Judas

It is the Easter season. Wait. Actually, this is a misnomer. Contrary to common perception, the Easter season occurs in the weeks immediately following the resurrection of Christ. How can this be? I do not know. Anyway, to be accurate, it is the Lenten season.

The last week of Lent is traditionally regarded as Holy Week. During this week, each day preceding Easter denotes some historical and religious commemoration. Holy Thursday is no different. Huh? Holy Thursday. A memorial representing the day before Christ's crucifixion. More popularly viewed as the day Jesus shared the Last Supper with his disciples. Though the Last Supper is profoundly significant, a considerable amount of time was alternatively spent reflecting on Judas. What! Yes, I said Judas. That despicable disciple who assisted Roman soldiers and temple guards in the arrest of Jesus (Matthew 26:14-15, 48-49). Of course, we know the details of what happened after his arrest...

I have yet to meet a person who sympathized with the plight of Judas. After all, here was a person who walked side by side with Jesus. He witnessed firsthand the miracles performed. The compassion shared. The love. Yet, for whatever reason, perhaps greed, Judas, through his own malignant initiative, approached the Pharisees and betrayed Jesus for a bag of coins.

Yeah, that was a pretty malicious thing to do. And, of all people, Judas turned on Jesus, Son of man, Son of God. Whoa! Surely, Judas needs to burn in hell, freeze, and then burn some more. Thorn bushes would do well to grow through his body, each subtle movement of limb and breath resulting in a sharp poke. Nothing is too torturous to impose.  Or is it?

Judas was human, just like us. Sure, he had a front row seat to the inception of Christianity. But, by proxy, don't we also have a small window in which to view certain particulars of the same beginnings... the Bible? Looking behind the curtain, there's no doubt that Judas made a selfish, boneheaded choice. Yet, in comparison, haven't you ever experienced your own regrets?

Please understand, I am in no way attempting to justify the catastrophic actions of Judas, but we have all succumbed to poor decision-making. Probably, more than we would care to admit. After all, we are sinners.

Because of the severe tragedy of Christ's death (some Christians do not envision the crucifixion of Jesus as grim, but I do not understand that point of view), Judas has been looked upon egregiously. Understandably so. Nonetheless, I find myself identifying with him. Like Judas, I have mode some horrible, horrible decisions. One in particular will undoubtedly haunt me through eternity (visit my website). Also like Judas, I similarly felt remorse afterwards, on a very grand scale. Remember, once he realized the gravity of his choice, he returned the coins to the priests and Pharisees (Matthew 27:3-40). He wanted nothing to do with what he had set in motion. I, too, would like to revisit the past and take back what I did. Tragically, I cannot.

Living with our choices can sometimes be overwhelming. Judas was so overwrought with guilt that he hung himself. Me? Although I did not commit suicide, I emotionally beat myself. I refused to defend myself. Quite frankly, for years I hated who I was, defining myself by that one single act of malfeasance. Even to this day, twenty-five years later, I continue to struggle with my errors of youth.

That being said, all of this reflection and comparison has caused me to wonder if Judas is being treated (viewed) too hatefully, condemned without due consideration? Doesn't scripture teach us to forgive (Luke 24:46-47)? To love our neighbor (Matthew 23:39)? To help the weak in spirit (1 Corinthians 9:22, 1 Thessalonians 5:14)? Albeit a couple thousand years too late to have any beneficial effect on the mortal life of Judas, but shouldn't we cultivate these intentions of mercy in our hearts? It seems plausible that our intercessions of love would impact his life in a favorable way (cf. 1 Timothy 2:1, 2 Maccabees 12:42-46. Catechism of the Catholic Church 1032)? After all, Judas was obviously repentant, an indication that a sinner is in need of forgiveness (Luke 15:7). Surely, Jesus forgave Judas (Luke 23:34, 24:46-47)?

I don't know about you, but I am admittedly sad for Judas. He could not fix what he had done wrong (we can seldom make amends for our scarlet misdeeds). He is despised, where instead he should be forgiven (1 Peter 3:9). Ultimately, as difficult as this is to say, Judas should be shown love! Isn't that precisely what we want for ourselves...

