7LW: Thirst

JMJ

This is the fifth in a series of posts on the Seven Last Words of Our Lord from the cross. I used this same text last year: but I was limited to a five-minute talk. This is the director’s cut, slightly up-dated because it’s a year later. There is a menu and a posting schedule at the bottom of this post. I’m late on this one. I had a term paper for Church History. Sorry!

I thirst.

MANY OF US as children have woken up at night and asked for a glass of water. Maybe as a parent our child wakes up and asks: Mommy, can I have a glass of water?

These words of our Lord, “I thirst” sound like that same cry.

We wake at night, in the dark, alone, afraid: and we really want Mommy. But “I’m thirsty” is what we say: it makes sense, it’s the feeling we have: our mouth is dry, our throat constricted. As a child, in the night, we don’t have exact words for it so I must be thirsty. But as adults we know what causes it: in the middle of the night, fear is what wakes us up.

No adult says, at that point, “Mommy, can I have some water?” Adults lay in bed and have a panic attack or get out of bed and take more meds: we have to get up to work tomorrow. We deal with the fear in our ways, looking out in the darkness and letting the tapes play over and over in our head.

I thirst.

The eternal, Triune God, in the Second Person in Human Flesh, is crying out because of a dry mouth, part of the whole Flight or Fight thing that the same God built into us for our protection.

This is God’s human weakness. Flight or fight, impossible with both feat and hands nailed down. Unable to even care for one’s needs like a child.

The God who made water. Who made mouths. Who made the nervous system. This God is afraid. This God is thirsty. This God… is about to die.

Was one of the first words ever taught to the Baby, the Word learning words, “yisemeh” – the Aramaic for “Thirsty”? His mother, standing there at the foot of the cross, hears her own baby again crying out “yisemeh”.

There is an icon, much beloved, called “Our Lady of Perpetual Help.” In the East it is called the Theotokos of the Passion. In it the child, Jesus, is held in Mary’s arms. About his head, two angels holding the instruments of the passion fly. One sandal is flopping loose because he didn’t tie it on. The story is that Jesus, the child, had a dream of his passion and cross and, waking up in fear. He ran to his mother for protection.

Eemma…Mommy… Yisemeh!

There is another, not so well known icon, the Akhtyr Icon of the Theotokos. Mary has much the same posture as in the Perpetual help icon, but Jesus is not in her arms.

Yisemeh!

Brothers and Sisters. This is love.

In this time of danger.
In this time of death.
In this time of fear.

God knows… we are all thirsty. We cannot have the chalice. Some of us still cannot even come to mass. We cannot touch to hug, to hold, or shake hands. This is a crucifixion for us. Some do this for safety, but we do not do this out of fear: rather it is out of love for our neighbor, for those who are weakest among us, for those who are most vulnerable.

Our hands are held back, our heart breaks, our love restrains us. Touch – when touch is most needed…

We thirst! We cry out to our mother, the Church who stands by watching and weeping for us.

Our God knows and understands: this is love.

In this time of danger.
In this time of death.
In this time of fear.

Christ our God has been here before us. Become of love, he has faced in mortal flesh, fear and death.

And Jesus has the victory.

We thirst with him today…
He will make us victorious with him.

7LW: Eloi

JMJ

This is the fourth in a series of posts on the Seven Last Words of Our Lord from the cross. There is a menu and a posting schedule at the bottom of this post. I’m late on this one. I had a termpaper for Church History. Sorry!

My God, My God why hast Thou forsaken me.

ONE Hears That when you die, your “life passes before your eyes”. I have wondered about Jesus’ memory on the Cross. What was he thinking there, at that time. Put aside the spiritual issue of salvation and the theological issues of the God-Man and passion. In the excruciating pain of steal in your hands and feet and side, of raw wood ripping at the open wounds on your back, of the gashes on your head; in the derision of the masses, the blood and sweat burning in your eyes that you cannot touch, the nakedness of your body before gentile soldiers laughing at your circumcision, and your mother horrified before you and weeping, what the actual can you be thinking? Did Jesus life pass before his eyes?

As a human baby with no words and a gelatinous brain, Jesus would have no memory of that first night in the cave, of the angels singing, of the shepherds, of the Magi. My earliest memory is at about 14 months, so I’ll project that on the God-Man as a child: so maybe, by the time Herod dies? Jesus might remember leaving Egypt for Nazareth. Then there are sketchy memories from 1.5 years to 1st Grade. I don’t remember 2nd and 3rd grade at all, although I remember things at home in that time. By 4th Grade, though, I have a more concrete collection of memories and this continues up through college, pretty much, although a friend or two will point out (as I blog) that my memories are not always the same ones they have.

