Lift Up Your Hearts

When you hear the word “heaven,” what do you picture in your mind?  Fluffy clouds, bright light, cherubs, or pearly gates?  Regardless of what we see with our mind’s eye, we don’t really know what heaven will be like.  St. Paul writes in his first letter to the Corinthians, “What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him” (2:9).  Heaven is greater and more perfect than anything we could begin to imagine.  

However, that being said, we do know for certain one thing about heaven, namely, there are two human bodies there: the Blessed Virgin Mary and Christ.  It is Christ’s physical ascent into heaven that we celebrate today, in the feast of the Ascension.  With the Ascension, humanity is forever part of heaven.  As theologian Peter Kreeft writes, “Christ’s Ascension brought his human body and soul to heaven into the Godhead forever.”

I once viewed the Ascension as a mark on the roadmap between Easter and Pentecost … not really a major event itself, but more as preparation for the bigger feast of Pentecost.  Well, I was wrong!  Consider this: the Catholic Church teaches that the Ascension is not just a moment in the life of Our Lord.  No, it is actually part of His redemptive action.  The Paschal mystery doesn’t end with the Resurrection on Easter; it includes Christ’s Passion, crucifixion, Resurrection, and the Ascension.  (This explains why it is a holy day of obligation!)

The Ascension is the last act of Christ here on earth.  Interestingly, it parallels in some ways His birth, His first act on earth.  In both cases people look to the sky (shepherds and the apostles).  Angels act as messengers, directing, explaining, and encouraging.  And both moments focus on Christ’s physical body.

Why, exactly, did Christ have to leave?  What other marvelous deeds and mighty acts might He have done had He remained here?  

Firstly, Christ ascended because earth was no longer a suitable dwelling place for Him.  Remember that scene at the empty tomb when Mary Magdalene realizes that Jesus is standing before her?  Our Lord tells her, “Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father” (John 20:17).  His body is now a glorified body: He can enter closed rooms, suddenly disappear, and no longer physically suffers.  This is a glorified body that belongs in the glory of heaven, where the angelic hosts can adore and worship Him!  

But Christ ascended because it was also better for us for Him to leave.  At the Last Supper, Jesus said to His apostles, “But I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go.  For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you.  But if I go, I will send him to you” (John 16:7).

God always does what is best for us, even though at times we may not recognize it.  In the instance of the Ascension, Christ left this earth so He could be with us in an even better, more intimate way.  He is intimately with us—within us—in the Eucharist.  Pope Francis said, “The Ascension does not point to Jesus’ absence, but tells us that He is alive in our midst in a new way. He is no longer in a specific place in the world as He was before the Ascension. He is now in the lordship of God, present in every space and time, close to each one of us.”  In heaven, Christ continues to help us here on earth.  Seated at the right hand of the Father, Christ is our Eternal High Priest, interceding for us.

Perhaps this new, continuing presence of Christ is why our Blessed Mother and the apostles left the Ascension “with great joy” (Luke 24:52).  The Ascension is not a sad moment, but one of joy!  Jesus is with us in a different way, but still here.  And with His Ascension, there is the wonderful expectation of Pentecost, the coming of the Holy Spirit who will inspire, guide, and direct the apostles in their mission.

Indeed, at the Ascension, we see the shift from the ministry of Christ to the ministry of the Church.  We can view the Ascension as the connecting link between these two ministries.  Perhaps that is why St. Luke included the Ascension at the end of his gospel and at the beginning of the Acts of the Apostles.  In His final words to His followers, Jesus says, “ … you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).  The power of Christ is now given to the Church.  Christ’s apostles and their successors will bring the Good News of the Gospel to all corners of the earth.

That is the same ministry that we, members of the Church, are called to exercise.  How are we witnesses for Christ—in our families, workplaces, friendships, and community?  After Christ ascends into heaven, the two angels who appear exhort the apostles, “This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven” (Acts 1:11).  Let’s not forget that Jesus will come again—not as an unassuming, helpless infant, but coming out of the sky in all His majesty and glory, the hosts of angels announcing His Second Coming.  He will come to earth again, but we know not the hour.  Are we ready?  Are we conscientiously doing the work He has given us to do?

In the middle of each Mass, the priest calls us to “lift up our hearts.”  Every day and every moment we should lift them up … all the way to heaven.   

