Recently in Insights Category

I heard an interesting thing the other day. In the Jewish midrash, and in Eastern Christian tradition, it is said that Adam & Eve never sinned again after their expulsion from the garden. Obviously not something to build doctrine on but it is a fascinating commentary on how affected they might have been by the Fall, especially given that most of us sin daily.

A while back I was worked up about some gross wrong which got me thinking about whether it was legitimate to rejoice in the thought of wrongdoers suffering in Hell. Not specific individuals, to be sure, but classes of individuals, say, Islamic terrorists. Of course we are asked to pray for our enemies, and Jesus wills that all men be saved, and forgiveness is essential to Christianity. There is a sense in which we (or, at least, I) get so fixated on the mercy and lovingkindness of God that I feel guilty to get angry with the wicked. But let's face it, those condemned to Hell are justly condemned. Scripture says not to take vengeance not because vengeance is not merited but because God is the only one who can mete it out justly, so when all is said and done and the mercy is exhausted and the graces are spurned, if God does it, can we not rejoice in it? We see the martyrs in Revelation crying out for vengeance, after all.

What I didn't know until more recently is that some saints claim by private revelation (if I am not mistaken) that the angels and saints actually do rejoice when a soul goes to Hell on account of the justice being done. I had never heard this before but I find it intriguing. Naturally being private revelation we can't put too much stock in it but maybe I shouldn't feel quite so guilty when my sense of indignation and justice overflows and I want God to execute vengeance if the persons do not repent (which of course is my first prayer).

This reminds me of the classic question, can we be happy in heaven if our loved ones are not there? I know I have loved ones who have died I was very close to but who seem to have a doubtful destiny. One answer I've come up with is that we will have such a clear appreciation for the true nature of sin and what these people have done (however trifling it seemed while we were on earth) that our affection will turn to repugnance and we will actually want them to be condemned and we will agree with the judgment. (Of course, wanting someone to be condemned then, with perfect knowledge and pure intentions, is very different from wanting on earth someone to be condemned. We should not cultivate here on earth a desire for individuals to be condemned.)

Perhaps it's OK to rejoice in the condemnation of the wicked as long as it remains in the abstract and not in singling out individuals. Any thoughts?

I was at a bible study the other day when an interesting point came up. We were talking about holiness, in particular our own perception of our holiness. I've been grousing recently that I've seen little progress in holiness in my own life; I feel so unholy. The point that was brought up was that the holier we get, the more sensitive we get to defects in holiness. In other words, the more holy we are, the more unholiness we will perceive. Things that we used to do with impunity pierce our consciences. Me, I'm always reproaching myself for being impatient. Even when I'm aware that I am and should not be impatient, I continue being impatient (chiefly while driving). Maybe I should focus on the fact that I correctly perceive impatience as a problem instead of justifying it and feeding it.

Another thing we discussed is that Satan intensifies his attacks against God's holy ones. One problem I struggle with is that I judge my holiness on the basis of my temptations. This is wrong; having a temptation, even an ugly one, does not mean you are less holy; if anything, it is the more holy who are more "worthy" of temptation.

I did have a consolation today that affirmed that I have made substantial progress and should not be discouraged. Not that there isn't a way to go, perhaps a long way, but I have encouragement now.

I saw quite a sight today.

It was a Muslim woman with a headcovering. She also had on tight jeans and a clingy T-Shirt that left little to guess about.

Someone isn't getting the message.

Such inconsistency is certainly present among Christians. It was this very inconsistency that Jesus rebuked the Jews for: Having the outward cultural show of religion but not living according to it from the heart. It is part of the human condition.

Maybe we should examine our own lives and see if there is anything inconsistent about them.

Quick quiz. What is the least depressed nation in the world?

1. U.S.
2. Holland
3. Nigeria
4. Monaco

How about the most depressed, from the same list?

Would it surprise you to learn that Nigeria was the least depressed, and America, the richest country in the world, the most depressed?

If you want the source, see this blog post, cited below:

Why was I not surprised to find that America is the most depressed nation in the world?

A concise report in The Week magazine March 23, 07 discussed an article written by Bret Stephens in the Wall Street Journal concerning various nations and how they rank on the scale of depression.

