Tag: Heavenly Virtues

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Sermon: Easter Sunday RCL A – Heavenly Virtues: Love

“Love is awful. It’s awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do.”

This is the moment when the camera shifts from the priest to two women in the congregation. The woman with black hair turns to the brunette and says, “There’s something wrong with your priest.” 

Then the camera shifts back to the priest, who continues, “It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught that if we’re born with love, then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right, it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is, when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.” (Credit: BBC’s Fleabag, written by Phoebe Waller-Bridge)

We know that Jesus was without sin. This is true, but He was a criminal; otherwise, why would He have been crucified? In his meditations, St. Bernard asked the same question: “What crime hast Thou committed that Thou shouldest have to be condemned to death, and that death the death of the cross? Ah, I will understand, replies the saint, the reason for Thy death; I understand what has been Thy crime: ‘Thy crime is Thy love.’ Thy crime is the too great love which Thou hast borne to men: it is this, not Pilate, that condemns Thee to die” (The Love of Jesus Crucified, p.20). 

Jesus was a criminal, and his crime was “the superabundance of love” (Ibid.) that He holds for you—for us all. But how did Bernard and others come to such a conclusion?

It doesn’t take much imagination to picture the horrors Jesus endured after His trial and ending with His crucifixion. Authors have written about it, filmmakers have made movies, scientists and doctors have analyzed it, and historians have provided the facts. There are many ways to be put to death, but crucifixion ranks among the most gruesome and painful. Yet, the question that saints asked was “Why?” In asking this, they weren’t questioning from a theological perspective. They all knew Jesus was the only one who could save us. Instead, they were asking, “Why couldn’t a different, less horrific way be found?” (Ibid., 21) There are two parts to the answer.

In the first part, St. Alphonsus Liguori asked, “Would it not have sufficed for him to have offered to his eternal Father one single prayer for the pardon of man? For this prayer, being of infinite value, would have been sufficient to save the world and infinite worlds besides. Why, then, did he choose for himself so much suffering and a death so cruel?” (Ibid.) St. John Chrysostom asked the same question, but also provides the beginning of an answer: “A single prayer of Jesus would indeed have sufficed to redeem us; but it was not sufficient to show us the love that our God bore us: ‘That which sufficed to redeem us was not sufficient for love’” (Ibid.). Jesus did not believe that a simple prayer was enough to show us how much he loved us. Chrysostom continues, “This was the principal cause of the Passion of our Lord; he wished it to be known how great was the love of God for man,—of God, who would rather be loved than feared” (Ibid., 23). Jesus could have prayed, and we would have been forgiven and restored to God, but Jesus wanted to express His love for us in a way that would be beyond doubt. “This,” Jesus said from the Cross, “is how much I love you.” “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

The second part of the answer to “Why?” is more about us than about Jesus.

Imagine that Jesus prayed, not from the Cross, but from the upper room, “Father, forgive them.” And suppose there was a voice from Heaven, unmistakably the Father’s, who responded, “My Son, their sins and the sins of the whole world are forgiven.” Then see Jesus as He turns to the disciples and to us and says, “Your sins are forgiven. See what great love I have for you.” 

Perhaps I’ve become too cynical, but I think most people would say, “Thanks, but one little prayer… is that really love? I mean, yeah, I appreciate it and all, but how does that prove you actually love me?”

If for no other person, Jesus knew my cynicism and declared, “Not only will I tell you that I love you, but I will show you to what extent I am willing to go so that you will know, without question, that I love you so that you can be with me. St. Thomas Aquinas wrote, “‘By this—that is the Passion—man understands the greatness of the love of God to man.’ And St. John had said before, ‘In this we have known the love of God, because He hath laid down his life for us (1 John 3:16)’ (Ibid., 23).”

The priest’s words, “Love is awful. It’s painful. It’s frightening.” I think Jesus could have written something similar. “Love is awful,” He would say. “It is painful. It is frightening. It makes you say and do things you never thought you would do—offer your face to be spit upon, your brow for a crown of thorns, your back to be whipped, your hands, feet, side… your very life.” Jesus says, “It takes a lot of courage to love, but I look at you, and I know nothing but love. I look at you, and I have such great hope. Hope that you will believe and receive my love so that we may be one.”

