Love Is from God

From The Paradise of the Desert Fathers:

Sayings:

The old men used to say, "there is nothing worse than passing judgment."

They said of abba Macarius that he became, as it is written, a god upon earth, because just as God protects the world, so abba Macarius would cover the faults that he saw as though he did not see them, and those which he heard as though he did not hear them.

Abba Pastor said, "Judge not him who is guilty of fornication, if you are chaste, or you will break the law like him. For He who said 'Do not commit fornication' said also 'Do not judge.' "

A brother asked abba Poemen, "If I see my brother sin, is it right to say nothing about it?" The old man replied, "Whenever we cover our brother's sin, God will cover ours; whenever we tell people about our brother's guilt, God will do the same about ours."

Stories:

A brother in Scetis committed a fault. A council was called to which abba Moses was invited, but he refused to go to it. Then the priest sent someone to him, saying, "Come, for everyone is waiting for you." So he got up and went. He took a leaking jug and filled it with water and carried it with him. The others came out to meet him and said, "What is this, father?" The old man said to them, "My sins run out behind me, and I do not see them, and today I am coming to judge the errors of another." When they heard that, they said no more to the brother but forgave him.

A brother sinned and the priest ordered him to go out of the church; abba Bessarion got up and went out with him, saying, "I, too, am a sinner."

When I first read the Desert Fathers, I kept running up against this teaching. At first, I kept my reservations about it. Milquetoast, I thought. A spade ought to be called a spade. In the course of time, I have begun - and only just begun - to realize that this teaching is, perhaps, central to what it means to me to be Christian. Because a refusal to judge springs out of a heart of love. And a refusal to judge springs out of the recognition of one's own sinfulness before God, one's recognition of one's own forgiveness. And my sin is great. My need for God leaves me breathless before Him, without legs, casts me upon his greater grace and love.

I know less each passing day. I have learned that I don't love well. I would grind my teeth in darkness and utter solitude - that is what is in my heart, and it draws at me constantly. And that is hell. When I first heard the Fatima prayer within the Rosary, I was unsettled by its talk of hell: "O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, bring all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy." I'm not big on hellfire or, for that matter, brimstone. But as I submitted myself to the practice of the Church, I began to realize something about me and about this prayer. When I pray O My Jesus, I am asking Jesus to rescue me not from some eternal damnation that will come one day if I embrace death rather than life, but I am asking him to rescue me from the hell within my heart, that is there each moment of every day, that threatens to engulf me. That is the recognition that I'm coming to understand: Heaven and hell are within my heart.

Neither science nor bad theology makes me doubt God. The thing that makes me doubt God, when I doubt Him, is those who claim Him. Those who would tear down everything and everyone that they might be taller. I read, I listen. I hear such terrible judgments pronounced. I see personhood overrun by ideology and pride. Where is love? There is God. So I must slap my hand over my mouth - because I am that man, that woman, who curses God in my neighbor and who engenders doubt within my own heart and countless others.

People are people. More than that, we are persons. We have such hidden hurts that are run over roughshod by those who ought to, should, must, need to know and behave better. But then, they have their own hurts, their own pain. Love is a better balm than judgment. "Beloved," says the Evangelist, "let us love one another."

I Did Not Come Kicking and Screaming

Among other books, I have been reading Crossing the Tiber by Stephen Ray. His book relates his journey into the Catholic Church from Evangelicalism. But it's less than that and more. The book is divided into thirds. The first third is his conversion story. The remaining two-thirds give a somewhat overwhelming portrait of Baptism and the Eucharist and the unified witness of Sacred Scripture, the early Fathers, and current Church teaching concerning these two sacraments. Their testimony is astounding.

Of course, my heart is torn when I read such books because of where I am and where my family is. But let me be forthright and say that I don't believe that my family is in sin being Protestant. I do believe that they're wrong. And (regardless of how little I'll be believed) that is not to say that I do believe that I'm right, by the way. However, I do believe that the Catholic Church is right. My becoming Catholic is not the reward of my intellectual labor, not even my doing. It was not an intellectual discovery on my part, not an intellectual decision with which I rigorously struggled through in study. I did not chew my nails down to the quick wrestling with Catholicism. Some have. No, my becoming Catholic was very much accidental, like falling in love. I was longing for it. When I willingly walked into my first Catholic parish in 25 years and breathed in the smell of the place, I was home. I knew it. Deep calling to deep. My study of the Catholic Church was not to see whether she was apostate, but to see whether she was orthodox. I wasn't researching for a way to keep me from her, but researching to find a way into her. At that point, I already knew I wanted to be Catholic, I just needed to be certain that to be so would not be faithless to Christ. Little did I know that it was Christ who called me. Little did I understand that Christ and the Church are the whole Christ. There is no separating Christ from his Church. He is the Head and we are His Body.

