Tag: Christianity

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Sermon: Palm Sunday – Heavenly Virtues / Hope

Last week, I shared with you a verse from the Epistle to the Hebrews: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). In our study of the Heavenly Virtues, including the three Theological Virtues, we understand that faith is a gift from God, but that faith is not something like a commodity we can acquire more of it on an as-needed basis. Instead, faith is a relationship with the Father through Christ Jesus. Faith is resting in the shadow of His wings, regardless of circumstances or outcome. However, the passage from Hebrews introduced the second of the Theological Virtues—hope.

Within philosophy, hope has mainly been seen as negative, though sometimes as positive. It is considered negative because it was seen as frivolous optimism, and positive because, in the right measure, it can provide encouragement.

In psychology, hope is considered part of positivity and positive thinking. Hope is “the perceived capability to derive pathways to desired goals, and motivate oneself via agency thinking—willpower or drive—to use those pathways.” (Source) A psychology professor at the University of Oklahoma explains, “We often use the word ‘hope’ in place of wishing, like you hope it rains today or you hope someone’s well… but wishing is passive toward a goal, and hope is about taking action toward it.” (Ibid.) From this view, hope combines positive thinking with action to achieve a specific goal.

Both of these approaches—philosophy and psychology—bump up against our understanding of the Virtue of Christian Hope, but neither completely captures it, and they differ in two main ways.

First, Christian hope is not about an action or outcome we expect to be fulfilled in the future. Instead, Christian hope concerns an outcome that has already been accomplished. Our hope is the salvation that was achieved at Golgotha on the Cross. St. Alphonsus Liguori writes, “What sinner would ever have been able to hope for pardon if Jesus had not, by his blood and by his death, made satisfaction to the divine justice for us?” (The Love of Jesus Crucified, p.117) Without salvation, there would be no hope; without it, life is just a series of days strung together that lead to nothingness. Instead, “How great is the hope of salvation which the death of Jesus Christ imparts to us.” (Ibid. p.122)

Writing to the Romans, St. Paul said, “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies.Who is to condemn?” (Romans 8:32-34) Ligouri, expanding on this, wrote, “How should that Lord condemn thee, who died in order not to condemn thee? How should he drive thee away when thou returnest to his feet, he who came from heaven to seek thee when thou wert fleeing from him? ‘What art thou afraid of, sinner? How shall he condemn thee penitent, who dies that thou mayst not be condemned? How shall he cast thee off returning, who came from heaven seeking thee?’” (Love, p.122) In other words, for you, Jesus endured the horrors of the Cross, why—if you call on His name, if you have faith in Him and, through that faith, enter into a relationship with Him, and if you love Him—why would He turn from you and condemn you? Christian hope speaks to our souls and assures us that He would never do that. This also highlights the second main difference between Christian hope and the hope of philosophy or psychology: Although Christian hope helps us in this life, its main focus is eternal life.

Our hope lies in our salvation, which has already been secured. While we begin to experience the joy of that salvation in this life, it is our eternal life that Jesus cares most about. Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:25-26). Our hope is eternal life, made possible through salvation gained through the Cross. That in turn gives us the hope we have in daily living. Through the hope of eternal life, made possible by the resurrection of the dead, regardless of the trials we endure, in the words of St. Teresa of Avila: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” That fun line from The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel puts it: “Everything will be okay in the end, and if it is not okay, it is not the end.”

Faith is the loving and protective relationship we have with the Father. Our hope informs our souls to know that not only do we have this relationship, but that it is eternal. This leaves us with the last of the Theological and Heavenly Virtues, and it is greater than all these—love.

Let us pray (from St. Alphonsus Ligouri). I invite you to make this prayer your own: My Jesus, my hope, Thou, in order not to lose me, hast been willing to lose Thy life; I will not lose Thee, O infinite good. If, in time past, I have lost Thee, I repent of it; I wish, for the future, never to lose Thee more. It is for Thee to aid me, that I may not lose Thee again. O Lord, I love Thee, and I will love Thee always. Mary, thou, next after Jesus, art my hope; tell thy Son that thou dost protect me, and I shall be safe. Amen. So may it be. (Love, p.130)

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Sermon: Lent 5 – Heavenly Virtues / Faith

The lineup for the St. Louis Wolves baseball team: Who’s on first, What’s on second, and I Don’t Know is on third. I do believe that trying to keep track of the seven Heavenly Virtues can at times be equally as confusing. Just be thankful I opted not to include the discussion on the seven Capital Virtues and the seven Deadly Sins—maybe another day.

To bring everyone up to speed: the seven Heavenly Virtues consist of the four Cardinal Virtues and the three Theological Virtues. So far, we’ve covered the Cardinal Virtues: fortitude (spiritual courage), justice (seeking the common good), prudence (setting rules and measures), and temperance (moderation and balance). The Theological Virtues are perhaps more familiar: faith, hope, and charity or love. Today, we turn our attention to the first—faith.

