on the way we treat the poor, vulnerable, imprisoned, and oppressed. What gets me, though, is that Jesus issues this judgment without any prior warning (unlike the one we're given in the Gospel today). Some argue that this is more an injunction for generosity than a plea for systemic work for justice. In any event, the bottom line is that we have to ask ourselves: If I were on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict me? In other words, faith is not something you have; faith is something you do.

Or, to paraphrase Nietzsche: you say you are a Christian. But where is your love, your hope, your faith, and your joy?

May you find – and live – joy today and all your days.

Why We Need Jesus

Every time we go to Mass we see the priest lift the chalice and recite the words Jesus spoke to his disciples on the eve of his death: “Take this, all of you, and drink from it: this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.”

We've heard this line since we were little, so I think it might be easy to miss the totality and profundity of what it means. While it signifies much more than I could address in this post, briefly, it refers to the Real Presence, the establishment of a new covenant, atonement from sin ... and because we are encouraged to "do this in memory of me," we recognize the responsibility and privilege to remember (re-member) and celebrate this sacrifice again and again at Mass.

This line stood out to me today because of the word cup. Now, in comparison to the themes above, this is a pretty minor point. But in Jesus' time, cup was often an allusion to suffering. This made me think of Jesus' agony in the garden, when Jesus prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will" [Mt. 26:39]. On that night and in that moment, Jesus knew what he was in for but he didn't run or hide.

In much the same way, in today's Gospel [Mt. 4:1-11], Jesus does not dodge the temptation in the desert. In a way that demonstrates Jesus' very real humanity (which parallels our own and certainly alludes back to the frailty of Adam and Eve), these temptations -- turning stones to bread, being saved from death by angels, and worshiping a false god -- are not only directed to Jesus, but also speak to us today.

To say Jesus was hungry after 40 days in the desert would be a gross understatement. And it would have been nothing for him to perform a miracle and "poof!" create a great feast to satiate that tremendous hunger.

And when Jesus was on the cross, it would have been quite easy for him to call it quits and summon angels to lift him up and away from his imminent torment and death.

And speaking to great throngs of people all cheering him on (especially on his jubilant entry to Jerusalem), few could blame Jesus for deluding himself into focusing on his own grandeur and buying into this worship.

But in all things, Jesus points us not only to himself, but to the Father (as we see in the temptation in the desert, in the agony in the garden, and even on the cross).

Jesus does not bypass the cup of his suffering because he knows it is the crux of the Father's plan. And that is what today's readings are all about.

In the first reading [Gen. 2:7-9; 3:1-7] we hear how God's marvelous plan goes astray. We see that this condition we find ourselves in -- sin and death -- is not what God had in store, but the result of us taking matters into our own hands. In the second reading [Rom. 5:12-19], St. Paul shows us that Jesus's life, ministry, death, and resurrection restores our relationship with the Father (broken by that first sin). Jesus is sent as the "second Adam," who brings salvation for all. Jesus does this principally through his passion, death, and resurrection, which is what we celebrate and remember at the altar during the Eucharist.

But if we missed the message in today's Gospel we'd miss the way Jesus shows us the way to "drink of the cup" when we are faced with our own temptation and suffering. Just as Jesus was tempted, we, too, are tempted. Maybe not with turning stones to bread, but we doubt God will provide for us and we work tirelessly to "get mine" and cover our behinds.

And maybe we don’t tempt God to save us from the risk of death, but we do fall into the trap of thinking that this whole faith thing would be SO MUCH EASIER if only God gave us a sign or performed a miracle to prove to us that He exists.

And although we might think we'd never worship Satan, there are times in our lives that we put other priorities before God. We rationalize how the pressure to get good grades, make (more) money, the need for sleep, to find peace of mind, or even watch a football game can be more important than going to Mass or making time to pray. Those things become our "golden calf" because we pay them more heed than our obligations to God. Which is utterly ridiculous when you think about it, because, just as Jesus shows us in the Gospel, all we need is God. He provides everything else we need.