Jesus has a human memory. What passes through his mind now? Does Jesus think back and wonder, Where did I go wrong? Were things much simpler in Egypt? Things were easier in Nazareth. I was making good things happen in Capernaum.

I have a tendency to flash back to earlier times and think, “What if I could go back there and fix this?” The other day I had sort of a mental flashback to the mid 90s when the tv show Absolutely Fabulous was very popular. It was also controversial because it was too dark and a bit risque for television. I was not a fan because it highlighted all of our darker sides and created anti-heroes out of the two main characters and, eventually, out of literally all the show. But that’s nowhere near as dark as the evening news, now. Remember when times were that simple? Everything has been downhill since AbFab. Actually, for me, the proper time of TV is in the 70s, with MASH, Mary Tyler Moore,and All in the Family. Maude was pretty brilliant, too. And all of those were pretty risque for their time. But in today’s world of fantasy fetish porn Game of Thrones and sex-murder cult American Horror Story, and death soap-operas, Walking Dead and True Blood (you can tell when I stopped watching current TV now) even the cop dramas of the 70s feel like Sunday School material.

Times were simpler then – and for me. The worst I had to worry about was, Had I done my homework and will Mom notice I only rinsed the dishes and wiped them before I put them away? Time to watch Mork and Mindy!

Why did I ever leave Nazareth? Right now, pierced hands and feet, blood, sweat and tears, what is going trough Jesus mind?

Before college, the summer after graduation, I had a breakdown. Mom found me sitting in a dark office crying. The last thing I wanted to do was leave home. I think it’s the last time I remember being “Mom-ed” as she came over and held me, and just let me cry. 39 years later, I know things were simpler before that time. Mom’s computer on which I typed all my college term papers, was orange text on a black screen. Although it was only set up to be a word processor, I could make it do other things by writing programming in basic. To the amazement of my mom’s boss, the list of all 6 digit numbers that could be pulled in the lottery filled pages and pages of text proving, “the lottery is a tax on the mathematically challenged.” We still pull only 6 numbers (some things never change) but no one bats an eye at a $4,000,000 pot anymore.

I could have stayed in Bethany. Lazarus is a good friend, no one would care if I took up fishing with Peter… but I don’t like fishing. I could have stayed wood working with Dad.

But I have this thing to do.

College was a huge mistake – expensive, unneeded, and undirected. My 30 years in customer service have taught me much more than all the classes I took except for my classes in Western Civ and Religion. I learned how to research and argue my points in those classes – skills that I have needed all along. And, in a class on Judaism, I learned that Jesus would have been able to eat cheeseburgers – because the whole meat and dairy thing wasn’t a thing yet. Even ancient religions evolve.

Lazarus makes good cheeseburgers.

We all have this mission though. St Thomas refers to the processions of the Word and of Love in God. The Word proceeds from the Father, and the Love proceeds from the Father and the Son. The Word incarnate in the world, the Love flowing out through all of us who are now the Body of the Son. We, too, process. Mission is the action of Love in the world through the Body of the Word.

Nothing is simple. At all. We try to discern through consolations, though peace, through “knowing this is the right thing to do…” but that’s not the answer. I should go until God tells me to stop… would have had Jesus not on the cross. Goodness gracious, I would still be in the 70s watching Brady Bunch and eating Pilsbury Food Sticks. (I used to twist together the orange and chocolate ones.)

If we rip out our desire for peace, for comfort, for consolations that make us feel good, though, where does that leave us? We bravely walk forward on Mission and God never tells us to stop.

And then we die.

And still we die.

Did Jesus remember everything or was some of it a bit fuzzy now, and more so with the lack of oxygen. Did he realize the only way forward is to just keep walking?

And die.

I don’t hear Jesus’ cry as one of despair or even loss. It’s a teaching moment.

This is where all of us humans end up – sometimes daily. We have to reach a point beyond which all we have is faith.

Then we have to keep walking as we realize the only choice is turning back (not possible, really, and still likely to lead to death) or go forward (and die).

Let’s roll.

The Mystery of Relationship

JMJ

This is part of a series of posts on the invocations of the Jesus Psalter. There is a menu of these posts at the bottom. The invocations will be considered thematically.

Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, grant me grace to fear thee
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, grant me grace to love thee

THERE ARE SEVERAL Of the invocations that ask for the “grace” to do something. As a Protestant I learned that grace stands for “God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense”. You can cringe for a few moments now, I’ll wait. That constant idea that God beat up Jesus for Us comes to haunt us though – even Catholic cannot get away from it. The image of the old school teacher Nun telling St Bernadette how stupid she is, or the idea that telling a lie is pushing one of the thorns deeper in Our Lord’s head on the Cross… we fail to understand what “because of our sins” means here. We fail to understand Grace, Fear, and Love as well.

Grace is God: Grace is God’s divine presence acting in our life. Because God is infinitely simple, two possible to separate God’s grace from God. This is divine simplicity: we cannot separate God’s actions from God’s person, from God’s very self. God acting in your life is not an abstract but his presence. When we ask for the grace to do something we are not asking for some sort of superpower like x-ray vision or being able to leap over tall buildings in a single bound. By asking for Grace we are opening our self to participation in the Divine action in the world. So what then is this grace to fear? And why do we contrast it with this grace to love? Do we contrast these?

One wants to call to mind 1 John 4:8, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” So how can we pray for the grace to fear and then as part of the same prayer, ask for the grace to love? Would they not cancel each other out?

If you are married or in a relationship at this time, think back. If you’ve ever been married or dating someone, you can think back as well: to your first date. In fact, if we’re honest, the first five or six dates will probably fit this pattern. How long did you date before you were comfortable with, pardon me, farting in front of them? I mean we all do so – we’re humans, we eat food, gas happens. But there’s a fear of doing so in public, in front of strangers. Some scientists think that in terms of social evolution, these released body scents were a way of saying “we’re all safe here” and so the fear may not be humorous so much as an unwillingness to include strangers in a cloud of knowing and being known. But, silliness aside, we hate to do so on dates. Even though, at some point, it happens.

A less silly thing: how long did you date before you stopped cleaning your apartment when they came over?

This is fear.

I don’t mean that you were afraid they’d find out you farted or had a messy apartment. Rather you were afraid to hurt the new relationship by being too – what? – too human? too normal? too natural? too “me”?

As stilted as that part of the relationship seems, it’s also the part that gets turned into Romance Novels and RomComs, into comedy routines and famous country music duets. We know that we all grow out of this stage, but there’s something real and endearing about it. And, when we’ve been married for 50 years and have long ago stopped worrying about farting in front of each other, we still clean the house for a romantic dinner.

This balance of love and fear is the mystery of relationship not just with our lover or our friends, not just with other humans, but also with God.

Jesus is our Creator, our King, and our Judge. Jesus is also our Brother, our Saviour, and our Friend. We enter into relationship with him only aware of all of these aspects. One dursn’t fart in front of King. One cares not if one farts in front of a friend. (Carsn’t should be a thing…) One holds on to both of these aspects in all of life. Fear and love balance out, in a way. Our sins should horrify us, as the Act of Contrition say, not only because we are afraid of the pains of Hell, but “because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” And each of these can be real, fear and love, God our Judge, and our Friend is the same person.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10), but wisdom doesn’t stop there. She draws us closer and closer to God until his perfect love drives out our fear entirely. As in any healthy relationship, we cannot skip over the awareness that we can break it – but as the love grows more closely to wrap us ever deeper, we also find that we become like our beloved. Until we are like the two elders sitting on a park bench in June, quietly holding hands.

But if one farts, they will still giggle.

Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, esto mihi, Jesu.

Jesus Psalter Menu
Introduction
The Mystery of Mercy
The Mystery of Relationship
The Mystery of Reality

7LW: Behold

JMJ

This is the third in a series of posts on the Seven Last Words of Our Lord from the cross. There is a menu and a posting schedule at the bottom of this post.

Behold Your Mother.

IWONDER ALWAYS Why Jesus took this moment to address his Mother as “woman”. In the gasping asphyxiation of the Cross, was woman easier to say and be heard than mother? Was Attha (woman) a mishearing of Amma (mother) pronounced when one gasps? What is clear though is that in the next line he calls this woman Mother giving her to John the Beloved and through him to us.

Over the Altar of Byzantine Churches there is often an icon called Our Lady of the Sign: Mary with her arms raised in intercession while Our Lord, from within her womb as a child, raises his hands in benediction over the Altar and the unbloodied sacrifice of the Eucharist. Mary is a sign of the Whole Church, raising our hands in prayer at the altar while Christ, our God, blesses the world.

What does it mean to have Mary as our Mother, to have the Church as our Mother?

For 2,000 years each of us have wrestled with the meaning of this question. The Church Fathers are very clear: “He who does not have the Church as his mother cannot have God as his father.” (St Augustine.) Behold your mother.