Lessons from Vipers' Tangle

A few years ago, our oldest daughter, Mary, attended Vacation Bible School at our Catholic parish.  As she and the other children practiced one of the VBS songs, I heard this line: "You are good, when there's nothing good in me."

I cringed inside.  Nothing good in me?  It immediately didn't sit right with me, especially coming from the mouths of children!  Even adults, capable and guilty of mortal sin, even at our worst moments ... do we ever reach a point where there is "nothing good in me?"

The VBS program was Protestant and that's where this kind of theology came from.  Martin Luther asserted of man, "He is a bad tree and cannot produce good fruit; a dunghill, and can only exhale foul odors. He is so thoroughly corrupted that it is absolutely impossible for him to produce good actions."

The Catechism of the Catholic Church, however, explains that man is created by God and for God.  He is made in the "image and likeness" of God Himself.  God can only create good!  Man is intrinsically good, though sin has corrupted his nature.  Saint Thomas Aquinas explained that evil is choosing a lesser good over the greatest good (God).  So even when a person sins, he or she is still trying (wrongly) to pursue a good.

But what about when someone loses sight of this inherent goodness and all that he can see is evil ... the dunghill ... the tangle of vipers?

I felt, I saw, I had it in my hand—that crime of mine. It did not consist entirely in that hideous nest of vipers—hatred of my children, desire for revenge, love of money; but also in my refusal to seek beyond those entangled vipers. I had held fast to that loathsome tangle as though it were my very heart—as though the beatings of that heart had merged into those writhing reptiles.

Vipers' Tangle, written by Nobel Prize Winner Francois Mauriac in 1932, takes the form of a letter, written by embittered, resentful Louis to his wife, Isa.  He is dying of a heart condition and he sets out to air his grievances toward her and to explain why she and their children will not inherit his massive fortune. 

Louis describes his childhood: he came from the peasant class.  His father died when he was very young, leaving him to be raised by an overprotective, doting mother.  He was a socially awkward boy, never able to joke around with others or bond with friends.  

My youth was nothing but one long suicide.  I hastened to displease on purpose for fear of displeasing naturally.

Things seemed to change when he met Isa.  At once he experienced the sensation of being wanted and loved.  His perspective, warmed by this affection, broadened.  Love whispered of Love ...

I suddenly had an intense feeling, an almost physical certitude, that another world existed, a reality of which we knew nothing but the shadow ... 

Shortly after their marriage, it abruptly ended.  One night, laying together in bed, Isa confessed to Louis that, before they met, she had been in love with another man.  Louis concludes that he was the one Isa had settled for: her second choice, her last-ditch effort at marriage.  She must have never really loved him.  

Already the infinitesimal space that separated our outstretched bodies had become impassable ... already I was asking myself: "Less than a year after this great love, how could she have loved me? ... It was all a sham ... She lied to me.  I am not set free.  How could I have thought that any girl would fall in love with me?  I am a man whom nobody can love."

For fifty years he nursed this grudge.  In his letter to her, Louis condemns her for ignoring him and favoring the children to his company, which she found boring.  He chastises her Christianity, purposefully eating meat on Friday to scandalize the family and refusing to go to Mass on Sunday despite his daughter's pleas.  Embittered, Louis clings to his wealth.

An old man only lives by virtue of what he possesses.  Once he ceases to possess anything, he is thrown on the scrap-heap .. Yes, indeed, I am afraid of being poor.  I feel as though I could never accumulate enough money. 

He is determined that his wife and children should not inherit his wealth.  One night Louis overhears them discussing his money and making plans for how they can secure it.  His family is a tangle of vipers, lusting after his gold.  Louis leaves unannounced the next morning, to meet his illegitimate son in another city and to arrange for him to receive his fortune.  

While Louis is away, Isa dies.  He is astonished: it never occurred to him that she would predecease him.  He was the sick one, not her!  All of his plans are destroyed.

I should never see my wife again. There would never be any explanation between us. She would never read these pages. Things would remain eternally at the point where I had left them when I went away from Calese. We could not begin over again, make a start on a new basis. She was dead without knowing me, without knowing that I was not merely that monster, that torturer, and that another man existed in me. 

Louis begins to realize that, all throughout his marriage, he decided how he would interpret all of Isa's actions and words--always to her detriment.  He only saw one side of her, the side that stoked the fire of his resentment.  

But there is always more to a person than his or her worst actions.  There is never a point where there is "nothing good in me."

We do not know what we desire. We do not love what we think we love. 

