The tools of good works are these...
(63) To fulfill daily the commandments of God by works.
(64) To love chastity.
(65) To hate no one.
(66) Not to be jealous; not to entertain envy.
(67) Not to love strife.
(68) Not to love pride.
The first time I read #64, it struck me as extremely odd. In fact, it still strikes me as odd. Perhaps that is because I associate the term ‘chastity’ with all the things I shouldn’t do. And from what I can tell, that’s how most people think of it. When I teach moral theology, my students inevitably ask, “When I’m on a date, how far can I go before it’s a sin?” But that question kind of misses the point, doesn’t it? A better way to put it might be “What is the best way to be chaste on a date?” After all, you’d never ask a teacher, “What’s the least amount of work I can do to pass this class?”—at least not to his face. And you would certainly never ask your coach, “What’s the slowest I can run this race?” At any rate, you wouldn’t ask a question like this if your goal was to do well. So if your goal is to get to heaven, then asking, “What’s the least I can do?” is the wrong attitude.
Of course, there are many different ways of answering the question. When he teaches the same segment on chastity, our Father Bede walks into the classroom and writes “NO” on the chalk board. Then he says, “Today we’re going to talk about chastity. Any questions?”
Sooner or later, someone raises his hand and says, “Is it ok if we…”
“No.”
“But what if she’s…”
“No.”
“Sometimes if I…”
“No.”
“But what if we’re…”
“No. If you have to ask the question, the answer is no.”
His point, I think, is that when you are affectionate with someone whom you find attractive, there is a certain line that separates that chaste exchange of affection from the pursuit of lust. We all want to get as close to that line as we can without crossing it. And when you start to ask the question, it’s because you want to push that line a little further and need a good excuse.
But Saint Benedict says to love chastity. How do you love something that is always “No”? Anything good is loveable, after all, and chastity is good. So here’s how I put it: feel free to do anything you could brag about to your mom. And when it comes to how you dress, imagine the Mother of God in that outfit—or Jesus. Does it really seem appropriate? If so, then you’re probably good to go.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Chapter 4, Part 7: Tools, continued...
The tools of good works are these...
(56) To listen willingly to holy reading.
(57) To apply one's self often to prayer.
(58) To confess one's past sins to God daily in prayer with sighs and tears, and to amend them for the future.
(59) Not to fulfill all the desires of the flesh (Gal 5:16).
(60) To scorn your own will.
(61) To obey the commands of the Abbot in all things, even though he himself (God forbid) behaves otherwise, calling to mind that saying of the Lord: "Do what they say, not what they do" (Mt 23:3).
(62) Not to desire to be called holy before you are; but to be holy first, that you may be truly so called.
I think a whole book could be written about just these seven tools. Pretty much all the elements of monastic spirituality can be found here: listening, frequent prayer, confession, self-discipline, obedience… But the most interesting part comes at the end. Saint Benedict, it appears, was comfortable with the idea that his monks might want to be called holy.
But I have to ask myself: if a monk wants to be called holy, isn’t he being prideful? What place can ambition have in a monastery of all places, where one comes to pursue a life of humility and self-denial? If a monk wants other people to know how holy he is, isn’t he giving in to the sin of vainglory? Apparently not. Or at least Saint Benedict doesn’t seem to think so. And he has the Scriptures to back him up. In his letter to Timothy, Saint Paul himself boasts: “I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on, the crown of righteousness is mine!”
At first glance, this can be confusing, because we tend to equate humility with self-deprecation: “Oh, it was nothing, really.”…“Oh, it’s just something I threw together”…or my own personal favorite; “I’m the biggest sinner of them all”(which actually turns out to be a form of boasting, doesn’t it?) No, the secret to true humility is not self-deprecation, but self-knowledge. So if you really are good at something, it is no act of humility to belittle your talents. When you do that, you just wind up insulting God, who gave you those talents in the first place. I remember watching an interview with Mother Theresa many years ago; the journalist said to her, “Many people say that you are a saint. How do you feel about that?” I was expecting her to dismiss the complement—wave her hand in the air and say something like “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” or, “People say all kinds of silly things.” Instead she said, “We are all called to be saints.” And left it at that.