How each of us hears this command to “Behold” will be predicated on our journey to her. For some our mother will look like calm statues of Our Lady of Grace that can be ignored or sat in a corner while life goes on. For some she will look like Our Lady of Guadalupe, gazing out at us with the eyes of our own people, even though our people are ignored or even oppressed by the Church. For some our Mother will stand with open arms like the Miraculous Medal, while for others she will be so angry as to cry in silence like Our Lady of La Salette. She may be a beautiful woman radiating peace like Our Lady of Lourdes, or she may reveal hell to us, like Our Lady of Fatima. Going further back – especially if we’re not from these parts – Our Mother may seem like a stern Queen or a giggling maiden.

What each of us sees in our Mother the Church, our Mother Mary, we will also see in our own hearts.

Behold your Mother, Jesus says to us. We may see a mother like one of the ancient Goddesses, or we may see a mother like a mid-century Sitcom. We may see Boadicea or we may see Olivia Hussey. We may see a strident ruler like Victoria or an outdated stereotype like Bea Arthur. What we see when we behold our mother, though, will tell us more about ourselves than about either Mary or the Church – for they are the same.

The Church is the Body of Christ, born of Mary and conceived by the Holy Spirit. This is no more a metaphor, no more a symbol, than the Eucharist. Our Mother stands across time and eternity, across space and heaven and yet is here, in the in the present, in the person sitting next to you in pew and in your own heart. CS Lewis’ Uncle Screwtape lets us into the secret:

One of our great allies at present is the Church itself. Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean the Church as we see her spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners. That, I confess, is a spectacle which makes our boldest tempters uneasy. But fortunately it is quite invisible to these humans. All your patient sees is the half-finished, sham Gothic erection on the new building estate. When he goes inside, he sees the local grocer with rather an oily expression on his face bustling up to offer him one shiny little book containing a liturgy which neither of them understands, and one shabby little book containing corrupt texts of a number of religious lyrics, mostly bad, and in very small print. When he gets to his pew and looks round him he sees just that selection of his neighbours whom he has hitherto avoided. You want to lean pretty heavily on those neighbours. Make his mind flit to and fro between an expression like ‘the body of Christ’ and the actual faces in the next pew…. 

….Work hard, then, on the disappointment or anticlimax which is certainly coming to the patient during his first few weeks as a churchman. The Enemy allows this disappointment to occur on the threshold of every human endeavour. It occurs when the boy who has been enchanted in the nursery by Stories from the Odyssey buckles down to really learning Greek. It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of learning to live together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing. The Enemy takes this risk because He has a curious fantasy of making all these disgusting little human vermin into what He calls His ‘free’ lovers and servants—’sons’ is the word He uses, with His inveterate love of degrading the whole spiritual world by unnatural liaisons with the two-legged animals. Desiring their freedom, He therefore refuses to carry them, by their mere affections and habits, to any of the goals which He sets before them: He leaves them to ‘do it on their own’. And there lies our opportunity. But also, remember there lies our danger. If once they get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt….

Behold your Mother. That is, Homer. Or the Church.

See, the issue is that “Our Mother” really is that blundering idiot sitting in the pew next to you, socially distant and holding to the Amen far too long at the end of every prayer or corralling six kids who will not sit still, or wearing all the wrong clothes for Mass. Did they bother to shower before coming from their overnight gig?

Behold your mother.

This is God saving the world and you have but one duty: give your life away for them as Jesus did.

Even if Mom is a bit tarted up with felt banners.

7LW: Today

JMJ

This is the second in a series of posts on the Seven Last Words of Our Lord from the cross. There is a menu and a posting schedule at the bottom of this post.

Today you will be with me in Paradise.

PUT YOURSELF ON THE CROSS next to Jesus there. We want to imagine our self as, perhaps, “The Wise Thief” and we impart all virtue to him and pray we can be like him. The Byzantine Liturgy has a hymn called an Exapostalarian sung on Good Friday, “The Wise Thief, thou didst make worthy of paradise in a single moment,” but put yourself in the theif’s place. I mean really.

When you’re honest with yourself, do you recognize your sinfulness? I mean really honest with yourself. I don’t mean, right now, while you’re reading these words but rather, over all the course of your life, are you honestly aware of all the missteps? And, perhaps, if you are like me, you not only have “missteps” but outright rejections or even betrayals that weigh on your mind, your heart. Do you lay awake at night and say, “What was I thinking?” Are there times when you point at your misspent youth and chuckle and say “Wow, I was a fool.” But then other times you wonder, “Did I break everything then? Was I such a fool that that can’t be fixed”

We might look at ourselves in the mirror of our lives and see, in the past, was I so in the employ of darkness that even now I cannot enter the light.

