Sundayreflection:Matthew15:21–28 postedat10:01

Sunday reflection: Matthew 15:21–28

posted at 10:01 am on August 17, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 15:21–28:

At that time, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out, “Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon.” But Jesus did not say a word in answer to her. Jesus’ disciples came and asked him, “Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us.” He said in reply, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, “Lord, help me.” He said in reply, “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.” Then Jesus said to her in reply, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And the woman’s daughter was healed from that hour.

“For God so loved the world,” John the Evangelist wrote in his Gospel, “that He gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” I emphasize the word world in that passage because of the three readings we have today. The salvation of the entire world was always in Gods plan, not just the rescue of Israel and the Hebrews. And while Jesus spent most of his ministry offering salvation first to Israel, we have occasions throughout the Gospel that demonstrate the will of God that this call to salvation will spread to all people.

Israel had been chosen as the instrument of salvation, not the limitation of it. After their release from bondage in Egypt, Israel had the chance to accept its role as priest to the world, the great teacher of God’s law to all of the other nations. Jerusalem would become the City on the Hill that would shine a great light, and all nations would learn to worship the one true Father. Israel, though, became too mired in worldly concerns, starting with the Exodus and the Golden Calf. As a nation, it became too concerned with political power, and its kings began tolerating and then participating in idol worship. Still, salvation would come through Israel, even a fallen Israel, and it would make God’s house “a house of prayer for all peoples,” as Isaiah prophesied in today’s first reading (Isaiah 56:1,6-7). God would offer the Israelites the chance to become priests to the world for its salvation from sin — this time in the form of a church rather than a nation.

Seen from this perspective, the seeming rejection of Jesus might make a little more sense — if in fact that’s what was happening in this passage from Matthew. But was Jesus rejecting the woman, or teaching a lesson to the future high priests of His church to come?

At this time, as our own parish priest reminded us at Mass yesterday, Israelites did not mix with Gentiles. Cultural friction kept them apart as much as possible; the Jews worked with the Romans because they had little choice, but rarely mixed at all beyond that. They didn’t even mix with Samaritans, a people who claim to have the authentic version of Judaism. The Israelites of that time looked for a Messiah to lift Israel out of bondage, and only Israel, a savior who would make all other nations subject to the Israelites. They had little use for interaction, let alone evangelization and conversion, which was the original mission of Israel itself.  That is why the disciples in this passage react so sharply to the pleas of the clearly distraught Gentile woman, who also crossed cultural norms by initiating conversation with a man outside of her acquaintance.

But that prompts another question. If Jesus is called only to gather the lost sheep of Israel and no more, why did Jesus take His disciples to Tyre and Sidon in the first place? Those were Gentile districts, not traditionally Jewish. In fact, the Sidonians oppressed Israel (Judges 10:12), and Solomon’s sin of allowing idolatry in Jerusalem came from his political alliance with the city (1 Kings). Jezebel, one of the great antagonists of Israel in the Old Testament, was a Sidonian princess who perverted King Ahab from the worship of the true God in favor of pagan idols (also 1 Kings). There may well have been a significant number of Jews in both cities, who would certainly have been “lost sheep” in a real sense, but engagement with Gentiles would have been unavoidable.

Jesus didn’t avoid all contact with those considered outside of polite company by most Israelites either. He ran into considerable opposition from the Pharisees, Sadducees, and scribes for His embrace of tax collectors and sinners who normally got shunned by observant Jews of that time. Jesus healed the unclean, and lifted up the poor. In one passage that parallels that of today, Jesus spoke with a Samaritan woman and transformed her into an evangelist in her community. He taught the love of neighbor in a parable that explicitly used a Samaritan to challenge these cultural barriers. Later Jesus would heal the servant of a Roman centurion, praising the man’s faith after hearing his supplication — which Catholics still use as their Eucharistic prayer to this day.

With that in mind, what really transpired in this passage? Jesus waits for His disciples to react to the woman, and then seems to validate their dismissive reaction, even to the point of suggesting the woman was a “dog” for being a Gentile. This allows the woman to remind Jesus — and His disciples — that even the Gentile nations were meant to be fed from the same table as their “masters” in Israel, who were called to the banquet first among all others. With that argument, and that lesson ringing in the ears of the disciples who tried to get Jesus to dismiss her, He instead heals her daughter and praises her great faith.