I have a friend whom I met at Oxford whose family lives in a castle. I went to stay with him for a few days during one of our breaks, and when we pulled up his driveway, and I saw this enormous piece of architecture that he calls home, complete with its own pond, tennis courts, golf course and chapel, I looked over at his mom and I said, “Wow!” His mom looked at the house and then at me and then back at the house again and she said, “Yes, it’s wonderful. We are blessed.” You would have expected her to say something like: “Well, it needs work,” or, “Thanks, but it’s really hard to keep up.” Instead, she looked at this beautiful place and thanked God for it. That is true humility.
So when folks praise God for some gift that you have, there is no sin in acknowledging the gift. In fact, it would be a sin to deny it. The thing is, though, humble people are often the last ones to admit it, because the holier you get, the less holy you feel (or so I’ve heard). For this reason, a lot of people get discouraged when they pray, because their sins seem to jump out at them. On one level, they actually feel worse than ever. But this is natural, because the closer we draw to the perfect holiness of God, the more our own imperfections stand out against the pure light of His holiness.
And that’s where tools 56 through 62 come into play. You won’t achieve holiness of body or soul without them.
(56) To listen willingly to holy reading.
(57) To apply one's self often to prayer.
(58) To confess one's past sins to God daily in prayer with sighs and tears, and to amend them for the future.
(59) Not to fulfill all the desires of the flesh (Gal 5:16).
(60) To scorn your own will.
(61) To obey the commands of the Abbot in all things, even though he himself (God forbid) behaves otherwise, calling to mind that saying of the Lord: "Do what they say, not what they do" (Mt 23:3).
(62) Not to desire to be called holy before you are; but to be holy first, that you may be truly so called.
I think a whole book could be written about just these seven tools. Pretty much all the elements of monastic spirituality can be found here: listening, frequent prayer, confession, self-discipline, obedience… But the most interesting part comes at the end. Saint Benedict, it appears, was comfortable with the idea that his monks might want to be called holy.
But I have to ask myself: if a monk wants to be called holy, isn’t he being prideful? What place can ambition have in a monastery of all places, where one comes to pursue a life of humility and self-denial? If a monk wants other people to know how holy he is, isn’t he giving in to the sin of vainglory? Apparently not. Or at least Saint Benedict doesn’t seem to think so. And he has the Scriptures to back him up. In his letter to Timothy, Saint Paul himself boasts: “I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on, the crown of righteousness is mine!”
At first glance, this can be confusing, because we tend to equate humility with self-deprecation: “Oh, it was nothing, really.”…“Oh, it’s just something I threw together”…or my own personal favorite; “I’m the biggest sinner of them all”(which actually turns out to be a form of boasting, doesn’t it?) No, the secret to true humility is not self-deprecation, but self-knowledge. So if you really are good at something, it is no act of humility to belittle your talents. When you do that, you just wind up insulting God, who gave you those talents in the first place. I remember watching an interview with Mother Theresa many years ago; the journalist said to her, “Many people say that you are a saint. How do you feel about that?” I was expecting her to dismiss the complement—wave her hand in the air and say something like “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” or, “People say all kinds of silly things.” Instead she said, “We are all called to be saints.” And left it at that.
I have a friend whom I met at Oxford whose family lives in a castle. I went to stay with him for a few days during one of our breaks, and when we pulled up his driveway, and I saw this enormous piece of architecture that he calls home, complete with its own pond, tennis courts, golf course and chapel, I looked over at his mom and I said, “Wow!” His mom looked at the house and then at me and then back at the house again and she said, “Yes, it’s wonderful. We are blessed.” You would have expected her to say something like: “Well, it needs work,” or, “Thanks, but it’s really hard to keep up.” Instead, she looked at this beautiful place and thanked God for it. That is true humility.
So when folks praise God for some gift that you have, there is no sin in acknowledging the gift. In fact, it would be a sin to deny it. The thing is, though, humble people are often the last ones to admit it, because the holier you get, the less holy you feel (or so I’ve heard). For this reason, a lot of people get discouraged when they pray, because their sins seem to jump out at them. On one level, they actually feel worse than ever. But this is natural, because the closer we draw to the perfect holiness of God, the more our own imperfections stand out against the pure light of His holiness.