Holy Scripture is full of discussions about faith; after all, that is what it all revolves around. There are many passages we can quote, and one of the more well-known is found in St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians—“We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). We enjoy quoting this, but I have to wonder—Do we truly walk by faith and not by sight? I would like to say yes, but I don’t think that is entirely accurate. Not because we don’t believe it to be true, but because we don’t fully understand what it means to have the faith that is proclaimed in the Bible. The issue began around the time of the Enlightenment (17th and 18th centuries), and it can be narrowed somewhat to that deep philosophical statement by the French (those darn French!) mathematician and philosopher René Descartes. He said, “I think, therefore I am.” Why is that a problem? That one little word “I.”

The word “I” shifts faith from the realm of God the Creator into the realm of us, the created. By doing so, faith becomes individualistic. It becomes what I can see, what I can do, and what I believe, which may sometimes align with other believers but often differ vastly. For example, consider the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds.

“I believe in one God, the Father Almighty… and in one Lord Jesus Christ. I believe in the Holy Ghost the Lord, and Giver of life.” Now, before I go further, please don’t rush to the Bishop and tell him, “Father John says the Creeds are a problem!” I’m not saying that. But when we declare these statements, I know for a fact that we don’t all understand them the same way. More importantly, even though these statements speak of our faith, they do so intellectually; knowing something intellectually doesn’t have the power to transform lives. I can know that Jesus is Lord intellectually, but that knowledge won’t help much when the doctor calls up and says, “Stage four.” I firmly believe that knowledge is power, but when it comes to our faith, that knowledge must be incorporated into a life that is lived.

Another way we misunderstand faith is how we perceive it working in our lives. Say you get that call from the doctor. In your mind, you might think, “I’ll need to have greater faith to see me through this.” Or when things aren’t going well, someone who should be slapped silly might say, “You just need to have more faith.” In both cases, faith becomes something akin to adding more horsepower to an engine. “I’m gonna nitro-infuse the dual turbocharged manifold of my faith and supercharge it!” I know nothing about cars, but you get the idea. But what happens when the turbocharged faith fails? What happens when the doctor says, “We’ve done all we can do”? Didn’t you have enough faith? Was God angry with you? Or do we couch it in easier-to-swallow but vague spiritual language, “It’s God’s will”? 

Our beliefs and our turbocharged faith, or lack thereof, are just two reasons why I don’t think we truly understand what Holy Scripture means by faith. There are more reasons, but enough about what faith isn’t. So, what exactly is faith? A specific incident in Matthew’s Gospel helps us grasp the answer.

“When Jesus got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, ‘Save us, Lord; we are perishing.’ And he said to them, ‘Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?’ Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?’” (Matthew 8:23-27)

This is a familiar story and a favorite for many. We understand that water symbolizes chaos and death, and that the storm represents the world around us with its challenges, concerns, hardships, and more. We are the disciples—concerned, confused, afraid, and dying. Jesus… well, Jesus is conked out in the bow of the boat. From our intellect, we shout out at the storm, “I believe in one God, Father Almighty…,” but the storm still rages. We say, “I will turbocharge my faith,” but the storm still rages. We bargain with God, saying, “Get me through this, and I’ll attend every service during Holy Week,” but the storm still rages. Do all you know to do, but the storm is still going to rage. Why? Because rage is what storms do. You try to influence that storm with your intellectual understanding or your turbocharged faith, but it doesn’t work. Yes, in this particular instance, Jesus calmed the storm, but consider this: years later, after Jesus ascended into Heaven, Peter faced another storm in Rome. Jesus didn’t calm that storm, and it ended with Peter being crucified upside down. Bartholomew was caught in a storm that ended with him being flayed alive. James faced a storm that led to his beheading. All those men in that boat—the exception might be John, who likely saw his fair share of storms—had storms that ended in their brutal and merciless deaths. Did they not have enough faith? Was their faith not turbocharged? No!

In that boat on the sea, when the storm was raging, and the disciples were terrified, Jesus was not only sleeping peacefully. He was also teaching. He was demonstrating to them—and to us—what true faith in the Father Almighty actually looks like. He was teaching that storms are going to do what storms do—rage—but you, no matter what appearance the storms in your life may take, can rest secure in the Father’s arms, knowing—not just believing—but knowing that the Father Almighty will see you through. It’s not about the storms that blow out there—you can’t change them; they will do what they do—instead, it’s about the storms that blow within your soul, and you can do something about them. True faith says, “Regardless of what I know in my mind, regardless of what I see with my eyes, and even regardless of the final outcome, there is God, and where God is… How did David put it?”

“If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you
(Psalm 139:8-12).

“I think, therefore I am.” “I will turbocharge my faith.” No. Faith is not about “I.” Faith is relational. “We walk by faith, not by sight.” Faith is a life walking with God and a life transformed by that relationship. If we walk by what we can see, the storm will terrify us; therefore, we walk by what we cannot see. That is faith.

Such faith is a grace, a gift from God. Do you need more of this faith? Then follow the example of the disciples. Ask Jesus for more—“Lord, increase our faith!” “Lord, all I can see is the storm. Help me to see you. Help me to know how to lie down in the bow of the boat next to you and rest in the Father’s arms. Help me to grow more deeply into a relationship with You.”

That is faith; however, there is more to this walk with God, for St. Paul also tells us, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Question: What is this hope he speaks of?

Let us pray: Lord God, grant us the faith to know Your will, the hope to accept it, and the love to do it, even when we don’t understand, trusting that Your way is best. We ask this through Christ Our Lord. Amen. 

