The Not So Subtle Calling of Joshua Christianson: Part II

Even while organizing Catholic events, I avoided addressing my vocation. Year after year, God bombarded me with spiritual lessons and discernment experiences, but I just did not want to think about it. One day, the priest at the local parish (St. Dominic’s) asked me out of the blue if I’d considered being a priest. I was in a group with a bunch of others, some of whom would make good priests as well, but he directed the question only at me. I avoided answering.

And finally came senior year when I had to consider my future. Having majored in physics, graduate school seemed the natural decision. But I long ago decided my future was likely not with physics. I like equations, but not enough to commit myself to a Ph.D. program. The summer before my senior year, I started studying for the physics GRE, but the whole process was hopelessly painful. But what else was there for me? Then that little voice in the back of my head started yelling. So, for virtually the first time since third grade, I allowed that voice into my thoughts.

I reflected on important events and aspects of my life, hoping to find some direction. I started with my patron saint, Albert the Great, the patron of scientists, and a Dominican friar. At the time, I knew nothing about the Dominicans. I also have a close relationship with the Blessed Mother, and the rosary is really important to me. Of course, the rosary is closely associated with St. Dominic. Oh, and the parish near college was St. Dominic’s, where a lot of my maturation with the church occurred. Then there were the Dominicans I accidently met in Spain junior year. I studied in Madrid for three months, an experience which had profound impacts on me, particularly because of a severe existential crisis from which the Blessed Mother rescued me. Besides this crisis, I also lived two blocks away from a Dominican parish. I went to mass there once and felt some exceptional connection. The church was ugly, and I am a big fan of pretty churches, so feeling a connection there was especially surprising. When I began seeing other connections to the Dominicans, this memory surfaced. Everywhere I looked it seemed there were connections to the Dominican Order.

As a logical person, God has to talk to me clearly and loudly. I saw that He obviously had. Of course, I was skeptical. These connections could just be coincidence. So I began looking for connections to other orders. Surely I would see hints pointing me toward the Jesuits, Benedictines or Cistercians. But nothing else stood out whatsoever. So I contacted the Dominican promoter of vocations, and a few months later, spent a weekend at the Dominican House of Studies in St. Louis.
Visiting an order or seminary has to be the best way to help your discernment. Of course, getting a direct view of the religious life is extremely helpful. But also important is actively discerning. It was a difficult step to go from thinking about my vocation to actually acting upon it. Visiting the House of Studies made the discernment real, not just a hypothetical idea. Anyone discerning a vocation should make an effort to visit some religious community, even if they are not ready in any way to apply to that order. Discerning on your own can only get you so far.

My time in St. Louis was enlightening. I immediately felt comfortable with the Dominicans. Everything felt right from the beginning. I found communal prayer, which I learned to love in my college’s catacombs; I found an emphasis on study and knowledge, which is important to an aspirant academic like me; and I found the special focus of preaching.

The Dominican Order is called the Order of Friars Preachers; their charism is preaching. Preaching does not occur just at a pulpit, which at first was not an attractive prospective for me. Preaching occurs in every way, including teaching, spiritual direction, bioethics, and everyday actions. Since high school, I had tried to let my actions reflect my faith. I thought my faith could be expressed at all moments and actions during the day. As a physics major, I tried to show my peers that Catholicism and physics go perfectly together through tacit, perpetual preaching. The Dominicans expressed a similar philosophy to what I’d already concluded.

The more I learned about the Dominicans, the more I felt this Order had been crafted especially for me. But committing myself to this path of life was still scary. The final piece that convinced me to apply was the realization that I would not be signing my life away for a few years. Whether with the Dominicans, another institute of religious life, or a diocesan seminary, discernment continues for years. The point of no return is not until solemn vows or ordination, usually about five years after entering the order or seminary. This realization that I still had the opportunity to discern with the Dominicans even after entering the novitiate gave me great comfort. I decided to apply, and why not? If it doesn’t work, I’ll be fine. Better to try and discern out of the Order than to live in fear and never take the next step, always wondering about the voice in the back of my head. I feel very comfortable with my decision; I’ve loved every moment I’ve spent with the Dominicans so far, and can’t wait to continue my journey with the Order of Friars Preachers.

[Part II of Joshua Christianson's Vocation Story. J. Christianson is an accepted novitiate candidate for the Province of St. Albert the Great for the class of 2010/2011.]

The Not so Subtle Calling of Joshua Christianson: Part I

I have the mind of a scientist and a skeptic. I don’t want to believe or accept things without some proof or secondary verification. So if God wanted me to be a priest, I needed Him to come down, point His holy finger in my face, and tell me, “You’re going to be a priest.” Everyone wants this kind of definitive message, but usually the message is a little subtler. Well, evidently God knew subtlety wouldn’t work for me, so He stuck His holy finger in my face and told me, “You’re going to be a priest.” That was fifteen years ago.

It all started in third grade, when I was more concerned with Power Rangers than salvation. But then my catechist explained vocations. She was telling us that God does not come down and say, “You’re going to be a nun, you’re going to be a priest, you’re going to be married.” When she said, “You’re going to be a priest,” she pointed right at me. Seems like an insignificant event, but this moment was imprinted on my memory.

I don’t remember dwelling on this thought much in elementary or middle school, but once I arrived in high school, that little voice in the back of my head followed me hauntingly. But I had no idea what to do about it. Was I really meant to be a priest? The only priest I’d ever known was my local parish priest, and for whatever reason, that life did not seem attractive. I couldn’t see myself at a pulpit, leading a parish. That just wasn’t me. So I contemplated this vocation from time to time, but kept it a secret without acting upon it.

After high school came college. I am an academic; I love knowledge, being challenged and surrounding myself with other intellectuals. So I went to Carleton College, one of the best Liberal Arts schools in the country. As is true with many institutions like this, Carleton was extremely secular; a large portion of students were agnostic or atheist, and it was difficult at times to find others with similar faith foundation. At times, I even felt uncomfortable expressing my faith in public. I tried interacting with other Catholics on campus, but we had very weak Catholic fellowship and our Catholic organization was floundering.

It just so happens that my freshman year floor had two others contemplating the priesthood and a girl now considering entering a convent. I don’t think there was another person on the whole campus considering religious life, except those on my floor. What a coincidence. Some people’s faith might waiver when confronted with a strongly secular environment, but not when your dorm floor is filled with devout people. Those individuals are still my closest friends.

My sophomore year, I became one of the leaders of our Catholic organization. It was a tough job, but rewarding. I used this position not only to try to establish Catholic fellowship, but also to help others learn more about our faith, and also help me develop spiritually. One important activity I organized was travelling to different churches around the state for mass. I went to a traditional Latin mass with a huge choir and orchestra, Eastern Maronite and Ukrainian Catholic masses, and Spanish mass with immigrant communities, among others. I learned a lot more about the different parts of our faith, including the “liberal” and “conservative” perspectives previously unknown to me. I learned about institutions of religious life and ecumenical dialogue. Exploring the church was important to my discernment: it led me to understand my Catholic heritage and to see what part of the church I wanted to be a part of, and helped me learn what kind of work needed to be done, and what kind of work I wanted to do.

Our Catholic organization also coordinated various prayer sessions on campus, primarily in the college chapel. Our Chapel was a big, beautiful church built almost a century ago. It is an ecumenical space, representing every faith and creed; name any religion, we’ve had a service for them at the Chapel. In the basement of the Chapel is a small, long room filled with chairs and kneelers. At the front of the room, separated from the chairs by a rail, is a wooden freestanding altar. A gold crucifix sits atop the altar, with a bust of the Blessed Mother at its side. The walls of this little chapel feature the Stations of the Cross, and rosaries and bibles are scattered throughout. This was our Catholic Prayer Room.

