My God loves me more than your God does

I believe I've said this before, but perhaps the hardest thing for me about becoming Catholic was the idea of Saints. It's not that I think these people weren't great, I just have never been comfortable with the idea of praying to them. I have never really been able to fully reconcile the idea of praying to somebody who I think will relay the message on to God because their voice is better, but as I believe I've also stated before, praying to saints is more of an act of working as a community than anything else.
What I do find to be also problematic is what Peter says in Acts 10:34, that "God is no respecter of persons." If the Saints were to have more sway over God than we do, then God automatically plays favorites. Here we have to ask ourselves if this is really the case.
The Romans and Greeks believe their gods to be favortists. Aeneas had the favor of his mother Aphrodite. Odysseus angered Hera and Callisto, but had the favor of Athena. Apollo was often invoked before war in both epic and tragedy, and Zeus was often found meddling in the affairs of mortals as well.
But we are not Pagans. We do not believe in gods, or a God who plays favorites. We believe in a God who does not respect people. This does not mean that God doesn't care about His children. What this does mean, however, is that God doesn't give precedence to anybody simply because of piety, status, wealth, achievement or even righteousness.
We believe our God to be a fair God. We believe, as Barth says, that Christ's death saved not only the Jews, but also the Gentiles. We believe that no people are damned simply for being who they are. From the Catholic perspective, we don't even believe that any specific people will be going to Hell (with the notable exception of Dante's Inferno, in which he lists people who are in Hell).
In fact, we as Christians explicitly state that Deus Caritas Est (God is love). What this means from a Christian perspective is that our God embodies love. If there is anything that is love, it is of God. If there is anything that is hateful, it is most certainly not. As St. Paul states, "And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing" (1 Corinth. 13:13). It is very much against the nature of Christianity (in its purest form) and the way we view our God to even endulge malicious feelings for other people.
So as part of this, Vatican II recognized that all people who lived righteous lives, regardless of their faith, were likely going to be saved. After all, if God truly doesn't afford privelege based on creed, then why should Christians be saved while all others are damned, especially those living in remote areas of the world where Christianity is not a viable option? To me, this is what it truly means to say that God is love. God loves the Buddhist who worries that he may be walking on his ancestors as much as He loves the Christian who decorates evergreen trees in the winter time as part of some heathenistic tradition Christianity adopted hundreds of years ago. God loves the Muslim who prays to Him five times a day as much as God loves the Hindu who prays to many different gods, and countless avatars. God loves the Jew who will not eat pork out of respect as much as God loves the Mormon who won't drink coffee out of respect, or the atheist who parties all night with no respect.
Our perspective is radically shifted when we start to believe that we worship love. How can we afford to cast judgment on other people? How can we condemn other people's religious choices when God loves us no more than He loves them? How can we praise and glorify war if war is not a love-born response?
Furthermore, this should also put into perspective what lots befall us in our lives. Some believe that living righteously yields blessings while wickedness only renders sorrow. However, joy falls to the good and bad, as do the sorrows. Many people blame God when something bad happens. How can we blame God when we know that when bad things happen to us, it isn't a sign of disrepect for us, but possibly a chance for us to truly be in solidarity with others, or better yet, a chance for some great thing to come about from it? Furthermore, how can we gloat and boast of our fortunes when God could have easily and can still easily take them away?
We are at the mercy of an unbiased God. However, this should be a comfort to us. We believe that God is merciful. If God will reign down His mercy on us, as we believe, then He will also be merciful to the wicked or unjust. We are God's children, and with the parental metaphor comes the parental love that God exhibits for each of us. We may not have VIP seating in heaven, but if we're all at the same place, what is wrong with sitting with a Hindu, or a Taoist, or an agnostic? If we truly believe that Paradise is a utopia, then why would it lack diversity when the world that God created (which was good) is so full of different kinds of people?
So now we must ask, "Why Christianity?" I am reminded of the motto of the Congregation of the Holy Cross, "Ave crux, spes unica" (Hail, the cross, our only hope). As Christians, we have the unique theology of a universal redemption. We believe that our God took on the sins of all mankind in order to save all mankind. Thus, in my opinion, it makes more sense to posit faith in a belief system that theortically, and becoming ever more practically, openly embraces other faiths. If we can learn to look on all the people of the world as brothers and sisters, as Thomas Merton did, then perhaps we can all live in peace and harmony. With Christianity, we are able to look on others in love and acceptance. If we truly understand what love means, this means we pray for those who believe not as we do, not that they convert, but that we will all be together after this life in a happier state of existence.

