Friday 24 February 2012

Invitation


Ash Wednesday has led us into Lent once again; like an opening door that has been closed for a length of time without our having noticed. The idea of being led into Lent makes sense only if we are already tuned to the cycle of the liturgical year, with its passage from so called Ordinary Time to the period of preparation for the depths and the heights of Holy Week, without which all days would be numbered merely as the passing of days and nothing more; the relentless drip of time slipping through every attempt we make to control, to slow, to capture, or to wastefully fill it with ephemeral comfort, excitement and activity.

But without  such a living connection with Christ’s Church, or even when wondering or merely wandering at the furthest fringes of Christianity,  Ash Wednesday can offer any of us a starting place.
It is a door through which everyone can pass without ceremony, or commitment, or involvement; if it is your wish, you can probably enter whatever lies beyond it and remain completely anonymous, though being attracted and allowing yourself to linger there will lead to you being noticed. Perhaps that in turn might lead to your path crossing that of someone else at the very time when you need to talk, or simply feel like doing so. Asking our questions is the easiest way to discover the direction in which we need to travel if we are to find our answers.
God wants us to come searching for Him, and as soon as we move in His direction He is there to draw us closer. Being noticed is inevitable once we have merged with others at the fringes of the crowd gathered around Him.

If we can see Ash Wednesday as an opened door it is so easy to hang back until the day has gone, and then to believe that we have missed our opportunity: that the door has closed again. But it has not closed. It is a day that brings the opening of the door and of the opportunity, but the door remains open throughout Lent: right up to Holy Thursday when we place ourselves with Jesus at the Last Supper, and watch with Him as He prays in the garden. Even throughout His Passion and on to the Crucifixion itself the door remains wide open for men and women who are struggling with an unadmitted yet unquenchable desire to learn about Him; to come closer to Him; to follow Him.  

‘The centurion, together with the others guarding Jesus, had seen the earthquake and all that was taking place, and they were terrified and said, 'In truth this man was son of God.' ( Matthew 27:54 )

In reality the door is never closed, but day after day Lent offers a starting place, and the sequence of days points us and draws us toward the definite destination of Easter.  The focus of Christians on the Lenten journey and its climax is such that, despite the “risk” of being noticed, any person moving closer is able to become part of the Church experience while still remaining aloof to whatever extent they may desire.
We are invited, welcomed, perhaps seduced; even pained into the beginnings of a new way of seeing the world and our presence within it. And one of the invitations has your own name written upon it.

Ash Wednesday is our starting place for Lent, while Eastern Catholics begin two days earlier, on what is known as ‘Clean Monday’. 
This difference helps to emphasize the fact that, whatever day it may be, it is just a name given to a day with no importance other than that it is the beginning of the journey we call Lent.
Lent is a time when every day calls us to strengthen our ties, not so much with any particular church building or its congregation, with a denomination or liturgical style, but with Jesus Himself. 
That is the only “living” connection that truly does matter, for He brings us life, and in doing so He brings us to life. He is life itself.

‘Jesus said: “I am the Way; I am Truth and Life.”
(John 14:6)

Thursday 23 February 2012

Accessibility

We are not, of course, angels as we hear spoken of in scripture. We are women and men: members of the human race, and as such we have an equal share in the reason for Jesus Christ having taken his place among mankind two millennia ago.
Angels have not been redeemed because they have no need of redemption; they have not fallen, and in their unblemished state they can have no comprehension of what redemption really is or what it means (or should mean) to us. Just as our learning about things from books or from listening to others can never give us the intimate understanding that is born of experience, so the angels’ ways of learning and knowing can never make real sense of something utterly beyond their own existence. That is why they ‘long to catch a glimpse of these things.’

 ‘You have not seen him, yet you love him; and still without seeing him you believe in him and so are already filled with a joy so glorious that it cannot be described; and you are sure of the goal of your faith, that is, the salvation of your souls. ...  Even the angels long to catch a glimpse of these things.’  (1 Peter 1:8-9, 12)

We are truly blessed to be living at a time when we have access to knowledge of these things, spoken and written of long ago, before their realization and by those who could only long (as do the angels) for their own share in the full understanding and the experience now available to each one of us.

Years ago I was asked by a friend whose path had crossed mine and who, for a time, was to become God’s undeniable provision for me, “Do you feel redeemed?” I could only answer that I did not, though I was aware that my inability to respond otherwise was not solely because I had no such feeling, but was the inevitable result of not really knowing what it should have felt like: in other words, I did not understand the meaning of the word. What exactly was redemption? 
I wrote of this three years ago, and having recalled doing so and searched my own posts (28.01.09  The Catholic in me (6); 5.02.09  Beyond words) it is reassuring to find that since that time my sense of having been redeemed has built to a point where I can now answer that question differently, and with a certainty that I do indeed feel and experience the reality of my own redemption; not always and in all circumstances, but when it matters I know it to be there.