Jesus was a criminal, but Jesus was also a romantic through and through, and as St. Bernard tells us, “The secrets of his heart are revealed through the wounds of his body” (Ibid., 24). However, the saint adds, “Such love, wholly claims for itself our love” (Ibid., 25). If Jesus loves you with such a superabundance of love, how will you love Him? And if this is how you have been loved, how will you love others?

During this past Season of Lent, we embarked on a study of the seven Heavenly Virtues. We learned that these include the four Cardinal Virtues and the three Theological Virtues. The Cardinal Virtues are fortitude (spiritual courage), justice (seeking the common good), prudence (establishing rules), and temperance (moderation and balance). The first two Theological Virtues are faith, which is the loving and protective relationship with the Father, and hope, which informs our souls that this relationship is eternal. Love is the third Theological Virtue. It is the essence of the relationship, for “God is love” (1 John 4:7). Supporting all seven virtues is humility. If humility is lacking, we will fail. Finally, St. Padre Pio reminds us, “Humility and love are the main supports of the whole vast building on which all the rest depends. Keep firmly to these two virtues, one of which is the lowest and the other the highest.” In our Christian walk, if we begin with humility and love, all these others will follow.

This is the Sunday of the Resurrection. It is the day that Jesus conquered death and gave us, through His love for us, eternal life. Live a life that writes your own sermon: “Love is awful. It is painful. It is frightening. Love gives me hope. Love gives me the power to love, not only my neighbor, but my enemy as well. Love gives me the strength to overcome my sins, faith that I might stand and be true, compassion that I may care. Love makes me do things that I never imagined I could do.” Jesus endured much so that you might know the great love He has for you. Receive that love, and then, like Jesus, be a criminal, be a romantic, and through your practice of the Heavenly Virtues, express that love to God and the world.

Love is awful. It’ll make you do some crazy things, but these days, the world can use that kind of crazy.

Let us pray: Our most sweet Lord, we desire to do whatever You ask of us. We pray, help us, and grant that we may please You entirely and continually, now and forever. Mary, our Mother, entreat Jesus for us, so that He may give us His holy love; for we want nothing else in this world or the next but to love Jesus. Amen.

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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: 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 2 – Series: The Heavenly Virtues / Fortitude & Justice

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To continue our discussion of the Heavenly Virtues, I have a true story for you. It is a long one, so bear with me. I suspect most of you know some of the details.

In October 1962, a U.S. U-2 spy plane flew over Cuba and snapped a few photos of activity on the ground. Those images led to thirteen days of intense global tension, particularly between the U.S. and the former USSR. It was the Cuban Missile Crisis.

The U.S. deployed nuclear missiles in the UK, Turkey, and Italy. The Soviets returned the favor of close proximity by laying the groundwork to place nuclear missiles in Cuba. Many of President John F. Kennedy’s advisors pushed for an invasion of Cuba; however, Kennedy took a less aggressive approach and instituted a naval blockade around the island, preventing the deployment of missiles from Russia.

It worked, and the Russians reversed course. The U.S. missiles in Europe would also eventually be removed as part of the brokered deal to resolve the issue. This is the story most of us are familiar with; however, over the last week or two, I learned some additional, scarier details about the events.

Those of you who were aware of what was going on probably remember Kennedy’s October 22 speech, in which he stated, “It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile launched from Cuba against any nation in the Western Hemisphere as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.” On October 27, also known as Black Saturday, the Soviets planned to complete the installation of the missiles. As part of the overall program, the Soviets were sending in 40,000 troops, along with support equipment, and four diesel submarines—B4, B36, B59, and B130—to patrol the waters around Cuba. Each of these submarines carried 22 torpedoes.

During their sail through the North Atlantic, the subs encountered severe storms and sustained significant damage to the boats. The crew was reported to have been injured, yet they arrived, though not without being detected. On Black Saturday, the US let them know that the US was aware of their presence, especially B59, by dropping echo-ranging depth bombs. These were not designed to destroy the submarine, only to keep tabs on where the submarine was located under the waters. However, having lost all communications with Moscow because of their depth, B59’s captain and crew believed they were under attack and that WWIII had begun. Now, for the scary surprise.