Compare this to the fate of the other woman from Sidon mentioned here, Jezebel. She corrupted Israel and attempted to supplant worship of God with paganism. Despite her royal status and power, the exact opposite of the woman in Matthew, Jezebel was cast down from her height to her death on the ground below — to be eaten by dogs, as prophesied by Elijah (2 Kings 9:30-37). The Canaanite woman in the Tyre-Sidon district provides the exact reversal of the Gentile corruption by Jezebel of true worship, a foreshadowing of the triumph of the Church.

Our second reading today offers another dimension of this seeming contradiction in the Gospel passage. Before his conversion on the road to Damascus, Paul zealously persecuted the Christian church in Jerusalem and the land of Israel as a heresy of the Judaic faith. The man who once demanded purity of Israelites ended up becoming the great evangelist to the Gentiles instead, telling writing in Romans 11:

I glory in my ministry in order to make my race jealous and thus save some of them. For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead?

Paul also instructs (emphasis mine) that “God delivered all to disobedience, that He might have mercy on all.” While Paul obviously did not take part in the passage from Matthew, it’s the same lesson Jesus taught the disciples in Sidon and Tyre: that while they would first offer salvation to the lost sheep of Israel, the mission of salvation would be to the entire world — as it had been from the beginning. The Church would not wait for the world to come to it, but it would go to the entire world to convert it to the love of God through the Word Incarnate, Jesus Christ, with the power of the Holy Spirit working through its missionaries and priests.

Jesus challenges all to rise above the petty differences, the social boundaries, the divisions between people — whether they be the soft boundaries of “polite society” or the hard boundaries of language, nations, and wealth — to spread caritas and the saving Word of God. When we do, we may find that those self-imposed boundaries only keep us from fulfillment, both in Christ and in ourselves, and that no other people are “dogs” at all. Instead, we all have the potential to be true children of God, and our brothers and sisters in Christ.

The front-page image is a detail of “Christ and the Canaanite Woman” by Pieter Lastman from the early 17th century.

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Sundayreflection:Matthew14:22-33 postedat11:31

Sunday reflection: Matthew 14:22-33

posted at 11:31 am on August 10, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 14:22-33:

After he had fed the people, Jesus made the disciples get into a boat and precede him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. After doing so, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When it was evening he was there alone. Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore, was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. During the fourth watch of the night, he came toward them walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. “It is a ghost, ” they said, and they cried out in fear.

At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” After they got into the boat, the wind died down. Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying, “Truly, you are the Son of God.”

As readers know, I spent a few days at a silent retreat last month, an annual event for me to recollect myself and commune with the Holy Spirit. It’s not easy putting the cares of the outside world out of one’s head to achieve that recollection, which I’ve described in earlier posts, but the addiction to noise is not the only distraction to be overcome at these retreats. The Jesuit retreat center is a lovely estate on a picturesque lake, a place of serenity and beauty that has its own pull on old habits. At each of the retreats I have attended, I have found myself looking through an amateur photographer’s eye at the natural beauty of the landscape, building a portfolio in my mind of the gorgeous grounds and shores along the edge of the estate. In fact, at some point I’ll probably ask the priests if I can return on one of their off days with my camera gear and create a book for others to enjoy, rather than spend my next retreat resisting the temptation to compose shots rather than compose myself.

Natural wonders remind us of the creative power of the Lord, but it’s easy to fall into the trap of worshiping nature in Creation as God Himself. There are parallels that make that trap even more attractive. Nature awes us in the original sense of the word with its massive and inexplicable power, as we see when earthquakes cause massive destruction, tornadoes appear out of nowhere to wipe out entire towns with little warning, or wildfires of any cause sweep across the landscape and lay waste to it. (I’ve lived almost all of my life in places where all three occur.) We have grown more in knowledge of nature and understand more about these events in an intellectual sense, but we tremble in fear when placed in immediate personal risk of any of them, or other massive natural forces. At other times, we see the beauty, diversity, and peace of nature, and can hardly resist the urge to draw parallels to God, or even believe that this is God.

But of course, nature is God’s creation, not the other way around. God created the universe and we live within it, but the the creation is not the Creator. This was the lesson taught to Elijah in our first reading from 1 Kings 19 today, the well-known passage that teaches how God truly speaks to us. Elijah went to the mountain as the Lord instructed to experience Him passing by, and Elijah felt the massive power of all the above natural forces. However, none of these was God:

A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks before the LORD— but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake — but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was fire— but the LORD was not in the fire. After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave.