The abstract group of twelve followers, of which I have pictured myself as a member since beginning to write here, still attends me throughout these pages. As individuals we remain unknown to each other, but an awareness that you have been reading, and some of you returning and spending appreciable time here, continues to provide me with a sense of fellowship and of being accompanied on at least some parts of my journey. I derive a considerable degree of security and ongoing support from your presence, for which my thanks are due every day.
We began by realizing that we had been found, and this was soon followed by hearing ourselves being called by name: we were able to count ourselves among ‘The Named’. As our spiritual spiral of growth continued we travelled through the stages to a point where we found ourselves among ‘The Sent’, only to discover that wherever we found ourselves we were also somewhere familiar: somewhere reminiscent of where we had already been, but seen more clearly; from a new angle; in a brighter light; with greater understanding (though still barely able to understand at all); and with increased trust and hope.

In hearing ourselves being called by name once more, it is as though we have been told we have been short listed for an interview; and in feeling ourselves again to be among ‘The Touched’ we now have a real sense of what redemption is all about; and something else ...: a sensation suggesting that this time the touch may mean that we have been selected for training.
Uncertainty may return; fear even; we may have no recollection of making any application for whatever we are to be trained for, but somewhere, back there on the path we have been walking, we meant it when we answered “Yes”; and all that was then set in motion comes from the ultimate source of all that is good. 
This is where we are confronted more clearly by personal difficulties roused by our attempted reliance on somebody other than ourselves; and here too is where we begin to learn the real meaning of that simple word, ‘trust’.

Trust; the angels must long to catch a glimpse of that too, for how can they grasp what it means for us who find it so difficult when for them it is an uninterrupted and unthought-of certainty?
Even the concept of free will must be a difficulty for them; they are already and permanently with Him: unlike ourselves they have never been invited to choose in response to His words, “Come, follow me.”

Monday 13 February 2012

Ripple effect


I attended a total immersion (submersion) baptism a while ago.
Having been invited by the person being baptised, I found myself in the second row of seats, just behind her, and with a clear and close view of the baptismal pool uncovered before her.
Until the baptism itself, when she and those who would immerse her and bring her safely back again stepped down into the pool, the surface of the water was like glass: as though it had rested there undiscovered for an age, as in a previously undiscovered cavern beyond the imagination of mankind. There was something absolute about that stillness. I was drawn to it, though not distracted from the goings on around me as the service got under way.

When the time came she was duly baptised, not as an unknowing infant, nor in response to any authoritative wish of another from within her family or her church, but as a personal commitment: an expression and fulfillment of a mature person’s desire to follow, to receive and to bring into the lives of others the object of that desire. As the service continued, though listening to all that was being said and sung, I could not take my eyes from the pool until all discernible movement had ceased; and even then I found myself looking back to it frequently to be sure that it remained undisturbed. As if it had taken on a life of its own, I watched it throughout, and would not have been startled if the surface had begun to bend its reflections once more as the body of water beneath stirred and slowly turned in its sleep.

It took ten minutes or more to settle completely, but within the first minute a part of me was already far away – perhaps at ‘a pool called Bethesda in Hebrew ... (where there) were crowds of sick people, blind, lame, paralysed, ...’  (John 5:2-3).
I could only watch what was happening, having been put in mind of the words following on from the above. 
Some searches, (e.g. at biblestudytools.com) come up with “No results found” in response to John 5:4 being entered; even the same translation can be found quoted in different ways. My printed copy of The New Jerusalem Bible excludes both the end of verse 3 and verse 4, but shows them in a footnote. An online version (at catholic.org) shows verse 4 but not the missing part of verse 3.
It was these sometimes absent lines that had set my eyes and mind on the movement of the water. They tell us that the gathered people were –
‘... waiting for the water to move; for at intervals the angel of the Lord came down into the pool, and the water was disturbed, and the first person to enter the water after this disturbance was cured of any ailment he suffered from.                                                                                                          (John 5:3-4)


At the end of the service the pool was safely covered over, and the room was as though the water had never been seen; almost. 
Darker patches on the carpet spoke of some recent occurrence, and of someone having passed that way. Something had happened there; someone had been changed by the presence of something unseen: touched by something more than water; something unrecognized had come to witness a person’s response to an ongoing beckoning which had filled and blessed, and left her changed in ways that will be revealed in stages through the coming years.
Her personal commitment had caused ripples, not just in the water after being in the pool, but in her own life: in her presence among others, family, community, and strangers whose paths she will cross as her journey continues. Such ripples will last much, much longer; they may never be entirely stilled.
  