Those four Soviet submarines carried 22 torpedoes each, but only the Soviets knew that on each sub, one of those torpedoes was armed with a 15-kiloton nuclear warhead (about the same size as the bomb exploded at Hiroshima). To make that situation even more horrifying, the submarine’s captain, in agreement with the submarine’s political officer, had full authority to launch the nuclear torpedo without first gaining approval from Moscow. And, just to throw in a bit more to keep you up at night, the B59’s captain and political officer had in fact approved the launch. To add a bit of incentive, the sub’s cooling system and air filtration unit were damaged and dead. The sub was filling up with CO2. Without surfacing, they had less than an hour to live, but to surface—or so they feared—was to be blown out of the water by the U.S. The captain, now suffering from the effects of the CO2, tension, and nerves, said, “The war has already started up there, and we are down here doing somersaults. We’re going to blast them now. We’ll die, but we will sink them all. We won’t disgrace our Navy or shame the fleet.”

They were going to fire a nuclear torpedo that would have destroyed the entire U.S. fleet in the vicinity in a single blinding flash. JFK had already promised to retaliate if something like that occurred and had prepped and aimed 3,000 nuclear warheads at 1,000 targets in the Soviet Union. If the U.S. fired theirs, the USSR would fire theirs. All bets were off. The world was literally minutes away from a full-scale nuclear war. What prevented it? Better question: Who prevented it?

Remember, it only took the captain and the political officer to approve the launch, but aboard B59—and not on any other boats—was a third officer who outranked the captain, so his vote was also needed to launch. That person was Captain Second Rank Vasili Arkhipov.

In the face of all that was happening, the anxiety and terror of the detonations taking place around them, and the pressure from those around him, Vasili said, “No.” He insisted that they break radio silence, surface, and get a message to Moscow before proceeding. His argument and authority won the day.

While underwater, they had the means to send a very local message that was received by the U.S. ship above. The message: “This ship belongs to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Halt your provocative actions.” How did the U.S. command respond? Why, they apologized. B59 surfaced, received word from Moscow that they were not at war, and limped back home. 

The history books that cover these events indicate that it was Captain Second Rank Vasili Arkhipov who single-handedly prevented all-out nuclear war and the start of WWIII.

The Heavenly Virtue of fortitude is defined as “the moral virtue that ensures firmness in difficulties and constancy in the pursuit of the good. It strengthens the resolve to resist temptations and to overcome obstacles in the moral life. The virtue of fortitude enables one to conquer fear, even fear of death, and to face trials and persecutions. It disposes one even to renounce and sacrifice his life in defense of a just cause.”

The Heavenly Virtue of Justice is defined as “the constant and firm will to give their due to God and neighbor. Justice toward God is called the ‘virtue of religion.’ Justice toward men disposes one to respect the rights of each and to establish in human relationships the harmony that promotes equity with regard to persons and to the common good.”

If you want to see a visual depiction of what these two virtues look like, look at the picture of Captain Second Rank Vasili Arkhipov on the cover of your bulletin. I have no idea whether the man was a Christian; there is no evidence to confirm it either way, but I will guarantee you this: for a person of his character to be placed in that position, on that submarine, at that time, and to have the fortitude to do what he did—what did Mordecai say to Queen Esther? “Who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

Vasili is reported to have been a shy and humble man, and so, perhaps through the overarching virtue of humility, he was able, through God’s grace, to practice the Heavenly Virtues of fortitude and justice. For that, we give thanks, but what about us today?

Questions we are asked at baptism: “Will you persevere in resisting evil… Will you strive for justice and peace among all people?” Rephrased: When evil, in all its various forms, comes against you, and when the pressure to give in is great, will you practice the virtue of fortitude so that justice might be served, not according to your own ideas of justice, but according to God’s? Will you do so so that all people will rightly be served, cared for, and given the opportunity to live and to thrive? You see, it is very easy to practice fortitude and justice when it comes to your own ideologies, beliefs about right and wrong, and other dearly held tenets, but what about when justice for another runs in the face of those same ideas? Will you humble yourself, set aside your ideas and beliefs, and serve the other? Or will you cave to the demands of others and the pressures exerted by the world around you?

As followers of Jesus, we must pray for humility so that we may practice fortitude and act justly toward all. This is our calling, for Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” 

Let us pray: Heavenly Father, flood the path before us with light, turn our eyes to where the skies are full of promise; tune our hearts to brave music; give us a sense of comradeship with the heroes and saints of every age; and so quicken our spirits that we may encourage the souls of all who journey with us on the road of life, to your honor and glory. 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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