In Praise of Hiddenness: ON THE PARADOX OF
CONCEALMENT: by a Camaldolese Hermit
In Communist countries not so long ago, the media
never reported earthquakes, floods, train wrecks, disasters of all kinds, and
other tragedies. Such occurrences were considered as the negation of the then
prevailing dogma according to which the Soviet man must of necessity control
all the events of the planet. The ideal of such a society being success, and a
today always more glorious than yesterday, all disasters must therefore be
concealed, denied. Catastrophes occur only in capitalist countries.
Now the society in which we live is in fact
dominated by this same idol of success, of perpetual youth, of obligatory
efficiency. Human pride, which tries strenuously to do without God and His
laws, is unable to give meaning to earthly distresses and even simply to admit
them. Among us, it is true that we are informed of our ordeals either by word
of mouth, or by the press, radio, and television, but inevitably with
indignation, protests, and accusations.
In short, the setback should not have occurred,
and that is why we immediately look for the culprits that caused it. If
something goes awry, then certainly somebody did not do his duty and should be
condemned. For instance, it is even difficult to admit that an earthquake could
not be foreseen and avoided. Why did not those responsible arrange everything
so as to exclude all damage of goods and persons? Likewise, regarding the
recent bad floods. A number of mayors and magistrates expect proceedings to
start against them. . . It is certainly true that sometimes one sins by
omission, but it seems that this clumsy search for culprits in all our
misfortunes often has this strange idea as its underlying motive: man must be
the absolute master of all, even of nature itself. To admit that certain
calamities are natural and inevitable would be to agree that the human
condition is fragile and, in the final reckoning, a state of death.
In the past, the faithful Christian accepted
mishaps, seeing in trials a means God makes use of to punish us for our
aberrations or to purify us and to prepare us for eternity. Today, a disaster
is not seen at all as a challenge to faith or as a stimulus to abandon
ourselves into God's hands, but rather just as a provocation to anger. Now
anger supposes an enemy to shoot at, to unload on. Man's failure is a scandal
and unacceptable. From the moment man wants to free himself from God, without
really having the power, he needs to feel himself a victor. Success is for him
more necessary than the air he breathes. He knows well, however, that
"success" is not a name of God — at least not of the God of Christian
revelation. But as in every error there is a grain of truth, so when the hour
arrives that will put an end to history and reveal the Kingdom of God in all
its grandeur, when at last the new heavens and the new earth will appear, it is
then that we will be able to say that God's name is Victory.
The idolatry of success in our wounded humanity
reveals itself in the great illusion that tries to mask the enormous defeat
called death. The human victories of science and technology vanish with this
defeat, this last enemy that will be overcome by the resurrection of Christ.
The desire for success inscribed in the depths of our
being is certainly not at all condemnable in itself, for it is the natural
object of all we undertake, even if it is not always attained. Success in our
existence represents, without a doubt, a true value, a good that we call
"merit" in our Christian tradition. We have “to merit" heaven
even though, in reality, it is a question of a gratuitous gift of God. But
personal success is altogether compatible with material failure; the sick, the
unfortunate, the handicapped can have a greater dignity, merit, and moral worth
than the worth of celebrities written up in widely circulated newspapers. It is
man's lot to live with failure, but likewise to lay hold of suffering and to
use it as raw material for his human and divine success, his merit, his
salvation, and his glory.
Yet the temptation certainly exists among us to
want to establish God's Kingdom already on this earth. This is precisely, mark
well, the temptation that Jesus repulsed in the desert at the beginning of His
public ministry and preaching of the Gospel: "The Kingdom of God will not
be realized through a historic triumph resulting from an ever-increasing
ascendancy, but rather by God's victory over the ultimate unchaining of evil,
which will make His Bride descend from heaven." This is our hope.
The life and message of St. Bonaventure can provide a framework for understanding both the world and your personal calling.
When did “God” become more than a word to you? When, even for just a moment, did you glimpse the meaning of your life and personal vocation? When, in the midst of the challenges and complexities of adult responsibilities, did you regain the joy and passion you felt as a child? Or, in a time of trouble, struggling to find your way, how did God’s amazing grace become real to you and, though the path remained difficult, you knew that God was with you and trusted that you would find your true home? Perhaps it was the birth of your child or grandchild, a starry night in the Rockies, a sunrise at the beach, a time when you hit rock bottom and discovered the Rock, your child received a cancer diagnosis, or you felt Christ come alive in the bread and wine.
At such moments, we are forever changed. Despite our imperfections and struggles, life becomes brighter and more colorful or perhaps more fragile, new energies emerge, and we discover, as did mystic-activist Dorothy Day, that each person we meet is holy, and that we should speak to all people as if they were angels. We know that we are in God’s hands, and God will never abandon us.
These moments of spiritual transformation may not be dramatic but, when they occur, our lives are never the same. The world truly does become charged with God’s grandeur (as the Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote), the heavens declare the glory of God, and we realize that nothing, not even our greatest fears, can separate us from the love of God.
The Apostle Paul said that without love, “I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Cor 13:1). The same applies to philosophers and theologians. Without an experience of God’s loving presence, our words are dry, brittle, and unconvincing to ourselves and our readers. This was true for St. Bonaventure, and it has made all the difference in the world to me.