Today’s Gospel isn't about ignoring temptation or avoiding suffering. It's about facing it head on and knowing -- to the very core of our being, as Jesus did -- that God will provide for and protect us. Not in a way that tempts God to act and maybe not in the way we might think or expect, but we must be convinced that He will never abandon us.

And this is why we need Jesus. First and foremost, because, as St. Paul reminds us, he cleanses us from sin and restores us to eternal life with the Father. But also because, as "the way, truth, and life" Jesus shows us how to live each and every day. Not just on the first Sunday of Lent when we suffer a bit in missing the chocolate or TV we gave up for the next 40 days, but even and especially in our darkest and most difficult moments.

So take this cup and drink it, knowing your sins will be forgiven and eternal life will be yours.

No Meat! (?)

Have you seen "The Simpsons" episode when Krusty the Clown is invited over for dinner? Krusty is asked to say grace before the meal and he utters a guttural-sounding "brkh," which is actually Hebrew for "berakah" (vowels have been since added), which means "blessing." We laugh because we think Krusty is choking on his discomfort with prayer, when actually we find a beautiful insight: blessing.

You see, when it comes to blessing, the Jewish tradition is a bit different from us Catholics. We ask for God's blessing before a meal (on the food, on those gathered around the table, on those in need, etc.). When Jews offer a berakah it is a blessing of God, acknowledging Him and giving thanks (a typical berakah begins: Berhakah attah, Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha-olam ... which means, "Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe ...").

By making this a consistent practice (not just before meals, but in passing through doorways, driving a car, or meeting a friend on the street), Jews praise, acknowledge, give thanks, and bless God at all times. This leads to a greater awareness of, reliance on, and gratitude for the way God acts in our lives.

This is tied in with fasting, an issue which always comes up during Lent. Most Catholics don’t know that it is expected that, out of reverence for the events of Good Friday, we are called to abstain from eating meat on Fridays all year long. Vatican II revised this a bit, suggesting that Catholics worldwide choose for themselves a specific act of penance to perform each and every Friday (instead of abstaining from meat year-round), but still offer a sacrifice of giving up meat on Fridays during Lent. In this way, the global Church observes a universal act of penance.

Jews fasted from certain foods out of respect for God and also to set them apart from other tribes and nations. It was kind of like buying apparel for your favorite sports team or the jersey of your favorite player: it was act of homage and honor, but also evidence of your fan-ness (as opposed to the other fair-weather fans who show up to games in street clothes). Fasting and abstaining from certain foods, for Jews, was a sign of berakah, commitment, and fidelity.

Some argue that fasting and giving up meat has lost its significance today. While its Catholic roots are often debated, the basic idea is that eating meat was a rare luxury (in most of the world, this is still true) and that to forgo it meant to choose simplicity and sacrifice in solidarity with not only the poor all over the world, but with Christ on the road to Calvary. Doing this every Friday was not only an act of reverence and remembrance, but a sign of loyalty to Christ.

Fasting is not meant to be a punishment or a way of earning "brownie points" with God. Instead, this physical hunger is supposed to make real to us the spiritual hunger we ought to have for God.

Perhaps this understanding will help us take seriously our call to fast (on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday) and abstain from meat on Fridays this Lent.

In 2000, the USCCB published Penitential Practices for Today's Catholics [http://www.usccb.org/dpp/penitential.htm] which explains how and why we fast:

Fasting assists us in getting our own house in order. All of us have to deal with areas of servitude, whether in regard to smoking or alcohol consumption, misused sexuality, uncontrolled gambling, psychological hang-ups, spiritual obsessions, use of stimulants, immoderate use of the Internet, excessive amounts of television watching, or preoccupations with other forms of entertainment. By fasting and self-denial, by living lives of moderation, we have more energy to devote to God's purposes and a better self-esteem that helps us to be more concerned with the well-being of others.