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Sermon: Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Cultural anthropology studies various cultures and identifies their differences. One way to categorize cultures is by whether they are driven by guilt, shame, or fear.

A guilt culture emphasizes law and judgment. Most people in such societies aim to have a clear conscience. Am I following the laws of the land and the moral standards accepted by most? A shame culture focuses on maintaining honor to avoid dishonor. Am I being viewed favorably by those around me? A fear culture involves living in the shadow of physical intimidation. Am I at risk of being physically harmed for my actions?

In the United States, we live under the first—guilt culture. Throughout history, we have developed the law of the land and built a moral code based on what we understand as Biblical teaching. The fear culture can be seen in countries like North Korea or Iran, where people fear retribution and do what is expected of them. In countries like Japan and China, culture is rooted in shame and honor—a fear of losing “face.” 

In the Middle East today and during the time of Jesus, this shame and honor culture was, and still is, the main factor influencing people’s behavior. I admit, this is a new way for me to read and understand Holy Scripture, but the evidence of Jesus’ words and those of Paul and the others suggests that Jesus was much more focused on honor than on establishing strict moral laws. 

Jesus said, “The Father judges no one but has given all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father. Anyone who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent him. Very truly, I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life.” Jesus did not say, “Whoever does this and does not do that (law/judgment) will receive eternal life.” Jesus said, “Whoever believes my words and honors me and honors the Father will receive eternal life.” So the question is, how do we honor Jesus? Answer: We do what Jesus had been doing. What had Jesus been doing?

Leading up to these words, Jesus had healed a paralytic who had been crippled for thirty-eight years. Because he was a paralytic and sick, people assumed the man or his parents must have sinned greatly. Being sick brought him great shame. Jesus healed him and restored his honor. Similarly, Jesus healed a boy who was near death. There was also the Samaritan woman at the well. She had faced much shame—five divorces and now living with a man. Given the culture and the hostility between Jews and Samaritans, Jesus honored her simply by speaking to her. Still, through their conversation, he took her shame and restored her dignity, both to herself and to her community. 

In the end, Jesus endured the shame of the cross (cf. Hebrews 12:2) to remove our shame and, in turn, granted us the greatest honor—He made us God’s children.

How do we honor Jesus? By working to restore the honor of others, fulfilling our Baptismal Vows—seeking to serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves, striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being. We honor Jesus and the Father by honoring those we encounter.

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Sermon: Lent 4 – Heavenly Virtues / Prudence & Temperance 

The reign of Queen Victoria, known as the Victorian Era of the British Empire, lasted from 1837 to 1901. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens primarily focuses on the French Revolution; however, Dickens, an Englishman, had Victorian London and its issues in mind while writing that great novel. He recognized that what was happening in Paris could very easily happen in London too, so the beginning of the book references both Paris and London and aptly captures the spirit of the Victorian Era. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” 

During that era, there was a focus on morality, proper conduct, and manners. Therefore, Victorian etiquette was sometimes quite charming—we could still use some of it today—while at other times, downright silly.

One rule that was once good and should still be followed, although with the rise of smartwatches, it would never be reinstated, was: “Pulling out your watch in company unasked, either at home or abroad, is a mark of ill breeding… If at home, it appears as if you were tired of your company, and wish them to be gone; if abroad, as if the hours dragged heavily, and you wished to be gone yourself. If you want to know the time, withdraw.” On the sillier side, we have, “A lady should not ever say ‘my husband,’ except among intimates; in every other case she should always address him by his name, calling him ‘Mr.’ It is equally proper, except on occasions of ceremony, and while she is quite young, to designate him by his Christian name. Never use the initial of a person’s name to designate him; as ‘Mr. P.,’ ‘Mr. L.,’ etc. Nothing is so odious as to hear a lady speak of her husband, or, indeed, anyone else, as ‘Mr. B.’”

All of these rules point to a society governed by various regulations that are followed by many—primarily the elite—and scorned by others as being foolish. However, rules and laws, written or otherwise, have always been a fundamental part of any society. Aristotle noted, “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, he is the worst.”

Today, we continue our study of the seven Heavenly Virtues. As you’ll recall, they are made up of the four Cardinal Virtues and the three Theological Virtues. In particular, today, we’ll look at temperance and prudence. Together, these speak of reason and wisdom in creating, applying, and observing laws and rules.

Technically, “Prudence is the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it. It is not to be confused with timidity or fear, nor with duplicity or dissimulation. It is called auriga virtutum (the charioteer of the virtues); it guides the other virtues by setting rule and measure. It immediately guides the judgment of conscience.” “Temperance is the moral virtue that moderates the attraction of pleasures and provides balance in the use of created goods. It ensures the will’s mastery over instincts and keeps desires within the limits of what is honorable. The temperate person directs the sensitive appetites toward what is good and maintains a healthy discretion.” Those are the technical definitions and are supported by Holy Scripture, yet when I think about them in a less technical way, I think of paint-by-numbers.