September 2011

Another Blunder

It was the nineteenth Sunday in ordinary time (the liturgical year is divided into several segments), and what follows are my experiences from Mass that day. By the way, the unusual date reference is an antiquated and complicated method used to express the seventeenth day of August, two thousand eleven. Customs!

Adjacent to my left, the ambo (podium) loomed not far in the distance. It was like a giant tower lying in wait to fall upon my shoulders. With each step closer I became slightly more filled with anxiety. Wobbly legs that felt like jelly (perhaps, pudding). Sweaty and trembling hands. And, a mind that was entertaining thoughts of flight before humiliation. See, I was approaching the ambo to conduct the first reading and responsorial psalm (scriptural passages which signify the beginning of the liturgy). Before committing myself before the assembly, I silently offered a humble prayer that my performance would go without a hitch ... that focus would be on the message, not me or any of my stumbles.

Undoubtedly, this behavior possesses every appearance of being pious and responsible; however, such reverence emerged from a comical lesson (perhaps sacrilegious, depending on your take).

As it so happens, my previous experience of being a lector (one of a couple individuals selected to perform readings) was a car wreck. I had been filled with pride and a little cocky because of my ability to read, speak, and present well. Plus, like this day, I had also spent considerable time preparing: familiarizing myself with the meaning of the story, its cadence, and unfamiliar words. I was confident ... over confidant. Low and behold, as if response to my self-admiration, I was walloped by a force seemingly bigger than my ego. Apparently, God found it necessary to give my smugness a few lumps. Lesson learned, I hope.  Hence, the humble prayer that I emerge from this experience unscathed.

The passage for the first reading was from Kings. The short of this scripture can be compactly summed up by the following: Elijah was hiding in a cave from the wrath of Jezebel when God encouraged this righteous prophet to leave his shelter in order to see the Lord pass by. Abiding God's request, Elijah encountered uncharacteristically harsh environmental conditions. Heavy winds. An earthquake. And, fire. Ultimately, this inclement weather was dismissed. In spite of giving little heed to the intense blowing, shaking earth, and curtain of flame, Elijah associated a mere whispering sound to that of God (1 Kings 19:90, 11-130).

Initially, Elijah's saga did not resonate with me. There was nothing illuminating or exciting in these historical accounts. Big deal! That is, until I read the eight verses from Kings leading up to the passages chosen for the liturgy. Though, the importance of this reading had yet to hit home; I was left wanting. Thus, it was annoyingly obvious that I would need to dig deeper, but procrastination won out. In that it is meant: I knew.... I simply knew that the essence of the first reading would reveal itself prior to Mass if I twiddled my thumbs. Ah, yes, relying on one's laurels, having complete confidence in fancies and whims. Well, as it so happened, my laziness kept me in the dark. This notwithstanding, I did my best to deliver a genuine and impassioned reading. Instead of accepting defeat, I placed more emphasis on time worn and proven edicts. Making eye contact, minding my cadence and not rushing. Simply seeking to maintain a natural feeling. Yet, when returning to my seat, I continued to question the significance of the first reading.  Hopefully I did not convey these doubts to the assembly.

Frustratingly, the relevance of this passage did not register until after the service. Well after. It was not until I backtracked to the beginning of chapter seventeen and poured over what turned out to be an uncharacteristically unknown but epic story that made the text come to life. Oh, how this insight would have assisted greatly in the authenticity of my liturgical delivery. Once again, this revelation has caused me to realize that I was not sufficiently ready. That my actions were little more than mechanical, a trait that I abhor in other people.

Should I be granted the privilege to be a lector again, I hope this failure will remind me to prepare more thoroughly.

August 2011

Breath of God

During the Liturgy of the Eucharist (stated another way, the preparation of the Host), much time is spent kneeling in obeisance. As our chapel employs individual metal chairs in lieu of pews with padded knee rests, we plummet all the way to the floor ... a hard floor. Oh, how I miss those padded thingamabobs on the back of pews. Not only are those buggers six inches off the floor, they are attached to a backrest which doubly functions as a grab hold to aid in getting up and down.

