A Response: What is the Tridentine Mass?

Thanks for your question.

To learn more about the Tridentine Mass, you can visit: http://www.latinmass.org/faq.html. It's a little outdated (and biased), but it gives you the facts.

Basically, the Tridentine Mass is how Catholics worshipped for about 1500 years, until the reforms of Vatican II. It was quite a different experience from worship today. It was all in Latin, everything (and I mean everything) was sung, and there was lots of incense, candles, and ritual. Some people call it the Mass with "all the bells and smells." But honestly, its theology extends much deeper than that.

It was sacred. With the Latin language, all the hymns, incense, and candles, some people felt like walking into Church was like a little piece of heaven on earth.

But it was also not about congregation (laity) involvement. The priest faced the altar with his back to the congregation for about 95% of the Mass. His role was clearly that of a mediator between God (at the altar and on the Cross) and the people of God. And the people of God came to worship. Because not everyone knew Latin, some used the hour to pray silently. Others prayed the rosary. There were missals to translate the parts of the Mass into English, so you could follow along. But the focus of the Mass was not on the congregation or on connecting our lives with the Eucharist. Also, the laity rarely received from the cup -- that was reserved for the priest.

The reforms of Vatican II changed this in radical, radical ways. In fact, it's kind of hard to fathom how the church -- celebrating the Mass the same way for 1500 years -- could make such a sudden and (I can't think of any better word) radical change.

The langauge was changed from Latin (the same anywhere you'd go to Mass anywhere in the world), to the vernacular (what the people of the area spoke, whether English, Spanish, German, etc.). The priest turned around to face the laity and share the emphasis of God's presence not just in the Eucharist, the Word, or the priest, but also in the community assembled together. Guitars replaced organs, parts that were sung were now spoken ... lots and lots of changes.

There is a recent movement to restore the Tridentine Mass. It should be noted that the Tridentine Mass was never abolished or condemned -- only efforts made to connect this holy worship with the cultural, contemporaneous contexts of the people celebrating.

I think a move back to the Tridentine Mass would be a mistake. It was reformed because people grew disconnected from it. It wasn't consonant with how people desired to gather and give worship and praise to God. Going back isn't the right answer. But in gowing forward, perhaps we should strive to incorporate some of what we lost in the Tridentine Mass.

In my opinion, the Tridentine Mass offered us four gifts that we don't currently celebrate (perhaps as much as we should) in liturgy today: silence, reverence, otherness, unity.

Silence: there were long periods of silence in the Tridentine Mass, so people could take in the hymns, incense, and candles and feel closer to God. This gave them an avenue to pray in ways that we don't have today. We need time to sit and be still. Time at Mass, as a community, could be a powerful and peaceful time to pray together.

Reverence: All the bells and smells made it clear that this was a ritual in worship. Not an ordinary gathering, meeting, mode of entertainment, or "feel good session." It was supposed to be (when done well) anything but ordinary or boring. It was supposed to call us out of our normal routine to discover the nearness of God. Today, Mass at its worst can be a mundane, go-through-the-motions, boring, obligatory experience. Instead, the idea is that this is something we prepare for, make special, and set apart from our ordinary lives. This is time with God and it is sacred. Sure, God can be found in the mundane. But when we call the Eucharist the source and summit of our lives and we look to become what we receive in the Eucharist, that should mean something special and sacred. I'm not saying God frowns upon people who wear jeans to Mass, but wearing jeans and t-shirts, having cell phones go off, and when no one sings or participates, it's much more difficult to recognize what's special or sacred about the Eucharist.

Otherness: This is kind of tied into reverence. The idea is that, by using Latin (an ancient if not "holy" language -- since it was the language of the Church), it set the Mass apart. Just like all the organ hymns, incense, and candles. It was a reminder that the Eucharist is a different and distinct experience and that we are gathered for something special and sacred. Why? Because God is always bigger, more, and OTHER. So our worship should strive to be something OTHER than a pep rally, town hall meeting, appointment, or lecture. The ritual ought to unite our hearts, minds, and souls in a single movement of worship. Many people argue that Latin did exactly that, because it was out of the ordinary and it was universal.