This room’s proper name was “the catacombs,” although the Chaplain disliked this designation. I thought it was appropriate. This little chapel was where Catholics gathered to be among others who share their faith. We prayed the rosary and vespers, and spoke more openly about our faith than I would elsewhere on campus. It was invigorating to meet the wide variety of people with different backgrounds, including international students from Trinidad and the Philippines and recent converts who call the Eucharist “awesome.” Although I didn’t always agree with the viewpoints of some individuals, I greatly appreciated our interactions and exchanges. Surrounding myself with other Catholics and praying together regularly was an important experience for me. Communal prayer and a shared faith proved powerful. It motivated me to be more active with our faith and with the Church...

[Part I of Joshua Christianson's Vocation Story. J. Christianson is an accepted novitiate candidate for the Province of St. Albert the Great for the class of 2010/2011.]

I feel like Daniel Deronda!

For well over a month, I have been reading the classic Victorian novel by George Elliot, Daniel Deronda. The novel tells the story of a young gentleman (Daniel) and his entrance into adult life. At the heart of the novel is the unfolding of the story of Daniel's quiet, eager longing to know who he is. The mystery of the story hinges on the fact that Daniel does not know who his parents are. A wealthy gentlemen adopted him and treated Daniel like a son, but Daniel has no idea if the gentleman was actually his father covering up his misconduct, or if he was just a benevolent benefactor. His mother is totally out of the picture.

Daniel's longing to know who he is and where he comes from has given him an openness and sympathy towards other people in need. Early in the story, he encounters a young Jewish woman in distress. After he rescues her and brings her to a very comfortable home to stay with his friends, he learns that the young woman, called Mirah, is looking for long-lost relatives (her mother and brother). Mirah's future happiness seems to depend on finding these two people.

Of course, Daniel sets out--without telling Mirah--to find her missing mother and brother...

Like Daniel, I have been hungry to understand myself better by learning more about my family history. I did not grow up with my father, and it's been a long road trying to establish contact with him and other members of my father's family. I'm still working at it, taking baby steps. All this work got me into researching my family tree, and one of the goals for my current visit to Kentucky was to collect as much information as I could from everyone at home about the family, both the generations past, and those still living...

I guess, because of my research, my eyes were open and my heart was ready in new ways, so when I saw two pictures of young men that I did not recognize on my grandmother's dinning room table I immediately began to ask questions. Come to find out, they were the two oldest sons of a long-lost cousin of mine. I had grown up hearing her name, but never heard any more about her. Well, I resolved then and there to look up her son on Facebook (thank goodness his name was printed on the back of the picture), thinking that if his mother was not online, her son would be. In the end, both my cousin and the two sons in the pictures were on Facebook! I sent them a message and they quickly replied.

The next day (Wednesday), I had lunch with my cousin's oldest son, which led to bringing him home to meet my grandparents, which led to emailing his mother and inviting her over my grandparents' house, which led to taking her to meet her father! In three short days forty years of mystery, sadness, and longing was finally answered. I'm sure I can understand what Daniel Deronda felt when he witnessed the reunion between Mirah and her brother Ezra. It was amazing to be a part of this grace-filled moment in the lives of my uncle and cousin, not to mention all the other members of the family.

I feel very humbled--like someone who has witnessed a miracle; not only witnessed one, but participated in one. I saw the hand of God finally bringing together my family in a positive way, beginning a healing process that I hope will continue, leading to new growth and great happiness.

And, like with Daniel, I realize that God used my own search for answers to bring help and resolution to someone else searching and longing for answers. Sometimes, it seems, our journeys, our quests, etc., which seem to be so particular, are for the greater good of others. If we're open to it, our lives will intersect with those of others in unexpected and amazing ways. Now I get to return to Albuquerque with a family circle that's just a little be bigger than it was when I first arrived in Kentucky this past Monday...
Br. Paul, OP

Student Brother Retreat: Love, Friendship, and God

"Vanity of vanities--but what was not in vain was my discovery that I was able to commit myself unreservedly to another, to bind myself to him and to share his sorrow. And did he not lead me to God, after first paving the way with his imperfect human hand?" (From the writings of Etty Hillesum, Holocaust Victim)

The retreats I have experienced as a religious brother have always been touched with a high hopes. Many of us think that this is the week to get back to right observance of our religious schedules of prayer and contemplation. There's a hope that out of the fifty-two weeks in the year, this week will some how make up for the noisiness, business, or laxity of the others.

This is a very normal thing for Dominican students who often are too busy with ministry and study to really get to enjoy some of the beauties of community life and prayer, even though we have these all year long. It's a very good thing, then, that along with prayer and silence, reflection and stillness, we also incorporate into our retreats opportunities for recreation and fun.

I half-jokingly told others that one of my goals for this year's student brother retreat was to catch up on my sleep. I just knew that the moment my body had a chance to slow down, it would tell me I needed more sleep. Sure enough, I had several naps during the first part of the week.

I also had to recognize that, since I had not been to St. Louis for several months, part of my retreat would be about catching up with brothers and friends in the St. Louis community and area. Nearly every day this past week I had a scheduled meeting with someone. I did this catching up in a variety of ways: taking a walk; chatting in a lounge; going to lunch at the Pasta House; tea and cake at the London Tea Room;...etc. I tried to make myself as available as reasonably could be expected given the contemplative atmosphere of the priory during the retreat.

At one point, I felt worried that I was being available to everyone, but not enough to God; after all, wasn't one of my own personal hungers to sit down for longer, more satisfying conversations with God?...Ironically, during one of the times that I did sit down to pray and reflect, I realized that over the course of the year I had grown so much in my ability to stay committed to God as a vowed religious precisely because I had enjoyed the benefit of several close and meaningful friendships--both new ones and old ones. The theme of "being constant in my love" has been on my mind for quite a while, and at the heart of that theme is my own personal understanding that what separates God-like love from most experiences of human love is that God's love is constant, patient, forgiving. In the past, I used to measure people up, and very, very few people could meet my high expectations--in truth, even I couldn't meet them! Only God passed the test. But, in true God fashion, God turned the tables and told me to follow his example.

One does not learn how to learn from books or theory alone. It takes actual experience--a commitment to saying "yes" to people's offering of friendship. It takes putting up with their low-energy (aka boring moments), their dramatic moments, their ego-centric or selfish moments, their absence and their seeming omni-presence. Friendship requires an election, which makes the person worthy--not because of anything they do necessarily, but because you have called them in love. [One could think of Emma Woodhouse's election of Harriet Smith to be her friend in Austen's novel Emma.] So, too, I have heard it said of God and us. Of course, I bulked at the idea that I am only worthy because God chooses that I be so. Now, I understand that there's a deeper point being made by the idea that God loves us, and his love makes us lovable. This theory does not negate our worth, but it proclaims that as worthy as we may be, we do not earn God's love. God's love is a free gift, thus his friendship and love are constant. If we feel that his love and company are demanding, it is because in the light of his friendship we see ourselves as we are, and as we ought to be. But any real human friendship rooted in virtue would do the same to some degree.

And so, it is both true that loving God over this past year (and I focus on this year, as the retreat was a time for looking back over the two semesters of the pastoral year of ministry in Albuquerque) has taught me how to be a better friend to others (I think, at least), and that working at my human friendships has helped me to grow in my love for God, and in my ability to stay committed to the religious life.

Thus, although I sometimes day-dream about running away to a quiet monastery somewhere in the Holy Land (Kentucky) to be alone with God, I realize that the encounter with others actually is one of the very real ways that I encounter God, and that he talks to me and teaches me through my family (blood and Dominican), friends, etc.

One image I could use to summarize what I am saying would be of the groomsmen and bridesmaids of a wedding party. Just as these men and women prepare the bride and groom for each other, so our friends on earth prepare us for eternal life with God.

So a sincere thanks to all of my friends for walking with me, with God...
Br. Paul, OP

Grace: Part II of Richard Romero's Vocation Story

I remember that, when I had come back to the Church after so many years, I really had no idea what becoming a priest entailed. With the Nazarenes, becoming a minister is largely an act of volition--you can study, or not, be ordained, or not, and as long as you tow the party line and a church is willing to hire and support you, mazel tov--you're a minister. So I naturally assumed that making a lifelong commitment to service in a celibate state under a promise of obedience to a bishop would, well, be the same, right?