And that’s where tools 56 through 62 come into play. You won’t achieve holiness of body or soul without them.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Chapter 4, Part 6: Tools, continued...
The tools of good works are these...
(52) To guard your tongue against vulgar or wicked words.
(53) Not to love excessive talking.
(54) Not to speak useless words and words that provoke laughter.
(55) Not to love unrestrained or raucous laughter.
I almost never regret keeping my mouth shut, but I frequently regret opening it. And when the time comes for an apology, it’s sad how often I here myself saying, “Gosh, I was only joking.” Saint Benedict wants his monks to be very careful with their sense of humor. Laughter can be life-affirming, but it can also break people down, filling their heads with vulgar or cruel images.
Take my college roommates, for example. For two years, I lived in a house with seven other rugby players. We teased one another constantly, and that was okay because, frankly, it was part of the fun of living with seven rugby players. If any one of us said, did, or implied anything even slightly embarrassing, he could expect to become the butt of every joke in the house. Those were the rules, and we all understood them. It was practically on the lease.
One of the guys (his last name was Ackerman, so we all called him “Ack”) had a habit of posting little signs everywhere. It was funny because he was 6’6” and 280lbs., but he was also kind of a neat freak. The signs said things like “Please wash your coffee mugs and return them to the cupboard” and “Don’t forget to take the lint out of the dryer when you’re finished.” As you can imagine, no one obeyed the signs. In fact, I don’t think we even noticed they were there at first; but pretty soon we started to put up little signs of our own saying things like, “Remember to recycle your earwax” and “Please do not eat the socks.” Then we started leaving little notes for one another with messages like, “Rudy, I cooked your cat. Leftovers in the fridge” and “Will, your sister called. She wants her Barbies back.” Someone left a note by the phone that just said, “Ack”. Then someone else wrote underneath it, “your mom” and later, someone else came along and wrote “is dead” underneath it. What none of us knew was that Ack’s mother had gone to the emergency room earlier that week with chest pains, so when Ack came home and saw the message, he panicked. He was half way to the hospital before he realized it was a joke.
That was the end of the funny signs. And it might have been the end of all seven roommates if Ack hadn’t been such a nice guy.
You see, there is a line that can be crossed, and it is often difficult to know exactly where that line is. The funniest jokes, after all, are those that come right up to the line of impropriety without actually crossing it. This is why—and here’s the serious part—you really need to make sure you know who you’re teasing and how they’ll take it.
Now, I’m pretty sure Saint Benedict had a sense of humor. I can’t imagine how anyone could survive the monastic life without one. What’s more, teasing tends to be the way young people show affection to one another. But—and here’s my point—you need to be very careful when you tease people. Because humor, like any powerful tool, can be dangerous. And often, you can’t really know for sure what is in another man’s heart; so just because your friend is laughing along, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s feeling alright.7
But here’s one last reason to think twice before you tell a joke: unrestrained or raucous laughter, excessive talking, and vulgar or wicked words get in the way of silence. And silence, you will recall, is the first language of God.
 |
| From The Laws of Hywel Dda, illustrated by a 14c Welsh monk |
(53) Not to love excessive talking.
(54) Not to speak useless words and words that provoke laughter.
(55) Not to love unrestrained or raucous laughter.
I almost never regret keeping my mouth shut, but I frequently regret opening it. And when the time comes for an apology, it’s sad how often I here myself saying, “Gosh, I was only joking.” Saint Benedict wants his monks to be very careful with their sense of humor. Laughter can be life-affirming, but it can also break people down, filling their heads with vulgar or cruel images.
Take my college roommates, for example. For two years, I lived in a house with seven other rugby players. We teased one another constantly, and that was okay because, frankly, it was part of the fun of living with seven rugby players. If any one of us said, did, or implied anything even slightly embarrassing, he could expect to become the butt of every joke in the house. Those were the rules, and we all understood them. It was practically on the lease.
