No Church, No Jesus. . .

Yet another disappointment for the Hermeneutic of Rupture Pushers:

From Pope Francis' homily for the Feast of St George:  "And so the Church was a Mother, the Mother of more children, of many children. It became more and more of a Mother. A Mother who gives us the faith, a Mother who gives us an identity. But the Christian identity is not an identity card: Christian identity is belonging to the Church, because all of these belonged to the Church, the Mother Church. Because it is not possible to find Jesus outside the Church. The great Paul VI said: 'Wanting to live with Jesus without the Church, following Jesus outside of the Church, loving Jesus without the Church is an absurd dichotomy.' And the Mother Church that gives us Jesus gives us our identity that is not only a seal, it is a belonging. Identity means belonging. This belonging to the Church is beautiful. . .Think of this Mother Church that grows, grows with new children to whom She gives the identity of the faith, because you cannot believe in Jesus without the Church. Jesus Himself says in the Gospel: 'But you do not believe, because you are not among my sheep.' If we are not 'sheep of Jesus,' faith does not come to us. It is a rosewater faith, a faith without substance. . .

So, prog Catholics, can we finally stop all that nonsense about obeying Jesus instead of the Church; or, believing in Jesus but not the Church; or, following Jesus but leading the Church?

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a poem: Ararat

Ararat

By Mark Doty
 

Wrapped in gold foil, in the search

and shouting of Easter Sunday,

it was the ball of the princess,

it was Pharoah’s body

sleeping in its golden case.

At the foot of the picket fence,

in grass lank with the morning rain,

it was a Sunday school prize,

silver for second place, gold

for the triumphant little dome

of Ararat, and my sister

took me by the hand and led me

out onto the wide, wet lawn

and showed me to bend into the thick nests

of grass, into the darkest green.

Later I had to give it back,

in exchange for a prize,

though I would rather have kept the egg.

What might have coiled inside it?

Crocuses tight on their clock-springs,

a bird who’d sing himself into an angel

in the highest reaches of the garden,

the morning’s flaming arrow?

Any small thing can save you.

Because the golden egg gleamed

in my basket once, though my childhood

became an immense sheet of darkening water

I was Noah, and I was his ark,

and there were two of every animal inside me.

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Don't let a crisis lead you through the wrong gate

NB. I'll say it before anyone else does: this homily is a borderline rant. Blame it on the afternoon espresso.

4th Week of Easter (M) 
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP 
St. Dominic Church, NOLA 

These anxious times offer us a huge selection of false gods to worship, a wide variety of robber-shepherds to follow. It seems that each new horror, each new disaster gives us another solution, another path to take out of our troubles. More legislation. Better enforcement. More surveillance. Better intelligence. More money. Better prevention. All of which, of course, means more state power if not better government. Rarely do we hear anyone with any authority—politicians, media-types, academics—suggest that the moral fiber of our culture is frayed and coming undone. Rarely do we hear anyone publicly suggest that the Newtown school massacre, or the Aurora theater shootings, or the Boston Marathon bombing, or the slaughterhouse of Philadelphia abortionist, Dr. Gosnell, no one ever seems connect these horrible events to a dark reality: as a culture, as a nation, as a people, we no longer look to God first as our moral compass; we no longer live believe that His love for us matters. When disaster strikes, our Betters turn to any and every solution imaginable: the law, medicine, psychology, education; they run through any and every gate opened to them. . .but one: the gate the Shepherd himself opens for us all. 

 Maybe it's our inherited pragmatic nature as Americans that sends us running after material solutions to spiritual problems. Or our need for quick and easy results that gets us rushing around looking for silver bullet answers. Or maybe we're just lazy and want someone else, anyone else to solve these problems for us. There's a pantheon of foreign gods waiting to grant our wishes, to lay out for us a whole range of fast and furious solutions. The problem with these solutions is that none of them really addresses the underlying cause of the problem. Why did those two brothers bomb the Boston Marathon? Your answer seems to depend on what remedy you want to impose to prevent future bombings? If you want more gov't control, your answer is: they bombed the marathon b/c law enforcement budgets are being cut. If you want to tar and feather all Muslims, your answer is: they bombed the marathon b/c Islam preaches hatred of non-Muslims. How about this answer? Evil is real, and its purpose is to annihilate life. The Shepherd holds open a gate for us to walk through, and that gate is called “Abundant Life.” Walking through any other gate held open by any other shepherd is robbery. It seems sometimes that our secular shepherds have led us through another gate entirely. 