As a kid, I’m sure most of us did dome paint-by-numbers. You’d get a nice 8×12 image of a bluebird or a dog and a dozen or so small pods of paint, along with a single paintbrush. They were fun and fairly simple projects. Now, as an adult, I’ve rediscovered paint-by-numbers. I have no idea why, but I can spend hours searching for 17s and be perfectly content. I recently finished my first one, and an example of that project is on the bulletin cover.

These are not the paint-by-numbers you did as a kid. Although it looks fairly complicated, this particular project is classified as beginner. How involved have I become? I have purchased an easel, scores of brushes, clear gesso to prepare the canvas before painting, and sealer for when it’s finished. I have watched hours of YouTube videos and studied techniques. Long story short: although I haven’t reached obsession level, I do invest a significant amount of time. The bonus: it’s cheaper than collecting antique cars.

Technically, prudence “guides the other virtues by setting rule and measure.” In paint-by-numbers, prudence is best represented by the lines. Let’s say that #17 is red. When you are painting 17s without any other color around it, you’ll have an odd-shaped patch of red in the middle of a field of white canvas. That odd-shaped patch of red might seem meaningless at first. It is just there. However, when finished, you might realize it’s part of the lips of the main subject. In the short term, the adherence to the lines, the rule of prudence, may not make much sense, but in the long term, without following the rules, something is amiss. Prudence, the lines, guide everything else.

Temperance “ensures the will’s mastery over instincts and keeps desires within the limits of what is honorable.” In the world of paint-by-numbers, which can be even more challenging with a cat that enjoys swatting at your brush, temperance is twofold. First, it means staying within the lines that prudence provides. Remember the first coloring a young child proudly delivers as a masterpiece? The page has a printed image of a floppy-eared bunny. The child, in their innocence, has taken the brightest of all the crayons, gripped them in one hand, and created a fine rendition of a Jackson Pollock. In paint-by-numbers, you can do the same—throw paint everywhere—and, though this is no judgment of your artistic flair, you too can create a Pollock, but you will never end up with the image you intended.

The second part of temperance is using the right color. I have a new project in progress. This one has much more vibrant colors than the last. When I got home Wednesday night, I sat down and started working on #6. However, at some point, I got it in my pointy little head that I was working on #16, and away I went. Then, things started to make no sense. Trusting the process, I pressed on for a while longer, but then it just started to look wrong. #6 is a nice olive green. #16 is a rather bright orange. Had I desired it, I could have continued, but instead, I went back and painted over what I had done with the correct color, and the image began to emerge once again. St. Paul tells us, “‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things build up” (1 Corinthians 10:23). Temperance: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. 

Together, temperance and prudence speak of wisdom and reason in creating, applying, and following laws and rules. Adhere to the rules and laws, and in the end, you’ll likely end up with a fairly nice picture. You can see for yourself how I did. The finished painting is hanging in the lounge.

These two virtues, temperance and prudence, along with the two we discussed a few weeks ago—fortitude (spiritual courage) and justice (seeking the common good)—supported by humility, are known as the Cardinal Virtues. St. Augustine helps us understand their purpose and how they function together. “As to virtue leading us to a happy life, I hold virtue to be nothing else than perfect love of God. For the fourfold division of virtue, I regard as taken from four forms of love… So we may express the definition thus: that temperance is love keeping itself entire and incorrupt for God; fortitude is love bearing everything readily for the sake of God; justice is love serving God only, and therefore ruling well all else, as subject to man; prudence is love making a right distinction between what helps it towards God and what might hinder it.” (Source)

To live such a life and to love in such a way isn’t always easy, but it does not lead to a life void of color or flavor. Instead, it represents the highest calling and the fulfillment of who we were created to be. St. Peter writes, “Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation” (1 Peter 2:12). By practicing the Cardinal Virtues, we are well on our way to living such a life, but three more virtues are needed—the Theological Virtues of faith, hope, and love. As for these, I say… to be continued.

Let us pray (from St. Thomas Aquinas): Plant in me, O Lord, all virtues: that I may be devoted to divine things, provident in human affairs, and troublesome to no one in bodily cares. Grant me, O Lord, fervour in contrition, sincerity in confession, and completeness in satisfaction. Deign to direct my soul to a good life: that what I do may be pleasing to Thee, meritorious for myself, and edifying to my neighbour. Amen.

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Sermon: Lent 1 – Series: The Heavenly Virtues

From the 6th to the 12th century, when the Church was seeking consistency in teaching and other matters of faith, it developed the Penitentials. These were specifically designed for confession. They outlined all the various sins and prescribed the appropriate penance. A few examples: “He who steals from a church shall do penance for one year; if from a layman, forty days,” “He who destroys another by slander shall fast seven days,” and “If a monk is drunk, he shall fast for three days on bread and water”—depending on how drunk the monk was, that may be more of a blessing than penance.

From these and other teachings that emerged, such as those from the Puritans and the Holiness Movement, many came to believe that the Church’s primary function was to tell people, “Thou shalt not,” “Don’t do this or that,” or, more simply, “No!” while wagging the finger.