Due to the instability of the chairs (plus, due to space being at a premium, we are smooshed in close proximity to one another), a goodly portion of the assembly elect to remain seated. However, where the greater number of congregants reverently bow their heads with eyes closed during this time, I am usually alert, bug eyed, and observing the priest perform the epiclesis (invoking the power of the Holy Spirit) and anamnesis (preparation of the eucharistic sacrament).

My visual approach is not borne out of disdain. To the contrary. I am in such awe during the gestation of the Holy Sacrament that I feel compelled to watch, to breathe in the energy surrounding transubstantiation. Mind you, at that particular point in the consecration when the words of Christ are spoken, "Take this, all of you. Eat, drink.... " (Matthew 26:26-28, cf. Mark 14:22­24, Luke 22:19-20, John 6:22-58), etiquette suggests that I close my eyes in order to fully immerse myself in the mystery. And, I did.

In like fashion, for reasons that continue to be unclear, I bowed my head with lids clamped tightly shut during the entire narrative of the Last Supper. Interestingly, I experienced that fuzzy, floating, supernatural sensation. You know, like when you first walk into a cathedral or some other holy place, the presence of God can be recognized and immediately permeates every aspect of your person. As it so happened, I had a taste of the Almighty's presence and was eager for more. If that meant bowing my head and closing my eyes, the so be it. In the process ... um, hoping that I would not blindly topple over while on my knees. Through sheer luck, or Divine intervention, I did reconnect. Hallelujah! By happenstance, I remained planted upright too.

As I was kneeling, in my own little spiritual dimension, I felt a wisp of breeze pass by my person. This will sound demented, but I was of the mind that someone donning robes had walked by. Though the priest and deacon were both wearing vestments (which are somewhat similar to a robe, in a convoluted sort of way), it would have been impractical to approach or pass by. Because of where I was kneeling, perhaps impossible.

Being roused from my prayerful state, I could not help but wonder who was in my immediate vicinity. There was no other way to confirm the passerby unless I peeked, requiring me to abandon the battle of wills between curiosity and fighting to remain spiritually focused. Possessing a weak constitution, I peeked. Nothing. Conceding that I may have missed the obvious, I looked around the chapel. Nadda. Everyone was kneeling or seated. Thus, could the light and gentle caress of wind have been....

I know what you are thinking: the sudden movement of air was caused by a door being opened for a congregant to enter or exit. Kudos to you, that is a fair assumption; albeit, misplaced. As it so happens, the door makes a very recognizable sound; of which, there was no such trumpet. Alternatively, perhaps the phantom wind was the result of an open window? That's an admirable inference, but such a deduction won't fly. For starters, the morning was calm. More telling, the windows were not open!

Shortly after Mass concluded, I enthusiastically shared my thoughts with the deacon in training. A smile came across his face as he brought my attention to the theme of this morning's liturgy: the essence of faith and recognizing the presence of God. This became clearer when reflecting on the first reading. God asked Elijah to leave his shelter because the Lord would be passing by. After summarily dismissing heavy winds, an earthquake, and fire as capable transcendental signs, Elijah recognized a tiny whispering sound as that of God (1 Kings 9:190, 11-130).

When the deacon in training so plainly connected these dots, my grin mirrored his.

It's unknown when the Book of Kings was written, but the same God who made a light whispering sound recognizable to Elijah had potentially revealed Himself to me in a passing breeze!

August 2011

Bittersweet

One of the beautiful aspects of praying the rosary is that the exercise creates an opportunity to meditate on various passages in the Bible. What? Yes, I indeed said "passages in the Bible." Plural ... multiple passages. Although the rosary is generally associated with Mary, its reach is much broader. Sure, we recite the Hail Mary and the Our Father (Last Supper). A lot. But, more often than not, we tend to reflect on the mysteries.  There's a bunch of them that fall into several categories: joyful, light, sorrowful, and glorious. Embarrassingly, I have only committed a handful to memory. Hey, I've got a lifetime to grasp them! And should I ever accomplish this feat, there are a slew of other prayers, meditations, and biblical reflections.  The sky is the limit!

Just the other day, while the fellowship was praying the rosary as a collective group, the second glorious mystery drew me in. This particular mystery focuses on the ascension of Christ into heaven (Mark 16:19). The following thoughts were cultivated as a result.