Disturbances within myself had been mirrored in the silent rise and fall, the slow wave and warp of distorted reflections on the surface of the water as it obediently returned to its former self: flat calm and motionless; though below the surface, for a long time after, invisible eddies continued to settle into stillness. This process can only be set in motion by something being plunged into or passed through the water.

So it is for each of us as we follow our paths. Something stirs us; something reaches into our deepest depths, and in surfacing again draws our most basic need up into our consciousness. Our first experience of it might be barely noticeable or overwhelming; at whatever level, it might be as the heights of joy, or love, or peace, or the profoundest sorrow, grief, remorse or fear; it might feel as though it would break us completely, or be sensed as that which will be the making of us.
It is our response to that inner disturbance: our “Yes”, that causes ripples to penetrate through to every corner of our existence.
And those ripples spread out to gently lap at the shores of other people’s lives, even far beyond our knowing. In their turn they become the barely noticed prompts that lead others toward their own meetings with a desire that already lives within them.

At the pool called Bethesda, was it, perhaps, an intermittent inflow of water disturbing health-giving sediment that caused the crowds to gather in search of healing? Or did an angel of the Lord come down into the pool?
Was the disturbance in the waters of the pool I had watched so intently anything more than that made by people entering and leaving; or perhaps something deeper: the lingering but confined ripples from the full immersion of the baptism itself? Or was it a manifestation of that which is truly deep yet ruffles the surface of all things: that which can stir life even within the spiritually dead, and overflow from those already living within its embrace?


Lay it all within the compass of my own wandering imagination if you will, but the Holy Spirit was present, and the newly baptized lady had emerged from the water into a new form of life: one from which that spiritual presence, guidance and strength will never depart.
Was an angel of the Lord present?
If we loosen our interpretation of the word, perhaps many!
If such angels are God’s Messengers, may not some here on earth who are called to be His messengers be regarded, at least potentially, as angels? What else are we to others in need when we respond to God’s call to become His answer to their prayers, and to bring His healing touch into their lives?

Emerging from the baptismal pool, had come one blessed with that potential.
May the on-going ripples from her commitment always reach to the inner shores of those who live and work around her; and for those to whose aid she may one day be called, may she be the angel who comes in their time of need.


Tuesday 7 February 2012

Deacon? (17) A final twist

My conscious decision to wait on approaches from others where my future direction was concerned, and to respond willingly to their suggestions or invitations, led me into a confrontation with some of my own doubts and with my reluctance to admit to them, when asked about becoming an extraordinary minister of Holy Communion* (10.01.11  An ongoing call).
I had found myself being presented with what I thought was the one thing I would have to decline; as though having stepped into a trap of my own making, or being taught to be more careful with how I opened myself up to new ideas and directions.
( * I have been wrongly referring to this as Eucharistic Minister: a mistake derived not only from the widespread habitual but inaccurate use of the term, but also from its being the expression used at the time by the person by whom I had been approached. )
The thought has only now occurred to me that the same situation arose when being asked about the diaconate. Other than as part of the reason for my surprise at being asked, I have remained unaware of it. Yet having already explained my reasons for being unable to assist with the distribution of Holy Communion had not prevented the same person approaching me about becoming a deacon.

Again I have failed to respond to an approach from others in the way I had consciously set for myself.
For a while, I have not been sure where that leaves me in my determination of the direction in which I am meant to be travelling, but I now find confirmation and further strengthening in it as I recognize my folly in having placed an unquestioning reliance on the leadings of others. I had, in effect, extended an open (though unvoiced) invitation to all, and had passively opened myself to possibilities from almost any source. That had not been my intention, but I now see that this is what I had brought about.
Perhaps the two declined invitations, coming as they did from a safe and trustworthy source, were extended in response to prompts whose true intention had been, not to create a deacon, but to block other misguided possibilities that, through my foolhardiness, may have beckoned me, occupied me, and drawn me away in an entirely wrong direction. Certainly my time has been spent in focussed thought on something worthwhile, and I have arrived at convictions which otherwise would have remained assumptions and hazy half-beliefs, or even completely unexamined.

I now find myself being filled with the sobering thought that the past few months may have been no more than a continuation of my being taught, at a still deeper level, that I must continue to wait, to be ready, and to trust. Following that direction of possibility puts my conviction of not being called to become a deacon in a whole new light: not just in terms of whether I am being called to that end or not, or even, as felt, whether I am actually being called to remain firmly planted among the laity. Instead, such questions are becoming increasingly irrelevant, even as I write.
All that matters perhaps: what I am in fact being called to, is what underlies both possibilities, towers above them, and is at the very heart of every call to a deeper commitment to Christ. It is the call that has been running through much of what I have been pondering and writing about in this lengthy series of posts, though I have failed to fully grasp it – even while thinking and writing. It now seems that there has been only one call echoing through my entire experience of the question and all that has followed on from it; a call that has finally become audible and visible in the space created by my sense of relief at having finished with my thoughts on the diaconate.

