Fleshly Religion vs. Christianity

There is an idea of religion that is preached by the flesh, and it says--among other things--that religion is a sort of binary project, a choice between being a saint or a sinner. 'Saint' in this case means somebody 'holy'--given an idea of holiness as something that is accomplished or possessed, a sort of spiritual capital analogous to social, cultural, or political capital. Being a 'sinner' in this scheme is then the opposite: being impure, dirty, unacceptable, without value.

The God of this fleshly religion is at best a sort of cosmic landlord, a deity that allows us to live in the fleshly security and comfort of something like a 'state of grace,' so long as we pay the dues of our successful efforts to be 'holy.' Those who succeed in this holiness may approach their god with the rotten satisfaction of being his favorites, the children he likes best, knowing that they are better than the lazy, unholy remainder of humanity whom they imagine their god despising as much as they do.

Christianity liberates us from the tyrannical binary of this fleshly religion, revealing that holiness isn't like that at all. For the choice given to the Christian isn't whether to be a 'saint' (that is, according to some pre-conceived idea of sanctity we have woven out of our vanities) or a 'sinner,' but a choice that clusters around what sort of sinner we want to be. We have all sinned, and we continue to be sinners. Our choice is whether to be the sort of sinner for whom the misery and suffering of sin hardens the heart and spirit, or the sort of person for whom the experience of sin becomes a path to humility and gentleness.

We live in a world broken by sin, a world scarred by all of us who have taken the easy path of allowing suffering and violence to reproduce in ourselves, responding to hurt with more hurt. And this continues to happen because this broken world is inhabited by all of us broken-hearted people, folks whose ability to make good choices has been injured by the legacy of brutality to which we are heirs.

But the good news is that Jesus Christ, in his Passion and Resurrection, has taken all of the misery and suffering that we insist on for ourselves, all that we are at worst, disregarding, torturing, and killing each other, and has given nothing back but blessing and new life. In this Mystery he has blazed a new path for the humanity he borrowed from us through the consent of our Blessed Mother. This is the path of letting our broken hearts break open instead of closed, of allowing our experience of ourselves as broken and sinners to teach us the humility and gentleness of the Kingdom of God rather than the bitterness and disregard of the world and its culture of death.

On Pot Roast and Black Vestments

This post may get me in trouble and I don't care. It's all in fun. Some of it anyway.

Yesterday it was my turn to make supper here at the friary. As I spent the afternoon mashing potatoes and attending to my pot roast simmering away amid onions and carrots, I thought that the brothers were really going to like their meal. And indeed, they ate it all up.

As I was cooking something funny struck me. As generally 'left-of-center,' 'liberal,' or 'progressive' mainstream religious life is about religion and liturgy, it is certainly traddy about what it wants for dinner. Religious might be slightly or not-so-slightly allergic to the traditions of the institute and those of the faith in general, but they sure seem to prefer a traditional meal.

Some real-life examples will bring my point into focus.

One might be scolded or 'corrected' for his failure to adjust the words of the liturgy according to the intuitions of feminism, but he would be in just as much trouble--if not more--if he suggested that feminist theory ought to critique and adjust what we have for dinner. (See the classic treatment, The Sexual Politics of Meat, by Carol J. Adams.)

It would be just as transgressive to wear black vestments, or, God forbid, want to pray in Latin or sing Gregorian Chant (even though these remain norms to this day), as it would be to try to serve a meal that wasn't in accord with the traditional, American, meat-centered diet.

This is amusing to me in part because of one of the doctrines I was taught in my formation in religious life: that of the 'two tables.' It was said that our common life revolved around an axis formed by two tables: the one being the altar of the Eucharist, and the other being the table of the dining room or refectory. Now like a lot of things I was taught early on in my religious life, I have come to critique this teaching. I think it has been to easy a path to certain enervating errors from which we suffer, but that's another post.