If this is true—that we've been led through a gate other than the one marked “Abundant Life”—then, as followers of the One Shepherd, Jesus Christ, we need to stop bleating along behind these false shepherds and return to our Master for instruction. He walks ahead of us, and we follow him, because we recognize his voice. I wonder, do we? Or do we look to our secular leaders for spiritual instruction? Do we open our ears when they start calling us to surrender our principles, abandon our traditions, and kneel before their political agendas? If Jesus the Shepherd called his sheep to him, would we recognize his voice among the thousands that pretend to instruct us? The politicians, the academics, the pundits, the talking-heads on TV, the lobbyists, the partisan operatives, from among all those, would be hear Christ say, “Hey! Over here! Here's the gate to abundant life?” If you hear a voice preaching forgiveness, mercy, love, repentance, and obedience to God's word, that's his voice. If you hear a voice demanding vengeance, retaliation, bloodthirsty violence, and more and more secular control of our lives, that's not his voice. That's someone else's voice. The voice of a Robber and a Thief. Turn to the gate marked “Abundant Life,” and live this life abundantly in the love and mercy of Christ. 

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The voice of the Shepherd

NB. Deacons preaching this weekend. . .so, here's a homily from 2011:

4th Sunday of Easter (A)

Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP

St. Joseph Church, Ponchatoula

While in the studium—the Dominican version of seminary—the student brothers were often told that agricultural metaphors for the Church weren't all that “helpful.” For example, using images such as harvesting grain, planting seeds, plowing fields, pruning trees, etc. to talk about complex theological ideas like redemption, justice, etc. is virtually meaningless in our postmodern age. Our fussy, urbane professors were particularly hard on the sheep/shepherd metaphors in the gospels. They really got wound up about Jesus describing his followers as sheep. Sheep are dirty, stupid, and prone to being killed unless well-guarded. And it didn't help matters at all that those who guard the Lord's sheep—the shepherds, you know, the bishops—were exclusively male and celibate! By the time our enlightened profs were finished foaming at the mouth against the image of the Church as a bunch of filthy, ignorant animals led by an all-male cadre of celibate shepherds, we poor seminarians were quaking in our habits, silently vowing to never-ever speak about or even think about the Church in terms of the sheep/shepherd metaphor! Of course, one or two of us were farm boys so we knew one thing about sheep that our profs didn't: Sheep don't follow shepherds. No one leads a flock of sheep. Sheep are driven, herded by a skillful shepherd with a big stick and a pack of feisty dogs. Now that's an image of the Church that Catholics can understand! So, what are we to make of Jesus saying, “. . .[the shepherd] walks ahead of [his sheep], and [they] follow him, because they recognize his voice”? 

Well, by nature, metaphors are always imperfect, so we don't want to spend too much time dissecting the parallels between Christians and sheep, or between bishops and shepherds. Jesus' point seems to be that those who have chosen to follow him will know his voice when he speaks and obey his word b/c he speaks with a familiar authority. Jesus emphasizes his point by noting that those who love him “will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him, because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.” In other words, Christians do not hear, cannot hear in the voice of a false teacher, a false shepherd that familiar ring of authority that proclaims the authentic faith, the Real Deal of Gospel Truth. We could play with the sheep metaphor a bit and say that the voice of a false teacher, a false shepherd always sounds like a wolf growling with hunger even when it looks, smells, and acts like a lamb. Oh sure, the occasional individual sheep—the lapsed or lukewarm Christian—may be fooled, seduced by the hypnotic thrill of the wolf's promises, but the flock as a whole is never fooled, never taken in by a stranger's voice. Together, as one flock, we remember the Chief Shepherd's voice; we remember him saying, “I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. . .I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” There is no other gate to the Father's eternal pasture, no other Shepherd for His faithful flock. Christ Jesus alone brings us to a more abundant life!