Voluntary fasting from food creates in us a greater openness to God's Spirit and deepens our compassion for those who are forced to go without food. The discomfort brought about by fasting unites us to the sufferings of Christ. Fasting should bring to mind the sufferings of all those for whom Christ suffered. One may refrain from certain foods strictly for dietary purposes, but this would not be Christian penance. Rather, our fasting and refraining is in response to the workings of the Holy Spirit. By fasting we sense a deeper hunger and thirst for God. In a paradoxical way, we feast through fasting — we feast on the spiritual values that lead to works of charity and service. Did not the prophet Isaiah proclaim that such works characterize the fasting that God desires?

This . . . is the fasting that I wish:
releasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke;
Sharing your bread with the hungry,
sheltering the oppressed and the homeless;
Clothing the naked when you see them, and not turning your back on your own.
(Is. 58:6-7)

Returning to berakah, when we abstain from eating meat (or if you're vegetarian, when you cut out noodles or bread or some other 'luxury' from your diet), it is much like saying, "Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe" ... you are worthy of this sacrifice.

Prayer Intentions

Since one of the major foci of Lent is prayer, I thought it might be worth one more post on the subject. I have to admit I thought praying was "saying my prayers" until I read Prayer: The Great Conversation by Peter Kreeft. Now I understand prayer to be the "real contact with God" that our soul needs to exist. And as we begin Lent, I wanted to pass along some wisdom from Peter Kreeft (much of which may be found in Prayer for Beginners).

1. Prayer is not only for saints. Prayer is the path to sainthood.
The best advice for someone looking to learn how to pray? Begin.

2. What? Begin? That's how I should pray? Yes.
Too often we get caught up in method or technique. We expect that if I do x, then y will happen. That's like thinking that if you push the right button, God will answer your prayers. All wrong. Prayer is love. And when we love someone we want to be with that person. So let your heart desire to be with God. Voilà!

3. Why do we pray? Among many reasons, we pray because prayer gives truth to our mind, goodness to our will, and beauty to our heart (and the heart is where we not only encounter God, but the truest version of ourselves).

4. The Baltimore Catechism taught our parents' generation that the meaning of life is "to know, love, and serve God." Put another way, the goal of our lives is to become Christlike. Leon Bloy wrote, "Life holds only one tragedy: not to have been a saint." How do we do this? We commit our mind and heart to loving God. And that means committing our mind and heart to prayer, which is to say communion with God and God's love.

5. Prayer is not superstition. I know I still pray to St. Anthony when I've lost my keys and there are even times I find myself reciting the Memorare to make sure things work out the way I want. But if we say certain words to get a specific outcome, this reduces the act to magic, rather than faith.

At bottom, prayer is an act of faith. We pray because we believe, not because we wish. I have often said the shortest prayer is "help!" followed (as a close second) by "thanks!" The Catechism informs me that this isn't actually the best place to start. Instead,
"The invocation of the holy name of Jesus is the simplest way of praying always ... This prayer is possible 'at all times' because it is not one occupation among others but the only occupation: that of the loving God, which animates and transfigures every action in Christ Jesus." (CCC #2668)

So if you're having trouble with your prayer life, just start with one word: Jesus.


The other way to pray? Together.
When we pray, not only do we grow in communion with God, but with each other, as we lift up our hopes, needs, and pleas with one voice.

Perhaps this can be a space for you to share your intentions (you can submit them as a comment to this post -- even anonymously, if you wish), and we can pray with you.

With these intentions in mind, then, let us make this Lent a time to "pray without ceasing" (1 Thes. 5:17).

Ash Wednesday

Did you know that today is not a holy day of obligation? And yet, it is the third-most attended day of the year (behind Easter and Christmas, respectively). Why? There is something in the Catholic psyche that knows we are about to embark on a sacred journey. There is something in our tradition -- riddled with irony and paradox -- that makes us step forward and embrace those ashes, a reminder of our sin and death.

These ashes are the burnt remnants of the palms from the previous Palm Sunday and in that way, link us in the same hypocrisy which heralded Jesus as king and conqueror and then killed him like a criminal just five short days later.