Humanity vs the robots

No, I'm not speaking of some cheesy sci-fi B movie. I'm speaking of what it means to be human.
Normally I wax Theologic, but today I fear my tone will be more philosophical than anything else.
What does it mean to be human? Are we, as Aquinas defines us, the "rational animal?" Are we simply the most intellectually developed biological system? Are we evolution's greatest accomplishment?
We erect monuments and towers. We write books. We have history. All of these things I have noted before. And as I have noted, this denotes that there is more to us than the systems of organs and bones.
Psychology, which many accept as a branch of Philosophy, has long tried to unlock the real mystery behind that one organ which denotes us as superior to our animal cousins, the brain. While there are several schools of psychology, some of which are highly controversial and others which are more concretely scientific, there are a few which strike me for their approach to the human mind.
Gestalt theory, which comes from the German word for "whole" believes that 1+1 does not equal 2 but equals 3. There's a heavy emphasis that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Thus, the human mind is so much more than neurons firing impulses and neurotransmitters relaying signals. Their approach is to examine the person as a whole and prescribe treatment that emphasizes a holistic approach. A human then, is not simply a rung on the ladder of evolution nor is it a mass of biological material. A human is a human, and the definition of that is more than one can easily grasp.
Then comes my personal favorite psychological school. The humanists. Carl Rogers is often cited as the founder of this particular school. His theory of human sanity and the human mind was a system of needs. He believed that we must fulfill a certain set of needs, such as basic survival needs, before we can move on to more advanced needs, such as emotional needs. Eventually, when we have fulfilled all of our needs, we will find ourselves self-actualized. His list of self-actualized people reads like a list of "Who's Who in Philanthropy." To Rogers, self-actualization was the pinnacle of what it means to be human.
I take a lot of stock in the Rogerian system. However, it must be noted that many of the people on his list, such as Mother Teresa, were on that list despite not fulfilling some of their more "primitive" needs.
So it is that I have come to understand humanity as taking a two-course route through life. There are those who, as Rogers suggested, go through life seeking to fulfill some basic needs. These people often get caught up in some basic desire. They seek money, a survival asset at minimum. But they do it to excess. They become misers. There are also those who seek love too greatly. And rather than finding love they find cheap company and no sense of security. There are those who seek seek recognition and spend their lives working for the approval of others.
Most all of us are guilty of these things in some way or another. We all want to be able to feel like our needs are fulfilled. We do not want to feel as if we're lacking something. Worse yet, we don't want to feel deprived of something we need.
Then there are those who go straight for self-actualization. Some of these people are self-sacrificing. Others are simply philanthropists. Their needs are not as important for them to fulfill. They seek, rather, to fulfill the needs of others. These people are the ones who truly make the world go round. Their love and generosity are the warm fires by which all of humanity either stands or perishes in the cold.
Thus we come to another topic. The idea of human happiness and how it relates to the human person. Humans, at worst, are emotional, reckless, feckless, beasts which have the added disadvantage of questioning their purpose in the universe. It can be truly easy to be lost in the sea of humanity, wondering how to find happiness or to fulfill our destinies.
Those who genuinely seek to be happy and make others happy, seem to me to be true humans. They seek to fulfill their telos as humans. They seek to rise above the mechanical, simple biological functions passed on by millions of years of evolutionary instinct. They love more deeply, and they live more fully. These are the fortunate few who love life with a fulness that others who seek simply to survive lack.
Then there are the robots. These are the people simply trying to fulfill a basic need. Their evolutionary programming dictates what they do with their lives. They live by the pleasure principle. These people are like machines that have a basic programming that they seek neither to exceed nor to leave unaccomplished. They store money like squirrels for the winter. They mate like rabbits in the Spring. They preen and pout like peacoks in mating season.
How then are we different from the rest of the animal kingdom if we do not at least look at our direction? Socrates stated that "the unexamined life is not worth living." Have we examined our lives? Are we striving to fulfill biologic instincts or are we rising to our place among the heavens? Have we simply made our lives more convenient or have we truly contributed to this world?

