Saturday, November 2, 2024

Dilexit Nos

 


On October 24, Pope Francis issued an Encyclical Letter Dilexit Nos ("On the Human and Divine Love of the Heart of Jesus Christ"). This was the first encyclical devoted entirely to the Sacred Heart since Pius XII's encyclical Haurietis Aquaspublished on May 15, 1956, to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the establishment of the feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus by Pope Pius IX. Given the special relationships between Jesuits and the modern devotion to the Sacred Heart.

Like so many such documents, Dilexit Nos is longer than it needs to be and unlikely to attract casual readers. That said, there are a few points it would be particularly desirable to mention. Francis highlights how what we contemplate and adore in this devotion "is the whole Jesus Christ, the Son of God made man, represented by an image that accentuates his heart. That heart of flesh is seen as the privileged sign of the inmost being of the incarnate Son and. his love, the heart of Jesus is 'the natural sign and symbol of his boundless love" (48). The Pope stresses the significance of the image of the heart. "Universal human experience has made the image of the heart something unique" (53). "The venerable image portraying Christ holding out jis loving heart also shows him looking directly at us, inviting us to encounter, dialogue and trust; it shows his strong hands capable of supporting us and his lips that speak personally to each of us" (54).

Devotion to the Sacred Heart highlights the humanity of Christ. "The Fathers of the Church, opposing those who denied or downplayed the true humanity of Christ, insisted on the concrete and tangible reality of the Lord's human affections" (62). "Devotion to Christ's heart is essential for our Christian life to the extent that it expresses our openness in faith and adoration to the mystery of the Lord's divine and human love" (83).

Francis recalls the historical importance of this devotion in the battle against Jansenists, who "looked askance on all that was human, affective and corporeal, and so viewed this devotion as distancing us from pure worship of the Most High God" (86). Moving to today, "we are also seeing a proliferation of varied forms of religiosity that have nothing to do with a personal relationship with the God of love, but are new manifestations of a disembodied spirituality" (87). Francis also adds "that the heart of Christ also frees us from another kind of dualism found in communities and pastors excessively caught up in external activities, structural reforms that have little to do with the Gospel, obsessive reorganization plans, worldly projects, secular ways of thinking and mandatory programmes" (88).

Regarding the history of the devotion, "the Church today rejects nothing of the good that the Holy Spirit has bestowed on us down the centuries, for she knows that it will always be possible to discern a clearer and deeper meaning in certain aspects of that devotion, and to gain new insights over the course of time" (109). Unsurprisingly, the Pope highlights the devotion's resonances within the Society of Jesus. He quotes Pedro Arupe: "From my novitiate on, I have always been convinced that what we call devotion to the Sacred Heart contains a symbolic expression of what is most profound in Ignatian spirituality, and of an extraordinary efficacy - ultra quam speraverint - both for its own perfection and for apostolic fruitfulness" (146).

Finally, the Pope addresses what he calls "the missionary dimension." Accordingly, "our work as Christians for the betterment of society should not obscure it religious inspiration, for that, in the end, would be to seek less for our brothers and sisters than what God desires to give them" (205).

Francis concludes: "Christ's love can give a heart to our world and revive love wherever we think that the ability to love has been definitively lost" (218).

Friday, November 1, 2024

November

In November, in the days to remember the dead
When air smells cold as earth,
St. Malachy, who is very old, gets up,
Parts the thin curtain of trees and dawns upon our land.

So begins a famous poem by the 20th-century American monk Thomas Merton. (Saint Malachy was a 12th-century Cistercian who became Bishop of Saint Patrick's See of Armagh, whose feast is customarily kept of November 3, the day after All Souls Day.)

Once upon a time, November 1 marked the beginning of the old European/Celtic winter. Even if, sadly, the weather isn't quite so cold as it used to be at this point in the year (thanks to the self-inflicted damage of climate change), the November Triduum of Halloween, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day does bring with it an inescapable shift in mood, traditionally reflected in the change of seasons. (In Tennessee last weekend, I did get to see fantastic fall foliage, another seasonal sign that sometimes seems increasingly muted.)