And Jesus whispers to us, “Today you shall be with me.”

Imagine hearing these words – entirely unexpectedly – after having said, “I deserve this.” That’s exactly what the Thief said, “I totally messed up and I deserve this crucifixion. I deserve this public humiliation. I deserve this pain. I deserve this blood. This suffocation.” So, the thief knows exactly the kind of man he is. “Today…”

Is there doubt now? For knowing who you are, what you are, what you were in the past, what you may even now crave to still be… of course there is doubt.

CS Lewis puts this doubt even into Narnian Paradise where a dead Calormene soldier (the “bad guys”) finds himself in the Heavenly garden at the end of The Last Battle. I don’t want to unpack the theology because there is a controversy that is not the point of this essay, but – even standing in Paradise – the Wise Calormene doubts he should be there.

Is that you? It’s me.

How can this God who knows not only everything I ever did – or even ever will do, who knows how I rejected him, blasphemed him, denied him in public (and in private); how can this God whose very pains, wounds, suffocation, and bleeding were, in ways I cannot understand, caused by my actions say to me, “Today.”

This is the cost of love: not Jesus’ pains, but you letting go of your doubt. That is the cost of Love. If you love Jesus, it’s ok to be honest about yesterday but also to let go of your doubts about today.

Trust is such a hard thing to gain, but even harder to extend. We sort of want a vengeful God. We want him to be judgy and spiteful. Of course we usually want that directed at others, at our enemies, but in our more self-reflective moments that same vengeful and spiteful God should be directed at us, right? For, in the first person, if anyone deserves that treatment it’s me.

When the Wise Thief heard the word today what did he think? Did he leaned back and relax on the wood of his cross? I doubt that. The nails were still as painful the air still as hard to grasp in lungs constricted by crucifixion. Did he suddenly wonder if he was crucified next to a crazy man? Paradise in the middle of all of this? Scripture doesn’t say. We should not interpolate.

But for me, for you, we have both heard the word today, just now. And like the thief we have the rest of our lives before us to contemplate what that means.

Denial of the reality can sound like we’re being spiritually mature. We can make a “humble brag” and say something pious like Domine, non sum dignus as we thumb our chests. But God wants to move us one step further along. It’s not enough to be aware of your sins, to know that you deserve what’s coming to you. When Jesus prayed, a moment ago, “Father, forgive them.” He included you.

And now he offers you Paradise.

Not pie in the sky by and by when you die. But Today. We see heaven each time we see Mass. We touch eternity each time the host enters our body. Will you deny it or open up to it?

Trust is hard to earn – but even harder to extend. Really. Paradise. You need only trust and it’s yours. Today.

The Mystery of Mercy

JMJ

This is part of a series of posts on the invocations of the Jesus Psalter. There is a menu of these posts at the bottom. The invocations will be considered thematically.

Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, have mercy on me
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, help me
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, strengthen me
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, comfort me

THE OPENING Invocations on the Jesus Psalter each are begging God for Mercy. If we fail to understand the meaning of “mercy” the whole thing will be lost. When we hear “have mercy” me may imagine a victim being beaten and crying out for mercy. We may imagine a prisoner on death row begging for mercy. Or perhaps we imagine a heroine in a classic drama begging for mercy on behalf of her parents or village. This idea of mercy is rather late though. The idea that we would need God to stop beating us up is not what is implied in these invocations as we can see if we take them together.

In Latin, mercy is misericordiae. In Greek, ἐλέησόν, eleison. In Hebrew, חַסְדֶּ, chesed. The Latin carries the poetic resonance of “let your heart beat with mine”. The Hebrew is such a strong word that traditional English translations like the Authorized Version render it as its own word: lovingkindness. The Greek is even more poetic, for it comes from the word for olive oil. It implies soothing, healing, and luxurious touch. It’s a warm massage after a hard workout. When we pray at Mass, “Lord, have mercy” we should hear these overtones instead. When we pray for peace or healing, an end to violence or injustice, we are not asking God to stop whipping us with these scourges. Rather we are asking for the loving, soothing oil of God’s presence to heal us, struggling through a world of sin.

When we ask for Jesus to have mercy on us, we mean – literally – in his blood, the sacramental and real presence of his mercy in our lives.

When we ask Jesus to help us this is part of the same mystery, is it not? Jesus, soothe our wounded muscles and help us to heal, to get strong again. Strengthen us and comfort us! Do you see how all of these are just deeper unfoldings of the prayer for mercy?