Unity: This, too, is connected with using Latin and having the SAME ritual (in the Tridentine Mass) the whole world over. There is something powerful about knowing that wherever you are or wherever you go, the Catholic Mass is the same (even throughout the decades and centuries). Because we are the Body of Christ, we worship together as ONE. In the days of the early Church, the Pope would say the first Mass in Rome and pieces of the host he used would be fractioned off and sent to the other churches in the city. When the priests celebrated the Eucharist later that morning, they would place that particle of the host into the cup of blood. Why? To emphasize the UNITY of the Church as the Body of Christ. We are parts of one whole, even throughout the ages -- but this sense of solidarity might be lost on many Catholics today.

So, although some feel like returning to the Tridentine Mass would be a step in the right direction, I think greater effort should be made to incorporate silence, reverence, otherness, and unity into our worship today.

Of course, as with MOST things, this is really more about a both/and solution than either/or.  Our worship should not be so silent as to mute our praise; not so reverent that it becomes impossible to access; not so other that it is foreign or exclusionary; not so unified or uniform that it limits the Spirit from working among and through us.  At the same time, it should not be so loud and noisy that it becomes cacophonous; not so informal that it becomes empty routine; not so ordinary that it becomes mundane or dull; not so different as to invite division, competition, or dispute.  

So instead, let us find a balance!

But that's just my two cents.

Your thoughts -- as always -- are welcome.

Is Seeing Believing?

St. Paul tells us that our lives ought to be based in faith, hope, and love ("but the greatest of these is love" [1 Cor. 13:13]).
Christmas is the Feast of FAITH (with God becoming man in the Incarnation), Good Friday is the Feast of LOVE (the greatest self-gift and sacrifice the world will ever know is Christ on the Cross), and Easter is the Feast of HOPE (sin and death are conquered forever through the Resurrection).

We know what hope is and we know what love is. But do we know what faith is?
Faith is believing without -- or in spite of -- the evidence. It is not the result of a proof, systematic logic, or a rhetorical argument. Faith is simply not something we can prove.

And that bothers some people. It bothers people like Thomas. Thomas wanted proof that Jesus was Risen. And today's Gospel [John 20:19-31] has been written for all the people who need rock-hard evidence that Jesus is God.

But I have major qualms with this. God is always radically other, radically bigger, radically MORE than our puny human minds can comprehend. As soon as we think we have God figured out, we're dead wrong. Because God is always OTHER, bigger, and more. Karl Rahner insisted that the way to faith is a "radical openness" and "a refusal to call a halt at any point." Faith is never about being secure with what we have or "know." Faith is about always going deeper because God's invitation to know, love, and serve Him never ends.

This makes sense to me because God is madly in love with each of us and desperately desires to be in an intimate love relationship with every single one of His children. So really, faith is very much about love. And for those who want proof that God exists, I would say that, in some sense, that's impossible.

Before you get too upset, let me ask you this: have you ever been in love?
If you have (or are), can you proove it?
You can't -- really. You cannot say, A + B = LOVE all the time like you can say 2 + 2 = 4 all the time. And you cannot say God exists because of this and this and this.

But, you can know you're in love because of the way your boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife treats you. You can know you're in love because of how you feel when you're with him or her. Or, perhaps even more so, you can know you're in love because of how you feel when you're not with him or her. But you can't prove it. You can only really point to generous, kind, and sacrificial actions and very specific -- and yet ineffable -- feelings.

When you are in love, it's hard to explain it. That's kind of like it is with faith.

But Jesus knew that reports of His Resurrection would be questioned, contested, and very much doubted. He wanted to reassure as best He could. And yet, he still wanted to maintain our free will. So what did he do?

Jesus appeared to the disciples, who were hiding (afraid for their very lives) in a locked room. He breathed the Holy Spirit upon them to give them courage and strength to share the Good News. But Thomas wasn't there to see it, and he wanted proof. For Thomas, seeing is believing.

So Jesus returned and, as John attests,
"Jesus came, although the doors were locked, and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Thomas answered and said to him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

At various points in our lives, we will doubt our faith.
Just as there will be times we will doubt the love or fidelity of ones we love.
It happens.

