5 WAYS THE CHURCH HAS CHANGED THE WORLD

5 Ways the Catholic Church has changed the world

   

Word on Fire's recent man-on-the-street interviews demonstrate that young adults need to study Church history.

Recently, Bishop Robert Barron had his Word on Fire team scour the streets of Rome, asking young people what they thought were the best and worst things the Catholic Church has ever done. Answers to the first question ranged from personal guidance and building churches, to the advancement of art and their work with the poor.

It was in the second question that the video began to turn bleak, if not chilling. Without fail, every person interviewed named the sexual abuse cases of the last decades as worst thing the Catholic Church has ever done, with the Crusades as a close second. One woman pondered, “I don’t know if its killing people or raping children … How do you choose?”

In just four minutes, this video –- which was produced during the recent bishop’s synod on Catholic youth — reveals the biggest evangelical hurdle the Church must face moving forward. The recent exposure of cover-ups and abuse is the topic most present in the minds of Catholic youth and will most likely influence their views of the Church for many years to come.

Only slightly less troubling is how most of the people interviewed had to strain themselves to come up with something great the Church has ever done or how its spiritual works have influenced the secular world. This demonstrates that young Catholics have no understanding of their Catholic history. Without knowing where we have come from, how can we help steer where the Church must go? How do we develop a cultural and spiritual identity?

Our 2,000 years of greatness may feel easy to overlook because we feel far-removed from the Church’s most influential periods in the West. The more one studies history, however, the more it becomes clear that the world would be far less advanced today in the fields of science, art, global society, communication, travel, and education if not for the work of the Catholic Church.

Astronomy and scientific theory. It is a popular misconception that the worlds of science and religion are mutually exclusive, and that “Christians hate science” but the Catholic Church was instrumental in many scientific advancements. At the request of Pope Clement IV, The Opus Maius (1267) by the Franciscan Roger Bacon instituted the tradition of optics.

The first vision-enhancing spectacles were an Italian invention, the lenses of which were later developed into telescopes and microscopes. Through diligent study of the stars and constellations, the Catholic Church developed the Gregorian Calendar, which is used worldwide today.

Catholics played a big part in scientific theory as well. It is recognized that the theory of the Big Bang was the proposition of a Catholic priest, Fr Georges Lemaître, in the 20th century. The Catholic Herald points out that while the theory of evolution is attributed to Darwin, Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (d. 1829), a French Catholic, developed the theory first.

Music

Modern Western music is a direct result of 1,200 years of Catholic development. In order to better glorify God, many genres of music were created: Gregorian chant, sacred choirs, hymns, oratorios. As these styles grew in popularity, the church developed a means of writing music so that her liturgical and devotional musical literature could travel and be performed throughout Christendom. This musical language is still used today in ways, admittedly, the Church might never have imagined.

It may seem like a stretch to consider that distortion-based progressive rock would find its roots in sacred music, but had musical writing and orchestration never been developed, we might never have seen the invention of modern instrumentation. From the development of bowed string instruments came those that were plucked and eventually came the lute and from there the guitar.

The Catholic Church may not have inspired modern musical styles, but they created the system of music that evolved to become the vast variety of genres we know today.

Education and the written word

For over a thousand years of Western society, Catholics were the primary educators and bookmakers. Before the printing press of the Renaissance, books were a time consuming to write and bind and were primarily the works of monastic scribes. Once the printing press was invented, the first book to be mass-produced was the Bible.

In the same timeframe, the Church began opening up universities, which spread knowledge and helped usher in the Renaissance and eventually the Age of Enlightenment. Today it is estimated that Catholic schools educate more than 50 million students worldwide. Catholic educators, from Don Bosco to Elizabeth Ann Seton and many others brought an egalitarian view of education to the fore, opening up elementary opportunities for the children of the poor and the marginalized, and encouraging educational advancement through the establishment of Catholic schools of higher learning.

Philosophy and the maintenance of society

Jesus himself told us to love our neighbors as we do ourselves. The last two thousand years have seen numerous Catholic scholars write on philosophical principles, including St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Anselm, Blessed Duns Scotus, Suárez, and Blaise Pascal.

