All That is Solid Melts into Air

Commenting on the constant revolutionizing of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation [that] distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones, Karl Marx famously wrote, All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned. [Communist Manifesto, 1848]

Perhaps it really is an inevitable characteristic of modernity’s self-induced social disruptions and moral unraveling, but it seems to me that people increasingly seem to be having a harder and harder time accepting that anything can be ever be settled. Once upon a time, elections and the legislative process in democracies and authoritative pronouncements in religion were seen as appropriate vehicles for settling certain matters. Nowadays, however, the losing side on any controverted question seems less and less willing to accept that the matter has been settled. All that is solid melts into air seems like an increasingly fitting description for our loss of that fundamental requirement for an community that some things be accepted as settled.

Of course, the fact that an issue may have been “settled” does not guarantee that it has been settled in the best way possible – let alone justly. There certainly are circumstances when one would feel justified – even obligated – to press on in opposition. The war in Europe was de facto "settled" in Germany’s favor in 1940 – except for the United Kingdom’s obstinate insistence on continuing the fight (for which we subsequent generations of beneficiaries ought to be eternally grateful).The claim of a constitutional right to abortion was similarly “settled” by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1973 – except in the minds and hearts of millions of Americans who have refused to become collaborators (even passively) in the legalized slaughter of millions of unborn children. Certainly there some “settled” questions that should not be treated as such.

A democratic political process makes provision for revisiting previous decisions. Laws can be amended - and even repealed. The U.S. Constitution itself can be amended – and (as happened once in the last century) an amendment may itself then be repealed. But these are largely exceptions to the general pattern. Exceptions there will always be; but, in a successfully fucntioning democratic polity, such exceptions must always be seen as precisely that - exceptions to the norm. The norm is that elections are taken as decisive, and that they have consequences for policy. Prolonged challenges to electoral results and to the presumptive legitimacy of democratically elected officials damage the process – and thus the polity. A democratic political culture, of course, must allow for dissent and provide vehicles for policy change, but it also presupposes a willingness to live with political outcomes that one has opposed.

Something similar seems to be at work in the religious realm – where the issue is not one of democratic legitimacy but of religious authority. Take for example, the negativity in certain quarters concerning the new English translation of the Roman Missal, set to be implemented in the U.S. this coming Fall. It’s not a matter of doctrine. So, one is certainly free to dislike the translation and to prefer another or even the present one. But that a new translation has been approved and is scheduled to be implemented is at this point a settled matter - settled by those who have the authority in the community to make such decisions. Nonetheless, one keeps hearing the same arguments raised over and over, as if nothing had been settled – as if nothing can ever be taken as settled. Such negativity can hardly have beneficial effects on the experience of worship and the life of the community. (Especially pernicious, it seems to me, are criticisms that focus on the process, rather than on the substance of the translation itself. One hears, for example, how this is a top-down maneuver, imposed upon ordinary people in the pews, destabilizing people’s established habits of worship, with little evidence of any popular demand for such a change – all of which ignores the fact the present translation, which such critics are presumptively defending, itself was imposed in much the same way.)

The constant undermining of democratic legitimacy in civil society and of religious authority in church communities can only further weaken the bonds that hold a community together and enable it best to fulfill its social purpose or its religious mission.

A City upon a Hill

A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden [Matthew 5:14]. How many times have we Americans heard that phrase - usually in the more traditional translation as “a city upon a hill” - applied to our own American experience? President Ronald Reagan (whose 100th birthday is today) used it in 1984 when accepting his party’s nomination for President and again in 1989 in his farewell address as President. Prior to that, President-elect John F. Kennedy quoted it in his address to the Massachusetts legislature in 1961, explicitly citing Puritan Governor John Winthrop’s famous sermon, “A Model of Christian Charity,” delivered to the Massachusetts Bay colonists while still on board their ship in 1630. According to Winthrop:

We must entertain each other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others’ necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, patience, gentleness, and liberality. We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body. So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace [cf. Ephesians 4:3]. … For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us.

Thanks to Governor Winthrop and his fellow Massachusetts Puritans, Jesus’ challenge to his disciples to be the light of the world and a city set on a mountain that cannot be hidden has been a familiar and particularly powerful one for Americans. In its original context, of course, it referred not to America but to the Church, called by Christ to continue his life and mission by being light for an otherwise dangerously dark world.

In the dark of night, a city set on a mountain might itself be enveloped in overwhelming darkness, ominously hidden from view, unless its buildings and streets are illuminated by the lights lit – that is, the good deeds done – by its residents.

None of this happens automatically, of course. It’s not like touching a switch. Jesus and his hearers appreciated light – and the effort involved in making a city bright – because they knew natural darkness all too well, experiencing it every night, more frighteningly than we in our electric world can even imagine.