But the key is not to look for proof in times of doubt. Because faith is NOT about seeing is believing.
Instead, faith is: believing is seeing. Because when we look at the world through the eyes of faith, we see God everywhere!

Or, as C. S. Lewis so beautifully writes,
"I believe in God like the sun. Not because I see it, but by way of it, I see everything else."

A Response: New Sins

Thanks, Adam, for your question about the modern mortal sins recently released by the Vatican [http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7287071.stm].

I guess, if pressed, I think there could be some benefit to this move, though for the most part, I find it time (and press) not well spent.

I am confused how this will connect with increasing confessions (which are notably down, not just in Europe, but the world over). How many Catholics do you know who will need to confess their proclivity to environmental pollution, genetic manipulation, accumulating excessive wealth, inflicting poverty, drug trafficking and consumption, morally debatable experiments, violation of fundamental rights of human nature (the newest mortal sins recently released by the Vatican)? While these are (grave) social sins, I don't see many individual Catholics truly struggling with these issues. That is not to say this does not serve to underscore that our individual decisions have detrimental effects in society and across societies. But I missed that point in this story.

Personally, I think the emphasis on mortal and venial sins is misplaced. That is not to say that we shouldn't talk about sin. We certainly must. Although it's not a popular topic, we need to think about the conscious choices we make to harm our relationship with God. Sin has been called many things by many theologians. Jon Sobrino calls it "radical failure." Aquinas narrowed it down to pride. Whatever sin is -- whether egoism or apathy -- it affects us as individuals and as a society. And we need to be realistic about the choices we make, and how our thoughts, words, and actions either receive and share God's love or ignore/reject it.

I can see value in updating the idea of sin beyond the traditional "seven deadly sins": pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed, and sloth. While relatable and certainly serious, they are about 800 years old. Our Tradition is always about making connections with our context, today.

And I also recognize great value in reinforcing the gift and grace of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. But Pope Benedict XVI and the CDF seem to be moving in the wrong direction (see the Tridentine Mass movement) as far as reaching out to and connecting with Catholics today. They highlight obligation, but it might be better to use language of invitation.

If it were me (and obviously I'm not in charge), I would take this opportunity to highlight God's love for us and God's desire to share in a love-relationship with each one of us. Catholics (and all Christians and truly, ALL people) need to reflect on how they are aware of and receive that love. And, truthfully, we should spend time examining our consciences to look for ways that we might fall short in this relationship.

Our relationship with God is like many other relationships we have. It requires time, effort, and sacrifice for it to flourish and deepen. Yet sin is more than not just making time for this relationship or being ignorant of God's love; it's the conscious decision to turn away from this love, to reject this love, or to refuse to share this love.

And that's a pretty serious concern. One that deserves the Vatican's attention.

And while these new mortal sins are also pressing matters, these generally tend to be aggregates -- in the sense that they are rarely one-time decisions or solely individual actions. This is of great concern for society and the world, not just the Catholic Church.

What I'd like to see is work towards avoiding/solving these social sins -- something a bit more than a call to return to the confessionals.

But, with everything, it's a process, a step along the way.

Let's hope this is a beginning to helping people realize their personal decisions have widespread (with great, if not dangerous) impact and influence.

And even when we falter or fail, the Church -- as an embodiment of God's love -- is always ready and willing to support and forgive us.

Easter Monday: hope

Lent is over. So is Easter. Yet we will celebrate the Easter Season for the next 8 weeks. And we have lots to celebrate.



If you remember, Lent is about more than making personal sacrifices and giving up things we love. Lent is about looking at the things in our life which may serve to block, complicate, or hamper our relationship with God and then striving to change (or avoid) those decisions. The idea is to use this time to be transformed and changed for good. So it's not about giving up chocolate for 40 days and then gorging ourselves silly as soon as Lent is over; it's not about cutting out Facebook for Lent and then over-dosing on it for the weeks that follow.