I just think it's funny that at one table traditionalism is prized and unorthodox experimentation condemned, while at the other table things tend toward being the other way around.

I guess I would feel a little more at home if things fell the other way, but who knows. But don't mind me, I'm going to put on my black maniple and make some quinoa for lunch.

RIP: Pius XIII

Today around the friary we have learned of the passing of our sometime Capuchin confrere, Fr. Lucian Pulvermacher, a.k.a. Pope Pius XIII.

He was one of four brothers who all entered the Order. One of them, born Robert Alois but known in the Order--coincidentally--as Fr. Pius, died when I was a novice. A classmate and I received permission to make the trip to his funeral, thinking we might get to meet a pope. His Holiness didn't show. Now I don't care if you're Pius XIII or Hadrian VII or Petrus Romanus, you have to attend your own brother's funeral.

Some of the friars here worked with Pius XIII in the Ryukyu Islands before his "election," and were telling stories about the serious harm he did to his family and many other souls by his apostasy. May God receive him back with mercy.

For more information on this curious Capuchin, Brother Vito has a fine post.

Requiescat in pace.

P.S. I received a recent anonymous gift of the SSPX book, Priest, Where is thy Mass? Mass, where is thy Priest? in which you can meet another of the Pulvermacher brothers, Fr. Carl.

P.P.S. Between the links from Wikipedia and Fisheaters (which is a great resource, if you have not yet visited), this post has been receiving a lot of visits. Welcome to all new visitors, and may God furnish you with every grace, that you may live your consecration in all confidence and joy.

I have decided to turn off the comment thread on this post. Not that the discussion didn't raise real questions with a lot at stake for our faith and our world, but the comment box is not the most productive forum for every kind of debate. In any case, they were at least a little tangential to this post, which I just wrote as an invitation to pray for one of my religious brothers who, as can happen to anyone, lost his way in his pilgrimage in this world, and perhaps could use our intercession

Encouragements and Dangers

Over the course of the Year of the Priest so far, I've been touched by the gestures of many. I've received medals and holy cards and even a letter from someone who let me know she was praying for me on a particular day. I thank God every day for the charity of so many; as I often say to penitents and visitors to our parlor, it may only be in heaven that we learn how much we were supported by the prayers of others.

I'm grateful for the Year of the Priest because I think the Church at large needs good reflection and catechesis on the priesthood, but I'm also wary because we need to make sure we make these teachings and reflections in the right way.

A couple of examples from my own experience highlight the need for catechesis on the priesthood. When I was younger in the faith I could be a little scrupulous. (I imagine that some of my confreres would say that I still am.) I tried to attend Mass as often as I could, but I didn't always receive Holy Communion if I felt as if there were a good chance I was in a state of mortal sin. I remember how on one of these days I asked myself what it would be like if I were a priest who had to offer Mass each day; what would happen then if I were in a state of mortal sin? Could I offer Mass but not receive Communion? I had never noticed this happening, but I didn't see why it couldn't be done. That I didn't understand that no Mass in fact occurs without the Communion of the priest revealed my lack of understanding and catechetical formation on the priesthood and the Eucharist.

Once when I was in studies a classmate told me about a wonderfully progressive Mass that she attended. Everyone shared in all the prayers, with one person praying the Collect, another the Prayer over the Gifts, etc. The Eucharistic Prayer was similarly shared among the various persons assisting at the "Mass," except for the Institution Narrative itself: Father had to say that part. In this particular abuse those who thought themselves liberal and progressive actually reveal that their thinking about the Eucharist and the priesthood is actually quite shallow and magical; the priest was only required for the hocus pocus.

These sorts of distortions and misunderstandings, as well as false ideas of "active participation" have left many of us with a shallow or impoverished sense of the nature of the priesthood and its relation to the Eucharist.