Making a fire, lighting a lamp, illuminating a city – in a non-electric world none of that happens automatically. It takes conscious effort, and without effort there is only darkness. The illumination Jesus was talking about requires commitment to the kingdom of God, the coming of which we pray for every day in the Lord’s Prayer – a state of affairs in which God is in charge, a world where God rules, a world transformed by the saving presence and power of Christ, where the forces of evil are in retreat, divisions are undone, and we are not afraid of the dark.

Jesus’ life, his death, and (above all) his resurrection have revealed the coming of that kingdom. God really is in charge, despite all appearances to the contrary, despite the obvious and persistent presence and power in our world of darkness, death, evil, and sin. We, however, have to side with the light and reject the dark, which is not so easy as it sounds.

For darkness is still powerfully present in our world. People still die, for example, but the resurrection of Christ assures us that death no longer has the final word. People still hate, exploit, and abuse, but God’s kingdom of love, reconciliation, and peace has already begun – here and now – in us. And the risen Lord keeps calling us to live the bright new life of his kingdom. In spite of all that is so terribly wrong in our world, Jesus invites us to follow him into his kingdom, confident that his light will be enough for us all.

It is, after all, only natural to hate, exploit, and mistreat. It takes the fire of love to light the lamp of reconciliation and illuminate a city with God’s peace. It takes more than one little light bulb or flickering candle. On our own, we would long ago have been left in the dark; but Jesus himself has provided us with the fire of his Holy Spirit to light up his city, freeing us to share that light with one another.

Of course, even a city set on a mountain has to draw its water from the ground below. We’re not on some private planet all by ourselves, but very much a part of this world – in this time, in this place, in this society. (Hence, Governor Winthrop’s detailed instructions to his fellow colonists on what being an authentic political community should entail!) Jesus’ words challenge us to recognize all that his Gospel has to say to our society here and now – and, recognizing that, to do what light is supposed to do and actually make a difference.

Just as the light of any one individual candle will continue to burn with its full brightness, no matter how many more candles may be lit from it, we need not worry that the light will be lost if we share it with outers. We need not fear that our city’s light will grow dim as it penetrates the darkness outside. Jesus encourages us to see ourselves not as some frightened, fretful minority, huddled around a weakly lit fire, but as a bright, well-lit city on a mountain that not only can, but wants, to be seen for miles and miles around – a new kind of community that already, here and now, has begun to live the new life of God’s kingdom, a city that not only cannot be hidden but that can, quite literally, light up the world.

Homily for the 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Immaculate Conception Church, Knoxville, TN, February 6, 2011

Democracy

The media drumbeat for revolution in Egypt continues – its intensity, if anything, increasing as the disorder escalates. Before we were able to watch revolutions “in real time,” we were better able to maintain the distance necessary for making intelligent judgments about their consequences. In our globalized world of instantaneous communication, we have all become “excitement junkies,” eagerly following the latest developments and – wittingly or unwittingly – encouraging them along. (So it’s no accident that demonstrators display signs in English).

The Founders and – for much of American history – most Americans at least most of the time had an appreciation for the fit between America’s distinctive political institutions and American political culture. While not unopposed in principle to the spread of American-style democracy to other places, they intuitively understood that not every society works the same way and that what fits well in one setting might not automatically translate to another. During the Cold War, calling oneself “anti-Communist” was virtually sufficient to make one a good guy in American eyes. Nowadays, being for “democracy” (whatever that might mean) seems to suffice.

Personally, I hope the Egyptian people (and all peoples everywhere) succeed in establishing a more humane society for themselves. Democratic institutions may contribute to that end, although they also may not. I am reminded of Edmund Burke’s caution (in his 1790 Reflections on the Revolution in France) that we ought first to see what it will please people to do with their liberty before we risk congratulating them on its acquisition!

A workable “democracy” may admit of many cultural variations and adaptations, but at least any form of it that most Americans would recognize as such presupposes a political culture in which citizens are not only able and willing to engage each other in a political process (a more exacting demand than it sounds) but also can tolerate not getting their way all the time, that is to say are able and willing to live within some fundamental constitutional restraints (for example, elections at set times, as opposed to a change in government every time a mob takes to the streets). Those who are eager to promote “democracy” in foreign countries would do well I think, to promote, encourage, and facilitate the factors that make such minimal pre-conditions for “democracy” authentic local realities.

The Blessing of Throats

I had my throat blessed this morning. Yes, this is the annual day when we practice that wonderful tradition! I had a noontime meeting to attend today. So I could not be present myself to help my associate bless throats after Mass. However, to accomodate the many who could not get away from work or wherever to coem to church for the blessing today, we will be repeating the blessing after all the Sunday Masses this weekend. So I will get plenty of opportunities to confer the blessing. It's one of my favorite sacramentals. I think it's really one of the nicest things we get to do in the course of the church year.

