My family members always tell each other we love each other before we part or finish a phone conversation. Recently, I've been feeling the urge to say so to my close friends as well.
I've pondered whether this is mere force of habit or a legitimate wish, but find myself censoring the utterance not for lack of authenticity, but for social properness. Telling my friends I love them with such ease might create in them a sense of awkwardness, or a wondering about my intentions.
I'm not sure this is how I want my friends to react, but I'm not sure that I should like to censor my thoughts of appreciation either.
I think the key would be consistency... because I'm not really afraid of being the guy that tells all his friends that he loves them, even on a regular basis.
I'm reminded of an article I read on Bustedhalo.com once, which contained this passage:
Frank and “Chickie”: I never knew Chickie’s real name, though I suspected it was probably Mary Frances, Mary Ellen, or Mary Elizabeth. They were the oldest of the group, attended daily mass, and had eight children. Frank said “I love you” each time I saw him.
I think it would be a wonderful thing to be like Frank. I'm not sure you can say "I love you" enough, if you mean it.
This Sunday's epistle reading brings us to perhaps one of the most socially challenging scriptures to make sense of in our current paradigm - Ephesians 5:21-33:
Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. As the church is subject to Christ, so let wives also be subject in everything to their husbands. Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. Even so husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no man ever hates his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.
"For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh."
This mystery is a profound one, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church; however, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.
I was quite happy that the priest at Mass today decided to tackle this scripture, because it is indeed challenging. Not least because it is oft ripped out of context, misunderstood, and has undoubtedly been abused in the past to justify domestic tyranny.
It's a difficult passage, but only because we are ourselves difficult - we don't like to be told that we are to "be subordinate to," or "obey" anyone but ourselves. Taken further, the feminist movement / women's liberation ideology that has been so prominent in our cultural gender dialogue seems to bristle at the idea of women being anything less than identical to men in every regard, while this passage addresses men and women's obligations to each other quite differently.
It is an awkward contradiction that our culture at one moment embraces the differences between men and women (eg. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus), then demands that we acknowledge no differences between them at all. Or perhaps that they are different, but we should act as if they aren't.
The Church does not believe this - it believes that humans both male and female are of equal dignity, but foundationally different qualities govern their roles: A male, his masculinity, and a female, her femininity. (see Mulieris Dignitatum)
The author of Ephesians speaks to this in his section about the structure of the household via analogy, illustrating for us the role of the husband (shown as Christ) as compared to the wife (the Church). Wives, as symbols of the Church, are to submit themselves, out of reverence and respect, to their husbands. Husbands, in turn, are to love and nourish and serve their wives in the manner in which Christ served and serves his Church. In this manner, there is mutual submission, the wife is subject to the leadership of her husband, who must love and care for his wife so deeply that he would offer up his life for her sake.
A friend of mine recently shared with me that Christ is subject to the Church in the Sacraments, because though we show physical signs, it is Christ that is the source of their grace, and ensures their efficacy. This is another example of the mutuality of submission that the epistle outlines.
My general thoughts this evening on this section of scripture have been that it is incredibly encouraging to men and women seeking holiness in marriage. A husband is given something incredibly lofty to strive for - love that is potent to the point of sacrifice - and is shown how, through Paul's analogy, his love will be a witness. Much is asked of the wife as well; obedience, especially in American society, is not something that is highly prized as a virtue. But in this she is shown how her submission can be a sign of the Church to others, and how the mutual submission of the husband and wife can illustrate the love and grace of God's salvific work in and through the Church.
The possibility of being a husband is incredibly exciting to me, in light of this passage: What a joy! What an honor to be so explicitly called to love someone in such a meaningful and symbolic way. My respect for the woman's femininity is also made greater by this passage, because there is a great deal asked of wives in their role, and that role is made more special by the fact that it is not identical to the husband's, it is something different, wholly reserved for her, and in that aspect, so very wondrous.
This passage, and those like it (in Peter, Titus, Colossians, Corinthians, Genesis...) could (and likely has, numerous times) inspire a book about Biblical gender roles and their relevance to modern culture, and there's a part of me that would really like to write more on this, refine what I've written... but there's another part that realizes it's time for bed.
A Brief Examination of Fr. Timothy Radcliffe's statement, "The intellectual discipline of our study has this ultimate purpose, to bring us to this moment of conversion when our false images of God are destroyed so that we may draw near to the mystery."
What is the purpose of theology? A search on google reveals 77,800 results for such a query[1]. It is a question asked often enough to demand attention, but for the sake of this essay, I shall here consider only one person's answer - that of Father Timothy Radcliffe - and my reaction to that. For Fr. Radcliffe, "The intellectual discipline of our study has this ultimate purpose, to bring us to this moment of conversion when our false images of God are destroyed so that we may draw near to the mystery [2]." This view seems to be echoed by M. Scott Peck in The Road Less Traveled, when he states, "The path to holiness lies through questioning everything," and in my own personal experience with a friend of mine, who once advised me to "Keep asking your questions, they are essential in your pilgrimmage toward the face of God." In all of these statements, study and investigation are means linked with the ends of drawing closer to God.
