God means to woo us and to have us, but always with our consent.

Is there more “mad eros”* than that which led the Son of God to make himself one with us even to the point of suffering as his own the consequences of our offences?Dear brothers and sisters, let us look at Christ pierced in the cross! … On the cross, it is God himself who begs the love of his creature: he is thirsty for the love of every one of us.—Pope Benedict XVI, Lent 2007, “Love Letter”

Most modern biblical translations give us Christ’s final words as “It is finished.”

Encountering the Douay-Rheims translation a few years ago, I read “It is consummated,” and the whole meaning of the God-man as Bridegroom and the church as Bride began to expand for me. I had not yet encountered Pope Benedict’s stunning thoughts on the “mad eros of the cross,” but discovering “It is consummated” completed the theology for me.

I can understand how — encountering that “mad eros” of the cross — some people might feel uncomfortable with the Douay-Rheims. For some, both words, eros and consummated, may intrude on fastidious sensibilities.

And yet every covenant between God and humanity has been a blood covenant, and even now the constant encounter between God’s ever-present “yes” (upon which all of creation is formed and is still expanding) and the brokenness of humanity — which constantly tempts us to “no,” — demands the inclusion of eros. It demands, finally, an understanding that God means to woo us and to have us, to be one with us, all along — as spouse and companion — but always with our consent.

I actually wrote about this in Strange Gods, and yes, even there the imagery made some people uncomfortable, but I believe it contains a key to the deepest mystery of ourselves as free beings:

Look at the profundity of God’s love for his people, Israel, and for those of us grafted onto that branch. He gives his people something better than a king — something transcendent and eternal and incorruptible. But because they are so body bound, so captive to their senses to touch, hear, taste and smell they cannot see what he shows, which is everything. And so they whine, “Well, we want a king like they have over there,” and God, staggeringly, acquiesces.

God takes pity on human limitations and tries another way of teaching and reaching, a better way to know the transcendence. He says, in essence:

My love and my law are not enough? You need a corporeal king? All right then, I will come down and be your corporeal king. I will teach you what I know — that love serves, and that a king is a servant — and I will teach you how to be a servant in order to share in my kingship. In this way, we shall be one — as a husband and wife are one — as nearly as this may be possible between what is whole and holy and what is broken. For your sake, I will become broken, too, but in a way meant to render you more whole and holy, so that our love may be mutual, complete, constantly renewed, and alive. I love you so much that I will incarnate and surrender myself to you. I will enter into you (stubborn, faulty, incomplete you, adored you, the you that can never fully know me or love me back), and I will give you my whole body. I will give you all of myself unto my very blood, and then it will finally be consummated between us, and you will understand that I have been not just your God but also your lover, your espoused, your bridegroom. Come to me, and let me love you. Be my bride; accept your bridegroom and let the scent and sense of our love course over and through the whole world through the church I beget to you. I am your God; you are my people. I am your bridegroom; you are my bride. This is the great love story, the great intercourse, the great espousal, and you cannot imagine where I mean to take you, if you will only be faithful … as I am always faithful, because I am unchanging truth and constant love.

This God of Abraham, this king, this one who ravishes will give us anything, if we only are willing to trust the truth, even though we do not understand — have not understood since humanity first showed its instinct to hide from God, and will never fully understand — what it is his love has in mind for us, which is simply, “Olly olly oxen free; in my light, in my love, you need not hide.”

Christ’s death at Calvary is a consummation meant to set us free, to bring us forever out of the shadows and “into his marvelous light,” wherein love may not be hidden, or distorted, or perverted, if only we allow our own “yes” to join with the Creator’s.

And this intercourse does not end with the passing of Easter. Christ means for us to empty ourselves to him and then to each other, as completely as he has emptied himself on the cross.

It is the challenge of a whole lifetime. And if taken up in good faith, it leads (even amid our failures) to an empty tomb, and life eternal. Because death becomes destroyed.

* (N. Cabasilas, “Vita in Cristo”, 648)

Failure and Victory: Finding Personal Meaning in the Wreckage of Notre Dame

I write this just days after watching Paris’ Cathedral of Notre Dame become engulfed by flames and fearing that the most famous and treasured place of worship in all of Christendom after St. Peter’s Basilica would be reduced to stone and ash at the start of Holy Week.

Thankfully, the Cathedral is not wholly lost, but as it burned, it truly did seem like familiar parables and lessons were playing out before our eyes:

  • “In the blink of an eye…”
  • “Store up your treasures in heaven…”
  • “Upon this rock, I shall build my Church, that the gates of hell shall not prevail…”

The falling spire of Notre Dame felt almost portentous. My friend Tom McDonald wrote, “The thing about a fire in the sky: it makes you look up.” His words tapped memories of Marian prophecies warning of sky events “seen throughout the world,” – something that seemed impossible 100 years ago but is now reality. Yes, look up, look up, and see the signs and symbols that always accompany an awakened awareness of the unending battle between dark and light, between good and evil, between what is above us, inviting us to rise, and what is below us, and would drag us to its depths.