It is the call “to radical availability”.
The message, the gift, the desire, the requirement, the obligation: the ALL for each of us, whether ordained or not, is the call to devote oneself to Christ “by means of complete availability”. 
It is to this that the deacon is ordained, but in spite of a conscious awareness that it is not specific to the diaconate, my knowledge of that fact has continued to blind me to the fullness of an essential reality: that this call is not for the deacon alone. It is the ALL to which I am being called; to which we are all being called.

‘Going deeply and honestly into our personal doubts and certainties ... will teach each one of us that our spiritual path leads into an “all or nothing” situation.  And this is precisely the lesson we all need to learn. It is our ALL that is being asked of us.’

Those are my own words, written here just a few days ago.
How is it that as soon as I believe I have finished with this subject, they speak back to me so clearly of what this has all been about.
There are other lessons written here for me; placed somewhere between the lines of my own thinking, and perhaps, even now, my thoughts on them are not finished.

I received an email today from a Benedictine friend who has read all that is contained in these ‘Deacon ?’ posts. It included a sentence that at once helped me to see how things really are, and which fits well with how I feel about this whole diaconate question in relation to myself.
 ‘You certainly know your own mind on the deacon question, but it sounds as if you were pleased to be asked, if only that it gave you a diving board for plunging into your own depths.’

Perhaps I had needed a reason and the means to dive that deep in order to learn that I cannot exclude myself: that I too am being called to give Him my all.
Perhaps too, I am being told more clearly that I must continue with my delving deep into uncertainty; that I must reach the point where I am ready to rely on my own judgment and discernment. And that must include my choice of the few in whom I should place my trust, disregarding the distractions that will always come from others.

‘Do not model your behaviour on the contemporary world,
but let the renewing of your minds transform you, so that you may discern for yourselves
what is the will of God - what is good and acceptable and mature.’
(Romans 12:2)

Monday 6 February 2012

Deacon? (16) Marriage & celibacy


Marriage & celibacy
- Those who have received the order of deacon, even those who are older, may not, in accordance with traditional Church discipline, enter into marriage. 
         If married, should his wife predecease him, he should be willing ... to remain celibate for the rest of his life 

- Should the deacon’s wife predecease him, the widowed deacon must be helped to discern and accept his new personal 
        circumstances, which in normal circumstances precludes remarriage in accordance with the constant discipline of the Church in the East and West.

- “Those who have received the order of deacon may not enter into marriage”. The same principle applies to deacons who have been         widowed. They are called to give proof of human and spiritual soundness in their state of life.

- His vocation to marriage comes, at least chronologically, prior to his call to the diaconate. 

This area raises no difficulties within me, but as someone not called to follow this course I can imagine other voices saying “Well, he would say that wouldn’t he!” But even without a vocation to the diaconate, why, as a widower, should not I and any other man be able to follow a similar course – remaining unmarried and celibate for the remainder of our life – simply (and this in no way in a comparatively unimportant or un-influential sense, but in the way of being overridingly authoritative in its simplicity): simply as the result of having loved, having been married to and having made our life with the right person; an irreplaceable and unrepeatable blessing?
One can never know how one will feel in such situations until they become a personal reality, but saying that “the widowed deacon must be helped to discern and accept his new personal circumstances” hints at the underlying meaning being “You are ours completely now; you are not going anywhere.” He will surely need help but not in the way described; he will know only too well what his “new personal circumstances” are, and accepting them will be dependent on a great deal more than any well-meant but mostly restrictive guidance received from within the hierarchy.

Likewise, why are widowed deacons “called to give proof of human and spiritual soundness in their state of life”? – and why is entering into a new marriage not compatible with giving such proof?
 If remarrying is not “acceptable” for a permanent deacon, then, by implication, the suitability of all married candidates for the permanent deaconate, in the eyes of the hierarchy, must be, at root, highly questionable. It could never even be whispered of as a necessary “evil”, but is there not at least a suggestion of its acceptance being a reluctant compromise? One that is seeping round the edges of the other half of the equation: a hierarchical requirement for increased numbers of orthodox, ordained and obedient members of the clergy? Increased numbers, not in real terms, but at least making some small contribution to the stemming of the tide: the phenomenal losses in numbers coming forward with a willingness to follow their calling and a desire to cross the threshold.
I say again – I firmly believe that those who are so called will grow into that willingness and that desire. It is the calling itself: the vocation, in the shape and form that is still expected to be as it used to be, that is missing. Do we or do we not believe that people, in numbers, are still being called into the Church? If they are, where are they, and how are they being called? Some of them are married permanent deacons, but is that the extent of the calling for all of them? Some of them would make wonderful priests.
There are women who would make valuable deacons; and what exactly are the grounds we would use to deny the fact that some of them too might make equally effective and inspirational priests? I do not exclude those among them who feel themselves to be called in that direction from that possibility; but I am sure they are not among those who, like myself, are plainly called to remain with both feet planted firmly among the laity; to what end is not likely to become clear without our obedience to that seemingly negative and superficial calling.