At least I did some research before I made a complete fool of myself. I'll admit, I was (and to a fair degree still am) impressed with my intellectual abilities--I don't make any claims to be the smartest person I know, and in fact I have met many, many people who make me feel like Gomer Pyle talking to Einstein--but I was bright, and I knew from my studies that bright men became Jesuits. It was like the Harvard of the priesthood. So, I got online, got a phone number, and called up a Jesuit.

Two weeks later I knew I wasn't going to be a Jesuit. I can't actually tell you exactly why or how I knew, I just had a gut feeling that God wasn't calling me in that direction. Keep in mind, this was long before I knew there were "conservative" and "liberal" Catholics, and I certainly had no idea what label I was or they were, I just knew. Those of you who have "just known" will get it; those who don't, sorry. At any rate, with the Society of Jesus crossed off the list, I decided to give the Archdiocese of Kansas City in Kansas a call.

Now, I can recall from years ago--back in high school even--thinking to myself that if ever I did become a priest, I probably would join an order. I very much respect and even admire diocesan priests, and the ones I know have talents I'll never have and live great and holy lives, but somehow I felt it wasn't my calling. To this day, parish priesthood "intrigues" me, and I wouldn't mind giving it a try for a couple of years, but God is going to have to do some serious rewiring here if that is going to be my lifelong mission. And no, that's not a dare.

Still, I wanted to be open to wherever I was being led, even back then in my second early experience, and so I had lunch with the vocation director. This led to involvement in the local young adults group in KC, regular parish involvement (serving, lectoring, EMHC-ing, etc-ing), and for two years I very much discerned a call to diocesan priesthood. Most of the time, I wasn't even bitter about it.

At the time, I was privileged to work with people with disabilities (a field in which I continue today--until mid-July, anyway), and I had the awesome job of Special Olympics Director. Essentially, I got paid more money than I needed to go to sports practices and events, water parks, baseball games, and even the ballet and the State Fair. This allowed me to enjoy quite flexible office hours and, therefore, to get as involved in the discernment process as possible. I went to daily Mass as much as I could, went to Confession almost as much as I should, and really developed spiritually. More than anything else, though, I prayed for direction. Where, oh where, was God leading me?

As it turned out, after two very blessed and growth-filled years, it wasn't to the Archdiocese. I imagine it was a bit like getting out of a long-term serious relationship (something, it may shock you to find out, I have never been in)--relieved, if you're honest with yourself that it was not, in fact, where you were supposed to be, but still a little sad, seeing all that time and energy you spent... not wasted, but not used as you had expected.

Around this time (Spring, 2007), I began making retreats to Conception Abbey, a Benedictine monastery in northwest Missouri, where a friend of mine had been a student some years back (they have a minor seminary there). Here was an intriguing possibility--could I actually be called to something as radical as Benedictine monastic life (not, I'll grant you, as radical as, say, the Carthusians, but thems just crazy); could I really live in one place, with the same guys, for the rest of my life?

So I started praying and making retreats. It was a two hour drive, which made it a little taxing at times, but I always felt refreshed when I left. At this point I had been praying the Office [the Divine Office is the prayer of the Church, consisting of praying the Psalms and reading scripture throughout the day] by myself for around two years, but once I realized the beauty and power of chanting it in community, I was hooked. I began chatting with Fr. Benedict, the vocation director, and after several meetings, a grueling psychological evaluation, and interviews with the Abbot, Prior, and Novice Master, I was decided that I should move into the Guest House there for a time, in order to further discern in close proximity. I moved to Conception, MO on 1 January 2008.

I went to Conception looking for a quiet place to die. It sounds a little morbid, I'll grant, but it's true. I loved the idea of a quiet life of study, teaching, and manual labor. The seminary, the apple orchard, and the choir stalls were all I saw ahead of me, and I enjoyed the thought. After three months of volunteer work there, I left the Guest House and moved in to the monastery. Abbot Gregory and I chanted a Psalm together in front of the Tabernacle, I hugged all the junior monks, put on a black tunic, and moved all my stuff to the northernmost cell on the third floor, one of the few remaining with hardwood floors, with a staircase above it on the wall closest to the Basilica, giving it a sort of loft feel. It was a great cell.

For another three months, I continued largely in the same work I had done as a volunteer, only now I was Postulant Richard, and I ate with the monks in silence instead of with the guests in loudness. It was a good life, and when I wasn't working, sleeping, or watching Deadliest Catch with Fr. Frowin and Postulant Adam, I was praying. We prayed a lot there--something like 3 hours a day, between chanting in community and Lectio in our cells.

And all that praying kept sending forth a theme--bring the Gospel to people. Now, I will never, ever disparage the fine men of Conception Abbey and the excellent work that they do there for God and His Kingdom: the Guest House hosts thousands upon thousands of retreatants every year, the Printery House produces devotional material, and the monks provide spiritual direction to people from all over the country; still, as I meditated upon what God was calling me to do, I realized that most of the ministry there involved people coming to the Abbey--there was more coming and less going. And, honestly, I felt called to go. Even if it meant actually going from that place I loved.

I discussed it with my superiors, and, after 6 months of living quietly and simply, I did the hardest thing I have ever done--I packed up my car, and I left Conception. I had been accepted to the Peace Corps, and I was going to Kazakhstan.

In the interest of brevity, I'll simply say that Kazakhstan was great, but that the Peace Corps was not at all what I had dreamed of in college. Additionally, going from the extremely religious environment of a monastery to the extremely secular one of government employee was, in retrospect, entirely too much of a transition to make suddenly, especially on the other side of the planet. Were I able to do it all again, I probably would have chosen something like the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, or some other Catholic international organization where I could keep and express my beliefs and tie them to my work. I stayed in Asia for two months, and once again, I was back in Kansas, trying to figure out what to do with my life. It was Winter, 2008.

...and the economy had just tanked. After trying unsuccessfully to find a job in Wichita, which was hit very hard by the recession, I again packed up, and again moved. I was very much sick of moving, and angry at being forced to leave my beloved Kansas, but my car and I found ourselves in Indiana, at my parents' house.

A month later I attended the March for Life, and that--finally--is where we get down to why I'm writing on Br. Paul's blog right now. For those of you who have never been, the March is often like a giant Catholic family reunion, and if you don't randomly run in to at least 5 people you know from elsewhere, you're probably not paying attention. So it was that, walking down the Mall toward the Capitol, I struck up a conversation with Bishop Jackels of Wichita. It was brief, but afterward I thought to myself that perhaps I had not given the diocesan priesthood enough of a chance. After all, I hadn't even gone to seminary, which, in many ways, is where discernment really begins. Sure, I had found a job, but beyond that I didn't exactly have any plans at the moment, so with nothing really to lose, I called the Vocation Director from Wichita, the diocese of my youth. He asked the general preliminary questions, and after we agreed to meet--it so happened that he was planning on a trip to St. Louis to visit the seminarians at Kenrick, and since it was only 4 hours from me, it seemed a good spot to get to know each other. Besides, I had several friends who were studying there, so I could make a weekend visit of it.

The morning I was going to leave I got an email--there was an emergency, and he had to cancel our meeting. I was disappointed, but I figured that since I had already made the plans, and spending time with old friends is always preferable to sitting around in my jammies watching TV, I might just as soon make the trip anyway. It turned out that I had a great weekend, and when Sunday rolled around, I decided to go to Mass at the Cathedral Basilica there (because if ever you are in St. Louis, you owe it to yourself to go).

When I got back to Kenrick, I asked my friend who the religious were who were serving at that Mass. He told me that they were probably Dominicans, and that got me interested—I had never known much of anything about the Order, and although it had been brought up to me before when discussing possible vocations, my inevitable response was “I’m too thin.” Still, something about seeing Brothers Timothy and Luke up by the altar made me think, and so I looked up the website of the Central Province. Twelve months later, here I am--accepted as a Novice Candidate, (somewhat) patiently counting the days between now and 25 July.

