Gratitude

As Holy Week begins, not least of my emotions is gratitude. Thankfulness for this God that came down from Heaven to save me; that emptied Himself, and took the form of a slave, to give me eternal life. And for you too; if Jesus knew that you yourself were the only person that would ever be saved by His passion and death, He would still do it. Each of us individually is worth all that He endured. Remember this, the next time you feel insignificant or invisible: the same God that created the world and everything in it feels that you yourself are worth all that He did!

My life changed when I began concentrating on thankfulness in my morning prayers. Each day I try to focus on all I have to be thankful for. I always run out of time; my blessings overwhelm my ability to count them. Consciously feeling gratitude makes a tremendous difference in my life. It helps correct my natural tendency to focus on everything that's wrong. I hope it's made me more positive and easier to be around.

My blessings come in three kinds:

• First are the big-ticket items, the ones so huge they tend to fade into the background; my family, the Church, the faith, living in the United States, God's love for me, the angels and saints.... Like I said, my blessings overflow my time to count them.
  
• Second are the daily benefits, whatever happened yesterday or today: recovering from a cold, surviving another day at work, reading a good book, the coming of springtime
  
• Third is the hardest. St. Paul tells us to give thanks for everything ("Always rejoice. Pray without ceasing. In all things give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you all." - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). "All things" is unqualified. I have to give thanks for the very things I really don't want to be thankful for. The battle I lost at work; my dog's sore back; the temptations I suffer; the hurt inflicted on me by others, and the hurt I inflict on others. All these come under God's providence. And a funny thing happens when I truly give thanks for these difficulties: their sting is lessened, and my trust in God increases.
  

Most of all, gratitude is one of the best gifts we can offer God for all He has given to us. When we thank God, we acknowledge our dependence on Him and give Him glory. Remember the ten lepers who were healed? Only one of those ten took the time to thank Jesus for that tremendous gift. I am most deeply and humbly grateful to God for the opportunity to pray to Him every day.

The brazen serpent and the image of sin

This past Tuesday (i.e., Tuesday of the 5th week of Lent), the first reading is the brazen serpent from Numbers.

Numbers 4:6-10:

Wherefore the Lord sent among the people fiery serpents, which bit them and killed many of them. Upon which they came to Moses, and said: We have sinned, because we have spoken against the Lord and thee: pray that he may take away these serpents from us. And Moses prayed for the people. And the Lord said to him: Make brazen serpent, and set it up for a sign: whosoever being struck shall look on it, shall live. Moses therefore made a brazen serpent, and set it up for a sign: which when they that were bitten looked upon, they were healed.

My pastor made two points that fascinated me. First: the people were healed by looking at the image of what made them sicken and die. Second: we are redeemed by looking at (i.e. believing in) Christ on the Cross: the very image of what makes us sicken and die: sin. 2 Corinthians 5:21: "Him, who knew no sin, he hath made sin for us, that we might be made the justice of God in him."

Christ took on all of our sins on the cross; Christ on the Cross made Himself the very image of all the sins that ever were/will be committed.

This idea clarified for me somewhat the whole question of the crucifixion. Why did Jesus have to die in that way? By making himself the image of all sin, He caused His death to become the death of all sin.

Then I took this idea in a whole new direction. If the Passion of Christ is how Christ made Himself the image of all sin, then what happened to Christ in the Passion is what happens to our souls when we sin.

Christ was mocked by the soldiers who said, "Hail the King of the Jews". All sin is rooted in pride; when we sin, we make ourselves our own king; we refuse to serve the Lord (our true King) and serve our own desires. This "kingship" over ourselves is a mockery, just as crude and shocking as the soldiers' mockery of Christ.

Christ wore a bloody crown of thorns. In sinning we crown ourselves king of our soul. This crown claws into our soul just as Christ's crown clawed into his skull.

Christ was scourged at the pillar; sin lashes our souls just as cruelly. Each sin marks our soul just as each stripe marked our Lord's flesh.

So the next time sin speaks to you (and sin does speak to all of us; in this life we will not escape temptation), remember what the Enemy wants. Our adversary doesn't want you to be like God; he doesn't want you to be happy, or experience pleasure, or be free. He wants you to be in constant torment (just like the torment he himself experiences). And even in this life, such constant torment is the natural result of sin.

So by sinning, we crucify ourselves. What do we do when we turn away from sin, beg forgiveness from the Lord, and live our lives in Him? Do we not share in His resurrection?

"abortion is the great evil of our age"

Such is the reaction of Americans United for Life to the passing of the health care bill. Their e-mail alert is very eloquent. Since I can't find it on their website I will repeat most of it below:

After the last week of such intense work to try to keep funding and mandates for abortion out of health care, capped by the sudden collapse of “the Stupak bloc” which led to Sunday night’s tragic vote in favor of pro-abortion health care, the question on everyone’s minds right now is: what’s next? So I’d like to take a minute to tell you about AUL’s plans.

But first let me begin with a tremendous thank you for your support in the firestorm of this last week. The overwhelming response AUL received was deeply meaningful to the entire AUL team and a great encouragement. You are partners with us, so we work knowing that we are a team in the effort.

