Category: Discerning the will and action of God in our lives

Conversion or Growth?

Conversion [from the Latin conversio, from the verb convertere, from com – thoroughly + vertere to turn] 1. The act of converting, or being converted in substance, condition, form, function, etc. 2. A change in which one comes to adopt and uphold new opinions and beliefs; especially in matters of religion, a spiritual turning to righteousness and faith.

Let me come right out and say it, I don’t like using this word for religious matters at all. I don’t like talking about “converts” and “converting” and “conversion.”
Somehow it suggests a kind of betrayal — turning away from what one held before, turning one’s back on all that was past as though it had no value at all.
In the human quest for meaning, for the transcendental, for God, as a general rule I don’t think we’re meant to switch sides like a voter who changes party affiliation or a football fan who decides to root for a new team.
I do think we’re meant to build on the foundations of our lives — to grow from where we were first planted — to mature and develop, integrating new insights — to make occasional corrections to ensure we are on course to our final destination.
Now, this doesn’t mean someone should never make a radical, complete change. It may be that the course and direction of one’s life is profoundly flawed or that a person is hungry for a new identity and community. But, it shouldn’t always need to come to this.
On the other hand, the way the world is, we need to put people in one category or another. For example, as a Christian, could I try to integrate all I may find insightful, spiritually enriching, or meaningful in Islam into my life, remaining a disciple of Jesus?

Privately, it may be possible. But, publicly what would it mean? Would fellow Christians accept my following some Muslim practices? Would Muslims allow me to share any of their tradition without renouncing much of my Christian heritage? Is there any room for a Christian Muslim or Muslim Christian?
Suppose I’m a Jew looking at the teaching of Jesus and attracted to it. Is there any way for me to integrate it into my life, remaining a Jew by identity and a member of a Jewish community? Privately, it may be possible. But, publicly it would be a kind of consorting with a historical enemy.
Some try it, for example, Jews for Jesus. But, how do you embrace Jesus without replacing all the customs and practices of Judaism with the foreign customs and practices of one of the Christian churches?
Am I out to “convert” anybody? A long time ago, unhesitatingly, I would have said yes. Now, I realize it’s more complicated
Am I out to share whatever good that has been given to me or that I have found, by the grace of God? Of course. Am I eager to grow in holy wisdom and help anyone and everyone else to do the same? Of course. Do I want others to switch sides, adopt a new culture, cheer a new leader, leave behind their past, forget their roots and be seen as a traitor to those left behind? No, I don’t want that.
What is the answer? I don’t know.
O God, if there is to be any “conversion” in my interacting with your other children, please make it my turning away from all that pulls me away from you and correcting the course of my life so that it brings me to you.


(Published as “Conversion” in
one, 32:1, January 2006)

Chosen People

When I was studying in college, the thought of becoming a priest stole up on me like an unattractive temptation. I first tended to ignore it but persistently the idea haunted me. After a while I was persuaded. God didn’t need nuclear physicists (the direction of my studies) — he needed men to work directly for him.
However, here was the rub: “It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.” Maybe, I thought, God needed volunteers, but why would he use a wretch like me.
After anguishing over it a long time, I finally risked talking to some good people about it. Then I was helped to understand that God uses imperfect people all the time, so why couldn’t he be calling me.
I finally came full circle. In all humility, I came to realize and accept that the Lord was calling me to serve him and his people as a priest.
Presumptuous though it may sound, I was one of his chosen people.
On mature thought, maybe it’s not presumptuous at all. Aren’t all of us God’s chosen people? St. Paul says, in his Letter to the Ephesians, God the Father “chose us in him [Christ], before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before him.”
“Before the foundation of the world” — that’s pretty powerful stuff — yet it’s God’s plan for you and me, we chosen people.
Of course, “Chosen People” usually calls to mind Jews. That’s their proud title. It refers to God’s choice not just of individuals but of a whole nation.
Even though a Jew is born into a chosen people, he or she must still come to realize God’s choice and choose, in turn, to serve him. And, so must choose every believer in the God of Abraham, whether Christian, Jew, or Muslim.

