Deacon Dan Wright

Remembering St. Agnes: Considering a Child's Sacrifice

Today is the birthday of a virgin; let us imitate her purity. It is the birthday of a martyr; let us offer ourselves in sacrifice. It is the birthday of Saint Agnes, who is said to have suffered martyrdom at the age of twelve….Dragged against her will to the altars, she stretches out her hands to the Lord in the midst of flames, making the triumphant sign of Christ the victor on the altar of sacrilege….Too young to be punished, yet old enough for a martyr’s crown; unfitted for the contest, yet effortless in victory, she shows herself a master of valor despite the handicap of youth. As a bride she would not be hastening to join her husband with the same joy she shows as a virgin on her way to punishment, crowned not with flowers but with holiness of life, adorned not with braided hair but with Christ himself.—St. Ambrose, On Virgins

It may be that sometimes we don’t sufficiently consider the lives of the saints and martyrs on their feast days or memorials. For those who are able to attend Mass daily there may be a better understanding where there is a priest for whom such things bear great importance. I must admit that sometimes, due to the busyness of the day or something else, I have failed to give the kind of attention to the lives of the saints that would truly inform my worship. However, sometimes there is a saint who seems to call out and catch my attention.

Years ago I had a long visit with a wise elderly priest after coming to terms with an especially trying personal challenge. The priest told me that there had always been a saint praying for me, whom I may not have realized or known about—he said it was a special saint whose prayers were just for me. I believe this now more than ever.

I can’t really say that Agnes, this young girl who lived in the third or fourth century, has been my special saint. However, I do know that she stands out to me today. Perhaps it is her youth and the fact that I have a little boy who is only a year younger than Agnes was when she offered her life in the truest imitation of Christ. Perhaps it is my consideration of my own daughter, who is just couple years older than St. Agnes was, who speaks to me. Regardless, I want to stop for a moment and consider St. Agnes, whom St. Ambrose tells us “succeeds in convincing others of her testimony about God.”

Today I call out her name. I say "St. Agnes, little friend, not unlike some of my students whom I fondly remember from years past, not unlike my own children, pray for me. Help me to have your courage and commitment to Christ. Help me to become like you, who depended on God and placed yourself entirely in the hands of Christ our savior. Let me be like you…to hide myself in Christ Jesus…to place myself entirely in his great sacrifice… but also to face the here and now with courage. Not being called to suffer the martyr’s death necessarily, but being called to give my all, my everything, for him who loved me greatest and saved me from eternal death."

Words from the Night

 I cry aloud to God,
   aloud to God, that he may hear me. 
In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;
   in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;
   my soul refuses to be comforted.    Psalm 77: 1-2

The morning prayer of the Church begins today by calling to mind one who cried aloud to God throughout the night without ceasing.  It serves to remind us that we have a place to turn in the day of distress.  Although appearances and all evidence of the senses may seem to scream out that we are alone, our faith urges us to turn to God.

In all honesty it would be rare for most of us to spend an entire night in prayer crying out.  Usually at the end of my day sleep comes with little effort.  Truly no sane person would want such troubled sleep that he or she felt forced to cry to God for comfort in the soul.  However, we should consider that there are in fact many people whose lives bear such difficulty that sleep does not come easy and perhaps they spend the night calling out for help.

Several years ago I went on a retreat given by an elderly priest who had a knack for storytelling.  One of stories I remember best was his telling about how as a teenage boy, living on a farm in Texas during the bad years of the Great Depression, he was awakened one night by the sound of his father whom he discovered on his knees in the living room praying for his family.

Situations so severe that they have the power to cause a person to spend the night awake are real.  I think such people numerous and all around us. When I consider the places in the world where trouble abounds it tends to be somewhat mind boggling.  Considering the war, violence, disease, hunger, and poverty that exists—often in our own cities—there seems to be plenty to warrant crying aloud to God.

Years ago, before my conversion, I recall that a congregation I attended held an all-night prayer vigil from time to time.  I first remember attending one such gathering when I was just a young boy.  It left me with a strong impression, though the kinds of things that were preached about that evening (there was preaching in addition to prayer) had more to do with saving souls than meeting the corporal needs of humanity.

Occasionally I have known of Catholic parishes that will have a night of adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.  Whenever we get an opportunity to spend a significant portion of the evening in prayer, we may find that it carries a blessing.  It’s our opportunity to spend a little time awake with the Lord.  