The study by the World Health Organization and the Harvard Medical School somehow figured out that 9.6 percent of Americans "suffer from depression or bipolar disorder -- the highest rate of the 14 nations surveyed."

The other nations are included in the article, but the least depressed is Nigeria, "a land of desperate poverty, rampant corruption, and violent tribal conflict." It had a score of 0.8 percent. Now if that doesn't give you something to think about.

I heard this from Fr. Benedict Groeschel. Very interesting fact. Somehow, when we try to make life easier and more convenient, life has a way of inflicting new and different sufferings on us. Eastern Christians have an image of the Fall that extends into the world rather than into the self. In other words, in the west the Fall is said to affect the person: the person becomes "damaged goods", so to speak. In the eastern view, it is the world that is fallen. To use an analogy, suppose our life is like a journey, and stumbling is like a sin. The effects of original sin are due to the uneven path we walk on, not due to having damaged legs. Certainly, the western view does not deny that the world is affected by the fall. But the weird interplay of man and world to me seems to evoke the eastern view better — like there is some balance that when we push one way, something else pushes back. The alternative seems to be God actively playing games with us in an adversarial fashion to keep us in check, like he's inflicting depression on us because we are insufficiently punished some other way.

I find that less appealing. It's intriguing, though I haven't taken these thoughts very far.

I was meditating on Job the other day, on account of the Michael Card song "Job Suite", and an interesting thought came to mind about the meaning of suffering.

Scripture says, "'Does Job fear God for nothing?' Satan replied. 'Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land.'" Card puts it even more succinctly, "It's your holy handout his faithfulness buys."

What occurred to me is that if God made everything go well for his believers, they would soon love him for the wrong reasons: They would love him because he blessed them and did well for them, not for who he is. The opportunity to go through suffering (pretty much our whole lives) allows us to show genuine, selfless love for God.

This tells us something about our love for people. Unfortunately a lot of loves in our lives are based in part on what we get out of the other person. Most friendships and marriages work this way, it seems to me. Not that there aren't moments when we can show pure and genuine love for our spouses (or friends) but wouldn't it seem that most of the time our motives would largely be mixed?

I dunno, maybe this is why the church has historically placed so much more of an emphasis on apostolic love (say of religious taking care of the poor and sick, etc.) over married love. Your motives are purer when you embrace someone unpleasant and difficult who you may never see again versus someone for whom you have great affection who gives you pleasure.

If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:46-48)

Something to think about.

As a believer I could only grit my teeth in frustration as I read Sam Harris' juvenile screed against faith. Caterwauling about religion ostensibly being an area that did not demand good evidence and valid arguments, Harris blinds himself to the large element of Christianity given precisely to doing that. (Ever hear of philosophy? I didn't think so.) It particularly irks me that stem cell supporters don't bother themselves to think and reason about the ethical consequences of their proposals — such as treating human beings as chattle, decimating their dignity in the long run. As for religion doing damage — we have only to look at the Soviet Union, China, Vietnam, Cambodia (shall I go on?) to see what damage atheism does. There is apparently no shortage of people on either side who do not adequately think and reason.

Eric Ewanco

Ok this guy really got my dander up. I had to resist the temptation to YELL in my letter. I think I did pretty well.

He does have a few points. I find it hard to believe that half the American population are young earth Creationists. In fact this has to be false on its face; it may be true that half of all "born-again" Christians are, but in any case, it's an embarrassing fact as far as I'm concerned. (Sure. God would deliberately deceive us by planting fake fossils and creating light en route to earth. Yeah, right.)

He has a pretty compelling argument, too, about apocalyptic fervor. Even if you don't deliberately choose to trash the earth in the conviction that it will be destroyed post-haste (and I doubt many people think this way), being convinced that the world will end in fifty years would tend to distract you from long-term thinking and planning. (Of course I could come back and say that if you didn't do things like introduce stem cell research and gay marriage, we'd be less likely to think the world was coming to an end, but that would be more of a satisfying snappy comeback than a fair or reasoned one.) Fact is, this is a real thorny issue. A place to start might be to say is that no one knows when Jesus returns, so there is always a chance you are wrong about Jesus returning in fifty years, and historically people have had this conviction in every generation, so better have a contingency plan. But this is only a tack, not a solution, since instead of moving people to focus primarily on long-term stewardship and building up of society, to get anything done you are relying on them to pay attention to the idea that they might be wrong, and understandably this will probably not be very effective. Primary for them will be "I think Jesus is coming back soon", and as long as that is on their mind, they won't be making much contribution to the advancement of society.