The First Book of Samuel tells a story that gives pause to overconfidence about being a chosen person.
The prophet Samuel was guided by God to anoint Saul the first king of Israel. Samuel presented him to the people with the words, “Do you see the man whom the Lord has chosen? There is none like him among all the people!”
Yet, later, Samuel comes to rebuke Saul, “. . . your kingdom shall not endure. The Lord has sought out a man after his own heart and has appointed him commander of his people, because you broke the Lord’s command.”
God deposed the very one he chose.
A vivid memory I have from my youth is a drawing in Integrity magazine. Jesus is walking by Matthew’s toll station saying, “Follow me,” and Matthew is leaping up to respond, overturning his table of coins.
WhatWhat greater calling than to be an apostle! Yet, Judas, one of that chosen twelve, hand-picked by the Lord himself, ended so badly that his very name has become a synonym for betrayal.
The moral of all this is clear — to be chosen by God is neither a guarantee of success nor an immunity to failure. A chosen person, a chosen people, can completely fail to realize the potential or even betray the very calling they have.
Are you scared? You ought to be.
How to avoid this? By never forgetting “It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.” And, by always seeking the will of the Lord who chose first, making it the measure of our daily lives and actions.
The choice is yours.


(Published in
one, 31:4, July 2005)

Quo Vadis?

At the Last Supper, Simon Peter’s proud boast was, “Though all may have their faith in you shaken, mine will never be.” And, after Jesus warned him that he would weaken, Peter still insisted, “Even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you.”
Then . . . the high priest’s courtyard.
When the risen Jesus appeared to the apostles at the lakeshore in Galilee, he asked Peter three times, “Do you love me?” With an aching heart, sadness, and sincerity Peter protested, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
Jesus then entrusted him with shepherding his flock but warned Peter of his death: “. . . when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”
The Lord’s only direction for Peter’s future was, “Follow me.”
According to the second century apocryphal Acts of Peter, years later in Rome during the persecution of Nero, Peter decided to flee the city. On the Appian Way, he met Jesus heading in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going, Lord?” Peter asked. Jesus replied, “To be crucified again.” Then Peter understood he was fleeing his destiny, returned to Rome, and was crucified in Nero’s stadium near the Vatican hill — now famous for the great basilica that marks his grave.
I was thinking about this on 16 October 2003, when I was privileged to be in St. Peter’s Square for Pope John Paul’s 25th anniversary Mass. Already wheelchair-bound, he could hardly speak, but his message was that the Lord had entrusted him with the papal ministry and he could not turn from it. Only the Lord could relieve him of this burden.

The Holy Father knew his vocation was to walk in the footsteps of Peter in the ministry of strengthening the faith and unity of the People of God. Perhaps the Quo Vadis story was in his mind and heart as he faced his painful struggle at the very place where Peter died.
Last month, the Lord he followed so faithfully, joyfully, and well finally relieved him of his burden. With what peace and joy he must have welcomed that blessed release and entrance into eternal life.
On 8 April 2005, I was privileged once again to be in St. Peter’s Square, this time for John Paul’s funeral. The huge crowd from all over the world did not so much mourn as celebrate — not just a milestone in his ministry, but the whole course of his life. His funeral had more acclamation than lamentation, more applause than grief. It was hard to be sad.
I felt the pope’s life truly echoed the old Gospel hymn, “I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back, no turning back.”
Karol Wojtyla followed Jesus faithfully and well. He followed him on the long road from Wadowice to Rome — with many a turn around all the world, but never turned back. No one else carried out his special ministry as he did — and no one else will. God’s glory is our diversity.
Like that fisherman who left boat and nets long ago, our new Pope Benedict starts out almost overwhelmed yet confident. His calling, too, is to follow Jesus in the way of Peter and ultimately to be led “where you do not want to go.”
May the Lord be with him! And, for you, quo vadis?


