Laetitia

I will let you in on a little secret: I was terrified at the thought of myself working in a soup kitchen. I was not afraid of the people, or the work, or the place. In fact, even the thought of working in a soup kitchen was not an issue for me as long as someone else, anyone else was working in a soup kitchen. My fear was that of noblesse oblige, that I as a privileged citizen would deem to sacrifice my precious time and pity for those poor unfortunate needy people. Even though I have a viscerally disdainful attitude toward this perspective, I was worried that I would fall into the trap of being the sort of person who misses the dignity of a person in the process of assuaging personal guilt. So I avoided this sort of work. But it was Pat, a Secular Franciscan fraternity member who is as generous as she is wise, who transformed this fear into action. But I am getting ahead of myself.

As I walked toward the soup kitchen, a line from U2’s One swirled in my head as I soaked in the uncanny hush of an early morning New York City: Did you come to play Jesus to the lepers in your head? The old fears were allowing me to build up a handsome wall of excuses until I saw Pat waving brightly at me. She has a disarming way about her. All the old fears were promptly left outside the door as I was ushered into the kitchen to find an apron and gloves to prepare food for our guests.

Do you know how some people can see a process and join right in and help? Well, I cannot. I have the look of a doe caught in the headlights. I need a patient and slow explanation as if I am five years old. Pat tried her level best to explain how to systematically and rapidly assemble cheese sandwiches. And while I kept saying to myself, “You can do this, it is only a cheese sandwich,” the process of double slices of bread, cheese slices and repeat were as comedic as Lucy on the chocolate assembly line. I finished only by the help of others. And as I was finding the joy of working with others on these tasks, I was entirely unprepared for what would happened next.

Our guests came in, sat down, and we served them food. While this seems as ordinary as it gets, it was positively magical for me. I was among people who had no hidden agendas, no secrets, no shame, no pride. They were honest. And because of that honestly they had a humility that was rich. So caught up was I in this humility that I wept inside at the presence of Christ. Indeed, so profound was this experience that when I think of the face of Christ I think of these guests. And as I left the soup kitchen, I left as the leper but with the satisfaction of having embraced the humble love of Christ.

There is something that is haunting about Goya’s Still Life with Sheep’s Head.  When I view this painting, I am reminded of Our Lord’s Passion. The sheep has been slaughtered, butchered, so that the ribs have been cut open. The position of the ribs is such that one side has been put up against the other, forming a cross. The head sits left, and though severed has an eerie quality that suggests that the sheep witnessed its own slaughter.

This witnessing of one’s death is precisely what Christ knew he was doing in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Indeed, realizing that the very people who called themselves apostles would abandon him he says in Matthew:

Then Jesus said to them, “This night all of you will have your faith in me shaken, for it is written: ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be dispersed’; but after I have been raised up, I shall go before you to Galilee.” (Matt 26:31-33)

And yet are we not the sheep? What about our own death and how does this relate to Our Lord’s Passion?

A fraternity member who was a teacher in a public school used to tell her grammar school age students this: we all cry, we all bleed, and we all die.  Jesus, who as St. Paul tells us, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped, humbled himself becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross (Phil. 2:6,8). He cried, he bled, and he died. He humbled himself embracing our humanity so that we might share in his divinity. In that sense, we can unite our sufferings to his. This idea is known as redemptive suffering, that we can participate in the Lord’s death by uniting our suffering to his for a new life in his resurrection.

I cannot be certain Goya intended anything religious in this painting. He was preoccupied with death and how it can sometimes be cruel. And yet, when I see the very vivid image of the sheep I think about how we are united with Christ in his suffering and death so that we may live.  And most profoundly it is worth meditating this Holy Week on the humility of God’s love, becoming human to die with us so that we might live with him in paradise, like the thief who asked to be remembered. Will we be remembered? 

“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…”
MEDITATION XVII
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions
John Donne

Relationships are important and indeed one of the most revered throughout the years has been that of friendship. The Greeks revered philia, a love between friends that in their view was a dispassionate virtuous love. We love friends because we choose to love them and that choice is based upon sound judgment, reason. Christ took this concept further, referring to agape between friends: no greater love than this than a man laying down his life for a friend. Even the Beatles of our time have taken to emphasizing friendship in their song “With a Little Help From My Friends”:

What do I do when my love is away
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do
I feel by the end of the day,
(Are you sad because you’re on your
own?)No, I get by with a little help from my friends

Realizing the importance of friendship, Benet Fonck describes fraternity as an extended friendship. To understand the profound nature of this remark, it worth pausing to reflect upon what we mean by friendship.

If we look at the nature of the Trinity, we can get a glimpse perhaps. Although the trinity is mystery and nearly impenetrable, we can perhaps at the very least say that the trinity is relational. Acting relationally, we might be able to say that it has perfect unity, is co-responsible for one another, and has a common will. We learn from this several things. One is that relationships are important. We learn too that it is important that relationships have a unity, or a wholeness about them. We learn that mutual responsibility ensures the success of the relationship as does its common purpose.