The irony of Ash Wednesday is pretty obvious if you pay attention to the readings today. The Gospel (Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18) tell us,

“When you pray,
do not be like the hypocrites,
who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners
so that others may see them ...
But when you pray, go to your inner room,
close the door, and pray to your Father in secret.
And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.
When you fast,
do not look gloomy like the hypocrites.
They neglect their appearance,
so that they may appear to others to be fasting ...
But when you fast,
anoint your head and wash your face,
so that you may not appear to be fasting,
except to your Father who is hidden.
And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.”

Instead of praying in secret, what do we do? We put ashes on our foreheads and let the whole world know that Yes, I’m Catholic and I’m starting Lent today: the time of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Notice me.

There is no question, though, that our faith carries a public responsibility and accountability, which we remember when we put ashes on our foreheads and deal with the glances and looks all day. If we thought our faith in God meant a one-on-one relationship with God and only praying in secret, not only would our faith be incomplete, but hypocritical. As I've noted before, faith is personal, but never private.

So what is Lent all about? Today's First Reading from the prophet Joel (2:12-18) calls God’s people back into a faithful relationship with Yahweh:

"Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.
For gracious and merciful is he,
slow to anger, rich in kindness,
and relenting in punishment ..."

God wants our hearts -- our whole hearts. We’re not always good about giving our hearts (minds, souls, and lives) to Him, so Lent is the perfect time, through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving to get back on track -- no matter if we think God wants us back or not (because God most certainly does).

Although our lives are chock full of irony and paradox (which we even find it in our Mass today), let’s make this Lenten Season about consistency. Lent isn’t about giving up soda, a snack, or swearing for 40 days and then going back to life as usual. Lent surely isn’t about going through the motions. Lent is about making prayer, fasting, and almsgiving (concern for the poor and vulnerable) a greater part of our daily lives. It's like a reset or restart button which says, okay, now let's get back on track.

In this way, we recognize areas in our lives that require change or revision, and face them head-on and commit to real, lasting change so that we can grow closer to the men and women God desires us to be. The goal is to be transformed by the time Lent is over ... and to live that transformation long afterwards (even in the boring days of “ordinary” time).

And as we pack the churches today at Mass, we are reminded we’re in this together -- every single step of the way. And in a sacred journey of 40 days, we can use all the help we can get!

Bring On Fat Tuesday!

Today is Fat Tuesday and hopefully you will find a way to celebrate. The world is celebrating: Mardi Gras in New Orleans and Carnival (or Carnevale) in Venice and Brazil (among other places); after all Fat Tuesday is all about saying “goodbye” to meat (where we get the word for “carnival”) and sweets and embracing the imminent season of Lent. Mardi Gras is a big event because of how much sacrifice Lent involves. In other words, we only get to have fun today because we take the next 40 days seriously.

We do a pretty good job of living it up on Fat Tuesday, but what about Lent? How much do we invest ourselves in this season of prayer, fasting and almsgiving?

Some people talk about giving a food or habit up for Lent. Others talk about giving instead of giving up. Like most things in Catholicism, this is not an either/or situation; it’s a both/and.

In previous posts I have written about the power of prayer and how we need it to “tune in to God” and to shape, center, and balance our lives in communion with God’s loving presence in our lives. Making time for prayer will undoubtedly bear rich fruit during Lent as we continue to make time to express our thanksgiving, pleas for forgiveness, and make our petitions -- and then listen for the “still, small voice” in which silence can very often convey the nearness of God. What a gift to have the next 40 days to be intentional about being still and silent and to prepare our hearts, where we encounter not only God, but the truest version of ourselves.

Fasting -- since our Jewish roots -- has been about contrition (getting back into “right relationship” and setting things right with God) and piety (devout reverence for God). With this in mind, in the spirit of contrition, maybe it’s a good idea to give something up that’s impeding your love-relationship with God (something you prioritize before God, something that tempts you or distracts you); and in the spirit of piety maybe it’s helpful to give something up as a sacrifice, a way to unite your small suffering with Christ’s simple life in the desert or his suffering, death and resurrection. And it would definitely be a good idea to dig deep and see what you have to offer others and give something which will spread God’s peace, love, and joy to those you’ll interact with in the coming weeks.