On the other hand, as we try to lift up the priesthood and restore proper catechesis during this Year of the Priest, we must be very careful. Whenever we say "priest" or "priesthood" or "Year of the Priest" we must always keep in mind that the primary referent of these utterances is Jesus Christ, not any presbyter or bishop. Sometimes when I have a free morning I make the three mile trip to the St. Joseph's Seminary library. As seems right, I always make a visit to the Blessed Sacrament on my way into and out of the building. Their chapel is very beautiful to me: the white of the walls combined with the deep brown of the choirs, the lack of carpet, it just does it for me. The words of psalm 110 ring out from the sanctuary: Te es sacerdos in aeternum. Sometimes I try to imagine what it might be like to pray beneath those words each day. If a young man saw in them the inner delight of the Blessed Trinity, of the Father's joy in the mission of the Incarnate Son, these words might form him in some mighty grace.* But if a young man began to see himself as the primary referent of these words, then there is clerical arrogance on the horizon for sure.

So let us enjoy the Year of the Priest, encouraging and supporting the ordained priests of Jesus Christ and letting them know. But let us be sure that we are deepening our sense of the One and only Priest of the New Covenant, Jesus Christ. Let us deepen our knowledge of his one Sacrifice, so as to avoid superstition, magic, and clericalism.


*Here we might rant a little against those who are fanatic for 'inclusive language' in psalmody for prayer; in their haste to be politically correct, they often remove from our attention the Christological and Trinitarian meanings of the Psalms on which so much classic Christian spirituality is based.

Wherein H1N1 Reveals and I Rant

I'll develop this post more later, but I have to go preach to kids in a few minutes. I don't want to risk taking anything out on them, so I just have to get something posted now because I'm so upset.

I've had several conversations with folks lately regarding their concerns about Holy Communion and the H1N1 virus. The conversation starts like this:

"Father, I have concerns about the flu. When are we going to stop giving out the wine?"

To which I immediately respond, "We don't give out wine."

"But Father...the wine is given out at every Mass!"

Then I go for it: "Perhaps you mean to say that we minister the Precious Blood at each Mass?"


Having pointed out the telling error, I usually get a response like, "Ok, you know what you mean," or even a "whatever" from otherwise observant Catholics!

No, I don't think I know what you mean. No, not whatever! Do we really believe that this is not wine but the Precious Blood of Christ poured out from the Cross in the ratification of the New and Eternal Covenant?

Stop wondering why people don't come to church. Here's your answer. Catholics have ceased to believe in the Real Presence. I wouldn't bother either. Even more disturbing, most of the people with whom I have had this conversation have been older Catholics who were taught better. Who has untaught them the doctrine of the faith? Who?

And woe to us friars too! This is why we forsake our own chapel where we might pray in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament and with images of the Capuchin saints on the windows to recite our office around a fake fireplace. It is an intense privilege to live under the same roof as the Blessed Sacrament! People go out of their way to pray in the Presence! But for us it is 'too far away' even though it's the same building!

Who has untaught us the faith?

< /rant >

Extra credit to someone who caught the Merton quote.

Hypocrite Rant

The strong gospel passages of the beginning of this week continue to get under my skin. I seriously worry about being found a hypocrite and earning a hypocrite's condemnation from the Lord.

In my ministry I routinely have to call people on their failures in religious observance. For example, if someone comes to the office asking to be certified as a godparent, but is an inactive Catholic with no desire to remedy his condition, I have to say no. There are lots of ugly and upsetting arguments on this issue. And there are many situations similar to this, e.g. issues surrounding marriage and re-marriage, the refusal to bury the dead, etc.

But what right do I have? Am I so righteous? Does the religious community of which I am a member follow it's own Rule and Constitutions? Am I faithful as a religious to daily Mass, mental prayer, devotion to Our Lady, and annual retreat as I am obligated by Canon Law? (c. 663)

Priests routinely deny to me the existence of the obligation they accepted at their diaconate ordination to offer the full course of the Liturgy of the Hours each day. (General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours, 29) Maybe some of the faithful have failed in their observance because we aren't praying for them as we have promised, and it is us who will be held accountable! I admit that sometimes I lose my edge by the end of the day and Night Prayer doesn't happen. Sometimes, because of grave negligence I hesitate even to confess, I forget to offer Evening Prayer on Sundays. So if the faithful lapse in the practice of the faith or fail to understand their own obligations, maybe it's because it is I who have failed them first!