I can hear sounds of “Shhhh!” ... “Think it, maybe, but don’t say it out loud.” ... “Not where others might hear.” ... “One day perhaps, but not in our lifetimes.” But tomorrow will become today, just as today will slide into yesterday without any help from us; and the status quo, regardless of any protest or determination to maintain or change it, will ultimately be governed by callings and directives from beyond all worldly authority and outside our merely human control. That which is truly right will continue to be; that which is wrong will be made right. We are powerless against it, though its influence seems far from apparent and a long time coming.

The Ordinariate is the most recent proof of the fact that the Catholic Church can never again say that she has no married priests. They are among us, and have been ordained as Catholic priests while already married men.
What happened to any women priests, married or not, who might have applied to join us as part of the Ordinariate?
Whatever adjective others might use to describe that question, it is a question nonetheless, however obvious the answer, and however plain that the main reason for ordained Anglicans wishing to join the Catholic Church at this time is a profound distaste for the acknowledgement and advancement of women to the level of equality in the denomination they have now left. 
                                                                                                                                                                                                                    “Shhhhhhhh ! ...” 

I had not intended to ask such questions here, as they steer me away from the intended purpose of these pages. That I have done so points to the fact that I have other subjects on which I need to dwell and ponder if I am to find out my deepest and real attitudes toward them. Doing such things has become very much part of me; not essential to life, but important to me: in some way relevant to my being here. It is how I find out what I really do think and feel about things, as opposed to what I merely think I think, and feel that I feel. From such time spent comes part of my ability to remain content whatever my real thoughts and beliefs turn out to be. The greater part of my contentment, however, comes from the presence of the Holy Spirit in my life and my world, and my awareness that Jesus walks with me still, un-sensed but no less believed in for that.  

I wrote earlier, that I would return to a particular point in this section: namely that, ‘the deacon is ordained to radical availability’ … ‘to devote himself to the Church by means of complete availability’.

‘Diakonia’ cannot exist without availability, and the indispensability of it as the framework on which all other facets of a deacon’s life of service are unfolded is undeniable. The fact that the spouses of married deacons will have been required to confirm, in writing, that they were fully supportive of the intended ordination, makes clear that this is more than being there for one’s neighbour if and when required. This is, as stated above, a ‘radical’ – a ‘complete’ availability; and not only to those who live next door, but to the Church itself, which means to everybody.
The actual limits and results of this availability will be governed and directed by the bishop and the priests to whom the deacon is responsible, but the truth at the heart of availability and the spousal support that makes it possible is that this is as close as one can get to a real “job-share”.
The promise of obedience is entwined with this, and family and home are thus regarded as secondary attachments and less important calls on the deacon’s time, affections and loyalty. From the Church’s viewpoint, in the eyes of the hierarchy, and in their perception of reality, this is not simply how the situation is seen to be, but is, in fact, how it is and how it is expected to remain.

Once again, my reactions are those of one who is not called to the diaconate, but I can envisage no genuine call of God that would allow me, let alone expect me, to turn away from my family with a conscious expression of my acceptance and belief in the rightness of their no longer being my first priority in life.
If members of the hierarchy regard marriage as a vocation and a sacrament – and written evidence declares that they do – how are they able to dilute its importance and validity, as far as they are able, when seeking candidates for the permanent diaconate?

The one part of this section which I would have turned into a real difficulty, had I been looking for one, would have been the last of the listed gleanings from my reading: that the deacon’s “vocation to marriage comes, at least chronologically, prior to his call to the diaconate.”
“At least chronologically” ?

There is much that concerns me concealed behind the inclusion of those three words.

Words of men!

Not of God.

Saturday 4 February 2012

Deacon? (15) The Eucharist (3)

There is much in the following lines from among those I have gathered and noted, that leaves me disappointed that I cannot share more readily in what others around me believe. I am left sighing, and slowly shaking my head at the lack of any real emotion when reading them, but only until I switch back to the other face, the real face (for me) of my belief and appreciation of my faith.

Therein lies a greater disappointment for me: that I am unable to give to others what I have myself received.
We each have to make our journeys alone; not without support, encouragement, teaching, company, empathy, whatever may be needed from time to time in the external taking of steps and in the passage of what may run into many years, but in our minds and hearts. The transference of our central source of commitment, strength, trust and hope from the former, external supply to the latter is a subtle but defining change; one that can be influenced by others but brought about only by our own deep and very personal answering “Yes” to an invitation to step off the edge and into what may at first appear to be a limitless void. It is a moment of commitment to vulnerability and “to radical availability”, not, through ordination, to the Church as superficially perceived, nor to the hierarchy, but to Christ Himself. That this may later manifest itself as a form of commitment to His Church is a secondary form of “radical availability” which for some will become the required and fundamental presence of themselves at the core of their response to a vocation to the diaconate.