The Catholic Church is populated with imperfect people, and such have populated her throughout history. But she is perfect in her faith. There is wholeness here. And so we pray during our liturgy, "Look not on our sins, but on the faith of your Church."

Section 760 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church says,

Christians of the first centuries said, "The world was created for the sake of the Church." God created the world for the sake of communion with his divine life, a communion brought about by the "convocation" of men in Christ, and this "convocation" is the Church. The Church is the goal of all things, and God permitted such painful upheavals as the angels' fall and man's sin only as occasions and means for displaying all the power of his arm and the whole measure of the love he wanted to give the world:

Just as God's will is creation and is called "the world," so his intention is the salvation of men, and it is called "the Church."

Recently I was listening to Aimee Milburn speak about evangelization and Catholicism. She speaks of how we need to respect others' faith and others' place and journey with and toward God - as Pope John Paul II said, to respect others' "spiritual timing and tempo." I've not respected this "timing and tempo" in others at various times. I probably will fail to do so in the future. And I apologize for my failings, my overstepping of this sacred boundary. I am sorry that I have made others feel as if I do not respect their faith, that I have made you feel as if I do not respect yours. Because I do respect your faith. Deeply. I know that you know and love God, that you are known and loved by Him. And yet my heart aches wanting you to discover this country I have unwittingly stumbled upon. This beautiful place.

But I am learning to be patient. I am learning to be quiet.

I scribble proudly on notepads while others breathe life onto canvas and carve human bodies from marble. Forgive my simple scribblings. If I am proud of them, it is only because they are all that I am capable of.

The Significance of Place

A friend, in his comments on my last post, asked about Catholicism's view of place. I thought it would make an excellent short post (since I only have a little time) all by itself.

Place is important to our faith. Sometimes crucial. While we can, of course, worship in any place in spirit and truth, our faith is not merely spiritual. Our faith is incarnational. God has become man. Therefore what is physical and tangible is important, and ought not to be shrugged off. On the contrary, as all of us know, there is something highly attractional to places where we deem something important has happened. It is why we have memorials. And we all, as humans, have these places (and they can be of personal or communal importance). It is also an understanding that we have a connection, that there is communion, between us and them - a real communion that place, often, broadens the sense of.

Pilgrimages are made to such places because we want to be a part of this larger thing, this community of faith, we want to experience it for ourselves. And, as well, often times many are healed by God even still in such places, though the event took place hundreds of years before. (These are the same reasons why the Church values relics as well.)

This incarnational view of the faith is not something that only Catholics or Orthodox recognize. The vast majority of Protestants do as well. Most Protestants consciously understand memorial and place and the importance of the concrete. But some deny it to elevate the spiritual. And to me, the longer I am Catholic, this simply seems gnostic faith rather than Christian. Of course, even these celebrate Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, and Easter. Even these would jump at a chance to visit the Holy Lands. Even these kiss their wives.

We venerate these places because God has, in the past, touched them in a special way. There is significance in that. To honor the place or the relic is to honor God and to recognize his working, his real presence, in the world.

---

More, I hope, on this subject later. Until then, I would highly recommend Fr Stephen Freeman's (an Orthodox priest living in Knoxville) series on One-Storied Faith.

Faith

Last week I mentioned briefly the allegations that have been brought against my pastor, Fr Al, allegations about something that happened, if it happened, 50 years ago. I want to speak some more about my feelings on the issue. And I also want to state unequivocally, at the outset, that I believe my pastor is innocent of the allegations.

My bishop celebrated Mass this past weekend at my parish and his care for the parish is and has been a blessing. I decidedly respect and love this man. And this is some odd Catholic thing, that at the thought of certain men in the Church, I grow deeply emotional. And I hold them in my hearts with gratitude and respect, and I feel a deep, deep love for them even though I do not know them. (Show me your ring, Holy Father, that I might kiss it. - Yes, it's quite bizarre. It's quite difficult for my brain to work out, but my heart knows the truth of it.) It must be because I identify them and their ministry in the Church with Christ. Not that they are Christ literally. But as St Ignatius of Antioch said - where the bishop is, there is the Church, there is Christ. And of course Papa Benedict is our dear sweet Christ on Earth (and, no, I don't mean that blasphemously or idolatrously).

But I'm digressing. This post is about my pastor, Fr Al, whom I love though he has only been my pastor for three months, and though he has been accused of sexual misconduct. I don't believe he's guilty. And if he is, for I certainly do not know what has transpired in the life of this man I don't know, I will stand by and guard his reputation nevertheless. I am for him. First, because, while I cannot know, he is my pastor. Second, because if he is guilty, I am still called to love him deeply - and he has been forgiven. And if he proves to be guilty, and let me state as strongly as possible that I do not believe him to be so, I will be honored to have stood by his side nevertheless. Third, when his good name is restored and it is shown that I have not stood with him, how would I ever again be able to stand in his presence?