The prophecies of Elijah were well-known to all of Israel by the time of the episode recounted in today’s Gospel. The teachings were so well known, in fact, that both John the Baptist and Jesus Himself were thought by some to be Elijah returning to Israel to rescue them from bondage. Elijah appeared on Mount Tabor with Moses to speak with Jesus during the Transfiguration. The film The Nativity Story has a touching scene near the beginning of Mary and others teaching this very passage from 1 Kings 19 to a group of small children, which reflects the common understanding of Scriptures at that time that clearly instructed that nature served God and not the other way around — which the disciples would know better than most, through the healing miracles of Jesus.

And yet, because of its dramatic character, the disciples get very distracted by nature, to the point of losing trust in God. Jesus had just fed thousands of people with five loaves and two fish, another miracle that showed the transcendence of God over nature. They put to sea afterward, and got caught in a powerful storm — certainly good reason to worry, as a storm like that could swamp their boat or push them off course. They do not become terrified, though, until they see the supernatural — Jesus walking on the water, demonstrating His supremacy over nature. At first they do not believe that Jesus is not an apparition, and Peter asks to be given the same supremacy over nature in order to trust in what Jesus says.

What happens? Peter, buoyed by Jesus and his own faith, manages briefly to transcend nature himself. Even with Jesus’ example, though, Peter gets distracted by the power of nature and loses trust in God’s power. Peter immediately begins sinking — in other words, falls back into nature — but pleads with Jesus for salvation. Jesus then rebukes Peter for his lack of faith, but Peter didn’t stop believing that Jesus was there; he just lost trust in the power of God, which is the heart of faith itself.

We all live in the natural world, and it is not easy to maintain that trust, that faith, that God’s power transcends it. When illness and death strike our families and friends, especially in unexpected and tragic circumstances, we can be like Peter distracted by the winds on Galilee. When the consequences of our fallen human nature create tragedies and horrors, we look around and ask how it can possibly be within God’s will. We forget that these storms were created by us and not God, and that we must weather them and calm them to our best abilities while relying on God’s strength and providence to see us through to salvation.

Even apart from the bombast of physical and human nature, though, the passages today remind us of how we are to rely on God’s strength and commune with Him. At times during my retreat, I felt like the anti-Elijah when I focused on the dramatic expressions of nature around me. Had it been me on the mountain, I might have spent my time ooohhing and aaahhing over wind, the earthquakes, and the fire, and missed the “tiny whispering sound” that wanted to reach me and teach me about love and faith. I would have easily sunk like Peter in the fears and cares of the world, rather than remember the Lord who created it and me, and taken comfort and peace in Him instead.

We are to navigate this world and its dangers of nature, both physical and human, but with faith and trust in God and in our ultimate salvation from both. In the midst of the wind, the quakes, and the flames, just keep listening for the small voice within as you keep the Holy Spirit in your heart.

The front page picture is the view from the bow of a modern wooden tour boat on Galilee pointing toward the Mount of Beatitudes, from my own personal collection.

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Video:HowlikelyisanEbolaoutbreakin

Video: How likely is an Ebola outbreak in the US?

posted at 4:01 pm on August 7, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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Very unlikely, according to the CDC, but not impossible either — which is why they have already begun to take precautions about travel and security. The agency today declared a Level 1 alert for the outbreak:

This is the highest level of emergency response at the CDC and, according to an agency spokesperson, it has been activated because of the surge of personnel being sent into the affected countries. The CDC’s emergency operations center is now assisting the National Center for Emerging and Zoonotic Infectious Diseases in Atlanta, which specializes in the study and research of Ebola. …

According to the CDC, level 1 is “all hands on deck.” The CDC has only been to level 1 three times in the history of the emergency operations center, which opened in 2003. Previously, it was activated for Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the H1N1 influenza outbreak in 2009.

The State Department evacuated two American medical workers with the virus last week in elaborate isolation chambers, so the danger won’t be from treating them but from potential travel risks. The CDC has a Level 3 travel alert for West African nations already in place, and airline and airport personnel have been warned to look for travelers displaying any symptoms of illness. Even then, it still takes contact with bodily fluids to transmit the disease, the CDC insists, and only if they are currently symptomatic:

How is Ebola transmitted?