One of the guys (his last name was Ackerman, so we all called him “Ack”) had a habit of posting little signs everywhere. It was funny because he was 6’6” and 280lbs., but he was also kind of a neat freak. The signs said things like “Please wash your coffee mugs and return them to the cupboard” and “Don’t forget to take the lint out of the dryer when you’re finished.” As you can imagine, no one obeyed the signs. In fact, I don’t think we even noticed they were there at first; but pretty soon we started to put up little signs of our own saying things like, “Remember to recycle your earwax” and “Please do not eat the socks.” Then we started leaving little notes for one another with messages like, “Rudy, I cooked your cat. Leftovers in the fridge” and “Will, your sister called. She wants her Barbies back.” Someone left a note by the phone that just said, “Ack”. Then someone else wrote underneath it, “your mom” and later, someone else came along and wrote “is dead” underneath it. What none of us knew was that Ack’s mother had gone to the emergency room earlier that week with chest pains, so when Ack came home and saw the message, he panicked. He was half way to the hospital before he realized it was a joke.
That was the end of the funny signs. And it might have been the end of all seven roommates if Ack hadn’t been such a nice guy.
You see, there is a line that can be crossed, and it is often difficult to know exactly where that line is. The funniest jokes, after all, are those that come right up to the line of impropriety without actually crossing it. This is why—and here’s the serious part—you really need to make sure you know who you’re teasing and how they’ll take it.
Now, I’m pretty sure Saint Benedict had a sense of humor. I can’t imagine how anyone could survive the monastic life without one. What’s more, teasing tends to be the way young people show affection to one another. But—and here’s my point—you need to be very careful when you tease people. Because humor, like any powerful tool, can be dangerous. And often, you can’t really know for sure what is in another man’s heart; so just because your friend is laughing along, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s feeling alright.7
But here’s one last reason to think twice before you tell a joke: unrestrained or raucous laughter, excessive talking, and vulgar or wicked words get in the way of silence. And silence, you will recall, is the first language of God.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Chapter 4, Part 6: Tools, continued...
The tools of good works are these
(48) To keep a careful watch over the actions of your life.
(49) To hold as certain that God sees everything.
(50) As soon as evil thoughts come into your heart, to dash them against Christ.
(51) And to reveal those thoughts to a spiritual father.
Here Saint Benedict gives us tactical advice on how to fight evil. Monks are spiritual warriors, and we have to be ever on the lookout for a surprise attack. So we are constantly reevaluating our strategies, watching the movements of the Enemy and keeping a close eye on our own movements as well. It isn’t easy and it is sometimes frightening, but we can advance with confidence, knowing that Jesus always has our back. This, however, can also be a little disconcerting because unlike any other commanding officer, Jesus sees everything. He is aware the moment I let my guard down. He’s right there when I fall asleep on watch. The good news is that He’s not so much out to catch me when I do wrong as to catch me when I’m falling.
Benedict has a really interesting metaphor here for how Jesus helps us fight temptation: He is the rock upon which we dash our evil thoughts. This image actually comes from one of the more disturbing verses of the cursing psalms: “Unhappy Daughter Babylon, you shall be destroyed. Blessed shall be the one who pays you back for what you have done to us. Blessed shall be the one who takes your children and smashes them against a rock.” Literally, the psalmist is asking God to kill his enemy’s children. Well, we all feel like that from time to time—or most of us do anyway—and it’s good that there’s a prayer for people who feel that way. But Saint Benedict sees the “children” as temptations and “Babylon” as Satan’s kingdom. He envisions us dashing these temptations against Christ himself, who stands just to our left on the spiritual battlefield, unflinching and rock-solid.
Lastly, Benedict makes an appeal for frequent confession. We have to name these sins out loud because otherwise, we tend to confuse ourselves with rationalizations or scruples. I’m reminded of a story from a wonderful novel by Graham Greene called “Monsignor Quixote.” The hero is an eccentric little Spanish priest, and at one point in the story, he discovers that he is being followed by a mysterious man, dressed in black. Fr. Quixote is frightened. He is far away from home—surrounded by strangers—and when he finds himself cornered in a restaurant lavatory by this shadowy stranger, he turns to him with all the courage he can muster and asks him what he wants. “Bless me, Father,” says the man in the dark suit, “I have sinned against the seventh commandment. I am an undertaker, and I sell brass handles with my coffins that I remove before the burial so I can reuse them. I’ve suffered under the weight of this sin for many years, but didn’t have the courage to tell my pastor.” Fr. Quixote turns to him with an exasperated sigh and says: “The dead don’t care about those brass handles, and the living don’t know any better. So what makes you think your parish priest will? Your sin isn’t stealing. Your sin is pride. Now say you’re sorry and go home.”