What should be on our minds and hearts any time we pray or any time that we have occasion to reflect deeply?   In addition to our personal needs and the needs of those closest to us, we should consider the needs of those who suffer most in this world.  Especially we ought to pray for those who yearn for peace.  Peace will bring healing to a multitude of pains, and reaching out to make it happen may just heal us in the process.

However, regardless of what our concern might be, whether we have a concern for the world that all of us share, whether it is our families, our ability to provide for those who depend on us, or any other need-- personal or otherwise, we may bring our concerns to God.  If only we possess a minuscule portion of faith, or even less I think, and in sincerity voice our concern to God, we will see results.  I cry aloud to God that he may hear me, indeed I cry aloud to God. 

Consecrating the Day

Consecrating the day means that I leave behind whatever apprehension or misgivings, whatever preconceived notions of failure, fear, or foreboding that may linger somewhere—leave them with the words “Thy will be done.”

We may not be accustomed to thinking of consecration in such terms.  For those of us who are Catholic, but not priests, the idea of consecrating something may not be a part of our religious language or way of thinking.  We may not yet have processed the idea of consecrating beyond the sacramental context of what it means to consecrate a thing.  There is a sense in which consecrating or making holy belongs on the same level as any other act of consecration that we are able to experience firsthand in our subjective life.

In all honesty I must admit that I am in need of the grace that consecrates the day as much as anyone else.  I too often have begun my day with apprehension and misgiving, though I know that I’m not alone in it.  Whenever human beings come together with one another certain difficulties are bound to arise—perhaps sometimes merely out of personality differences, or at other times over serious issues that need to come to a swift resolution.

Whenever human beings meet each other in the crowded stream of life there are bound to be challenges or difficulties.  However, these difficulties—regardless of how irreconcilable they may seem--need not be destructive to the spirit.  When met with consecration those individuals whom we may deem to be most difficult can become a channel of joy.

If we hope to gain spiritual success, or perhaps any other kind of success, we must be willing to consecrate the day.  Some might say that we must allow the Lord to do it for us, and I really have no great argument with that point of view.  However, I know that we human beings are people who act decisively in situations, though some more than others.   Our being, our existence, is not passive in itself.  Our actions define us both individually and as a whole.  Therefore, we must take part personally in consecrating the day.

What it means to consecrate the day is to take the responsibility to fill it with goodness.  Every negative impulse—either that I notice in myself or in another—must be taken and formed newly: formed in the way that the hands of God touch and heal and overcome.  In consecrating we add the positive and good where ever we find it missing. 

Surely, we may think, the consecration of the day must start with a prayer, a blessing, perhaps a word of thanksgiving.  Whether at home or when we arrive at our workplace, the power of our words may be put in place to be effective through the entire day.  Sometimes our prayer will be of fewer words or perhaps of no words at all, but be assured that whatever words we choose during the day will make the difference.  Our actions are formed from our words and every word gives rise to new actions.  Consecration may mean saying, “I can make a difference today.  I will act decisively.  All I do will make a path for goodness to emerge.”

I have arrived here at this place where sometimes Lord I’ve struggled with humanity, and always I’ve seen the real side of exactly what it means to be a human…to be a man, or to be a woman.  I arrive here where too often I’ve seen shadows and my spirit and courage have failed.  May I offer goodness this morning, this day; may I offer peace in place of emptiness.  May I fill the dark room with light.  May I offer a strong heart by connecting to a heart that beats much stronger than mine.  May this day be holy and may your will be done today.

Meditation on the Memorial of St. Ephrem: The Sacraments

Living within a Christian milieu that consists of ideas tempered strongly with evangelicalism, we sometimes miss or overlook our rich heritage of the sacramental understanding of the faith. Having grown up in an evangelical household I can tell you that the word "sacrament" was not mentioned ever. It wasn't until I began exploring Catholicism that I began to consider the Sacraments as the means to grace.

It's not uncommon to find that Protestants, especially Evangelicals—with the exception of the old "mainline" denominations to a degree—reject the idea of sacraments and sacramentality.

Years ago, when I was working toward a theology Masters at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, I had a conversation with a woman who was in the process of being ordained to the United Methodist Church. She asked me about my theological interests. I mentioned Rahner, though at the time I had only just begun to read his works. My interest in Rahner sprang from what I perceived as his similarity to the European phenomenological philosophers whom I had studied as an undergraduate.