I balked though when he said that much of what people believe in the name of religion is "incompatible with genuine morality." Last think I'm going to tolerate is some atheist who apparently isn't familar with philosophy or ethics lecture Christians on "genuine morality". I'd receive in respectful silence the argument that an atheist can be moral but for someone who mistakenly argues that Christians don't have a rational explanation for their beliefs, and who hasn't thought out the consequences of stem cell research and apparently has no interest in doing so, to accuse religion of not having genuine morality — sorry, that's just over the top for me.

I'd like to ask him this question: Suppose that a million people could be saved if an unconscious life-without-parole prisoner was executed, via a painless method. Would it be moral or ethical to do so?

What he fails to see, and what hasn't though out, is the consequences of treating human beings as an expendible resource — killing them (and I don't freakin' care whether they have souls or experience pain, thank you very much, Mr. Consequentialist!) for the sake of gain.

Here's another mind-blowing thought experiment — suppose Jesus was forced to redeem the world against his will. This is stepping up my earlier argument myriads upon myriads of levels: it is one thing to save the earthly souls of a million people. Quite another thing to give eternal life to billions upon billions. Still ethical to do against his will?

This is what I wanted to yell in my letter: THINK MAN, THINK!!! Physician, heal thyself! Ok I'd better stop, I'm starting to blow a gasket along that line of thinking.

Well, I should get to bed anyway.

I went to a dinner party of Epis—oops, I mean Anglicans tonight. Not just Anglicans, but "Anglo-Catholics". The kind that hire a professional choir to sing Mozart, Palestrina. The kind that can inspire a brief moment of performance anxiety as I realize I may be judged on which fork I use.

The host is a long time friend of mine and I have been to their church several times. Extremely high-church. There is more Catholicism in the little pinkies of these people than there is in whole Catholic parishes. These are the ones that look down on Catholics as pedestrian and tacky. (Yes, we discussed this subject.)

One of the guests mentioned something about his seven weeks as a Catholic. Now I had actually seen him a couple of times before, versus the other guests who were totally foreign to me. But I had not heard about this story. I did not hear it tonight. But it got me thinking. He was an erudite, educated (and rich) person. What would cause someone to convert to Catholicism and revert to Anglicanism after seven weeks? Far be it from me to judge or draw unwarranted conclusions, but I wondered if he had done his homework. He spoke of it as if it were "Escape from Alcatraz". My first guess is that he didn't like the music, because music is very important to these people, and Catholic parishes in the U.S. can only look like a barren desert compared to what these folks like and are used to. In fact I think they'd prefer a barren desert to what passes for music in most Catholic parishes. But if he reverted because of this, he must have known ahead of time what things were like. Surely he had attended Catholic parishes for at least months if not years, and had come to peace with what he saw.

And surely he knew the doctrinal positions. If he's anything like his fellow parishioners, beliefwise he's a small distance from Catholicism. I can't think of a doctrinal issue that might arise unexpected in the course of seven weeks, so I'd rule that out. On the other hand, if he truly knew and believed in Catholicism, it would be hard for him to justify going back.

His story reminded me of another short-term convert. Bishop Clarence Pope is an interesting case with an ironic name. Pope was Episcopal bishop of Fort Worth. Shortly before his conversion to Catholicism, he took the highly unusual step of granting an Anglo-Catholic parish, St. Mary the Virgin, their property as they sought to be received lock, stock, and barrel into the Catholic Church under the Anglican Use provision. (As far as I know, they are the only Anglican Use parish to come over in such a way.) Shortly thereafter Bishop Pope converted to Catholicism. But, Rome insisted that he be re-ordained. This stung Pope. And according to the link above (a story I had not previously heard), he was rejected by the diocesan priests and isolated from the Catholic Church. He was wooed by the Episcopalians, though, and ultimately returned.