With almsgiving in mind, we ought to direct this giving to those in most need. This means going to the margins, defending life in all its forms, and being a voice for the voiceless. Whether focusing on poverty, hunger, illiteracy, violence, or some other cause close to your heart, we are called to “lead the many to justice” by our witness of peace and love (Daniel 12:3). Faith is personal, but never private: our love-relationship with God should mean a positive impact on the world. So Lent is not just about your faith journey in these next 40 days, but how your closer walk with Christ impacts the lives you touch.

No one said prayer, fasting, and almsgiving had to be all gloom and doom; that would certainly make it awfully hard for people to recognize the light and love of Christ in you during the time of year we should be closer to Him than ever!

In the same way we celebrate the “last hurrah” today, let us also embrace and make the most of our Lenten journey! The Spirit works with as much as we give it; like in everything in life, we will get out of it what we put into it.

Love and the Cross

Lent is just around the corner (even though it seems WAY too early to say that!) which is a perfect opportunity to break out of our faith rut. The liturgical year is organized for this very reason. Advent helps us to be intentional in our preparations for the miracle of the Incarnation; Lent is a perfect time for prayer, reflection, preparation, and commitment to a closer walk with Christ.

Lent is end-oriented (eschatological), in that our eyes are fixed on the Cross. Now, it’s quite true that the Cross is not the end of the story (and if there were no Resurrection, none of us would be Christians), but I’ll leave that for another post. For now, let us contemplate the Cross and what it means for us today -- especially as we prepare for this Lenten journey.

I wrote a previous post about the Divinity of Christ, which is certainly central to our belief as Catholics. But sometimes it seems to me that the Divinity of Christ is overemphasized on the Cross. Yes, God’s salvific love in offering up His Only Begotten Son to atone for our sins is incredible to behold. But because Jesus is fully human and divine, Jesus’ sacrificial self-gift on the Cross, that demonstration of love, is not just a powerful demonstration of the power of Divine Love, but also reveals to us the potential power of human love.

The love of Christ on the Cross shows us what generous, selfless love can be and do. Such love, free from fear and self-interest (and fear of death) shows us ALL love can be. Jesus invites us to make this demonstration of love to be our standard for love. This is what love -- freely offered -- looks like. This is how powerful human love really is, which is part of the reason why our church treasures the lives and deaths of the martyrs so dearly: their witness is not just about faith, but deep and true love (this is also part of the reason why most chuches contain a relic of a martyr or saint inside the altar: their witness of love "sets the table" for our reception of Christ's sacrifice, which we honor in the Eucharist).

So maybe this isn’t an original or profound idea (after all, Jesus himself tells us, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” [John 15:13]). But the idea, that Jesus in all his fragile humanity, freely chose to die like a criminal for us, whom he calls friends, ought to be more than an impressive display of God’s agape, but an invitation to live and love like (and in and through) our friend, Jesus.

So what does this mean? First and foremost, that we are not to take this love we receive from the Cross and hoard it or save it. I often get the idea that some of us believe we are born with 10 units of love, which we can give away however we choose. So we convince ourselves that we have long lives to live and this love is precious, so we must use it sparingly. I’ll use 3 units of love for my family. I’ll save 2 units of love for my friends. I’ll allocate 1 unit of love for my boyfriend, girlfriend, or spouse. I’ll use 1 unit of love in random acts of service here and there ... and that leaves me with 4 units of love to treasure until I make new friends or start my own family ...

Of course, this is all wrong. In the same way that the Eucharist is the source and summit of our lives, this is because Christ and His love for us is the source and summit of our lives; all things ought to flow to and from this source of love. And this love is unending. The Eucharist connects us with the regenerative power of Christ’s love (which is why we can and should receive the Eucharist each and every Sunday) so that the love we give away is not lost, but grows. It reaches out and touches other people’s lives, brings Christ’s light and love to them in real and lasting ways (and perhaps even inspires them to be generous with this love).