As the fire spread, many of us prayerfully asked, Lord, why Notre Dame; why at the start of Holy Week? Why would God permit it? What are we supposed to take away from this great horror — a portion of our past burning away in the face of such an uncertain future — besides spiritual sorrow and endless debris?

All the Fails

It feels a bit like a shared penance — the universal church suffering the loss of one of its universally-admired structures, in reparation for her many soul-shattering sins. An absolute beauty taken from an institutional body of faith that had brought too much ugliness into the world – a blaze brought to a church spectacularly failing in its mission to “light a fire” on the earth.

A Church failing as 50% of her youth depart into the whirlwind of the “nones”, where they seek not a different encounter with Christ, but no encounter at all, because the Church has botched its job of teaching why the encounter is everything.

A Church failing as entrenched leadership seem unable to unite in ready humility to atone for the soul-shattering clerical abuses  of children, seminarians, and nuns, thereby contributing to so much that is ugly, broken and damnable.

A Church whose future – it must seem to the world — seemed written in the smoke of Notre Dame, rising to heaven like spoiled incense: Flammis acribus addictis.

Consigned to flames of woe.

As those flames flickered against the Parisian sky many asked, “How do we enter into the Easter vigil and its long Alleluia Season of victory and resurrection, in the face of such catastrophic failure?”

And yet, when the smoke was cleared, and the first images of the cathedral’s interior came to us, we got our answer, and it was stunning. Within the charred remains, the beauty had held. Here were the incredible statues. There were the stained-glass windows. There was Our Lady of Paris.

And there, untouched by the conflagration, was the Cross – upright, shimmering in the light, inviting us forward.

It was a moment of spectacular grace, and the world seemed to experience it with a collective sigh of relief, because where there is the Cross, there is hope, mercy, redemption offered to all of us amid our interior wreckage.

Since seeing that image, I’ve been taking the fire at Notre Dame personally, because it has so perfectly reflected my Lent, which I’d begun with enthusiasm, approaching the toughest discipline I’d ever undertaken as though I were a champ heading into the ring with a knockout record – ready for victory, for the sake of Christ.

Oh, fool. Within weeks, I was not just letting down my guard but bloodied and on the ropes. My spirit was being pummeled as I (all too willingly) opened myself up to sin – both new iniquities I’d never expected in myself, and despised old behaviors whose false charms invited me to dance and then entrapped me in a viselike grip once I drew near, pulling me down, down, down.

How quickly my spiritual spires, raised with such good intentions but supported by little more than self-will, crumbled in upon me in. Easter was approaching like a countdown, and I was sin-battered, my soul staggering and mute, no victory in sight.

I had tried to raise up glory to God, but it had been my own notion of glory, relying on my own efforts. My failure was predestined thanks to the rickety foundation of shallow self-sufficiency upon which I had tried to build, and the utter lack of attention I gave to the necessity of grace.

The Voice of Grace

In Paris, on Monday evening, we could hear it — the voice of grace rising as French citizens sang hymns to Mary while her Cathedral burned; the voice of grace carrying our gasps as those first pictures emerged from its depths, with the Cross front and center – recognizable and whole, and so reassuring.

The voice of grace, ringing like a great bell of mercy, leading us to another chance.

Parables before our eyes, indeed.

  • And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.
  • See, I make all things new…
  • Do not be afraid…

Victory, like the Resurrected Christ, shows its wounds even in glory; they give testimony to the paradoxical cost of triumph, which is one’s complete surrender.

It took my Lenten disintegration to remind me that what we were meant to achieve through our Lenten practices is not a personal victory, but a surrender. That our habits of pride and stiff-necked recalcitrance must sometimes require a surprise assault upon our interior structure, and an unexpected collapse, before anything good may rise and come forth in resurrection and glory.

This is true for each of us, and for the institutional Church, as well. We must fall into the hands of the living God – a fearsome thing – and then rely on grace to build Christ’s glory within us, and in the Church and throughout world. There is no other way.

In the image of a fire-gutted Notre Dame, I see myself, and I see the whole Church, newly vulnerable in unexpected victory through Christ. Having attached ourselves to his surrender, we await our resurrection in his.

Jesuits to admit women: Who will be the first female Jebbies?