For most of his life, Louis believed that his love was his money.  On the day of Isa's funeral, he found that his attachment to money was no longer there.  He handed over the security deposits and bank notes to his children.  

One night, as the hail pounded against the house, like God's grace pounding against his sick heart, Louis realizes his error.  He had believed that his heart was that tangle of vipers: hatred for his wife and his children, desire for revenge, greed.  But that was all the sinfulness surrounding his heart, choking it.  He needed to go deeper, to cut past all of those vices.  He was more than his worst deeds.

He also had to do the same with those around him.  How often had he stopped at the mask people put up?  His son's mask of Christianity--dipping his hand in Holy Water while conspiring to seize Louis's fortune.  Or his granddaughter, Janine, saying that she performed her Christian duty, in the same tone of voice that she might say that she paid her taxes.  Those are masks, a false religion.  Louis had stopped at that, had criticized and ridiculed that Christianity.  The problem, however, is God is something more than that mask.  

Before we can reach others, we must penetrate their masks.  Before we can know ourselves, we must penetrate our mask.  We have to cut through the tangle of vipers.

Have you ever seen yourself on video?  I remember watching myself on a video one day and thinking, "Oh.  So that's what the back of my head looks like!"  I was so accustomed to seeing one perspective of my appearance in a mirror, that seeing myself from a new angle was almost jarring.  That person ... is me?  

It is so hard sometimes to see ourselves and others correctly.  But when we can cut through the masks--the sinfulness, resentment, the hurt--there is a child of God.  There is good inside of me, inside of you.  And in this novel, a book that spends the majority of the time demonstrating how vile and disgusting a character Louis is, by the end, you realize he is good, too.  As his granddaughter writes to Louis' son, her uncle:

But let me tell you why, finally, I think that he was right and we were wrong.  There where our treasure was, there was our heart also.  We thought of nothing but that threatened heritage ... Will you understand me if I tell you that, where his treasure was, there was not his heart also?

Lessons from Father Elijah

"It is a dark century ... To look into this darkness and see there the victory of Christ is the essence of hope."

My life today feels very different from the way it was just two weeks ago.  Two Fridays ago, I took our youngest two children to a science museum.  It was a carefree, leisurely outing.  We saw butterflies and played with bubbles.  Our oldest two were in school.  We were looking forward to a weekend of getting together with some friends and attending Mass at our parish.  Life felt normal and comfortable.

Today I spent the morning homeschooling our oldest two since their school has been closed due to the coronavirus.  I have no idea when school will reopen--if it even will reopen this academic year.  No one has left the house all week, except to play in the backyard.  All plans, socializing, events, and gatherings are cancelled.  Life is completely abnormal and unpredictable right now.

In the midst of all of this, one morning the news reported an earthquake in our area (upstate NY, so definitely an unusual occurrence).  I remarked to my Mom whether this is the end of the world.  At the time, I was saying it in jest.  But now, with the world in turmoil due to the coronavirus ... I start to wonder.

Father Elijah by Michael O'Brien is a Catholic, apocalyptic novel.  One of the fascinating points made in the book is the concept that those who are living in the end times, may not actually recognize it as the end times.  The book of Revelation speaks of huge, jarring events, but this language is also symbolic.  The Antichrist is a figure that rises again and again throughout history.  We may be in the end times right now.  

"The spirit of Antichrist has been present from the beginning.  Saint John says to the believers of his time that they are living in the final hour.  In a sense, all of the Christian era is the last days."

The protagonist, Father Elijah, is no stranger to suffering.  A Jewish boy living in Poland during World War II, he lost his entire family in the Holocaust.  He later became a political leader in Israel, but eventually found his way to the monastery at Carmel.  He converted to Catholicism and became a monk, separated from the world for twenty years.  

As the book opens, Father Elijah is summoned to Rome to meet with the pope.  Elijah finds the world much changed from how he remembered.  The culture of death looms large and there is a strong anti-clerical bias.  The President of Europe has captivated people, but the pope fears that his anti-religion message that deifies man, will ultimately destroy them all.  The pope asks Elijah to become acquainted with the President, to gain his confidence with the hope of warning him against this danger.  

"In those days the world had its evil masters, Nero, Tiberius, and Domitian.  But even amidst the collapse of civilization, the world was crawling out of darkness.  We are sliding back into it, and that is the difference.  Our autocrats are not vicious tyrants.  They are the architects of worldpower; and they manipulate all the resources of modern psychology to control the soul of man and make him an instrument of their purpose." 