Under the appropriate circumstances, almost anything and anyone can be blessed, but this particular annual blessing has a particular popularity - and persistence - virtually unequaled. Over the centuries, the Church's catalogue of annual blessings has included all sorts of things, such as horses on St. Stephen's Day and wine on St. John the Evangelist's Day, not to mention bonfires on the Eves of St. John the Baptist and All Saints. Most of those blessings are barely even known among the faithful today. The blessing of St. Joseph's Table and the blessing of Easter Food remain popular in certain places, particularly among certain ethnic communities. But, of all the traditional annual blessings, the one most persistently popular and most widely practiced in the United States is surely today's blessing of throats. What accounts for this?

According to tradition, St. Blaise, in whose memory throats are annually blessed on his feast day, was an Armenian physician, who became a bishop and was martyred early in the 4th century, and who supposedly healed a boy who was choking to death from fish bone. Devotion to him (and his healing powers) spread widely in both the eastern and western churches, which celebrate his memory on February 11 and February 3 respectively. In the medieval west, he achieved particular popularity as one of the "14 Holy Helpers." Like most pre-modern life, medieval life was hard, and help from almost any source was much valued and sought after! Of course, life can still be very hard even today - especially when illness intervenes. Hence, the perennial appeal of healers. (For that reason I suspect that saints who acquired a reputation during their earthly lives as healers have a certain advantage in getting canonized, since their proven track record must be an incentive for people to continue to invoke their aid and pray for their intercession - thus possibly resulting in the necessary after-death miracles for beatification and canonization).

Miracles matter - not just in saint-making but in daily life, as long as life is hard and so much of it is beyond our control. Certainly sickness is one of the situations in which life repeatedly shows itself beyond our limited capacity to control. The blessing of throats intentionalizes the Church's prayer for the sick and highlights the Church's long-standing historical commitment to and involvement in healing ministries. The fact that St. Blaise was himself a physician certainly speaks to the spiritual significance of the ministry of healing and the social value of all healing professions - doctors, nurses, PAs, EMTs, etc.

Through the intercession of St. Blaise, Bishop and Martyr, may God deliver us from every disease of the throat and from every other illness: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Candlemas

That wonderful old English carol (originally a form of catechesis in a time of persecution) stops at the 12th day, but today is actually the 40th day of Christmas. Like Christmas itself, this is a very ancient feast, rich in multiple meanings. Just consider the various names this day has had over the centuries. In the Eastern Churches, today is called the Encounter, the Feast of Meeting. In the West, we currently call it the Presentation of the Lord, but for several centuries it was the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary. And its most common title in English remains Candlemas Day, because of the special Blessing of Candles and Procession with which we began this celebration. All these different names hint at how full of meaning this festival is, and how much it has to teach us.

In our electricity-illuminated world, candles are quaint and cute – and, for some, romantic. But before electricity, candles were none of those things. They represented light – above all, light at night, light in the dark. Especially in winter, when the days are dark and the nights are long, light is treasured. And so we have a series of winter light festivals, of which Christmas itself is the most elaborate, with Candlemas coming at the end of the winter-Christmas season.

The secular American equivalent of Candlemas is, of course, “Groundhog Day” – not the movie, but the day itself and the peculiar customs connected with it. So even people who have never heard of Candlemas and long ago left Christmas behind with the rest of the past year still recognize this day and connect with the change of seasons. The weather may still be wintry, but the days are definitely getting longer. Unlike Christmas, which came at the mid-point of the dark season, with winter’s shortest day and longest night, Candlemas comes at the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Soon, day and night, light and dark will be equal everywhere in the world. And so this final winter light festival looks forward. And so, even as we recall the joy of the Lord’s first entry into his Temple – and suddenly there will come to the temple the Lord whom you seek, and the messenger of the covenant whom you desire [Malachi 3:1] – at the same time we hear, in Simeon’s words to Mary, the first warning reference to what lies ahead, the first reference to the cross. Behold, this child is destined … to be a sign that will be contradicted – and you yourself a sword shall pierce – so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed [Lk. 2:34-35].

So, even while we take a last look back at Christmas, Candlemas looks ahead to Lent and reminds us that the whole point of Christmas is Easter.

Today is also called the Encounter, the Feast of Meeting. Today Christ comes to meet us, and we get to meet him. The Ceremonial of Bishops says that “on this day Christ’s faithful people, with candles in their hands, go out to meet the Lord and to acclaim him with Simeon, who recognized Christ as ‘a light to reveal God to the nations.’ They should therefore be taught to walk as children of the light in their entire way of life, because they have a duty to show the light of Christ to all by acting in the works they do as lighted lamps” [241].

When Simeon and Anna experienced in Jesus the human face of God, they spoke about the child to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem. They hastened to proclaim the good news. That is still very much our task too today – to take the light of these candles out into our still very dark world and so to share with all the light reflected in our own lives from the brightness of the human face of God.

Homily for the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord (Candlemas Day), Immaculate Conception Church, Knoxville, TN, February 2, 2011.