These writings explore and defend the dignity of all men and women, free will, the role of virtues in happiness, the nature of good and evil, natural laws, and the principals of non-contradiction. As with science, there is no separation of thought between faith and reason; well-reasoned laws (and well argued legislation) are essential to the creation of a just society.

The empowerment of women

The modern feminist movement would be loath to admit it, but the Catholic Church has honored and encouraged powerful women of faith since its earliest days. The Virgin Mary is revered with the utmost respect, as are Mary Magdalen and the early Mothers of the Church.

St. Hildegard of Bingen, a Doctor of the Church, was a polymath and autodidact whose brilliance was arguably as broad as Da Vinci’s. Another Doctor, Saint Catherine of Siena, was a lay woman who managed to not only serve her local community but who also had the ear of European royalty and the pope himself. The examples of Catholic women who imagined great things, and then did them – schools, social services, hospitals and even military strategies – could fill volumes.

These five examples merely scratch the surface of the influence of the Catholic Church, both in sacred and secular terms. There are many other ways in which the Church has had great influence on Western civilization.

SYNOD 2018: TESTIMONY OF PERCIVAL HOLT, INDIA

Synod 2018: Testimony of Percival Holt, Indian Catholic Youth Movement

‘Youth are like fire. We flame, we bring light, give warmth but are also under the threat of getting extinguished.’

Here is the testimony that Percival Holt, National Youth President, of the Indian Catholic Youth Movement [ICYM] – Conference of Catholic Bishops of India [CCBI] (India), present at the Synod as Auditor, presented on October 16, 2018, during the 12th General Congregation of the Synod:

Dear Holy Father Pope Francis, Synodal Fathers and my fellow ministers in the mission of Christ.

I lead the Catholic Youth of India as the National President of Indian Catholic Youth Movement under the Bishops Conference of India.

“Youth are like fire. We flame, we bring light, give warmth but are also under the threat of getting extinguished. Today we are flickering, we may either blow off into the darkness or blow up into wildfire to burn down everything. The church needs to kindle these sparks into the right flames”.

In my life, at a point when I was discerning my vocation to the priesthood, I had the wise guidance of a Bishop and a few priests. In understanding faith beyond being a ritualistic Christian, I had my youth director and some sisters who enabled me to fall in love with Christ & his church and become a leader and inspiration to many. But I also saw many young people who yearned for such consecrated persons in their lives but could not find one. Many of them struggled in life, while others have given up and some lost.

Young people today prefer seeking assistance from others rather than consecrated people. I must not say, but this needs to be addressed – many of our priests today are a poorer inspiration than lay people. Understanding what is going wrong is crucial before priests are reduced to meagre ritual-performers. Seminarians need to be groomed to nurture and handle the challenges & psychology of young people and extract the best out of them just as Jesus did with his disciples.

I belong to a country where, in cities, young people are drawn towards fast money, growing corporate culture and imitation of the western lifestyle, leading to increased addictions and getting into quick relationships both physically and emotionally.

Whereas, in rural areas, still lack of education, poverty, narrow-mindedness, oppression, anti-social practices are quite prevalent.

We are growing in an environment where high population dictates the norms of life and success, consequently, extreme competition in education and career is making many disappointed, depressed, mentally disturbed and also migrate in huge numbers. Political chaos, corruption & communal disharmony is on the rise.

Young people are stretched between design and desire, i.e. between what has been passed on and what we believe in. The church has been shying away from giving us authentic expressions and clarifications. Today, there is a plethora of information and awareness to dilute traditional teachings and lifestyle. We need to have more open spaces for community building and missionary experiences.

Young people have creative ideas and are innovative. Giving them the opportunities to contribute, explore and gain expertise is important, just as Jesus sent out his disciples to perform their apostolic ministry, who returned overwhelmed with what they had achieved. And I saw this true when 2 parish priests in my diocese entrusted the full responsibility of the church construction to the youth group, who not only supervised the work day & night but also creatively helped raise huge funds and in cost-cutting.

I have 2 concrete proposals:

1. The Holy See should ask every country to hold a similar synod of all Bishops at the local level, in order to discuss and pass on the deliberations & outcome of this synod to every Bishop and draw a National pastoral plan for “youth ministry” in every country.

