Tag: Trust

Veni, Vidi, Vici

“I came, I saw, I conquered!” Probably this is the shortest report on a successful military campaign ever written (Julius Caesar, to the Senate of Rome, 47 BC).
It could easily be accommodated as a short report by Thomas the apostle on the resurrection (cf. the Gospel reading for the Second Sunday of Easter): “I came, I saw, I believed!”
Perhaps Thomas’s report could serve as a short report about each of our lives:
– I came (to know Christ through his disciples),
– I saw (his love and mercy in them), and
– believed (and lived my life accordingly).
But, is that our report? Is it a good summary description to date of the ongoing campaign and struggle of our lives? Are we clear sighted, do we really see? Is ours a victory story—or is the battle still raging?
They called him Doubting Thomas, because even with the unanimous testimony of all of his closest friends and colleagues, he wouldn’t, couldn’t believe their excited reports that they had seen the risen Jesus.
To be brutally honest, it makes sense. Put yourself in his shoes:
– Dead people don’t come back to life—but it’s understandable that love and desire can blind even your best friends to facts and logic.
– Delusional thinking isn’t just a personal peculiarity—even groups can succumb to it, whether family, neighborhoods, tribes, or nations.
– You have to think with your head and feel with your heart, not vice-versa. God gave us capacities to love strongly and to think clearly, but there’s no virtue in mixing them up.
– To use a tired contemporary phrase, isn’t this a good example of “Fake News”? Everybody saying what they want to be true doesn’t make it true.

Sure, that all makes sense—but we’re still faced with what seems to be too good to be true! (What a weird expression—how can something be “too good to be true”? The degree of goodness has nothing to do with veracity.
Just because everybody “believes” something doesn’t make it true—but the clear and uncontested testimony of more than one eyewitness is still a commonly accepted standard for judgement.
When Thomas saw Jesus with his own eyes, he believed—actually, he didn’t “believe,” he “knew.” I wonder how many people to whom he gave his testimony in the ensuring years believed him?
Anyway, as far as you and I are concerned, let’s think critically and have no delusions, but let’s not forget to trust in the proven testimony of witnesses, even if we’ve never had their experience.
Let’s not cling to past events, and experiences, and religious practices as though they are unalterable and deny the possibility of new ones.
Caesar didn’t win his victories by clinging to the proven tactics and strategies of the past. New enemies may mean new challenges and demand new solutions. He did it. He came and saw what needed to be done, and he did it. He reported victory!
Thomas brought Gospel tidings all the way to southern India. He “conquered” with new language, new tactics, new strategies—and brought Good News.
Our campaign is not over yet, no matter what—so God speed with your life, eyes and heart wide open, and trust in all the testimonies of the love and mercy of God.


19 April 2020

Facing Death

Much of Holy Week, especially Passion (Palm) Sunday and Good Friday, is overwhelming about death—the final suffering and death of Jesus.
Much of recent weeks for all of us has been overwhelmingly about death—the danger of death from the rapidly spreading Coronavirus.
These days we can’t help but think about the possibility our own death or that of family and friends; it’s not quite like our familiar and somewhat accustomed reflection about the death of the Lord.
We believe, we know that Holy Week has a happy ending, that Jesus triumphed over sin and death, and was resurrected—and that he opened a way to the fulness of life for all of us.
We know that, we believe that, we’re consoled by that—and, to be honest, deadly honest, even so we’re still scared.
You know, if you could have been conscious and reflective in the first stage of your life—in your mother’s womb—it might well have been the same:
Imagine, the only world you know is the womb: you’re comfortable, secure, warm, nourished, and loved—but you’re growing and developing, outgrowing the comfortable but increasingly more confining place where you live.
Then a terrible, disruptive, and painful process begins—you’re being forced out of the only world you know, and you had no experience of anything “outside” this comfortable world of yours.
You’re being born!
In this second stage of our lives, we’re somewhat like the story of the two caterpillars comfortably munching on a leaf of their tree as a beautiful butterfly flew very close to where they were. One said to the other, “You’ll never get me up in one of those things!”