I want to be a Dominican because I still want to go and take the Gospel to people locally and across the world, and despite my assurances to the academic dean 7years ago, I want to preach. From what I have seen, Dominican life seems to be the balance of contemplative and active life for which I have been longing since I left Conception two years ago, and all of the friars I have met have been good, affirming men with whom I can see living and working many years down the road. It is my hope that I would be a positive addition to their ranks.

I found Santa Maria sopra Minerva because I wasn’t paying attention when I walked out of the Pantheon, and although I was intending to go back toward the Piazza Navona, I found instead one of my favorite Roman churches--long before I knew of its Dominican heritage. In this, as in my whole life, grace has led me, even when, and usually especially when I have not been paying attention. After Protestant college, monastic life, and Central Asia, I went to DC and saw a bishop from my home who made me think about diocesan priesthood which led me to call the vocation director who set up a meeting he couldn’t make it to which afforded me the time to go to a Mass and observe two men from an order to which I had never given any thought.

I hope that this is the place for me. I hope I'm done traveling for awhile. And I know that as long as I sincerely seek the will of God in this as in all things, His grace will never fail to lead me.

~Richard Romero is an accepted candidate for the novitiate class of 2010/2011 for the Central Province of St. Albert the Great

Isn't This Where I Started? Richard Romero Talks about His Vocation: Part I

In every travel guide, in every list, in every guided tour related to the city of Rome, the Pantheon is bound to appear. Along with the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica, the Trevi Fountain, and other assorted landmarks, it always falls within the top ten places to visit when you are in the Eternal City. To be honest, it should—it is an architectural marvel with a history of two thousand years, and it certainly deserves our respect and admiration. I would recommend a visit to the Pantheon to just about anyone.

What often fails to make it in to those guide books, however, is if you take a right turn just as soon as you leave the Pantheon. Take another at the next street, and to your left you’ll come across another very special basilica: Santa Maria sopra Minerva. Built over the ruins of a temple to the goddess Minerva, it is Rome’s only Gothic church—a precious few pointy arches in a sea of round. Inside you’ll find the tombs of Catherine of Siena and Fra Angelico, and just to the left of the altar stands Christ the Redeemer, a statue by no one less than Michelangelo himself. To be sure, all of Rome is awash in Christian history and priceless artwork, but just off the beaten path lies this special gift, better known by art historians than by the majority of visitors and pilgrims. And the only reason I know about that gift is because I wasn’t paying attention.

I was in high school when I first began thinking about the priesthood. Although I was a Navy Brat, and have lived on both coasts, two islands, and a desert, Kansas was the home of my adolescence (and therefore my life, because, as anyone who is now or has been 15 will tell you, everything before that is just stuff to put in the scrapbook). In a small town in the southeast corner of the first square state, at St. Ignatius Parish on 8th Street, where you had to approach the intersection just right or else you'd bottom out and probably lose a muffler, in the fourth pew back on the right side as you enter the church, where I always sat, next to the Newlands, unless I was in the choir loft that week, where I'd sing the melody in bass because I wasn't talented enough to harmonize on my own and wasn't motivated enough to actually learn how to read music, one Sunday, although which I'll never recall, I knew that someday, I'd be a priest.

Of course, I had things to do first--pass my classes, try not to look ridiculous in gym (never happened), find a job, attempt a social life (moderate success there)--you know, teenagery things. There were lots of other kids my age at St. Ignatius, Catholic kids from Catholic families who, in hindsight, were probably as interested in God as I was, but were humble enough not to throw it in everyone's faces, as I wasn't. I wasn't just devout, oftentimes I was cocky. Of course I had little reason to be, but in a town of 2000ish, where you do, honestly know just about everyone, you had to have your own identity. I can still go back through the yearbook and point out the Supreme Computer Geek (who remains a good friend of mine), the Homecoming Queen (who usually became the Prom Queen too, thereby solidifying her power), the Loner (I should have talked to him more), and the Catholic Crusader (me). I roll my eyes when I think of how many times I bragged, "I know that prayer in Latin!" Oy.

Looking back, St. Ignatius was a very good parish with a lot to offer, but when you're 15, you look at the congregation, who are in their early 80's, and at the priest, who is in his early 100's, and if there's not a big, loud, boisterous, vibrant youth program, chances are your interest will wane. So, shortly after I was Confirmed, on a hot summer day in a stadium in Wichita, because our bishop was older than our pastor and just couldn't make it out to every parish anymore, I realized that it was not necessarily the Church that I was seeking in life, it was God.
This is a good thing, even if the road is a little off-center.

Down the road in Independence, KS, several friends of mine attended a church that possessed that youth program I described, so, despite the fact that it was a Nazarene church, I started going there. It was full of teenagers who were excited (both outwardly and inwardly) about their faith, and I was hooked. I spent the next two years driving the 14 miles to that church regularly, and the experience was worth every gallon of gas I poured into my 1984 Ford F-150. I learned so much about Scripture and faith that I never had at St. Ignatius--because, dummy that I was, I never asked.

After graduation, it only made sense to go to the Nazarene college in Kansas City. It was two hours away (just close enough to bring emergency laundry home, but far enough away to keep the parents from visiting constantly), clean, friendly, Christian, and (importantly) gracious enough to offer me a pretty sweet academic scholarship. I began my studies toward a degree in Bible and Theology, went to chapel twice a week, and tried unsuccessfully to eat the abysmal food (I lost weight my Freshman year).

When I got there, the Bible and Theology program didn't actually exist. All of the majors until that point were on a ministry track, and although I was very much interested in theology, I had no desire to be a minister. In fact, specifically, I didn't want to take Preaching. Funny how God makes us remember silly things like that. Anyway, I asked the Academic Dean, who is a friend of mine, to do something about it, and miraculously, he did--they created a new course of studies that, from what I hear, has become rather popular. I got to learn all kinds of interesting dead languages and, most importantly, didn't have to take Preaching.

It was while I was studying all that theology and history, however, that I began to feel a... a tug. Here were all these guys--Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp--guys who actually knew the Apostles, and a lot of the stuff they were writing about reminded me of the Catholic Church. None of my professors or friends were of the rabid anti-Catholic stock you often imagine Evangelicals to be, but still--we had the Reformation because this stuff was wrong, right?

I began to investigate further--often with the help and blessing of my Protestant friends and teachers. I slowly started going back to Mass, praying the familiar prayers and calisthening the familiar calisthenics. For having been such an experience-driven Protestant, I was really rather academic and sterile about the whole thing, but over time that over-scrupulosity disappeared as well (for example, I would avoid churches named for the Blessed Virgin at the beginning, hung up as I was on not wanting to give "undue attention" to the Theotokos). I read and I thought and I prayed and I discussed and I waffled, and by the time I put on a blue cap and gown with a crimson tassel in early May of 2004, I was Catholic once again.
And I was thinking about the priesthood.

Richard M. Romero, Accepted Candidate for the Novitiate Class of 2010/2011, Central Province of St. Albert the Great

A Week of Rosary: The Ecclesial Mysteries

The Ecclesial Mysteries complete the set of 35 mysteries for the week long rosary meditation on Salvation History. These mysteries invite us to meditate upon the foundation of the Early Church and the amazing events that God did through the Body of Christ--those men and women from whom we Catholics received our faith. The Ecclesial Mysteries call us to see who we, as Church, were, who we ought to be now, and who we will be in glory.

The first Ecclesial Mystery: The Descent of the Holy Spirit on the Disciples at Pentecost:
“When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.” (Acts 2:1-4)

Although the Holy Spirit is referred to throughout scripture, it is with Pentecost that the Third Person of the Trinity enters Salvation History in a new, exciting, and personal way. There is a real sense that had the Holy Spirit not come upon the apostles and disciples they would not have left the upper room to begin their ministry of preaching the Gospel. It is for certain that without the Spirit’s gifts, they would have failed in their mission. They were, after all, ordinary men and women—mostly uneducated. Who were they to stand up in front of the diverse and sophisticated crowds of Jerusalem, of Antioch, of Damascus, of Rome, and beyond?