Can Elijah convert the man who may be the Antichrist?  And, in the process, will Elijah lose his own soul?  This is rampant spiritual warfare.  In one gripping scene, Elijah is conversing with the Cardinal Secretary of State in secret, hidden in a private catacomb.  The door outside suddenly slams, extinguishing their sole candle.  The room fills with a horrid stench and Elijah's soul is filled with morbid dread.  

"It began in earnest some time ago.  The deadliest part of the battle is hidden.  Some of it is above our heads in the heavenly realms where the righteous angels battle against the demons.  But there is much unseen warfare on earth."

The President is an ominous foe.  His personality is effusive, dynamic, and compelling.  Elijah himself feels as though he falls under the President's power.  This President is also onto him: he is fully aware of Elijah's mission and plans, since he had a listening device secretly installed in the reliquary that the Cardinal Secretary of State keeps tucked against his chest.  

The President has his own ploy.  He would like to convert Elijah to his cause and the way to do that is through Elijah's heart.  The President solicits a world judge named Anna to secretly woo Elijah and made him fall in love with her.  

This is a spiritual battle on the grand scale (the world), but also on the individual scale.  There is a gripping scene--paralleling Dostoyevsky's the Grand Inquisitor--where Elijah dialogues with a bedridden, spiritually crippled atheist.  He is on his deathbed and Elijah fights for the man's soul as his death nears.  It is an intellectual back-and-forth of ideas and philosophies.  But it is an act of love only that can move this bitter man's heart.

Meanwhile, Elijah must face his own demons.  He has his own spiritual wounds.  Where was God during the Holocaust?  Even though God has given Elijah countless signs and graces, he still questions.  As the apocalypse nears, God asks him to step into the literal darkness and reach the dramatic point where he realizes--despite his accomplishments, his knowledge, his talents and gifts--"I know nothing."  And that is precisely when God says that Elijah has learned everything.

This is a novel that will stay with me for a long time.  From a literary point of view, it has passages that are suspenseful and page turning.  For example, at one point, Elijah finds himself wanted by the police for murder.  The political and spiritual threats are very real.  From a spiritual point of view, there is a keen sense of sacramental grace and heavenly assistance.  Some characters feel very familiar: the pope is modeled on St. John Paul II and there is a friar who is reminiscent of Saint Padre Pio.  The passages of prayer dialogue between Elijah and Our Lord are sincere and heartfelt.  For example, Our Lord says to Elijah,

I ask you to fear nothing.  I have brought you forth like a brand from the burning in order to address the foe and for the good of many souls.  I carry you always.  You must trust Me especially during times of desolation.

Today we are in the midst of desolation--a health and financial crises.  But it is also a spiritual crisis, too.  Our churches are closed.  There is no Eucharist.  The days feel dark. 

God wants us to enter into Christ's words, "I thirst."  We need to feel that thirst for God.  We can look into this darkness and see Christ's victory.  And that, ultimately, is the good news of the apocalypse.  

"In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the word" (John 16:33).

Know Your Enemy

A family had just moved into a new home, which they were renting, when they quickly noticed some strange things.  There were noises in the night.  Inexplicable shadows appeared on the wall, but there was no light to cast them.  The family became so disturbed that finally, one night, the father got everyone in the car and started to drive away.  They were only in the driveway when the father suddenly got a call on his cell phone.  It was from the house number though no one was in the house.  He picked it up and heard, “Come back here.”

Sounds like something from a movie, but instead I heard this story (based on a real event) in a homily, given by a Catholic priest on the first Sunday of Lent.  Have you ever noticed that this Sunday’s Gospel (the First Sunday of Lent) is the same every single year? We always hear about Christ’s temptation in the desert as we begin the Lenten season.  And in that Gospel passage, we hear about the devil.

We are beginning our 40 days of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.  We will inevitably face temptation during this time: maybe to abandon our good resolutions, to compromise, or to feel defeated and discouraged if we stumble.  Sometimes we yield to temptation out of laziness, love of pleasure, comfort-seeking, and other vices. But sometimes the temptation to deviate from our good Lenten resolutions comes from a source outside of ourselves.

Whether we are always aware of it or not, we are all engaged in a battle.  We are in spiritual combat right now and there is an Enemy. One of the most important strategies of warfare is to know your opponent.  How well do you know yours? I don’t mean to scare you, but the Enemy certainly knows you.

