Friday, October 28, 2011

The Splendor of the Moon


Is there a mystery deeper than the midnight sky,
that black sea which swallows dreams as they toss
about among the frothy waves of constellations?  
What else to do but drown in the enveloping currents 
of darkness! Yet the darkness does not prevail, for
in every nocturnal abyss there is the pale silver
glow of radiant light, which scatters the fearsome
shadows and draws the midnight tides ever upon
the shores of hope. Yet even the moon is not a light 
unto itself.

The moon, the moon- what else is its light but a
reflection of the beauty of her face?  What else is 
its glow but a refraction of the fire by which she melts
my heart?  If the dark of night is where my love is
forever consigned to hide, then as my heart sleeps
at least I can recall the love that never is to be
in the blissful memory of the splendor of the moon.




Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Possibility


Like swaying boughs in the gusts
of autumn's torrents of change, where
living and dying are the same moment,
and the vibrant echoes of season's
palette speak eternal truths of
love and fear - so now the movement
of my weary soul.  Who can prepare
for winter's fast? My dying is a love
that has no tomorrow.

Yet winter is a season of silent hope, 
and my heart is warmed in the gentle
fire of her ambient smile, a smile
which radiates the incarnate light of
divine blessing, where God has the 
strength and grace of a woman 
in love.  In this fire my prayer
is consumed, and my soul is forged
in the indestructible armor
of possibility.  Tomorrow is a
love that has no dying.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Sacrament of Dying Dreams

Under this baldachin of pale blue glory,
the tide as priest offers my sacrifice
and carries it far away from the altar
of your heart. I will not profane your
innocence. Yet the wordless liturgy of your
mahogany eyes carves deep into my wooden
soul, the proclamation of a gospel that I dare not
hope in, dare not believe, dare not surrender
all the security of my miserable comfort to.
Your love speaks to me like God - in silence.

My soul remains a granite monument to
dying dreams, unmoving against
the persistent waves of longing, afraid
to believe in the sacrament of your love.
I am not worthy to receive you. Prayer
alone can keep my heart alive and fill me
with the hope of love's miracle, where
angels sing the song of our first and
everlasting dance.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Empty

I live where I can only
die, where neither love nor
solitude take in the breath
of life. My lungs are sand.

My senses grieve when she
does not fill them. I call her
name, or her essence,
from the space between my

percussive heart. There can
be no salvation in living,
when the life I live is
a lie. God's dearth consumes.

She is springtime in herself,
full of beauty and hope
and life, but autumn in my
heart, the vivid burst

of a love destined for death.
This empty tomb can see
no Christ. The gardener
is nothing more.

Potsherds

Who will one day read the broken
stories of the potsherds of
my heart - fragments of love
poured out in fables from the
intimate distance of my beloved's
unknowing mind. Future's history
is my greatest hope for joy,
when someone fills in the
missing pieces and weaves a
tale of love's embrace, of
our kiss and how it made
me cry. Forgive me if I
grieve for the ever after that
never was, nor can ever be.

Mourning song

The violet sky bounces off shimmers of the
anxious lake, while the soaring and circling
birds drink in gulps of anticipation, and shadows
appear like midnight horses galloping across the
naked sky. While God yet sleeps, at least
He dreams in beauty and song. The world awakes,
yet unaware of the sadness that awaits this day,
yet to be confronted by the distended nightmare
of neglect, yet to drink deep of the bitter stream of
our fabricated despair. Poverty has no one to dream.
No one to dream.
No one to lull her to sleep in the peaceful security
of a well groomed fantasy, immune to the death
of imagination. No, poverty can only live
among the dying. Yet God still dreams
in beauty and song.
So let the world arise, and wipe away the crust
of selected ignorance. Sleep no more,
O world, for soon God will awake, and who
can withstand the dread terror of his mourning song?

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Janet McKenzie and the Feminine Spirit

I had the most providential day today. A friend mentioned that she had off today and wanted to check out a museum downtown, since several are free on different days. After some research we discovered that there was a Janet McKenzie exhibit at the Loyola University Museum of Art (LUMA). As it also turned out, the artist herself was going to be there to talk and discuss her art. Full disclosure, prior to today I had never heard of her before. After today, I won't be able to get her or her beautiful art out of my mind. She has made an impression that my heart will never forget.

As an artist she is best known for her painting Jesus of the People, which was selected in a 2000 contest by National Catholic Reporter as the Jesus icon for the new millennium. Her artwork calls upon the image of Christ in the marginalized, captured in this image both by her use of a person of color, as well as the fact that her real life model for the painting was a woman.