In his early 40s, having been recently appointed as minister general of the Franciscan friars, the philosopher-priest Bonaventure, “under a divine impulse,” retreated to La Verna, Italy, the site of St. Francis’ vision of “the winged Seraph in the form of the Crucified.” Bonaventure had been “seeking peace with a panting spirit” to find a way to face his new responsibilities as the spiritual leader of the Franciscan Order.
At La Verna, as he was reflecting on Francis’ vision, Bonaventure saw “all at once” the meaning of Francis’ vision and his guidance on the soul’s journey to God. Bonaventure felt spiritually uplifted as he meditated on Francis’ experience of the six-winged seraph. Now he knew firsthand the contours of Francis’ mysticism as he received in that moment the outline of The Soul’s Journey into God. His theology came alive, the words and stories of Francis and Jesus became flesh, and he experienced God’s inspiration mediated through the mystical experience of God’s humble servant, Francis of Assisi. Bonaventure the philosopher and administrator truly became a mystic. His words and meditations became electrified by God’s love.
An Inspiring Example
As a writer and theologian, I can easily identify with Bonaventure. He was a holistic theologian who saw theology as a spiritual as well as an intellectual enterprise. Like Bonaventure, I first entered graduate studies to become a scholar, a philosopher of religion, and a theologian. But, as did the 13th-century saint, I felt called to ministry during my graduate studies. In the spirit of Bonaventure, I wanted to join heart, head, and hands. I wanted to live my theological vision intellectually, spiritually, relationally, emotionally, and practically in my daily life as a scholar, pastor, husband, and father. I wanted my writing, preaching, and pastoral care to come alive in ways that inspired others to embody God’s presence in their lives. I found that healthy and life-transforming theology is an act of love, grounded in prayer and the ongoing quest to experience God’s grace coursing through body, mind, spirit, and relationships.
Bonaventure soared to the heavens in speculative theology and spirituality and then returned to earth to face the challenges of organizing a religious order, dealing with institutional controversies and potential schisms, and attempting to reconcile the Eastern and Western branches of Christianity. Following in the footsteps of the crucified Christ and Francis of Assisi, whom he saw as the embodiment of Christ’s mission, Bonaventure crafted a theological vision inspired by the spiritual virtues of grace, devotion, wonder, joy, piety, love, humility, wisdom, and inspiration. Some historians cite Bonaventure as one of the first theologians to craft a text on institutional leadership, unique in his counsel “about how to get the community to live up to its ideal.”
Devoted Follower of St. Francis
Little is known of the details of Bonaventure’s life. Like Francis and Clare, he was born into privilege, most likely in 1217. Like Francis and Clare, he anticipated a life of material comfort, intellectual stimulation, and financial success during a time of great poverty and social unrest.
His father, Giovanni di Fidanza, was a wealthy physician married to Maria di Ritello. He grew up in Bagnoregio, a village in central Italy located between Viterbo and Orvieto, 56 miles northwest of Rome. Bonaventure was baptized as Giovanni, or John, after his father, and he received the name Bonaventure upon entering the Franciscan Order.
At age 17, he began studying theology at the University of Paris, where he encountered Franciscan friars whose integration of mind, heart, and hands transformed his life and mission. Some scholars speculate that Francis of Assisi may have stopped in Bagnoregio on his various pilgrimages, although there is no direct evidence that the child Bonaventure met the saint he came to love and follow.
From his first years, Bonaventure was shaped by the spirit of Francis. Bonaventure places Francis at the heart of his miraculous recovery when he was ill as a child: “God’s numberless favors granted through Francis in various parts of the world do not cease to abound, as I myself who have written this life have verified. For as I lay seriously ill while still a child, I was snatched from the very jaws of death and restored to perfect health owed to a vow made by my mother to the blessed Father Francis.”
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and we realize that nothing, not even our greatest fears, can separate us from the love of God.” —Gerard Manley Hopkins
As Bonaventure grew older, Francis’ teachings saved him theologically and spiritually. Bonaventure couldn’t help but give thanks for Francis’ impact on his life. “When I was a boy, as I vividly remember, I was snatched from the jaws of death by his [Francis’] invocation and merits. So if I remained silent and did not sing his praises, I fear that I would be rightly accused of the crime of ingratitude. I recognize that God saved my life through him, and I realized that I have experienced his power in my very person.” I suspect that that gratitude to Francis characterized his daily prayers. The spirit of Francis that first saved young Giovanni’s life later enlightened and enlivened his soul.
At the University of Paris, Bonaventure studied with the renowned scholar Alexander of Hales (1185–1245), an Englishman who had entered the Franciscan Order later in life, at age 50. Alexander was the right person at the right time to teach young Bonaventure. Alexander spoke to Bonaventure’s spirit, recognized and encouraged his potential to become a spiritual leader, and opened the door to his lifetime integration of spirituality and theology in the Franciscan tradition.
Bonaventure was also at first intellectually and then spiritually captivated by the humble Francis, whom he perceived to be the fullest embodiment of Christ. Bonaventure described Francis as the second Christ and the pinnacle of spiritual evolution. This description may sound intense, but in the simplicity of Francis’ life, Bonaventure experienced what it meant to live out Jesus’ spirit in a way similar to our Savior’s first followers.