Help me is the plaintive cry of a child, but we need help even in praying the prayer. Without Christ we can do nothing. When we know that, then any action, any prayer, any motion becomes for us either a participation in or a rejection of God’s mercy. Strengthen me is the next logical request! We are moving forward in our skills, we need not only help to do… but to get better at doing. We ask God to add more weight to the bar, to help us bend just a little further, to break us a little more so that we may heal in a better posture.

It’s possible to hear the prayer of “comfort me” as some sort of hand-holding, huggy-squeezy moment. But if you’ve ever had deep tissue massage, physical therapy, or even surgery you know that not all things comforting are comfortable. And, if you’ve ever sat on a soft sofa, lain on the wrong mattress, or had too much chocolate, you know that comfortable is not always the right thing.

But the comfort of God’s mercy may not be the comfort we’re looking for, for it comes in the unshielded openness of Confession, it arises in the middle of a hard day’s work in the vineyard. The comfort of God’s mercy is like the muscle memory where you make the motions because it is easy to do so – where you’ve schooled everything in your life to bend to God’s will. Only in doing God’s will, then, is there any sense of rightness, of comfort.

These four intercessions are not at all what they seem. As you meditate on each in turn, your prayer for mercy may go from “I’m a sinner, forgive me” to “I am lazy, draw me forward” to “I’m tired, kick my backside” to “I’m ready to go again, charge!” As you open to God’s mercy, you may discover that even the cross you bear is, itself, God’s mercy acting on you. And you will be crucified daily because of love.

Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, esto mihi, Jesu.

Jesus Psalter Menu
Introduction
The Mystery of Mercy
The Mystery of Relationship
The Mystery of Reality

7LW: Forgive

JMJ

This is the first in a series of posts on the Seven Last Words of Our Lord from the cross. This series will continue through Lent. There is a menu and a posting schedule at the bottom of this post.

Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.

Forgiveness IS NOT ONLY Something nice to do it is a hallmark of Christianity. Ancient religions are filled with curses, imprecations, taboos, and days of impropriety. Many of the traditions allowed for paybacks of some kind: debt which had to be paid, curses which had to be undone, ditches that had to be filled. If you read the earlier books to indicate that the “Jewish God” was like this, you’d be wrong, though. It’s not correct to say the God of the Old Testament demanded repayment: as if the blood of bulls or of goats could repay for sins. Sin took life – the very life force – from one. Sacrifice restore that balance but it did not forgive. God taught us in the sacrificial rites that something was off. Something was amiss in humanity. Something needed fixing.

Sin is a symptom of this sickness.

In the case of God, responding to Christ’s intercession forgiveness is instant and forever and for all involved. When Christ begs forgiveness here, it’s not just for the soldiers at his feet, it’s literally for you and me as well. We suffer from this thing amiss which has, as a presenting symptom, sin in general and each of our discrete acts of sin in particular. Christ begs forgiveness for us all and the Father offers it to us all.

But the thing amiss won’t even let us accept God’s Gift of forgiveness. To accept the forgiveness offered is to say we are wrong. This one thing amiss is so ingrained in us that we feel like it’s our true human nature. It’s almost like our identity: it’s who we are – or who we feel we are – and to accept forgiveness is to admit that who we thought we were is not who we were intended to be. We are addicted to shoring up this fake identity. We build arches and buttresses, fortifications and ramparts designed to prop up this imaginary thing. This thing is thinking that we are God, we are self-made, we can do whatever we want. To accept forgiveness is to admit that that is a lie, that our entire identity and sense of self is smoke and mirrors.

We learn to think this from our parents and from generation after generation of our predecessors. We come to imagine that to accept this forgiveness is somehow to betray them as well. So ingrained is this sickness, this fake identity that to accept this forgiveness is to die in a real way. To accept this forgiveness to be crucified. Jesus prays from the cross for our forgiveness he’s inviting us to join him.

Saint Paul says, “I am crucified with Christ and yet I live. Yet not I but Christ who lives in me.”

When we die, Christ lives, and we are forgiven.

The curious gift of this forgiveness is that once we accept it, once we accept that we are not God, we are given the Divine ability to forgive others in exactly the same way.

And so, from the Cross of our lives, we can hang suspended in pain and bleeding and still say, “Forgive.”

We can take every gift God has given us in the death of Jesus only by admitting that we are not God and that we need these gifts. But in doing so we become empowered to dispense those gifts to all around us.