I’m not sure how often we remember that love is a verb; love is not something we have, love is something we do. Love is a way of life. And yet it is also true that it is not enough to merely give away love. Since we know this love is regenerative, we should squander it. We should be giving it away freely since we have freely received it (Matthew 10:8). It took me a long time to learn that God does not want us to be perfect, but to love perfectly. And all that means is loving so much that it hurts. All we have to do is look at Christ on the Cross to get an idea of what we could actually accomplish if we tried.

St. Ignatius of Loyola suggested that a most powerful way to pray is to sit with a crucifix and ask yourself 3 questions:
1) What have I done for Christ?
2) What am I doing for Christ?
3) What will I do for Christ?

As your eyes behold the Cross and you reflect on your life (and ask: is what I’m living (and loving) for worth what Christ died for?), may you commit to a life of not just love, but loving so that everything you think, say, and do may be done with love.

If you make love your path, it will lead you to the source and summit of all love and life, which of course, is the Cross. During this Lenten journey, make your path a path of love.

Upside Down

No one turns what we expect on its head like Jesus. Today's readings are another perfect example of this, as the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12) serve as a parallel and reinterpretation of Moses' reception of the 10 Commandments on Mount Sinai. And yet, this is more than Jesus replacing the old law with a new one, one that takes rigid legalism and morphs it into an ethical norm which combines piety and morality. No longer is our worship for God confined to the Temple alone. No longer is the focus solely on what we do or fail to do. This is about how to be, how to live, and first and foremost, how to love God.

In the same way, I think it's ironic (but not intentional) that on the same day our country is obsessing over a football game and millions of dollars are spent on commercial spots and thousands of dollars on plasma screen tvs and snacks, we are reading about the blessings of the meek, merciful, pure of heart, peacemakers, and those who mourn, who those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, and those who are persecuted.

So what is this really about? To be a Christian means to put God first in our lives. Jesus turns the concept of being proud at upholding the 10 Commandments on its head and instead beseeches that we live humbly, mercifully, purely, peacefully, and committed to justice.

That's probably not a message we'll find on Superbowl Sunday, but then again, the Beatitudes aren't about what's easy or popular, but what's right.

And Jesus makes it as clear as he can that this starts with placing God at the center of our heart.

A Response: Why Go to Mass?

I could write (and many people have written) a book about the latest question posted:

Why do I have to go to Mass?

There is a rich and beautiful tradition why the Church believes the Eucharist is the “source and summit” of our lives, the river of life which nourishes and revitalizes us.

But I get the feeling we miss that more often than not. The Eucharist is an invitation to join together as a community to give thanks for our many blessings and be brought into communion with God. Instead, we hear that going to Mass is an “obligation” and don’t want to be told what to do or what’s good for us.

But the Eucharist isn’t just good for us like the need to eat well and exercise; the Eucharist is the Bread of Life: it heals us, sustains us, and saves us. In fact, Eucharistic Theologian Jean Corbon writes about how the Eucharist is about receiving the real Spirit of Jesus, which we can do “only because Jesus assumes our body.” In the same way the Incarnation is about Jesus being fully God and fully human, the Eucharist is also about synergy: God’s grace, love, and power at work in our lives. We work together with God because, through God's self-gift in this Sacrament we become in communion with Him.

Far too often we talk about “not getting anything out of Mass,” that we find it “boring,” or just can’t connect with it. I think that’s probably because we just don’t understand (or pay attention to) what’s going on. So maybe we’ll appreciate it for the gift that it is if we seek to understand what the ritual of the Eucharist is all about.

First of all, we gather together as a community because our faith is, without question, a communal effort and journey. When God called Abraham, God called not just him, but God called Abraham to be father of a chosen nation: Israel. Paul and the first apostles made one of the central features of early Christianity that Jesus takes this covenant God has with Israel and opens it to all people of all lands. So, as brothers and sisters in Christ, we realize that we are in this together and that God’s love for me and my love for God is tied up with God’s love for you and your love for God. Fundamentally, then, the Eucharist is an act of solidarity.

