Friday, March 7, 2014
There is a view that the bloody sacrifice of the Son on the cross was "satisfying" to the Father, and appeasement of a God infinitely angry at sinful humanity. In this reading, the crucified Jesus is like a child hurled into the fiery mouth of a pagan divinity in order to assuage its wrath. This is a regrettable interpretation of the cross that has, unfortunately, infected the minds of many Christians.
But what ultimately refutes this twisted theology is the well-known passage from John's Gospel: "God so loved the world, that he sent his only Son, that all who believe in him might have eternal life." John reveals that it is not out of anger or vengeance or in a desire for retribution that the Father sends the Son, but precisely out of love. God the Father is not some pathetic divinity whose bruised personal honor needs to be restored; rather God is a parent who burns with compassion for his children who have wandered into danger.
Does the Father hate sinners? No, but he hates sin. Does God harbor indignation at the unjust? No, but God despises injustice. Thus God sends his Son, not gleefully to see him suffer, but compassionately to set things right.
St. Anselm, the great medieval theologian, who is often unfairly blamed for the cruel theology of satisfaction, was eminently clear on this score. We sinners are like diamonds that have fallen into the muck. Made in the image of God, we have soiled ourselves through violence and hatred. God, claimed Anselm, could have simply pronounced a word of forgiveness from heaven, but this would not have solved the problem. It would not have restored the diamonds to their original brilliance. Instead, in his passion to reestablish the beauty of creation, God came down into the muck of sin and death, brought the diamonds up, and then polished them off.
In so doing of course, God had to get dirty. This sinking into the dirt-this divine solidarity with the lost--is the "sacrifice" which the Son makes to the infinite pleasure of the Father. It is the sacrifice expressive, not of anger or vengeance, but of compassion.
Jesus said that any disciple of his must be willing to take up his cross and follow the master. If God is self-forgetting love even to the point of death, then we must be such love. If God is willing to break open his own heart, then we must be willing to break open our hearts from others. The cross, in short, must become the very structure of the Christian life.
God sends his Son, not gleefully to see him suffer, but compassionately to set things right.
(Adapted from Fr. Robert Barron)
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Something I have noticed over the years is that the holiest people in our tradition are those who are most aware of their sinfulness. Whether it is Paul, Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Teresa of Avila, Thérèse of Lisieux, or Mother Teresa, the saints are those who are convinced of their inadequacy.
When Isaiah encounters the Lord he says, "I am a man of unclean lips!" When Peter is in the presence of the Messiah he says, "Lord, leave me, for I am a sinful man." G.K. Chesterton once said, "A saint is someone who knows he's a sinner."
The holy person has no illusions about himself. It is an extraordinary and surprising phenomenon that the saints seem to be those who are most conscious of their sinfulness.
At times we are tempted to think that this is a form of attention-getting, a sort of false humility. But then we realize that it is proximity to the light that reveals the smudges and imperfections that otherwise go undetected. A windshield that appears perfectly clean and transparent in the early morning can become opaque when the sun shines directly on it. Standing close to the luminosity of God, the holy person is more intensely exposed, his beauty and his ugliness more thoroughly unveiled.
There's no way up but down; no real holiness without awareness. At least part of being a saint is knowing you're a sinner.
"The holy person has no illusions about himself."
by Fr. Robert Barron
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
The Spanish mystic Saint John of the Cross said that in the evening of life we shall be judged according to our love. In Matthew 25 the nature of love is specified. It is not primarily a feeling, an attitude, or a conviction, but rather a concrete act on behalf of those in need--the hungry, the homeless, the lonely, the imprisoned, the forgotten. It is the bearing of another's burden.
Click here for Fr. Barron's website.
Here's a challenge: Over the next forty-seven days, resolve to perform a particular and sustained act of love.
Make several visits to your relative in the nursing home. Converse regularly with a lonely person on your block. Tutor and befriend a kid who might be in danger of losing his way. Repair a broken friendship. Bring together bickering factions at your place of work. Make a number of financial contributions to a worthy organization that needs help.
Numerous spiritual masters have witnessed to something odd: Belief in God is confirmed and strengthened not so much from intellectual effort as from moral action.
When a man once asked the English Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins what he must do in order to believe, Hopkins replied, "Give alms."
As you love through tangible acts, you will come to believe more deeply and to enter more fully into friendship with God.
by Fr. Robert Barron
Click here for Fr. Barron's website.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
We live in the midst of driving kids to soccer games and music lessons, and working overtime so we can afford the latest gadgets and the most up to date technology for our kids so others, most especially our kids, will think of us as a good parent. We are in a frenzy, squeezing in yoga and a work out at the gym so we can tell ourselves we are taking care of ourselves. But our hearts are troubled, our minds are agitated, our bodies are restless, all the while apprehensive that we don’t quite measure up, even when we are doing all the things we think we ought to be doing. We are hesitant to take time to pray, lest God add to the already taxing demands on our time and energy. In the midst of this contemporary rendering of today’s gospel, Jesus invites us to come home, “Come home to the Love that awaits you, come home to the One who is calling you; just come home.”
This Lent, listen to how God is calling you home. It may be to spend more time with family, or to reach out to a lonely neighbor. Perhaps it’s making a daily practice of reflection on the graces and blessings of the day or attending daily Mass. How will you recognize God’s voice amidst the clamor of so many insisting calls? How will you know? You will find you are more peaceful, more grateful, more hopeful, more generous, more loving… and it will feel like coming home.
(Adapted from Diane Jorgensen)