Like it or not, sooner or later we must face another birth-like change in our lives—another disruptive, and painful process of being forced out of the world we know, with no experience of anything “outside” of it.
In faith, this experience isn’t a termination, but a transition. It’s a doorway; it’s a pass that lets us cross the mountain chain; it’s being born again—this time into eternal life.
In Medieval Europe, a popular theme of sermons and illustrations was the Dance of Death. Death was personified as a grim reaper, scythe in hand, who called high and low, rich and poor, to their fate.
I remember seeing a cartoon-like version of this in a magazine. Death was portrayed as skeleton-like dark figure. Each page was Death coming for a different kind of person.
For example, the farmer begged him to wait, so he could first harvest his crops—the lawyer urged him to delay, till his last case was tried—the blacksmith asked for time to finish his last forging.
The last visit was entitled, “Death Comes for the Little Child.” It showed the ominous figure of death reaching out toward the child—who gleefully ran towards him, shouting, “I know you!”
The following page showed the child ripping away what turned out to be a mask from the face of death to reveal his true identity. It was the Lord!
We believe that facing death is not facing destruction and total termination—it’s about facing the ultimate stage of our lives.
How do we know that? We don’t “know” it; we trust! We entrust ourselves to the loving God who made us, is always with us, guides us, and invites us to the fulness of life.


5 April 2020

To Know Him, To Love Him

Of all the catechism questions and answers I had to memorize as a child, one always sticks in my head:

Q. Why did God make you?
A. God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world and to be happy with him forever in heaven.

Although I got tired of going to catechism classes and religious instruction by the time I was 11 or 12, I never really got tired of trying to know God.
In college philosophy courses, it was a sort of background issue that really drew me. I wanted to learn more.
Seminary theology courses exposed me to some of the classic speculations about God, His purposes, His will, and His actions—but I never seemed to get to know God very well or enough.
Maybe because getting to “know” God is not about information and speculation.
Theologians often seem to study God in an abstract way, unlike the way Physicists study matter and energy, Biologists study living organisms, and Cosmologists study the universe.
Theology gives us a lot of sophisticated concepts, but not that much real understanding—for example, Trinity, Processions, Incarnation, Hypostatic Union, and Transubstantiation.
It’s as though we keep circling around a mystery, the unknown and ultimately incomprehensible, tightening and narrowing its boundaries—and then give the core mystery a name, and act as though this name was a solution!
Historically, Western Theologians seemed to have been more engrossed in this than Eastern—some of whom saw the whole exercise as futile.

Let’s look at it from another point of view.
In Luke’s Gospel, when Gabriel announces to Mary that she will be the mother of the Messiah, she questions this, saying, “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” (Lk 1:34, in the King James version).
Here, “know” doesn’t refer to abstract knowledge but to an intimacy of relations between a man and woman. We hardly ever use the word, “know”, in that sense anymore; we’re more likely to use the word, “love”.
Now, with this point of view, “knowing” God becomes an entirely different matter. It’s not just a matter of the head, but of the heart.
We can’t intellectually plunge the depths of our Creator, for that’s a vain and pretentious quest, entirely beyond our capacities.
But, we can celebrate the intimacy with God that is the essence of our lives—“for in him we love and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).
We can also do everything possible to deepen this intimacy of relations with God, who made us, who is the dynamism and root of our lives, who sustains us, guides us, inspires us, loves us, and calls us to a fullness of life beyond our imagining.
When we say “to know Him, to love Him”, I think we mean almost the same thing. The challenge is trust—to entrust myself to God without reserve, day by day, all through my life and especially in that last leap of trust we call death.


9 February 2020

Lover’s Leap

A traditional story element in old romance novels is the lover’s leap. Many a tale features a wounded or frustrated lover deciding to end his or her life by leaping to death from a cliff or precipice.
Even though the death may be depicted with great sentimentality as a heroic decision, it is, of course, nothing more than suicide. Also, these leaps are chosen for selfish reasons — the lover’s inability to endure rejection or frustration of not possessing the heart’s desire.
Actually, it’s a somewhat contradictory image of love. Usually love is something you leap into, not away from.
Once, while serving as priest in the inner-city, I went for a walk in a park. I saw a young father playing with his little son. He would place the tottering tot on the back of a park bench and then stand in front of him with open arms.
The little boy would leap forward into the air, unafraid, with a smile on his face and a cry of delight. His father would swoop him up in his arms before he hit the ground. Again and again, the boy begged to jump. It was a great game for him.
This is my favorite image for God — the loving father who stands before us with open arms as we totter on the brink of so many and such great falls in our lives — the loving father who swoops us up in his arms lest we dash our lives to the ground.
Alas, we adults have lost the innocent and unreflective confidence of little children. It’s not so easy to abandon all our life securities and leap into the unknown — it’s not so easy trusting and leaping into the invisible arms of God.