Ebola is transmitted through direct contact with the blood or bodily fluids of an infected symptomatic person or though exposure to objects (such as needles) that have been contaminated with infected secretions.

Can Ebola be transmitted through the air?

No. Ebola is not a respiratory disease like the flu, so it is not transmitted through the air.

Can I get Ebola from contaminated food or water?

No. Ebola is not a food-borne illness.  It is not a water-borne illness.

Can I get Ebola from a person who is infected but doesn’t have any symptoms?

No. Individuals who are not symptomatic are not contagious. In order for the virus to be transmitted, an individual would have to have direct contact with an individual who is experiencing symptoms.

Popular Mechanics explained in March why it’s really, really unlikely that Ebola will establish itself in the US (via Mitch Berg):

However, despite its severity, Ebola is an unlikely candidate to cause widespread epidemics. Ebola outbreaks in humans begin with direct contact with an infected animal. In Africa, fruit bats are considered to be natural reservoirs for the disease, but chimps, gorillas, and antelopes are also known to carry the infection. Currently there are no natural reservoirs for Ebola outside of Africa, which means it’s a lot less likely that Ebola could establish itself anywhere else, says epidemiologist Stephen Morse, from Columbia University. 

After the initial transmission from animal to person, the disease spreads from person to person through direct contact with the blood, saliva, and other bodily fluids of infected people. Compared to airborne diseases, which have pandemic potential, the spread of Ebola is slow because it relies on direct contact. And because it kills its victims so quickly, there isn’t much time to spread the disease to others. 

In developed countries, the spread of Ebola can be thwarted by isolating infected patients and wearing protective clothing. “Standard hospital hygiene goes a long way,” says Matthias Borchert, an epidemiologist at Berlin’s Charité University of Medicine. 

In previous cases where Ebola infected people outside of Africa, potential outbreaks were swiftly curtailed. In England in 1976, a laboratory worker accidentally pricked himself with a contaminated needle, but thanks to safety precautions, he was the only person infected and nobody died. In 1994, a Swiss zoologist began feeling ill eight days after performing a necropsy on a dead chimpanzee in the Ivory Coast’s Ta√Ø National Park. When antimalarial drugs and antibiotics didn’t help, the patient was flown back to Switzerland. She recovered 15 days later, after which laboratory tests showed that she had been infected with Ebola. But because the patient was kept in isolation and healthcare workers were careful about wearing masks and gloves, none of the 74 people she came into contact with contracted the disease. 

That certainly explains why the CDC approved the transit of the two infected Americans back to the US, too.

Congress will get briefed today on the CDC’s efforts to develop an effective treatment/vaccine and safeguard against an outbreak in the US, as KGNS in Laredo, Texas reports today:

Thursday, lawmakers hear from the CDC, the State Department, and others [i]ncluding Samaritan’s Purse, the relief organization whose two American ebola patients are in Atlanta being given an experimental treatment.

Wednesday, the CDC upped its alert to level one, signaling a serious health emergency that could last a while.

Meanwhile, a weird dust-up began yesterday when the always-provocative Ann Coulter criticized the two Americans now being treated in the US for going to Africa in the first place. In a Human Events piece headlined “Ebola Doc’s Condition Downgraded to ‘Idiotic’,” Coulter slammed Dr. Kent Brantley for putting his talents in service to poor Africans while poor Americans are still in need:

Whatever good Dr. Kent Brantly did in Liberia has now been overwhelmed by the more than $2 million already paid by the Christian charities Samaritan’s Purse and SIM USA just to fly him and his nurse home in separate Gulfstream jets, specially equipped with medical tents, and to care for them at one of America’s premier hospitals. (This trip may be the first real-world demonstration of the economics of Obamacare.)

There’s little danger of an Ebola plague breaking loose from the treatment of these two Americans at the Emory University Hospital. But why do we have to deal with this at all?

Why did Dr. Brantly have to go to Africa? The very first “risk factor” listed by the Mayo Clinic for Ebola — an incurable disease with a 90 percent fatality rate — is: “Travel to Africa.”

Can’t anyone serve Christ in America anymore? …

Right there in Texas, near where Dr. Brantly left his wife and children to fly to Liberia and get Ebola, is one of the poorest counties in the nation, Zavala County — where he wouldn’t have risked making his wife a widow and his children fatherless.

