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.

A product of our times?

Being as faithfully religious as I am, the question of the legitimacy of other faiths has occurred to me quite frequently. In fact, Alexa and I often discuss the ecumenical nature of faith, and the exact reason why I find Catholicism to be validated against this principle (Vatican II).
However, I would be remiss if I pondered these questions without asking the question: Are my beliefs truly as valid as I think that they are, or am I merely a product of Christianity's two thousand years of history and theology?
As it stands, that question is a very legitimate question, seeing as Christianity does only have two thousand years behind it and religion in general has been traced back at least five thousand years (and by the Old Testament standards, six thousand). If my beliefs about God become man only go back to the early Christians and theologians such as Athanasius, Origen, Jerome, Augustine and others, then what am I to say about those who lived before?
Not only that, but some of the most popular religions in the world predate Christianity by quite a long time. Buddhism has five hundred years on Christianity, while Hinduism has at least six hundred. Judaism can be traced at least another thousand years before Christ. Where does that leave those people? If we might state that the proof of Christianity's validity is in its longevity than what do we say about these faiths? Or what about Islam which is only six hundred years younger than Christianity?
Questions such as these give some people a reason to doubt their faith. Others claim that God did simply not reveal himself to these people. Some see other faiths as stumbling blocks and scandals in the way of Christianity (specifically those who read the Apocalypse of John literally).
However, I find my faith validated in various other places. As a bit of a Classics scholar, the Romans and Greeks fascinate me. Of course both of these nations worshiped a plethora of gods, and neither one of their religions have survived the test of time. But what seems peculiar to me is not their faith, but those who were not of their faiths.
One of my favorite philosophers of all time, Socrates, was accused of being an atheist. However, peculiarly, in nearly every dialogue I've ever read of his, he mentions deity, or Providence or some kind of reference to a God. Furthermore, in his Apology, Socrates talks at length about the spirit that always spoke to him. From a Christian perspective, a lot of Socrates' philosophy seems to mirror Christian thought (which is not surprising considering many of the Christian theologians and philosophers were trained in the Greek style). So I find some encouragement in Socrates' Christian-like thinking.
Furthermore, it seems to me that faiths such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism and Islam started more or less as national faiths. Hinduism, Islam and Judaism all filled in religious vacuums in the cultures where they started. Buddhism came around in a Hindu setting, but it migrated East to more accepting climes. Christianity blossomed in the Jewish region of the Roman Empire. Christianity had to fight against two strong religions, and yet still grew, even when it became outlawed in the empire, and Christians were killed for sport.
So it is that I have faith in the Christian faith. By this I mean not only that I have faith in the guiding principles of Christianity and in the Divinity of Christ Jesus, but also in the faith itself. I believe that Christians can relearn to love. I believe that Christians can relearn to accept others who are different and reach out to those marginalized by society. I believe that Christians can help the poor, protest war, and stand as real witnesses of the love that God gave us. We preach Christ crucified. A doctrine whereby we profess that God's mercy and love were so great that he forgave us all our follies. As Christians and followers of this God, it is our duty to show that Christianity's strength lies not in the power of its followers, but in their love.