A Journey of Faith
Later, during a time of controversy in the Franciscan Order, Bonaventure affirmed the simplicity of the first Franciscans in contrast to those who sought to accommodate the Franciscan movement to the greater comforts and stability of academic and cultural life.
“Do not be upset that in the beginning, friars were simple and unlettered. This ought rather to strengthen your faith in the order. For I acknowledge before God that what made me love the life of the blessed Francis so much was the fact that it resembled the beginning and growth of the Church. As the Church began with simple fishermen and afterward developed to include renowned and skilled doctors, so you will see it to be in the case of the Order of Blessed Francis. In this way, God shows that it was not founded by the prudence of men, but by Christ.”
Bonaventure believed that, regardless of how much we grow intellectually, our faith is incomplete if we are cut off from the wellsprings of the simple Galilean and his apostles. Theology without experiencing God’s presence is harsh and uninspiring. This was true in the 13th century, and it is true for us today. Without love and grace, even our most erudite theological reflections cannot transform our lives and enable us to face life’s challenges and tragedies with hope and faith. Bonaventure shows us that the way of Francis provides a path to live out Christ’s spirituality of simplicity and compassion in our time and place.
Bonaventure entered the Franciscan Order in 1243, in his mid-20s, under the direction of Alexander of Hales. In Franciscanism, the intellectual Bonaventure found a path for the heart. Pope Sixtus IV affirmed that Bonaventure was “great in learning, but no less great in humility and holiness. His innocence and dove-like simplicity were such that Alexander of Hales, the renowned doctor whose disciple Bonaventure became, used to say of him that it seemed as if Adam had never sinned in him.”
Bonaventure progressed in the Franciscan Order and was appointed its chief minister and spiritual leader at age 40. As minister general, Bonaventure sought to maintain the spirit of Francis while ensuring the long-term health and survival of the order. He gracefully accomplished the difficult tasks of any administrator by being open to new ideas and fresh ways of seeing things, promoting changes to suit the demands of the times, and including friars as professors and domestics rather than just wandering preachers, yet honoring and preserving the foundational spirit that gave birth to the tradition.
In my professional life as a seminary and university administrator, I have discovered, like Bonaventure, that healthy institutional life involves the creative synthesis of order and novelty, tradition and transformation, stability and change. A good administrator must preserve the wellsprings of the institution—in this case, the simpli-city of Francis and his mendicant lifestyle, committed to holy poverty—while supporting the growth of academic ministry attached to a particular institution.
In his mid-50s, Bonaventure was appointed cardinal-bishop of Lyons by Pope Gregory X and asked to prepare for the Second Council of Lyons. The year was 1273.
The council intended to reform the Western Church and integrate its various forms of ministry, ranging from the unsettledness and poverty of wandering friars to the relative stability and comfort of the secular clergy.
Bonaventure also tried to heal the divisions between the Roman and Greek Churches. Although he and others nearly reconciled the Catholic and Orthodox communions, the quest for Christian unity eventually failed due to theological disagreements that still exist today.
During the council, Bonaventure passed away. Some suggest that he died as a result of the stress involved in securing Christian unity. Others believe that he died of the plague, while some suspect that he was poisoned, perhaps by those who preferred schism to unity and the love of power to the power of love. He was praised by Orthodox and Catholic leaders, however, and Pope Sixtus IV canonized him in 1482. Bonaventure’s feast day is July 15.
In 1588, Bonaventure was given the title Doctor Seraphicus (the Seraphic Doctor). Christ appeared as a seraph to Francis when he received the stigmata on Mount La Verna. Therefore, it is also fitting to use this term to describe the soaring mysticism of Bonaventure, who believed that Christ was his ever-present companion, healing him as a child through Francis, revealing his glory at La Verna, and guiding him as a spiritual leader and administrator.
A Theologian for Our Time
Theological reflection is not restricted to academic scholars or ordained ministers. Healthy theology, grounded in our concrete experiences of God’s presence in worship, work, and daily life, helps us to experience God’s guidance and provides hope in times of challenge. Bonaventure’s writings give counsel and direction for 21st-century people seeking to follow Christ’s way. The Seraphic Doctor believed that God is a fountain of love flowing through the world—and, therefore, through our lives.
Bonaventure experienced God’s love as revealed in the humility and suffering of Christ, whose cross enables us to experience God’s companionship and the power to change our lives. Bonaventure wanted to share the Franciscan experience of intimacy with God not only with monks and priests but with “ordinary” people who can embody this same love in the spiritual integration of head, heart, and hands.
Saint Bonaventure: Mary as Queen; Queenship of
Mary: Royal Dignity of the Blessed Virgin Mary
The Blessed Virgin Mary is the Mother of the great
King by reason of a noble kind of conception according to the message given her
by the Angel. "Behold," he said, "thou shalt conceive and shall
bring forth a Son"; and again, "The Lord God will give Him the throne
of David His father, and He shall be king over the house of Jacob forever; and
of His kingdom there shall be no end." This is as if to say in so many
words, "Thou shalt conceive and bear a Son who is King, eternally reigning
on the royal throne, and because of this thou wilt reign as the Mother of the
King, and as Queen thou wilt be seated on the royal throne." For if it
becomes a son to give honor to his mother, it is also fitting that he share his
royal throne with her; and so the Virgin Mary, because she conceived Him on
whose thigh was written, "King of kings and Lord of lords," was Queen
not only of earth but also of heaven as soon as she conceived the Son of God.