He goes by many names: Satan, the devil, the serpent, the dragon, the accuser, the evil one, Lucifer.  But who is he? The devil is a fallen angel. Lucifer (meaning “light bearer”) was the highest of all the angels that God created.  However, he abused his freedom, choosing to disobey God. His “Non serviam!” (“I will not serve!) was the ultimate act of pride.  Milton in his Paradise Lost has Satan sneer, “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

After his rebellion, Satan was cast out of heaven.  This was the first act of evil: evil was a historical event.  As we read in the book of Revelation 12:7-9:

“Then war broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels battled against the dragon. The dragon and its angels fought back, but they did not prevail and there was no longer any place for them in heaven. The huge dragon, the ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan, who deceived the whole world, was thrown down to earth, and its angels were thrown down with it.”

As an angel, the devil has no natural body.  He is pure intellect. Unlike our minds, which are always acquiring new information and making connections, angels know fully and completely.  This is why, when the devil disobeyed God, it was a permanent choice with no possibility for repentance. Saint Thomas Aquinas writes, “Hence it is commonly said that while a man’s free will is able to alternate between contraries both and after a choice, an angel’s is able to so alternate only before choice.”  When an angel wills something, it does so entirely with full knowledge of its decision and so the devil will always be evil.

The devil now roams about the earth, “looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8).  He actively works to lead souls away from God. That is what he did with Adam and Eve.  You’ve probably heard the saying that “the devil made me do it.” It’s a misleading notion, though.  God has gifted us with free will. We are responsible for our own decisions. The key, however, is that—when we are making those decisions—the devil is actively persuading us to choose the lesser good … in other words, to choose evil.  This is the devil’s whole agenda.

What can we do to protect ourselves from this Enemy?  Here are some suggestions.

1. Don’t make the devil bigger than he is. Yes, Satan is powerful and active.  Sometimes we can look at the world around us, with its warfare, terrorism, discord, and violence and feel like the devil has won.  Don’t be discouraged or lose hope—that is what the devil wants us to do! He is the “father of lies” (John 8:44). Despite how difficult things may be, the truth is that Satan is defeated.  Christ conquered Him through the Cross! Satan is the loser and, through the grace of God, we are on the winning side. “Indeed the Son of God was revealed to destroy the works of the devil” (1 John 3:8).

2. Take the devil seriously. There are some who simply deny that the devil exists.  I had a professor, for example, who bluntly told me there is no Satan.  Some theologians assert that the language discussing Satan is simply myth or fictitious.  Christ, however, took the devil seriously and so should we. Satan is not an obscure ideology or psychological condition, but a true, active, and powerful reality.  Scripture and Church Tradition both confirm this. As Pope Francis teaches about the devil, “He is evil, he’s not like mist. He’s not a diffuse thing, he is a person.  I’m convinced that one must never converse with Satan—if you do that, you’ll be lost.” Pray the St. Michael prayer daily in your battle against evil.

3. Know Scripture. This Sunday’s Gospel of the temptation in the desert shows us two things.  First, Satan knows his Bible. He has the audacity to tempt Christ (the Word of God made flesh) with the Word of God in Scripture.  Satan quotes Scripture and twists it, taking something good and trying to bring it to an evil end. (This is why, by the way, we are so blessed as Catholics to have the Church to guide us in our interpretation of Scripture, lest we be led astray by false ideas.)  Second, how does Christ combat the devil’s temptations? He quotes Scripture back to him! Scripture is a weapon in our arsenal against the Enemy. As Hebrews 4:12 says, “Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword.”

4. Stay close to our Blessed Mother. She is the Second Eve who, through her humility, crushed the proud head of the serpent.  Satan fears Mary.  Father Gabriele Amorth, the former chief exorcist of Rome, described an exchange he had with the devil, who said of Mary, “She makes me angry because she is the humblest of all creatures, and because I am the proudest; because she is the purest of all creatures, and I am not; because, of all creatures, she is the most obedient to God, and I am a rebel!” Our Mother—the most perfect of all mothers— will protect us, as any good mother will do with her children.  Pope Francis reassures us, “Where the Madonna is at home, the devil does not enter; where there is the Mother, disturbance does not prevail, fear does not win.”  Pray the rosary daily and make a Total Consecration to our Blessed Mother.