It’s funny—even “ha ha funny”—how easily and how often we misjudge our own thoughts. That’s why we must reveal those thoughts to a spiritual father.
(48) To keep a careful watch over the actions of your life.
(49) To hold as certain that God sees everything.
(50) As soon as evil thoughts come into your heart, to dash them against Christ.
(51) And to reveal those thoughts to a spiritual father.
Here Saint Benedict gives us tactical advice on how to fight evil. Monks are spiritual warriors, and we have to be ever on the lookout for a surprise attack. So we are constantly reevaluating our strategies, watching the movements of the Enemy and keeping a close eye on our own movements as well. It isn’t easy and it is sometimes frightening, but we can advance with confidence, knowing that Jesus always has our back. This, however, can also be a little disconcerting because unlike any other commanding officer, Jesus sees everything. He is aware the moment I let my guard down. He’s right there when I fall asleep on watch. The good news is that He’s not so much out to catch me when I do wrong as to catch me when I’m falling.
Lastly, Benedict makes an appeal for frequent confession. We have to name these sins out loud because otherwise, we tend to confuse ourselves with rationalizations or scruples. I’m reminded of a story from a wonderful novel by Graham Greene called “Monsignor Quixote.” The hero is an eccentric little Spanish priest, and at one point in the story, he discovers that he is being followed by a mysterious man, dressed in black. Fr. Quixote is frightened. He is far away from home—surrounded by strangers—and when he finds himself cornered in a restaurant lavatory by this shadowy stranger, he turns to him with all the courage he can muster and asks him what he wants. “Bless me, Father,” says the man in the dark suit, “I have sinned against the seventh commandment. I am an undertaker, and I sell brass handles with my coffins that I remove before the burial so I can reuse them. I’ve suffered under the weight of this sin for many years, but didn’t have the courage to tell my pastor.” Fr. Quixote turns to him with an exasperated sigh and says: “The dead don’t care about those brass handles, and the living don’t know any better. So what makes you think your parish priest will? Your sin isn’t stealing. Your sin is pride. Now say you’re sorry and go home.”
It’s funny—even “ha ha funny”—how easily and how often we misjudge our own thoughts. That’s why we must reveal those thoughts to a spiritual father.
Chapter 4, Part 5: Tools, continued...
The Tools of Good Works
(38) Not to be slothful.
(39) Not to be a grumbler.
(40) Not to be a detractor.
(41) To put your trust in God.
(42) To refer what good you see in yourself, not to yourself but to God.
(43) But as to any evil in yourself, be convinced that it is your own and hold yourself responsible.
(44) To fear the day of judgment.
(45) To be in dread of hell.
(46) To desire eternal life with all spiritual longing.
(47) To keep death daily before your eyes.
Do you know why monks wear black?
To remind us of our death.
Kind of morbid, eh? Or maybe not. “The chief characteristic of the Christian,” wrote Saint Augustine “is to watch daily and hourly, standing prepared in a state of total responsiveness pleasing to God, knowing that the Lord will come at an hour that he does not expect.” This is the mark of a Christian. And yet, I’ll bet that very few of us, when we wake up in the morning, seriously consider the possibility that the world might end today. But I know a group of people who do. And they aren’t cultists or crazy people. They live together at the Clarkson Home for the Elderly. I say mass out there once month, and these folks at the Clarkson Home consider it a real possibility that their world will come to a sudden and immediate end.
Since most of them sleep through my homilies anyway, I like to really do the whole hellfire and brimstone thing when I preach. In fact, the louder and more animated I get, the more they seem to enjoy it. So I really sock it to them. And for their part, they tend to take what I say with a sizeable grain of salt. So I was on a real rampage one Sunday. I was preaching on the book of Ecclesiastes, and I shouted, “Vanity! Vanity! All is vanity! Who knows? Any one of you could be dead tomorrow!”
Madeline, who sits in the front row, woke up just long enough to say, “Heck, I expected to be dead three weeks ago!”