How and why does it do this? Theology, according to Radcliffe, leads us to knowledge of God via our own conversion. As Paul says, in his second epistle to the Corinthians,
"Yes, to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their minds; but when a man turns to the Lord the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." [3]
So, encountering the Lord without veils, or "false images," in this case, leads us to conversion. But this can be challenging, because our preconcieved notions of God, notions that we've grown comfortable with and have sometimes built whole sections of our worldview upon, risk being torn away with each new veil we remove. If we use Paul's notion of metamorphesis as a continuing hermeneutic, we may also feel threatened by handing over authority to something we cannot understand - that is, God. Paul states that our process of seeing God clearly happens when a person turns to the Lord, as in, one who has authority over another. Certainly, most Christians at least pay lip service to the idea that God is sovereign in their lives, but most of us also struggle with this same concept of being subject to another, especially another that they cannot understand. Ironically, it is in humbling ourselves to our Lord that we see more clearly, and undergo further conversion.
In this very manner, Fr. Radcliffe's statement is also comforting, for even as we are brought into a moment of conversion through our humility, we are drawn closer into Mystery; our study enables us, through its transformative virtues, to be pulled deeper into God's reconciling embrace. That is just the revitalizing touch we need, for the smoke before our eyes, that which conceals the Mystery, is nigh infinite. It is likely that a theologian thinks and studies in the manner in which he or she does due to a yearning and a passion for religious knowledge, and so, theology, with its continual call to study and conversion, provides for those that are willing to be converted, a path that is infinitely nourishing for both their human curiosities and their spirituality.
Following Paul's hermeneutic of the New Covenant, this conversion's result is enacted in imitation of God, that is, as we are reconciled to God, we desire to do his work, specifically that of evangelization and ministry. For, while Moses wore a veil to hide his shining face, it is the theologian's business to remove these veils, and in doing so, we may show others the brilliant glory of God, proclaiming the Gospel with authority that comes from truth gleaned from the grace of our continuing reconciliation to God. In short, the telos of theology is the very purpose of Christianity, to spread the Gospel to all, so that all might be reconciled to their Loving Creator.
Sources: [1] Google query of phrase "Purpose of Theology," on Friday, July 17, 2009. 77,800 results were found in .33 seconds. [2] Sing a New Song (Templegate, 1999), p 64. Radcliffe, Fr. Timothy, O.P. [3] II Corinthians 3:15-18, The Holy Bible, RSV, Second Catholic Edition (Ignatius Press, 2006).
The early days of my youth were full of fantasy and imagination. To both the joy and chagrin of my parents, it was a particular pleasure of mine to run full bore through the house and through the yard in little but Underoos and a blanket tied around my neck as a cape (sometimes cowboy boots as well). In these moments, I imagined myself as King Arthur, Batman, He-man, or some amazing version of myself that had super powers, a sword, and a trusty dog. As I grew up, I remained a fan of the fantasy genre, and every few days or so I'll immerse myself in a fantasy-themed game wherein my character has an amazing sword, rides a dragon, and goes about the land questing in the name of Good.
I've noticed lately, however, that these dreams of grandeur pervade my thoughts to a distracting degree, tempting me not to improper action, but improper motive. I was a great deal of a showoff when I was younger, feeling constantly the need to prove myself and be the best, and though most of that need to assert dominance seems to have faded for the most part, I still feel the need for positive affirmation on a fairly regular basis.
This becomes a major problem when it begins to blemish one's offerings to God and others. A charitable gift or deed suddenly becomes a cry for acknowledgment, a little plea to God and with myself for affirmation that I've done a good thing, that I'm honorable and worthy of some sort of compliment or praise. To realize the need for humility is, happily, a humbling event.
To pray for humility is a frightening thing, however: Humility can be caused by a miraculous change of heart, but that's not usually how God affects change. There's usually some physical sign of Grace, as in the Sacraments, and events that affect humility are rarely pleasant. But God is merciful, and so sometimes we get lucky.
So far, I've been lucky.
The other evening, while playing World of Warcraft (the aforementioned fantasy video game), I felt particularly generous, and so I offered to let lower level characters run behind me and pick up all the spoils in a dungeon I felt like pillaging. Only one player felt like taking me up on the offer, but what was humbling about the experience is that he offered to pay the favor forward, and extend the same kindness to another. I was quite touched by his response and gratitude.
The very next morning at work, I had two patrons offer me compliments, quite unsolicited, and unexpected. Again I felt humbled by their offering; their kindness to me set me in a phenomenal mood for the rest of the day.
Upon reflection I realized that God had used Charity, in my own growing desire to minister kindness to others, and their ministry to me, to transform me into someone who acted and reacted in humility, at least in those instances.
Reflecting further, I surmised that I can learn from my own impulse to be heroic, from my childhood hero: He-man. His secret identity was an unassuming, pampered, cowardly prince, likely counted by many of his own subjects to be ineffectual and weak. He maintained this humble image so that he might serve best his noble purpose of protecting his family, friends, and all the people of Eternia. His humility enabled his charity. To be heroic is, at least in part, to be charitable in humility.
Charity is the foundation of reconciliation and conversion; it brings with it humility, faith, hope, and reason. Through our heroic acts of loving, we may advance down the path of holiness.
I am still a long way away from the man I'd like to be. I still face temptation to pride or a yearning for recognition whenever the opportunity for an heroic deed or merely a display of skill presents itself, but He-man, Christ, and these words of St. Francis are helping me out:
Here is one of the best means to acquire humility; fix well in mind this maxim: One is as much as he is in the sight of God, and no more.
Oh, and here's a bit of He-man if you're feeling left out:
Through a friend of mine, I recently discovered a fun new artist, "Owl City." His music is very upbeat, full of the wistful joy of youth (and even some of the angst). And if it couldn't get better:
"I follow Jesus Christ wholeheartedly. He is my life, my strength, my all. "
Take a listen! (especially if you like The Postal Service or Mae)