I think this news is actually bigger and more exciting than I seem to be saying where I am quoted in this piece. It’s about time the Jesuits had female members. All the other great religious orders have them. Even the Oratorians have created a role for women — the Flammae Cordis (recalling Philip Neri’s heart of fire) — and has given them cool red habits, too, with the distictive collar of the Oratory. That’s them in the featured image, btw, because I couldn’t resist the red! ((Image Source)

Anyway, here’s the scoop!

In a move that is sure to reverberate within the deepest corridors of the Vatican, members of the Society of Jesus have today announced that they will be admitting women into the Society as full Sisters. “They can’t be ordained, at least not yet,” said James Martin, the Jesuit author of the best-selling book Jesus: A Pilgrimage, “but as Jesuits in service to the church and the world, we feel it is important at this time to validate the history of holy women within the church, and to help make them and their gifts more visible. Our Ignatian-minded sisters will be fully-recognized Jesuits.”

Martin added that the female members will be called Hermanas Sociedad, “but we’ve already nicknamed them ‘the Kateri’s, after Saint Kateri Tekakwitha, who was evangelized by Jesuits. We believe these women will bring what Blessed John Paul II called “the feminine genius” into the mainstream.”

Reactions to the announcement have been mostly positive. Writing at the newly-established Dominican Post website, several Dominican confreres noted that the Order of Preachers has admitted women into its work since the 13th Century, and some good-naturedly teased the Society of Jesus for the timing of the move. “Finally!” wrote one Dominican under the username DumbOx, “the Dominicans, the Benedictines, the Franciscans — heck even the Carmelites — have long-partnered with women, and the Carmelites hardly talk to anyone! I’m glad the Jebbies have stopped dragging their feet!”

Vatican experts note that Rome has not yet released a statement on this development, and anonymous sources are being circumspect about whether or not Pope Francis — the first Jesuit Pope in the church’s long history — was instrumental in bringing this move about, or was withholding judgement. Speaking on the record, however, Federico Lombardi, Former Director of the Press Office of the Holy See, and himself a Jesuit, noted “The Holy Father has clearly stated that he is interested in bringing more women into positions of counsel within the hierarchy and to make them more visible throughout the church.”

The admission of women into the Society of Jesus is proving controversial for some. “I’m glad to see it, but not sure why this is a big deal,” wrote Catholic writer Elizabeth Scalia, who referenced the contributions and recognition of women throughout church history, “but it’s certainly a welcome thing, and, while I don’t think every nun needs a habit to be holy, I do hope the Hermanas bring back the Jesuit robes, which were great-looking, but maybe brought out in vivid colors, because everyone can use a little bloom. I’m thinking of the vibrant shades Cristofano Allori used for the robes of Judith, but you know…without the bloody head of Holophernes. What can I say? Like Paul’s friend, Lydia, I’m all about the dyes and textiles…”

Opining that Scalia “has an interestingly gynecological view” on too many things, writer Mark Shea praised the move as “a shiv stuck into the heart of the Catholic reactionary movement, which is what we would expect from our Jesuits who were founded by a warrior, Saint Ignatius, who was also called Ignatz.”

Among lay women the move has been largely well-received, “I know Papa Francis is behind this! He’s washing women’s feet!” said one woman, who says she is now — for the first time — encouraging her daughter to become a Catholic religious, a move she said she previously would not have considered. “I want grandchildren, of course, but the pope is changing everything, and I know that now if my daughter were to become a Sister she would be a true spiritual Mother to the the larger church, and that would make me a Grandmother to the world. Plus, the benefits alone make this a reasonable career move. She could get education and clothing allowances, health insurance, and the Jesuits know a lot of connected people in publishing and media. This move by the Society of Jesus finally makes it sensible for a woman to give up sex, which I know I could never do, but my daughter is very gifted.”

Another woman, asked if she might consider becoming a Hermana, seemed less enthusiastic. “Depends,” she said, “I know the Jesuits have that vow of obedience to the pope, and I don’t think women should have to take that. What if I don’t like him, you know what I mean? What if the pope doesn’t agree with me on issues? I have to conform to his view? I have to obey him? I don’t think so.”

Her commentary was interrupted by blogger Thomas McDonald, who suggested that anyone desiring to express dissent against current and future popes would be better-served by becoming a contributor to either the “traditionalist” Rorate Caeli, or the “progressive” National Catholic Reporter, depending on their perspectives.

“Everyone needs an outlet for their voice,” said McDonald, who administers a blog called “Weird Catholic”, “but I’m not sure a mainstream religious order would be the proper outlet for determined dissenters. It’s been done. And the church has all the hysterics and drama queens it can use, at the moment.”

Oh, and by the way…HAPPY APRIL FOOL’S DAY!
(The Oratorian stuff is true, though….)