The question might be, “Why did the Church go down this path?” There are long, complicated answers, but perhaps the most charitable is that the Church sought to help people live virtuous lives, lives that were holy and righteous in the eyes of God. That is not a bad thing. In fact, it is a very good thing; however, along the way, as with many good things, it was hijacked, and the desire to help people was transformed into a desire to control and manipulate them. At that point, the idea of living a virtuous life became a matter of ridicule and scorn. Elizabeth Taylor said, “The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they’re going to have some pretty annoying virtues.” And, speaking of a political rival, Winston Churchill wrote, “He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.” 

In his autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain, Thomas Merton wrote, “The word virtue: what a fate it has had in the last three hundred years! The fact that it is nowhere near so despised and ridiculed in Latin countries is a testimony to the fact that it suffered mostly from the mangling it underwent at the hands of Calvinists and Puritans. In our own days, the word leaves on the lips of cynical high-school children a kind of flippant smear, and it is exploited in theaters for the possibilities it offers for lewd and cheesy sarcasm. Everybody makes fun of virtue, which now has, as its primary meaning, an affectation of prudery practiced by hypocrites and the impotent—that is, those who rely on a holier-than-thou approach instead of actually living the call of the virtues.”

I tell you all this because, during this Season of Lent, I don’t want to stand up here and say, “Thou shalt not” or “Don’t do that.” Instead, I would like to walk us through a study of the Seven Heavenly Virtues. Why? Because a virtuous life is really not boring or something to laugh at. Concerning such a life, Merton went on to say, “I was never a lover of Puritanism. Now, at last I came around to the sane conception of virtue-without which there can be no happiness, because virtues are precisely the powers by which we can come to acquire happiness: without them, there can be no joy, because they are the habits which coordinate and canalize—channel—our natural energies and direct them to the harmony and perfection and balance, the unity of our nature with itself and with God, which must, in the end, constitute our everlasting peace.” (The Seven Storey Mountain, p.203)

This Lent, let’s see if he is correct. Let’s see if we can discover happiness and everlasting peace in living a virtuous life.

To begin, where do the Seven Heavenly Virtues come from, and what are they? You might think they originated with the Church, but that is only partially true.

Writing in the first century, the Roman philosopher Cicero used the term “Cardinal Virtues” to identify the four virtues that Plato had already codified some five centuries earlier. The word “cardinal,” in this context, means hinge. According to the philosopher, the virtuous life hinges on or pivots around the observation of the four Cardinal Virtues. 

The first of these virtues is prudence or wisdom, which is the combination of knowledge, discernment, and right action. Second is justice, seeking the harmony and peace of the whole society. Third is fortitude or courage, grounded in internal strength, and fourth is temperance or self-control.

Later, Christian writers such as Thomas Aquinas would define these virtues from a Christian perspective. Through this lens, prudence is the discernment of God’s will and the acting accordingly; justice is the application of “love your neighbor as you love yourself,” without asking who your neighbor is; fortitude is the courage to face trials and evil without wavering; and, finally, temperance is moderation or balance.

These four Cardinal Virtues provide us with the first of the seven Heavenly Virtues. The remaining three are the Theological Virtues, and, as the name implies, they come to us through Holy Scripture. I suspect many of you know the verse from St. Paul’s definition of love in his first letter to the Corinthians—“So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13).

Faith, hope, and love—we’ll look at them more closely in the coming weeks, but for now, faith gives us the grace to see the path that leads to God, hope is the grace to desire God, and love is the grace that enables us to participate in a life with God.

By combining the Cardinal Virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance with the Theological Virtues of faith, hope, and love, we arrive at the seven Heavenly Virtues. However, before we can practice any of these, one other element is required. It can be considered a virtue in itself, but it is the root of all the others—humility. Humility is the grace God gives us, enabling us to know who we are and who God is (without confusing the two), combined with the ability to have a relationship with others without the involvement of ego or destructive self-criticism. Humility is about peacefully knowing our place.

Marcus Aurelius, considered one of the Five Good Roman Emperors, ruled the Empire in the late second century. In his personal journal, he wrote to himself, “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” Grounded in humility, my prayer is that over the course of this Season of Lent, we will learn more about and begin to put into practice these Heavenly Virtues so that we can do just that and attain the true happiness and everlasting peace that Merton speaks of.

Let us pray: God, our Father, You redeemed us and made us Your children in Christ. Through Him, You have saved us from death and given us Your Divine life of grace. By becoming more like Jesus on earth, may we come to share His glory in Heaven. Give us the peace of Your kingdom, which this world does not give. By Your loving care, protect the good You have given us. Open my eyes to the wonders of Your Love that we may serve You with a willing heart. Amen.

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Sermon: Ash Wednesday

Pope St. Clement wrote in a letter to the church in Corinth on the topic of repentance. He said, “If we review the various ages of history, we will see that in every generation the Lord has offered the opportunity of repentance to any who were willing to turn to him. When Noah preached God’s message of repentance, all who listened to him were saved. Jonah told the Ninevites they were going to be destroyed, but when they repented, their prayers gained God’s forgiveness for their sins, and they were saved, even though they were not of God’s people.

“Under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the ministers of God’s grace have spoken of repentance; indeed, the Master of the whole universe himself spoke of repentance with an oath: As I live, says the Lord, I do not wish the death of the sinner but his repentance. He added this evidence of his goodness: House of Israel, repent of your wickedness. Tell the sons of my people: If their sins should reach from earth to heaven, if they are brighter than scarlet and blacker than sackcloth, you need only turn to me with your whole heart and say, ‘Father,’ and I will listen to you as a holy people.”