As faithful sheep, we should ask: how do we come to recognize the authoritative voice of our Shepherd? In his Acts of the Apostles, St. Luke gives us a clue. Peter stands with the Eleven and proclaims to the crowd, “Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.” Luke tells us that when those in the crowd heard this truth spoken, “they were cut to the heart. . .” Cut to the heart! Peter utters a simple sentence, twenty-one common words strung together, a declarative sentence that rings out over those gathered, seizes their attention with absolute clarity, and instantly convicts their hearts in the truth: the man Jesus, the one whom they crucified, is the Lord and the Christ long-promised by their God. Peter's pronouncement slices through their guilt; their recriminations; their religious and legal defenses; their logic, their doubts, and their fears. They were cut to the heart, that place in their souls where no lie can easily rest and b/c they recognize their sin, they ask, “What are we to do?” And Peter tells them what to do. “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. . .Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.” Among those who heard Peter preach that day were three thousand souls who accepted his message and were baptized. Those three thousand, once convicted in the truth and baptized in the name of Christ Jesus, would always recognize the voice of the Lord and his shepherds. A cut to the heart made by the sword that Christ himself yields is always deep and always permanent. It cannot be forgotten nor can it be mistaken for the mark of a stranger.

As men and women baptized into the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, we are deeply and permanently cut by the truth of the gospel. Christ's voice always rings true; the familiar authority of our shepherd is unmistakable, and we cannot be lead astray if we graze with his flock, the Church. The apostle Peter and his successors proclaim the central, abiding fact of our two-thousand year old flock: “God has made both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.” That's the sound, the voice of gospel truth, the words and the spirit that cuts the hearts of all those who long to see their lives redeemed, who desire a life beyond this one, who know that they will be perfected only when they come to see their Father face-to-face at the foot of His throne. Do you recognize that voice? More importantly, can you speak with that voice and spread the good news it proclaims? Sheep may be dirty, stupid, and prone to being eaten by wolves, but we are no ordinary sheep! We belong to the Eternal Shepherd and the world is our pasture to cultivate for him. Having heard his call, it's time for us to answer.

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The Left's (failed) Eliminationist Narrative

De-coding and deconstructing the repeated failures of the Left's Eliminationist Narrative:

 

It started with Bill Sparkman [2009], the part-time Census worker who went missing and then was found dead, setting off an avalanche of mainstream media and left-blogosphere accusations that he was the victim of anti-government “right-wing” hate.  It turned out that Sparkman killed himself. . .

 

[. . .]

 

The Sparkman accusations were based on nothing more than a desire to demonize the newly formed and rapidly growing Tea Party movement as terrorists and un-American.  It was as if they were hoping for an act of Tea Party violence.

Yet there was a theory behind the madness, the Eliminationist Narrative created by Dave Neiwart of Crooks and Liars about an “eliminationist” radical right seeking to dehumanize and eliminate political opposition.

 

[. . .]

 

In the case of Sparkman, the accusations were just Another Failed Eliminationist Narrative.  And the Eliminationist Narrative would fail time and time again:

• James Holmes
• Jared Loughner
• The Cabby Stabber
• The “killer” of Bill Sparkman
• Amy Bishop
• The Fort Hood Shooter
• The IRS Plane Crasher
• The Pentagon Shooter

We can now add the Boston Marathon Bombing to the pile.  The wild speculation that there was a Tea Party or “right-wing” connection proved false.
 

 [. . .]

Rest assured, Good Readers. . .these repeated failures by the Left's Eliminationist Narrative to explain unfolding events will not deter their allies in the media from attempting to frame the next (God forbid) terrorist attack as the work of the ever elusive right-wing operative.

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Does this shock you?

3rd Week of Easter (S)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

Jesus knows that his disciples are grumbling. They heard him say that they must eat his flesh and drink his blood to gain eternal life. They're grumbling b/c some seem to think that he means all this metaphorically. Like that time he talked about them being like sheep. Or that time he said they were all different kinds of soil that the seed of his Word fell upon. Some think this is all just a parable and that he's telling them that his teachings will sustain them if they will just treat his words like a daily meal, symbolic food to grow in wisdom. Others, the ones who were really listening to him, are disturbed. Deeply disturbed. Jesus didn't tell them that they must eat his flesh. He used the Greek word trōgōn. They must gnaw his flesh. Like a lion gnaws the flesh and bone of its prey. He knows that they are grumbling; so, he asks, “Does this shock you?” Now they are really worried. He continues, “The words I have spoken to you are Spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.” John tells us, “. . .many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer walked with him.” Metaphors, symbols, parables. None of these brings eternal life. Only the flesh and blood of the Lamb of God can feed a soul hungry for salvation. 