Lent is about being intentional about lasting change. And the Resurrection gives us hope that we can actually live out this change because the Incarnation isn't just about God taking the form of one man, but God uniting Godself with all humanity. Because of this, we believe "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." [Phil. 4:13]


So we have been given hope, which must shape how we see and live in the world. What does this mean?


Hope is freedom because we don't have to obsess about protecting or promoting ourselves. Hope means being able to commit ourselves to actions otherwise considered impossible. Hope means knowing our future is secure with God who overcomes our failures and perfects our love.


Hope allows us to embrace our call to discipleship and to live justly and compassionately instead of being engrossed in our own self-interests. Hope inspires perseverance because even our mistakes, failures, and disappointment pale in comparison to God. Hope brings us together.


As Karl Rahner wrote, "Hope is not simply the attitude of one who is weak and at the same time hungering for a fulfillment that is yet to be achieved, but rather the courage to commit oneself in thought and deed to the incomprehensible and the uncontrollable which permeates our existence, and, as the future to which it is open, sustains it."


So Easter inspires hope, hope that we do not only celebrate and savor today and in the next 8 weeks, but each and every day.

Alleluia!

It's hard to imagine what the first disciples experienced on Easter Sunday so many years ago.  They had grown to love the man they called "teacher," protected him from fierce crowds of both huge fans and vitriolic enemies, vowed to defend him to the death, and then, watched him be betrayed, arrested, sentenced to death, tortured, and executed like a dirty, rotten, dangerous criminal.  While most huddled and hid in fear, a few went to the tomb to pay their respects to this great man.

Today is evidence that Jesus of Nazareth was not just a great man, not a wise teacher or sage, a prophet or truth-teller.  Jesus of Nazareth was the Word of God become flesh.  The fullest form of God's revelation (God's gift of God's self) to us.  Today represents the pinnacle of Jesus as the way, the truth, and the life [John 14:6].

If you look at the trajectory of God's revelation, beginning with Abraham and calling him apart from all other tribes of the ancient near east, you see the beginning of God's relationship with humanity as real, personal, and lasting.  God promises Abraham great blessings, a land to call his own, and progeny as great as the sands of the desert.  All Abraham -- and his offspring -- must do is pay God ultimate respect and be faithful to God and God alone.  Instead of worshipping idols at pagan altars, Abraham becomes the father of the great monotheistic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).

And the Old Testament gives witness to the fact that, for whatever reason, this covenant is just too difficult for humans to uphold.  The Jews hedge their bets, worship false gods, and break their fidelity to God.  They are enslaved by the Egyptians, cry out (see Exodus 2:23-25 for this beautiful call and response between the Israelites and their God) and God reveals Himself to Moses to save them and give them the law so that they might follow Yahweh's ways.  But they continue to fail.  Samuel, Saul, David, and Solomon continue to try to call the people back into a faithful relationship with God, but the Jews break the laws, worship false gods, and treat each other with scorn and vengeance instead of love and justice.  God reveals himself to prophets like Isaiah, Elijah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Amos, and Micah still trying to call the Israelites back into right-relationship with their God and abide by the covenant of love and justice.  

But still, God's people -- the ones set apart by Him, given blessing, a land to call their own, and many children -- fail Him.  They lie, cheat, and steal.  They grow fat and rich while others suffer poverty and hunger.  They marginalize some and kill others.  They worship false gods.  They become a wicked people.

And it would have been easy for God to just wipe them all out and start afresh.  Or leave them to their own devices and watch them kill each other and self-destruct.  But Alleluia!  Praise God!  Instead of removing Himself from this awful spectacle, instead of abandoning these people who've gone astray, instead of divorcing Himself from this covenantal bond, God got closer to us, more intimate.  

He became one of us.  And through the Word of God Incarnate amongst us, God revealed the fullness of His message:  Jesus preached about love, solidarity, inclusiveness, peace, and justice.  In Jesus, we have the fullness of God's revelation.  There is nothing more God can do or say after Jesus the Christ.  There is nothing more for God to do than to become ONE of us, to live amongst us, to show us the way, the truth, and the life [John 14:6].  Because of free will, we can reject this way, this truth, and this life.  But God loves us enough to endure -- and even respect and maintain -- that freedom.  