- ‘The basis and motivation of this formation “is the dynamism of the order itself”, while its nourishment is the Holy Eucharist, compendium of the entire Christian ministry and endless source of every spiritual energy.’

- ‘The centre of his spiritual itinerary must be the Holy Eucharist since it is
 the touchstone of the deacon's life and activity,
 the indispensable means of perseverance,
 the criterion of authentic renewal and of a balanced synthesis of life.’ 

- ‘The interior of the Church, the life of the Church within, centres on two things: the Word of God and on the Eucharist. These are the two aspects of the inner life of the Church from which all her other vision, all her activity flows.’ (Cardinal Hume)


Both my reasoning and my instincts find a welcome reminder of my too frequently buried understanding of the importance of the Eucharist to the Church in the following paragraphs from the Catechism of the Catholic Church.
They also provide a summary of the reasons for what could be taken as an unnecessary cause of my confusion between the Church’s teaching and my own certainties, which, at root, are fundamentally one and the same thing. At the centre of both is the all-pervading presence of Christ himself.
Finding Him and allowing Him access to our lives is the personal alpha and omega that opens up a whole new world and reveals His presence in all things.


CCC 1324   The Eucharist is "the source and summit of the Christian life."
"The other sacraments, and indeed all ecclesiastical ministries and works of the apostolate, are bound up with the Eucharist and are oriented toward it. For in the blessed Eucharist is contained the whole spiritual good of the Church, namely Christ himself, our Pasch."

CCC 1327   In brief, the Eucharist is the sum and summary of our faith: "Our way of thinking is attuned to the Eucharist, and the Eucharist in turn confirms our way of thinking."


Hearing or reading, as an isolated phrase, that the Eucharist contains “the whole spiritual good of the Church” is experienced as being in conflict with “the whole spiritual good” which I sense as being at the heart of my conviction, but in the time it takes to read just three more words, “namely Christ himself,” all is made well and all rifts are healed. 
He is found, experienced and followed in different ways, and just as the variety of our sins and sinful tendencies does not alter the fact that we are all sinners and equals in our sinfulness, thus equally acceptable and welcomed in the Church, so our sharing in the same centrality of Jesus Christ in outwardly contradictory ways does not separate us from each other as equally faithful members of His Church.
 
‘To each his own’ sums up not only our weakness, but our individual needs and ways of accessing and receiving Truth, as well as the Spirit’s ability to satisfy those needs in ways that lead us to follow the individual paths laid out before us.

Friday 3 February 2012

Deacon? (14) The Eucharist (2)


Realizing that we are asked to give our all, does not necessarily bring confirmation of any need to believe all that we are told to believe.

In my own case, at least, it has become another source of confirmation that I should not replace or dilute my own certainties with obedience to, or belief in, laid down definitions and rules which are declared, with apparent certainty, to be the reality and the truth which I am trying to follow. Indeed, it helps to make clear that which should already have been clear enough: that real belief in something has little to do with what we have been told.
 We can have real faith in something without genuine belief, just as where we have real belief we have no need of faith; and whatever we do have is not real faith. However clear it might seem to others, we alone can decide where lies certainty, where belief, and where faith within the confusions, doubts, hopes and longings which are ever restless within us.

I have never been able to make an honest declaration as to my own genuine belief in this area. 
On the one hand has been my inability to say that I believe everything I have been taught, because that has never been true, and I would never have declared otherwise; hence a lifetime of silence on the subject.
On the other hand, and contributing to that same silence, had been my fear that others might learn of my unbelief. That fear no longer exists; though perhaps a shadow of it still lingers. I am a Catholic, after all.
It left me when, after so many years of only half believing, and being a great deal less than half willing to admit to my doubt, I finally made the decision to recognize on which side of the increasingly unstable fence I had already fallen.
To say that I have difficulty with what the Church expects me to believe is barely true today; my concern and sense of guilt and failure for not believing has faded to almost nothing with the passage of time and with my unconscious choice of life without such drains on my equilibrium and spiritual peace. I do feel somewhat out of place at times, but I am comfortable with my unspoken refusal to feel uncomfortable any longer. I have no way of altering what is deeply felt, and can therefore say nothing that hides the fact that my belief here is not as the Church would wish.