Job and Hosea

As a theist, I have often encountered the Atheistically-aimed question of "Why do bad things happen to good people?" to which all I can truly answer is, "Why the hell not?"
I don't seek to demean personal problems nor the faith crisis of "Why won't God deliver me?" but I think our faith is exhibited, as well as our general character, in how we respond to the difficulties in life. If we are bellacose and pugnacious for every insignificant problem or conflict we encounter, we display that we really don't believe what we preach.
So I suppose one reason why we have difficulties, and I realize how very cliche this will be, is to test us. If we really believe in turning the other cheek and blessing our enemies, how can we abandon God when He doesn't want us to be miserable? Our true faith is often displayed not by the world being at peace, but by our own peace while the world rages in chaos. Can we truly stand at God's right hand while the world goes to Hell in a handbasket?
But I truly believe that there is more to the story than this. I realize stories like Job and Hosea portray hardship and trial as object lessons for us to learn from, but I do not believe that this is the case for us by and large.
This isn't to say that we should embrace a Kierkegaardian view on suffering. We should, indeed, suffer cheerfully. However, we need not seek out suffering. And indeed, much of our suffering is not due to anything that we could have or would have avoided. Any suffering that involves the decisions of another person, or even naturally occuring activities, cannot be voluntarily assumed by us. We can, as Kierkegaard did, abandon romantic relationships. However, we cannot induce heart attacks nor can we single-handedly destroy the economy, eliminating much needed jobs. So it is safe to say that this kind of suffering is much different than the voluntary kind.
I would submit that often times there is some kind of secret gem in store for those who patiently wait out the storm. Job was given more than he had after the great trial of his faith. I cannot guarantee this kind of grandeur, but perhaps we will be blessed greatly. Perhaps a rough time is necessary for us to receive some greater blessing. Perhaps being laid off will provide the ability to get a better job. Perhaps a death in the family will enable us to learn to mourn with those who mourn and teach us to be more sensitive to grief and more aware of our own feelings.
I do not mean to say that we should expect something amazing to come from the ashes of our heartache. However, I will suggest that neither can we know the will of God, nor can we dictate our terms with Him. Perhaps we are to be martyrs and die so that others can live. Perhaps we are to sacrifice all of our time and money to be buried in a pauper's grave but to raise up those who are disadvantaged. Maybe we must suffer many losses to learn how to comfort those who stand in need of comfort.
One might further wonder, "Can't God teach me this lesson in an easier way?" Aquinas demonstrated why there needs to be bad things happening to good people. If the world were just, then any injustice committed must be fully restored. However, there are countless injustices committed which have none to punish, whether by accident or intent. And punishment does not truly rectify an injustice as much as it seeks to replace what was lost with something that will equally be lost. Thus, if everyone were justly compensated for what they had lost, there would inevitably be some kind of great cosmic debt owed to all citizens of the world, which would yet be an injustice.
So, the good people will necessarily suffer. However, the good people, be they truly good people, should, in fact, be able to handle the suffering. Our faith should not falter, though it often does. Our belief should be strengthened instead of being weakened. We should seek God more and praise Him more after the trial than to blame Him and turn from Him.
As a closing thought, I would like to imply that a cheerful and faithful outlook in dire straits will leave us feeling happier after the dust has settled. Whether or not God will reward us directly for our faith is somewhat debatable. However, whether or not we feel good about our own reaction to it is not.