You can't make someone love you.  And no one knows that better than God.

But He can send His Son, He can share His truth, and He can give His life as a sacrifice for the sins and death of all.  And He can conquer sin and death and rise from the dead.  But He can't make us believe.  And He can't make us love Him.  Even though He so desperately wants to.

But people struggle to believe.  It's hard to have faith.  It's not easy to find reasons to hope.  Especially today.  Our country spends billions on a war a world away while our eyes are filled with the sights of people suffering from a lack of education, health care, employment, food, and housing.  Our news reports are filled with random acts of violence and an economy built on the backs of the poor which is now failing.  We see friends and family struggle with alcohol and drug abuse and addiction.  We see depression on the rise amongst teenagers -- those who have the most to live for! -- and suicides rock communities and families.  We see people so lost, so hurt, so angry.  

We have lost sight of the Easter glory and promise.  We have lost sight of Jesus' sacrifice and triumph over all this garbage.  We have lost sight of the Lord who loves us and saves us.  

And oh, how God's heart must ache for us.  

But what more can He do?  

He sent His Son to renew the covenant He established with Abraham.  

He sent His Only Begotten Son as a sacrifice to save us.  

Easter witnesses the glory of his triumph over sin and death and establishes a promise of HOPE that God's love -- a love so great as to send His Son to live and die for us -- never fails.  

So when dark times come (and they will), look to the light, the joy, and the LOVE of Easter to have faith and hope in God's great plan, providence, and protection for YOU.  

Because, as we have seen over the last few thousand years, God will never abandon His people.  He will do EVERYTHING in His power to save them.  Alleluia!

Waiting

Today we wait, on Holy Saturday.  

And instead of focusing too much on the ultimate sacrifice Christ paid yesterday or the joy of the Resurrection tomorrow, we need to be present in the waiting we experience today.

But we don't like to wait.  That's why we have fast food, text messages, and would rather listen to our iPod than sit and be still, comfortable with silence.  

Waiting.

That is what today is all about.  

Waiting.  Being still.  Being silent.  Hanging in the balance, being unsure.

It's confusing to sit and wait because we want to think that we are in control.  But we're not.  We can't raise Christ from the dead.  In just the same way that Christ, through his self-emptying gift of himself, had to die to forgive our sins, Christ raises himself from the death to cleanse us of our sins and bring us into eternal life with the Lord.

Holy Saturday isn't about us.  We are not in control.  We have to let go and let God.  And that means hanging in the balance and experiencing the tension between the despair we experienced yesterday and the hope we have for tomorrow.

And yet today IS about us.  The disciples -- unable to understand yesterday's events and scared for their lives -- hid.  They closed themselves off from the world and waited.  And I'm not sure that's the right answer, either.  

Tomorrow we'll see the women -- those who went out into the world and were brave enough to visit the tomb -- be rewarded with the first glimpse of the Resurrection.  So our actions do matter and God does need our cooperation to do His work (we'll see this very clearly on Pentecost).

But for now, we wait.  Today is about realizing we're not the ones in control.  It's about trusting in God's plan -- even if we are confused, scared, or filled with doubt.  

Today is about letting God be God.  

Will you wait?  Will you be still?  Will you be silent?

Will you let God be God?  

Arms Wide Open

When I was little, I never understood why today was called "Good" Friday. What's so good about Jesus dying? Especially the WAY he died. Seems pretty much the opposite of good.

And, to be sure, there is a lot that's NOT good about what we celebrate and revere today. Every Palm Sunday I am struck by the fact that on Sunday Jesus is hailed as a hero, welcomed as a champion and conqueror ... and a few short days later, he is betrayed, handed over, mocked, assaulted, humiliated, and executed like a criminal. The same God that created the world, that knows the number of hairs on your head, that humbled himself to be born as a vulnerable little baby, that same God that is MADLY in love with you, endured every blow, every taunt, every step carrying that gruesome cross and died for us in the greatest act of love the world will ever know.

And there will be plenty who go about their business today and pay no heed to what this action means. And I'm not sure which is more painful to comprehend: how much Jesus suffered because he loves us -- or how much he suffers now, seeing so many people who still do not know his love, feel his peace, or live by his truth.