While it would seem unlikely that a layman could have a comparable experience within the span of seven weeks, it is certainly possible that there was some sort of emotional reason for his reversion. Doing well on your homework doesn't necessarily mean you'll pass the final. It's one thing to view Catholicism from the perspect of an inquirer, quite another to be Catholic. Perhaps this explains the "Escape from Alcatraz" attitude: what seemed OK as an inquirer became intolerable once he was "locked" into it.

Maybe one day I'll know his story.

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[Sorry, I'm feeling cynical.]

There is a common objection to the church's teaching on homosexuality. It is this: Jesus didn't say anything about homosexuality. But he had lots to say about how we are to treat the poor. Consequently, it is more important to fight poverty than it is to fight homosexuality.

A major fallacy in this argument is that Jesus talked so much about taking care of the poor because it was arguably the most crucial matter in their society. In other words, injustice against the poor was, in that society, a very common sin. It only makes sense that Jesus would address a sin that was extremely common and fundamentally affected their society. Homosexuality was virtually unknown in practice, and its sinfulness totally unquestioned. Jesus didn't need to say anything about it because virtually no one committed it or doubted it was wrong. The same cannot be said of injustice against the poor. Just as preachers today never preach against murder (unless they are going through the commandments), because everyone knows murder is wrong, so Jesus had no reason to preach against homosexuality. Consequently, you cannot argue, as many do, that Jesus doesn't care about homosexuality merely because he said nothing about it, or that we should spend more attention on addressing poverty than addressing homosexuality because that's what Jesus did.

A good way to address this fallacy is to ask people two questions: 1) Do you think that pedophilia is a sin and an issue that needs to be addressed? 2) What do you think of the fact that Jesus never said anything about pedophilia?

This will effectively put the lie to the arguments "Jesus never said anything about homosexuality therefore it must be unimportant or even OK."

"Man, who constantly experiences the bitter taste of his limitations and sin, does not then abandon himself to recrimination or to anguish, because he knows that within himself the power of divinity is at work." (Orientale Lumen, #15)

I really needed to read this quote today. In fact it's so meaningful to me that I'm going to write it on an index card and put it on my refrigerator.

I tend to be good at launching recriminations at myself. And "anguish" definitely describes my life most of the time. Today was an especially "down" day and I was in a "God, if this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you have so few of them" mood on the way home from work. Sometimes I ask myself, if God is sanctifying me, why do I see so little change in my behavior? I can only hope that sanctification bears fruits that are not obvious. But the idea that God is at work in me even when it isn't obvious is not only appealing to me, but gives me hope.

Did you know that the term "Calvary" never appears in Scripture?

I learned that the other day. I didn't believe it and had to search for it myself.

When you hear someone refer to "purity" in the context of virtue, what usually comes to mind?

I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count.

We tend to think of purity strictly in the sense of suppressing our sexual desires. Or at least, suppressing sexual desire for people we're not married to.

My opinion is that this is exactly what Satan wants us to think purity is. It focuses on how God allegedly wants to deny us pleasure, or worse, our natural bodily urges. Big bad God, denying us something we can't help but feel as humans. This is not the way it is, though.

What is true purity? Purity, or better yet purity of heart, is making choices without selfish interest. In other words, making decisions with the right motives or intentions. Choosing to love and not to use. (John Paul II, in his book Love and Responsibility written before he was Pope, argues that the opposite of to love is not to hate, but to use [for selfish gain].) Purity means having an undivided heart, free of mixed motives. It's the opposite of corruption.

Certainly, this has sexual import. If you look at a person and think of how that person can satisfy your desire for pleasure, that is an impure look. If you look at a person and say, holy cow, God is good! when you see her gifts, that is not an impure look. ;-) If you look at someone as an object of use, as a means for attaining a selfish goal, that is what makes a look (or action) impure. It's not the sexual component that makes it impure, but what you intend to do — what your motives are — that makes it impure.

How can we battle impurity? At its root, as I said, impurity involves looking at someone as an object of use, and not as a person to love (love in the sense of desiring their highest good, apart from our own interests). A very effective way to do this is to find ways to treat the person as a person. A way you can always do this is to pray for the person — that is a form of pure and disinterested love. This might be how such customs arose, but things such as opening the door for someone or doing them some polite kindness is another way. Treating a person with respect is a generic way of treating them as a person. Talking to the person, trying to get to know them and their interests is another way. Yes, even thanking God for the person's beauty or obvious endowments is a way of treating them as a person! (Also they are a movement to prayer, that they would use them rightly in the service of good, and not for evil.)