But serving the needy in some deadbeat town in Texas wouldn’t have been “heroic.” We wouldn’t hear all the superlatives about Dr. Brantly’s “unusual drive to help the less fortunate” or his membership in the “Gold Humanism Honor Society.” Leaving his family behind in Texas to help the poor 6,000 miles away — that’s the ticket.

Today’s Christians are aces at sacrifice, amazing at serving others, but strangely timid for people who have been given eternal life. They need to buck up, serve their own country, and remind themselves every day of Christ’s words: “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you.”

There may be no reason for panic about the Ebola doctor, but there is reason for annoyance at Christian narcissism.

Erick Erickson at RedState wrote that he was neither angered nor outraged by Coulter, but very much disagreed with her argument (both RedState and Human Events are sister publications to Hot Air within Salem Communications):

Liberals treat prosperity in America as a zero sum game — if there are winners, there must be losers. They are wrong. Christians should not do the same with Christianity — surely a Christian may lose his life, but even then he is a winner. There are no losers except the Devil himself when a Christian goes therefore unto all the nations.

How many Liberians might come to know the Lord because of Dr. Brantly’s sacrifice? How many Americans, in an age of growing hostility to Christians, might see his sacrifice and pick up their own crosses? How many Liberians might grow in affection for the United States through Dr. Brantly’s sacrifice? We may never know the answer to any of these. But history itself shows us many will be saved and many will turn their hearts toward this great country. Christians should be focused on saving souls where the Lord leads them and lends them talent and we should all praise the work of the Holy Spirit in so doing.

Surely Christians in America can spare one man to Africa or even ten. After all, Christians are to save souls, not just American ones. Had Dr. Brantly gone to our southern border and provided his services there, some would attack him there too for helping illegal aliens.

But Dr. Brantly, as do we all, goes where the Holy Spirit leads. I don’t think we should be in the business of questioning the motives or direction of any Christian led by the Lord to any corner of the Earth — particularly when the missionary is prepared to lay down his life for a stranger merely because Christ said, “Go ye therefore . . .”.

Elizabeth Scalia is both angered and outraged:

Others tell me it is “schtick” meant to “make us think” but if that’s what Ann Coulter is serving up with her “charity begins at home” number, she’s doing it badly. Leading people into productive thought shouldn’t involve dragging them through a toxic swamp, where all sorts of rank and dubious detritus may become attached to our thinking. …

And how does she think Americans will be inspired to seek out God? By turning their backs on the needs of people facing horrific realities, and encouraging medical doctors who might help them to move to where the rich people are and preach the gospel to them while cutting their bunions.

That’s the ticket. …

Make no mistake, what Ann Coulter has shown us is her Strange God, the one wrapped up in red-white-and-blue. Coulter’s “patriotism” has been placed before the Creator, who will have no god before him. It stands so profoundly between her and the Creator that she can no longer see anything but the stars and stripes, and the mythical “city on a hill”, which looks like heaven to her, its glowing nimbus all that prevents the world from a thousand years of darkness.

When ideologies become our idols — and they are rampant, virulent idols running through our society, at this point — we lose sight of God, and we begin to lose our souls, too.

Put me in between both. There is nothing wrong with a critiquing eye on the use of resources for any legitimate enterprise, and Coulter has an argument on cost in this particular case. Disdaining Brantley as a “Christian narcissist,” though, is profoundly uncharitable, especially given the situation at hand in West Africa. The history of Christianity is thankfully filled with people who dedicated themselves to corporal acts of mercy in far-off lands to help people while trusting in God’s strength. We have Christianity in the West in large part because both Peter and Paul went abroad to preach the Gospel rather than remain mired in Jerusalem because they had yet to convert, heal, and/or save every single person there. If the Holy Spirit called Dr. Brantley to Liberia to minister to the deathly ill, he’s in good company — and it’s hardly worthy of Coulter’s time and talent to second-guess that call.

 

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Sunday reflection: Matthew 14:13–21

Sundayreflection:Matthew14:13–21 postedat12:01

Sundayreflection:Matthew13:44–52 postedat12:01

Sunday reflection: Matthew 13:44–52

posted at 12:01 pm on July 27, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 13:44–52:

Jesus said to his disciples:

“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. When he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea, which collects fish of every kind. When it is full they haul it ashore and sit down to put what is good into buckets. What is bad they throw away. Thus it will be at the end of the age. The angels will go out and separate the wicked from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

“Do you understand all these things?” They answered, “Yes.” And he replied, “Then every scribe who has been instructed in the kingdom of heaven is like the head of a household who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old.”