2. We need to create more organized forums for young people in parishes & institutions, catering to holistic formation, providing opportunities for spiritual, social, educational, skills & professional growth, under the leadership of young people itself & mentorship of a Chaplin, in every diocese, under the aegis of the bishops’ conference, that will create a network of young disciples and leaders in the country.

I conclude by saying “we young people are like Matthew and Paul, shrewd and frustrated but hollow within, we seek a true shepherd who won’t distance us. We are like Mary Magdalene & the Samaritan woman and like them, we too are physically, sexually & emotionally disturbed and have broken relationships. We are seeking living water from you. We are like Peter – timid, coward and selfish, but have the potential to be foundation stones.

We are like Zacchaeus, waiting to see the Messiah. Like him, we are corrupt in our day to day dealings and live dubious lives. We cheat, hurt & hide from everyone and many times we cheat our own self. We are hiding behind tattoos, piercings, fake smiles and beautiful pictures over social media but we are lonely, lost and sad within. We search Christ in the church”.

Thank You!

Reforming the Church

We are witnessing something quite remarkable in the modern history of the papacy. Consider what has transpired in the five-and-a-half years since Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope, taking the name Francis.

Four cardinals (two now deceased) submitted a dubia (a quest for clarification on a matter of doctrine), implicitly challenging the Pope’s orthodoxy; the Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, Cardinal Robert Sarah, openly contravened the stated wishes of the Pope regarding liturgical reform, and was chastised for it by Francis in public; a retired senior papal diplomat, Archbishop Carlo Maria Viganò, publicly accused the Pope of complicity in the cover-up of (now) Archbishop Theodore McCarrick’s harassment of seminarians and priests, and called for his resignation; and several bishops spoke of the “integrity” of Viganò – without any endorsement of the Pope’s probity – and called for an investigation of the role of the Vatican – including the Pope – in the covering-up of clerical sexual abuse.

While many bishops have raised their voices in support for the Pope, many others have been content to simply wait out this papacy in silence.

The challenges to Pope Francis by several among those closest to him represent a thinly-veiled attempt at something close to a palace coup. They are encouraged by a small but well-organised and vocal minority of Catholic individuals and organisations who have grasped the real meaning of this papacy: Francis is the Pope who might finally achieve the vision of the Second Vatican Council.

Many Catholics, including many of his supporters, have failed to appreciate the depth and significance of Francis’ reforms. They love Francis – they love his simplicity, his smile, his gentle spirit, his “revolution of tenderness” – but they miss the more substantive transformation of the Church that he is pursuing. His enemies don’t. And they are determined to stop him.

Pope Saint John Paul II and Pope Benedict both attended Vatican II, one as bishop and the other as theologian; its teachings, Pope John Paul once insisted, are to be “a sure compass” for the Church. Both furthered elements of the Council’s teaching; John Paul II, in particular, developed the Council’s theology of the laity – although, with the encouragement of his chief lieutenant, the then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, he also promoted a pronounced re-sacralisation of the ministerial priesthood and hardened the distinction between the laity and the clergy.

Like his predecessors, Pope Francis has also drawn on the teaching of the Council, but in a much more consistent and comprehensive manner. He has understood that Vatican II’s rejuvenated theology of the laity can only be grasped within the Council’s more profound baptismal ecclesiology. That ecclesiology did not begin with a consideration of the distinct spheres of the laity and clergy but with the priority of one’s baptismal identity as Christifidelis, the Christian faithful.

Francis has time and again emphasised the Council’s teaching that all the baptised possess a spiritual instinct for the faith, a sensus fidei (Lumen gentium, 12), which can contribute much to the life of the Church. This retrieval of the Council’s teaching is central to his call for a synodal, listening Church.

This Pope has taken to heart the statement of the late Belgian Cardinal Leo Suenens, an influential prelate at the Council: “Every pope should remember that the most important day of his life was not his papal election but his baptism.” His focus is not on the secular vocation of the laity but on the call by baptism for all to become “missionary disciples”. And this leads to another feature of his reformist vision.

The Council taught that the Church was missionary by its very nature (Ad Gentes, 2). A Church constituted by mission is a Church that lives as a sacrament of God’s saving love before the world. Francis understands that such a Church cannot live from a position of security, power and control, but only in vulnerable accompaniment with the broken and wounded of this world.