Our gospel reading this morning brings to an end the long lesson we call the “Bread of Life Discourse.” Jesus spends a great deal of time drawing together various lines of Old Testament thought and imagery to produce a picture of himself as the Lamb to be sacrificed for the salvation of the world. He pulls in the unleavened bread of Passover. He draws the exodus from slavery in Egypt and the manna that fed God's people in the desert. He colors his lesson with memories of exile, return, the bloody sacrifices of the temple. And then he concludes by shocking everyone with the most ridiculous claim, “Whoever eats my Flesh and drinks my Blood has eternal life. . .” We get the sense that most of those following him were with him in spirit until he utters this, this utterly revolting, impossible sentence. Is there anything more unclean to the Jews than cannibalism? Even touching a corpse, or just being in a tent with one requires seven days of ritual purification! Did this idea of gnawing on his flesh shock some of the disciples? You bet it did. And many of them simply walked away, returning to the lives they had left. 

Watching many of his disciples walk away, Jesus asks the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?” He knows that they do not want to walk away from him; he asks so that they can hear themselves say, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” They will need to repeat this truth, hear themselves speaking this truth. The trials that lie must be met with tremendous courage and strength, with a deeply held faith and a firm grasp on hope. “We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.” This belief, this conviction cannot be sustained w/o substantial nourishment: prayer, fasting, fraternal love; the constancy of living day in and out in the knowledge that God's promises never fail. The lives we live right now cannot be lived in truth and goodness, cannot be beautifully lived without the Body and Blood that brings us to eternal life. So, we must gnaw his flesh and drink his blood. Metaphors, symbols, parables. None of these can bring life eternal. Only the flesh and blood of the Lamb of God can sustain us. Does this shock you? Do you too want to walk away? Or have you come to believe and are convinced that Christ is the Holy One of God? If so, prepare yourself for trials. And be prepared for the Cross. “The words I have spoken to you are Spirit and life.” 

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Catholic Cannibalism

NB. Deacon John is preaching this morning. Below is one of my Over the Top homilies from 2007. This is a style I often used back then b/c the audience was mostly college students. 

3rd Week of Easter (F): Acts 9.1-20 and John 6.52-59
Fr. Philip N. Powell, OP
St Albert the Great Priory and Church of the Incarnation

 SECRET DOOMSDAY CULT CANNIBALIZES EXECUTED MESSIAH, CLAIMS IMMORTALITY! The talking-head TV version of this newspaper headline opens with this talking-point: “Religious fanaticism in America today: are your children safe?” Then the talking-heads parade a line of Three-ring Circus Clowns who all demand that the Supreme Court ban religion as a public-safety hazard. The state-owned regulatory nannies and ninnies start squawking like geese frightened on a pond by a gator and before you know it Congress is holding hearings during which otherwise intelligent men and women are asking asinine questions like: “But Bishop, with all due respect, given the recent scandals of the Church, is there a way to tone down your body and blood rhetoric here?” 

Maybe we can forgive the routine ignorance of the media and its oftentimes sensationalistic and even hostile portrayal of religious folks, especially Christians in the U.S. Our faith is not easily understood even by those who have been initiated into it and strive with God’s grace to live it day-to-day! And surely we can forgive those in the Church who would have us curb the enthusiasm of Christ’s Eucharistic teaching in today’s gospel. I mean, are we really helping ecumenical efforts at the international and national level by insisting on all this blood and guts imagery? Wouldn’t it be better to focus rather on the more genteel and less violent imagery of bread and wine? These are great symbols of earth and home and harmony and human work. Besides bread and wine helps to keep us focused “down here” on the domestic community rather than “up there” on an inaccessible Big Scary Father-God. Aren’t we here really just to learn to live together and help each other and be at peace with the environment? 