This is indicated in the Apocalypse where it says, "A great sign appeared
in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon was under her feet, and
upon her head a crown of twelve stars."
Mary the Queen outshines all others in glory, as
the Prophet clearly shows in the Psalm which particularly concerns Christ and
the Virgin Mary. It first says of Christ, "Thy throne, O God, stands
forever and ever," and shortly thereafter of the Virgin, "The queen
takes her place at Thy right hand," that is, in the position of highest
blessedness, for it refers to glory of soul. The Psalm continues, "In
garments of gold," by which is meant the clothing of glorious immortality
which was proper to the Virgin in her Assumption. For it could not be that the
garment that clothed Christ, the garment completely sanctified on earth by the
incarnate Word, should be the food of worms. As it was fitting for Christ to
grant the fullness of grace to His Mother at her Conception, so it was fitting
that He grant her the fullness of glory at her Assumption. And so, we are to
hold that the Virgin, glorious in soul and body, is enthroned next to her Son.
Mary the
Queen is also the distributor of grace. This is indicated in the book of Esther
in the passage, "The little spring which grew into a river and was turned
into a light and into the sun." The Virgin Mary, under the type of Esther,
is compared to the out- pouring of a spring and of light, because of the
diffusion of graces for two uses, that is, for action and for contemplation.
For the grace of God, which is a healing for the human race, descends to us
through her as if through an aqueduct, since the dispensing of grace is
attributed to the Virgin not as to its beginning, but because of her position
through merit. By position the Virgin Mary is a most excellent Queen towards
her people: she obtains forgiveness, overcomes strife, distributes grace; and
thereby she leads them to glory.
Beatitude and the reward of the Saints in Heaven consist in the clear, immediate knowledge of the Divinity and the full happiness it brings. In this vision a person sees together the entire Holy Trinity with his sight full of glory because the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost are one only essence, the one same God, the same sovereign good that the person enjoys.
Blessed Denis (1402-1471)
Now then, this beatific vision is ineffable in its joy and sweetness, and it completely fulfills, completes and satisfies all the desires of the Saints. For this reason, the Prophet speaking of God writes: “Only the sight of Thy Face will inebriate me with joy for Thou will make those at Thy right hand enjoy endless delights. I will be satiated for I will be able to contemplate Thy glory.”
In effect, the more a thing is superior in effect and excellence, the more we feel the happiness of clearly possessing it, above all if we love its presence and fervently desire it. Now, God is the infinite beauty. Or, better said: by His essence He is invariable beauty; moreover, He is beauty that never ends, most pure, brilliant, complete and agreeable; the original beauty whence comes all the beauty of the creatures – all infinitely far from His – emanating as from a fountain.
The more a thing is superior to us in beauty and excellence, the more we feel the joy of definitively possessing it.
What is more beautiful than the truth? God is truth itself. What is more pure than sanctity? God is sanctity itself. What is more luminous than wisdom? God is wisdom itself.
God is the first truth that subsists of itself, the eternal sanctity that never ends and the fountain of wisdom that cannot be measured or dimmed in its effusion. He is, therefore, truly, essentially and incomparably beautiful and most amiable in Himself.
We also say that the Saints in the Celestial Kingdom love God most ardently. This is why they contemplate Him, as in a delirium of inexpressible joy, all the greater since they no longer desire anything else.
It is certain that when we see goodness, perfection and sweetness in a person, we appreciate him more. Now, God is the sovereign goodness, the immense sweetness and the complete perfection; He is all treasures, all richness and all delights joined together in an infinite degree.
Then, what delight in possessing this infinite joy, this divine goodness, enjoying them through the clear knowledge of the beatific vision! Doubtless this is the sweetest and most joyous banquet! It is the sacred banquet where the Divinity and the Eternal Trinity become food for men!
Comments of Prof. Plinio:
The Saints know God with all clarity and immediately, that is, not through an image, idea or other intermediary thing, but straightforwardly. This knowledge is delightful; it is a thing that fills the Saints with pleasure.
The Saints in Heaven enjoy the Beatific Vision
In the beatific vision they see the very essence of God in a most clear way and without any veil.
He who contemplates the essence of God sees in the same gaze the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost because They constitute the One and Triune essence of God. This knowledge is the delight of all delights, the joy of all joys.
To explain why the Saints have this enormous joy in the contemplation of God face-to-face, Blessed Denis uses a very profound principle that can be verified by our own immediate experience.
For example, each one of you who sees this table in front of me, considers how beautiful its feet are, how its wood is solid and good, and how it fulfills its final end has a sensation of enjoyment. It is because of the general principle that Blessed Denis enunciates: “The more a thing is superior to us in beauty and excellence, the greater is the joy we feel in possessing it directly.”