And, like Jesus on the Cross, we have the divine gift to offer forgiveness even to those who do not seek it, who may even reject it if they knew we offered it.


The Jesus Psalter: Intro

JMJ

ENGLAND’S PERSECUTION OF the Catholic Faith began with what is euphemistically called the Herician Reform. Henry VIII had no intention of “reforming the Church” but rather of creating a new Church with himself as the head. He wished to replace an infallible Pope with an omnipotent King. To this end, much like politicians today, he catered to certain parties in the Church without actually believing any of it. He sought, successfully, to rip the British Isles away from the bosom of their Mother, the Church. He did so by a combination of political, economic, legal, and corporal means, stripping away the Church’s position, lands, and temporal authority. What was left, though, was refined like gold in the fire. The Catholic faith, even when illegal within the Empire, spread like vines of morning glories, seemingly overnight popping up in places and opening to the sun’s light, bearing seeds and dying before night, only to sprout again in the next golden day.

The faith of this Church was fed by men who, on fire with zeal, left England to train as priests on the Continent, and then returned secretly to say illegal Masses in homes. The faith was whispered in the ear and passed by word of mouth. The prayers and devotions were hidden in pocket sized books, or pasted behind covers of other titles. And in the end, the blood of the martyrs watered the growing Church as monarch after monarch tried – and failed – to slay the Bride of Christ. This Church increased her strength using the Mass when she could get a priest, a devotion to the Blessed Mother – the Rosary, and a devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus.

This last had been growing in the English Church for a while before the Reformation. In fact, the reverence for the Holy Name is common in Orthodoxy and Protestantism as well. Before the “reform” began, in the very early 16th Century, a Brigittine monk, Richard Whitford, began a pious practice called the Jesus Psalter. Consisting of a series of pious ejaculations to the Holy Name, it was a core devotion supporting the faithful in the troubled times of Henry, Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth. Your host heard of this reading a book by Msgr Robert Hugh Benson called Come Rack Come Rope, a fictionalized account of the persecution under Queen Elizabeth. One character offhandedly says to another, “You must pay more attention to your Jesus Psalter.” Google quickly found a copy on a trusted website and a rabbit warren opened of comparative texts, and research.

Each prayer was on the same format: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, [something]. Said ten times, like the ten Aves of a Rosary, there was then a long oration (like the meditation on the Mysteries) and some concluding prayers. Then the next cycle began. There are 15 in total:

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus have mercy on me.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus help me.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus strengthen me.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus comfort me.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus make me constant.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus enlighten me with spiritual wisdom.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to fear you.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to love you.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to remember my death.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus send me here my Purgatory.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to fly evil company.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to call for help to thee.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to persevere in virtue.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to fix my mind on thee.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus grant me grace to order my life to thee.

There are many copies online at various websites and historical scans. Some scans going back to the 1590s. While the petitions have remained the same, the orations or meditations have varied. I think they are intended to teach us general ideas, but with the devotion intended to spring up in the heart: so the orations will become personalized. The opening and closing verses have remained the same. The prayers after each “decade” have varied a little, but have always like this:

Have mercy on all sinners, O Jesus, I beseech Thee; turn their vices into virtues and, making them true observers of Thy law and sincere lovers of Thee, bring them to bliss in everlasting glory. Have mercy also on the souls in Purgatory, for Thy bitter passion, I beseech Thee, and for Thy glorious name, Jesus.

O Blessed Trinity, one very God, have mercy on me.

Then an Our Father and a Hail Mary.

This will serve as the introduction to a new series of posts on this devotion. Each post will focus on one or more petitions. Although the petitions will be covered in order, sometimes there are themes. For example, the first three petitions – have mercy on me, help me, and strengthen me – seem to go together. Then “strengthen me” and “comfort me” seem to be of a piece while “make me constant” seems to me its own thing. Although there is no set schedule, there will be a growing menu of linked posts.

The banner image that leads this post contains the prayer, Iesu, Iesu, Iesu, esto mihi Iesu. Since “Jesus” means “Savior” or “one who saves” the prayer is, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, be to me Jesus” that is be to me my savior. Let this be our prayer as we move forward.

Jesus Psalter Menu
Introduction
The Mystery of Mercy
The Mystery of Relationship
The Mystery of Reality

7LW: Introduction

JMJ

FOR LENT THIS YEAR, as I have done for Advent for most of the last 20 years, I will post a series of meditations on a regular schedule. The theme for this series is the Seven Last Words of Our Lord, spoken from the Cross on Good Friday. There is a menu at the bottom, along with a posting schedule: it starts on Sunday 28th February and runs until 30th March.