Such a Church will be “bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a Church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security” (Evangelii Gaudium, 49). This remarkable commitment to ecclesial vulnerability is further illuminated in Francis’ startling image of the Church as a “field hospital”. Such a Church does not carefully assess its resources or calculate the probability for the success of its pastoral initiatives; it simply responds to those in need with whatever resources it has at its disposal.

To appreciate the full implications of a “field hospital” Church, vulnerably serving the broken of this world, one simply has to ask one question: what is the real scandal underlying the sexual abuse crisis? Is it not the actions of Church leaders more concerned with securing the Church’s reputation than with vulnerable solidarity with survivors of abuse?

The Second Vatican Council’s baptismal ecclesiology included a recovery of a much-neglected biblical theme, the priesthood of all believers. It consistently oriented its theology of the ministerial priesthood toward authentic pastoral care and service of the baptised. The priest is not to extinguish the Spirit but rather should identify, test and empower the gifts of all the baptised (Apostolicam actuositatem 3, Presbyterorum ordinis, 9).

In contrast to the re-sacralisation of the priesthood of his two immediate predecessors, Francis has once again taken a neglected conciliar theme and made it central to his reformist vision. He has condemned arrogant priests who act like “little monsters”, insisting that they humbly serve God’s people.

In one of the most important speeches of his pontificate, in October 2015 Francis spoke of the Church as being like “an inverted pyramid” in which the “top is located beneath the base”. The ministers, who are situated at the conventional “top” of the pyramid, are in fact “the least”, who must serve the base, all God’s people, by imitating Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples.

Francis’ response to the scourge of clerical sexual abuse crisis has been tardy and sometimes flatfooted. He has been slow to grasp what is at stake. His initial accusation of calumny levelled against the Chilean abuse survivors risked undermining his entire pontificate. Nevertheless, he had the courage and humility to apologise. He flew the Chilean survivors to Rome to hear their story. He called the entire Chilean bishops’ conference to Rome and, having received letters of resignation from 28 of them, eventually accepted five, with perhaps more to come.

Once he was informed of the credible accusation of abuse of a minor made against Cardinal McCarrick, he asked for his resignation as a member of the college of cardinals and ordered him to live the rest of his days in a life of prayer and seclusion. He met with abuse victims during his recent visit to Ireland and, in a moving act of penitence, implored forgiveness for “the abuse of power, the abuse of conscience and sexual abuse on the part of representatives of the Church”. He has also written a pastoral letter to “the people of God” that calls for both personal and ecclesial conversion and for “solidarity” with the victims of abuse “in the deepest and most challenging sense, to become our way of forging present and future history”.

In that letter, Pope Francis identifies as a key factor in the abuse scandal the disease of clericalism, which is “an excision in the ecclesial body that supports and helps to perpetuate many of the evils that we are condemning today”. The condemnation of clericalism lies at the heart of his call for ministers who “have the smell of their sheep on them”. It also stands in stark contrast to those Catholics, including prelates such as Viganò and the Bishop of Madison, Wisconsin, Robert Morlino, who blame clerical sexual abuse on a “gay culture” in the priesthood.

Another theme in Francis’ reformist vision is subsidiarity, a principle drawn in substance from the Council. The ecclesial application of that principle might be put as follows: pastoral decisions should be made at the local level unless the issue cannot be effectively addressed at that level or it pertains to matters of great import for the universal Church. The Council had something like this principle in mind in its recognition of the considerable authority of local bishops who were not “vicars of the pope” but rather the ordinary pastors of their churches Lumen Gentium, 27). It was also reflected in the Council’s decision to grant episcopal conferences considerable authority in liturgical matters (Sacrosanctum Concilium, 22, 36). This commitment would be substantially reversed during Pope John Paul II’s long pontificate.

Here, yet again, Pope Francis has taken up the Council’s teaching and given it a new impetus in his call for a programme of “decentralisation” of authority in the Church (Evangelii Gaudium, 16). We see this in the apostolic letter Magnum Principiam, which returns primary authority over liturgical translations to bishops’ conferences. It is also evident in his expressed openness to the possibility of ordaining married men to the presbyterate, a move, he has suggested, that should come in response to calls from the local churches rather than be initiated by the Vatican.