"You know," she told me, "that's good, but he's sacramental." I replied that a sacramental approach was exactly what I wanted. In her "…but he's sacramental" I perceived an implicit rejection of the notion that God works through sacraments as a means to provide the grace needed unto salvation. I suppose this type of rejection is what runs behind ideas such as the evangelical doctrine that baptism is not necessary for salvation, but rather that it is merely a church ordinance. In an evangelical view the same might be said in regard to the Lord's Supper, marriage, etc.

My classmate's objection to Rahner's theology as "sacramental" was ironic given that Rahner's theology might have helped her to see a connection between an individualist or personal view of grace and the certainty of grace available made possible in each of the Sacraments.  Sacraments and sacramentality in general are not such that they should appear as somehow foreign to or not belonging to biblical Christianity, even from a merely biblicist point of reference.

So this morning, as I happened to look at the Office of Readings for the Memorial of St. Ephrem (born 306 A.D.), I was delighted to find rich sacramental language dating from the early days of the Church.

In your sacrament we daily embrace you and receive you into our bodies; make us worthy to experience the resurrection for which we hope. We have had your treasure hidden within us ever since we received baptismal grace; it grows ever richer at your sacramental table.

Indeed it is refreshing to find such early affirmations of the faith we have come to know and depend upon. However, over the years I have noticed that frequently the idea—the truth—of sacramental grace often does not get the attention it deserves.

I have frequently wondered whether the Sacraments are still understood as the primary means of grace, or if we, like our Evangelical neighbors, understand salvation as a purely individual concern, defined only in terms of one's personal relationship with God. A question that concerns me is whether as Catholic Christians we are beginning to embrace a way of believing which is lacking in the communal dimension of the Sacraments as the primary means to receive the grace that leads to eternal life.

I ask this only because I frequently fail to see much attention given to teaching and sharing the understanding of the idea of the Sacraments as the normal means to grace. Perhaps it's a local phenomenon that comes from being literally surrounded by non-denominational churches, bible churches, storefront churches--some less than a mile apart, some back-to-back.  Surely there is influence.  I see it several parishes.  There is undoubtedly a tendency to be less sacramentally-centered and more emphasis put on the personal or individual dimensions of faith. 

It seems as if, in terms of importance, we risk transposing the knowledge of the importance sacramental participation with individual prayer and bible study, which of course in themselves are good.  However, personal prayer for forgiveness of sins is not a substitute for Penance.  Nor is bible study or preaching a substitute for Eucharist.  While we receive grace and forgiveness in personal prayer we do not receive it as a sacrament.  The same might be said for receiving the presence of God in bible study.  Sacraments offer us the certainty of grace beyond the limits of personal doubt.

I suppose it all goes along with shorter lines at confession, which in turn makes me wonder how much understanding accompanies those who are in the long lines for communion. From time to time at Baptism meetings I have caught doubtful glances or confused looks when mentioning that Baptism is something that we do in order to receive grace unto salvation and begin the sacramental life.  Occasionally I have gotten the unintentional negative nodding gesture.  I have heard from couples in mixed faith marriages that their baby will be christened now and then baptized as an adult if he or she chooses to do so.

I would never want to deny that grace is freely available in our world through belief and trust in Jesus Christ. I would never tell a Pentecostal that he or she has not received the Holy Spirit because of not having received Confirmation. However, if we approach the Sacraments without faith, without the belief that they offer us the fullness and certainty of grace, we are no better off—even less so—than those who deny the need for the Sacraments altogether.

Today, especially in the times and world in which we live, we might pray with St. Ephrem, "Teach us to find joy in your favor! Lord we have within us your memorial, received at your spiritual table; let us possess it in its full reality when all things shall be made new."

The Night Visit

In the presence of the Blessed Sacrament
Prayer seems much easier. The words are clearer.
I come with a heart full but aprehensive, not really knowing
The right words to say. Kneeling before the
Tabernacle a heartfelt conversation
Finds a way to pour forth.

Communication is truest when there is
Reciprocity.  This much I know although
What my ears hear in this moment amounts only to silence.

Before arriving at the church I tell myself that
A long heart-to-heart conversation feels overdue.
Over the years the pages of my breviary have
Grown crumpled at the Invitatory and the morning
And evening canticles.  Yet I recall days when I owned no
Prayer book, only a heart longing to say O’ God
Hear the words of my longing.