I thought to myself, now I understand why Jesus had such a soft spot for the poor. Because, they get it. They are that much closer to death than the rest of us—and they realize, whether they like it or not, that each day is a gift of God. And because they know that, they have no trouble seeing the urgency of Christ’s message.
Now, it happens that I had an experience a few summers ago, where I too came face-to-face with the reality of my own death. I spend a few weeks every summer in Ocean County, New Jersey where my parents live, and I found, to my delight that the surf at Seaside Heights was really up. I also found, to my distress, that a fourteen foot great white shark had been frequenting my favorite spot.
I went surfing anyway, because I grew up surfing, and when you’ve only got three weeks to catch a year’s worth of surf, you just have take what you’re given. And really, what are the odds of getting eaten by a shark, right? Well…they are very, very slim. Unless you are surfing close to a hungry shark, in which case, the odds increase exponentially. So there were maybe five guys out at the pier when I arrived, and they didn’t look worried—or eaten—and the surf was four foot and glassy, so I waxed up my board and paddled out..
To make a long story short, I wasn’t out more than five minutes when I heard the words that every surfer hopes he will never hear. Someone on the beach yelled ‘Shark!” and when I looked up, I saw, about ten yards to my left, a great grey fin sliding toward me through the surf. Laughing, crying, screaming hysterically, the six of us paddled as fast as we could for the shore.
Obviously I made it back in one piece. I still have all my fingers and toes, and so do the other five guys I was with…but I had two great moments of clarity during that short, frantic paddle back to the beach: first, I learned that you can’t paddle a surf board if you’re too scared to put your hands in the water; and second, that while the world as a whole may not end any time soon, my own particular world could end at any moment. And many of the things that worry and distract me about this present life, are of no consequence to the next.
Which brings me to a final paradox, namely, that if we set our sights on the next world, we will get this world thrown in. If we set our sights on this world, we’ll end up with nothing at all. John Cardinal Newman wrote, “What Christ asks of you is not sinlessness, but diligence. Every day you live longer, more will be required. You cannot be profitable to him even with the longest life; you can show faith and love in an hour.”
(38) Not to be slothful.
(39) Not to be a grumbler.
(40) Not to be a detractor.
(41) To put your trust in God.
(42) To refer what good you see in yourself, not to yourself but to God.
(43) But as to any evil in yourself, be convinced that it is your own and hold yourself responsible.
(44) To fear the day of judgment.
(45) To be in dread of hell.
(46) To desire eternal life with all spiritual longing.
(47) To keep death daily before your eyes.
Do you know why monks wear black?
To remind us of our death.
Kind of morbid, eh? Or maybe not. “The chief characteristic of the Christian,” wrote Saint Augustine “is to watch daily and hourly, standing prepared in a state of total responsiveness pleasing to God, knowing that the Lord will come at an hour that he does not expect.” This is the mark of a Christian. And yet, I’ll bet that very few of us, when we wake up in the morning, seriously consider the possibility that the world might end today. But I know a group of people who do. And they aren’t cultists or crazy people. They live together at the Clarkson Home for the Elderly. I say mass out there once month, and these folks at the Clarkson Home consider it a real possibility that their world will come to a sudden and immediate end.Since most of them sleep through my homilies anyway, I like to really do the whole hellfire and brimstone thing when I preach. In fact, the louder and more animated I get, the more they seem to enjoy it. So I really sock it to them. And for their part, they tend to take what I say with a sizeable grain of salt. So I was on a real rampage one Sunday. I was preaching on the book of Ecclesiastes, and I shouted, “Vanity! Vanity! All is vanity! Who knows? Any one of you could be dead tomorrow!”
Madeline, who sits in the front row, woke up just long enough to say, “Heck, I expected to be dead three weeks ago!”
I thought to myself, now I understand why Jesus had such a soft spot for the poor. Because, they get it. They are that much closer to death than the rest of us—and they realize, whether they like it or not, that each day is a gift of God. And because they know that, they have no trouble seeing the urgency of Christ’s message.
Now, it happens that I had an experience a few summers ago, where I too came face-to-face with the reality of my own death. I spend a few weeks every summer in Ocean County, New Jersey where my parents live, and I found, to my delight that the surf at Seaside Heights was really up. I also found, to my distress, that a fourteen foot great white shark had been frequenting my favorite spot.