Nevertheless, the spiritual task is the same. Useless anxiety, scrupulosity, and the indulgence of desires to correct those whom the Holy Spirit has not put into my care are all dead ends and blind alleys. What is useful is real fear of the Lord, the kind that lights you on fire with a desire for conversion.

Doubts

From time to time people tell me about their worry over doubting God or some truth of the faith. I become concerned for them, not because they may be doubting, but because such anxiety easily gets in the way of using the experience of doubt well. I tend to offer these sorts of reflections to those who say they are struggling with doubt:

First of all, the human mind is a creation of God. Therefore, there can be no fear of being led away from God by the right and thoughtful use of the mind God has given us. Indeed, the mind is mysterious, spiritual, and sublime and can be thus overwhelming in its incomprehensibility, but this is only part of its imitation of the God to whom it is similar. In other words, we shouldn't be afraid to think. Opening up our minds to the Mystery may wrench some of what we thought were our beliefs, but this is not doubt or danger.

Second, we need to recognize that the truths of faith, though often expressed in simple language, are often quite subtle in their meaning, and are complex combinations of metaphorical, symbolic, sacramental, and narrative expressions. In the Creed we make utterances like, "I believe in God," or "begotten, not made." These are deceptively simple in language, but demand for their understanding at least a partial grasp of many difficult concepts, e.g. eternity, divinity, etc.

Far too often I find that people have not been helped to own a faith that goes beyond a simple intellectual assent to claims that they aren't sure how to understand. I once knew a religious sister in the prime of life who would omit the line, "is seated at the right hand of Father" when praying the Creed, because she found it unbelievable that "heaven was a place with chairs." How bad I felt for her that she had never come to the realization that the language (compare iconography here) is a window into eternity and not a discourse on furniture!*

Most of the time, in my experience, people who think they are struggling with doubt are actually being invited into a deeper relationship with the truths of the faith. They are experiencing God's invitation to give up the role of spectator--those who worship God and his Mysteries as something beautiful and praiseworthy, but without relationship to themselves--and to accept that the Truths of faith are mysteries that we are to step into with our lives.



*Here I have to mention, parenthetically, the error that is commonly made by the world when someone arrives at this spiritual moment. The world suggests the civil theology of 'many paths to one spiritual something-or-other' in which all religious language is more or less inadequate, but all of it points to something, perhaps spiritual, perhaps ultimate, that we call "God." Conveniently, this pseudo-doctrine leads to no demand on anyone and no dogmatic claims, except for the "dictatorship of relativism" in which no one is allowed to say that anything might be wrong or unacceptable.

No. Language is important, not because someone says so, but because we believe in the Incarnation. Christianity is and will always be a kind of 'scandal of particularity' because it proclaims that God is perfectly revealed in the very particular human life of Jesus of Nazareth. By his Resurrection into the Eucharistized community that we call his Body, the mystery of the Incarnation is extended through time. This is why the particular language of the successors of the apostles gathered in ecumenical council is privileged as an unfolding of our understanding of divine revelation.

Against the Aesthetes

I started to read Dom Chautard's The Soul of the Apostolate because of a quote from this post over on Historical Christian.

This afternoon I arrived at the quote given to me:

St. Paul summed up his apostolate as "preaching Christ crucified." Because he lived in Christ, and in Christ crucified, he was able to give souls a taste for the mystery of the Cross, and teach them to live it. Too many apostles in our own day no longer have enough interior life to fathom this life-giving mystery, to steep themselves through and through with it, until it shines forth from everything they do. They look at religion too much from the point of view of philosophy, sociology, or even of esthetics. They see in it only those elements which appeal to the mind and excite the sensibilites and imagination. They give free scope to their inclination to regard religion as a sublime school of poetry and incomparable art.