Serenity

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things that I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next."
I know this prayer simply for one reason: my grandfather is an alcoholic. He has been sober for nineteen years, but he still regularly attends AA meetings. The Serenity Prayer was obviously written for alcoholics, however I feel that there is much to be learned from both the prayer itself and the Alcoholics Anonymous credo.
To begin with, alcoholics admit a truth that we as humans are loath to admit. They admit that they are weak, undisciplined and therefore are in actual need of help. While society looks down on them and visually condemns them by agreeing, we fail to acknowledge how much we tend to be like them. However, the scary truth about the world is that alcoholics are self-diagnosed, meaning that the ones who are in really bad shape are the ones who don't even fit under the category of alcoholic.
If we realize that these people whom we condemn on a regular basis are no different than us, we must listen to what they have to say. Once we realize that alcohol is as much of a drug as any pleasure or selfish pursuit, we realize that we have the same problems they do. Granted, an over-eager businessman is not as at risk as the drunk when either are put behind a wheel. The single man who trolls bars and clubs to pick up women may not drink himself into poverty either. And even the laborer who indulges in a simple vice every now and then shares in common with the alcoholic.
However, as the AA program clearly states, acknowledging you have a problem is step number one. But admitting we have a problem is seldom an easy task. We live in a society that embraces an anarchistic view of dependency rather than acknowledging the age-old truth that man is, in fact, a social animal. We live in a society where "getting ours" is more important that providing for the general welfare of the community. Men like Donald Trump and Bill Gates are lauded as examples of what we should aspire to, rather than the mundane civil servants who provide us with life-giving and life-saving graces. At the risk of sounding cliche, the fireman is more socially beneficial than the entrepreneur.
But I seek not to disuade people from entrepreneurial endeavors. Rather, I would encourage us to examine our own consciences. What do we feel about our interactions with our fellow men?
So often, we seek to get as much as we can. We want to take what we think is due to us. However, as Aquinas notes, if everyone were to demand just treatment, the universe would be unable to supply for the demand. Not everything is fair, and not everything can be fair.
And so, against many, and probably most, of my friends and family, I have come to realize something. We are not in control of much of our lives. We are at the whims of those who surround us. Certain branches of psychology, behaviorism most especially, espouse the idea that we are who we are based on what circumstances we have been in. Our minds are set by the events and people who affect us. I would venture to say that much of this is true.
However, I diverge from the behaviorists and state that we are shaped and the form of our personality determined by how we react to these situations. It is true that there is little we can verifiably control in our lives. We cannot force people's minds, nor can we create something from nothing. We are mostly left to the good or ill favor of those who surround us and make themselves our friends.
And so I take strength in saying the serenity prayer. For there is a great amount that I cannot change. It does take courage to change what I can. And sometimes I fail to see the difference. If I can but achieve the gifts asked for in this prayer, I can, in fact, find myself reasonably happy in this life.
On top of all of this, I have also adopted the alcoholic credo of "One day at a time." By this ideology, I shall not try to force the future or be daunted by it. If I can but live my life for the now, trying my hardest to make the future bright based on what is before me in the present, I can stop worrying and feel less anxiety.
I feel that we, though we claim not to be alcoholics (for most of my readers), can learn a lot by the AA system. I don't wish to force it on anyone, but serenity is not the worst prayer a person can pray. And if we can truly find the blessings asked for in the prayer, I cannot see how this world would be anything less than a paradise as nobody will seek to try to force anyone's hand nor will we find ourselves upset at what we have no control over.

Sacrificio

The idea of sacrifice has been laying heavy on my mind. Literally, sacrifice comes from Latin. Sacer, the root whereby we get words like sacred, sacrilege and sacrimonious, means holy. The ficio part is actually dervied from facio, or to make. Thus, to sacrifice is to make something holy.
This is particularly important in noting where we come to understand sacrifice as we do today. We described the ancient blood offerings of the Israelites as sacrifices because they were actions made, often times quite literally, to sanctify themselves. However, our understand and lexicon began to focus on the idea of giving something up, ie a newborn lamb, calf, or dove.
Fast forward many thousands of years. Now we connect sacrifice not to sanctifying, but to giving up something. However, we still retain the connection that sacrifice has a purpose. Thus we can say, "I have sacrificed a lot of family time to secure their financial future," though we have, in all reality, made nothing holy thereby.
Sacrifice, in the sense of abstaining from something for a greater purpose, has been a great factor in religions around the world for ages. Monks of all faiths and orders give up having families and social interactions in order to sanctify themselves. Certain carnal acts are generally given up to achieve a higher sense of holiness. Certain foods are banned in some cultures, certain rites are practiced in others and certain dress styles are embraced as well. Nowhere can you find a religion that doesn't ask for some kind of abstemious practice and yet is revered as a truly gratifying and respectable faith.
As Christians we have many examples to look at for how to sacrifice. We have the martyrs of days of old, especially those who lived during the reigns of Domitian and Diocletian, wherein Christians were legally persecuted and life and death hung by confessing Christ or not. We also have great saints to admire. St Francis of Assisi abandoned a wealthy life to embrace the mendicant lifestyle. St Augustine abandoned the sensual lifestyle he had embraced to follow Christ. St Paul went from being a respected scholar among the Jewish community with the added advantage of being a Roman citizen to losing his life for his conversion.
Even those who are not saints have provided examples for us. Thomas Merton left the luxurious and leisurely life of being a recent Columbia University graduate in New York to living in a small monastery in the heart of rural Kentucky. Mother Teresa left her family in Albania to help the poor in Calcutta India. Others, whom I feel that I've exhausted in their praises, also make this list.
These men and women were often times called upon to give all that they had for God. Not only did they "give away all that they had to the poor" but, in many cases, even gave their lives to God. Often times this is what we are asked to give. Sometimes we are not. Sometimes we are blessed with great fortune, ample opportunities and a luxurious lifestyle with little to no heartache.
However, I think it is important to be prepared to sacrifice. Bonhoeffer says that we must climb up on the cross of Christ, but perhaps it is more important that we be prepared to endure the sacrifices rather than giving up all that we have.
I have been reminded recently of the mysteriousness of God's movements. Often times God blesses us beyond what we think we deserve, and often times inflicts hardships on us that we think unfair. However, we do not know to what purpose we have been given the allotments that we have. Perhaps we are meant to be an example to people. Perhaps we are meant to encourage and directly impact someone's life. Perhaps our trials are merely to make ourselves stronger. To second guess God's purpose and goals would be to presume we are greater than God is.
And perhaps the greatest thing I have learned about sacrifice recently is that while self-sacrifice is often times a great blessing for those it benefits, we must also be mindful of ourselves. If we are too busy serving others to notice our own failings, we have failed as servants. As the Gospel says, if there is a problem in our own lives, we must seek to rid ourselves of those before we help others with their own (this is paraphrased, I realize). Self-sacrifice that prevents us from providing more service to others is, perhaps, also a form of disobedience and another example of not doing the best we can for the Kingdom. Yes, we must endeavor to build up others and build up the kingdom, but we are told not to run more than we have strength.