But what more can he do? Without encroaching on our free will, God has done EVERYTHING in his power to show us the way, to call us back into right-relationship with him, and to try to heal our hearts.

And today we remember that his death is not only a one-time event. Although his sacrifice and self-gift do end sin and death once and for all, this act is an on going process of reconciliation and offering of love.

I think about Christ on the cross and realize why today is indeed "Good."

Arms wide open, Jesus welcomes us all.
Arms wide open, he calls us all together to be ONE in him.
Arms wide open, he loves us all.

Even though this world is far from perfect. Even though we are far from perfect. We might not have spent the past 40 days preparing for the magnitude of this sacrificial act. Even though we might go through the motions in our faith, fall out of practice, or even, find ourselves doubting his love. Even if we yell at our parents or lie to a friend. Even if we make bad decisions or say things we regret.

Arms wide open, Jesus patiently accepts us as we are and loves us -- no matter what.

If you have the time, I'd invite you to imagine standing at the foot of the cross today.
What would you have to say to Jesus?
What do you think Jesus would have to say to you?

Do you dare?

Tonight is a most holy night. In the gospels according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and in the letters from Paul, Jesus gathers with his disciples to share in a festive meal together. He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, shares it, and tells his disciples that this is his body, given up for all. And he commands us to "do this in remembrance of me." Tonight we are given the Eucharist -- the celebration of God's gift-giving which brings Christians together throughout the centuries.

Tonight, Jesus gives himself to us shows us the way to share in his presence in every age and place.

But John, in his gospel account of Holy Thursday, takes a different spin. John uses the sixth chapter of his gospel (worth reading if you don't know it well!) to demonstrate how ALL of Christ's ministry, life, and death was a eucharistic act. On the night before he died, Jesus did the unthinkable. He washed the feet of his disciples.

To understand what this act really means, we need to put ourselves in Palestine 2,000 years ago. People didn't wear shoes and socks. They didn't shower. They wore sandals -- the same sandals -- day after day. And they walked throught dust, mud, refuse, and probably feces. Their feet reeked. So much so that even slaves and servants would not wash their masters' feet. It was too gross, too dirty, and honestly, too intimate. Just too close for comfort.

And yet, this is precisely what Jesus does. And his disciples are baffled. They have been following this man around for three years and even now, he never ceases to amaze them. But they really shouldn't be surprised. Jesus has told us the first shall be last, that life is about love, and love is about service. And this is exactly what washing his disciples' feet is about: service.

And, just as Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and shares it, telling us that this is his body and we need to "do this in remembrance" of him, so too, Jesus invites us to this same humbling act of service, love, and intimacy. Because Jesus knows that love is about getting too close for comfort sometimes, getting dirty sometimes, and humbling ourselves all the time.

My spiritual director asked me a magnificent question today. Do you dare let Jesus wash your feet?

Of course, we ought to say yes. But can you imagine what that would be like?
Can you imagine the tender care and comfort Our Lord would use on your stinky feet?
Can you imagine him looking you in the eye and being able to see how much he loves you?
Will you allow yourself to be served? Will you allow yourself to be loved?
Really?

Don't miss it

Ah, Palm Sunday. The Last Sunday in Lent. Holy Week is here.

Of course, it is easy to focus on today's LONG gospel, on the story of Jesus' triumphant entrance into Jerusalem, hailed as the king of the Jews, the Messiah, the Savior of the world. And before we know it, Jesus is handed over, arrested, and brutally assaulted, humiliated, and executed. Talk about an incomprehensible change of events.

And although this betrayal, torture, and self-sacrifice is worthy of our prayer and reflection this week (not only on the historical occurrences some 2,000 years ago, but how we have failed Christ in our own lives), I'd like to turn your attention to today's second reading: Philippians 2:6-11. Actually, if I may, I'd like to bring your attention a little earlier in the passage to verse 5:

St. Paul writes, "Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus." He continues (with where the second reading picks up):

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance, he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him
and bestowed on him the name which is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

Paul writes this some twenty years after Jesus' death. And it's a pretty remarkable Christology for a devout (and monotheistic) Jew to come up with. We might take these words for granted because we have been trained to think of Jesus as both God and man. But for the first disciples and early Christians, being able to articulate this dual nature of who Christ was and is is nothing short of incredible.