These annual days to remember the dead keep us connected with those who have gone before us, whose number, of course, keeps increasing as we age and come closer to joining them. It is more than merely a matter of nostalgia. Remembering is a fundamentally human activity, all the more to be treasured as we age. Remembering those whose lives once intersected with ours affirms that their lives were real and genuinely mattered. Factor in the faith dimension of the Communion of Saints, which All Saints and All Souls Days are intended to focus on, our remembering those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith celebrates our shared destiny and shared hope.  

Photo: November Memorials to the Departed, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, NY.

Thursday, October 31, 2024

Conclave (The Movie)



Almost eight years ago (January 29, 2017), I posted a review of Conclave, a book by British novelist Robert Harris, noted for his fictionalized accounts of power and its corruptions. That novel is now a movie. Thanks largely to its impressive cast and beautiful filming, Conclave (the movie) is getting lots of well deserved attention and pre-Oscar speculation. The cast includes Ralph Fiennes as Cardinal Lawrence, Dean of the Sacred College and thus the one tasked to manage the Conclave, through whom we experience most of the tension in the film, Stanley Tucci as Cardinal Bellini, Lawrence's friend and leader of the "progressive" faction, Sergio Castellito as Cardinal Tedesco, the leader of the "conservative" faction, Lucian Msamati as Cardinal Adeyemi, the African papabile (until he isn't anymore), John LIthgow as Cardinal Tremblay, another particularly ambitious and problematic contender, Carlos Diehz as Cardinal Benitez, the mystery cardinal, and Isabella Rossellini as Sister Agnes, who is in charge of the domestic arrangements for the Conclave.

To reprise some of what I said about the book that applies also to the film, the conflicts and divisions among the cardinals are what we might expect. They present a plausible portrayal of current conflicts and divisions in the contemporary Church, filtered here through the personal ambitions and rivalries of different cardinals participating in the conclave. The unexpected arrival of a hitherto unknown cardinal (named by the deceased pope in pectore) predictably at first gives the novel a kind of vaguely Shoes of the Fisherman feel, which creates a certain expectation of how it will end, an expectation that persists, despite all the twists and turns and personal ups and downs of the plot  And, as different papabili rise and fall in the balloting and are eventually eliminated by a cleverly constructed series of personal scandals and various political machinations that punctuate the otherwise routine sequence of (beautifully portrayed) ritual ballots, the film does indeed seem to set us up for a predictable outcome. Then comes a shocking and radically challenging finale which no one, no matter how attentive to contemporary ecclesiastical conflicts, would likely have expected (and which I will not reveal lest I spoil the film for anyone).

Having read the book, I knew the surprise ending already, but from the multiple gasps of surprise I heard in the crowded theater I must assume that most of those in the theater with me last week had not read the book beforehand! In any case, so unexpected is the ending (even more so in the movie than in the book, which at least contained mild hints) that I almost think of it as two separate stories. The first is a well-crafted, entertaining, and at times insightful, if conventionally ideological and propagandistic account of the conflicts and divisions in the Church and hence the explosive mix of spirituality, religion, ideology, and personal and national ambitions, with might be expected to characterize a contemporary conclave. The second suggests a scenario so implausible and so spiritually and religiously problematic that it completely overshadows and detracts from the more relevantly realistic first story, submerging it in an outrageous moral ambiguity that far exceeds the moral ambiguities that characterized the first story. 

That said, the movie is beautifully filmed and exceptionally well acted, well worth seeing, whatever one thinks of its finale.

Sunday, September 22, 2024

The Paradox of Powerlessness


I don’t know about you, but there are times when I really wish the Gospels included more information about Jesus’ disciples.  For example, wouldn’t it be interesting to be able to listen in on the disciples’ conversation en route to Capernaum? I can picture Peter, perhaps still stung by Jesus’ rebuke in last week’s Gospel, reminding the others that he was still in line for the top job! I can almost hear Andrew answer, “OK, brother, but don’t forget that I met him first, and I introduced you to him!” And John chiming in, “but I’m the one he’s closest to!” And, of course, Judas, “I’m the one he trusts with the money, without me where would you all be!”


Instead, the Gospel today [Mark 9:30-37] tells us that when Jesus asked what they had been arguing about, they were suddenly (and suspiciously) tongue-tied, and that Jesus, ever the teacher, took the opportunity to teach them a lesson.