Jesus taught us the greatest commandment is, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” St. John, in his first letter, challenges us with the question, how do we love God whom we do not see?
Loving God is not about seeing. Seeing and insight are matters of the head, not of the heart. Seeing is how we reach out and bring the real world to ourselves.
Loving is mostly a matter of the heart, not the head. Loving is how we reach out and give ourselves to the world and entrust ourselves to God.
How do we love God? We do it best by leaping into his love — by surrendering all our securities and certainties — by letting go of all our dearest possessions, be they tangible or intangible — by leaping into the fearful unknown with our eyes of faith fixed on him.
Whatever tottering place I find myself in, I’m there because his providence put me there. In him, and in his love, I live and move and have my being. I can’t maintain the uneasy balance of my life unaided. But why worry? The love that placed me there will catch me lest I fall.
By loving we make that supreme leap of faith and trust — we hurl ourselves with a smile on our faces and a cry of delight into the arms of Love himself.
I hope the ongoing story of your life always includes a lover’s leap.


(Published in
CNEWA World, 29:4, July 2003)

This Little Light of Mine

It was a very discouraging time. The armies of the superpower of the Middle East, Assyria, were on the march. They swept through the kingdoms of Syria and Israel, killing or deporting the leaders of the people and settling foreigners in their places.
The relentless progress of the Assyrians — Gilead, Galilee, Megiddo, Samaria — brought them through the kingdom of Judah to the very gates of Jerusalem itself. That incorrigibly optimistic Jerusalemite, the “impossible dreamer,” the prophet Isaiah, refused to be overwhelmed by fear and discouragement.
He boldly counseled King Ahaz against seeking Egyptian alliances and clever political solutions to prevent the fall of the city. His unflinching advice was to trust in the power of God — only in the power of God.
Isaiah foresaw not only the salvation of Jerusalem but the redemption of all the afflicted and suffering people of the conquered lands:

Anguish has taken wing, dispelled is darkness: for there is no gloom where but now there was distress.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone

Nowadays, our temptation is similar to that of the besieged Jerusalemites thousands of years ago — the world is becoming a terrible place, all is lost, there’s little or no hope for the future.

The night he was betrayed, the day before he was executed as a seditionist, the one who was hailed by old Simeon as “a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel” said something bolder than Isaiah:

In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.

During Holy Week, after the blessing of the new fire, the Easter candle is lit, symbol of the light of Christ. Then every believer present lights a candle from the Christ candle and, lo, the church is bright.
At baptism there is a similar ceremony. A candle is lighted from the same Christ candle for the newly baptized person as a sign that he or she shares in the light of Christ, the invincible conqueror of sin and death.
“You are the light of the world,” Jesus told us. We’re the fighters against darkness and gloom. We’re the ones whose indomitable optimism, courageous lives, and confident goodness will help redeem the suffering of our day.
The poet William Blake wrote of “Tiger, tiger, burning bright in the forests of the night.’’
Go, tiger, go! Lo, the world is bright.


(Published in
CNEWA World, 28:1, January 2002)

Raising the Anti

Of course I’m not anti-Semitic! It’s not appropriate to stereotype Arab people, speaking about them as though they were all the same and projecting on each superficial and prejudicial characteristics.
Oh, of course I’m not anti-Jewish either! It’s absurd to be anti-Jewish when Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were Jewish — and all the Apostles and first Christians. It’s absurd to be anti-Jewish since contemporary Judaism and Christianity are two branches of the same family.
I’m not anti-Islam either. It makes no sense to be against fellow believers in the same God. Am I anti-interpretations of doctrine some Muslims teach? Why, surely. I’m even anti-interpretations of doctrine some Christians and Jews teach.
Am I anti-Israel? Israel is a country made up of people with different ethnic backgrounds and different religions — Jews, Christians, Muslims, Druze, Bahais — and those without any particular religion at all. I can’t be anti-all of them.
Am I anti-the-Israeli-government? No, I’m not anti-an-entire-government. That would be a bit much. But, we’re getting warm — I am very much anti-certain-policies-and-practices-of-the-present-Israeli-government. And for that matter, I am very much anti-certain-policies-and-practices-of-the-Palestinian Authority and the United States government, too.
I’m anti-violence — I’m anti-violation-of-the-God-given-dignity-and-inalienable-rights-of-every-human-person. I’m anti-retaliation, massive or moderate. I’m anti-an-eye-for-an-eye-and-a-tooth-for-a-tooth.
In fact, I’m anti-inflexibility, anti-blindness, anti-insensitivity, anti-selfishness, and anti-corruption.