My emphasis. That last part sounds pretty good, right? But he is describing an error!

(pp. 142-143, in the TAN edition, 1974. ? trans.)

"Inclusiveness" vs. Communion

There is an interesting piece in the most recent "daily dispatch" from Zenit on the practice of giving blessings to those who do not receive Holy Communion during the communion procession. Apparently--and I was unaware of this--it seems to be the practice in some places to invite everyone into the communion procession and then give a blessing of some sort to all those who do not actually communicate.

First of all, it seems to me that a distinction needs to be made. I am familiar with the practice of blessing children who have not yet reached the age of first Holy Communion. This makes sense to me. I do it myself and have even seen it at ultra-traditionalist Masses in the Extraordinary Form. Had these children been born into one of the Eastern rites or Orthodox churches, they probably would have received Holy Communion already.

Adults, however, who are members of separated ecclesial communities, or who do not believe in Christ or even God, or Catholics who have placed themselves outside of communion by their own choices, are all another story. Each Good Friday we are reminded of the intensity of our prayer for all these categories of people with whom we are not yet in full communion.

Christ's salvation is for all without exception. In this sense it is inclusive. That we are not in full communion with one another here on earth is a manifestation of the sins of history and the bad choices of persons. (And I can't help but think here of those who are publicly anti-life.) These failures of ours and our ancestors are not absolved by the cheap and easy values of being "inclusive" and "welcoming."

It can be very uncomfortable when only some can come to Holy Communion. Perhaps it's a wedding or a funeral in which--by the world's standards--only a few seem to actually participate fully in the ritual. It goes against the over-arching niceness of being "welcoming."

But there is a kind of welcoming and "inclusiveness" that relieves us of our discomfort and makes it look like public sin, heresy, or schism don't matter. We can do this blessing-for-all thing in the communion procession and everyone "gets" something, whether it be Holy Communion or a nice blessing. We are "inclusive," and "open" and "accepting," and we feel good about ourselves and warm and fuzzy about our ministry. The wounds of sin, so manifest in the imperfection of our communion with one another, are covered over and forgotten. We no longer have to worry about the hard work that full communion with one another would require, of the changes that might be demanded of us and the penances we might find we owe to each other. No way. Penance and change are from another era. We are "inclusive" and "accepting."

That we are not in perfect communion with one another ought to make us uncomfortable. But if we medicate ourselves against this discomfort by indulging our own need to be nice and "inclusive," we absolve ourselves of the difficult and often uncomfortable work of restoring true communion.

Relativism in Religious Life

Benedict XVI is oft-quoted on the dangers of the "dictatorship of relativism,"and in religious life as I have experienced it, relativism is alive and well. An embedded culture of relativism--to which many are strongly committed--is, I believe, one of the main reasons why mainstream religious life in North America is in such a malaise, struggles with recruitment, and has a hard time deciding where it is going.

I remember being a very young religious in my first house of formation. We would be gathered for "theological reflection," which was code language for the compulsory intimacy of sharing our own feelings and personal stories. With subtle affirmations of body language, the formation director taught us that the correct way to begin one's "sharing" was with the caveat, "For me,..." Thus we were taught to use ourselves as a starting point in reflecting on our vocations and experience of religious life. God might fit himself into the picture later, but it was we ourselves who were the starting point.

Later on in my religious life I was in another house where we had a meeting about the reverences made upon entering the chapel for Morning and Evening Prayer. One brother suggested that if we all made the same reverence upon entering the chapel, it would be a powerful sign of the unity of our religious profession. A fine inspiration, but impossible to achieve because of differences of "opinion" and "feeling." One would say that "for him" it was important to reverence the Blessed Sacrament, but that he would not genuflect (as we do in the Roman rite) because such a gesture was culturally bound and thus not binding. Another would say that "for him" the altar as more important than the tabernacle ("I don't have that devotion") so he would bow instead to the altar. Still another would say that he "preferred" to reverence the gathered assembly, because that was where the presence of Christ subsisted most evidently "for him."