No. No, we’re not. We’re here to be saved. We’re here to find the Way and walk it. We’re here to eat the body of Christ, to drink his blood and to share more and more intimately in the workings of the Blessed Trinity in human history. We are here…more literally…”to gnaw” on Christ. Not to nibble daintily or to consume politely but “to gnaw.” That’s the Greek. Gnaw. Now, let me see you gnaw symbolically. For that matter, let me see you gnaw a symbol. Let me see you gnaw on a memory, a memorial, a representation. Let me see you gnaw on an eschatological sign, a prophetic image, a metaphor for “making-present things past.” 

The quarreling Jews may have understood better then than we do sometimes now: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” This question actually belies substantial understanding! They understood Jesus to say “flesh.” Meat. Body. And blood. True food and true drink. Not mere symbols. Not just memorial signs. Not mere representational action in history. Not just an “absence of forgetting.” Real food, real drink for eternal life. And this is why they are shocked to hear Jesus teaching what can only be called cannibalism. I don’t think Jesus eases their fears any in the explanation of his baffling claim: “Whoever eats my Flesh and drinks my Blood remains in me and I in him…the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.” This is astonishingly clear and simple. And outrageously scandalous! 

From the beginning we have had immediate access to Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist. His real flesh and real blood. We will not eat the bread of our ancestors this morning. We will eat the bread of life from the banquet table of the Father. We will eat…we will gnaw!...as children, heirs, as a people loved, we will feast on immortality so that we may become him whom we eat. There is no other reason for us to be here this morning than this: our transubstantiation into Christ. Just ask Paul: we will not all die, but we will all be changed! 

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Iron is broken to be remade

3rd Week of Easter (Th)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

Isaiah prophesies: “O, Jerusalem, the friendless, the storm-beaten, the inconsolable. . .All your children shall be taught by the Lord; great shall be their peace.” Jerusalem, an abandoned wife and mother whose children live in exile, is prepared by the Lord for the return of her children. Isaiah sees the exiles flowing through the city gates, glad and rejoicing b/c with enduring love the Lord has taken pity on them and welcomed them back. He promises, “My love shall never fall away from you nor my covenant of peace be shaken. . .” Friendless, storm-battered, and inconsolable, the children of Jerusalem hear another promise: “Every weapon fashioned against you shall fail; every tongue that brings you to trial you shall prove false.” Out of these promises and the rejoicing of God's people in receiving them, Jesus recovers an ancient lesson not always well-learned: “Everyone who listens to my Father and learns from him comes to me.” Listening to the Father, learning from the Father, brings us to Christ b/c Christ is the culmination and fulfillment of the Father's plan to bring all of His children through the city gates of the heavenly Jerusalem. Do you listen to the Father? What do you learn? 

Listening and learning from what you hear requires a particular disposition, a specific sort of attitude. In old school Catholic moral theology, this attitude is called “docility.” Being docile is not a popular way of getting through a day these days. We've come to think of docility as an unhealthy passivity, a weakness of character, or a dangerous sort of submissiveness that threatens our dignity. Docile personalities are effortlessly manipulated by aggressive minds and dark hearts. Docile personalities are unreliable, unproductive, and liable to easily break. Consciously or unconsciously, the message we receive from the world is that docility is a guaranteed way of being trampled by those with no fear of consequences. It is far, far better to be cold, calculating, unyielding, and aggressively assertive. We must be like iron to survive in this hostile world. And that may be so. But when we adopt this attitude toward divine teaching we are essentially begging God to look at us and see hard hearts and mulish minds. We're asking Him to treat us like iron. And iron must be broken to be remade. Can we bring ourselves to sit docilely at the feet of Christ? Listen and learn? Or will we stand in stubborn resistance, demanding equality with God? 