I’m anti-jihad. I’m anti-might-makes-right. I’m anti-anti-world-authority, and anti-anti-United-Nations. I’m anti-political-pandering-and-patronizing. I’m anti-my country-right-or-wrong-my country.
I’m anti-propaganda and manipulation. I’m anti-distortions-of-truth. I’m anti-a valueless-approach-to-reporting-current-events. I’m anti-no-moral-compass.
Aren’t you for anything?
Yes, I’m pro-justice and pro-peace. I’m pro-understanding and pro-standing-in the-other’s-shoes. I’m pro-respect-for-differences and pro-seeking-common-ground. I’m pro-forgiveness and pro-reconciliation. I’m pro-love — that means I’m pro-God and pro-life.
It’s not easy trying to be a disciple of Jesus in this world. The ideals and the impossible dreams are always bright and clear, but, ah, the practical applications.
It doesn’t give you any monopoly on the truth, but it does give a direction for seeking the truth.
It doesn’t exempt you from the frailties and ignorance of the human condition, but it does give you power to overcome them.
What’s the answer? What to say?
“When they take you before synagogues and before rulers and authorities, do not worry about how or what your defense will be or about what you are to say. For the holy Spirit will teach you at that moment what you should say.”
When the chips are down, He’ll tell me.


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 26:6, November 2000)

The Hand of God

In Psalm 31 the Psalmist cries: “Into your hands I commend my spirit; you will redeem me, O Lord, O faithful God . . . But my trust is in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ In your hands is my destiny; rescue me from the clutches of my enemies and my persecutors.”

In hand: 1. In one’s immediate grasp or possession. 2. Under control. 3. In process of execution.

In the press of our daily personal concerns, in seeking solutions to the weighty problems of human society, in our anxiety to achieve justice in the midst of oppression, in the quest for peace, we sometimes forget to leave things in the hands of God and to trust that “he has the whole wide world in his hands.”

Evenhanded: Treating all alike; impartial.

A famous Crusader slogan was “Deus lo vult,” God wills it. Whether with the same or similar words, explicitly or implicitly, Christians and Jews, Muslims and Hindus — all believers — have at times invoked God on their side in the midst of human struggles and rivalries. Why should the one Father of us all favor any of his children over the others?

To keep one’s hand in: To continue an activity or interest so as not to lose skill or knowledge.

How long did it take God to create the world? Often amid the different points of view there is an underlying presumption that the Lord made the world and then flung it out to spin like a top on its merry way.

We may well be living our lives in that spirit as well. We need to remember that he still has his finger in our human pie, that he still has his hand in the affairs of this our troubled world.

Openhanded: Giving freely; liberal.

Would you believe that some of the criticisms CNEWA’s charitable work receives are:
“Why are you helping them? They’re not one of us,” and “What do you get out of it? What’s in it for you?”
The lesson of the parable of the laborers in the vineyard is that the Lord is generous and free to do as he wishes — and that we followers of Jesus must imitate the Lord’s liberality.

To lay hands on: 1. To seize violently; do physical harm to. 2. To bless, consecrate, ordain, etc.

A prayer I learned in my seminary days still lives in my heart: “Lord, come and possess me.
“Take hold of my faculties. Immolate my selfishness. Shape my life according to your ideals.
“Impress yourself on my soul. Work in me. Shine through me. Make me a light and savior in union with all the saints for the glory of the Father.
“From your generosity let me learn to keep giving — the world to God, God to the world, and myself to both.”


(Published in
Catholic Near East, 23:4, July 1997)