5. Guard yourself. Don’t open your soul up to evil spirits.  A ouija board, fortune telling, or seances might seem innocuous, but they are actually a way for the devil to gain access to your soul.  Playing a ouija board, by the way, is how the real life possession behind The Exorcist started.  Possession, though rare, does indeed happen. 

6. Have recourse to the sacraments (especially Holy Eucharist and Confession).  They will give us the supernatural grace to resist the devil’s temptations!

Our Lord is with us as we begin this Lent.  He has fought the battle and won! He will help us in our fight, too.  When Lent is over and Easter Sunday has arrived, we will once again renew our Baptismal promises, which begin with rejecting Satan, his works, and his empty promises.   We need to know our enemy, but we need not fear. As St. Teresa of Avila reminds us in her Autobiography: 

“If this Lord is powerful, as I see that He is and if the devils are His slaves … what evil can they do to me since I am a servant of this Lord and King?  Why shouldn’t I have the fortitude to engage in combat with all of hell?”

Signs of Cardinals

I'm searching for signs.  Or maybe the signs are coming to me and I'm just trying to interpret them.  

Last spring a mother and father cardinal built a nest right outside our kitchen window.  We were front-row spectators as mother cardinal sat, day after day, warming her three eggs.  I could empathize with her, since I was in the last trimester of my pregnancy.  We were both waiting, together, for our babies to come.

We watched father cardinal bring her food.  And then, we saw the miracle of new life before our eyes: three tiny baby cardinals, hardly distinguishable one from the other as they lay huddled together at the bottom of the nest.  We watched their feathers become puffy and then sleek.  We saw their mouths greedily open, vying for food from their diligent parents.  And then we saw the babies take their precarious first flights, half flying, half falling from branch to branch.  

It could have been any bird, but why cardinals?  Was it happenstance?  Or God's design that in His providence He knew I would look back on this small event and find comfort?

My memory works in strange ways.  I can't always remember what I ate for dinner yesterday, but I remember some of the events of summer 2019 with astonishing clarity.  I remember a walk I took in our neighborhood one July evening.  It was still hot outside and I was walking because my due date was just days away and I wanted to encourage our baby boy to be on his way.

I'll never forget that walk because I was talking to my brother, Michael.  He was in the hospital--not an unusual occurrence for him, unfortunately.  But this time was different because now it was terminal, though neither of us knew it at the moment.  He asked me what I made for dinner, which was his daily question for me.  He was telling me all the news about family members, aunts and uncles and cousins.  He told me that our Dad's birthday was coming up and, once he was out of the hospital, he wanted to go to TJ Maxx and buy our Dad a present.  He was talking about all the simple and beautiful things Michael always talked about--things of little and immense significance at the same time ... the small things that really matter, not grudges or resentments or criticisms, but things like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

I drive on that road now and think about that summer evening.  It looks different covered in snow, with trees bare of leaves.  Summer will come again, but that conversation will not.

God sent His Word into the world and that Word is enough for me.  I have faith in that Word.  "I am the way, the truth, and the life."  I don't need more than that.  But maybe God sends signs anyway.

After Michael died, we met with our funeral direction, a devote Catholic, neighbor, and fellow parishioner who knew Michael since he was a little boy.  She told us that we might see signs from heaven, little things that are Michael's way of telling us that he is okay.  She mentioned cardinals, who have had a history of that sort of thing.

This morning at breakfast a cardinal appeared outside, right near the nest they had built last year.  I jumped out of my chair, breathless at the sight.  Was it a sign?  A message from Michael?  I cleared away the breakfast dishes.  I didn't need signs, though.  And it was probably just a bird, flying around on a snowy winter morning.

But then our youngest daughter called out, "There's two red birds!"  She was the apple of Michael's eye.  And sure enough, high in the trees were two brilliant red cardinals, flying from branch to branch together.  

I'm grateful for the signs.  
I'm grateful for the cardinals. 

Lessons from The Odyssey

Our oldest two children are students at a classical school.  I am learning so much vicariously through them about classical education and wishing that I could also be a pupil there.  (My public school education has left me sorely lacking in many areas, I'm afraid.)  

The school sponsored a book group during the summer and one of the pieces of literature selected was The Odyssey.  Well, despite my best intentions, I never got to the book study.  But I resolved to read it anyway.  

Five months later, I did!  It was a bit of an odyssey itself, really.  But I stuck with it and I am happier for it.  The sheer relevance and longevity of this writing makes it something I knew I wanted to read.  It is the second-oldest piece of literature, the first being The Iliad, also written by Homer.  Homer wrote The Odyssey near the end of the 8th century BC.  That is a mind-boggling long time ago!  