religio fidesque populis

The true Christian faces an unfair attack. Firstly, he must deal with the harrassment from the pugnacious non-believer. This includes not merely atheists and agnostics, but also those from other faiths as well. This isn't to say all people who are not Christian are bellacose, but there are those who attack Christianity from an outside perspective. Secondly, the Christian must also face the infidelity and persecution from other so-called Christians.
I shall address the issue of the so-called Christian first. Kierkegaard pointed out that not everyone who was under the banner of "Christianity" really followed Christ. For this purpose, SK preferred to refer to the Christian world, specifically Christian Europe, as Christendom.
I agree with this idea. Christianity has become too much of a world power. Granted, the Papal States are now reduced to simply the Vatican, but in America you can only get so far without claiming Christianity. Granted, Europe has lost it's Christian fervor, but here in the states, the name of the game is Evangelism and a great power lies behind it. However, the issue is not Christianity having a growing number of followers. On the contrary, the issue is Christianity relaxing the definition of what it means to be Christian. It is, however, the issue of abandoning basic Christian principles such as humility, charity, and patience while still claiming our actions to be the will of God. No person can take us seriously while we declare our selfish and destructive behaviors to be those of good Christians.
On the other hand are the non-believers. The true Christian faces ridicule from them precisely because of those so-called believers, Christendom. A person of good faith with works to support it and a true understanding of Christ's message is not the same as the person who attacks biological study on the basis of a message that doesn't align with the Genesis account of the beginning of the world. If we are truly working as Christ's messengers, then what atheists say should not become an issue for us to crucify them.
I am reminded of Islam from about 1000 to 1200. Muslim scholars endeavored to be scientifically minded and our own modern "scientific method" was devised by Muslim scientists. However, they didn't question their faith, no matter what results were found. A Muslim whose scientific data seemed to contradict his faith would normally choose one of the following options: either he was wrong about his experiment and misinterpreted the data, or he misunderstood his own faith. Never did they assume that their faith was completely incorrect. Nor did they ever question the empirical evidence before them. What they faced was a synthesis of science and faith, one that theologians and philosophers have been attempting to continue, but also one where the screams of the confused masses are heard loud and clear over the whispers of those who would seek to ease the tension.
Perhaps truly where Christianity started to go wrong was where every religion has. Historically speaking, religions tend to be ok until they become nationalized. Islamic theocracies tend to exhibit policies that are justified only because one امام (Emam) interpreted the اهدث (ahdith) and the قورأن (Qur'an) a certain way. Hindus in India exhibit violence because they are the national religion. Christianity went sour when Constantine made it the official religion of the empire. All of a sudden, what had been a way of life for those who truly believed in the teachings of Christ, now became a civil advantage to those in the Roman empire. A Christian, or at least someone who claimed to be such, had a measurable advantage over a pagan or a Jew. For Christianity in the rest of the world at the time, there were no such disadvantages. Thus, in the Middle East, Christians were a non-violent people, who still resembled their predecessors while those in Europe became increasingly more self-serving.
The same can be said for even sects of Christianity. A Lutheran in Germany had an advantage over a Catholic, to the point of blood, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In Northern Ireland today, a people who are officially protestant (the Northern Irish) are up against a people who had traditionally stayed Catholic (the Irish in general). And voters were surprised in 1960 when a Catholic was elected into the highest seat of power in a predominately Protestant nation.
But this even transcend the border of simple faith traditions. Nations that are officially atheist demonstrate this same kind of forced bullying with their ideals. The former Soviet Union took over many territories and nations that had been Christian and outlawed religion and atheist China went to arms against peace-loving, Buddhist Tibet. So we see that even the ban of religion is itself a national religion.
But the Christian man must overcome all this. He must truly be the Christian. He must not only be a martyr, but also an apologist. As Simone Weil said of her life, he must stand at the crossroads. He must be willing to bridge the gap that the human race is tearing into itself.
As men and women of faith, we ought to know that science cannot disprove our God. We cannot prove Him, but we cannot either disprove Him. Furthermore, we ought to know that because of this, we should net let our faith be shaken by this. We must stand firm in our faith, but must also be able to withstand the buffets of those who stand against our faith and those who parade about and make a mockery of it. The tragedy is that we are the minority trying to stand out against a majority that claims our name and another large group that associates us together. It is our duty to reach out to the world and show love and wisdom in our faith and lives.