It is you for whom I long await O’ Lord.
So I arrive at a dark and empty church. The door locked for the
Night.  I search for the right key in the darkness.  Finding it, I go to the 
Chapel and kneel before a candle lit stone Tabernacle, knowing
That within it lies a presence ready to greet me, and so I pour out
My heart the best I can in a fashion that I have grown to know
Somewhat less in the busyness of my life.

In the solitude I hear the unlocked door open and the sound of footsteps
Growing closer.  Looking up I recognize a familiar deacon who
Enters and offers a holy greeting. 

With the key to the Tabernacle in hand he removes
The monstrance which hold the Blessed Sacrament and places it in the open.

As I gaze upon the presence of God before me words flow easier and
I find the grace to whisper just what I need to say.  Effortlessly the words sound
More like the sentences of a devotion written a half-century past.
I leave with a sense of true reciprocity having occurred in the night visit.

How Shall We Defeat Evil?

On many occasions I have intimated, if not outright said, that the we live in a world where the forces of evil are prevalent and evident everywhere.  The evil that exists ranges from the things people do to cause injury to themselves and others, on both small and large scales, all the way to the things they merely say--either verbally or in writing. 

Often, and it really is unfortunate when it happens, evil is done in the name of good.  Interestingly, evil prefers frequently to step outside the bounds of straightforward acts of malice and to masquerade as something good.  It is such insidious evil that is truly the enemy of us all, for we are easily duped into somehow both seeing and believing that bad actions, words, intentions, ideas, etc., can result in what is best for someone else.

Clearly, every action has an effect.  Even the smallest of secret acts causes an effect, if only it exists in the depth of our souls and no place else.  However, every action, regardless of its secrecy, is like a seed planted--we can be sure that we will reap what we sow. 

The analogy that I have always liked best is that of the perfectly calm pond: we drop in a stone and it's sure to send out ripples in every direction.  Our goal, rather than to create for ourselves a state of being without effect, is to send out ripples of goodness. 

It even seems to be clearly evident that there will always be some kind of ripples on the pond because our lives are filled with actions of some kind each day.  Even if--hypothetically--there could be nothing more than a purely calm mental state consisting of nothing other than calmness and quiet, some kind of activity would still exist.  To deny that action always occurs is to deny something essential about being human.

The scripture readings from the lectionary for today tell us:

Seek good and not evil,
that you may live;
Then truly will the LORD, the God of hosts,
be with you as you claim!
Hate evil and love good,
and let justice prevail at the gate...

The challenge for us is that we learn to discern good from evil.  Perhaps one would think that the ability to tell what is good from what is bad comes naturally, but evidence indicates otherwise.  Developing a life of prayer and scripture study is essential to discernment; however, to recognize the good--to apprehend it and make it be part of our being--we must engage the whole of creation, that is, we must engage and apprehend life as it is lived.  God created the world as good, and that goodness still exists--it is the goodness that flows forth from the new creation brought about by the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Learning to do the good is also about learning to see the good in others, but it is also about making good for others by doing nothing that would bring about a negative effect.

I believe that we live in a world where there is entirely too much hatred.  At times even common civility seems to be lacking.  Good, in this sense, includes good manners.  Unfortunately, for the past ten years or so that I have been following religion on the Internet, I have encountered the extremes of bad manners, rudeness, crass comments, and thoughtless speech presented in the name of faith. 

I only bring this up because we have to start somewhere if we are going to do the good and fill the earth with it, and furthermore we have to fill it every day because goodness in our world is a little like a gas tank on big car: it tends to run out quickly.  No problem though because the source of goodness is like a river of living water springing up.  It won't run out.

Maybe you've been a little rude in someone's combox (that's real life too), or perhaps you have taken it to speech with someone else.  Perhaps you said something to a spouse or child that you regret.  Not a problem--we have all done it.  Reconciliation is as close as a prayer.  If you feel that you need, you can receive the Sacrament of Penance as well. However, begin by going to your room and shutting the door and then get down on your knees and ask the Lord Jesus to fill you with goodness.

Goodness has the power to permeate the world around us, and evil tends to run from goodness.  Therefore, goodness is the true power that we must learn to apprehend if we are serious about transforming the world.  Every action of ours--every word we say and write and everything we do--should aspire to create goodness in others, to edify, to build up.  Clearly, such is the sign and evidence of goodness.  It does the opposite of evil, which, rather than building ties, bonds, and relationships, has only the power to tear apart.