I went surfing anyway, because I grew up surfing, and when you’ve only got three weeks to catch a year’s worth of surf, you just have take what you’re given. And really, what are the odds of getting eaten by a shark, right? Well…they are very, very slim. Unless you are surfing close to a hungry shark, in which case, the odds increase exponentially. So there were maybe five guys out at the pier when I arrived, and they didn’t look worried—or eaten—and the surf was four foot and glassy, so I waxed up my board and paddled out..
To make a long story short, I wasn’t out more than five minutes when I heard the words that every surfer hopes he will never hear. Someone on the beach yelled ‘Shark!” and when I looked up, I saw, about ten yards to my left, a great grey fin sliding toward me through the surf. Laughing, crying, screaming hysterically, the six of us paddled as fast as we could for the shore.
Obviously I made it back in one piece. I still have all my fingers and toes, and so do the other five guys I was with…but I had two great moments of clarity during that short, frantic paddle back to the beach: first, I learned that you can’t paddle a surf board if you’re too scared to put your hands in the water; and second, that while the world as a whole may not end any time soon, my own particular world could end at any moment. And many of the things that worry and distract me about this present life, are of no consequence to the next.
Which brings me to a final paradox, namely, that if we set our sights on the next world, we will get this world thrown in. If we set our sights on this world, we’ll end up with nothing at all. John Cardinal Newman wrote, “What Christ asks of you is not sinlessness, but diligence. Every day you live longer, more will be required. You cannot be profitable to him even with the longest life; you can show faith and love in an hour.”
Monday, September 2, 2013
Chapter 4, Part 4: : Tools, continued...
The tools of good works are these...
(34) Not to be arrogant...
(35) Not to be given to wine.
(36) Not to be a great eater.
(37) Not to be drowsy.
Here again, Saint Benedict argues for moderation. Eating and drinking are necessary, pleasurable, and good. But being given to wine or to be a great eater is not ideal. And it is especially inappropriate for monk, whose life is a living witness to the kingdom of heaven. Drowsiness, though? Is there really anything wrong with that? In college, I used to say that life was what happened between naps, and that is still fairly true for me today. If you keep active, rise early, work hard and exercise, you might well be drowsy from time to time. What Benedict is referring to, however, is a sort of spiritual drowsiness. Saint John Cassian called it “acedia” or lethargy. It’s the kind of drowsiness that makes us comfortable with mediocrity. For this reason, Monks read the following prayer every night before they go to bed. It’s from the First Letter of Saint Peter: “Brothers, be sober. Be vigilant. For your enemy the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to eat.”
and good. But to be
(34) Not to be arrogant...(35) Not to be given to wine.
(36) Not to be a great eater.
(37) Not to be drowsy.
Here again, Saint Benedict argues for moderation. Eating and drinking are necessary, pleasurable, and good. But being given to wine or to be a great eater is not ideal. And it is especially inappropriate for monk, whose life is a living witness to the kingdom of heaven. Drowsiness, though? Is there really anything wrong with that? In college, I used to say that life was what happened between naps, and that is still fairly true for me today. If you keep active, rise early, work hard and exercise, you might well be drowsy from time to time. What Benedict is referring to, however, is a sort of spiritual drowsiness. Saint John Cassian called it “acedia” or lethargy. It’s the kind of drowsiness that makes us comfortable with mediocrity. For this reason, Monks read the following prayer every night before they go to bed. It’s from the First Letter of Saint Peter: “Brothers, be sober. Be vigilant. For your enemy the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to eat.”
and good. But to be
Friday, August 30, 2013
Chapter 4, Part 3: Tools, continued...
The tools of good works are these...
(23) Not to cultivate a desire for revenge
(24) Not to entertain deceit in the heart.
(25) Not to make a false peace.
(26) Not to forsake charity.
(27) Not to swear, lest perchance you swear falsely.
(28) To speak the truth with heart and tongue.
(29) Not to return evil for evil.
(30) To do no injury, and even patiently to endure the injuries done to you.
(31) To love your enemies.
(32) Not to curse those that curse you, but rather to bless them.