If someone comes to us and says: “Look, behind that screen there is a marvelous stone that shines with a unique brilliance, exuding marvelous lights, etc.” When he pauses in his eulogy, we normally would say to him: “Why do you not just remove this screen and let us see the stone directly?”
This is a natural reaction, for the contemplation of something very superior in beauty attracts our curiosity, our desire to know it directly, and when we know it, we are filled with a great sense of well-being in our soul.
Angels trumpet the glory of the Divine Trinity
Now, God is a Being of a beauty, perfection and excellence that is unmatched by any precious stone. The result is that the direct knowledge of Him is for us extremely delicious and marvelous and gives us an extraordinary happiness.
At a certain point Blessed Denis the Carthusian says that the Saints have a kind of delirium of joy. The delirium he speaks of here is not the earthly state of a man who has a fever, becomes semi-crazy and enters into a delirium saying things that make no sense. There is no disorder in the delirium of which he speaks.
Man has in his nature a tendency toward the plenitude of happiness. He desires a happiness that is, so to speak, greater than himself, that fills him completely with joy and brings him to the very height of his enthusiasm.
This sort of insatiability makes us always desire more, always more, without ever stopping. We shall satisfy this insatiability and have this joy without end when we shall see God face-to-face. It is a kind of apotheosis of admiration and enthusiasm, without tedium and always restful, that we will have for all eternity. What tires in enthusiasm is the stress it brings. What tires in rest is its lack of enthusiasm. This is part of our human weakness.
In this valley of tears what is grand raises our enthusiasm and then tires us. God created the small beautiful things to make us admire them when we are tired of the grand. It is the delight of the small thing that allows us not to lose the taste for the marvelous. So, among the flowers, we have the grandiose and solemn rose and the splendorous and exotic orchid; but then we have the forget-me-not to rest us. “What a beautiful small little thing,” we say.
An excellent exercise: to consider the gaze of Our Lord Jesus Christ
An analogous thing occurs with respect to our rest. A man stops to rest for a while – What a delight! Then, the rest continues, and goes on and on... in the end he can no longer bear it. Its mediocrity and emptiness become unbearable.
In our human state there is an opposition between enthusiasm and rest. But in contemplating God, we will be perpetually at the very height of our enthusiasm and the summit of our rest. Blessed Denis then goes on to describe the infinite goodness, sweetness and perfection that are in God.
For us to make a good meditation, we should not to think only on God the Father, but also on Our Lord Jesus Christ, and try to imagine, based on the Holy Shroud of Turin, how He had all these qualities. If we could look at Him in His humanity, His divinity would reveal itself. In a certain way, we could see all these qualities in Him.
For example, a thing that I like to imagine is the many gazes of Our Lord. I would like to know His gazes: He returns home after a journey and looks at Our Lady. What would that gaze be? What would be His gaze as a boy looking at Her to express something without speaking? His gaze at St. John when the Apostle rested his head over His chest? His gaze at the Apostles sleeping at the Garden of Gethsemane? His final gaze from the Cross? His gaze after He resurrected? His last gaze at men before His ascension into Heaven.
I have the impression that if Our Lord were to condescend to gaze at us, it would be such a great delight for our souls that we would want to spend all eternity contemplating those eyes. Nothing else would be necessary. If we could know those gazes it would not be the beatific vision, but it would be the most accessible idea of the beatific vision we could have.
I suggest that you think about the gazes of Our Lord.
A reading from the writings of Eric Lionel Mascall
Mary is our mother, because we are members of her
Son, because we have, not just metaphorically, but really, been adopted into
him. By our baptism we have been incorporated into the human nature which he
took from her and which still continues to exists in its ascended glory. If
Christ had ceased to be man at his ascension — and it is to be feared that only
too many Christians unreflectively assume that he did — then Mary would have
ceased to be his mother, our incorporation into him would be a mere fiction,
and so would our relation to him. But the Catholic doctrine of the Incarnation
declares that the eternal Son of God, who at one moment in the world’s history
took human nature in the womb of Blessed Mary, is, in that human nature, man
for evermore. […] Mary is the mother of Jesus and of those who are incorporated
into him, the mother of the Church which is his Mystical Body and which,
because a man and his bride are one flesh, is also Christ’s bride.
The Incarnation took place at the Annunciation,
when in response to Mary’s Fiat, the Word was made very man in her womb. But
the further fact of her relation to the Church and its members had to wait for
the Ascension and for the descent of the Spirit at Pentecost, when the Church,
whose archetypal substance already existed in the manhood of Jesus, was fully
and visibly constituted in power. In the Ascension the Lord’s human nature was
withdrawn from human sight and touch. From then until Pentecost the apostolic
group was the Church in expectancy and potentiality, awaiting its activation by
the Spirit and the communication to it of the full reality of Christ’s manhood.
When the Spirit descended in tongues of fire, it
was to make the waiting group into the mystical Body of Christ in a way
analogous to that in which the descent of the Spirit upon Mary at her
Annunciation had formed the natural body of Christ in her womb. Nevertheless,
although the Mystical Body came into being by this new descent of the Spirit,
there was not a new incarnation, Christ was not becoming man a second time, he
was not assuming a new nature; the human nature which he had taken from his
mother, in which he had died for our sins and risen again for our
justification, was being made present under a new mode. There are not, strictly
speaking, two bodies of Christ, a natural and a mystical, but one body of
Christ which is manifested in two forms.