Did Jesus consider his ascension to be bittersweet? On the one hand, he had to be overcome with Joy about returning to heaven. (I can appreciate what it is like to want to return home: the yearnings. desires, dreams, and so forth.) Likewise, he was surely content in the awareness that his goal of teaching us a new and enlightened way to live had been accomplished. Conversely, however, was Jesus disheartened in regard to leaving behind his friends and the many souls that had yet to be saved? (Though I would excitedly return home as if skipping along on Cloud Nine, there would be good people left behind in this environment that would be missed.) Factor in the great efforts spent in winning the faith of others only to ascend back to his heavenly self and watch the church struggle in his physical absence, did Jesus experience some level of grief?

Watching his followers mourn and cope must have been heart wrenching for Jesus. Even now, we continue to fumble about.

August 2011

God's Ear

Every week before the commencement of Mass our Catholic fellowship prays the mysteries of the rosary. As it so happens, I do not know the concluding prayers, which we use to complete the litany. Talk about embarrassing.  This deficiency is through no fault of the individual leading us. No, not at all.

Such negligence is out of laziness on my part. Do not misunderstand, I am completely absorbed in the Marian mysteries. Well, sometimes. There are always those days in which the mind wanders and no matter what one does to focus, the efforts are futile, at least for me. Nonetheless, regardless of how I attempt to disguise my slothfulness, this lack of preparedness still comes down to procrastination.

Even though the rosary prayers are common, such are not familiar. Foreign. I've heard the concluding invocations a hundred times, probably more, but I just haven't taken the time to commit the words to memory. And, at this moment, those prayers are nothing more than a sequence of words. I realize that particular statement comes across as callous and irreverent, but there is much more to a composed litany than memorizing words and phrases. Of greater significance, I prefer to understand what is being prayed before committing myself with an “Amen". Really, can you imagine arriving at the Pearly Gates, or wherever final judgment will take place, and learn for the first time that you absentmindedly subjected yourself to a slew of promises which were never fulfilled ... that you agreed to do this, that, or the other, but instead chose to do something contrary? Ouch.

So, when the meditative sequence is being brought to a close, which takes several minutes, instead of moving my lips and mumbling as though I know the ending words and their inherent importance, I elect to embrace that span of time for my own personal offers of gratitude and petition.

As it so happens, on this particular morning I was in a capricious mood. Fully cognizant of the fact that the rosary is Marian in nature, I thought it would behoove me to ask Mary to intercede on my behalf to Jesus. In other words, to be my intermediary. (No different than asking a friend to pray for you.) Thus. I proceeded to do just that.

For whatever reason, while engaging Mary as my emissary, it dawned on me that the most foolproof way to reach someone or gain their attention is through their mother. Let’s face it; no matter how mature (old) and independent we become, our mothers possess the uncanny ability to know us better than we know ourselves. This string of thought reinforced my occasional reliance on Mary to intercede. Who would know Jesus better!

Nothing too bizarre about these events so for, right? Ha! Remember, I was feeling whimsical ....

While inviting Mary to deliver my petitions to Jesus, an innocent picture unfolded in my mind. Such was a vision (imaginary) of Mary gently grabbing her son by the ear (which mothers are prone to do), his head cocked sideways because she had his full attention and he had no other choice, Jesus or not, while Mary whispered into his ear, “I’m coming to you on behalf of Karl, he is begging for .... " (Please understand, there is no disrespect intended.)

July 2011

Seething Parishioner

For whatever reason, the etiquette prior to the commencement of Mass has been contemptuous. That is, by my accounts. Gossip. Scatterbrained conversation. Restlessness. Nothing that had anything whatsoever to do with reverence towards God. I could be mistaken, but I am of the accord that when an individual enters the inner sanctum of a church, such would be the opportune time to prepare for the beauty of what will undoubtedly present itself. You know, taking advantage of that interval to dispel any anxiety prior to the service. Calming oneself. Ridding the mind of selfish and indulgent thoughts: "Gosh, I could have slept in this morning… the ball game will have started before Mass is over…um, I could be doing anything else."

My senses had been assaulted. Matters could only escalate.