God makes these promises to us in so many different ways, but when it comes to repentance, I believe we can make two big mistakes. The first is to say we have no sin to repent of. St. John swats that away as the silliness it is. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us… If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us” (1 John 1:8, 10). I think we are all smart enough to agree with him on that point, so the second mistake is even greater, and that is believing that our sin is too great or has been committed so many times that God cannot or will not accept our repentance. St. Paul says, “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” We say, “Yes! That’s it exactly. I have done such great evil or so much evil that I’m damned. I am lost.” This is a great error, for it falls into what is known as spiritual pride (a far greater sin than basic pride).

When we say such a thing, we are saying to God the Father, “My sin is so great or so frequent that it cannot be redeemed by the shed blood and death of your one and only Son, Jesus, on the Cross.” It says that everything Jesus did was wasted on you. It declares the promises of God invalid and inapplicable. St. John says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9), and we add a footnote that reads, “This promise is null and void when it comes to me.” That is spiritual pride. Don’t go there.

Take to heart St. Clement’s words—“Tell the sons of my people: If their sins should reach from earth to heaven, if they are brighter than scarlet and blacker than sackcloth, you need only turn to me with your whole heart and say, ‘Father,’ and I will listen to you as a holy people.”

If you say those are only the words of a man, then take the words of Holy Scripture, for King David wrote,

“Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”
(Psalm 51:1-2, 7)

Believe the words when you hear them—“Your sins are forgiven”—and then, “Go, and from now on sin no more” (John 8:11).

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Sermon: Epiphany Last RCL A – “Becoming”

Have you heard of the up and coming rock-n-roll star Larry Underwood? His rising single is Baby, Can You Dig Your Man.

“Bay-yay-yaby you can tell me if anyone can,
Baby, can you dig your man?
He’s a righteous man,
Tell me baby, can you dig your man?”

It gets stuck in your head once you’ve heard the tune, but it is also a fictional song from my favorite novel, The Stand, by—you guessed it!—Stephen King.

No spoilers here, but I can tell you that at the beginning of the book, Captain Trips, a souped-up version of the flu, kills about 98% of the world’s population. Larry and a woman named Rita Blackmoor are in New York City, and they decide it’s best to get out of the city, which has essentially become a morgue. Very uplifting story, I can tell you. Circumstances lead them to the Lincoln Tunnel, which will take them to New Jersey.

For an even more pleasant scene, the Lincoln Tunnel is a parking lot. So many had the same idea of escaping the city, but the tunnel got jammed, and people simply died in their cars, with no one to clean up the aftermath. Even so, Larry and Rita must get through. They set out. Their only source of light was Larry’s Bic lighter. Note to self: if it is the end of the world, don’t forget your flashlight.

“It was much blacker inside than [Larry] had imagined it would be. At first, the opening behind him cast dim white light ahead and he could see yet more cars, jammed in bumper to bumper (it must have been bad, dying in here, he thought, as claustrophobia wrapped its stealthy banana fingers lovingly around his head and began to first caress and then to squeeze his temples, it must have been really bad, it must have been… horrible).” Larry enters the tunnel, and we are told that as he “negotiated the first slow, banked curve, bearing gently to the right, the light grew dimmer until all he could see were muted flashes of chrome. After that the light simply ceased to exist at all.”

Further on, “The solid darkness provided the perfect theater screen on which the mind could play out its fantasies,” of all that was going on around him. However, they push on. Stumbling in darkness over all sorts of terrors—you really should read this one—then, after struggling for what seemed hours, “Rita stopped short. ‘What’s the matter?’ Larry asked. ‘Is there something in the way?’ ‘No. I can see, Larry! It’s the end of the tunnel!’ He blinked and realized that he could see, too. The glow was dim, and it had come so gradually that he hadn’t been aware of it until Rita had spoken. He could make out a faint shine on the tiles, and the pale blur of Rita’s face closer by.” They had made it through the blackness and the terror. Larry is so excited that he reports, “New Jersey never smelled so good.”

Every year, on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, our Gospel reading is the account of the Transfiguration. Back in the day, when I really didn’t know what I was doing as a priest (I still don’t, but I’m much better at faking it… please don’t tell the Bishop), but before, I thought of this day as the Feast of the Transfiguration. However, one year in early August, I realized we were celebrating it again. We don’t do that. August 6th is the fixed day for the feast, so I got to wondering why we read about it today. The answer is two-part. The first part is because of what lies behind us—the events in the life of Jesus that are considered at the Epiphany and the season after, which today is the last.

The Epiphany, January 6th, is the revelation of Jesus to the Gentiles through the visitation of the wise men. In the season after the Epiphany, we continue to encounter the person of Jesus and who He is.

There is Jesus’ presentation and later teaching in the Temple when He was a young boy. This is followed by the Baptism of Jesus, when the Spirit descends, and God speaks, “This is my Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased.” Later comes the temptation in the wilderness and the first miracle at the wedding in Cana. We also have the Confession of Peter, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” All of these are revelations—revealings of who Jesus is. So the Transfiguration is another revealing moment, perhaps the most dramatic, for it shows Jesus in all his glory. Origen, writing in the third century, said, “He was transfigured before them. It is not that He then became what He was not before; rather, He showed to His disciples what He was, opening their eyes and giving sight to the blind.”