(Published in
one, 31:3, May 2005)

Way to Go

Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.

This evocative verse of Antonio Machado loses something in translation, but it more or less says:

Wayfarer, there is no way,
the way is made by wayfaring

It may have applied to Southern California before any Europeans arrived there, but it surely doesn’t now.
Recently, I was driving about in the Los Angeles-San Diego area visiting friends and relatives. What a spaghetti tangle of ways — winding country roads, local city streets, broad avenues, highways, interstate highways, and freeways.
Some people find New York City traffic intimidating, but as a native New Yorker I was in awe of freeways with six or more lanes of traffic speeding in the same direction.
I was fascinated by a new gadget in my rental car — a global position monitor and guidance system. Enter an address using a small keyboard and ask for guidance. A voice guides you to your destination — wherever it is — telling when and what turns to make.
There is also a constantly scrolling map on a small screen that shows you exactly where you are whether you are asking for guidance or not.
Naturally the system chooses the most direct way to get where you are going, using the best roads. That means it guides you onto the nearest freeway rather than using local streets, even if they are a tad more direct.

But, the system doesn’t allow for traffic congestion, repairs, or accidents. For example, it sent me onto the main interstate highway through downtown Los Angeles during rush hour. This may have been the most direct way to go as the crow flies, but it certainly wasn’t the fastest.
Sometimes the fastest, best way to get to your destination is a long way around or involves detours because of particular conditions on the preferred road.
There is some analogy here with one’s way of life — that is, with choosing the road that leads us through this life to its fullness. It is not the case that “Wayfarer, there is no way.” Quite the contrary, there are many ways, some of which are competitive, one with the other.
Are all ways through life equal? Hardly. Some ways take you to where you want to go and others don’t get you there at all.
Also, some direct roads are better than others. The journey through life has its country lanes as well as its freeways.
Like roads, sometimes the best way is temporarily blocked or slowed down. But, generally it is still the best way to go.
Every now and then an interstate highway more or less follows an “old” highway. But the new, fast road often bypasses many charming towns and villages that were on the old road.
You can’t have it all. Although the new road may be better, you do lose some good things of the old. That’s life, too.


(Published in
CNEWA World, 29:6, November 2003)

The March of Folly

In 1985, Barbara Tuchman published The March of Folly, a book about three key moments in Western history. Her definition of folly was “the pursuit of policies [by rulers and leaders] contrary to the government’s own interests, despite the availability and knowledge of feasible alternatives.”
She used the story of the Trojan War as a symbol of folly. Tradition has it that serious voices were raised against allowing the wooden horse of the Greeks within the walls of Troy, yet the decision was taken to allow the horse in, resulting in the loss of the city.
Tuchman’s first historical case was the division of Western Christianity under the Renaissance popes. She made it clear that there had been ample warnings about the danger of schism in northern Europe if the policies of the papal court and the behavior of the popes did not change. Yet, these warnings were not heeded. As a result of this folly, half of the Western Church broke with Rome.
The next case was the loss of the American colonies by King George III. Clearly, the American Revolution could have been averted if only the king had heeded the advice of moderates in his government, who were well informed about the conditions and sentiments in the colonies. Their advice was ignored.
The author’s third case was the futile war of the United States in Vietnam. There was a great deal of information available to Presidents Kennedy and Johnson that proved the hopelessness of the war, yet it was either the advice of the hawks of the time or a fear, basically, of losing face that drove the war on and on.