Together, we were able to really dig in during the lead up to the vote. AUL Action's “Life Counts” campaign was so significant that the New York Times and Politico both featured it.

I spent all of Saturday and much of Sunday at the Capitol while the AUL legal team was working at our offices near the White House and another part of our team was on the Hill making sure that the remaining “undecideds” had AUL’s legal analysis. In fact, the Washington Examiner ran an oped by our Sr. VP, Bill Saunders, about the Executive Order which was cited on the floor of the House by Congressman Sensenbrenner.

In the end, however, it came down to four votes. The bloc of Representatives led by Congressman Stupak, who had committed to casting a pro-life vote, failed to withstand the intense pressure from Speaker Pelosi and the President.

I cannot adequately express how heavy my heart was as I made my way back to the AUL office after Congressman Stupak’s press conference where he had announced that he cut an empty deal with the President.

When I arrived, however, I found our legal team already finishing up our newest piece of model legislation: a bill that would allow states to prohibit health plans offered through the Exchanges in their states from offering abortion coverage. I hope that encourages you as much as it did me!

We’ve already heard from legislators in Georgia and Kansas who want to get this legislation passed in their states. And let me assure you - we have more responses in the works, both on the state and the federal level. There is much more to come and a number of ways for us to respond pro-actively and aggressively. With AUL’s history working in the states with legislators across this country, and in the courts, we are uniquely positioned to respond to this new threat to Life. And we will.

On Monday, we spent some time together as a team, reviewing the events of the weekend; I told everyone assembled that we needed to focus on two central questions: What are we made of? And what do we believe?

The answer to the first question came in the form of that ready-to-roll piece of legislation. Our team may be tired, but we are relentless and we will press forward, creating a path toward restoring our culture of life.

The second question will keep us focused beyond this temporary setback. The answer is this: we believe that abortion is the great evil of our age. A surrender to complacency and discouragement is not an option. We are engaged in the great human rights struggle of our time. Our fight is waged with the abolitionist movement and the civil rights movement as our great heritage.

So let me conclude with a final reflection on that heritage. I had the privilege of beginning the day on Sunday at a non-denominational and bi-partisan service held in the Capitol Rotunda. It was awe-inspiring to sit in Statuary Hall, surrounded by statues of the great heroes of our history and the leaders of today.

The service was organized by a friend of mine and a friend of Life, Congressman Randy Forbes. We began by singing “Amazing Grace.”

This is a hymn that has deep meaning for many of us. I used it to sing my children to sleep all through the years when I paced the floor with restless babies. Those nights seemed endless then, but they are a sweet memory now.

Our times of challenge pass. History moves quickly and we have to seize the moment. “Amazing Grace” was written by the reformed slave-trader, John Newton, the friend and mentor of the great abolitionist, William Wilberforce. As I heard those beautiful words, sung a capella, in the soaring space of Statuary Hall, I knew a great peace about the day yet to unfold in front of us.

Of course the day ended in stunning disappointment. But Wilberforce and Newton knew those times too. Yet ultimately, they prevailed.

We have no promise that we will see the same triumphant outcome that they did. Although I believe that we will if we persevere.

A witness for confession

What can I say about confession that hasn't already been said? Protestant arguments against it are well known; so are the Catholic apologetics in its defense. Anyone who's interested can drown themselves in rhetoric and argument.

I'm not interested right now in continuing that debate. But I can witness for how confession has brought me closer to Jesus our Lord, in the hope that others will follow my path.

10 or 11 years ago when I first came back to the Church, I confessed maybe a few times a year. The sacramental grace that always accompanies confession did, in fact, pour out onto my soul; but it didn't find much root there. Twice or three times a year is not often enough to make a good confession; you just can't keep track of the multitude of sins.

I began to go more often. The more often I went, the more often I wanted to go. Confession became a focus point; it focused my mind on my serious habitual sins. I had become so enmeshed, so habituated in sin that for the longest time I didn't even realize I was sinning; after that, for the longest time I didn't think the sin meant very much. The more often I confessed, the more I became aware of how serious my situation was, how much God wanted to heal me, and how much I depended on Him as the doctor of my soul.

Now, I confess (almost) every week; certainly every other week. My most serious sin is by and large behind me; God's grace has lifted me from the darkness into His light. Frequent confession attunes me to ever-smaller promptings of sin. Once I was out from under the weight of habitual mortal sin, I become that much more aware of the smaller and subtler promptings of pride, sloth, and anger.

Along the way two analogies have helped me.

First is the classic comparison of confession to the doctor's office. If the Eucharist is spiritual food (feeding our soul in just the same way physical food feeds our bodies), confession is spiritual medicine. No matter how deep, how painful, how deep-rooted my sins, confession is powerful enough to uproot them and heal my suffering soul.

Second is the comparison of the sacraments to a blacksmith's forge. The Eucharist is the hammer; confession is the anvil; my soul is the iron to be shaped. The Holy Spirit is the fire, and God is the smith. The sacraments change the recipient's soul; they orient the soul towards God; lifting the soul from self-absorption into union with Him.