Actually, this was the second time Jesus had tried to teach them what lay ahead. But they failed to understand.  In a world without power-point presentations and other such gimmicks, Jesus employed a child as his instructional aide.


Children induce all sorts of reactions in people. A baby is a sure attention-grabber in any gathering. Generally in our society, children are considered cute, innocent individuals, to whom we are expected to react positively and benevolently. 


But what is distinctive about childhood – and certainly what Jesus’ audience would have responded to – is not cuteness or innocence but rather the dependence and hence powerlessness, that go with being a child. Even rich children, as long as they remain children, are dependent on someone else to exercise power on their behalf. 


So, when Jesus wanted to teach his disciples what following him is all about, he pointed to a powerless child. In this way, he sought to teach his clueless disciples the paradox of the powerless Christ, who, in obedience to his Father, assumed our ordinariness as his own to meet us, in his economic and political poverty, where we are all at our most powerless – in the darkness of death, where all our obsessive human preoccupation with power and status, our aspiration to greatness and accomplishment, all come to nothing.


No wonder they found him hard to understand! It seems being a disciple means more than merely listening to Jesus’ words and possibly preaching them to others. No, it means being led, by him and with him, where he was led. It means leaving behind our perpetual preoccupation with power, wealth, and status, our aspiration to greatness and accomplishment, our competitiveness with one another and within our own selves - the passions that the Epistle of James [James 3:16-4:3] so strongly warns us about, causing us to covet but not possess, to envy but not obtain, to ask but not receive. From high school popularity contests to their imitations in our national political campaigns, it’s all about who’s up and who’s down, who’s in and who’s out.

   

In contrast, Jesus challenges us to come to know Christ with the powerless. He invites us to compensate for our own limited moral experience by paying attention – difficult as that may be - to the experiences of others, others whose lived reality of poverty or other forms of powerlessness (homeless people, for example, maligned and defamed immigrants, for another) can cut through our comfortable self-understanding and teach us something new, expose us to realities and insights we would not otherwise be exposed to.


Good teacher that he was, Jesus did not totally denigrate the ambition of his disciples. Instead, he gave them a new definition of greatness to aspire to. “If anyone wishes to be first, he shall be the last of all and the servant of all.” 


That can be quite frightening, even threatening. Certainly, it scared the disciples. And it scares most of us most of the time, which is why we tend to pass over it as quickly as possible in search of some more “upbeat,” ostensibly friendly message, as if the point of Jesus’ life were to affirm us and our way of life. 


But this ultimately this is the challenge of a becoming a disciple – for all Christians from first to last.

 

Homily for the 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time, September 22, 2024, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, New York.

Friday, September 13, 2024

Cats and Dogs


It is a challenge to keep up with all the lies Donald Trump and his sidekick J.D. Vance have been promoting. Some of them especially stand out - both for their absurdity and for their potential for danger to real innocent people. One such is the bizarre claim that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, OH, are eating people's pets. On its face, of course, the claim is absurd, almost comic - except for the fact that it is so dangerous. It is, in a sense, a contemporary American version of the classic anti-semitic "Blood Libel." 

The so-called "Blood Libel" was an antisemitic canard, which falsely accused Jews of murdering Christians (typically Christian children) in order to use their blood in the supposed performance of certain religious rituals. In modern America, where pets are often treated as children, the lie that Haitian immigrants, who are here in the U.S. completely legally and have settled in Springfield because there were jobs there, have been stealing and eating people's pets, performs an analogously perverse and dangerous function of dehumanizing and "othering" a group of people, whose only actual distinction is being originally from a different country.

The immediately primary problem associated with such lies is the danger its victims may find themselves in, as a result of inflamed public opinion at the most fanatic extremes. Obviously the safety of innocent Haitian immigrants in Springfield needs to be prioritized. Above and beyond all that, however, there is the broader and longer term problem of the complete coarsening of our culture. We have become a nation of enemies to one another, motivated more by hatred and grievance than anything else. Whatever else happens, however this election ends, we will long be struggling as a nation with the damage we have done to ourselves as a viable human community.