So the point of maintaining custody of the eyes and avoiding sexual thoughts is not to deny our sexuality, but to ensure we treat everyone, especially those we find sexually attractive, as a person, with their best interests at heart, not motivated by our own pleasure or selfish desires. Sexual love is oriented to total and mutual self-giving. Any sexual thought that is not in conformance with that is an impure thought, as are a host of thoughts that have nothing to do with sexuality.

A friend of mine related to me how some folks in a discussion he was having were insisting that anyone who does not believe Fatima is being unfaithful to the Blessed Mother. I wanted to take some moments to address this.

According to Vatican II Dei Verbum as quoted the Catechism #66, "no new public revelation is to be expected before the glorious manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ." This means that with the death of the last apostle, revelation which is binding on all Christians ended. The Catechism goes on to say (#67), that private revelations — which is what Fatima and all other revelations since the death of St. John are — "do not belong to the deposit of faith", that is, that which must be believed by all Catholics. Pope Benedict XIV says: "It is not obligatory nor even possible to give them the assent of Catholic faith, but only of human faith, in conformity with the dictates of prudence, which presents them to us as probable and worthy of pious belief"(De canon., III, iiii, xxii, II). The conclusion is that no one is obliged to believe what a private revelation says, except perhaps the person to whom it was revealed.

Recently, I've been thinking about my favorite musician, Geoff Moore. Geoff writes and performs contemporary Christian rock music, though of a softer variety, maybe more CCM than rock. I would love to be friends with Geoff. I know, hard to imagine a 34 year-old being so enthusiastic about an artist, but I'm not idolizing him, and it isn't the typical infatuation that characterizes adolescent music tastes. I would love to be friends with him because his songs, in both lyrics and beat, express my deepest, most profound emotions. I feel like we are cut from the same cloth, like we are long-lost brothers. (He even looks like me, especially with his Vandyke and reddish-brown hair.) He shares my deepest longings and desires. And I'd love to talk with him about being a "passionate man", about feeling like a child wanting to be a man like Jesus, about friends who are true, who share burdens, who carry us through thick and thin, who listen and cry with us.

It's funny, I even fantasize about him moving out here and joining our church. (Very fat chance, given he's a professional musician, and an Evangelical, and I go to an obscure Arab Catholic parish.) I think of how I'd do my best to treat him as an ordinary person. I wonder if I should hide my passionate love for his music; do I try to strike up a friendship without revealing any common ground, avoiding the "fan aversion" syndrome but risking he won't ever know how much we share, or do I tell him I'm a fan but I respect his privacy and try to convince him I'm not an "ordinary" fan? I imagine he comes to my door and catches my CCM collection, as I try to figure out how to manage the situation if he sees the wide array of his albums.

Anyway, this reminds me of heaven, because I know I will be able to be friends with him in the life to come. I'll have all eternity to make, build, and enjoy a friendship with Geoff Moore. I suspect that to some degree, we'll be friends with everyone in heaven, or at least, we won't have any enemies or anyone we're at odds with, and we'll be like Will Rogers, who said that the only people he isn't friends with are those he hasn't met (or something to that effect).

I think all broken friendships will be repaired in the life to come (and I certainly have my share of them). Misunderstandings will be cleared up. Ego and past wounds won't get in the way anymore. We'll be able to see clearly. Won't that be wonderful?

Back to the topic of prayer, I have come to look at prayer as the purest form of love. Who would even consider praying a prayer with malicious motives? So when we pray for people, we are loving them. When we ask people to pray for us we are asking to be loved. Praying for others and asking others to pray for us is the loop that binds together the fabric of the communion of saints.

I wonder if the saints in heaven aren't spending their time praying for all of us here on earth (and those in purgatory). Loving us, and waiting for us to love them in return.

Inspired by that thought, I have taken to praying for everyone I have an opportunity to pray for, particularly people I have contact with: Drivers and other people who annoy me, clerks and people in front of me who are slow, people who tick me off or tempt me in some way. Also people who are kind to me (these people I ask God to bless). Even people I just notice for no particular reason. Sometimes I think God puts people in my life just so I can pray for them and get credit for whatever good happens in their life. :-) I also pray for whatever people come to mind. I am hoping that such habits can enkindle the fire of divine love in my heart.