I spent last weekend on a silent retreat, which I described in part in my column at The Week when I returned. That focused more on the process of becoming silent and recollected and its salutary effects on me in a non-spiritual sense, in how it helps with focus and priorities in an age of digital addiction. The humility of realizing that the world spins on without you is one important lesson that these retreats give us, but it’s not the most important. One could spend a long weekend drinking in Aruba without a cellphone and laptop and make that same realization, although it would cost a lot more money and would probably produce a lot more temptation than an Ignatian retreat. One does not need to worry about hangovers at a Jesuit center, after all.

The key to a successful Ignatian retreat is commitment. The discipline of silence helps in this in a couple of ways. First, it gives an outward sign of that commitment, because it isn’t easy to accomplish. Our cultural training leans heavily on polite communication as a means of socialization, and it’s difficult to resist the urge to say “thank you” when someone holds a door or to say a friendly “hello” on seeing people. And it’s not uncommon, despite all best efforts, to occasionally hear someone slip.

The most important commitment of silence in the retreat is between yourself and God, and in some ways it’s not just about keeping your mouth shut. In fact, physical silence the easiest part of the pact of silence. There are other levels of silence where the effort becomes much more difficult — mental silence and spiritual silence. And these do not come easily.

The idea of the retreat – any retreat, silent or not — is to withdraw from the busy-ness of life to focus on prayer and the Lord in a manner than cannot be accomplished otherwise. The Carmelites have a convent adjacent to the Jesuit center where our retreat took place; they made a commitment to give their whole lives for that kind of contemplation and prayer. (Needless to say, that gives us three-days-plus pretenders another dimension of humility.) In order to succeed, we have to clear our minds of outside attachments, plans, and concerns. We could stay silent all weekend contemplating the business deal we have to make on our return, and all that accomplishes is a weekend at Aruba without, y’know, Aruba. We’d have been better off at home leaving the phone off the hook and not answering the door.

Mental silence has another dimension, one which took me three retreats to learn. On my first two retreats, I brought faith-related reading material to fill the time, such as commentaries on the Gospel and books on Revelation and the Mass, and so on. The center itself has a small but respectable library of excellent reading material to peruse and study. There is a place for that kind of reading when one has fully immersed in prayer, but that’s not what I was doing on the first two retreats. I was using the reading as a way to avoid the deep contemplation that the retreat provided; in essence, procrastinating away a golden opportunity. Only when I put down the readings did I get a sense of that connection, and on this retreat I rarely opened a book at all — and when I did, it was much more rewarding.

Spiritual silence is even more difficult. Once I set down the outside cares of the world, the impulse to replace those with my own spiritual agenda becomes even more irresistible. When I began doing these retreats three years ago, I did so for a particular purpose of discernment, and that goal filled my thoughts and prayers. From God’s perspective, it must seem like having a child in the backseat on a long car trip who keeps wanting to know, “When will we get there?”  At least part of the point in a retreat is the drive itself, and the failure of spiritual silence of this kind is sticking with our own agenda rather than allowing God to be in the driver’s seat. The lack of immediate and direct answers might be God’s way of saying, “We’ll get there when we get there!” A failure to connect at the spiritual level can be caused by the impulse to fill silences, whether they be physical, mental, or spiritual.

The only way to make a good retreat is through an all-in commitment. We have to sell ourselves completely into the experience in order to succeed at connecting with the Lord, and we have to put our absolute trust in His will, and His agenda over our own. After all, we get so few opportunities to spend that kind of alone time with Jesus Christ in the busyness of our world that failing to make that commitment is, in a very real sense, reburying the treasure to go count our own money instead and letting someone else buy the field.

Today’s Gospel makes it clear that the faith requires that level of buy-in, and of trust. What happens when the man finds that field with the buried treasure, or when the merchant finds that pearl of great price? They sell all they have to acquire them. Today’s responsorial in Psalm 119 tells us that “The law of your mouth is to me more precious than thousands of gold and silver pieces.” Our first reading from 1 Kings 3 today tells of Solomon’s dream of God telling the new king that he can ask whatever he wants, and instead of riches and power, Solomon asks for God’s wisdom in his heart so that he can be a truly good and faithful leader of God’s people. These two passages show that faith means trust in God, and in His will for us over our own agendas. When we come to Him in that sense of trust and put him in the driver’s seat, then we open ourselves to Him in a manner which allows true communication and communion.