Up to that moment, the Jesus the disciples knew was walking around as though wearing camouflage. His true nature was hidden. At the Transfiguration, He took off the camouflage and revealed his true self. It was the greatest and most exact of the epiphanies, and it was what all the other epiphanies were leading up to. Like the disciples, we can now see Him transfigured, which helps us understand the second reason the Transfiguration occurs now. Luke’s Gospel helps us begin our understanding.

Very soon after the Transfiguration, Luke tells us, “The days drew near for [Jesus] to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9.51). Following the Transfiguration, Jesus began His final journey to Jerusalem and the cross.

The Transfiguration, placed at this point in Jesus’s life and ministry, was intended to encourage the disciples, for the days ahead were about to turn very dark. St. John Chrysostom tells us that Jesus “brings them to the mountain and shows them His glory, that when they should see Him crucified, they might not be troubled.” In the Transfiguration, Jesus was saying to the disciples, “This is who I truly am,” but in order to accomplish the work the Father has set before me, I must first pass through the darkness, this tunnel where there is no light. Only then will I again be able to attain the glory I once had. What you disciples are about to witness will be scary, surrounded by death, but remember this moment. Remember this light and be encouraged.

For us today, liturgically, the Transfiguration, assigned to this Sunday, offers reassurance of Jesus’ ultimate victory over death. After all, we are about to walk that dark tunnel with him. We will see so many turn against him, betray Him, and abuse Him. We will watch as He is arrested, flogged, and crucified. We will witness His death and His being placed in the tomb. We know how the story ends, but if we didn’t, how awful all this would be. We would be like those first disciples, huddled in the upper room, afraid of everything and everyone. However, with the knowledge of the Transfiguration, we may be in the bowels of that dark tunnel, but we will have the residual glow of that moment on the mountain, which will give us hope. That is Jesus’ true nature, and no amount of darkness will overcome Him. We have hope; yet the liturgy of the church year points to something even greater. It is pointing to our very lives.

You see, the Transfiguration is not just revealing who Jesus is. It is also revealing who we are to become. St. Paul tells us, “We all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18). The Church Fathers have understood this to mean that “Jesus was made man, that we might be made god.” Not the all-powerful divinity, like Jesus, but transformed into the Image of God. Yet, this is only possible if we are willing to walk through the same dark tunnel that Jesus walked before us. Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 16:24-25). We take up our cross that we might be crucified with Christ, so that we might travel where He has led the way.

Larry Underwood had his Bic lighter to help guide him through the Lincoln Tunnel. What will we have? Answer: “The true light, which gives light to everyone” (John 1:9). We will have Jesus and the light He revealed to us at the Transfiguration. It is that light which will guide us and encourage us.

Think of it this way: the Transfiguration took place on Mount Tabor. The crucifixion took place at Golgotha, a hill outside Jerusalem. Connecting these two places is not a path of light but a tunnel of darkness. As with our friend Larry, that is a fearful place. It is a place of death, yet to reach the other side, we must pass through it. As we go, with the hope of the light of the Transfiguration, we pray, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me (Psalm 23:4).”

As we stand on the threshold of another Lent, another reminder of the path we all must eventually travel, look to the Transfigured Lord and see the glory of your future. I promise you, it is even better than New Jersey.

Let us pray: Loving Jesus, You were transfigured on the Mountain, showing Your Disciples as much of Your glory as they could hold. Let Your eternal light shine also upon us sinners, through the prayers of the Mother of God, O Giver of Light, glory to You. Amen.

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Sermon: Epiphany 5 RCL A – “Conform”

A fable passed down for generations tells of an elderly man traveling with a boy and a donkey. As they walked through a village, the man led the donkey, and the boy walked behind. The townspeople called the old man a fool for not riding, so to please them, he climbed onto the animal’s back. When they reached the next village, the people said the old man was cruel to let the child walk while he rode. So, to please them, he got off, set the boy on the animal’s back, and continued on his way. In the third village, people accused the child of being lazy for making the old man walk, and someone suggested they both ride. So the man climbed on, and they set off again. In the fourth village, the townspeople were indignant at the cruelty to the donkey because he was made to carry two people. The frustrated man was last seen carrying the donkey down the road.

In the 1950s, the Polish-American psychologist Solomon Asch conducted a series of conformity experiments. The tests were simple, but the results were profound. Since then, the tests have been replicated numerous times. What doesn’t change are the results.

The test was administered to college men and billed as a vision/eyesight test, but it was much more.

Asch created an image with three vertical lines of varying length and labeled them A, B, and C. He then brought in a group of individuals and asked which of the three lines was the longest. Simple enough, but there was a twist. If there were eight individuals in the room being tested, seven of them—known as confederates—were in on the experiment. The odd man out was the subject. The questioning would then begin. “Which of the three lines is the longest?” The confederates always answered first, and the subject last.

At first, the confederates would give the correct answer, but after a few rounds, they would all intentionally choose the wrong answer.