In many ways, Francis’s response to the protracted resistance to curial reform has been to enact the principle of subsidiarity. If he can’t reform it, he can at least redirect decision-making away from it and toward synods, episcopal conferences and the local churches themselves.

Differences and disagreements are not to be feared or artificially smothered; they are a sign of passionate discipleship. And bishops in the Church, including the Bishop of Rome, are not above scrutiny and criticism. In our media-saturated age, no pope can hope to lead effectively without incurring excoriating criticism.

But many of Francis’ critics are resisting his leadership and even calling for his resignation because they discern in his papacy the bold, reforming vision of Vatican II, to which they may pay lip service but would prefer to see emasculated. The success of this pontificate likely represents the last, best chance for decades to come for the decisive realisation of the vision of Vatican II. The stakes could scarcely be higher.

OUR TIME INTO GOD'S: FROM "CHRONOS" to "KAIROS".

Our Time into God’s

Leonardo da Vinci once claimed that “an average human being looks without seeing, listens without hearing, touches without feeling, eats without tasting, moves without physical awareness, inhales without awareness of odour or fragrance, and talks without thinking.”

In other words, instead of truly living life with awareness and intentionality, we let life live us. Day by day passes by, and we are consumed by busyness and routine, sometimes coupled with stress, anxiety, and unrealistic expectations. And, in so doing, life passes us by, without us ever experiencing its fullness.

As Thornton Wilder put it Our Town: “Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? – every, every minute?”

Stop for a moment, and personalize that question. Do you fully realize life while living it?

Cronos Time vs. Kairos Time

One way we can realize it at least a little more is by understanding the significance of the present moment.

Time is a fascinating reality that can’t be seen or grasped. We can’t make it stop or start, speed up or slow down. We do, however, measure it. We count days, weeks, months, or years, and regulate much of life based on the clock. In many senses, time orients us.

This sort of time is “chromos” time, to borrow from Greek. Chronos is artistically depicted as Father Time, an elderly figure with an hourglass and sickle who keeps track of the passage of time, and reminds us that our days are numbered. Chronos is quantifiable and sequential. It helps us organize our activities effectively but can also be stressful, especially if we measure success by how much we get done in a given duration time.

But time has another dimension to it as well, called “Kairos”.

Kairos is portrayed in classical art as youthful and athletic, full of life and strength. Kairos time is qualitative rather than quantitative. It refers not to duration, but to the quality, the opportunity, the ripeness of a moment. That moment, whenever we speak of it or perceive it, exists in the present. We are free to respond to it, or let it pass us by.

While units of time (chronos) form an ongoing sequential chain, kairotic moments in some way interrupt that chain, and give the present moment new meaning.

Kairos can also be called God’s time. When the Bible speaks of the time of salvation, or the time for restoring the kingdom, or the time for weeping or rejoicing, it speaks of kairos. When we tell each other that it’s “time” for forgiveness, for peace, for family, we speak of kairos.

Kairos is a time of grace, a moment in which the finger of God touches our reality and reveals his presence more fully in a certain moment. While we experience them in a moment of time, these opportunities of grace touch the core of who we are and take on eternal meaning. The Incarnation itself, is perhaps the greatest example of kairos in human history. When the “time” of salvation arrived, the divine completely penetrated our reality. Salvation itself transcends time, but came to the world through a particular Saviour, who became incarnate in a particular place and a particular time and, in so doing, wedded time and eternity.

Discovering the Lord’s Presence

C.S. Lewis explains the intersection of God’s time and our time this way:

“If you picture Time as a straight line along which we have to travel, then you must picture God as the whole page on which the line is drawn. We come to the parts of the line one by one: we have to leave A behind before we get to B, and cannot reach C until we leave B behind. God, from above or outside or all round, contains the whole line, and sees it all” (Mere Christianity, Book 4, Chapter 3).

Discovering the Lord’s presence through moments of grace is an art, not a science. God has endlessly creative ways of breaking into our reality, giving us glimpses of his presence and inviting us to respond. You have probably experienced many of these moments without being aware of it. Perhaps you have received an insight that deeply affected your understanding of something, have felt like a deep friendship took root amazingly quickly, or have finally able to “let go” of something that had been grating on you for years. When a particular experience seems far more meaningful and precious than warranted, it might have been an experience of kairos.