All of her paintings for me evoked a sense of, on the one hand a deep, primal woundedness, but on the other hand, a quiet strength and grace which encounters that woundedness and brings it to a place of healing. It was a deeply emotional experience for me on many levels.

It also disturbed me on a certain level, particularly when I met Janet and listened to her speak. She was herself so graceful, so strong, so meek, so humble, and more than anything, so authentic. So when she spoke of the nobility she brings to otherwise marginalized groups of people, I couldn't help but be confronted with my own role in such marginalization. That's what I mean by disturbing. Encountering her art and her strength and grace moved something inside of me that I can't yet articulate.

Perhaps all of this was magnified by the fact that I attended the exhibit with three strong, graceful, beautiful women, servants of a Church that too often does not take them seriously. Without them there I think I could have more easily pushed the feelings being stirred up aside, kept them abstract. Their presence made manifest what I would have been more comfortable denying.

Janet McKenzie's art is about more than just her choice of subjects, about more than the attention she draws to the marginalized of society, though obviously that is nothing insignificant. The appeal is something deeper, something more universal, I think. In all of her art there is the sense of a deep encounter with God, a silent communion where God not only sees our broken hearts, but sees that beauty in us that our brokenness does not allow us to see.  In all of her images perhaps what strikes most deeply is her strong maternal power. She is above all a mother - the first person she introduced, with such love and pride, was her son, who beamed with love for her, as well - and through her own embrace of her motherhood, she brought a much needed sense of the maternal dimension of God, a way in which the one gazing on her art can see God holding them, caressing them, loving them. Her art is strongly evocative, to me, of that beautiful passage from Isaiah, "As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem" (Is 66:13).

Nights like tonight further remind me of how essential art is to the experience of life. We need new and creative ways of expressing ineffable truths, of expanding our minds and stretching our souls. Providence was at work this evening, through the art, through the artist, through beautiful friends, and through the tiny whisper of hope that all of this brought to my soul.




To contact Janet McKenzie or order prints of her work, visit her web site at www.janetmckenzie.com  

Jesus of the People copyright 1999 Janet McKenzie www.janetmckenzie.com 
Woman Offered #5 copyright 2008 Janet McKenzie www.janetmckenzie.com 



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Night prayer

A vespers stroll through the dark and narrow alleys
of a haunted soul, led onward by the
pale candescence of the harvest moon,
reflecting what was and is, a truth
which hides behind shadows of sadness -
a veil of opacity where love is
unseen, and God is silent. Who
will be your minister, commanding
that the veil be lifted? Who will be
my icon, my Christ, who touches my
weary heart and gives me rest? I have
no faith to heal me.

Yet a vigil I keep, and a candle lit,
allowing my heart to sing a psalm
of hope, or desperation. An atheist
prayer is greater than apathy. I won't
deny you, Lord, even as I am denied.
I'm not afraid to pray alone.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:E 53rd St,Chicago,United States

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Seeing with eyes of beauty

The way we can be sure we are in union with him
is for the man who claims to abide in him
to conduct himself just as he did.
(1 John 2:5-6)


I've never been entirely comfortable with the popular slogan, "What would Jesus do?" Part of it perhaps is just my discomfort with the necessary superficiality of slogans. But I also think it misses the mark, if only subtly. It's true, this reading from 1 John calls us to conduct ourselves as Jesus did, but it does so from the premise of our deep and abiding union with Christ. This union with Christ shifts the emphasis, I think, from what would Jesus do, to what does Jesus wish to do in and through me? It's a subtle shift, I suppose, but it's a shift that I believe better embraces the frailty of our humanity and relieves us from the unhealthy burden of a flawlessness that we can never hope to achieve and that we can too easily mistake as the true measure of holiness. We are not Jesus, but rather we are the beloved of Jesus, the chosen people whom Jesus longs to be with, and in his being with us, and in our allowing him to be present and at work in us, we become more like him. But we become more like him in a way that also respects the uniqueness of who we are, the particular giftedness of our own hearts, our own minds, our own personalities, and even embraces the gift of our weakness and our frailty, knowing that by the presence of Christ within us, our weakness becomes the space where empathy grows, and our tears become a river of understanding, and the dark night of our wounds becomes an open sky of compassion.

I think the real tragedy of sin is the way its rootedness in us causes us to fight against this hope, to fight against the realization of who we are in Christ, who we are as people in and through whom the God of love, of peace, of compassion, of kindness, is always present and at work. It is precisely our fighting against the beauty that God wishes us to see, in ourselves and in others, that incites the restlessness that I know I experience so frequently, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Sin then is ultimately its own punishment, because it distorts our spiritual vision in such a way that we see as ugly what God sees as beautiful, and we take that distorted lens into our own self-reflection and into our judgment of others.