Anyway, I'd invite you to pray with this passage this week. I'm sure you know Jesus is both human and divine, but get past that cerebral reflex which prevents us from really diving into the depth of what this means. Especially for what this means on Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday -- both on those original events 2,000 years ago and what they mean for you, today.

But I urge you, don't miss the message that St. Paul shares with us. Don't miss the scope and significance of Jesus' humility, obedience, suffering -- and the exaltation that follows: Jesus is Lord!

During this holiest week of the year, don't miss the opportunity to "Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus."

And feel free to share the insights and spiritual gifts you receive as you make this your prayer this week!

Miracles of Faith

This Sunday's Gospel [Jn 11:1-45] continues a string of long passages from John.  This time we read about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  Again, this comes as little surprise to us because we know Jesus is God and can perform miracles.  But if we don't allow ourselves to be amazed by Jesus' actions we miss the whole point.  

The Gospel ends with the line that, because of Jesus' actions, "they began to believe in him."  So it'd be easy for us to believe that Jesus performed miracles so that we'd believe in him.  But this is actually the reverse of the magnitude of Jesus' ministry.  In fact, the miracles Jesus performs do not produce faith; faith produces miracles.

This reminds us of a few points.  We learn, from another passage, that Jesus was unable to perform many signs or miracles in Nazareth "because they did not believe."  To the men and women of Nazareth, Jesus was just a carpenter's son.  Without faith, there is nothing that Jesus could say or do to change their hearts of stone.  I'm sure we all know people who do not believe (either in God or Jesus) and we wish that God would perform some kind of sign to prove that He exists and make them believe.  But God (or Jesus, for that matter) can't make us believe.  That's up to us.  We have to open our hearts, eyes, and mind to recognize how God is at work in the world.

The second point is an extension of the first.  Jesus tells us that if we have the faith "the size of a mustard seed" there is nothing we cannot do [Luke 17:6].  This isn't about hoping, wishing, or superstition.  It's about really believing that God can do anything.  

And when we do, we can see, feel, and know the miracles Christ performs in our lives each and every day.

Sight to the Blind

This, the Fourth Sunday of Lent, provides us with a most beautiful Gospel [Jn 9:1-41].  Jesus gives sight to a man born blind, which we learn, according to the Evangelist, has never happened before.

Of course, this is a moving parable for how Jesus gives us sight.  As the Light of the World, Jesus helps us to see the world, others, and ourselves as it, they, and we really are.  He sheds a light on our path, which leads us closer and closer to our Creator and the love which enables us to become the men and women we are called to be.  

It's easy for us to miss the magnitude of this parable because so few of us know people who are blind or can really imagine what it might be like to be blind ourselves.  What is more, it is nearly impossible to comprehend what that blind man must have thought and felt when he was first able to see.  I mean, to have never known the vibrant colors of a sunset, the warmth of a smile, or the beauty in the face of a loved one ... this sight breaks open the world to us in entirely new, radical, and awe-inspiring ways.  

But what we also forget is how scary it is to be blind or unable to see.  We take small steps, throw our hands out to grab at objects to sturdy ourselves or protect us from a fall.  We must go very, very slowly.  And cautiously.  

Do you know the phrase attributed to Jesus more often than any other in the Gospels?  It's "Do not be afraid!"  These, too, were the first words of Pope John Paul II, when he addressed the world, at once surprised and a little anxious about their new and little-known Polish Pope.  These are words we need to take to heart and remember.

In many ways all of us are blind.  And in many ways we are afraid.  We have no idea what life may bring us or where this path might lead.  But today we are reminded that, with Christ as our Light, we do not have to crawl in the dark, but we can run ahead in confidence and gratitude for all the ways He provides for and protects us.  We see with new eyes and are filled with wonder and amazement at this glorious creation and all Christ has done for us -- the pinnacle of which we find at the Cross.  

Many blessings on your Lenten journey -- Godspeed!