This mystery calls upon us to think about the radical change effected in the behavior and abilities of the apostles and disciples. They move from being doubting, stumbling sinners, to radiant, eloquent defenders of Jesus as Messiah. It also asks of us to discern what are those gifts that the Spirit has given to us for the sake of the Christian mission. Are we called to preach, teach, serve the poor, etc.? How has the Spirit helped you to be renewed and to be more Christ-like? What is your relationship to the Holy Spirit like?

Perhaps you would like to say an extra prayer, at this time, to the Holy Spirit:
"Come, Holy Spirit, fill my heart with your holy gifts. Let my weaknesses be penetrated with your strength this very day that I may fulfill the duties of my state in life conscientiously, that I may do what is right and just. Let my charity be such as to offend no one and hurt no one's feelings; so generous as to pardon sincerely any wrong done to me. Assist me in all the trials of life, enlighten me in my ignorance, advise me in my doubts, strengthen my weakness, help me in all needs and embarrassment, protect me in temptations and console me in all afflictions. Graciously hear me, O Holy Spirit, and pour your light into my heart, my soul and my mind. Assist me to live a holy life and to grow in goodness and grace."

If you would like to grow closer to God the Holy Spirit and learn more about the Spirit, visit the website of the Catholic group Apostles of the Holy Spirit. I used their materials to prepare myself for baptism when I was a Methodist. Their website is: http://www.aoths.org/. Their literature is mostly free, if I remember correctly. The above prayer comes from one of their prayer cards.

The second Ecclesial Mystery: The Ministry of St. Peter and the Other Apostles:
“Peter addressed the people, ‘You Israelites, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we had made him walk? The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected in the presence of Pilate, though he had decided to release him. But you rejected the Holy and Righteous One and asked to have a murderer given to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. And by faith in his name, his name itself has made this man strong, whom you see and know; and the faith that is through Jesus has given him this perfect health in the presence of all of you.’” (Acts 3:12-16)

In the quoted speech from St. Peter above, we see an example of the transformation I referred to earlier when speaking about Pentecost. This fisherman from Galilee--this hick--has become a man of great courage. The one who denied Jesus now openly proclaims him to his fellow countrymen. With the help of the Holy Spirit's gifts, Peter is able to tell to other people a story that must have sounded like madness--Jesus, who was crucified, had been raised from the dead.

It's important to see in the ministry of Peter and the other apostles the reality that Jesus was raised in another way--in the ministry of his followers. Peter and John had just cured a cripple, something Jesus would have done. And now, they stand before the people to preach, also something Jesus would have done. Truly, the light that Jesus had brought into the world had not gone out. He specifically came to pass that light on to others so that they could continue the work by being a part of his body. As I said yesterday, Catholics really do teach and believe that we are members of the Body of Christ. We are in Christ and he is in us, and because of that, we must be different than other people in the world. We must be about the work of salvation. This mystery challenges us to examine our lives and to ask if we are truly living as members of the Body of Christ.

How do other see the light of Christ through us?

The third Ecclesial Mystery: The Martyrdom of St. Stephen:
"When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, Stephen gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!’ But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, ‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.’ Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them.’ When he had said this, he died.” (Acts 7:54-60)

St. Stephen, like St. Peter, had been preaching fearlessly to the people. He desired to show to the Jews in the crowd the error of rejecting Jesus as Messiah, and this, of course, enraged his hearers. They are so angry, they allow their hate to run away with them, and they stone Stephen to death.

St. Stephen is the proto-martyr of the Christian faith--the first to die in the name of Jesus. He was the first to follow the example of Jesus, laying down his life rather than running away, or fighting back. His perfect imitation of Christ, down to praying for his murderers, would serve as the example for a whole generation of Christians who would suffer the same fate, including all of the Apostles except John. We hear the names of some of these (Felicity, Perpetua, Agatha, Lucy...) martyrs during the Eucharist prayers. Stephen's death also is a model for us. Most Christians will not be persecuted to the point of death for our faith--and for many reasons. One reason being the general toleration afforded to religious views. Another reason, however, may be that we do not preach our faith, rather, we keep it to ourselves, so that when we know people are in moral error, we say nothing to them, or, when our faith is being challenged by someone else, we do not defend it--either because we have not learned it well enough, we have not been in relationship with God well enough, or we are afraid or self-conscious.

This mystery asks of us to examine our inner desires and motivations as concern our Christian faith. How far would we go for Christianity? Do we witness to Christ at the risk of alienation from others, or do we hide our faith for the sake of comfort?

The fourth Ecclesial Mystery: The Conversion of St. Paul:
“Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ Saul asked, ‘who are you, Lord?’ The reply came, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.’ The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.” (Acts 9:1-9)

The Conversion of St. Paul is arguably one of the most important events in Christian history outside of events directly connected to the life of the Lord himself. The Letters of St. Paul are the earliest preserved writings of the Christian community, and they are a mix of theology, poetry, preaching, and fraternal correction. More than that, they are a testimony to an extraordinary encounter with the Risen Jesus.

The fact that Jesus calls Paul to be his preacher to the Gentiles is amazingly ironic. Paul, after all, was an approving witness at the stoning of St. Stephen, and he was on his way to Damascus to arrest other Christians and bring them back to Jerusalem for trial and imprisonment. In short, Paul was a major enemy of the Church. Yet, Jesus knew how eloquent Paul was, and he knew how zealous Paul was--if only that energy could be used for the right cause. And so, Jesus grants to Paul a special post-Resurrection appearance. In that appearance, Jesus reveals himself,--and Paul is changed by what he sees and hears.

This mystery allows us to contemplate the power of conversion, true conversion--and the mercy of God. God is able to make out of the worst of sinners the best of preachers. This should give us all hope, and make us patient with people that we see not living a Christian life, or even ourselves, if we have not been living as we ought.

This mystery also reminds us that Christianity is not a religion about rules and regulations. At the heart of Christianity is the experience of God who is Love. God who Saves. And this experience propels us to live radically different from how we were. We do not save ourselves--so we must be open to God. We are to invite God into our lives so that our conversion may be on-going, so that it may be complete, so that sin may be as foreign to us as the dust on the surface of the moon.

The fifth Ecclesial Mystery: The Assumption and Coronation of the Blessed Virgin Mary:
“So when the dragon saw that he had been thrown down to the earth, he pursued the woman who had given birth to the male child. But the woman was given the two wings of the great eagle, so that she could fly from the serpent into the wilderness, to her place where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time. Then from his mouth the serpent poured water like a river after the woman, to sweep her away with the flood. But the earth came to the help of the woman; it opened its mouth and swallowed the river that the dragon had poured from his mouth. Then the dragon was angry with the woman, and went off to make war on the rest of her children, those who keep the commandments of God and hold the testimony of Jesus.” (Revelation 12:13-17)

On November 1, 1950, Pope Pius XII solemnly and infallibly declared: “By the authority of our Lord Jesus Christ, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, and by our own authority, we pronounce, declare, and define it to be a divinely revealed dogma: that the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.”

The Dogma of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary teaches us not only about the end of Mary’s earthly life and the beginning of her heavenly life, it also teaches us about our own hopes as Christians. Just as Christ was not just “spiritually” raised from the dead, but raised body and soul, so we Christians are to be raised, body and soul. Most of the saints in heaven await the full resurrection, but not all. Mary, like Enoch and Elijah of the Old Testament, was privileged to enter eternal life, body and soul--complete. And when she entered heaven, she received the crown promised to all the saints (James 1:12).