Goodness has the power to cast out evil, as the gospel story today of the demons being driven into the swine herd indicates.  Goodness has great power, but often it will encounter opposition as the story also indicates--in the case of our Lord being asked to leave the district, he encountered fear and misunderstanding.

I want to sum up today's reflection by emphasizing that it is entirely possible for us to defeat evil.  In fact we are called to do so.  However, we have to start somewhere and the right place to start is with our own lives.  It's not that we have to become perfectly good saints before we can do and share goodness, but that we have to ask for goodness to be given to us, just as we are now.  We must bring all that we are to the Lord and allow him to begin healing us and transforming us.

It's true that when we bring ourselves to the Lord we do it in prayer, yet we should also see that we encounter him every aspect of life and being human.  Thus, in our living we have a lifetime of opportunity to make ourselves one with all that is good.  With the right amount of prayer and discernment we will always be able to recognize and distinguish the good and the evil, and ultimately we will stand victorious with our victorious God who is all good. 

Monday Night Prayer

Many are weeks that pass by in one's life when we may have associated Monday with the drudgery of returning to work.  I have found that when prayer sets the tone for the day, our work has the potential of showing us the glory of God's works rather than revealing our human failure and fatigue. 

Indeed work has the potential--even the power--of setting us free rather than enslaving us, but it's tricky--sometimes.  Really quite often it's difficult to keep in mind that the things we do are meant to direct us to our Creator at all times.  So we let our prayer be the pathway that directs our steps each moment.

Thus, as this day ends, I turn to the Night Prayer for my final reflection on how this Monday was lived.  Truly, all might ask, "Did I find a moment to make contact today with God?"  Even if the answer is negative, there is no need to despair.  The mercy and love available to us are always ready to reach in and sanctify each moment.  We are always able to turn to the abundant mercy and grace that brings us into relation with the author of life.  We may learn to see God's grace as "in-breaking" into our world from his completed work of salvation.

And so, at the end of the day I whisper my prayer as words of thanksgiving for all that the Lord of the day has allowed me to see and to be.  I thank God that he has shown me a better way, and I pray only to be able to do his will.  The psalmist prays, "...have mercy...Lord, you are good and forgiving, full of love to all who call."  Faith means having a simple, perhaps even childlike trust (as I recall the lessons I learned from my great aunt who sheltered me and taught me the ways of faith when I was a small child).

Yes, I thank God that today he forgave me--again.  I thank him that he placed the desire in my soul to be humble, so that when asked why I choose to write in such a way that it reveals the secrets of my inner life, I might answer without pride--whatever that answer might be.  I thank God that he has put a song in my heart, one that the years and the occasional trials have not stolen.

Finally I thank God that there was no real burden today, and that I had the chance to kneel in prayer.  I remember long ago a Pentecostal pastor and friend, Noel Coker, a good and decent man who followed God as best he knew, who would spend sometimes hours in prayer before preaching.  I recall his great groaning and calling out the name "Jesus" over and over.  As a young man I desired greatly to be like the holy men I knew.  I saw them as giants in faith, but more I saw their work as being directed unto God.

What a privilege we have to kneel before the Lord's tabernacle and call out the name Jesus.  What a privilege it is to be the recipient of grace and mercy.  It is the great gift of the one whose love never changes in a world bound to grow old and someday be no more.  Night comes--with God's help--as a chance to rest without blame, knowing that we hold no one in judgement but that love above everything is the sign--even the essence--of the new and everlasting covenant.

Secondary Drowning

This week I have actually been preparing myself to blog this summer on topics other than autism and disability--I still have the intention of writing on scripture and spirituality this summer; however, another story caught my eye--one that had a tragic ending. 

I'm including this on ddw.org for a couple reasons: first, I want to create awareness this summer of something that many, if not most of us, may not have been aware.  Secondly, I believe as Christians we share a spiritual good when we pray for the dead and for their family members who mourn.