Everyone has their own Calvary: “Toiling up new Calv’ries ever / With the cross that turns not back” as the old hymn says. Jesus’ last words become our words as well. Let us see where this meditation takes us.

By the light of burning martyrs,
Jesus’ bleeding feet we track,
Toiling up new Calv’ries ever
With the cross that turns not back;
New occasions teach new duties,
Time makes ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still and onward,
Who would keep abreast of truth.

(I mean, it is Lent…)

On Tricking Yourself

JMJ

EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE A whole lot of things will click together and I have to write them down lest I forget them. This is more of a ramble than anything else, but maybe it will point us towards some conversations.

This semester’s class on Church History is reading James Hitchcock’s History of the Catholic Church from the Apostolic Age to the Third Millennium. While the text is a survey rather than an in-depth examination, more like a dictionary than a textbook, many of the short articles highlight something important I’d missed previously. I’ve greatly enjoyed, for example, reading how the heresies of Arianism and Iconoclasm are not “one and done” moments but rather very extended arguments in the Church’s history.

The blurb on Aquinas (about three pages worth of text) really only cruised at a very high altitude over St Thomas’ thinking, but it highlighted the importance of the intellect.

It may seem very surface-y but something about the way all the words are strung together helped me to grasp some important elements in Aquinas which I’m happy to string together for you here. This will be equally surface-only. I’m still meditating on all of this.

  1. Evil does not exist. It is a deficiency of good. Just as cold is only a lack of heat, and darkness is only an absence of light, so also evil is only an absence of good.
  2. We misunderstand what is good. We do not have differing ideas of what is good but rather a failure of the intellect to grasp the Good and to understand what is the Highest Good.
  3. Notice that it is our intellect that fails first. We’re not thinking rightly, we don’t grasp all the points correctly so when the intellect passes the information on to the conscience, the latter is not properly informed. It makes the wrong call.
  4. No one loves evil for evil’s sake. Humans love what is good for the sake of good. Something is loved because it is perceived as good. The intellect has convinced us – using the wrong information – that something is good when, in fact, it is not or when it’s only not good enough. Even those who love what is clearly evil (from the outside) do so because they think it is the best thing for them or for others.
  5. Those who are loving something that’s not the best for them have made choices and – as St Paul says – their conscience has been seared. It’s sacrificed the freedom of future choice by making the same choice so many times. It’s no longer looking to make another decision and, if it wanted to, it would be incapable of doing so without Grace.
  6. Acting on Evil, then, becomes of failure of intellect, of conscience, and of love. But it is only a failure in that one does not go far enough: one stops short in “the race set before us” and does not “strain for the prize”. One gets distracted. On this last item, CS Lewis’ Screwtape Letters make the point very well. “But do remember, the only thing that matters is the extent to which you separate the man from the Enemy. It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one – the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.”

Having all of the above sort of hit me at once as a result of reading that one paragraph in Hitchcock’s History, I drew two conclusions:

This, firstly, is an argument for why we cannot judge someone: they are loving as best they can. We cannot judge love, in fact, to do so would be to damn the virtue we would hope to grow. Reading the books of the New Testament we see this in action: only “insiders” get the strong words. Jesus, Paul, and the other voices in the text, woo and flirt with folks outside of the covenant, outside of the Church, to draw them forward. Strong words of condemnation are reserved for those who ought to know better or those who claim to. Only after you have learned what love actually is can you be accused of failing to love properly.

Secondly, this is a description of how we fail in other areas as well, areas beyond questions of morality, as such. We see the Church as an institution, or as “my parish” or as a political force – each of which is true – and we love it. But we fail to see the Church as the Bride of Christ present in all eternity as Saints and souls in purgatory, the Body of Christ active as his hands and in the world, as the minister of mercy, and as the sacrament of salvation (and so much more). We love only a little and are satisfied – or angry – when that little bit lives up or fails to live up to our personal desires. We see the human person as only XYZ without realizing the whole icon of God present not only in each individual, but in all of humanity together, as one of the Fathers pointed out, many human persons, but one human nature. We trick ourselves into a sort of theological synecdochery where we not only confuse the part for the whole, but we accept the part as good enough and get satisfied – without ever digging deeper. We love not as best as we can but rather we fail to realize there’s so much more to love, so much more to the Church, so much more to the Holy Mysteries, so much more to the Human Person. We love the surface, but not the heart. Then, if someone else also loves “only a little part” but happens to love a “different little part”, we fight with them.

We trick ourselves into hell.