If you are looking for my blog titled, The Contemplative Catholic Convert, you are at the right spot.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

What Shall We Do?

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness . . . [and] they are without excuse. For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools . . . .  (Romans 1:18-22)

The Babylonian army – God’s instrument of judgment – amassed on the horizon. And I know how Habakkuk must have felt as he watched events unfold before his eyes. The Old Testament prophet lived at a time when rebellious priests soothed the peoples’ conscience, telling them what they wanted to hear: God only demonstrates love, not wrath; mercy, not judgment. God’s commandments were more metaphors and recommendations than requirements of obedience and holiness. They all – leader and laity alike – preferred the wide and broad path of their culture’s changing norms, instead of the narrow path of God’s unchangeable commandments.

And now, God’s patience had run out.

As in Habakkuk’s day, many 21st century religious leaders have become cozy with the culture. From their stunning silence and sometimes their actions, they seem content to shepherd their flock along the wide and broad way, rather than guide them through that narrow gate spoken of by Jesus (See Matthew 7:13-14). They tell their flock what they want to hear: God is a God of love, and not also of wrath; of mercy and not also of judgment. God’s demand for holiness and repentance are metaphors and not ominous warnings of disaster on the impenitent. They proclaim “false and foolish visions, and have not exposed [our] iniquity so as to restore us from captivity” (Lamentations 2:14).

Solomon observed a timeless truth: Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed quickly, therefore the hearts of the sons of men among them are given fully to do evil (Ecclesiastes 8:11). But many of our leaders and laity alike have forgotten that God’s patience does not necessarily mean approval, and His patience is not without limit.

When Israel set its rebellious course, God prepared their judgment. And all Habakkuk could do was watch and wait for disaster to fall: I heard and my inward parts trembled, at the sound my lips quivered. Decay enters my bones, and in my place I tremble. Because I must wait quietly for the day of distress, for the people to arise who will invade us (Habakkuk 3:16).

God does not change. He is the same today as He was when Habakkuk fruitlessly begged his nation to repent and reconcile with God. And unless God’s people – perhaps especially our pastors, priests, deacons, and bishops – take His commandments seriously, we will inevitably find ourselves like Habakkuk, without a choice but to wait for judgment to fall.

But . . . .  these words of promise also remain timeless – and full of hope: [If] My people who are called by My name humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin and will heal their land (2 Chronicles 7:14).

What then shall we do?

Saturday, April 25, 2015

A Faith-Destroying Philosophy

I posted this a few years ago. Nothing has changed, so far as I can tell. So I thought it good to post it again.

In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one (Ephesians 6:16)

I never cease to be amazed at how great a dearth, how great a drought of Bible knowledge there is to be heard on the radio.

Let me give you a recent example. I’m driving home on the 16 going east, trying not to be too bored. I switched on my radio, found the FM band and scanned for something worth listening to.  The dial stopped a time or two on some news station, then a country station, and then a purportedly Christian station where a woman was teaching about prayer. She was saying something about God’s readiness to forgive sins. She quoted 1 John 1:9 to emphasize her point.  I knew the verse from memory: If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

So far, so good. I settled into my bucket seat, checked my side and rearview mirrors, and waited for her to continue. And then she said something that got me talking back to the radio. “You need to ask the Holy Spirit to help you feel forgiven.”

“Excuse me?” I said to the radio. “What did you just say?”

As if she could hear me, she repeated her statement, “Yes, you need to ask the Holy Spirit to help you feel forgiven.”

I was no longer bored. Getting angrier with each thumpity-thump of the tires on the asphalt, I shouted at the radio: “Ask the Holy Spirit to help you feel forgiven? What does feeling forgiven have to do with being forgiven?” I punched the off switch before she had a chance to utter another syllable of her dangerous faith-destroying and wholly fallacious theology. Christian faith is foreign to her appeal to ‘feelings.’ We’re not forgiven because we feel forgiven.  We’re forgiven because God promises complete forgiveness to every penitent, every time.


Does she not realize the logical consequence of her theology? If we need to feel forgiven before we believe we are forgiven then do we need to feel redeemed by Christ’s blood before we are redeemed by His blood? Do we need to feel God loves us before God actually does love us?

To live according to our feelings and not according to faith in God’s promises as set down in Scripture and taught by the Church is a veritable guaranteed recipe for the shipwreck of our faith. Not only will our walk with Christ be subject to day to day variables that affect our emotions – like the weather, our general health, or how well we slept the night before, but much worse, our confidence in God’s promises will evaporate with the first serious test to our faith, like the death of someone close to us, a divorce, a serious injury or illness.