For me, that's what this journey is all about. Regardless of where I end up in life, the key is always allowing Christ to abide in me and draw me deeper into that healing place of his own heart, so that through my union with him - through my sacramental life, through growing in community, through my prayer and study, through holy friendships, all of which are manifestations and vehicles of that union - through all of this the love of Christ heals and restores my spiritual vision, so that I see with his eyes, so that what is beautiful I truly see as such. That then becomes the key to discernment,that by being able to recognize beauty, I can see the beauty to which I am being called, I can see the beauty of a vocation from God, whatever that may be.

I think ultimately this vision of beauty, this purification of our interior lens, is the true measure of holiness, and is the true fruit of contemplation. When we can see as God would have us see, when we can perceive that God truly abides with us in Christ, and when we can know how beautiful we truly are as a result, then we can say with sincerity, "In God alone is my soul at rest, from him comes my hope." And with that abiding hope, we can do, not what Jesus would do, but what he is calling us to do here and now.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Passersby

A man tells of a boy who drowned
as his lady friend listens in a
distant silence, her gazed fixed
in rapt indifference. She smiles at
me, and I shiver.

A young black man with kind eyes
sits to my right, whose silence
speaks of compassion, while he
seems to scrutinize my distant
gaze, lost as I am in my vagrant
mind. Finally he leaves,
but smiles.

By myself, but not alone,
I sit in silent communion with
the shared woundedness of
my companion passersby.
Sometimes a glance, a smile,
a nod is exchanged, that
tacit understanding of hearts
attuned to the quiet echoes
of loneliness.

Time moves by, and I sit, knowing
that somewhere, from this
pain-tilled ground, prayer
is waiting to bloom.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Intrinsic vs. Grave Evil in Considering the Death Penalty

There does not seem to be an insignificant number of American Catholics who take very seriously the Church's teaching on abortion, yet at the same time support the death penalty. Their logic is usually along the lines that while the Church's teaching against abortion is infallible because abortion is intrinsically evil, meaning the very act itself is morally wrong, regardless of circumstance, the Church teaches that the death penalty is not, meaning that at least theoretically the death penalty can be justified. As a result, such Catholics argue, support for the death penalty as a Catholic cannot be qualified as rejecting Church teaching in the way that supporting abortion can. I believe this reasoning to be faulty because in focusing solely on the intrinsic nature of the the moral act it fails to consider the question of gravity.

But first let's examine what the Church actually teaches regarding the death penalty. We read in Par. 2267 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

Assuming that the guilty party's identity and responsibility have been fully determined, the traditional teaching of the Church does not exclude recourse to the death penalty, if this is the only possible way of effectively defending human lives against the unjust aggressor.


Too often Catholics who justify their support of the death penalty stop at the part just before the bolder section (emphasis mine), seeing there an opening that allows them to support this practice since it is at least theoretically possible to do so. But the Church makes the conditions for such support abundantly clear: only when no other recourse is available to protect society against unjust aggressors. Notice here the Church makes no consideration for the cost of supporting a criminal for life imprisonment versus the cost of execution - a strange and twisted argument too often heard in this debate - and this is because a price cannot be placed on a human life. Human life, innocent or guilty, is still life from God and cannot be measured in monetary ways.

To drive home the point of just how high a standard the Church sets regarding the permissibility of the death penalty in a just society, read what comes next from the Catechism:

If, however, non-lethal means are sufficient to defend and protect people's safety from the aggressor, authority will limit itself to such means, as these are more in keeping with the concrete conditions of the common good and more in conformity to the dignity of the human person.

Today, in fact, as a consequence of the possibilities which the state has for effectively preventing crime, by rendering one who has committed an offense incapable of doing harm - without definitely taking away from him the possibility of redeeming himself - the cases in which the execution of the offender is an absolute necessity "are very rare, if not practically nonexistent."


Already it should be clear that just rooted in the Church's explicit teachings on a theoretical basis - meaning an abstract consideration of the death penalty as such in our world today - particularly in the United States with our technological advances which do in fact basically eliminate all circumstances where the death penalty is necessary to protect society against unjust aggressors - the Church's standard- it should be clear that supporting the death penalty simply is not an option for Catholics in good conscience. However, I think it goes even further than that.

One of the most troubling aspects of the manner in which the death penalty is carried out in the United States is the obvious institutional racism at work in the legal system. This racism is demonstrated in two ways: one, the rate of black defendants sentenced to death versus white defendants convicted of identical crimes; two, and perhaps even more troubling, the rate of execution sentences when the victim of homicide is white versus when the victim is black.