I wonder how Barbara Tuchman would describe some of the conflicts of our day: the apparently endless struggle of India and Pakistan over Kashmir — the pointless border war between Eritrea and Ethiopia — the fifty-two years of intermittent violence and retaliation between Israel and the Palestinians — and, now, the possibility of a U.S. invasion of Iraq.
Are these examples of governments pursuing sound policies or of pursuing policies contrary to their own long-term interests, in spite of the availability of alternatives?
Folly is not limited to the behavior of governments. There are other kinds at other levels.
For example, as Eastern Catholic immigration to the U.S. increased, the American bishops petitioned the Holy See to forbid married Eastern Catholic priests from ministering there. A consequence of this policy was the conversion of hundreds of thousands of Eastern Catholics to Orthodoxy.
Folly can be found at the family and personal level, too. Many times a family is broken up by the harsh decision of a parent that could have been different.
How many times have we taken personal decisions, knowing better alternatives, that were against our own long-term best interests? Isn’t this one way of describing sin?
The march of folly goes on. Please don’t be one of the marchers.


(Published in
CNEWA World, 28:6, November 2002)

See — Saw

Animals do it.
Educated people do it.
Spouses do it.
Priests and bishops do it
Politicians do it.
What do they do? When they look they see what they want to see — what they hope to see — what they fear to see — what they think they see — what they expect to see.
My dog has a sweet disposition. She rarely barks, except when she sees someone with a cane, a stick, or an umbrella. Then, she gets very nervous and defensive. Someone probably hit her with a stick when she was a small puppy. Now, whenever she sees someone with a stick-like object, she sees a threat.
A friend of mine has several children. For her, one of the kids is always wrong — he’s rebellious, he’s moody, he’s uncooperative, he’s lazy. He’s no kid anymore; he’s a successful young man. But, his mother still persists in seeing him as he once may have been.
Have you ever met a pathological liar? I have. I remember one friend. He’s a genial, friendly person — all smiles, quick to respond, kind, and helpful. He’s the kind of person who seems reliable and trustworthy. And, allowing for the fact that he hardly ever can tell the truth, he may well be.
Remember those optical illusions that always intrigued us when we first saw them as kids? For instance, look at the outline of a box; see it one way and you saw a box from below; look at it another way and you saw a box from above.
Which was the right way to see it? Was there a right way?

Magic tricks beat optical illusions hands down. Did you ever see a good magician perform? We all know that part of the secret of her success is distraction and sleight of hand, but even so we’re usually sure that we saw exactly what she did — even though we were wrong!
When the Israelis withdrew from south Lebanon, many of the Lebanese militia collaborating with them left too. Israelis saw them as Christian allies in danger of death from Lebanese Muslims; Lebanese saw them as misguided traitors who needed some punishment, but most of whom would be pardoned and accepted back into Lebanon. How different things look depending on whether you stand north or south of the border.
Read the papers. Watch the news. How do we see public figures? He’s a conservative; she’s a liberal; he’s a hawk; she’s a dove. Remember what he did ten years ago? You can’t trust him.
It even works like that when we look to God. Do we see whom we want to see? whom we hope to see? whom we fear to see? Jesus told us that God is our good father, that God is love. Alas, often we see the judge and dread the sentence or think that we are lost to his sight.
When Jesus asked the blind man in Jericho “What do you want me to do for you?” He responded “Lord, I want to see.” Jesus said to him, “Receive your sight.”
Me, too, Lord.


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 26:4, July 2000)

On Purpose

Several years ago I saw a two-hour science-fiction television drama called The Questor Tapes. It was a pilot program for a series that never materialized later.
In the story, a famous scientist had disappeared, but left behind instructions for the manufacture of an android and programming tapes to activate it. His students decided to try to create the android according to his plans. Ultimately they were successful, but the last programming tape was damaged.
As a result the android, who called himself Questor, functioned as a human being, but did not know what was his purpose. The rest of the story concerned Questor’s search to discover the design of his creator.
The story can be taken as a kind of parable. Each of us is a work of creation by another — God — and the most challenging and important task of our lives is to discover his design for us, our purpose.
In our technologically advanced modern society, there is hardly anyone who has not been confronted with the challenges of programming, be it a television receiver, VCR, digital watch, or household appliance, not to mention a computer.
In other words, to make it work, you have to figure out how to operate it according to the manufacturer’s design.
It’s curious isn’t it. We take for granted that you can’t type without learning the keyboard, you can’t drive without learning to manipulate the car’s controls and the rules of the road, you can’t even set your alarm clock without checking the instructions — but when it comes to living your life, anything goes.