What was interesting to me was that no one said--out loud, at least--that he would genuflect to the Blessed Sacrament and/or bow to the altar because that is what we do in the Roman rite of the universal Church. No one said it because the axiomatic starting point of the reflection was what seemed best "to me" and "for me" rather than our common profession within the larger Body of the Church. This sort of thing is a seriously debilitating spiritual disease in contemporary religious life.

I was thinking about all this because of something that happened last week. A visiting priest arrived to preside at a funeral. I was volunteered to be acolyte for the Mass (how I miss this ministry sometimes!) In the funeral Mass the Opening Prayer follows directly upon the procession of the ministers and the deceased to the sanctuary. So, as the family were getting to their pews, I approached the priest with the Sacramentary. He then sent me away, telling me that he needed to "make a little speech" at that moment. I wanted to tell him that there was a moment a little later during the Mass when he would have the opportunity to make a sort of speech, and, in fact, would be expected to do so, but I decided that it probably wasn't a teaching moment. He was committed to offering his version of the Mass.

As with so many things for us Catholics, the 'rubber hits the road' with the liturgy. As long as priests reserve to themselves the imaginary right to lead their version of the liturgy, and as long we let them get away with it, we allow our "presiders" to turn the Mass into more and more of a cooking show and a cult of personality and we reinforce the dictatorship of relativism.

Trusting Your Doctrinal Instincts

Once when I was in formation a friar came to teach us about the Eucharist. In an effort to illuminate our understanding of the real Presence of Christ in the eucharistic species, he developed a certain charming metaphor.

I had my doubts about whether this metaphor led to a proper Catholic understanding. Last night, to my surprise, I ran into this metaphor for the Eucharist again--in the writings of Ulrich Zwingli!

Noah and Linz

I've been following the uproar over the auxiliary bishop-elect of Linz, Fr. Gerhard Maria Wagner, who has asked to have his election rescinded. People have been outraged, they claim, because of his comments suggesting that hurricane Katrina was sent to punish the people of New Orleans for their sins.

On the one hand, the suggestion is offensive and unacceptable, for reasons I will explore below. On the other hand, there is also the suggestion that the Lentians (?) might not want him for a bishop because he has the reputation of being orthodox and theologically conservative.

Wagner's comments about hurricane Katrina reveal a common pitfall in Christian reflection. There are many who reflect with unspeakable pleasure on the punishments that God is going to inflict on other people. But this reveals more about them and their passions than it does about the God who is revealed as the tortured, suffering, condemned criminal on the Cross.

In this regard it is providential that we are hearing the Noachide (Noachic?) covenant in the lectionary today and tomorrow. After destroying and re-creating the world with the flood, God receives the sacrifice of Noah and vows, despite the wickedness of human thoughts, never to destroy the world again.

True to his promise, when God saw the need to again recreate the world through water, he did not destroy it by a flood but renewed it quietly from within. This is the new flood of baptism, which we receive from and with Christ. The first flood overwhelmed the world into re-creation. This new flood, our baptism, is a quiet and tranquil renovation of the world, but nevertheless an insistent revolution against sin, suffering, and death.

Teaching Subversion

This morning I was over at our grade school recruiting altar servers. When I went into the 6th grade, they were studying light. So I had to ask the kids: "Spiritual light or physical light?"

"Physical light," responded their teacher. So I went on to ask them,

"Is light a wave or a particle?" A lot of umms and half-raised hands followed. So I continued,

"Maybe light is a partic-ular kind of wave. How about that?"

Then there were a lot of "whoas" and cries of "that's neat!"