The statistics for the latter are nauseating. In a non-partisan study conducted by the U.S. General Accounting Office in 1990, it was discovered that in homicide cases where the victim was Hispanic, a death sentence was given six percent of the time; when the victim was black, 15 percent of the time; when the victim was white, 77 percent of the time. A white victim is five times more likely to elicit a death sentence than a black victim, and 13 times more likely than an Hispanic victim. There are many other studies which show this pattern throughout the states that currently allow for the death penalty as a legal recourse. This is blatant institutional racism, and undeniably so.

The second factor to consider is how the poverty of the defendant affects the likelihood of a death sentence. This is considered in a variety of ways. In many states, there are laws limiting the out-of-court compensation for indigent defendants, which means that a poor defendant is going to be extremely limited in what sort of legal counsel he can afford, what quality of experts he can hire, and so forth. In Alabama, for instance, this limit is $1,000. In many rural parts of Texas it is a paltry $800. The old adage, "You get what you pay for" certainly rings true here. A rich defendant not only can hire a team of lawyers, but can also pay for a wide array of expert witnesses whose testimony can be extremely persuasive to juries, thus significantly increasing the likelihood that a rich defendant will receive life imprisonment ( at most), while a poor defendant will be sentenced to death. Instead of going into more statistics here, I will direct the reader to Steven Bright's excellent essay published in 1994 in the Yale Law Journal, "Counsel For The Poor: The Death Sentence Not For The Worst Crime But For The Worst Lawyer."

What I am getting at here I hope is obvious. On the one hand, we have the fact that the Church sets a clear and strict standard by which the death penalty may even theoretically be justified, and this standard is not met in the United States. What's more, while the theoretical possibility of the death penalty means that it is not intrinsically evil, racism is intrinsically evil and thus must be opposed in every instance. Furthermore, the economic disparity evident in the application of the death penalty directly opposes the Church's clear teaching of a preferential option for the poor (cf. CCC 2443-2449). What is interesting, many of my fellow opponents of abortion, myself included, will often call to mind the historical reality of the founder of Planned Parenthood, Margaret Sanger, and her explicit support of eugenics, seeing birth control as a way of ridding the world of blacks and the poor. Yet is this not exactly what is at stake here with the death penalty in the United States? Given the racist and classist disparity in the application of the death penalty, I cannot see it as anything else but a form of eugenics - an attempt to eliminate blacks and the poor while preserving the lives of whites.

As the election season heats up, there will predictably be a resurgence of the debate among Catholics regarding whether or not Catholic politicians who publicly support abortion should be denied the Eucharist. The justification of this position is rooted in Canon 916 of the current Code of Canon Law, which reads, with my emphasis, "Those who have been excommunicated or interdicted after the imposition or declaration of the penalty and others obstinately persevering in manifest grave sin are not to be admitted to holy communion.

Let us note that this canon says nothing about intrinsic evil, but only manifest grave sin. Given all of the above, I can see no other means of classifying support for the death penalty in the United States than as manifest grave sin. While I make no argument regarding whether or not pro-abortion politicians should be denied Holy Communion, I will simply suggest that if a bishop is going to apply Canon 915 in such a way, then the same must be done for those politicians supporting the death penalty. Our bishops need to be consistent and fair in their application of canon law, and I would suggest in this instance to date they have not been.

One final point I wish to make, and this applies more broadly than just to this particular issue, but it relates specifically to it. I believe that in many cases, those Catholics who do support the death penalty are in fact placing political ideology over fidelity to the Church. While many factors go into this, I think perhaps a lot of it does go back to the abortion issue, in that because the Republican party tends to be strongly opposed to abortion (and other hot button social issues), that many Catholics have naturally gravitated to the Republican party, but in a way that now the Republican identity has become more important than the Catholic one. Thus in order to justify certain positions that are important as Republicans, Church teaching has been twisted in such a way so as seemingly to provide cover for a position that in fact is at odds with the clear teaching of the Church.

Obviously this is not simply a Republican tactic, and it is seen equally among Catholic Democrats, who because of a historical allegiance with the Democratic party over issues such as labor unions have grown into Democrats first, Catholics second, which leads then to all sorts of convoluted reasoning over issues like abortion, such as we regularly see from Nancy Pelosi and Joe Biden. This is a problem that we need to face as Catholics, recognizing that in fact neither party perfectly suits our Catholic ideology, but that our Catholic identity is always first, and that it must be the first teacher of our conscience. Regardless of which party we identify with, we must always be Catholic first, and within the political structure of our party's politics we must seek to work for a more just and fair society, one which recognizes the dignity of all human life.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:S Cornell Ave,Chicago,United States

Saturday, October 08, 2011

Consecrated Loneliness

One of the challenges of consecrated celibate living is the frequent encounters with loneliness. Yet precisely because this is consecrated living, meaning a way of life that is set apart in a special way for the work of God, this loneliness itself is a place of ministry. By learning to experience the sacredness of our own loneliness, we as religious become better prepared to minister to the loneliness of others, which is one of the most beautiful gifts that this vocation has to offer.