Pay attention to these grace-filled moments. Look for them throughout the day, and when they come, respond intentionally. Specific thoughts, words and actions in these cases don’t take long, but have the potential to be transformative. Peace in the present, sacred memories of the past, and inspiring hopes for the future often come from moments of kairos.

When we recognize and respond to these opportune moments, we integrate kairos and chromos, the temporal and transcendent. And we realize life while living it.

A THEOLOGY OF HOME

A Theology of Home

Home. It is a magical word that resonates with all of us. Even those from broken homes, or homes that no longer exist, there is still something in the idea that is sought after. Home is that place where we are meant to be safe, nurtured, known for who we are, to freely live and love.

Home’s universal appeal populates culture. Take Me Home, Country Road, Sweet Home Alabama, and I’ll Be Home for Christmas are a few songs that invoke the theme. Movies and literature end happily with protagonists, like Odysseus, finally going home. The entire goal of the American pass-time of baseball is to be safe at home. YouTube videos of joyful homecomings fill up our social media feeds and we spend billions of dollars constructing and decorating our own houses, turning them into Home Sweet Home.

Our homes are the great theatre where the drama of our lives unfolds, as G.K. Chesterton eloquently said:

The place where babies are born, where men die, where the drama of mortal life is acted, is not an office or a shop or a bureau. It is something much smaller in size and much larger in scope. And while nobody would be such a fool as to pretend that it is the only place where people should work, or even the only place where women should work, it has a character of unity and universality that is not found in any of the fragmentary experiences of the division of labour.

Home, by its nature, foreshadows heaven. Pope Saint John Paul II’s final words in this life were “Let me go to the house of the Father.” He wanted to go home – to the home that all of us are willed by God to go to, even if he allows our own will to lead us somewhere else.

Ironically, despite the innate human desire that there is for home, the notion that someone would actually want to make a home, providing a place of safety, love, cleanliness, order, education, and care, has fallen out of favor. Could there be, in the minds of millions of women today, anything worse than being a “homemaker”?

In the 1960s, women left home. In The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan articulated an idea that resonated with millions of Western women: “the ache that has no name.” When Friedan and her feminist friends asked, “Is this all there is?” they assumed the answer was “yes.” In their female frenzy to escape home, the elite narrative became that women should offer a collective non serviam, a resounding “no” to serving their families, their children, or any future but their own.

Wendell Berry captured some of the illogic of liberated women when he asked: “Why would any woman who would refuse, properly, to take the marital vow of obedience (on the ground, presumably, that subservience to a mere human being is beneath human dignity) then regard as ‘liberating’ a job that puts her under the authority of a boss (man or woman) whose authority specifically requires and expects obedience?”

Women following the downward stream of the culture haven’t yet realized that the general malaise or malcontent felt by 1960s housewives is the same emptiness they feel now. Feminism hasn’t led women to happiness, just to more searching, grasping, transitioning, with the next best thing around the corner. What they don’t know is that no career, string of lovers, exotic trips to Bali, or Louis Vuitton handbags will fill this gap.

In the meantime, children became the enemy, preventing women from fulfilling their dreams. Abortion became a necessity. The number of children lost through abortion is staggering. As the Vietnam War came to an end, casualties of that war – 58,220 U.S. servicemen total – were dwarfed by this new kind of killing, mothers killing their own children (60 million and counting, 3000 daily). Abortion is by far the number one cause of death in the United States annually, outpacing heart disease and cancer.

What happens, then, when you have generations of people that have willfully killed their own children through abortion? The Medievals were against abortion because it takes an innocent life, but also because they knew it was mortally damaging to the human soul. It isn’t just a child that dies in an abortion, but something in the mother and the father dies as well.

As St. Thomas Aquinas said, bonum est diffusivum sui, the good spreads itself out. The opposite is also true: evil spreads itself out. This grave evil has reached into every area of familial life.

It is any wonder, then, that our spiritual home, the Church, seems to be crumbling from the core? When the fundamental piece of society — the family — has been shredded, it shouldn’t surprise us to see similar fallout in the Church. We expect bishops to know better, and to be holy and good, but they too are a product of our torn-asunder culture.