Last Day in Il Inferno.

Today will be the last full day I will spend in Vernal. It's already half over. In the forefront of my mind I'm thinking constant thoughts of "Il hamdu l'illah!" (I'm on my parents' computer otherwise that would be in Arabic).
Honestly, though, living in Vernal gives me a lot of perspective. I know that many students coming back to Notre Dame this fall will complain about South Bend's lack of size, while I have only positive things to say about it. People from New York, Chicago and Los Angeles will all find the lack of diversity frustrating, while I will find the difference between the Vernal and South Bend to be refreshing.
I have also been wondering if my time living here will serve some greater purpose. Will the interaction with a people who are intellectually stunted and politically reactionary enable me to better interact with people who would normally be detestable to me? Will living in a town where the climate ranges from nearly a hundred in the summer to negative twenty in the winter make me grateful for any slightly more temperate region? Will being from a town that subsists by sucking the oil from the land as a tick sucks blood make me more aware of environmental problems?
I have also thought that perhaps this town is good for my soul. Living in unpleasant circumstances seems to purify and refine souls. Dorothy Day lived with the poor. Mother Theresa lived with the outcast. Dietrich Bonhoeffer was imprisoned. Simone Weil lived with the laborers and refugees. Monastics live in inconvenient settings. Hermits isolate themselves and Priests sometimes live alone in rectories. All these things help to cleanse the soul.
So I am also reminded of a silent retreat I went on over a year ago. It was conducted not in the Buddhist fashion, but rather in the Ignatian style. The silence could be overwhelming at times, and with no school work, or trips to do things, one had to learn how to be more comfortable with himself. I grew a lot spiritually over those five days.
I think Vernal has been similar for me. I have been confronted with what is uncomfortable for me. I have been a stranger in a strange land. Due to this, I feel that I have had to be more assured of my own thoughts and beliefs than ever before. I have felt isolated and alone, but I have emerged from it triumphant.
But lest I sound too proud, I must also admit that I have learned much from the people here. And one of the most important things I have learned has been to see people as people.
So I leave this town and move onto other things. What has happened here this summer will be a guiding influence for much of my life. What I have learned both academically and experientially will help me in life. And perhaps I will be a better person for what I have experienced.
I remember in high school a quote we had to memorize about attitude. The final thought of it was that life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react to it. While the whole percentage thing might not be true, what I can say from personal observation is that while we have little control of individual events in our lives, we do control our reactions to them and whether or not we will be affected by them.
On a more humorous note, I have also been hoping that my time here in Vernal will allow me to get out of a few hundred years of purgatory.