It is amazing to me that, despite the vast span of time between then and now, so much of human nature has remained the same.  Temptation, honor, hospitality, family and marriage, fidelity, intellectual prowess, home--these themes belonged to the Greeks just as much as us today in the 21st century.  

The book's protagonist is Odysseus, a valiant leader in the Greek army.  He and his troops are on their way home to Greece after having won victory in Troy.  However, their path home is filled with obstacles.  Meanwhile, back at home, trouble brews as a group of suitors feasts on Odysseus's food and wine, each vying to woo and marry his wife, Penelope.  

There is much one could say about The Odyssey, but my lens for interpreting the text came from the question posed for the book study: Is Odysseus a Christ-like figure?

Certainly, Odysseus's journey home could be an allegory for the spiritual life.  Odysseus is introduced in the first line of the book as a man "of twists and turns."  So is his (and our) journey.  As we struggle to go to our true homeland (heaven), we face countless distractions and temptations to turn off course.  Consider some of Odysseus's obstacles.  Odysseus is detained by the nymph Calypso on her island.  Despite her captivating beauty, Odysseus desires to go home.  He cannot leave, however, because he lacks a boat and a crew.  We need a boat and crew, too.  Like the ark that kept Noah and his family safe, the Catholic Church is like a boat or ship that carries us toward God.  (Many Catholic churches even look like inverted ships, with the high peaked ceiling like the bottom of the ship.)  We are traveling somewhere and the Church will get us there.  However, we cannot go alone.  Just as Odysseus needed a crew, we need the mystical Body of Christ: our champions in heaven (the saints) and the believers here on earth. 

These are external difficulties Odysseus faced, but there were internal battles, too.  The hero must grapple with the effects of his own pride.  In one famous adventure, Odysseus and his men are captured by Polyphemus, a Cyclops.  Odysseus wittingly outsmarts him and manages to save himself and his men.  Unfortunately, escape isn't enough; Odysseus wants credit for his cleverness.  As he sails away, Odysseus yells to Polyphemus, announcing that it is he, Odysseus, who tricked him and blinded him.  With this information, Polyphemus invokes his father, the god Poseidon, to vindicate him.  Poseidon then prevents Odysseus's return for the next ten years!

Other vices cause further delays.  Odysseus receives a gift from King Aeolus: a bag containing all the winds.  This would surely have brought him home quickly, but his crew becomes filled with greed.  Thinking Odysseus is secretly hiding gold, they open the bag to take some for themselves.  The winds all escaped, causing a terrible storm that destroys any progress they have made.

When Odysseus meets the witch-goddess Circe, he is filled with lust.  Love of comfort and pleasure keep him there with her for one whole year.  

Then, when they are finally close to home, Odysseus's crew--ignoring his warning--intemperately feasts on the sun god's sacred cattle.  Immediately thereafter, they suffer a shipwreck, which only Odysseus survives.

Pride, greed, lust, intemperance: these are just a few of the vices that can detain our spiritual journeys.  Despite his setbacks, Odysseus persevered in his efforts to return home.  May the same be said for us as we journey home to heaven!  Like him, may we keep returning to our goal, despite the detours we may wrongly take.  

Nevertheless I long--I pine, all my days--to travel home and see the dawn of my return.

So much for The Odyssey as a spiritual allegory.  Is Odysseus a Christ-like figure though?  I could not quite see the similarities until Odysseus finally arrives home.  He quickly learns that the suitors have taken over his estate, using up his food and wine and trying to seduce his wife.  Odysseus, the rightful owner, has returned to claim what is his own.  The goddess Athena disguises Odysseus as an old man so the suitors will not recognize him at first.  He enters his home a beggar, ridiculed and taunted by the suitors.  But later, through a plan devised with his son, Odysseus reveals himself and kills all the suitors, as well as the maids who were unfaithful.

There are certainly some parallels here.  Christ came to earth disguised, too.  He was mocked because His enemies did not recognize Him as the true King.  Christ came to save what is His own, His lost sheep being led astray by false rulers.  The unfaithful maids also calls to mind the parable of the wise and foolish virgins.  No one knew the exact hour that the Bridegroom would come, so all had to be prepared.  The foolish virgins, however, did not have enough oil.  They left to buy some and missed the Bridegroom.  They were then shut out.  