Reflecting on these key characteristics of relationship are valuable, but for this reflection even more so if understood through the Franciscan framework. Francis actually begun alone. He had every intention of remaining as such as a penitent hermit. The encounter with the San Damiano cross, to rebuild the Church, was something he intended to be a new mission that he was do alone in perhaps the model of the Order of Penitents. But, as Francis points out, the Lord gave him brothers.

Once Francis had brothers, he realized the importance of rebuilding together with the help of companions. He also realized that they had to develop a way of life. The call to rebuild required him to preach the Gospel to the world, so the rule of St. Benedict for monks would not work. And while he realized the importance of community, the Augustinian rule would not work because his concept of poverty was radically different. The Augustinian rule held that all goods be held in common for the good of the community, while Francis held that the brothers not own anything of their own. The difference? Collectively the Augustinian rule had a collection of goods owned by the group, whereas the brothers collectively owned nothing. As such, Francis developed a new way of life. Fr. Dominic Monti holds four values that he think differentiates the Franciscan charism:

1. minority (lesser brothers)
2. fraternity
3. eremitical prayer
4. mission

All of these characteristics shed light on the whole of the Franciscan family, which will help us to understand how the Secular Franciscan branch relates.

Indeed the brief remarks on trinity and also on the development of the Franciscan origins help us to understand fraternity as Secular Franciscans. Part of the issue in translation for us is that most, even the friars, are confused as to how we fit into the family. How do we? As baptized Catholics we all should strive for humility, a sense of community within the Church (i.e. parish), constant prayer, and evangelization. The friars and Poor Clares are removed from the world it thus makes sense that there should be a need for them. As baptized Catholics, why do Secular Franciscans need each other? Such a question either misses the value of the Secular Franciscan fraternity or of the value the general Franciscan mission.

Starting with the latter, it would seem that the question betrays a lack of understanding how the three branches work together. Like the trinity, the three are of one mind and heart, co-responsible, and with the common mission of rebuilding the Church. Indeed the friars rebuild by going from the outside into the world, preaching the Gospel and bringing Christ to the the world. The Poor Clares rebuild by surrounding the Franciscan family with the prayer relationship they have built with Christ through their privilege of poverty. The Secular Franciscans, however, rebuild from within by going outward in prudent witness to the truth of the Gospel. All the branches need each other if any of us are to be successful.

The former part of the question can be answered through examining the mission of the Secular Franciscan Order. The essential ingredient for the success of Secular Franciscans in rebuilding from within is fraternity. We remain in the world in part because we love Christ who is in it. But how do we know love? We know love as we experience love, first from God whose love is gratuitous and then from the relationships around us. Certainly anyone who has had the fortune of having a true friend knows the importance of that kind of love. That kind of love becomes useful for us, as realizing the importance of it (or of any important relationship) we are better able to see Christ in others. Even more important is that encounter with Christ we are in relationship. We in a sense participate in the relationship of the Trinity. Indeed, Secular Franciscan fraternity meetings take on a sacramental quality as Christ is present among us. We can then say that our relationship in fraternity is sacramental. We are then brought back to Benet Fonck’s remark that fraternity is an extended friendship — we extend even the strongest bonds of friendship because together we take on a uniquely Franciscan sacramental quality. Moreover, as we rebuild each other we encounter Christ. And this gives us tremendous credibility with the world. If we cannot love each other, how can they trust us? As the hymn goes, they will know we our Christians by our love. Indeed, they will know we are Secular Franciscans by the way we love in rebuilding the world around us.

There is a danger in Lent of focusing too much on physical suffering of Jesus’ crucifixion. This is an old pre-occupation in the Church that goes back to the early Church fathers Origen and Anselm.

Origen held the “ransom theory of atonement”, while Anselm held fast to “satisfaction atonement”. Both are attempting to answer the meaning of salvation. Origen felt that Jesus’ death was a ransom — that because Adam and Eve had sold humanity to the Satan, only Jesus being both fully human and divine could win humanity back to God. The idea is that as a human he died, so it appeared to trick the devil into giving his humanity. But, as God he was able to conquer death and bring us back to God.

Anselm took issue with crediting the devil with so much. He sees humanity as being stained with sin. Indeed because God’s love is so infinite and gratuitous, human being s could never satisfy repayment to God. Jesus as fully human substitutes for our humanity; because he is also fully divine he is able to properly restore the balance for humanity.

Satisfaction theology developed a linkage between suffering and sin. It developed into a notion that in order for Jesus to take on the sin of humanity, Jesus had to take on proportionate suffering. But how do we know the extent of the suffering?