Solo vir in terram

Over the course of the last few days, I have felt more alone than I have ever felt. I won't go into all the details, but let me just assure you that being a liberal Catholic in a rural, eastern Utah city is not the easiest thing to do.
Today I went to Mass. Yes, normally I don't spend too much time telling about my own personal experiences, but what I heard was very reassuring. Today is the Feast Day of the Transfiguration. All the readings had to do with Discipleship. Father Albert's homily, though, was most especially helpful. He told us that, as the Disciples, we must learn to stand with Christ especially when we are on the mountains of our life, both the good ones and the bad ones. It was an especially well-timed message about how God will never desert us and how we must, in turn, not abandon Him.
And so I am thinking about Discipleship. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whose name appears in this blog quite frequently, is my ideal model for Discipleship. Bonhoeffer was a devout Christian who was abandoned by his faith (the Lutherans), his country, and seemingly his God. His family never did abandon him, but his life was nonetheless nowhere near perfect.
In about 1930 he published a work entitled The Cost of Discipleship, in which he basically told his readers how difficult being a Christian can be. No, it didn't smack of the same self-sacrificial language that his fellow Lutheran and predecessor Kierkegaard embraces, but it did include plenty of self-denial. To him, we must be ready to "climb up on the cross with Jesus." This is a hard request, to deny ourselves of our comforts that we so often think are ours to take. It is a hard request to take upon ourselves shame and sorrow. It is hard to deny all that we have for Christ's name sake.
This is all very well and good to write about safely from the Seminary which he had founded. However, the true test of his Discipleship would come more than ten years later when he was imprisoned by the NAZIs for instructing his students to not enlist in the army. Now, it is important to understand that he had plenty of chances to avoid this. He had been to New York a few years prior and his friends there had asked him not to return to Germany, but to stay in the states where he would be safe. Even when he had returned to Germany, when rumors of his arrest began to circulate, his friends offered to help him escape. However, humble and submissive, he allowed the NAZIs to take him. He had many students, loving parents, a fiancee, and a group of faithful disciples that he left behind. His contemporaries, like Karl Barth, escaped NAZI persecution in other countries. Eventually, he was moved to a Concentration Camp and days before Allied relief, was hung by the SS. This is a man who never backed away from his principles and truly lived a Christian life.
Another figure I think of is the one of Job, from the Bible. He was a man who lost literally everything. He lost his children, his lands, his wife, his livestock and even his health. He had nothing going for him. Eventually, he did murmur against the Lord, but in the end he is taught a valuable lesson about how the Lord works.
Others have done the same. There are many, many Christian martyrs whose faith was sealed with their blood. Ss Perpetua and Felicity, St Joan of Arc, Justin Martyr, and countless others have stood by their Christian faith as others killed them.
Whatever reason we are put through trials and hardships, I firmly believe that our character there is a reason. Perhaps they will test our faith. Perhaps they will test our character. Perhaps they will strengthen us as people. Or perhaps others will watch and judge us by our actions. Do we suffer all things willingly, as Kierkegaard tells us to? Do we take on Christ's cross? Do we stay with our faith, rather than abandoning it?
Rather than getting overabundantly preachy on the subject, I offer this simple question: will we find ourselves more happy in life if we do not lose faith than if we do? We might feel like a shipwrecked sailor alone in the squall at times, but will we truly find peace by succumbing to the tempest? So perhaps, Christian or not, believer or atheist, we might find ourselves enjoying our lives a little more if we learn to accept difficulties gracefully.

Mercy

"Master, when did we see you hungry and give you food, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you naked and clothe you, imprisoned and did visit you, sick and did administer to you? And in that day the master shall say, 'Inasmuch as you did it to the least among you, you did it to me." (Matt 25:38-40)
The Corporal Works of Mercy are these: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the sick, shelter the homeless, visit the imprisoned and bury the dead. As Christians we should work to carry these seven things out.
The ironic thing about our faith is this: we place more emphasis on the ten commandments than anything else that we should. The ten can be found within the two great commandments: Love God above all and love our neighbor as ourselves. In following these, things such as "Thou shalt not kill" become obvious. So instead of the emphasis on what we must not do, perhaps the seven Corporal Works should tell us what we should do.
We have a great many figures in our history to tell us how to live a merciful life. St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Therese of Lesieux. The Dominicans and the Franciscans were Mendicants who took on the life of the poor. In the twentieth century, Dorothy Day and Mother Theresa administered to the poor and wretched of the earth for all to see. And above all, we have Jesus himself whose entire life was a great act of mercy for the entire earth to see.
Even with the great works of those who came before, we have work to do still. There are still those who are poor and wretched. There are still the sick and diseased. There are those whose lives were miserable and their deaths are more so.
Perhaps we, who are generally speaking better off than we need to be, should impart our substance. The young man, whom Bonhoeffer likens to us, who was asked to give all of his stuff up to follow Jesus wasn't asked to destroy it, but to give it to the poor. We live in such a wealthy place, and most of us are priveleged to have enough.
However, when working with the poor, it is important to note, as Dorothy Day states, that it is not the most rewarding or the most enjoyable work. It is demeaning, disgusting and difficult. Yes, it is a job that will be rewarded in heaven, but it is not a job for the fainthearted.
But perhaps there are others in the world who deserve our attention as well. What of those who are persecuted simply because they were born differently? Do we act indifferent as we see on the news struggles for simple human rights? Do we walk by with our noses in the air, or worse, do we shun those who are standing for human dignity? Do we politely take the leaflets they hand us and trash them as soon as we find a garbage can?
Mercy. This is a fundamental Christian attribute, and a fundamental Christian challenge. We are to live merciful lives. We are to forgive, to give aid, to bless and to lift our brother up to where we are. We cannot afford to live lives of anger, hatred, or malice. And we cannot afford to declare justice and chance as the ruler of the universe.
I believe it was Aquinas who pointed out that if every man demanded what he thought was fair recompense, there would be no fair recompense. For every man is afforded injustices by those who don't know that they're committing injustice. There is not enough in the world to all be given "what's ours." Thus, we need to be forgiving and giving. We need to take as much or less than what we need. We need to give more than we think is necessary. And we must be ready to "suffer all things for [Christ's] name sake."
It is a hard thing to ask people to be selfless. It is hard because we know ourselves how difficult it is to do. But mercy should be our mantra. Mercy is often the action expressed by our love. If love is our life, then mercy is our duty. So let us be merciful. Let us do to others what we do for ourselves. Let us show our Christianity by our action and our mercy.

