Thomas Merton, one of my favorite spiritual figures, once
told a true story:
A young priest was sent to preach
one Sunday in a “white” Catholic parish in New Orleans. He based his sermon on the Gospel of
the Sunday, in which Christ spoke of the twofold commandment, love of God and
love of one’s brother, which is the essence of Christian morality.
The priest, in his sermon, took
occasion to point out that this commandment applied to the problem of racial
segregation, and that white people and black people ought certainly to love one
another to the extent of accepting one another in an integrated society.
He was halfway through the sermon,
and the gist of his remarks was becoming abundantly clear, when a man stood up
in the middle of the congregation and shouted angrily: “I didn’t come here to
listen to this kind of junk, I came to hear Mass.”
The priest stopped and waited. This exasperated the man even more, and
he demanded that the sermon be brought to an end at once, otherwise he would
leave.
The priest continued to wait in
silence, and another man in the congregation, amid the murmuring support of
many voices, got up and protested against this doctrine to which he saw fit to
refer to as “crap.”
As the priest still said nothing,
the two men left the church followed by about fifty other solid Christians in
the congregation. As he went out,
the first of them shouted over his shoulder at the priest: “If I miss Mass today
it’s your fault.”[1]
Merton, at the conclusion of this story, said plainly,
“Incidents like this have a meaning.”
Instead of completing
“the rest of the story,” instead of allowing Merton the space to tell us
“the answer,” I want to leave the rest to my readers. Whether you are Catholic or Protestant, this story has a
meaning. Whether you live in the
South in the 60’s or Europe in modern times, this story has a meaning. This story bears meaning for the churchgoer
and secularist alike. Your
context, your experience, your hopes and aspirations, your fears and anxieties
– all of these will shape and inform the meaning that you bring to story. Yet I believe this story has powerful and universal meaning for us.
The question that I want to ask you, the question that I
encourage you to comment on here is, “What does this story mean to you? Where does this meaning manifest in your world today?”
“I do not have clear
answers to current questions.
I do have questions, and, as a matter of fact,
I think a man is known better by his
questions than by his answers.”
I do have questions, and, as a matter of fact,
I think a man is known better by his
questions than by his answers.”
Thomas Merton
What fascinates (and appalls) me is that people can simultaneously cling so tightly to the Eucharist and Mass, while being so drastically desensitized to the very truths and implications the Eucharist represents. It’s more than ironic. Jesus bridged the widest possible gap to embrace us through his Incarnation, life, death, and resurrection, and calls us to live the same pattern of self-giving love “for the life of the world.” Yet in the very sacrament instituted to give us power to live out such a calling, we twist it to aggrandize ourselves and condemn others.
ReplyDeleteSure, we can all now look back at the particulars of the civil rights struggle in Merton’s example and see how egregious were the errors of those parishioners. But let us not be too quick to pray the pharisaical prayer of “thank you Lord that I am not like those bigots 50 years ago.” What are the current ways we justify our own self-aggrandizement and fail to pray the publican’s prayer: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 8:13)?
While I certainly believe in the power of the Sacraments—when they are approached with a heart truly receptive to God’s will, it is also painfully clear that the Sacraments are not magic zaps from heaven that automatically accomplish what we’re unwilling to allow God to do in us. Absent this attitude of intentional discipleship, might we find some resonance with the prophet Amos (http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=231235511).?
I'm totally with you Andre. I think my favorite line from your comment is "the Sacraments are not magic zaps from heaven that automatically accomplish what we're unwilling to allow God to do in us." Pointed. Powerful. True. As the preacher of the papal household, Fr. Raniero Cantalamesa, has said:
ReplyDelete“Catholic theology recognizes the concept of a valid but ‘tied’ sacrament. A sacrament is called tied if the fruit that should accompany it remains bound because certain blocks prevent its effectiveness. . . In Baptism, what is it that causes the fruit of the sacrament to stay tied? What does the opus operantis in baptism – namely, man’s part, consist of? It consists of faith! Reactivating baptism consists in this: finally man contributes his part – namely, he makes a choice of faith, prepared in repentance that allows the work of God to set itself free.”
If we insist on the centrality of the Eucharist in the Christian life, it should become evident that those who receive the Eucharist most embody and radiate the pattern of loving self-gift that we find in Jesus. Yet why do we not experience this in reality? Some will use this disconnect as evidence in their case against the imperative of the Sacraments. "They obviously don't WORK," they conclude. "The lifestyle of Catholics is often barely distinguishable from the secular society around them."
Yet you, Cantalamesa and Merton remind us that the Sacraments don't work that way. They are not "magic." They do not automatically produce holiness in those that receive them. We must properly dispose our hearts to receive the grace of God offered to us in the Sacraments and allow God's grace to shape and form us into the likeness of his Son of which the Sacraments are a visible sign.
It is not enough to simply receive the Sacraments any more than it is enough to "say the prayer" and consider ourselves good to go. We must allow God to have his way with us, to allow sacramental grace to has its effect upon us. We must "untie" the power given to us in the sacrament and allow it to transform us. In a word, it is all about our openness to "conversion." Every time we receive the Eucharist, every time we read the Bible, every time we gather together for liturgy, we must say to God, "I receive you, Christ Jesus, as Lord of my life. Change me in whatever way you want."