But the key difference, the one which I think disposes Odysseus as a Christ-like figure, is the difference between justice and vengeance.  Christ is our just and merciful judge.  He did not come to condemn, but to forgive.  Even on the cross, when He is most offended and disrespected, Christ offers forgiveness.  Blood and water pour forth from His open side as a font of mercy for us sinners.  

Odysseus, however, has not returned home to execute justice.  He seeks vengeance and is driven by hatred.  The suitors are clearly guilty of wrongdoing: they have stolen from Odysseus's estate, courted his wife, and plotted to murder his son.  They should be punished for their misdeeds.  However, the retribution in the form of murder seems to exceed the wrongdoing, especially since some of the suitors are less guilty than others.  The suitors even beg for mercy, promising to repay Odysseus for what they have taken from him.  He replies:

"Not for the whole treasure of your fathers, all you enjoy, lands, flocks, or any gold put up by others, would I hold my hand.  There will be killing till the score is paid.  You forced yourselves upon this house.  Fight your way out, or run for it, if you think you'll escape death.  I doubt one man of you skins by."

Thanks be to God that, through His grace, our nostos (homecoming) to heaven will be to a God who is "slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love" (Psalm 103:8).

A Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

As a wife, mother, and hostess, I want everything to be just perfect at Christmas time.  Christmas lights, Christmas cookies, Christmas cards, Christmas tree, Christmas clothes for the kids, Christmas presents—I feel this pressure sometimes to make everything the best that it can be, to create a “magical” kind of Christmas day.  I know much of this comes from my own struggle with pride, but I realize our surrounding culture plays its own role, too. After all, aren’t we told that this is supposed to be the “most wonderful time of the year?” There are a lot of expectations to meet.

There have been a number of Christmas days in the past, filled with all kinds of festivities, when, at the end of the day, I faced a strange realization: among all the celebrating, I didn’t really pray.  My normal times of prayer were consumed with the busyness of Christmas. It’s a realization that still makes me extremely uncomfortable. No, I did not pray my rosary or have time for mental prayer on Christ’s birthday because … I was too busy making the celebration of His birth perfect? 

I think the devil can take many of our good intentions and twist them into snares for us.  Wanting to celebrate Christ’s birth is a wonderful desire. But celebrating in such a way that distracts us from what we are actually celebrating is to our own detriment.

I had a conversation with someone a few weeks ago that I still think about.  The friend I was talking to said that she remembered a couple of years ago when a family member was in the hospital and they weren’t sure if he would be home for Christmas or not.  At the last moment, he was discharged and able to return home. My friend described, “I was driving to CVS that Christmas Eve night, going to pick up a prescription the hospital ordered.  And I thought to myself, ‘This is one of my favorite Christmases.’” Maybe, she could say, it was one of the most perfect Christmases.

The first Christmas was—by many standards—far from perfect.  Our beautiful Nativity scenes maybe, in some ways, disguise for us the severe reality of that night.  It must have been down-right harrowing as St. Joseph desperately tried to find a place for Mary to give birth.  Our Lady and St. Joseph had to make do with a stable for their housing. Our Lord’s crib was a feeding trough for animals.  There was a tyrant making preparations to kill the newborn child. None of this was comfortable or convenient.

Yet, God designed the way He wanted to enter our world.  He could have done it any of numerous ways. This is the one He chose.  And if God chose it, it is perfect.

Maybe Christmas cookies with burnt bottoms, Christmas cards with children who aren’t all smiling, Christmas clothes that are wrinkled, Christmas lights that flicker because one bulb burnt out, a Christmas tree that is too skinny—maybe all these imperfections that I’ve worked so hard to eliminate, actually in a strange way contribute to the perfection of Christmas.  The imperfections remind us that we aren’t perfect.  We’re not going to get it all right.  We need a Savior.  

And if I can let go of some of my controlling desire to make things “perfect” this Christmas, I will probably have more time to focus on Christ who is Perfection.

Interestingly, my favorite part of Christmas day (aside from Christmas Mass, of course) is something incredibly simple.  On Christmas morning, before we gather around to open presents, we place the infant Jesus in the manger. Then we all sing “Happy Birthday” to Him.  Each year it never fails to make me feel a little teary-eyed. When we strip aside all the festivities, that’s what it all comes down to: the birthday of Our Lord.  We are celebrating Him.  

Happy Birthday, Jesus.