I don't know that it really has much of anything to do with the story that the little boy had autism--it's just that those of us who are parents of autistic children share a special connection that goes as deep as the heart.  It only reminds me of all the times through the passing of summers that I've watched my Dominic splashing around at the pool.  I know that kids with autism have to be watched--protected--more than typically developing kids.  Sometimes, watching doesn't help.  I guess that's why I always ask for the guardian angels to be near:

As Cassandra Jackson watched her 10-year-old son Johnny splash around in their neighborhood pool last week, she had no reason to believe anything was wrong -- let alone that her son was slowly drowning.

"He seemed to be fine," Jackson, 41, told ABCNEWS.com from her home in Goose Creek, S.C. "I noticed nothing out of the ordinary, other than him taking a little bit of water in and coughing and then calming down."

Jackson estimated that Johnny had been in the pool for 45 minutes and had been wearing floatation devices on each arm, in addition to being monitored by an adult in the pool, as well as herself and a friend watching from pool chairs nearby.

But less than two hours after getting out of the pool, Johnny had defecated in his pants twice and was complaining of being tired.

After being bathed and dressing himself, Johnny walked to his bed unaided, leading his mother to believe that he was simply tired from playing in the water.

But shortly after leaving him to nap, Jackson discovered her son unconscious and his face covered in a foam-like substance.

"My friend went back into the room where Johnny was sleeping and noticed what appeared to be cotton balls stuffed in his nose," Jackson said of what turned out to be the foam from his nose and mouth. "She asked if I put them there and I said no -- I went in and saw him and screamed for help.

"I rolled him over and his body was very limp and I realized he'd soiled himself again and was very purplish-blue looking," said Jackson, who then called 9-1-1. "His tongue was really swollen, too."

Johnny suffered from cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital, his mother said, and was pronounced dead upon arrival.

Berkeley County Coroner Glenn Rhoad examined Johnny's body after the incident and told ABCNEWS.com that the preliminary autopsy showed the cause of death was asphyxiation due to drowning. Rhoad added that the boy had a lot of water in his lungs.

While Johnny had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder and autism, there is no reason to believe that either condition had anything to do with his death, the coroner said.

Continue reading

Johnny, sleep in peace.  May the Lord Jesus who loved little children hold you forever in his arms.

On the Importance of Prayer

Ordinarily when we pray most of don't think--initially at least--of prayer as listening.  Even less might we typically think of prayer as being something that brings about a concrete change in us or in the world, at least not simply by the act of praying in itself.

Most of us have been taught since the time of our early childhood that prayer is saying something to God.  In this view prayer moves in one direction only.  If it has reciprocity at all we must wait--sometimes for a long time--to hear from God in the form of an answered prayer.  For most people prayer has this kind of single dimension.  It is something that we do for ourselves because we feel the need for it.  For most prayer is simply the means by which one establishes a relationship with God, which consists primarily in the fact of his or her communicating to God.

However, there's something different that I've recently noticed about prayer.  I saw it clearly today in Psalm 85 of the Morning Prayer:

I will listen to whatever the Lord God tells me,
for he will speak peace to his people and his chosen ones,
and to those who repent in their hearts.

Where else does the psalmist hear God if not in his prayer, which most certainly permeates the whole of his life?  Referring to another prayer,the Shema Israel, "Hear O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord...", Pope Benedict XVI writes:

The recitation of this prayer was understood as the act of taking on one's shoulders the yoke of God's sovereign lordship.  This prayer is not just a matter of words: the one who prays it accepts God's lordship, which consequently, through the act of praying, enters into the world.  The one who is praying helps to bear it on his shoulders, and through his prayer, God's lordship shapes his way of life, his day-to-day existence, making it a locus of God's presence in the world. (Jesus of Nazareth, 57)

Here the reciprocity of prayer goes far beyond simply listening--at least in the aural sense--to what God has to say.  It moves beyond speaking and hearing to the kind of active reciprocity that involves God's definite entering our world through it.  In prayer--and by praying--we invite the presence of God, and thus the kingdom, into the world of our existence.

All of this came as kind of an epiphany to me about the importance of our daily prayers.  I had never before seen so clearly the importance of my obligation as a deacon to pray the prayer of the Church.  Thus, it also speaks to the importance of formal prayer.  Many years ago I first learned of a former Catholic nun, Mary Ann Collins, now a well-know anti-Catholic, who criticized formal prayers such as the Liturgy of the Hours because they took time from her bible reading.  Also I have encountered opposition to the Divine Office from well-meaning, but somewhat misinformed, Catholics promoting the spirituality of spontaneous prayer as a superior form of prayer.