We walk by faith in a faithful God, and not by sight – or feelings (2 Corinthians 5:7). Again, the Holy Spirit teaches us (see Hebrews 11:1) Christian faith is the foundation, the substance , the assurance of things hoped for and the incontrovertible evidence of things not seen.

Or felt.

Note also what the Church teaches about faith and feelings: Since it belongs to the supernatural order, grace escapes our experience and cannot be known except by faith. We cannot therefore rely on our feelings or our works to conclude that we are justified and saved. . . . (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 2005)

And again: Our Lord tied the forgiveness of sins to faith (my emphasis) and Baptism: "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation. He who believes and is baptized will be saved" . . . . (Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 977).

Note how the Church focuses on faith, not feelings.

Perhaps, and I am only guessing here, perhaps the reason some people –  including radio teachers of ‘theology’ – focus so much attention of feelings instead of faith is because  while faith depends first and foremost on the grace of God, maturing faith is a function of a broad familiarity with the Scriptures. “Faith,” St. Paul wrote to the church at Rome, “comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17). But developing that kind of comfort level with Scriptures takes time. And effort. And perseverance. Lazing back into the comfortable bosom of feelings doesn’t require any of that hard stuff.

Jesus cautioned, “The way is wide and easy that leads to destruction. And there are many on that road. On the other hand, the way is narrow and difficult that leads to eternal life. Not so many choose that road” (my paraphrase of Matthew 7:13-14. See also verse 15).

We ought to all be attentive to the road we are on.

At this point, I wish to remind the reader of my 2+2=1+3 method of Bible reading.  Read two chapters of the OT a day and two chapters of the NT a day (2+2) and you will read the entire OT in one year and the entire NT three times a year (1+3). It takes on average ten minutes to read two chapters -- or twenty minutes a day.

After forty-two years walking with Jesus, I still know of no better way to know Christ.

Friday, April 17, 2015

The Same Error

So, I’m reading in Mark’s gospel where we learn of the Lord's betrayal, capture, and crucifixion. In chapter 14, Jesus said to His disciples: For the Son of Man is to go just as it is written of Him; but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been good for that man if he had not been born” (14:21).

I stopped at that verse and thought of Judas. The betrayer was right there among the disciples when Jesus warned of the consequences of turning against Him.

And then my thoughts took me to chapter 2 in Hebrews. There, the Holy Spirit warns the Church : “. . . we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away from it. For if the word spoken through angels proved unalterable, and every transgression and disobedience received a just penalty, how will we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?” (verses 1-3).

And then again in chapter 10: “For if we go on sinning willfully after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a terrifying expectation of judgment . . . It is a terrifying thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” (verses 26-31)
St. Mark tells us Judas heard every word of the Lord’s warning. Every syllable. But he ignored it.

So let us pray, especially when we come together as the Body of Christ, let us pray for those who hear God’s warning week after week, that they not make the same terrible error and ignore Him.

Friday, April 10, 2015

Lost. And Found

I posted this a few years ago. The story still has value for me. Perhaps it will for you as well.

If I only touch His garment, I will get well (Matthew 9:21)

Before the orderly wheeled my gurney into the operating suite, the physician injected an anesthetic just above my right collarbone. He said my arm would be paralyzed for the next 24 to 36 hours. He also instructed me to take my pain medication that evening, in case the anesthetic wore off sooner.

He was right about the paralysis. When I awoke in the recovery room I had absolutely no feeling in my arm and couldn’t even move my pinky. The disconnect between my arm and brain was so complete, when I touched my fingers with my left hand, it felt as if I was touching another person. I left the hospital with a bulky dressing from my right elbow to wrist, and my arm in a sling. My wife drove me home. Although the paralysis continued into the night. I took my pain medication as ordered and went to bed.

In my semi-drugged state I dozed on and off until around 3:00. Trying to get more comfortable, I shuffled several pillows around my head and arm – and for some inexplicable reason removed my sling. A moment later when I again tried to get more comfortable, my right arm suddenly flew over the side of the bed. I’d forgotten I had no control over it, and a sudden fear of injuring myself swooped over me.

In the dark and in my narcotic-induced haze, I reached for my arm, but couldn’t find it. I searched with my left hand along the mattress and grew frantic that I’d lost my arm. Fortunately, logic subdued my rising panic and I realized if I reached for the place where my arm originates – my shoulder – I could follow it to where my arm should be.  Moments later (and much relieved) I cradled my right arm to my chest and replaced my sling.