In the Old Testament, the wisdom books give us a vast accumulation of practical experience about how to live well. A wise man or woman was one who had discovered the great design that was built into our very natures and learned to live accordingly. Wisdom itself was considered a great gift of God.
Modern science looks for order and design, be it in DNA or in galaxies, but curiously the notion of seeking to discover design and purpose in our lives is considered old-fashioned, outdated, and outmoded.
Besides the personal challenge to discover the Creator’s purpose for our individual lives, we also are confronted with discovering his plan for the whole human race.
Does it make sense for any country or national group to seek whatever it wants for itself? Should any supranational corporation or organization choose its own goals arbitrarily? What’s the purpose of all of human society?
St. Paul gives us his answer. In the letter to the Ephesians (1:8b-10), he writes:

In all wisdom and insight, [God the Father] has made known to us the mystery of his will in accord with the favor that he set forth in [Jesus Christ] as a plan for the fullness of times, to sum up all things in Christ, in heaven and on earth.


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 25:3, May 1999)

My Goodness

In June, I was invited to attend the Panis Vitae Awards Dinner of the Catholic Charities of the Archdiocese of New York. Several hundred people gathered to honor a group of exceptionally good people who have generously shared their hearts, their time, and their means to help other less fortunate than themselves.
Special events like that have to do with the recognition of achievement, success, and goodness. Curiously, events like that don’t make the headlines; in fact they’re often not considered newsworthy at all.
Popular newspapers and television news programs often offer us as “news” stories of destruction, failure, and wrongdoing. Evil seems to be much more newsworthy than good.
To put it in religious terms, there appears to be a fascination with the mystery of evil. We seem morbidly interested in the mindless violence of ethnic groups and individuals, whether at home or abroad.
Evil seems to attract our attention as flame does a moth. Like the black holes astronomers speak of, evil tends to absorb our relaxation, recreation, conversation, and emotions.
The great theologian, St. Thomas Aquinas, taught that evil was not a thing in itself, but the absence of good. Maybe it is because of our fundamentally healthy instincts and nature that the absence of goodness so intrigues and fascinates us.
I often recall a silly little rhyme that I first saw in a well-known restaurant chain:

As you wander through life, Brother,
whatever be your goal,
Keep your eye upon the doughnut
and not upon the hole!

The first chapter of the Bible tells the story of the creation of the world. It says that, at the end of each day of creation, contemplating His work, “God saw how good it was.”
If we want to learn to see the world with the eyes of God, we need to learn to focus our attention on goodness and not on its absence.
And, that applies to looking at ourselves too.
In the fairy tale of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”, the wicked queen used to look into her magic mirror and ask, “Who is the fairest of us all?” She seemed to be the epitome of vanity and evil.
But, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look honestly into the mirror of our lives and recognize the goodness that is there.
“Only one is good,” Jesus said. So, if we find goodness in our lives, it is through the grace of the one God who is good. Rather than demurely denying our goodness with false modesty, we should learn to rejoice in it and give thanks to God for it.
With so much goodness concealed, small wonder that the world has become fascinated and absorbed by its absence — whether in our own lives or in those of others.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus told his disciples, “Your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.”
So, rise and shine!


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 21:4, July 1995)

Render to Caesar

In modern parlance, Jesus lived in an occupied territory under the dictatorial rule of a foreign power — the Roman Empire. He did not enjoy the rights of Roman citizenship and definitely had inferior status. Freedom of religious practice was circumscribed by the Roman authorities and often denied entirely.
Under the circumstances, it’s interesting to hear his thinking on what we would call church and state relationships. When questioned about the legitimacy of Roman taxation — and this in a land seething with plans for revolt — he said:

Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.