It is a challenge, though, because loneliness itself brings so many temptations, can lead to such confusion, and often leads to a depression that makes it difficult to grow spiritually in the way that we are being called to do. This loneliness, when encountered in patient, faithful prayer, draws us to a depth of our existence, a depth of our soul, that is truly sacred - a place where even God is silent. The key to this silence is learning to sit with it, not to run away from it or strive to fill it with all sorts of superficial things - whether it be our own internal chatter, or filling it with the company of others (community is to be embraced, of course, but not just as a way of filling a void - then community becomes superficial), or something more insidious like drugs, alcohol, sex, and so on. For this truly to be a consecrated loneliness, it requires patience, stillness, and prayer.

Entering this space where God is silent, this place of prayer, we must resist the temptation to speak to the loneliness, but rather instead learn to let the loneliness speak to us. Speaking to the loneliness is its own temptation - trying to figure out what it means, speculating on its causes, fabricating a secret agenda that this loneliness is behind. This can lead to all sorts of spiritual crises - am I really called to be a religious? Am I supposed to be with her? How do I know this is what God wants for me? It's not that the answers to these questions aren't important, but rather that asking them in the midst of the loneliness is a deception itself.

Letting the loneliness speak to us, however, requires a great patience, but ultimately it brings us into contact with our own existence, the reality of our very humanity. It leads us directly to the Cross, to the Passion of Christ, because it is there that Jesus had his own experience of abandonment, of loneliness. Yet precisely because Jesus is both truly God and truly human, his own experience of loneliness means that ours becomes a place of encounter with God. It is here then that the Passion truly speaks to us, not in words but in silence, and reveals to us that the emptiness of the tomb is a sign not of death, but of resurrection.

That empty tomb - a reflection of our own seemingly forsaken souls - also tells us that God is not always found where we expect him to be. Mary went to the tomb expecting to find Christ, and he was not there. Yet she sat there - yes, weeping, mourning, saddened by her sense of loss and abandonment and confusion, but nonetheless she sat and waited. And then Jesus appeared, and called her by name, so that she became the witness to the resurrection - a witness of hope! This is the challenge of our own loneliness, not to run, not to perceive the emptiness of our own tomb and go seeking Christ elsewhere, but rather to sit, patiently awaiting the one who will never abandon us, no matter how confused we may be. Then we too may become witnesses of hope and can minister to the sacred loneliness which permeates our suffering our world.

Monday, October 03, 2011

You are beautiful

Behold, you are beautiful, my love;
behold, you are beautiful;
your eyes are doves.
Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved,
truly lovely. --Song of Songs 1:15-16


Perhaps one of the most tragic ironies of the world in which we live is that an increasingly superficial obsession with beauty has assisted in so many of us failing to see how beautiful we really are. We can so often see beauty throughout God's creation - I thought of this especially yesterday walking along Lake Michigan as the first hints of autumn's crimson glory began adorning the swaying boughs of oaken scepters. Yet when it comes to our inner eye, that secret eye which gazes into the very depths of who we are, a vision which should reveal to us the incomparable and unspeakable beauty of the image and likeness of God, so often we are blind.

It is in the silence of our own prayer that we come to see ourselves as we truly are, as God sees us. St Paul tells us to have the mind of Christ, the very same Christ who says to each of us, "Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely." How hard it is to hear this as a word spoken to each of us, individually, personally, in the secret depths of our God-breathed souls.

I think this inability to see ourselves as beautiful often lies behind our seeing ugliness in others. Perhaps this is a too easily overlooked dimension of our own redemption in Christ. Allowing ourselves to perceive and embrace the truth - I AM BEAUTIFUL! - about ourselves sensitizes us to the beautiful reality of the person in front of us, enabling us to see the beautiful hand of the Creator in them, and to be bedazzled by the splendor of their being.

None of this is to suggest that there is not true ugliness in the world - sin is real, and it is ugly. But the lie of sin is that it makes us think that the ugliness is who we are. Our prayer then should be that we indeed might have for ourselves the mind of Christ. Then we can embrace a Beauty that transforms a darkened world and gives us eyes to see the image and likeness of God in every human person - ourselves included!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:S Cornell Ave,Chicago,United States