I have already made clear that my conscience will not allow me to become a Eucharistic Minister  (10.01.11  An ongoing call), as I believe strongly that anyone receiving communion in the Catholic Church has a right to assume that the person from whom they receive either the host or the chalice has the same level of belief in the transformed nature and qualities of the bread and wine as themselves: a belief that complies fully with and conveys the teaching of the Church. In uttering the words “The body of Christ” or “The blood of Christ, the speaker should have a conviction that at least parallels, if not exceeds, the degree of belief with which the hearer receives and takes what is offered.
With this being such an essential part of the deacon’s core beliefs and function, it is surely impossible that I could fit the required profile.

I do not qualify for any of the following tasks.

The deacon is called
to be custodian and dispenser of the Eucharist.
              to conserve and distribute the Blessed Eucharist.
to distribute the Body of Christ to the faithful during the celebration of the Mass.
              to assist in the distribution of Holy Communion and administer the chalice if communion is given under both kinds.  
to participate at the celebration of Holy Mass as a “minister of the Blood”. 
to sanctify when he administers the Sacrament of Baptism, the Holy Eucharist and the sacramentals. 
to administer Viaticum to the sick.
to bring Viaticum to the dying, 
to be an ordinary minister of exposition of the Most Blessed Sacrament and of eucharistic benediction. 
to give formation to extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion 
to take communion to homes, care homes and hospitals. 
       
 But my disqualification goes deeper than the particular tasks involved. 
The Eucharist is regarded as the source of almost all that is available to us in our journeys toward, and our relationships with God: the Powerhouse for the abilities and willingness needed in the successful performance of our Christian duties, whatever they may be.

It is here too that my certainties appear to block my way to the expected conformity. It sounds so contradictory, but I find it impossible to be led by teachings, arguments and expectations which do not blend with the underlying strengths contained in my certainties. They are based on experiences that have changed me utterly over the intervening years, and which can never be set to one side. Even as the ability to immerse myself in the remembered feel of experience has gradually slipped away, the memory itself has not; and today I still have the living awareness of the fact that I did experience that of which my memories are made.
Quite simply, that inexplicable experience and undeniable memory was of the presence of Jesus walking beside me. He was my constant companion. (I shall not write of it again.) This is the heart of my certainties: that Jesus is real; that He is alive; that He is risen. He is present to us, in and with the Holy Spirit, and I can never again believe otherwise. My difficulty with the Church’s teaching on the Eucharist is simply that I find it to be superfluous in my life. (Do I really dare to admit that?) I already know that He is with me: I can never say otherwise. I am unable to understand how it can give me what I know I already have. He has blessed me with His presence, and I cannot undo that fact.

I receive communion with reverence and with an acknowledged need to do so: I even long to do so, but I do it, as He asked, in memory of Him. Not only in memory of the fact that He lived among us two thousand years ago, but also in memory of His presence: His company. This carries within it a constant reminder that He is with us still, that He has changed my life, and that I am still waiting: waiting for Him to make known that which will satisfy my constant consciousness that He still requires something of me. Perhaps that something is simply to always remember that He is still with me, as my companion and friend, and to always be ready … for whatever may come.

What more can I say?

Thursday 2 February 2012

Deacon? (13) The Eucharist (1)

The Eucharist
The candidate must or should
 have Eucharistic devotion.  
 be dedicated to our Lord in the Eucharist. 
 be “nourished by prayer and above all by love of the Eucharist.”    
The deacon    
Is called to adore the Lord, present in the Sacrament: the Blessed Eucharist, source and summit of all evangelization, in which “the     whole spiritual good of the Church is contained”. 
              Should visit the Blessed Sacrament out of devotion.

Making sense of all that a deacon is required to do concerning the Eucharist is achievable only when the above points are already understood.
A member of the Catholic Church for whom transubstantiation is an undoubted reality, will instinctively accept and expect not only the need for these beliefs and affections but their pre-existing presence in he who has been, or who is about to be ordained.
Many others will have their doubts, to lesser or greater degrees, but will successfully hold them at bay; some by making a point of not dwelling on such potentially troubling ideas, while others will remain aware of them and pray frequently for help with their recognized levels of unbelief. Some may never stop to consider what they actually believe, returning to the communion queue week and month and year after year, with little genuine awareness other than that they are maintaining the routine that became their norm years before.

I do not make these assumptions with any sense of disapproval, disappointment or despair, but merely as part of what I take to be the real world; the world in which there are people like myself, who declare – without any shadow of doubt – that they are Catholics, and yet find it impossible to deceive themselves where such belief is concerned.
We sit, kneel and pray with others, each with his or her own degree of acceptance or otherwise of something in which we all share. We are not separated by these unrevealed differences; we are even, perhaps, bound together more closely by our silences on the subject, in much the same way as we are bound by our sharing of the knowledge that each one of us is a sinner. We know (if we do not, then we shall one day learn) that we do not all share the same weaknesses; what is regarded as being nothing at all by my neighbour may be a seemingly undefeatable temptation to me, while his or her lifelong struggle or barely noticed natural but sinful trait, may leave me puzzled as to how anyone could possibly live that way. All these differences and the potential disruption and fragmentation that is prevented by our not telling all to everyone around us are part of the reality in which we live, and until we are ready to be completely honest with each other – not with everyone, but with the smaller number of people we regard as our closer spiritual friends – it is best that we remain, for the most part, silent.