The Christian virtue of docility is not a weakling's passivity before authority. Aquinas teaches us that docility is a cognitive virtue under prudence; that is, being teachable is a good habit b/c such an attitude helps us to learn to see ahead, to make the best decisions based on the best available evidence with the Good firmly in mind. Docility is akin to humility in that it helps us to recognize and accept the truth of our natural limits and encourages us to seek out God's wisdom in revelation. Repeatedly, the children of Jerusalem chose stubbornness over docility. Repeatedly, they closed their ears to God's word and refused to listen. Repeatedly, they made themselves into iron. And God taught them the only way that they would be taught: by being broken in exile and remade. B/c Christ came among us as the culmination and fulfillment of God's plan to bring us into His heavenly Jerusalem, we do not have to be broken in exile. He died and rose again; and in baptism, we are killed and reborn, broken and remade. If we will be docile at his feet, teachable to the divine truths he has to teach us, we will not only survive, we will thrive as His beloved children; and not only will we thrive, we know know His peace. Everyone who listens to the Father and learns from Him comes to Christ, the living bread, his Flesh for the life of the world. 

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And there was great joy in the city!

3rd Week of Easter (W)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

The Church in Jerusalem is being persecuted by the Jewish religious establishment. Peter and the Apostles are arrested twice and brought before the Sanhedrin to answer charges of heresy and sedition. Both times they are sternly warned to stop preaching and teaching in the name of Christ. Both times they defy the authorities and continue doing what they were sent by Christ to do. B/c the Apostles must obey God rather than men, the persecution is turning violent, and the Church is scattered “throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria. . .” Saul is dragging Christians out of their homes and putting them in prison. By the standards of the time, none of this is particularly noteworthy. What is noteworthy is the reaction of the persecuted Church. We read in Acts: “Now those who had been scattered went about preaching the word.” Also of note is the reaction of those who hear and benefit from the apostolic preaching: “There was great joy in that city.” How does the persecuted Church defy the threat of prison and violence? How do we answer religious rejection and secular condemnation? We go about preaching the Word. 

The Church's extraordinary answer to persecution is extraordinary only if we fail to understand her purpose. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to create and defend a particular vision of western culture, then preaching the word in defiance of violent secular repression seems extraordinary. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to support the platform of a particular political party, or promote a particular economic system, then preaching the word in defiance of persecution seems extraordinary. If we believe that the Church's purpose is to provide us with a ready-made network of like-minded friends, business contacts, or just something to do on a Sunday morning, then preaching the word in defiance of the law, in defiance of all social pressure to stop seems more than just extraordinary; it's socially suicidal, downright dumb. However, since the purpose of the Church is to preach the word, preaching the word—even in defiance of persecution, esp. in defiance of persecution—is the most natural thing for her to do. Why? B/c when the word of God is preached, there is always great joy. The Good News of God's mercy to sinners always brings with it the blessings of freedom, healing, and peace. 

 It is the Church's nature and purpose to preach the word “in season and out.” If that's not enough to explain her defiance of persecution, then let this be enough: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Where would the hungry go to eat the bread of life if not the Church? How could anyone come to believe if there were no witnesses giving testimony? The Church is in the world to be the living sacrament of Christ, to point to and make present his saving power among the nations. Jesus says, “For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life. . .” How does anyone in 2013 “see the Son” and come to believe in him? Through the teaching and preaching and sacraments of his Body, the Church—alive and well 2,000 yrs after his resurrection. In defiance of persecution, social ostracism, ridicule, corruption, scandal, exile, and occasional defeat, alive and well for 2,000 yrs, living in his resurrection to preach the Good News of God's mercy to sinners. Our purpose is not victory. God has already won. Our purpose is to tell the world that He has won, and that He wants us all, everyone to share in that victory through Christ, His Son. 

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God is dead

 We're discussing Nietzsche in class this morning.  Here's his most (in)famous passage:

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?”  (The Gay Science)

Though the idea that humans must becomes gods is hardly new, Nietzsche's divine obituary and Kierkegaard's wholesale abandonment of the possibility of rational faith, left us flailing about for a suitable Grand Narrative to replace God and Reason. Unfortunately, as a culture, we chose the decadent straight-jacket of modernist science and pragmatism.   And western civilization has been in moral decline ever since. . .

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Pray for Boston

I've deleted the post about the explosions in Boston. . .just about everything that is being reported is either false or unconfirmed. . .I thought that the info was solid.  Apparently not.

However, the need for prayer is certainly solid enough!

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+Francis and the LCWR

The Holy Father reaffirms the CDF's assessment of the LCWR and the remedies it has recommended:

[. . .]