These two events in the life of the Virgin Mary handed down in oral tradition and now solemnly defined as dogma are joyful mysteries to meditate upon. On the one hand, we contemplate our sweet Blessed Mother's entrance into Heaven, and the jubilation that that event caused for all those already there, especially her son; and on the other, we imagine the joy that will occur in Heaven when we enter those holy gates, as well.

Why such joy? This mystery celebrates the ultimate message of Holy Scripture: GOD IS ALMIGHTY. Even though sin, death, and evil have waged a war against God, God wins out in the end. The life and glorification of the Blessed Virgin is a triumph of God's goodness over the Fall from Grace that happened at the beginning of the human story. Her glorification is only one of many, and with each added saint in Heaven, the story of the power of God's loving nature becomes brighter and brighter.

If we Catholics love the Blessed Virgin Mary so much, it's only because we intuit how much Almighty God loves her. She is his perfect daughter,--the one who says "yes" to his will with her whole being. And through her prayers, God continues to grant grace upon grace to those in need here on earth and those in purgatory, so that the Church may be gathered together on the Eternal Day--united for good in a world of light.

[*Pentecost, The Assumption of the BVM, and the Coronation of the BVM are official mysteries of the traditional rosary. I offer the other mysteries as suggested meditations.]
Br. Paul, OP~

A Week of Rosary: Glorious Mysteries (Revised)

The official Glorious Mysteries are: 1) The Resurrection of the Lord, 2) The Ascension of the Lord, 3) The Descent of the Holy Spirit on the Disciples at Pentecost, 4) The Assumption of the B.V.Mary, and 5) The Coronation of the B.V.Mary. I've moved the last three to another set of mysteries, the Ecclesial Mysteries, which I will write about tomorrow. For the Revised Glorious Mysteries, we meditate on the post-Resurrection encounters that the Lord has with his followers--this gives us more time to meditate upon the wonder of the Resurrection, itself, just as we take five decades to meditate on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Lord's Passion.
***
The first Glorious Mystery: The Spirit of the Lord Descends to the Dead:
“For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water.” (1 Peter 3:18-20)

After our Lord breathed his last on the Cross, his ministry of reconciling people to the Father did not stop. In Spirit, he descended to the realm of the dead to fetch all the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Old Covenant and bring them into heaven. Among the number, traditionally, was listed none other than Adam and Eve. In an ancient homily for Holy Saturday, a wonderful preacher wrote a beautiful monologue for Christ as he speaks to Adam on this occasion. The conclusion of that homily states:

"Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity."

In Matthew's Gospel, the result of Christ's descent to the dead is immediate. He writes: "Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many." (Matthew 27:50-53)

The mysterious reading from 1 Peter quoted at the top, however, seems to imply that the Lord descended to the dead and proceeded to preach, even to those who did not die with the grace of hope in the Messiah, as did Abraham, Moses, and David. Was his preaching designed to convert those who really had little hope of true faith in their earthly lives, so that even those not in the Covenant in life might be brought into it in death? This is a mystery, as 1 Peter does not tell us the result of the Lord's preaching to the "souls in prison".

In this mystery, we celebrate the triumph of the Lord over the gates of death. He himself who was the gate to eternal life with the Father has opened himself, and now entreats the righteous elect to enter into their reward. As we think of their joy, we look forward to our own entrance into heaven.

The second Glorious Mystery: The Resurrected Lord Appears to St. Mary of Magdala:
“Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni’ (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, ‘Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and to your Father, to my God and your God.’ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord’; and she told them that he had said these things to her.” (John 20:15-18)

If "something strange was happening" on Holy Saturday, as the ancient homily began, then something even more strange was happening on Easter Sunday. The Lord was physically raised from the dead, and not in the way of St. Lazarus, to die again in due course; but raised for good. His humanity was changed and made ready for eternity. The Resurrection was the final proof that sin and evil and death do not have the last word for human beings, and it confirms that human beings were intended to be immortal. As Wisdom states: "God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living. For he created all things so that they might exist...the dominion of Hades is not on earth. For righteousness is immortal" (1:13-14a, 14c-15). Fortunately, even though humans invited death into the world, God was ready to fight for us. As it is written in the Song of Songs: "for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave" (8:6b). Thanks be to God, Love won the fight!

In this mystery, we meditate not only on the above, but also on the fact that our faith in the Resurrection of Jesus comes down to us from people who actually encountered the Risen Lord,--people like St. Mary of Magdala. Mary was so distraught at the loss of the Lord and at the disappearance of his body, only to find that the one she came to anoint in death was actually more alive than she was! Immediately, Jesus gives her the vocation of spreading the news to others, thus making her the Apostle to the Apostles. Sometimes, when we sit and we think about the Resurrection, and we're filled with questions, maybe doubt, let us remember that people actually saw Jesus, and from that moment on, they would not stop proclaiming that he was alive.

The third Glorious Mystery: The Resurrected Lord Appears to the Two on the Road to Emmaus:
“As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’ That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, ‘The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!’ Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” (Luke 24:28-35)

This whole encounter of the Risen Lord with the two on the Road to Emmaus points to the structure and meaning of the Holy Mass. Think of it, we have the Lord revealed in scripture, the Lord revealed in the Breaking of the Bread, and the Lord revealed in the gathering of the faithful--these are the three central realities of the Holy Mass. They are the ways in which the Risen Lord continues to be present to all of us, who have not seen, but who believe.

So in this mystery, we think of the ways in which the Risen Lord continues to reveal himself to us, through Word, through Sacrament, through Community.

The fourth Glorious Mystery: The Resurrected Lord Speaks to St. Peter by the Sea:
“When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?’ Peter said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ A second time he said to him, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ Peter felt hurt because he said to him a third time, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.’ He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God. After this he said to him, ‘Follow me.’” (John 21:15-19)

As I have argued before, I think this is probably the most beautiful of all the passages of the New Testament. I say that, because St. Peter, unlike anyone else in the whole New Testament besides the Eternal Father, gets to say bluntly and clearly that he loves Jesus. I marvel, too, at the fact that the Risen Lord makes it clear that of all the Apostles, Peter loves him most--even more than the Beloved Disciple.

As beautiful as all that is, it isn't the heart of the scene. I think the heart of this interchange between the Lord and St. Peter is the reminder to Peter that he has been entrusted with the care of the Church. Three times he is asked to confirm his love for the Lord, and three times he is reminded that that love has to play out in the shepherding of Christ's flock. For Catholic Christians, this passage will be another confirmation that, indeed, Peter was first among the Apostles--or as we would say, he was the first "pope".

This is important to meditate upon, because as we meditated upon in the last mystery, Christ left us with several ways to encounter him: Word, Sacrament, and Community. Here is a fourth: Vicar. In the person of the pope, the Vicar of Christ, we encounter Christ's leadership presence among us. It's funny, I think, in some other Christian communities non-Catholic Christians want there to be a great chasm between us and God, but Catholic Christians reject this view. The Incarnation itself is a marriage between humanity and divinity. By the Word's elevation of humanity into divinity, we humans are invited to share in God's divine life. Through Sacraments, divine power works in us to communicate grace. Through human words in scripture, God speaks to us. And through ordinary men like the pope, we encounter the man-God, Jesus Christ.

"Whoever receives you, receives me," said the Lord (Matt 10:40), and just as the Son was in the Father, and the Father in the Son (John 17:20), so we are united to God in Christ, and Christ is united to us--including the pope--not in some theoretical way, but in a real way. Catholics actually believe that we are members of the Body of Christ, and so we meditate upon this mystery, and especially on the office of the papacy, and its institution from Christ as a way for him to be present among us in the person of the pope, the successor to St. Peter.

The Fifth Glorious Mystery: The Lord Jesus Ascends to the Father:
“So when they had come together, the disciples asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He replied, ‘It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:6-11)

In a way, the Ascension is the strangest of all the events in the life of Jesus if someone were to try and predict what God would do next. As the disciples in the quote above, we might have hoped and anticipated that the Risen Lord would now make his move and take over all the world. Nothing could stop him, since even death could not hold him. He could conquer Rome, free Israel, and sit on his throne as divine King of all the earth. But Jesus does not do that. His rule, again, is not in the way the Jews had trained themselves to think when they imagined the Messiah. God was not quite how they had pictured him. To show them this, he does something extraordinary: he makes his exit.