Nor does the story end here, for that part of the
Mystical Body which is on earth needs to be continually nourished and
sustained, as Christ’s natural body did before its glorification. It is through
the Eucharistic Body of the Blessed Sacrament that this takes place. Here
again, there is not a new incarnation, but in the Eucharist the human nature
which Christ took from his mother is made present in yet another form, a form
through which that part of the Mystical Body which is still in via on earth is repeatedly
sustained and renewed.
In all these modes of manifestation, the human
nature of Christ is the human nature which he took from Mary. The descent of
the Holy Spirit on Mary at the Annunciation first formed it, the descent of the
Holy Spirit upon the Apostles at Pentecost released it, so to speak, in the
world as the Mystical Body of the Church, and the descent of the Holy Spirit
upon the Eucharistic elements brings it to us as the Sacramental Body.
But in all these manifestations and expressions,
it is one and the same Body, the Body which was formed in Mary’s womb, and so
when we return from the Altar, having received the sacramental Body of Christ
and having thereby been received more firmly into his Mystical Body, we can say
with a new emphasis the words that, in the Genesis story, Adam said after he
had tasted the food given him by the first Eve: ‘The woman gave me, and I did
eat’ (Gen 3:12).
For it is the very body, the human nature, which
Christ took from his mother, on which we are fed in the Holy Eucharist.
And Jesus and his members are one Body, the Whole
Christ, and Mary is his mother and theirs.
Sunday, April 6, 2025
Bede: Homily 1: 16
It is no great thing for the Lord to say the name
of any man or of his father, since he holds the names of all the saints
inscribed in heaven.But since he was
about to bestow upon the disciple a name more sublime in merit, and since he
was about to give him an identifying name which would be fitting for the head
of the whole Church, he first wished to show that even the [name] which he had
received from his parents did not lack signification regarding virtue. Simon
means 'obedient,' and John means 'the grace of God'. You are Simon, son of
John' — 'You are the obedient son of God's grace'. And rightly is he called by
a name [meaning] obedience, since first he took care to [come to] see the Lord
as soon as Andrew invited him; and later, when the Lord himself called him to
discipleship together with Andrew, whom [the Lord] called at the same time, he
did not put off following him immediately, but left behind the nets which he
made his living by using. Andrew's name too carries with it a true image of his
mind. For the Greek 'Andrew' means 'manly' in Latin. By willingly following the
Lord, either at John's preaching
or at the order of the Lord himself, he shows that
he belonged to the heritageof those who
boldly despise temporal possessions out of love for eternal things an who
believe that they will see the good things of the Lord in the land of the
living.
It is no great thing for the Lord to say the name of any man or of his father, since he holds the names of all the saints inscribed in heaven. But since he was about to bestow upon the disciple a name more sublime in merit, and since he was about to give him an identifying name which would be fitting for the head of the whole Church, he first wished to show that even the [name] which he had received from his parents did not lack signification regarding virtue. Simon means 'obedient,' and John means 'the grace of God'. You are Simon, son of John' — 'You are the obedient son of God's grace'. And rightly is he called by a name [meaning] obedience, since first he took care to [come to] see the Lord as soon as Andrew invited him; and later, when the Lord himself called him to discipleship together with Andrew, whom [the Lord] called at the same time, he did not put off following him immediately, but left behind the nets which he made his living by using. Andrew's name too carries with it a true image of his mind. For the Greek 'Andrew' means 'manly' in Latin. By willingly following the Lord, either at John's preaching
or at the order of the Lord himself, he shows that he belonged to the heritage of those who boldly despise temporal possessions out of love for eternal things an who believe that they will see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living.
Instruction of St. Robert Bellarmine: The
mysterious wisdom of divine government
The depth of divine wisdom shines in the
providence, predestination and judgements of God. First it is admirable,
because it governs all created things without any intermediary, and so directs
them to their end. He that made great and little alike, cares alike for all,
says scripture. There is no exception: not a sparrow falls to the ground
without the permission of God, as the Savior says. And it is not only actual
beings which are each individually the object of the care of God's Providence,
but bold is her sweep from world's end to world's end, and everywhere her
gracious ordering manifests itself. If God is the King of all ages, it is
because he, Creator of time, has established from all eternity the succession
of kingdoms, the alternation and diversity of epochs. Nothing can be to God a
novelty, a surprise, something unthought of. So hesitating our human thoughts,
so hazardous our conjectures, the Wise man says, since the future deceives all
our conjectures; but God sees the future as certainly as the past and present
and therefore is infallible in the decrees of his Providence, as our holy
Mother, the Church, does not hesitate to chant solemnly.But the order of this Providence is the most
hidden thing in the world and his judgements are like the deep sea, from which
it comes to pass that some, seeing evil so common among men and so often going
unpunished, fall headlong into the ruinous mistake of believing either that
human affairs are not governed by God, or that God wills the evil; a twofold
blasphemy. Men are misled into this error by their seeing only one part of the
plan of God, the other part being inaccessible; whereas they ought to wait for
the result of all history and the general manifestation which will be made at
the last Judgement ; they judge rashly too and this leads them to fall into
great errors.