But then I had to say, "Children, many times in life people will try to tell you things, and a lot of things they say will sound neat and clever. But like what I just said to you, these things often don't have any meaning. The truth is that I'm good at playing with words but I don't know the first thing about the wave-particle duality. So, be suspicious. Now, who wants to be an altar server?"

Against the Politicians

This is the time of year when you encounter one of those unforeseen delights of the parish priest ministry: fighting with the local politicians who want to campaign outside of church on Sunday.

They are usually playing the pro-life angle and, well, God bless them. Unfortunately, when I quiz them a little on their pro-life credentials, their ethic often turns out to be incomplete at best if not utterly inconsistent.

The basic issue for me is that I don't want their secular campaign materials littered about the church. I find it totally unseemly, not to mention bordering on illegal. It is especially disturbing because the politicians claim to represent the Catholic point of view, which they do not. (Or have not so far.)

The ensuing conflict is highly scripted, thanks be to God, so it can be executed without too much stress or even attention. At first they are asked to leave, which sometimes works. If they are dumb enough to not discern the border between public and parish property, removing them is as easy as a call to the police. They usually aren't that dumb, however.

If none of this works, you can try to strike a deal, asking the politicians to only distribute their propaganda to folks on their way home rather than their way into church. This sometimes works, but politicians are clever people and they know this strategy hurts them; people arrive at church at different times, but tend to leave all at once.

If the deal doesn't work you threaten to call their opponent--who is, of course, being portrayed by the politicians as un-Catholic--in case he or she wants to send someone down for counterpoint. At this point they tell you that you are a rotten priest who is set against God, and they threaten to reveal this to all of your parishioners, or call your diocese, or whatever. You then encourage them to do so, so that you might be crowned with the glory of fulfilling Matthew's final beatitude.

Having succeeded or not in your quest to eject those who would make the Lord's temple into a marketplace, at whatever point you need to get recollected for other things, you leave the prepared script, ask God to clear your mind of the whole thing, and get back to the Lord.

The Unknown God

The selection from the Acts of the Apostles for the first reading today is one of my favorites:

Then Paul stood up at the Areopagus and said: “You Athenians, I see that in every respect you are very religious. For as I walked around looking carefully at your shrines, I even discovered an altar inscribed, ‘To an Unknown God.’ What therefore you unknowingly worship, I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and all that is in it, the Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in sanctuaries made by human hands,nor is he served by human hands because he needs anything.

Paul's strategy is clever, and I think that it's one that might imitate. For though much of our world has ceased to be interested in God or real spiritual health, people still know that they want something more. The prevalence of failed relationships, addictions, and consumerism shows that we late modern people are grasping for something. But because we have outgrown the living God, we attempt to console ourselves with pseudo-spiritual utterances that are useless and vague. "Intelligent design," "supreme being," "my spirituality," and other inanities form the late modern ersatz for God.

It is up to us Christians to proclaim to the world that the deepest longing of the human heart, this something that we are chasing after with all of our selfishnesses and sins, this is what is, in truth, the living God, the God of Israel, the Creator of heaven and earth, the God of Jesus Christ.

The Wisdom Of This World

This afternoon I've been playing with Matthew's beatitudes, seeking a strategy for preaching this coming weekend. Just for fun, though maybe I'll be brave enough to use it, I re-wrote them according to the unwisdom that we are encouraged to buy from the world that doesn't know God:

“Blessed are those with financial and national security,
for theirs is the kingdom of this world.

Blessed are they who feel good,
for they will be comfortable.

Blessed are the strong,
for they will inherit the land.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for success,
for they will be satisfied.

Blessed are those who are right,
for they will be shown respect.

Blessed are the smart,
for they will see how to get what they want.

Blessed are the Halliburtons and oil men,
for they will get rich from wars.

Blessed are they who can convince others of their righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of this world.

Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
and utter every kind of evil against you.
Rejoice and be glad,
for they are only jealous of how well you’ve done for yourself.”