You’ve got lines A, B, and C. A is the longest, and everyone chooses A. All is well. Then you are shown a new set of lines in which C is the longest, but all seven confederates say B is the longest. When it’s the subject’s turn to answer, and he plainly sees that C is the longest, how will he answer? Will the subject be truthful, regardless of what everybody else has said, and choose C (the longest), or will he cave to social pressure and go along with the confederates’ choice of B? Remember, the subject thinks this is a vision test, so there’s no pressure to “get along.” Nothing high-stakes about the choice. Yet, of all the subjects tested, only about 25% never conformed, giving in to social pressure. 75% conformed at least some of the time, and 33% gave in to peer pressure 100% of the time, even though the answer was clearly wrong.

The big question then is “Why?” Asch concluded there were several factors—a desire to be accepted, fear of being different, and conflict avoidance. People would rather be wrong than be ostracized.

Because the experiment was conducted on college students, Asch concluded, “The tendency to conformity in our society is so strong that reasonably intelligent and well-meaning young people are willing to call white black. This is a matter of concern. It raises questions about our ways of education and about the values that guide our conduct.”

He made that statement about young people, but I would be willing to make a substantial wager that it applies to us all. True? I believe so. Ever go along with something you didn’t feel was right, but participate because everybody else was doing it? Yeah. Everybody nod your head.

Social conformity exerts great pressure on us all, leading us to conform to the person others expect us to be rather than the person we truly are. This is a good thing when it comes to taking a bath or brushing your teeth. However, in other situations, it can take a very bad turn. Consider what happened to the average German citizen during the 1930s and the rise of Nazism.

A week or so ago, I came across a quote but was unable to identify the author. I liked it enough to include it in my journal. It is on the New Age side of things, but bear with me. It reads, “You will never be free until you realize this. It was never about what they think. It was always about whether you listen to yourself. We spend so much of life chasing approval, fitting into shapes that were never ours, walking paths paved by other people‘s expectations. But have you noticed? The more you chase what pleases them, the further you drift from what fulfills you. The universe gave you a compass, not in your pocket but in your chest. Your intuition is the echo of the cosmos whispering through you. And yet, how often do we trust our fear more than we trust that quiet knowing? Do not fear walking alone. Do not fear growing alone. Because to stand in your own light is to remember the truth.”

It sounds like Asch. We chase approval, fit into shapes that are not our own, and follow paths that are not ours—we conform. We chase or believe in things that don’t fulfill us, and have nothing to do with who we want to become, yet we do it to get along. Mustn’t go against the grain. However, within us is a voice that speaks truth. A voice that will guide us along a path that will fulfill us and even transform us into the person we were created to be.

Today, we read from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. He said, “For what human being knows what is truly human except the human spirit that is within? So also no one comprehends what is truly God’s except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit that is from God, so that we may understand the gifts bestowed on us by God.”

Paul is saying that no one can truly know another person simply by looking at them or even by being in relationship with them. A part remains hidden, perhaps even from themselves. Since that is true, if we can’t even know another person, then knowing God is even less possible, unless—and there is the key—unless we have the Spirit of God within. Through the Spirit, God chooses to reveal Himself to His children. Still, we live in the world, and the spirit of the world can influence our lives. It is this spirit that wants us to conform, to chase approval, walk paths that are not our own, and turn from God. Therefore, in his letter to the Romans, Paul writes, “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:1-2)

Paul implores us not to listen to the spirit of this world but to look to the Compass within our chest, our soul, and to listen to the whisperings of God’s Holy Spirit. Such actions may bring on the feelings Asch described in his experiment, primarily fear of being different and of being ostracized, but “Fear not,” Jesus says. “You will not have to walk alone, for I am with you.”

Jesus says, “Don’t be afraid to be different. Why? Because I created you to be different. I created you to be the salt of the Earth. I set you on a path not to be conformed to this dark world but to be the light of the world. Therefore, ‘let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.’”

Will such a life make a difference?

In his experiments, Asch introduced a variable. What if one of the confederates dissented and chose the truth? In almost every case, the subject, seeing an ally—someone they could stand with—chose the truth. The truth doesn’t need a majority, just company.

If you become the light, you will give others the courage to do the same. You may or may not be able to change the world around you, but by living out the truth, by shining the light of Christ, by not conforming, by not ending up carrying the stupid donkey, and ultimately by living according to the Spirit of God, you will fulfill the will of God in your life (which, by the way, is far more important than winning the battle).

The author of Proverbs writes,
“The way of the wicked is like deep darkness;
    they do not know over what they stumble.”
“But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
    which shines brighter and brighter until full day.”
(Proverbs 4:19 & 18)

Walk the path of righteousness and be that light. It is why God, in His infinite wisdom, created you.

Let us pray (Hymnal 1982 #656 by John Keble):
Blest are the pure in heart,
for they shall see our God;
the secret of the Lord is theirs,
their soul is Christ’s abode.

The Lord, who left the heavens
our life and peace to bring,
to dwell in lowliness with us
our pattern and our King;

He to the lowly soul
will still himself impart and
for his dwelling and his throne
will choose the pure in heart.

Lord, we thy presence seek;
may ours this blessing be;
give us a pure and lowly heart,
a temple fit for thee.

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