All we need to do is quiet ourselves and allow God to speak to us, and He’s waiting for the opportunity to do so. How much are we willing to give up to buy that pearl of great price? Putting my own agenda aside for a few short days in the country every July seems like a low price indeed.

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Video:Theangriestatheist postedat7:21

Video: The angriest atheist

posted at 7:21 pm on July 21, 2014 by Allahpundit

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To cleanse the palate (sort of?), this is 18 months old and apparently went viral at least once before but somehow it flew under my radar — and Ed’s, and Lachlan Markay’s, and Charles Cooke’s. Sorry to mention you, boys, but when coming late to a vid that so many others have seen, I find it’s a comfort to be able to hide in a crowd. (Ed, after reading the draft of this post, e-mailed to say, “No one is under the delusion that I’m hip.”)

The question: Is it real? I had my doubts. This line especially seems a shade too oblivious to be sincere:

“I’m sick and tired of Christians being tolerated. You need to do something about Christians on here. I don’t feel comfortable with them.”

— Charles C. W. Cooke (@charlescwcooke) July 21, 2014

That reads like broooad satire of the secularist POV but if you believe the man who filmed it, it’s on the level. He was at Sproul Plaza in — where else? — Berkeley when the jogger happened by and stopped to chat. I’m still not sure I believe it, though. Maybe that’s just my own inner atheist refusing to accept this guy as part of the group, but I think it has more to do with the performance. No one uncorks a rant this histrionic, with so many oddly comic moments, without preparing, right? The “democracy is mob rule!” slo mo is worthy of an SNL short. And the guy with the sign seems a little too patient, even though he’s clearly winning this “debate” by letting the jogger scream himself hoarse. Things this magical simply don’t happen spontaneously in a godless universe. Hmmmmm.

Lots of profanity here so please observe your official content warning. And before you start asking in the comments, no, my first meeting with Ed was nothing like this. Except for me being barefoot, I mean.

Update: Ah, well, maybe it’s fake after all. According to science, atheists don’t exist.

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Sundayreflection:Matthew13:24–43 postedat10:01

Sunday reflection: Matthew 13:24–43

posted at 10:01 am on July 20, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 13:24–43:

Jesus proposed another parable to the crowds, saying: “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man who sowed good seed in his field. While everyone was asleep his enemy came and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off. When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well. The slaves of the householder came to him and said, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ His slaves said to him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’ He replied, ‘No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them. Let them grow together until harvest; then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters, “First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn.”’”

He proposed another parable to them. “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that a person took and sowed in a field. It is the smallest of all the seeds, yet when full-grown it is the largest of plants. It becomes a large bush, and the ‘birds of the sky come and dwell in its branches.’”

He spoke to them another parable. “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed with three measures of wheat flour until the whole batch was leavened.”

All these things Jesus spoke to the crowds in parables. He spoke to them only in parables, to fulfill what had been said through the prophet: I will open my mouth in parables, I will announce what has lain hidden from the foundation of the world.

Then, dismissing the crowds, he went into the house. His disciples approached him and said, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds in the field.” He said in reply, “He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. The weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.

“Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers. They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Whoever has ears ought to hear.”

Today, I’m going to offer a little bit of a diversion in the usual reflection. For the last few days, I have been away on a silent retreat — disconnected from phones, Internet, and any friends and family. (I’m writing this on Thursday, just before I left for the retreat.) This is my third year on this particular retreat, and the experiences the first two years have been amazing, but it has always stirred up very mixed emotions for me — not least because I have never been terribly comfortable with silence, but also because of the highly-connected state in which I usually live and operate.

The retreat itself takes place in an idyllic lakefront property, quiet and peaceful, far off the beaten path. Jesuits facilitate the retreat, which is based on the Ignatian discipline, although greatly accelerated (an Ignatian retreat is normally 30 days, or at least a full week). We have conferences in which we study and pray with one of the priests, and hold daily Mass. One hour each day we can socialize and chat, but for the rest of the time we must remain silent in an attempt to empty ourselves of distractions and draw closer to God.