(33) To bear persecution for the sake of justice.
A few years ago, some obnoxious idiot made an extremely offensive video mocking the prophet Mohammed. If you were watching the news (and I don’t necessarily recommend it) you saw video feeds from across the world of angry Muslims burning American flags and rioting in the streets. I suppose you can’t really blame them. Or maybe you can. After all, there were millions of other Muslims across the world who, no doubt, were equally insulted, but who did not riot in the streets. And to be sure, in America we had our own reactions. Both the President and the Secretary of State filmed apologies. The producer of the offending video was apprehended by the F.B.I. and taken in for questioning. The film itself was publicly condemned by the World Council of Churches. Even the Jewish Anti-Defamation League disavowed it.
Interestingly, a very similar video surfaced not long before. One of my students was the first to show it to me. This other video started with a procession of monks trudging across the screen before a statue of the Sacred Heart chanting, “The Vatican is B*** S***” Next, an actor, dressed as the pope, walked on screen holding a cell phone, pretending to talk to god. Later in the film, they refer to Mother Theresa and her nuns in terms so foul, I can’t even hint at them in writing. So you see, these two films had a lot in common.
But here’s the clincher: the anti-Islamic film was produced by some nobody in his basement and aired on YouTube. The anti-Catholic film was produced by Showtime (a division of CBS). You do remember hearing about it, though, right? Don’t you remember the outrage in the media? The presidential apology? The expressions of sympathy from other religious authorities? No? Well, you wouldn’t have because they never happened. In this country, bigotry and hate speech are acceptable—so long as they are directed at the Catholic Church. Anti-Catholicism is, in the words of Philip Jenkens “the last acceptable prejudice.” Frankly we’re used to it.
Still, I’d be lying if I said that part of me didn’t want to storm the corporate headquarters of CBS and burn Matthew Blank’s office to the ground. But of course, tool number twenty-nine says never to return evil for evil. So instead, we pray for Mr. Blank. And we pray for Penn Jillette and we pray for Raymond Joseph Teller. We bless those who persecute us. We love our enemies. And if that doesn’t make us feel better, well…one or two of the cursing psalms couldn’t hurt.
(23) Not to cultivate a desire for revenge
(24) Not to entertain deceit in the heart.
(25) Not to make a false peace.
(26) Not to forsake charity.
(27) Not to swear, lest perchance you swear falsely.
(28) To speak the truth with heart and tongue.
(29) Not to return evil for evil.
(30) To do no injury, and even patiently to endure the injuries done to you.
(31) To love your enemies.
(32) Not to curse those that curse you, but rather to bless them.
(33) To bear persecution for the sake of justice.
A few years ago, some obnoxious idiot made an extremely offensive video mocking the prophet Mohammed. If you were watching the news (and I don’t necessarily recommend it) you saw video feeds from across the world of angry Muslims burning American flags and rioting in the streets. I suppose you can’t really blame them. Or maybe you can. After all, there were millions of other Muslims across the world who, no doubt, were equally insulted, but who did not riot in the streets. And to be sure, in America we had our own reactions. Both the President and the Secretary of State filmed apologies. The producer of the offending video was apprehended by the F.B.I. and taken in for questioning. The film itself was publicly condemned by the World Council of Churches. Even the Jewish Anti-Defamation League disavowed it.
Interestingly, a very similar video surfaced not long before. One of my students was the first to show it to me. This other video started with a procession of monks trudging across the screen before a statue of the Sacred Heart chanting, “The Vatican is B*** S***” Next, an actor, dressed as the pope, walked on screen holding a cell phone, pretending to talk to god. Later in the film, they refer to Mother Theresa and her nuns in terms so foul, I can’t even hint at them in writing. So you see, these two films had a lot in common.
Still, I’d be lying if I said that part of me didn’t want to storm the corporate headquarters of CBS and burn Matthew Blank’s office to the ground. But of course, tool number twenty-nine says never to return evil for evil. So instead, we pray for Mr. Blank. And we pray for Penn Jillette and we pray for Raymond Joseph Teller. We bless those who persecute us. We love our enemies. And if that doesn’t make us feel better, well…one or two of the cursing psalms couldn’t hurt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)