Finally, Archbishop Müller informed the Presidency that he had recently discussed the Doctrinal Assessment with Pope Francis, who reaffirmed the findings of the Assessment and the program of reform for this Conference of Major Superiors.

[. . .]

So, despite his brown shoes, a love for tamborines, and  being Jesuit, our Holy Father is still Catholic.

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Be a work of God

3rd Week of Easter (M)
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic Church, NOLA

What can we do to accomplish the works of God? Absolutely nothing. . .until we first believe. Belief in the One Whom God sent is the difference that makes all the difference btw “doing a good work” and “doing God's work.” It should go without saying that non-believers can do the same good works that believers do. Non-believers can be morally good people too. Aquinas refers to these folks as “virtuous pagans.” That's not an insult, by the way; he's complimenting these non-believers for their natural virtues and hoping that these virtues will eventually lead them to Christ. So, what's the difference btw a virtuous pagan who feeds the hungry and a Christian who feeds the hungry? Both accomplish a good work. Both satisfy the requirements of natural justice. And the person being fed couldn't care less who gives them something to eat. The difference lies in why the hungry person is being fed. The virtuous pagan is motivated by a merely human desire to be compassionate and acts accordingly. The Christian is motivated by this same desire, but acts for no other reason than to reveal the glory of God. What can we do to accomplish the works of God? Jesus says, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.” 

When we believe in the One Whom God sent, we re-order our desires and motivations to reflect a new creation; that is, we re-arrange what we want and why we act in such a way that we become living icons of Christ—human windows into the glory of God. In the same way that the Son reveals the Father, we reveal the Son so that the Father might be seen working in the world. To accomplish this work, our belief in Christ must be more than just a statement of fact, or casual assent. Our belief must be acted upon, made real in word and deed. If we believe in Christ, then we must be Christs in the world. We are his Body—one heart and mind, one faith—doing what he has commanded us to do. When asked by the crowd how God's work might be accomplished, Jesus replies, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.” And when you have come to believe in the one sent by God, work out of that belief so that anyone who sees you or hears you will come to know and love the Risen Lord. He says to us, “Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life. . .” 

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What a Bull Dog can do to a baby. . .

OK.  To make up for the Barbarian Baby Slaughtering Smurfs. . .I give you. . .

Baby Covered in Bull-dog Puppies!

If your glucose levels can tolerate it, go here for eight more pics just as Sugary Sweet as this one.
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You know that I love you. . .(UPDATED)

3rd Sunday of Easter 2013
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
St. Dominic/Our Lady of the Rosary

Our Lord asks Peter a question—The Question, actually—the question that makes Peter squirm like a worm on a hot rock: “Simon [Peter], son of John, do you love me more than these?”* We can't help but wonder what went through Peter's head at hearing this question. He must've flashed back to the time Jesus asked the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And he answered, “You are the Son of the living God.” He must've remembered rebuking Jesus when the Lord revealed that he would die in Jerusalem, and Jesus yelling at him, “Get behind me, Satan!” He must've remembered Jesus' prophecy that he would deny knowing him three times in the Garden. That memory must've made him blush in shame. His betrayal. Fleeing arrest. Outright lying. Now, the Risen Lord sits with him on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias and asks, “Simon [Peter], do you love me more than these?” Of course, Peter says that he loves the Lord. Could he say anything else? Truly, sitting there in the presence of the Risen Lord, could he confess to any other passion but the love btw friends, friends who willingly die for one another? “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” 

This first answer to the Jesus' question tells us that Peter is confused. “You know that I love you,” so why are you asking me if I love you? All those memories of rebuking Jesus, betraying him, denying him; all those chances to live out the radical love btw friends willing to die for one another; all those flashes of revelation into his teacher's true nature and ministry, the entirety of his short but intense life with this extraordinary man of God—they all collapse into this single, profoundly intimate meeting btw a sinner and his Savior: “Peter, do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” No, Peter isn't confused at all. He's feeling awkward, spiritually clumsy. He wants this moment to end. What can I say to get this over with? Or maybe he's hurt that his teacher thinks he might not love him. He has every reason to doubt that he does. Or maybe Peter is offended by the question, “You know that I love you, Lord,” why do you ask? Why does Jesus interrogate Peter this way? Not once or twice but three times he asks. And three times Peter gives the same answer. By the third time, John tells us, Peter is “distressed.” He's worried. Does the Lord really think that I don't love him? Peter is “grieved” by the possibility, so he answers, a little desperately, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus says, “Feed my sheep.” 