Apparently some non-Catholic readers were scandalized by my reference to praying to the saints, so I wanted to explain and clarify things.

Catholics believe in a concept, articulated in the Nicene Creed which has been the standard of the Christian faith since 325 A.D. (it came from the council that first defended Christ's divinity), called the Communion of Saints. The Communion of Saints says that there is a kind of unity or bond among all believers. "Fellowship" is the way some translations of Scripture express the concept.

One of the concepts behind the Communion of Saints is that the saints who have gone before us are around us and can hear our prayers. This is demonstrated by Hebrews 12:1 (which says we are surrounded by the saints who have gone before), Hebrews 12:23 (which says the saints are present when we worship), and Revelation 5:8, the elders in heaven carry the prayers of the saints (incense) to the throne room of God.

Even if we did not know from the testimony of Scripture that the saints are around us and carry our prayers to the throne room of God, it would make sense that we could ask for their prayers and they could intercede for us. When my mother died, I wanted very much to talk to her. I reasoned that I could pray to God and ask him to give her a message for me. He could then do so if He so willed. Then I said that I'll just talk to her and intend the same thing; i.e., instead of praying, "God, could you please tell my mom I love you," just tell God that when I say, "Mom, I love you", I mean "God, could you please ..." etc.

This is how I came to accept the communion of the saints.

Now, about the concept of "praying to" saints.

I was thinking the other day about marriage in the life to come. We know that Jesus said there would be no marriage at the resurrection due to what he told the Sadducees who tried to trip him up. A lot of people assume this means that there will be no sex, no procreation, or either. I'm coming to the conclusion that this is not necessarily so, and let me explain why.

Adam and Eve were created in a state of original justice, and in that state, God commanded them to be fruitful and multiply. That means sex and procreation. In fact, St. Thomas taught that before the Fall, sex was (or would have been, depending on your perspective) immensely more pleasurable and enjoyable because of the right ordering of the passions (feelings/emotions). All of this is standard Catholic teaching.

Now, also standard Catholic teaching is that at the Resurrection, we will be not only restored to our state before the Fall, but to a better condition. It's incompatible with this to think that we will be barren, which is always a curse in Scripture, or that we will have no sex, which is the first commandment given to Adam and Eve. The Resurrection will in every other way be compatible with our existing bodies, why would this be an exception?

I have a pet peeve. My pet peeve is the conception of heaven as an ethereal place where we will spend eternity floating around the clouds and strumming harps. There is a sister pet peeve: people who think Heaven is like an earthly Mass (except it's eternal). Not very attractive for people who can barely stand an hour liturgy. (Hear me out on this one.)

That is categorically not how we will spend our eternity. In fact, we won't be spending our eternity in heaven, you may be surprised to learn. The reason Scripture says we will be resurrected in the flesh and there will be a new heavens and a new earth is so that we can live on that new earth. We will receive our bodies back and return to earthly life! How people who confess the "resurrection of the body" every week can think we will be floating around the clouds for all eternity is frankly beyond me.

Jesus's resurrection was a pattern for our own. Yes, we will have the same glorified body he had, the one that can walk through walls and appear at random and can eat.

What will we be spending all eternity doing? Well we sure won't be doing what the angels of Ezekiel are doing, singing "holy, holy, holy" endlessly. We will be doing what Adam and Eve were destined to do in the beginning — be co-creators with God and doing what our heart desires to do. Basically what our hearts truly want to do on earth (once you strip away the fallen nature), except that our hearts and intentions will be upright, which will actually enable us to get things done. Engineers will be able to build. Artists will be able to create whatever they want (without the concern of "making a living"!). Musicians will create all the opuses they want. The difference is that we will do these things in worship to God, and assisted by him.

So it is true that we will worship God endlessly; the problem is with people's definition of worship. We won't be standing up singing hymns without end (unless that's our hearts desire). We will worship God in what we do. Will it be an eternal liturgy? Yes, but liturgy means "work of the people". Again, our liturgy will be using the gifts God gave us and using them to glorify God. But by the time we get there, wanting to glorify God will be totally natural to us and pretty much indistinguishable from what we do now, except it will be more successful and will make us happier (technically, blessed). Everything that is now wrong will be set right, and then God will invite us to do what we always wanted to do in the first place but couldn't due to our fallen nature.