However, unfathomable as may be the divine secrets
as to the temporal lot of man, far deeper still are the reasons for man's
predestination and eternal reprobation. For why God fills many of the wicked
with temporal goods and leaves their sins unpunished in this life; why on the
contrary he allows many innocent people to be in want, unjustly troubled,
sorely tried and given over to death, we cannot search out in detail, but it is
possible to assign with probability some general cause. When God gives the wicked
temporalgoods in abundance, he rewards
them for what they have done well,though he will not give them a reward in eternity, or else he seeks, by
means of temporal benefits, to convert them by the hope of eternal blessings;
and if he does not punish their sins it is because they will be amply punished
in hell. As for the just, he uses poverty, shame and trials to purify them, or
to render their crowns more glorious which they will receive in heaven for
their patience and their humility, and all their merits.
But why God loved Jacob and hated Esau2 before
they had done either good or evil, who can tell? Who can fathom this mystery?
Who will not remain astonished before a man who, after long perseverance in
good works and at the end of life, failed and perished like Judas, while an
evil-doer, not less persevering in evil, was converted just before he died and
stole Paradise, like the good thief? Who can explain why God takes some to
himself suddenly, like Enoch, whom he wishes to keep from evil, while he lets
so many others fall into sin and die therein?
All that we are allowed to know is that with God
there is no trace of injustice and at the last day there will not be found
anyone who cannot make his own these words of the Psalmist: Thou art just, O
Lord, and just is thy judgement. Moreover, this secrecy is profitable to us
all, for it hinders both the wicked from despairing of salvation and the just
from presuming on it, thinking themselves secure; also good men should not be
hopeless about the conversion of the impenitent, but pray for all, carefully seeking
the salvation of all men; and again, in his ignorance of the morrow, no one can
presume on his strength, however perfect, however holy he may be, but all are
led to work out their salvation in fear and trembling.
Vespers, first and second
Sundays in Lent: Gernot B. Wieland, The Canterbury Hymnal
YMNUS
AD VESPERAM
SIC
TER QUATERNIS TRAHITUR
horis
dies ad vesperum,
occasum
sol pronuntians
noctis redire tempora.
nos ergo signo domini
tutemus claustra pectorum,
ne serpens ille callidus
intrandi temptet aditum
sed armis pudicitie
mens
fulta vigil libere
sobrietare
comite
hostem
repellat inprobum.
sed
nec ciborum crapula
tandem
distentet corpora,
ne
vi per sompnum animam
glorificatam
pulluat.
Gloria
tibi, trinitas
Thus, in three times four hours day is dragged into evening, the sun announces its
setting, the time of night returns. Therefore, let us guard the enclosure of
the hearts with the sign of the Lord lest that crafty serpent should try to
enter. But let the vigilant mind freely depend on the weapons of modesty and
with its companion, sobriety, repel the wicked enemy. But may the drunkenness of food not bloat our
bodies lest by force it should pollute the glory-filled soul.
Thursday, April 3, 2025
Guigo II the Carthusian: The Ladder of Monks
The indescribable sweetness of the blessed life,
is sought through reading, found in meditation, asked for in prayer and savored
in contemplation. This is precisely what the Lord says: Search, and you will find;
knock, and the door will be opened for you" (Mt 7:7). Seek by reading, and
you will find by meditating. Knock by praying, and you will enter by
contemplating. I would like to say that reading brings the substantial food to
the mouth; meditation grinds and chews it; prayer tastes it, and contemplation
is the sweetness itself that delights and restores. Reading keeps to the rind,
meditation enters into the marrow, prayer expresses the desire, but
contemplation takes pleasure in savoring the sweetness obtained.
St.
Thomas Aquinas: CHRIST HAD TO BE TEMPTED IN THE DESERT He was in the desert
forty days and forty nights : and was tempted by Satan. Mark i. 13.
It was by
Christ’s own will that he was exposed to the temptation by the devil, as it was
also by his own will that he was exposed to be slain by the limbs of the devil.
Had He not so willed, the devil would never have dared to approach him.
The devil is always more disposed to attack those
who are alone, because, as is said in Sacred Scripture, If a man shall prevail
against one, two shall withstand him easily (Eccles. iv. 12). That is why
Christ went out into the desert, as one going out to a battle-ground, that
there he might be tempted by the devil. Whereupon St. Ambrose says that Christ
went into the desert for the express purpose of provoking the devil. For unless
the devil had fought, Christ would never have overcome him for me.
St. Ambrose gives other reasons too. He says that
Christ chose the desert as the place to be tempted for a hidden reason, namely
that he might free from his exile Adam who, from Paradise, was driven into the
desert; and again, that he did it for a reason in which there is no mystery,
namely to show us that the devil envies those who are tending towards a better
life.