St. Peter, who, like Jesus, was executed by the Roman authorities, taught:

Be subject to every human institution for the Lord’s sake, whether it be to the king as supreme or to governors as sent by him for the punishment of evildoers and the approval of those who do good.

St. Paul, who also was executed by the Roman authorities even though he was a citizen, wrote to the Christians who lived in the shadow of Caesar:

Let every person be subordinate to the higher authorities, for there is no authority except from God and those that exist have been established by God. Therefore, whoever resists authority opposes what God has appointed, and those who oppose it will bring judgment upon themselves.

  

In May, in Iraq with Cardinal Silvestrini, these texts were dancing through my head. The cardinal challenged the Iraqi hierarchy with this word of the Lord, stressing the obligation not only to repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar but also to repay to God what belongs to God.
What a fine line must be trod by Christians in this and other countries today: Too subservient — the autonomy and the prophetic witness of the Church is lost. Too disobedient to the State — freedom of religion is gone, institutions confiscated, and the faithful persecuted.
Standing outside a situation, it may seem easy to decide what course of action is best. But, ah, when yours is the responsibility, how hard it is.
If the head offends, the whole family may suffer. What does a patriarch, responsible for his church, do? If a member offends, the whole family may suffer. How prudent should the fledgling prophet be?
When Jesus stood before the authority of Rome, threatened with crucifixion, when the question became a matter of his life or death, he boldly asserted:

For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.

The ultimate priority is to repay to God what belongs to God. May our oppressed brothers and sisters have this courage! May you and I as well!


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 19:4, July 1993)

Back to the Future

At the end of August I had the privilege of joining a small committee of United States Catholic bishops on a trip to the Soviet Union. We had an ambitious itinerary — to visit Russia, Lithuania, Latvia, Byelorussia, and the Ukraine. We also had a generous purpose — to learn from the local clergy and people what kind of assistance they hoped for from their brothers and sisters in the West.
In terms of space, of geography, it was a trip of thousands of miles. In terms of time, it was a trip back at least 50 years.
Christianity in the Soviet Union has been on the defensive since the Bolshevik revolution. As persecution increased under Communism, Christians clung ever more tenaciously to their customs and traditions, even to the point of death. Thanks be to God for their heroic faith!
But now, as pressures are beginning to be relieved, the clergy and the faithful of these churches are challenged to face freedom and the modern world. They’re like people awakening from a long and bad dream, to discover that the world-wide Church of 1990 has changed and evolved into a Church very different from the one they have known and defended all these years.
I wonder how the “underground” Ukrainian bishops felt when they came to meet the Polish pope in Rome in June. They saw the “Latin” liturgy all simplified and in Italian — almost Protestant, when seen with the eyes of 50 years ago.
They found a special agency of the Holy See to promote Christian unity — to find ways to reestablished peaceful communion with the Orthodox Church, not to treat it as a bitter rival.

The differences they faced aren’t just externals: priests in suits instead of cassocks, nuns in lay clothes instead of habits, or liturgy in the vernacular instead of Latin. Those of us who lived through the days of the Second Vatican Council and its aftermath realize the incredible change of mentality that has permeated the Church of today.
We take for granted freedom of religion and respect for conscience. Pluralism is our way of life. We no longer speak of the one, true Church, but of the servant Church that is a sacrament or sign of intimate union with God and of the unity of the whole human family.
When we ask the Catholic churches of the Soviet Union what help they need, we may be thinking of the buildings, equipment, and tools we’re used to; they may be more concerned for vestments, prayer books, and rosaries. Our pastoral goal may be how best to support all believers, Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant; theirs may be the repossession of their confiscated churches and the defense of their rights.
The challenge of their future is aggiornamento, to be caught up in the great renewal of the Church launched by the Vatican Council. Their challenge is to transform their heroic faith of resistance into the faith that plunges into the open, unknown future, with the same confidence in the Lord who promises “I am with you always, until the end of the age.”


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 16:4, October 1990)