On the one hand, I was in the company of nincompoops lacking veneration. Conversely, I also was confronted with the typical wandering thoughts of my own spiritual journey: Am I doing enough? (No!) Do my prayers pass muster? (I don't know.) Was I in the right frame of mind when executing the Sign of the Cross over my chest? (I hope so.)  The total disregard of my fellow churchgoers had me all jumbled. Yet, I had been cognizant of why I was there. Actually, I was eager to be present. Why? I wanted to worship God in a particular way. Not to socialize or make a grand show, but rather to offer myself.

My immediate thoughts amounted to: Gosh, who was I about to share the Bread of Life with? Where were their hearts? We were about to receive Jesus -- in our thoughts we should be laying prostrate on the ground in a gesture of humility, of unworthiness. Nothing else in that moment should matter, just us and God. Would my connection with Jesus be nullified because dorks were mucking up matters? Would God be disappointed because I had the opportunity to address their lack of gallantry, but instead chose to mire myself in pity and righteousness? And, why ••• why wasn't the Holy Spirit chirping away in their ears to “shut up”?

Normally, I would have walked away from any elevated level of nonsense, but doing so would result in missing out on the reception of the holy sacrament. No way. The Eucharistic celebration is one of the beautiful observances that drew me to Catholicism. Abstaining from such because of a few knuckleheads hardly seemed rational. In turn, perhaps I should have thrown a tantrum and stomped away in a flurry of protest. (Unfortunately, I suspect many would not be the wiser to my absence.) But, and here is a huge proverbial “but”, who am I to judge (Matthew 7:3 NLT, “Why worry about a speck in your friend's eye when you have a log in your own")?

While the priest receives confessions from penitents, the assembly utilizes that window to recite the mysteries of the rosary. Oftentimes the depth of prayer can be hugely intense and thought provoking. But, there are those days when I glean nothing. On Father's Day, for instance, whew, on Father's Day I achieved a level of bitterness not anticipated -- a couple congregates were periodically whispering during the prayer, albeit, at a low whisper. Even so, talk about disturbing. (No pun!) This lack of social grace burned my chaps. It's a wonder that a dark cloud did not descend on us or a bolt of lightening did not seek me out specifically, leaving behind a smoldering pile of ashes where I was seated. Poof! 'Where did Karl go"?  I was livid.

When confessions had finished, the priest entered, donned his vestments, and Mass commenced. However, considering everything that transpired prior to his entrance, I could not seem to focus. Segments of the prayers resonated, but most escaped me. I was so discombobulated that I errantly recited the Lord's Prayer (Last Supper). That was absurd, I have known the sequence of that prayer since being knee high to a grasshopper. I might as well have been speaking in tongues!  Thank the heavens I had studied the readings earlier in the morning; otherwise, I would have missed the message. This is not to say that all went smoothly thereafter. Not at all. To my bewilderment, I blanked out during the homily (sermon).  The words went in one ear and out the other, lost in outer space, floating somewhere in the cosmos.

If you have not figured it out, the lack of solemnity being exhibited was eating away at me. It was easy to understand why Jesus cleared the Temple of malefactors by overturning tables (Matthew 21:12-13). Oh, how I wanted to open the gates to a torrent of chastising words. Though, permitting my vocal expressions to lash out at these individuals would abruptly fly in the face of that whole love your neighbor as you love yourself tenet (Mark 12:31). But, gosh, I could not help but wonder whether it would have been acceptable to look for a loophole. Consider this: if I discontinued loving myself for a few moments, could I not have then justified unleashing the whip of my tongue? In other words, if I didn't love me, there would be no basis in loving them! Okay, okay, I was really grasping at straws, but haven t you ever fancied similar acts of retaliation?

What about rebuking them with Mother Superior's infamous wooden ruler?  Gee whiz, I am beginning to sound like an old, crotchety, fuddy duddy.

Conclusion: In the days which followed, I took time to reflect on the lack of harmony and reverence during Mass. Whether I like it or not, these perceptions are wholly my problem, not theirs.  They are embarking on their own particular journey at a pace that suits them. Possibly on different roads! It is unfair of me to impose my own expectations upon them (no matter how much smoother the universe would be). Quite simply, I need to practice patience, humility, and understanding. Perhaps, I should have gone to confession, too!

June 2011