This doesn’t absolve them of their crimes, but at least helps us to understand how those entrusted with the care of so many souls could respond with gross malfeasance. When some women can view the destruction of their children as a social rite of passage to join the “sisterhood,” it isn’t too far of a leap to see that bishops could abandon their spiritual children to join the “brotherhood.”

“There are two ways of getting home,” Chesterton explained, “One of them is to stay there. The other is to walk round the whole world till we come back to the same place.”

We are a culture that needs to reclaim the home, having looked the world over for happiness. Radical feminists, although they have looked high and low, still have “that ache that cannot be defined.” Their restless hearts are a God ache, which will remain until they make their way back Home again.

EUCHARIST AND EVANGELISATION

                         THE EUCHARIST AND EVANGELISATION

We know that the Eucharist is the fulfilment of Jesus’ promise in Matthew 28 that He would be with us “until the end of the world.” And certainly, the presence of Jesus by itself is consoling beyond measure to those who believe in Him. The Eucharist, however, is not only about Our Lord’s presence but also about His action. As St. John Paul II wrote in his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia:

The Church has received the Eucharist from Christ her Lord not as one gift – however precious – among so many others, but as the gift par excellence, for it is the gift of himself, of his person in his sacred humanity, as well as the gift of his saving work.

Jesus makes Himself present in the Eucharist, and He continues His saving and life-giving work in the Eucharist. His sacrifice becomes sacramentally present at every Mass. He allows Himself to be handled and distributed by the Church’s priests and other ministers so that His faithful might receive Him. Once received, He works on us from within, transforming us and drawing us into closer intimacy with Himself. And even as we adore Him, when He seems most passive, He is silently active, drawing our hearts to Himself and teaching us the wisdom of God.

The work of Jesus—His self-giving for the life of the world—is to become our work as well. The French Bishop Dominique Rey once wrote in a book about the Eucharist and evangelization, “Prayer commits us to radicalizing our relationship with Christ.” Bishop Rey added, “Eucharistic Adoration is a school of fervour. In contemplating the Eucharistic Jesus, given so that the world might have life, we are invited to give our own life in return, to Christ and to our brothers.”

Jesus gives His flesh for the life of the world, and we are to give our flesh for the life of the world. We can trace the saying “a pound of flesh” back to Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice (4:1), in which the lender Shylock insists upon receiving the pound of flesh promised him in payment for a loan made to Antonio. Portia, advocating for Antonio, responds that Shylock may have it but without an ounce of blood, since blood had not been promised. So Portia outwits Shylock by making the payment impossible. In this story, the demands of a sinful world meet with a correspondingly shrewd response. In the story of our salvation, Jesus pays the price of our redemption with both His flesh and His blood, and He calls us to imitate His self-emptying love.

It goes without saying that our imitation is not easy. And we are all-too-aware these days of the destruction wrought by our failure to love. The sex abuse crisis is very much rooted in a self-centred distortion of love, one which is so extreme that those who give in to it would even destroy another person’s life in order to satisfy the corrupt desires of the flesh. That is the very opposite of Christ’s sacrifice of His flesh “for the life of the world.”

Yes, living Christ’s love is difficult. It requires that we suffer with perseverance. There are many crosses to bear in this life, many situations we find especially trying, whether we are tried spiritually, psychologically, physically, or in any other way. But one lesson we can all draw from this shameful chapter in the history of the Church here in the United States is that the love of Christ is the only true love, the only love that can save us.

Also, our moments of suffering in love are times when the Eucharistic Jesus can reveal to us, if we let Him, that His “yoke is easy and (His) burden light” (Matthew 11:30). Jesus comes to us every time we celebrate Holy Mass and gives us strength through our union with Him. We also draw close to each other every day, the distances between us melting away in the mystical nearness that happens when we all draw close to the Eucharistic Lord. In the Eucharist we are equipped by God to do the saving work of Jesus, to love what frail nature often loathes, and to lay down our lives in sacrifice not in some hypothetical future, but in whatever “here and now” we find ourselves.

We may feel alone during difficult times, but every time we see the Blessed Sacrament, we remember that we are never alone. In the Incarnation God has come to live with us, and He is never going away. By making His flesh and blood sacramentally present to us, Jesus makes good on His promise to remain with us always.