It's almost like this life is a practice run for the life to come. You can't appreciate something good until you've experienced bad first. Once you know bad, you truly appreciate good. This life is bad, but having experienced it, we'll appreciate all the more the life to come.

So don't perpetuate this myth about harps and clouds and crap. Our destination is not heaven, it's a new heavens and a new earth, where we will live in bodily form. Our job will not be to inflate the ego of God by telling him how wonderful he is; it will be to carry out our heart's true desires (and in that, glorify God).

All people are called to holiness; as it is written, "Be holy, as I am holy." And Jesus said, "Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect." This is a pretty tall order, but we don't always know how to live this out on a day-to-day basis.

I think the key to holiness lies in reining in and reigning over the passions. What are the passions? That's classics-speak for (roughly speaking) our emotions and feelings; the force that drives our heart. Passions in and of themselves aren't bad. But whenever our passions are out of balance in our lives, trouble reigns. First of all, our perceptions are clouded and our discernment starts to go blind. We start to interpret things wrongly, and that's when needless arguments start. And, we become much more prone to sin.

I recently discovered a virtue that I realized I had been seriously lacking: Meekness.

I never really realized until this Immaculate Conception that I never really knew what the meaning of "meek" was. I knew it wasn't a matter of allowing yourself to be a doormat, but other than the fact that it had something to do with non-aggression, I never quite grasped what it was.

There is a reading in my daily devotional, "In Conversation With God" (an excellent series by Francis Fernandez), which describes it. Basically, it is the ability to remain serene and unperturbed in the face of provocation. It is the ability to respond proportionally, with only the appropriate degree of emotion. "[The meek] are like glassware so well packed into straw or hay that it is not broken when it is struck. Meekness is like a strong shield which blunts and shatters the sharp arrows of anger. The meek are like people dressed in garments of thick quilted cotton which protect them without harming anyone else." (F. Osuna, Third Spiritual Alphabet, III, 4). "Anger in all its many forms is the material on which this virtue has to work. Meekness controls and directs it, so that it is aroused only when necessary and to the extent to which it is necessary." Meekness is really a form of strength: the strength to control one's emotions and not lash out inappropriately.

I thought I was pretty virtuous until I realized the implications of this definition of meekness. It means no more yelling at my computer when things don't go right. It means no more angry expletives. (Contrary to popular impression, I don't think it is intrinsically wrong to use profanity; but if it comes out as a reaction to circumstances, it is probably a symptom of lack of meekness.) It means not getting agitated when things don't go my way. It also means not getting upset &mdash at all &mdash when someone provokes me, no matter what it is.

So I do see God really cultivating this virtue in my life right now, but obvious it needs some time before it totally bears fruit. And it is a virtue I want to cultivate. So pray for me, a sinner!

A few years ago I went through some struggles as I tried to discipline myself to pray every day. While baptized a Catholic as an infant, I came to give my life to Christ through an Evangelical mode, and I had a strong aversion to rote prayers (especially those filled with Thees and Thous and unfamiliar four-syllable words). Yet when I tried to pray extemporaneously (particularly in the morning), I usually ended up falling asleep. (Folks who were with me in IVCF can attest to that.)

Then, working from the conviction that anything that is worth praying is likely worth praying every day, I hit upon a way to balance between extemporaneous prayers from the heart and rote memorized prayers. The answer: Write my own rote prayers in my own words praying for those things I felt I needed to pray for.

Ever had a complaint about someone or something, but had no recourse for addressing it, driving you to mumble and grumble to anyone who would listen about it? Welcome to the human race!

I am writing this as I sit on hold to help my dad get maps installed for his Garmin iQue 3600 GPS navigation system. (This is an awesome product; my best friend Caleb got me interested in it, and that piqued my dad's interest, so much that my stepmother got one for him for an anniversary gift.)

Anyway recently the Lord has been convicting me (an inveterate griper about problems with inanimate objects) that when it comes to dealing with things that frustrate me, complaining to people who have no control over the problem is not the thing to do ("Do all things without complaining or arguing", as St. Paul taught the Philippians).