While I believe that spontaneous prayers and petitions are important in terms of our spirituality, they clearly cannot take the place of prayers that serve to connect us to the whole of salvation history and thus to bring Christ into our lives by revealing--even ushering in--the kingdom of God.  Certainly bible reading is important to spirituality also, but it has to go beyond merely reading.  For the written word to come alive for us we must pray it, and of course this is what the Divine Office shows us so clearly.

When we listen to what the Lord tells us it becomes clear what he desires: he wants to enter our world through each one of us.  In a way that sometimes escapes us--because we often misunderstand its purpose and power--we are given the means by which to bring God's presence into our world.

Prayer makes us holy; it prepares our hearts for God.  The psalmist--in the quote above--says that God will speak to those who repent in their hearts.  Prayer makes it possible.  You say you'd like to hear from God?  You say you'd like for your life to reveal the power of God?  The answer is simple: through the act of praying the kingdom--the very presence of our Lord Jesus Christ--enters the world.

Pray Always

In praying, do not babble like the pagans,
who think that they will be heard because of their many words.
Do not be like them.
Your Father knows what you need before you ask him. Mt. 6:7-8

A few years ago my role in interfaith ministries took me to the denomination of my youth—the United Pentecostal Church—for several visits.  Through those visits I had the opportunity to reflect deeper on the value of my faith as a Catholic.

By way of a meeting hosted jointly by the mayor of Austin and my organization I made contact with the pastor of the local Pentecostal congregation, who was and is still the president of their denomination’s seminary.  In my discussions with the pastor I had in mind getting his congregation to participate as a member in my organization, seeing from his participation in the mayor’s meeting that he had an interest in community concerns and outreach. 

In our conversations we talked about our faith, and I talked at length about my role as a Catholic deacon.  However, for the time being I withheld the fact that I had at one time been a Pentecostal.  I felt that the chance of being known as an “apostate” from the UPC wouldn’t go well in my persuading one of their national leaders to join a somewhat progressive interfaith organization.  In the process of getting to know the pastor and his congregation I accepted an invitation to attend one of their regular Wednesday evening bible studies.  The lesson was on the passage above, which is from today’s readings.

I suppose the pastor felt that I was mature enough not to take offense at what he had to say; after all, the organization I represented was receiving membership dues from his congregation at this point.  I sat near the front and listened intently while he cited the recitation of the Rosary as an example of how the scripture is ignored, or its law somehow broken, in our times.

I recalled that I had heard the same thing when I was teenage member of the UPC, though at that time I had no idea what the Rosary was.  Even the first two words of the Hail Mary were unknown to me, but I had an argument against it.

As I listened to the pastor’s lesson I seriously considered what he had to say.  I asked myself to what degree he might be correct.  I considered the simple prayer of Jesus, the “Our Father,” and I considered not only the Rosary but also other Catholic prayers such as the Liturgy of the Hours.  In my consideration of the passage's warning of “many words” I weighed what my prayers typically looked like as far their wordiness.  Certainly, I had been given something to consider.  Nevertheless, my familiarity with the Church's teaching guided me through an uneasy place.

In recent months someone brought a question to me that I believe is relevant to what I’m getting at today.  The question was, “Which is most important, to practice the religion of Jesus—and by this I’m not referring to Judaism, but to Jesus’ personal, everyday practice of what he preached—or to practice a religion that is all about Jesus.  My answer to this, simply stated, is that in Catholicism we do not separate the two.  We allow the Holy Spirit to be an active teacher of the Church in our times.

Often we might encounter those who believe that things ought to be the way they were, and whether the way things were was 20 years ago or two thousand years ago makes little difference.  It’s possible to be in error out of the desire to be “historically pure.”  We remember that ours is a living faith—in addition to being a historical faith—imbued with the Holy Spirit as guide and teacher.  The Church speaks to us in our times and situations.

So, while Jesus had a good reason to warn against the practice of praying a multitude of empty and meaningless words, he did not make the warning against the Christian practice of prayer that was to grow out of the Church in the centuries to come.  St. Paul recognizes this in his admonition that we “pray always.”

If we insist only on what once was, and fail to accept what is today, we then fail to understand our faith as living and dynamic, one that speaks to us where we are now.

Note: Today's photo is one of my own, taken in the early evening at St. Thomas More parish in Austin, Texas.