Like my experience that early morning in the dark, sometimes life has kicked me so hard in the gut I’ve fallen to the ground gasping for breath. And not satisfied with that, life kicked me again while I was down until I could do nothing but lie there, paralyzed.  Numb.  Darkness overtook me. I felt as if I’d lost direction. Panic worked its talons up toward my throat and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. If not for a glimmer of logic that settled over me, I don’t know where I would have ended up.

That experience reminded me of a critically important principle: When I lose my direction, my confidence, my security . . . when nothing makes sense, that’s the time – like no other time – to reach out, as often as necessary, for the place where hope, direction, and peace originate.

At the feet of Jesus.

Where I always find what I lost.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Squeezing Me to His Chest

I posted this in a few years ago when I first saw the image in my mind.

Having bought a linen cloth, [Joseph of Arimathea] took him down, wrapped him in the linen cloth and laid him in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance to the tomb (Mark 15:46).

My imagination took me to the tomb. I sat against a tree and looked at the massive stone covering the cave's entrance. Several yards in front of me four guards sat around a fire. They joked. Told stories. Passed the time as they waited for the sunrise, and with it another squad of soldiers who would take over the watch so they could get some sleep.

I glanced at the sky. Lots of stars. I pulled a blanket tighter around my shoulders and looked back at the stone.

Then -- all at once, like an explosion -- light burst from around the edges of the boulder and shattered the darkness. The guards scrambled to their feet. One quickly grabbed his sword and held it at the ready. The others grabbed theirs.

And then with my mind's eye I watched the stone slowly roll to the right. I felt the ground groan and shudder under its weight. And I stood up in anticipation.

But as quickly as the light appeared, it vanished. And I watched a man, dressed in a robe -- its glow fading even as I watched -- the man walked from within the cave and stood a few feet beyond the opening. He looked at the guards, and they fell back in terror. They flung their weapons aside and fled toward the trees.

When they were gone, Jesus looked at me. His expression hadn't changed. I could see His face. Still Calm. Gentle. His eyes soft. I wondered why the guards fled.

I watched myself hesitate, and then walk toward Him. As I drew near, I bowed on my knees. It was then I saw His feet beneath the robe. And the scars. I sat on the dirt and stared at them.

And that was when I realized the Lord was bending toward me. In a moment He sat in the dirt in front of me. He took me into His arms, and held me.

And He held me.

And He held me.

Squeezing me into His chest, He held me.

I rested my head on His shoulder, and looked down His back. I could see the scars from the whip that sliced His skin at the whipping post. They covered His neck, shoulders and back as far as I could see down His robe.

Scars that should have been mine.

And I whispered, Jesus, please. Help me love You always.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Lenten Series: The Seventh Word of Jesus

For a more complete review of the last words of Jesus, log onto my YouTube series here: https://youtu.be/fCcC5vBzElE

The last seven words (statements, actually) of Jesus as He hung on Golgotha's cross are among the most encouraging of all Scripture. Here is the last of the seven:

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
(Luke 23:46)

Can the Father be trusted, even in our darkest and most desperate moment? It’s an important question to articulate aloud because doubts course through our minds anyway. And God hears those questions in our thoughts as easily as He hears them from our lips.

Can He be trusted to do what is right and good at all times and in all situations? Jesus answered the question for Himself, for although God from God and Light from Light, Jesus was also at the same time fully man – with all the emotions of any other person. He knew fear, and hunger, and thirst, and grief, and loneliness, and anger . . .  

And pain.

Jesus did not want to die. Three times in the garden He pleaded with the Father, “If it is possible, let this cup pass from Me.”  But in the end, of course, He would do His Father’s will.

Why would He do that? Many reasons, certainly. But one floats now to the top of my mind – because He loved His Father more than His own life. And His love for the Father brought confidence in His goodness, His tenderness, and of His reciprocal love.

“Into Thy hands I commit My spirit.”

Good Friday is good because even as the Father’s beloved Jesus carried that cross to Golgotha, God at the same time demonstrated His love for you and for me in that while we mocked His Son, cursed Him, shook our fist at Him in defiance – the Father watched His Son die for us.

“Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”

What darkness envelopes you today? What sadness, or emptiness, or loneliness, or pain overshadows your soul?  And if not today, then wait a while. Life is full of such things as can tear our soul to its very core. Jesus loved His Father so much that even in His darkest moment He remained confident that the Father’s love was so deep and abiding that nothing – not even death – could separate them. And so Jesus is our preeminent example of what love for the Father can do for us in our dark times. Love for God can generate hope, and hope will never disappoint because God’s love will unfold in our hearts through the Holy Spirit given to us – a love so deep and abiding that we will know, in the very core of our soul, that nothing will separate us.

“Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”

Can God be trusted? What do we think? What will we do?