Before leaving, however, he gives his followers a great task to accomplish. They are to go all around the world and preach about what they had seen. This, it turns out--not the reestablishment of the old priesthood, the old monarchy, the old prophetic ministry--was the mission of the Messiah. The Good News beginning from Judaism, turning into Christianity, was that God was Loving and Merciful, and he had shown that love in giving his own Son for the life of sinners. God's rule was a rule of love. God's love extended beyond the Chosen People of the Covenant, to all the people of the world. In fact, he had chosen the Jews for the sake of the world. Now, those witnesses of his saving work were called to spread the news.

More than that, where they went, he would be. What people love to imagine happening magically or supernaturally, God accomplishes on a very ordinary, human level--by word of mouth.

Thus, we meditate on the mystery of Jesus' ascent into heaven, and what that might mean; but we also meditate on the mystery of Jesus' continued presence on earth in us, and in the preaching of the Good News. How have we lived up to our Christian call to spread the word about salvation?
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Br. Paul, OP~

A Week of Rosary: The Sorrowful Mysteries

The first Sorrowful Mystery: The Agony of Christ in the Garden:
“He came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives; and the disciples followed him. When he reached the place, he said to them, ‘Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.’ Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed. ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.’ Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.” (Luke 22:39-44)

This mystery of the rosary always touches my heart, because I think in it, we recognize the heaviness of Jesus' Cross beyond its physical manifestation. Before he was even arrested, Jesus suffered great sorrow, fear, and pain.

Often, I think of this mystery as a meditation on the pain of rejection. He who should have been loved beyond all words was utterly pushed away. He came to his own, and his own knew him not. I think of what it is like when you do your best to love other people, and it is not enough for them. I think of when you try to be yourself, and others hate you for it.

Unfortunately for Christ, this was not a part of his mission that could be forfeited. He prays for the pain to pass him by, but he knows that there is something greater, some good higher than the good of being loved by others and of being comfortable and safe--the good of doing the will of the Eternal Father. In itself, this self-surrendering to the will of the Father is one of the Son's greatest acts, as it both teaches us how we ought to do, as it reverses, finally the sin of human disobedience (the sin of Adam and Eve). In the Garden, the pain of self-denial was too much for Eve and Adam. Now, in Christ, self-denial results in the worst of scenarios, the death of self; but, as we will see, it is only in the death of self that the self can have lasting life.

Note also the words: "In his anguish he prayed more earnestly". Prayer was Jesus' greatest weapon.

The second Sorrowful Mystery: The Scourging of Christ at the Pillar:
“Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged.” (John 19:1)

If you scan the Passion Narratives of the four Gospels, you will find that none of them spends much time on the second sorrowful mystery. It's just one line, one idea: THEN THEY BEATED HIM. As when I was studying the martyrdom stories in 2 Maccabees, what strikes me in this line is the understatement. Both in 2 Maccabees and in the Gospels a horrific act perpetrated by humans against a human is stated and the words used cannot hide what they fail to convey: humans can be disgustingly brutal. To beat another person, to violate his God-given dignity, to ignore her humanity, to rejoice in someone else's pain, is a kind of death in itself. One's conscience has had to be suppressed to think that such behavior is ever appropriate. A line has been crossed once the scourge has been taken in hand.

In this mystery we contemplate those times both when we have suffered at the hands of others, or when we have made others suffer--physically, mentally, spiritually, etc. Has causing others pain been incorporated into our daily lives--in particular, does our employment promote or allow it? Beyond us, does our society promote or allow for violence against others? What can we do to stop it?

We must remember, also, that this is part of the war of darkness against light. The darkness is rejoicing that it has finally surrounded the light. Desperately, it wants to put it out--but the light has never been brighter than when surrounded by darkness. This is the moment of triumph for the light.

The third Sorrowful Mystery: The Crowning with Thorns:
“Then the soldiers led him into the courtyard of the palace (that is, the governor’s headquarters); and they called together the whole cohort. And they clothed him in a purple cloak; and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cloak and put his own clothes on him.” (Mark 15:16-20)

The irony of this mystery is what makes it so tragic--ironic in that Jesus ought to have been clothed in purple, ought to have been crowned, and ought to have been saluted by these men. But when these men do these things, they do it to be cruel. The crown placed on God the Son's head pierces his brow, and the blood trickles down about the sacred head. Again, the face of the sweetest and most beautiful of men is shockingly marred.

This mystery calls out humanity's sinful propensity to make sport of other people--hurting them emotionally and physically to entertain ourselves. It's amazing how this kind of behavior is thought of, especially in our schools, as being "normal". There's nothing normal about a human being behaving cruelly. Cruelty is the very opposite of what we are by nature. This mystery asks us to examine our behavior and see if we make sport of others to amuse ourselves, and it demands that we stop such actions.

For Jesus' part, he reveals that no matter what others may do to us, we do not lose our dignity. They may claim we are nothing, but we are always something. In fact, Jesus' own sweetness and beauty shines out the stronger in this moment, because his goodness remains constant, even while under attack. He does not become like his assailants. We too ought not let sin compel or persuade us to forfeit our goodness.

The fourth Sorrowful Mystery: The Lord carries his Cross:
“So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha.” (John 19:16b-17)

And so the nightmare continues. It's the only way to describe the Passion. The agony in the garden, the betrayal of Judas, the arrest, the false trial, the abuse, and now, after a horrific night of pain, loneliness, bleeding and crying, Jesus is forced to carry the cross--the implement of his own death. That's like asking a Frenchman to carry the blade of the guillotine to the scaffold.

At least, along the way to Golgotha, shining lights break in through the clouds of the Passion. Our Lord sees the women of Jerusalem weeping for him. One of which, called Veronica, wipes his face for him. Another was his own blessed mother, weeping her poor heart out. Simon of Cyrene, in the other Gospel accounts, helps Jesus to bear his cross. There are some people who realize that everything was going terribly wrong.

At this mystery, I often will think of the story of when St. Bernard asked our Lord what was the greatest of his unrecorded wounds and he replied, "I had on My Shoulder, while I bore My Cross on the Way of Sorrows, a grievous Wound, which was more painful than the others, and which is not recorded by men. Honor this wound with thy devotion, and I will grant thee whatsoever thou dost ask through its virtue and merit. And in regard to all those who shall venerate this Wound, I will remit to them all their venial sins, and will no longer remember their mortal sins." [If you would like to pray an approved prayer for this devotion, see: http://www.catholic.org/prayers/prayer.php?p=31]

The fifth Sorrowful Mystery: The Lord dies on the Cross:
“Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfill the scripture), ‘I am thirsty.’ A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” (John 25b-30)

Believe it or not, the Crucifixion defines at the deepest level who God is and who we humans are. The Crucifixion is the ultimate revelation, far surpassing even the revelation at Sinai, and far surpassing any claimed revelation by other religious groups, as good as they may be. The Word knew that words were not enough, he had to BE the Truth to those who would look and listen. So in the face of sin and evil, he remained what he always was. Faced with choices, he chose the highest good. And, most moving of all, when he saw that we were in danger of death, he stepped in and died in our place.

Death came to claim him, but the very touch of death on him was poison to death itself.

But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Now is not the time to fast-forward to the Resurrection. We must stand beneath the Cross and look upon the Face of God and there find our meaning.