Attempting to determine just how much suffering can lead to dangerous strains of thought. Indeed I am cautious not take a Gnostic tendency. Taking the view that Christ suffered the most suffering of any human being not only fetishizes the suffering, but also rejects the humanity of Christ. This is not to say that Christ’s death was not immensely painful and violent. We know it was. It is to say then that if we take the view that Christ suffered more than any other human being past, present or future, it diminishes his ability to be human as we are human; it instead makes him to be an uber-mensch son of a sadistic father who will only redeem humanity if his son actualizes the highest potential of pain. It does not allow for Christ to participate in our suffering because his suffering is higher. Such a view denies the love of creation and instead privileges the spirit over the body. The concern here, therefore, is that satisfaction theology can slip into such gnostic tendencies.

Last night I had an interesting encounter with three people: a Muslim store clerk, a fundamentalist Christian woman, and my homeless friend. This was truly an interesting trinity if there ever was one.

I was on my way to do laundry, when my homeless friend said hello. I only had the money on me for laundry, so when he asked for money I had to turn him down. It was an awkward moment since I could see that he was disappointed. Determined not to rationalize my motives, I keep it on the level with him and explained that I truly only had enough for laundry. That was the truth. And as I went off to do laundry I was musing how that truth just didn’t seem to satisfy. Truth as I had defined it was relative. In other words, even if I tried not to rationalize, I did. He deserved better than that. Indeed, more than the money he deserved more dignity than I afforded him. I don’t think I quite grasped that and instead gave him my left over quarters. It was far from generosity and instead was more about assuaging my guilt.

I ran into my friend Erin who needed to head to the corner store. As we entered, a woman and the clerk were in a heated debate about Christ as Messiah. I was drawn like a moth to a flame. Erin wanted nothing to do with it and wisely went about her business. I was content to be merely an onlooker, but the woman would have none of that. She asked me if I was Christian, though she was doubtful. I said I was Catholic. She then thought I would take her side against the Muslim. She was attempting to tell him that in the Hebrew scriptures they explicitly mentioned Jesus as the messiah. When asked, I had to tell her what I perceived to be the truth — they did not mention Jesus as the messiah in the Hebrew scriptures but by our faith as Christians we believe he is the messiah.

Fundamentalist Woman: No, it says the messiah in the Old Testament. And he is telling me that it is not in there.

Me: That’s because it’s not. It never says Jesus was the Messiah in the Old Testament. We learn that from our faith.

Fundamentalist Woman: {condescendingly} Honey, have you read the Bible?

Me: YES, I’ve read the Bible but your issue is one of interpretation. You are interpreting.

Fundamentalist Woman: I’m not interpreting. It’s right there! Tell me, do you think theologians that interpret are unholy people?

Me: Quite the contrary! I think because they look at the scripture critically and take into account its historical context, they are quite holy.

Muslim: See she agrees with me.

Fundamentalist Woman: Well, she isn’t a believer and is not going to be saved with her college educated hoo-
ha.

Erin: F*** you.

Muslim: If you look at the Hebrew scriptures and the Koran, they are more similar than Cristianity. Prophet Jesus got rid of all of the things sacred to a Jew. He got rid of circumcision–

Me: That was Paul.

Muslim: He got rid of kosher –

Me: That was Paul.

Muslim: Said it didn’t matter who followed.

Me: Again, Paul.

Erin: Why are you trying to convert the crazies? I’m out of here.

So Erin left and I tried to leave unsuccessfully. I was a little puzzled and shaken. Here were two people passionate about there faiths and yet it seemed so far from what I knew of God. Of course, I was also condemned. And as I was walking outside, Erin was talking to my homeless friend. As we said hello and good-bye he said with deep sincerity, “God bless you.” I finally go it — he was far closer to God than the fundamentalist woman, the Muslim or myself. It was the singularly ironic moment of this man blessing me and affording me dignity that I could finally see the face and force Christ.

My niece, Emma Elaine was born this past February 22nd. Babies have a way of bringing people together. Indeed, birth is something that everyone can relate to — not because we remember our birth but because we experience being born many times. Indeed we experience birth and death many times in life, both often coming with tears. This too is the genius of baptism. As we die with Christ we become born anew in Christ.

I am thinking now of John the Baptist. I imagine his feelings when Jesus wanted him to baptize him — a grain of sand standing in front of the vast infinity of God. God, that divine and infinite being who IS without a past or a future, took on finitude and mortality. He got bloody, bruised and beaten. He lost. He died.

John as fetus leapt in Elizabeth’s womb as a sign of recognition of Jesus. It is that same recognition that caused John to take pause when Jesus wanted John to baptize him in the Jordan. However, by baptizing Jesus John took part in the relationship of the Trinity. It is that participation in the Trinity that helps us to understand relationship. It helps us to grasp the concept of love. It also helps us to see why God allowed himself to die — love. However, it also because of that love that all creation could become anew. His resurrection conquered sin, just as baptism conquers that original sin.

And I think of all of this in that instant before the baby enters the world and cries.