All you Catholics out there, faithful and lapsed: take advantage of this tremendous opportunity for an outpouring of God's grace. All you non-Catholics: the Church is open to you, as it always has been and ever will be.

Aquinas, Ambler, Dante, Connelly, Baur

I am a creature of habit. Especially during the work week, I do the same things at the same time almost every day. And I read books according to the time of day.

Over breakfast I read the Summa Theologica of St. Thomas. I'm in my third year of reading the Summa. Right now I'm in the middle of the "Second Part of the Second Part"; the Summa itself is in three parts, and the second part is itself divided into two parts. I'm reading the treatise about justice, specifically, "Question 77. Cheating, which is committed in buying and selling." Great stuff. It's hard to describe the peace and calm that come from reading St. Thomas, especially right after church and right before the work day starts.

Over lunch I usually read a work-related book, currently "The Object Primer: Agile Model-Driven Development with UML 2.0" by Scott Ambler. Next on my list is "Software Architecture in Practice" although I just noticed the 2nd edition is out, substantially updated over the 1st edition, which is what I have. Hmmm....

Over dinner I'm reading Dante's "Paradiso", the 3rd part of his Divine Comedy, following naturally after the Inferno and the Purgatorio. I hear many people read just the Inferno without moving on to the other two books, for its greater entertainment value. I don't understand this. The Inferno was hard for me to read; it's about souls in self-inflicted torment; all darkness and pain. The Paradiso is a greater accomplishment; from Scripture we know that the mind cannot conceive what awaits the blessed; so Dante can't come close to describing the real thing, but it is a noble attempt nonetheless.

When I have spare time in the evening I read a mystery or some other novel. Currently it's "Trunk Music" by Michael Connelly, part of a series featuring the detective Harry Bosch. I really like this series; I'm trying to read the whole series in order of publication. Previously I read "A Small Death in Lisbon" by Robert Wilson which is one of the finest mysteries I ever read.

At night I read a few pages from a spiritual book before falling asleep. Currently it's "In Silence With God" by Benedict Baur, another very good book about your personal relationship with God; something I continue to struggle with.

Stretching a metaphor until it breaks

I baked two loaves of bread last weekend. They turned out great, thanks to Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book. But that's not the point of this post.

A few minutes after I began kneading the bread, I realized it was very hard to work with. Then I looked up and saw the bowl of yeast on my counter... not in the dough I was kneading, where it should have been! Many years ago I forgot the yeast in a bread maker; the bread came out like a brick, and that's what I was on my way to making.

So, I poured the yeast over my brick-in-the-making, and began to work it in. The gluten was pretty solid by then and didn't want to break up. I had to really squish and pull and press and mash. It kind of brought me back to my childhood days of playing in the sand and the mud. Finally everything was mixed into a very nice dough and the bread turned out just great.

That's the literal story. Now let's take an allegorical look... my allegory is a little goofy but it works in a weird kind of way.

The original brick I was kneading is like a dead human soul - lost in sin, immured in the world, unable to look up to Heaven or contemplate God's love and mercy, loving nothing, itself least of all. Such is the fate of the soul turned in upon itself, lacking faith, hope, and charity.

The yeast is like God's word, living and active in Scripture and the church. The yeast is capable of turning a brick (or to use more Scriptural language, a stony heart) into a pliant, life-giving, joyful substance.

But it takes some work. When I first poured the yeast on the brick, all I had was yeast and a brick; I had to do some work to break down the brick and work the yeast into it. That is the action of the Holy Spirit, transforming the stony heart into a living heart. The Spirit transforms us, operating on us even without our knowledge.

And the whole operation is pretty hard on the brick. Once a soul realizes it's in the midst of a dark wood (as Dante found himself at the start of The Inferno), there's a lot of hard work and pain ahead. Turning towards God means turning away from yourself; it's the hardest thing I've ever done. That first turning towards God suffices for your salvation; but God calls us to be holy, and so long as we remain in this vale of tears, we are called upon to let the Holy Spirit continue working on us.

Then you realize the truth about the horror you are leaving behind, and the truth about the glory you are approaching. And then you know it's worthwhile; you are on your way to becoming an aromatic offering to our Savior.

The Bostonians

Last weekend I finished An Outcast of the Islands. How exhilarating it is to finish a great book, and how depressing to realize there is no more of said great book to read!

I am moving on to an author I'm still struggling with. I loved Henry James' book "Washington Square." But I didn't like "The Turn of the Screw" at all. And I've started a few other of his books, and not gotten very far.

But there's no denying that the man can write like nobody's business, and anyone who's books still fill a shelf at Border's a hundred years after he wrote them is a force to be reckoned with. So I've started The Bostonians. Reviews indicate it is a relatively light and satirical book; perhaps not so heavy as, say, "The Golden Bowl". Perhaps this will be the breakthrough book that The Reivers was for my reading of William Faulkner... "The Reivers" set me on fire.