The fulfilment of Christ’s promise is a tremendous consolation to us, but here we also have a challenge. “Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give,” Jesus says in Matthew 10:8. In Luke 6:38, He says, “Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap. For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.” We are not mere consumers at a kind of heavenly Walmart. We receive the consolation of Jesus in large part so that we will be ready to share His consolation, to bring the presence and love of Christ to everyone we meet.

There was a spate of ecclesiastical documents on the Holy Eucharist in the early-to-middle years of the last decade, which in some ways culminated in the 2007 Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation of Pope Benedict XVI, entitled Sacramentum Caritatis, the “Sacrament of Charity.” The special focus of several of these writings was on the link between the Eucharist and the mission of the Church, which is to share Christ and His saving Gospel.

The Eucharist reveals God’s existence and presence among us. The Eucharist continues the work of redemption in Jesus Christ. The Eucharist is a model of humility. The Eucharist is our food for the journey from earth to heaven. The Eucharist is the fuel of evangelization and the reception of the Eucharist by new members of the faithful is the summit of that to which evangelization aspires. In all of this, the Eucharist is the Sacrament of Charity, because “God is love” (1 John 4:8), Jesus is God, and the Eucharist is Jesus here with us. And the Eucharist is also the Sacrament of Charity because the Sacrament strengthens us in charity, calling us to join Jesus in giving our flesh, making a sacrifice of our lives, for the life of the world.

MUSIC LEADS TO GOD

                  How Music Leads to God

Music does inexplicable things to us. The hills are alive with the sound of music. Music moves us. It sways us and causes us to tap our fingers or bop our heads as we listen to the rhythm and beat of that Drake’s “In My Feelings” hip-hop hit.  Music has the power to transport our minds and imaginations to another time or place. Music heals us. It helps ease our pain and our hurts. The ancient Greek philosophers believed that music served a therapeutic purpose. Today’s science gives us the evidence that it’s true. Many of us have probably heard of the “Mozart effect.” One study found that Mozart’s Piano Sonata in D Major decreased epileptiform activity in patients even in comatose state. Music therapy has now become a well-known practice in helping not only make us feel good but also in the treatment of different disorders such as Parkinson’s disease, memory loss, traumatic brain injury, and post-traumatic stress disorder.

Music shields us from bad, harmful stuff. In ancient Israel, when Saul was being tormented by a harmful spirit, he asked his servants to seek out a man who is skilful in playing the lyre. They brought in David to be at his service. “And when the harmful spirit from God was upon Saul, David took the lyre and played it with his hand. Saul was refreshed and was well, and the harmful spirit departed from him” (1 Samuel 16:23).

Music changes us and transforms us. It changes our mood from sad to happy or even from happy to sad. Music brings us joy and sometimes move us to tears. It lifts up the spirit. As Plato said, “music is an art imbued with the power to penetrate into the very depths of the soul.”

We have always known that music has profound effects on us physically, cognitively, emotionally, and spiritually. Ancient civilizations knew the role of music in our lives. The Ancient Greek philosophers philosophized about it. Many verses in the Old Testament refer to music, singing, and playing the stringed instruments. In battles that date back to the earliest part of human history, music was used to inspire and energize the warriors. During the American Civil War, there are accounts of the use of music to aid in the healing of the wounded soldiers.

Music Touches Body and Soul

We’ve always known that music has the power to impact our daily lives but it’s only in recent decades, through advances in modern science and technology, that we have captured, imaged, and measured the evidence of the complexities of the impact of music on us.

Music touches our lives in fascinating ways. One important window in our lives where music profoundly impacts us is our developmental years, particularly during our teenage years going into our early 20s when we are firming up our sense of identity. Our teenage years going into our early 20s is a period of restless exploration and rapid development and the music that enters our lives during this period gets embedded in those neural wirings, staying in our memory for the rest of our lives.

Musical nostalgia, according to the latest scientific research and findings, is real. Hearing those songs again brings back all kinds of emotional memories, including heartaches, love, exhilaration, individual expression, passion, happiness, anger, hatred, and frustration.

Music is a gift. It’s a wonderful gift. We offer back this gift to our Creator also as a gift by our singing and praising. Music, with our voices singing, our ears listening, and hands creating music, enables us to physically express the spiritual joy of our heart. Music has the power to bring the mind, body, and spirit in unison as we reach out to God.