We say with St. Chrysostom that Christ exposed
himself to the temptation because the devil most of all tempts those whom he
sees alone. So, in the very beginning of things he tempted the woman, when he
found her away from her husband. It does not however follow from this that a
man ought to throw himself into any occasion of temptation that presents
itself. Occasions of temptation are of two kinds. One kind arises from man s
own action, when, for example, man himself goes near to sin, not avoiding the
occasion of sin. That such occasions are to be avoided we know, and Holy
Scripture reminds us of it. Stay not in any part of the country round about
Sodom (Gen. xix. 17). The second kind of occasion arises from the devil’s
constant envy of those who are tending to better things, as St. Ambrose says,
and this occasion of temptation is not one we must avoid. So, according to St.
John Chrysostom, not only Christ was led into the desert by the Holy Ghost, but
all the children of God who possess the Holy Ghost are led in like manner. For
God s children are never con tent to sit down with idle hands, but the Holy
Ghost ever urges them to undertake for God some great work. And this, as far as
the devil is concerned, is to go into the desert, for in the desert there is
none of that wickedness which is the devil s delight. Every good work is as it
were a desert to the eye of the world and of our flesh, for good works are
contrary to the desire of the world and of our flesh.
To give the devil such an opportunity of
temptation as this is not dangerous, for it is much more the inspiration of the
Holy Ghost, who is the promoter of every perfect work, that prompts us than the
working of the devil who hates them all.
Dom Hubert van Zeller: THE PRAYER OF PETITION (We
Die Standing Up)
It is very easy to become snobbish in prayer and
look down upon asking God for things. St. Thomas gives the lie to this attitude
of mind when he defines prayer as "an activity of the practical intellect
chiefly consisting in petition". He is not talking here of contemplation,
nor is there any discussion as to what is the highest form that prayer can
take. He is merely saying that when you get down to it prayer is asking. And
when you think of it—as when you think of most of St. Thomas's startling
statements—it must be. Prayer is the human mind looking for something in the
direction where it knows that something to be. Even if the soul is only
exposing its miseries there is the implied cry for help. And this is asking. If
it is expressing sorrow for sin there is the implied cry for pardon. Gratitude
and praise are perhaps the most selfless forms of prayer, but even here we are
asking God to listen.
Another form of snobbishness in prayer is shown in
the idea that when asking for things we are necessarily displaying too much
activity for the requirements of pure prayer. This is of course sheer rubbish.
For one thing the activity of suffering, or delighting, or sneezing, doesn't
interfere with pure prayer, so why should praying? For another thing, except in
the case of certain supernatural states of prayer, activity of some sort is
essential. Read again the definition of St. Thomas quoted above. The same
saint, in another place, calls prayer "an activity of the virtue of
religion". It is bustle, not activity, that militates against the serenity
required for interior prayer, and then only the kind of bustle that is admitted
in the will. If all operation were to cease there would be no response to the
action of grace, there would be no expression of the virtue of religion. The
very word "ex-pression" connotes a going out, a pro-pulsion towards
something.
Not only is prayer an activity of religion but it
is, because it regards God directly, the best act. It is higher than the act of
charity towards one's neighbor because it is the expression of one's charity
towards Cod. Consequently, any act performed prayerfully—whether related to one
of the virtues or not—becomes an act of virtue. Recreations, undertakings,
human relationships—not to mention the more obvious things like sufferings,
misunderstandings, loneliness and doubt— acquire a sacred character under the
cover of prayer. Caussade's illuminating phrase "the sacrament of the
present moment" means precisely this. The human will directed towards God,
recognizing its dependence upon Cod, intent upon performing all that the
perfect service of God involves . . . this, although it be wordless, is the
attitude of mind which we associate with perfect prayer. And who would say that
petition was not compatible with such a disposition?
Unless the place of petition is allowed and even
assured in all but the purely passive and extraordinary prayers there is the
danger of divorcing prayer from life. The mistake is common enough of thinking
that prayer is a thing apart, a sanctifying exercise to be tacked on to
everyday existence but in no way related to the course and character of every
happening. The function of prayer is not primarily to help in the ordering of
our lives. Its primary function is to give glory to Cod. But the more it is part
of our lives the better.
There is this also to be considered, that where
other activities of religion may express one or other of its virtues, prayer
—in its most generous form at any rate—expresses them all. To service, to
justice, to penance there is in prayer the added and all blessed quality of
love. Who ever heard of a love that was too proud to ask?
The saints? Did they ask for things from God?
Certainly, they did, that is why people asked them for their prayers. That is
why we ask them now to pray whenever we want anything. Ah, you will say, but
that is different: they may have asked on behalf of others but surely it is
unworthy to think of them as asking for what they themselves wanted. Not at
all. They asked for what they wanted most, but then what they wanted most was
not what we want most: they asked for Cod's will. They hungered for more and
more and more of God.
And what is more, they got what they wanted.
Following their lead and the Gospel injunction we can, in our prayer, do worse
than "seek first the Kingdom of God", and we shall find that all
these things which we ask for shall be added to us. All these things? Why not,
if they are things which are to our soul's health?
"Ask of the gods," says Socrates,
"only for good things." This is sound enough as far as it goes.
Christ goes farther than Socrates. "Ask for anything in my name,"
says Christ, "and it shall be given to you." Anything. But
particularly for the Father's will. Anyway ask.