This seaside scene btw Jesus and Peter brings to harvest a number of seeds planted by Christ in the hearts and minds of his disciples. Though Peter is the focus of this interrogation, the other disciples bear their own spiritual wounds and fruits as a result of Christ's teaching. Since he first said, “Follow me” to these fishermen, Jesus has taught them in word and deed to forgive one another, to be at peace with one another, and above all, to love one another. He's taught them to surrender themselves to God by taking up their crosses and bearing up under whatever burdens must be carried. He's taught them to remember him in the breaking of the bread, in daily prayer, in fasting and in taking care of the least among them. He's taught them that being first in God's kingdom means being last in the Enemy's; and that if they love him, if they are truly willing to die for love of him, they will feed those who follow him. Feed my sheep. Feed them with the bread of life. Feed them with the Word. Satisfy their hunger for heaven, their thirst for the truth. This seaside scene btw Peter and Jesus is not only Peter's reconciliation with his Lord, it is also his final exam, his last test as the Lord's favored student. 

As students of Christ, how would you and I do on this final exam? If the Risen Lord were to appear to us and ask, “Do you love me?” how would we react? Would we be confused by the question? Hurt? Offended? Embarrassed? Distressed? Or would we jump at the chance to tell the Lord that we do love him? Would there be that split second btw the question and our answer when we remembered that time when we had the chance to bear witness to God's mercy and didn't? That chance to forgive we let slip away. Would we recall all the times we've denied knowing Christ by failing to love as we should? Those times when we let our pride stand in the way of our humility? Would our failures to give God thanks for our blessings cause us to stutter an answer? Would we blush at our lack of growth in holiness? Our spiritual clumsiness when disaster strikes? Yes, probably; yes, to all of these. And then we'd remember what Christ taught from his cross: all is forgiven; every sin, every flaw and fault, every failure to love is washed away. And we'd say, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” And he'd say to us, “Feed my sheep.” 

When Peter and the other Apostles are arrested by the Sanhedrin, did they remember this profoundly intimate meeting with the Risen Lord? They must've. The high priest accuses them, “We gave you strict orders, did we not, to stop teaching in that name? Yet you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching. . .” Before he responds to the accusation, Peter must've heard Jesus saying, “Feed my sheep.” So, he says to the priests, “We must obey God rather than men. . .” Rather than obey men, we must feed the Lord's sheep. Rather than bowing to your worldly power, we must bow before the glory of God. Rather than surrender ourselves to this world's hatred, we must teach others to surrender themselves to God's love. Peter must've smiled a little, recalling the grilling Jesus gave him by the Sea of Tiberias. Three times he had to confess his love for Christ. Three times Christ ordered him to feed his sheep. And now, here he is, standing before the powers of men, and he understands why Christ put him to the question. Jesus knew that he, Peter, could not feed his sheep if he himself would not be fed. The Lord absolved Peter of his sins, gave him a word of mercy so that when the time came to defy the world, he can so ready to die. I imagine Peter in front of the Sanhedrin, whispering, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” 

You know already, brothers and sisters, that we must obey God rather than men. We know this, but can we do it. More often than not, there is no conflict btw what we must do to satisfy the world and what we must do to satisfy God. But when a conflict arises, do we think immediately of Peter before the Sanhedrin? Do we think of him at the seashore with Jesus? Or do we think instead of all our failures and flaws, all of our sins and then excuse ourselves again from the obligation to put Christ first in our lives? Our failures and flaws cannot serves as excuses. After the death and resurrection of Christ, our sins are forgiven. We can no long demur in our duties to God b/c we are unworthy, or b/c we imagine ourselves to be too irresponsible to love properly. Jesus asks, “Do you love me?” If your answer is, “Yes, Lord, I love you,” then hear him say to you, “Feed my sheep.”

* If you're interested in my take on why Jesus uses the phrase "more than these," check out this daily homily from 2008.

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