Scandalus

What is it about Christians that makes a lot of the rest of the world despise us? Surely there is the conservative Christians that make a lot of people cringe. And our reservation and prudence also make us a bit peculiar. But what of our message itself?
"We preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles" wrote Paul (1 Corinth 1:23). And really, how silly is it, from the outside, to say that God became man?
From one perspective, we look Greek. Our God is now encased in human flesh, much the way Hercules was. All the Olympic gods existed in a physical sense in this world. They all had bodies. They took on many forms.
"But," we might argue, "our god paid the price for sin and was exalted." This sounds like Odin, the "Allfather" of the Norsemen who hung on a tree for three days in order to give to mankind the sacred runes. After the three days, he regained his spot as head of the gods.
This is where we take on a monotheistic view of God. Not only did our god take on all of our sins, but he is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, a notion that escapes the Romans, Greeks and Vikings. Truly, St. Augustine says that all things are held by our god, and our god is in all things.
So here our God seems more like the God of the Jews, who created the heaven and the earth and has the ability to manipulate time and space itself according to His wishes.
This is why it is a stumbling block. At first glance it looks nonsensical. The outsider gets lost in the trinitarian language of the Council of Nicaea and the message of Word become Flesh.
Here is where Athanasius seems to help out. To Athanasius, and in fact to St. Anselm as well, Christ is God's way of restoring humanity. We have fallen; fallen of our choosing. Because of this transgression against God, we, who are unholy and imperfect, cannot hope to dwell with God, who is holy and perfect. This is not in God's plan, so God comes to restore humanity.
Now, here is where it gets tricky. Man cannot redeem himself, for how can one restore what he never had attained. However, it was necessary for man to make restoration, since it was man who sinned. So God comes down in the person of Jesus, takes on our sins and dies. This process restores us to God.
Even with the explanation of our faith, it still seems incredible. It is a fantastic-sounding story that necessitates our faith. Even with the philosophical arguments for God, Christ's existence is not obvious.
So I say, since our message is one that is offensive enough, our call is to not be offensive. We are to go out with humility, meekness, mercy, temperance and all the commands that Christ laid upon us. St Francis of Assisi once wisely said, "Preach Christ crucified always, if necessary, use words." It is more important that our actions preach our message than our shouts. For, all of our words can be proven wrong by our actions, but our actions are never proven wrong by our words.

Religiosity

One of my absolute favorite theologians of the twentieth century, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, criticized religiosity in both one of his letters from prison and The Cost of Discipleship. In fact, many spiritual writers, including Jesus Himself, have criticized false piety.
One of my favorite forms of false piety can be found in prayers. Growing up in a Mormon family, around Mormons, I was generally accustomed to hearing prayers that began something like this:
"Oh great, merciful, loving and kind, all-powerful, ever-living, benevolent and virtuous Eternal Father in Heaven from whom all blessings flow..."
They also tend to end, after much flowery and pompous language:
"We, thy servants, humbly ask of these things, with sincere piety and lowliness of heart and of spirit, in the name of thy wonderful Son, the Great Jehovah, even the Lord Jesus Christ, Amen."
I am reminded in this instance of the prayers of the pharisee and the publican in the temple (Luke 18:10-14). How simple was the publicans prayer? How honest was it? What of the pharisee, the man who had so much going for him and still felt the need to lift himself up before God?
The truth is, we are all worms before God. The believer is no better in the eyes of God than the unbeliever. Yes, we act as if the opposite is the case, but Christ himself said, "not everyone who says to me Lord, Lord will be admitted to the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 7:21). We are not somehow greater than all the rest of humanity simply because we think that our faith is right. Vatican II illumined our understanding by teaching us that those who try to do God's will, independent of what faith they may pursue, will be saved (People of God). So what good is our false piety?
I would venture to guess that there is a substantial amount of people who are turned off of religion because of religiosity. How many people are scared away by our "holier-than-thou" attitudes? How many people see us not as "living in the world but not of the world" but instead as not even living in the world?
I think that monasticism has gathered the disfavor in today's world that it has because of false piety. Those who live truly ascetic lives are viewed as trying to escape the real world. There is a feeling of resentment towards those who seek to escape the world and live in a truly Christian community.
I would also go as far as to say this is why there are an abundance of "reality" churches, or other such watered-down faith traditions. When the ceremony and pomp of church are removed, it is easier for a common man to feel at home.
However, I must warn that church is not a place where we should feel "at home" in the way that we feel at our own homes. Church is not a place to kick off our shoes and drink beer while watching the football game. Church is a place of piety, of worship and of prayerful humility. The only problem that really faces us is realizing our true humility. Being humble doesn't mean taking as we think a pious person speaks. Kierkegaard tells us very clearly that the Knight of Faith is unrecognizable because he dons no special cloak, nor embraces any false piety.
I am reminded of Dorothy Day. Here is a woman who spent her days in very humble circumstances. She took on voluntary poverty as did Francis of Assisi. She assisted the poor. She devoted her time to the Corporal Works of Mercy. Even in her radical, anarchistic, socialistic ways she was always a beacon of true piety. Her true humility didn't repulse others, except for those too full of themselves to realize she was right. Her approach to reaching out to those outside of the faith? "In order to reach the man on the street, we must go out to the man on the street."