Venturing only part-way into our personal truths invites misunderstanding, and shared misunderstandings are always fuel for distancing, non-cooperation and separation; enemies of fellowship, ecumenism and of Christ’s Church itself. Going deeply and honestly into our personal doubts and certainties may be a frightening prospect, but its practice will teach each one of us that our spiritual path leads into an “all or nothing” situation.
And this is precisely the lesson  we all need to learn. It is our all that is being asked of us.
Learning it, believing it, and longing to give it, has the power to change us utterly.

Again I find myself referring to those same words of Cardinal Newman; while not applicable only to this subject, in the present context they express that going beyond a merely partial honesty with each other is one of the risks we are called to take.

‘Perhaps the reason why the standard of holiness among us is so low, why our attainments are so poor, our view of the truth so dim, our belief so unreal, our general notions so artificial and external is this, that we dare not trust each other with the secret of our hearts. We have each the same secret, and we keep it to ourselves, and we fear that, as a cause of estrangement, which really would be a bond of union. We do not probe the wounds of our nature thoroughly; we do not lay the foundation of our religious profession in the ground of our inner man; we make clean the outside of things; we are amiable and friendly to each other in words and deeds, but our love is not enlarged, our bowels of affection are straitened, and we fear to let the intercourse begin at the root; and, in consequence, our religion, viewed as a social system is hollow. The presence of Christ is not in it.’ (‘Christian Sympathy’.) 

Wednesday 1 February 2012

Deacon? (12) Obedience & Marian devotion


Obedience
The candidate must or should
have a capacity for obedience.  
be willing to promise obedience to the Archbishop and his successors.  
be willing to take the Oath of Fidelity and make a profession of faith according to the
        approved formula.  
be willing to put himself in the hands of the bishop and those the bishop has chosen to
        carry out the discernment and formation process.  
have a natural inclination for service to the sacred hierarchy.

The deacon is ordained 
to serve ... in hierarchical communion with the bishop and priests.

A genuine education in obedience, instead of stifling the gifts received with the grace of ordination, will ensure ecclesial authenticity in the apostolate. 

However great or small my capacity for obedience may be would depend on who and what required or demanded my obedience. I have no doubt that if I felt that I was being called to ordination I would have no trouble with accepting the need to promise obedience to superiors in the hierarchy. Without that calling, it is no surprise to me that I could not promise such obedience; nor, in my present circumstances, can I imagine my conscience allowing me to take an Oath of Fidelity.

I may have some ‘natural inclination for service’ but it would be directed towards those in need of whatever I was capable of providing, not to the hierarchy.

Marian devotion
He must or should
have Marian devotion.
show a deep love and veneration for the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God. 
link profoundly, love for Christ and for His Church with love of the Blessed Virgin Mary
       (Mother and selfless helper of her divine Son's diaconia). 
express love of the Mother of God in daily recitation of the Rosary, imitation of her virtues
       and trust in her.
Let Mary, handmaid of the Lord, be present on this journey and be invoked as mother and
       auxiliatrix in the daily recitation of the Rosary. 

I have had a long-running struggle with the tension that exists between the Catholic devotion to Mary and the perceived idolatrous worship of her as proclaimed by other Christian denominations when viewing Catholicism from outside. Based on my own experience of devout Catholics living in near poverty, and, through their trust in God, and their simple rural outlook on life, remaining for the most part unaware of that fact, I can understand the underlying reasons for their turning to Mary for most of the comfort they derive from their faith. But when watching such people it is easy to see why others believe that we worship her when we should be worshipping our Lord.

I appreciate Mary’s place in the Church, and I would in no way wish to be without her; indeed she is inseparable from it, and the Church would not exist without her; but always, always, I see her only pointing the way to Jesus: the way we should all be going.
I have never had any sense of her wanting me to stop before her as I follow her direction, and have no particular devotion to her because it is so clear that she does not want to become the object of my attention. 

Once again the specified requirements for the deaconate rule me out.

About Me

Who I am should be, and should remain, of little consequence to you. Who you are is what matters; who you are meant to be is what should matter most to you. In coming closer to my own true self, I have gradually been filled with the near inexpressible: I have simply become "brim full", and my words to you are drawn from those uttered within myself, as part of an undeniable overflowing that brings a smile to my every dusk, and to my every new dawn.
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