We shy away from our commitments to relationships because of our being burned in the past, or because of all the tawdriness from our leadership in the past and in the news. And so we trust no one, living in suspicion of everything and everyone, not realizing that our distrust is antithetical to our very faith. And if I keep my pastor at arm's length because he might be guilty then I am no kind of Christian. And if I keep my pastor at arm's length if I discover that he is guilty, then I am no kind of Christian. You see, as a Christian, I can only properly give one reaction to an allegation against Fr Al - and that is by offering my faith and hope and love. So what if it all turns to dung and I'm left standing there holding my faith, hope, and love? I don't care. Let them think me a fool. I stand where I stand, because if I refuse affection and loyalty then I don't just turn my back on Fr Al, I turn my back on all relationships.

For none of us are trustworthy. And I have my own sins.

In no way am I suggesting that the awfulness of pedophilia (or whatever misconduct is alleged) and the ruin it effects in the lives of all involved be covered over. But Fr Al is my pastor. And Jesus has risked far more than his reputation for me. And though the Church has dragged Jesus' reputation through the mud, yet Jesus is faithful - "If we are faithless, He remains faithful - for He cannot deny himself" (1 Tim 2.13, RSV). For you see the Church and Christ are the whole Christ - as St Joan of Arc said at her trial, "About Jesus Christ and the Church, I simply know they're just one thing, and we shouldn't complicate the matter."

I cannot judge. I can only love. I can only show mercy because it is mercy I seek from the hand of the Father. So I pray and I ask for your prayers.

Faith Consists In ...

"Faith does not mean accepting a certain number of abstract truths about the mysteries of God, of man, of life and death, of future realities. Faith consists in an intimate relationship with Christ, a relationship based on love of him who loved us first, even to the total offering of himself." - Pope Benedict XVI

In this small quote by Papa Benedict, there is a lot to unearth, especially about what faith is not. But I'm caught up so much by the quote itself. I suppose because it is so ... catholic, as true for the Pope as it is for me. And, I suppose, because it says the very thing that evangelicals so often tell me the Catholic Church does not believe.

Our faith is not a simple litany of doctrinal affirmations. It is not merely a creed. Faith is being known by Christ and seeking to know Him. This quotation does not deny that there is such a thing as heterodoxy. But it rather shows the faith for what it is - it is God reconciling the world to Himself. And through that relationship, not through a proper understanding of the Trinity or of justification or of creed, that one is reconciled to God. Papa Benedict here makes me think of the simple (seemingly evident) idea I first heard from Tom Wright that shook how I viewed my world: We are not justified by our belief in justification by faith. We are justified by faith. Therefore, regardless of the doctrinal nuances and differences we have concerning the doctrine of justification by faith, our diversity is unified by our faith in Christ, not in our belief in the specificity of my or your understanding of the doctrine.

That being said, there is heterodoxy. And this concept is perhaps best understood under the umbrella of "To whom much has been given, much is required." Just because our faith is about relationship with Christ does not mean that we can dismiss the Church's doctrine of the Trinity, or say that orthodoxy is unimportant, or to say that orthodoxy is heterodoxy. But, that being said, the thief on the cross understood who Jesus was, but he probably did not have any knowledge of the Virgin birth or of the Trinity - perhaps no understanding of the Incarnation itself. (And who among us truly understands these things?)

As a Catholic, those are truths the Church holds and as a part of the Church I hold with her. But they are not for me measuring rods by which I go to judge another's kingdom status. There is too much I do not know about the other. And there is too much I do not know about God. So I humbly accept the orthodoxy of the Church, and while I explore ever more deeply the truths of her teaching, I try not to entertain heterodoxy.

We love Christ. A fuller understanding of the many doctrines of the Church will not make us any holier. It is in our loving Christ, in knowing Him through prayer (pray always) that we are made holier. It is His Spirit working upon ours, and our spirit responding and working with and through His.

Faith is a response to God's activity and mercy toward us. A response that requires from the responder, if one is to respond, the kind of offering that has been offered. It is not just belief, but belief expressing itself, working, through love.

When my wife offers herself to me totally, there is only one proper response: For me also to offer myself completely to her. And I'm not simply speaking sexually here - though that is a picture of what I am speaking of - I'm speaking of surrendering ourselves to one another and to Christ because he has surrendered His life for us.

Love is not simply received. If we are not changed by it, if we are not drawn into it, then we have failed to understand it.