And there is a reason that we start the Mass (and every Sacrament) with reading the Word. The Scripture recounts God’s relationship with our ancestors; it recounts God’s providence and plan which has helped us survive every trial and tribulation. The Liturgy of the Word is an anamnesis (memorial) of God’s self-gift. The Liturgy of the Eucharist is our epiclesis (petition) so the dynamic of the liturgy is first thank you and then please. So liturgy is not just about God’s gift-giving, but also our reception and response to that gift.

This reception and response to God’s self-gift is where synergy comes in. The Vatican II document, Sacrosanctum Concilirium (# 47) teaches us that at the Last Supper Jesus institutes the sacrifice of His body and blood to perpetuate the sacrifice of the cross through the centuries and to entrust His beloved spouse, the Church, a memorial to His death and resurrection. At bottom, this event and act is a
1) sacrament of love
2) a sign of unity
3) a bond of charity

All of these components demand not only our physical presence, but our participation. Our participation is just the start of our synergy as we, empowered by the sacramental graces, glorify God and live out God’s love as we return to the world (notice the last words at Mass: "Go now, to love and serve the world. Thanks be to God!").

The Eucharist also has incredible redemptive force. In the New Testament, “sin” is the Greek word “hamartia” which means “missing the mark.” So when we turn our back on God’s love or miss an opportunity to respond to God’s love we “miss” the target God has in mind.

Of course the first instance of this is the story of Adam and Eve, when the first humans desire to “be like God” and eat the forbidden fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. This first sin is about humans grasping at something beyond our reality (our realistic limitedness), beyond sustenance, to status. In the way Jesus turns this sinful grasp on its head (see Philippians 2:6-7), the Eucharist offers us a way to become like God not in grasping, but in receiving what God gives us (the Real Presence of His Only Begotten Son in the Eucharist). In the same way that food is the source of our original sin, the bread and wine at the Eucharist are the antidote: they save us.

The Eucharist is the PERFECT SOLUTION to the disconnect with God brought on by sin. This sacred meal is about sharing: everyone gets the same amount and this is enough (again, the focus is on sustenance, not on status). We honor Christ’s sacrifice on the cross as His freely-offered gift of self. And we share in that sacrifice when we bring our own problems, trials, and tribulations to the altar (which we cannot do when we skip Mass because it is boring, inconvenient, or some empty obligation). This isn’t about obligation; it’s about invitation. It’s not about a burden; it’s about gift-giving (and receiving). The Eucharist isn’t about going to be entertained; it’s about perfect sharing. It’s about communion with God and God’s people: a liturgy (“work of the people” meaning both work of the people and for the people) that is incomplete when you are not present, participating, or a part of the synergy.

The Mass is a Sacrament (a visible sign of God’s invisible grace), a moment where Catholics gather to recognize (but not create) a reality: God’s loving presence in our lives. This is a Divine Encounter; we are actually meeting (and receiving) God and there is something deadly serious about the Mass because it is a remembrance and reenactment of Christ’s death and resurrection -- not small, unimportant, or "boring" matters!

So the Mass is a God Experience that you are invited to (not just every Sunday, but every day)! It is ritual and symbol which is meant to remind us of all God has given us (in our lives and especially in His Son, Jesus) and invites our personal reception and response. Now, there is something to be said if the ritual and symbols we use are not connecting with people and we are walking away from Mass finding it empty or boring. But just because we find Mass boring doesn't mean that it actually is.

First and foremost we have to understand what is going on, and then we have to try to share a part of it. Because, honestly -- without exaggeration -- what is happening on that altar is the MOST important event in the universe: God offers Himself to us so we can be in communion with Him -- no matter what.

That’s something too beautiful, too powerful, and too meaningful to ask if we have to go. The real question should be, what on earth could possibly keep you away?!

Really God?

Was Jesus Really God?

It seems to me the two most difficult tenets of the Catholic faith to really internalize are:
1) the fact that Jesus is fully God and fully human
2) the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist

These are fantastically complex concepts, but let’s touch on the Divinity of Christ -- since it is so central to who we are what what we believe.