Kierkegaard's Masochism

I really think the title of this post wins "Best title of a blog post ever" award.
The truth of it is, the topic of suffering is one that I see haunt Christian Theologians of every time period. But why?
Kierkegaard, the father of Existentialism and great Theological writer of the eighteenth century, had quite the maochistic view when it comes to suffering. To Soren Kierkegaard, we are not only to suffer gladly, but we cannot call ourselves Christians unless we absolutely seek out suffering. And not suffering alone, but we cannot count ourselves among Christ's flock unless we have suffered like Christ has suffered. SK, not being a man to give simple lip service, was once engaged to a Miss Regina Olsen, but broke off the engagement, even though he still absolutely loved her. He spent the rest of his life in agony because he never married her, nor would he because he thought that having a partner in suffering was unChristian.
However, many others have had other things to say. Schleiermacher agrees that the way we suffer defines our Christianity, but he does not encourage us to seek out punishment. Augustine defines his own suffering as being necessary for his conversion. Von Balthasar seems to think that Christ's suffering is more to be in solidarity with us, and that we have no need to heap on ourselves more suffering. Dorothy Day and John Paul II both took on the idea of solidarity, or suffering with other people in order to be in communion with them.
Whatever specific theology you follow, what seems to be the case is that the way in which we suffer defines how Christian we are. As Christians we must learn to suffer. Perhaps we don't need to voluntarily seek out suffering, as Kierkegaard tells us to, but we do need to accept it. After all, our Christianity is not defined by how great our life is to ourselves, but to other people.
Perhaps Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of my favorite Theologians and a martyr of World War II can shed some light on the subject. To Bonoeffer, we must be prepared to, as Jesus asks the young rich man, "give up all that we have and follow [Christ]."
Giving up everything is not easy. As Tyler Durden, a character from a cult classic Fight Club states, "Hitting rock bottom isn't a weekend retreat." But, we don't have to give up everything necessarily. We do, however, need to be ready to "suffer all manner of affliction for [Christ's] name sake."
And so I think that we are not defined by how much suffering we voluntarily induce on ourselves. However, we are surely defined by the way we face it. Are we willing to forgive those who do us harm? Are we willing to accept unfair punishments? Will we comfort those who grieve themselves and take on their burden as well?
Kierkegaard may think that voluntarily submitting to pain and suffering is necessary, but as Christians are we not also to lift others spirits? Would Regina Olsen (who did marry later on, by the way) have been happier if they had married? Is not the Christian to suffer but all the while to do the work of God?
If then, we find happiness and joy in our work, how can we murmur against our lack of suffering? If we bring others peace and rest and our satisfied by our actions, I do not think that God will condemn us for having joy. After all, why would God create man if not to be happy? What purpose would our lives serve if there was no true joy to be found in this life?
Yes, the world we live in is full of grief and sorrow. There is much suffering, and we should work to eliminate it. But weeping and wailing in sackcloth and ashes will not build the kingdom.
Here I think Dorothy Day's preaching and example trumps Soren Kierkegaards. Day spent her days serving the poor. She worked among them and took no money for herself. She protested unfair conditions, poverty, war, the death penalty and other things. Truly, she carried about the corporal works of mercy. Did she suffer? Undoubtedly. A mind like hers, so in tune to the cries of humanity cannot but suffer. However, in her suffering, she alleviated the suffering of other men. Her protests brought about change. Her Worker Houses dot the country and provide aid for all those who are underprivileged financially.
And so it is that I say, yes, our suffering will demonstrate our allegiance to our Lord and God. Yes, by how we react to afflictions and trials we show the world the true nature of Christian spirit. And yes, we must not murmur in our toils nor complain about our lot. But at the same time, we should not seek out pain and suffering at the cost of other people's happiness.