The Crucifixion, as ugly as it is, also has three beautiful moments, besides the beauty of the self-giving of Christ for our sins: 1) The entrusting of the Virgin Mary to the care of the beloved disciple; 2) the forgiving of the crowd; and 3) the promise to the "good thief" [traditionally known as St. Dismas] that he would be with Christ in Heaven that very day [note, this supports the Catholic view that saints are in Heaven already, and are not waiting for the general resurrection to enjoy beatitude.] Any of these, or all of them, make for rich subjects for meditation.
Br. Paul, OP

A Week of Rosary: The Luminous Mysteries

The first Luminous Mystery: The Baptism of the Lord in the Jordan:
“Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’” (Luke 3:21-22)

For me, because of my vocation journey, I see in the going out into the wilderness to find his cousin John, an inner longing on the part of Jesus to seek out the way of life he was destined for. When you have the calling to be a preacher, you will not be satisfied with doing a “behind-the-scenes” job, like being a carpenter. I imagine that every time he visited a synagogue or a place where men were discussing the Torah, or whenever his family made a visit to Jerusalem for the holy days, Jesus had the urge to stand up and teach or preach—just as he did as a young man. Now, the urge was too strong. The only person who might understand this would be his cousin, John, who had gone out to the wilderness, and who was preaching.

We know, however, that there was also something else at play in this event. Jesus goes to be baptized. It is an act of self-revelation, and a moment of confirmation between all three Divine Persons of the Trinity. The Father declares that Jesus is his son, the Holy Spirit appears, and without words, also testifies that Jesus the man is also Jesus the Divine One. This event is meditated upon as Luminous, therefore, for what it reveals about the relationship between the persons of the Most Holy Trinity.

The second Luminous Mystery: The Miracle at the Wedding Feast at Cana:
“Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.” (Luke 2:7-11)

Probably of all the mysteries we meditate upon with the rosary, the Miracle at the Wedding is my favorite. It’s such an exciting scene to picture as you pray. I like to imagine that the wedding is for one of those mysterious women scripture calls Jesus’ sister. Maybe she was the daughter of Joseph before he married Mary, maybe she was a cousin—either way, she’s a close relative of Jesus, and probably one he knew very well. I imagine the house is full of guests, the air is alive with music and laughter, and the aroma is of delicious food. Mary is an honored guest, of course, as the step-mother of the bride, and she is anxious for her step-daughter’s happiness. Thus, she busies herself with checking on the guests. While she is doing this, Jesus is enjoying himself, talking and laughing with the other people, and teasing his beloved sister. I even imagine them singing a duet together—a favorite Psalm the two of them know by heart (The Lord is my Light and my Salvation, for example).

When Mary discovers that the wine has run out, she seeks out her son and asks him to replenish the wine. This is a daring request. The miracle will expose Jesus as someone special. Jesus hesitates, but eventually grants his mother’s requests. Thus, the Miracle at the Wedding reveals his divinity, for with one word Jesus is able to transform water into wine. For Catholics, this should foreshadow the nature of Transubstantiation, but it should also remind us of any act of healing or strength on Jesus’ part. With words he was able to heal the sick (even if they weren’t present), calm the sea and winds, forgive the sinner, and raise the dead. The power of Jesus, as with the Eternal Father, is that his will must be obeyed—all he needs to do is to say the word. What Catholic Christians understand is that he, again with words, declared that his Apostles would share those same powers. He gave them the authority, and that authority has been handed on through ordinations ever since.

This mystery also proclaims the efficacy of prayer and the intercession of the saints. Our Lady’s appeal to her son ought to be understood in the same way as the prayers she offers for those in need from her place in heaven. Jesus was under no obligation to help the wedding party out, since it was poor planning on their part not to procure enough wine for their celebration. It would have been just not to have done anything extraordinary. Yet, his mother’s petitions are persuasive. We do not get the whole scene in scripture, so it reads like a rather abrupt conversation, but I imagine there were at least a few lines spoken between them. In any case, Jesus is moved to act—if not for the sake of the wedding couple, for the sake of his mother. This is the first example of the efficacy, particularly, of the Blessed Mother’s prayers on behalf of others. It also is a wonderful characterization of her behavior and personality. She’s an active woman, eager to serve and help others. She also already had faith in Jesus, and so confidently trusted in him. Her discipleship, in other words, had already begun.

The third Luminous Mystery: The Ministry of the Lord Jesus:
"But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe--the best one--and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!'" (Luke 15:20-24)

There are so many things to meditate upon when it comes to Jesus and his ministry. As talked about just above, you could think about the healing of the sick, the exorcisms, the miraculous feedings of multitudes, the personal encounters he had with people like the Samaritan Woman, the woman with the hemorrhage, etc., which changed these peoples lives.

One thing that stands out to me, however, since I am a Dominican, is the preaching work of Jesus--particularly, Jesus' style of preaching. Sometimes he is straight forward, as in the Beatitudes; but a lot of times, Jesus tells stories. He's very good at this. And one of his best stories is that of the story we know as "The Prodigal Son". Luke puts this story with two others--"The Lost Coin" and "The Lost Sheep". All three stories highlight a central revelation about God: he loves not passively, but actively--and the people that he loves, he actively seeks to find and rescue. At least, that is the case in the two other stories. In the story of the lost son, the story respects the free will of the son. Unlike a coin or a sheep, which are in some ways helpless, a human being is free to act. In that case, the loving father, who represents God, (im)patiently waits for the son's return, but does not force the son to come home. It's a wonderful and multilayered drama--but the heart of the message seems to be that although the son was wayward and rejected he who ought not to have been rejected, the loving father was ready and willing to love him and forgive him. In fact, the father brushes aside the son's confession of guilt, teaching us all that love is bigger than anything we do. A truly loving person rejoices not after the apology, but the moment the person comes back to us. The loving person does not just forgive when asked, but has already forgiven out of love for the trespasser. It is the love of the loving person that compels the person to repent and change--to come home. This is the kind of being that God is.

The fourth Luminous Mystery: The Transfiguration of the Lord Jesus:
“And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him…While he [Peter] was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from a cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!’” (Matthew 17:2-3, 5)

Something that stands out to me from this mystery and the Baptism of the Lord, is the idea that Jesus is the one who pleases the Father. In the many times that I have struggled to understand the Holy Trinity, or to meditate upon the identity and nature of Jesus, I have returned over and over again to the idea that the testimony of the Father is trustworthy. When the Father looked upon Jesus the man, he saw his own dear Son, the Word Incarnate, with whom he and the Holy Spirit made the world. On the human level, too, Jesus was perfect. The New Adam was precisely the very human being that God intended the whole human race to be like. He was the model used for our creation--and he was its purpose. The joy the Father received through Jesus' life was the joy known to any artist, athlete, chef, gardener, etc. when something they've been planning for and working on has suddenly gone perfectly right. In this luminous mystery, we meditate upon Jesus' perfection--the fact that not only was Jesus perfect in divinity, but in humanity. We are called to his same perfection, freed as we have been from the power of sin. If only we would own our identities as sons and daughters of God and live accordingly.

The fifth Luminous Mystery: The Institution of the Holy Eucharist:
“While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” (Mark 14:22-25)

What is luminous about the Holy Eucharist? Everything. For Catholic Christians it is just an obvious truth that the center of the Christ-event was the self-offering of the Lord Jesus on the Cross. It is not the Cross that saves, but Jesus on the Cross, and so the crucifixes in our churches remind us: here in this place, Golgotha, was born the Church. The meaning of the Crucifixion, and its graces, was explained fully at the Institution of the Holy Eucharist, the Lord's Supper. Here he stated clearly that he was giving his body and blood to be broken and poured out for the remission of sin. If no greater love hath a man than this, than to give his life for his friends, God would not be outdone: he would give of his own divine life for those whom he loved. God is Love, and the Eucharist reveals it.

The Eucharist is too big for me to write about here. It was, as I have said, one of the reasons I became a Catholic Christian, and it is the reason I remain a Catholic Christian, and would never be a Protestant Christian again.

When I stand in the chapel at daily mass or in church on Sunday and I hear the words of consecration I translate them as simply: I love you! This is the meaning of the Eucharist, and it is the meaning of the Cross, and it is the highest revelation about God. God the Son has said: I love you! Then he lived that statement to the point of death. Our work is to trust in that love and be transformed by that love, and to be transformed into that love.