From the very beginning, the early Christians attest that Jesus was both fully God and fully human. St. Paul, writing within 20 years of Jesus’ death, makes this a natural fact. This is no small point for a devout Jew like Paul. Paul and the other early disciples were strict monotheists, so making claims about the Divinity of Christ would have been earth-shattering in the Jewish world.

Many non-biblical sources like the Dead Sea Scrolls and historians Josephus and Philo of Alexandra, give us evidence that Jesus was widely known as “the Christ” and “the Messiah” -- even outside early Christian circles. Before Jesus, there was no Jewish tradition that the Messiah would be Divine. Nonetheless, the early disciples were unrelenting in this claim.

Deuteronomy 6:4, the Shema, as it is called, is considered the Jewish Creed because it notes the way in which Israel is called away from their polytheistic contemporaries to a unique relationship with Yahweh. Larry Hurtado considers Philippians 2:6-11 as the Christian Shema or Creed, as Paul creates a “binitarian mutation” of monotheism to underscore how Jesus was both fully God and human. We’ve learned then, that Jesus’ divinity was not the result of some later complex development of Church doctrine by bishops or theologians, but the conviction of the first apostles.

In the same way that Hurtado notes an “explosion” (rather than systematic development) of evidence that the first disciples believed Jesus to be God (again, read Philippians 2:6-11 for how naturally Paul combines belief in God and Jesus as Lord), he also notes that the disciples don’t give any explanation for this astonishing mystery. Instead, they relied on their personal encounter with Jesus the Christ to believe in his Divine Nature. This is what Jean-Luc Marion describes as a “saturated phenomenon” -- an encounter irreducible to discursive reasoning or rationalization.

Our belief that Jesus is really God stems from more than just the fact that St. Paul and others wrote about it. John Meier, author of A Marginal Jew, lists 5 criteria for how and why we ought to believe the consistent Scriptural truth that Jesus is fully human and divine:

1) The criteria of embarrassment: The Gospels and early writings include embarrassing information, which would have been edited out if these writings were invented or doctored to push a specific, valorized agenda (take for example the fact that Jesus did know how or when the story would end; Peter denies Jesus three times, the fact that Jesus is baptized by John and not the other way around).
2) The criteria of discontinuity: There are several times when Jesus’s teachings are utterly new or even seek to change the established Palestinian Jewish order, which would have been hard for devout Jews to swallow (and since the earliest Christians were devout Jews, this is no small point), e.g: Jesus prohibits divorce.
3) Multiple attestations from various traditions: What we know about Jesus from the Gospels and Paul’s writings has been largely confirmed by non-biblical historical sources (e.g: the Dead Sea Scrolls and historians Josephus and Philo of Alexandria).
4) The criteria of coherence: The Gospels depict a largely consistent view of Jesus, a remarkable feat considering the time period and limitations to document and preserve written evidence. Considering we know these narratives come from various sources, time periods, and locations (because of differences in language, style, and references), there is an added degree of probability to these claims.
5) Jesus was crucified (also confirmed by non-biblical sources): This was a death sentence reserved for not only criminals, but political threats to the Roman Empire. Why would a simple prophet, ordinary rabbi, or raving lunatic merit such a gruesome, public death? The Jewish and Roman authorities must have given some credence to the claims about Jesus as Messiah (and king and Lord) to crucify him (e.g: the INRI title on the cross (a Roman acronym for Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews)).

Although these criteria help us to better understand and appreciate the veracity of the New Testaments account, of course one of the best arguments for the divine nature of Christ continues to be C.S. Lewis’ analysis of the “liar, lunatic, or lord" Trilemma in Mere Christianity, which I encourage you to read (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis%27s_trilemma).

At bottom, the fact that Jesus is really God is no peripheral belief. And just as the Eucharist is the “river of life” which nourishes and sustains us, knowing Jesus as both our God and friend is integral to being a Christian. I’m not saying I've made the clearest or most convincing case ever, but if this is a belief you struggle with, it’s definitely worthy of prayer and further reading. As in the Transfiguration, let your faith invite Jesus to reveal his real nature to you.