That sounds easy, but the disconnecting process is akin to withdrawal. The first day of my first retreat, I thought I might go insane, and started fantasizing about breaking into my car (in the locked garage!) to get my cell phone and check my e-mail. That’s an addiction. Fortunately, after 24 hours, the panic began to subside. On my second trip, it just took a couple of hours. I’m hoping to greet the opportunity with joy immediately upon arrival this year, but a little skeptical that I’ve managed my addiction down to that level over the past year.

One reason for that skepticism: I began to notice a couple of weeks ago that I was looking for an excuse to cancel. A medical issue with a friend may have necessitated it, but her transplant was scheduled afterward. A minor injury and inflammation of my own flared up, but went away quickly enough. A business opportunity for one day popped up. Each time these temptations to cancel arose and then deflated, I could feel disappointment. I finally began discussing it openly with family and friends, and realized that it was dread of disconnection, and the lack of trust I wanted to put in God in making myself totally open to the Holy Spirit on this retreat.

The daily Gospel reading today (Thursday) reminded me of what I had forgotten in that dread and panic. From Matthew 11:28-30:

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

Sometimes, the most difficult thing to do is to lay down one’s labor and burden. I love my job and enjoy engaging in social media, so burden might not really be the right word in that sense. On the other hand, if I cannot walk away from it for just a handful of days a year to spend time communing with the Lord, then it has become a burden on my path to salvation, and an addiction that I need to at least reduce to a rational level within my life. Ignatian spirituality stresses the concept of indifference to worldly goods and matters, and perspective with salvation as the end point. To the extent any of the world’s goods helps us to salvation, then we should use them for that purpose; to the extent that they hinder us, we should dispense with them, and take an attitude of indifference to them otherwise.

The extent to which I resist a long-planned spiritual retreat may indicate the success or failure of my ability to achieve that indifference. And if so … I have a lot of work to do.

In today’s readings and also last week’s Gospel, Jesus spoke to us in parables, which I discussed last week. After reflecting on my struggles the last couple of weeks, parables have taken on another dimension for me. Parables force us to engage in the argument, to pay attention — to stop and think. Jesus required more from his pupils and disciples than just taking orders and becoming automatons. He wanted us to actively engage, to ponder and meditate on His words, and to take them into our hearts. Even more today than ever, that requires us to set aside time for that purpose — the Sabbath, certainly, but also each day in prayer, and occasionally on a retreat. Without that, we may as well be on Twitter the rest of our lives, reacting to the momentary and missing out on the eternal.

I’ll be pondering that this weekend, and praying for all of you as well. Keep me in your prayers, and I’ll be back tomorrow.

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Sundayreflection:Matthew13:1–23 postedat10:31

Sunday reflection: Matthew 13:1–23

posted at 10:31 am on July 13, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 13:1–23:

On that day, Jesus went out of the house and sat down by the sea. Such large crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat down, and the whole crowd stood along the shore. And he spoke to them at length in parables, saying: “A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky ground, where it had little soil. It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep, and when the sun rose it was scorched, and it withered for lack of roots. Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it. But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold. Whoever has ears ought to hear.”

The disciples approached him and said, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” He said to them in reply, “Because knowledge of the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven has been granted to you, but to them it has not been granted. To anyone who has, more will be given and he will grow rich; from anyone who has not, even what he has will be taken away.

This is why I speak to them in parables, because they look but do not see, and hear but do not listen or understand. Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled in them, which says: You shall indeed hear but not understand, you shall indeed look but never see. Gross is the heart of this people, they will hardly hear with their ears, they have closed their eyes, lest they see with their eyes and hear with their ears and understand with their hearts and be converted, and I heal them.

“But blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear. Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.

“Hear then the parable of the sower. The seed sown on the path is the one who hears the word of the kingdom without understanding it, and the evil one comes and steals away what was sown in his heart. The seed sown on rocky ground is the one who hears the word and receives it at once with joy. But he has no root and lasts only for a time. When some tribulation or persecution comes because of the word, he immediately falls away. The seed sown among thorns is the one who hears the word, but then worldly anxiety and the lure of riches choke the word and it bears no fruit. But the seed sown on rich soil is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.”

Why speak in parables? The Israelites were looking for another great prophet to lead them back into independence and restoration, even a Messiah on terms they could understand. They expected an new lawgiver, a new Moses or David, who would restore the kingdom under the Law of God. Prophets mostly delivered judgments directly. Isaiah, for instance, delivered a number of very direct warnings, such as condemnation of Israel’s attempts to ally with the Egyptians against the Assyrians rather than rely on the Lord to deliver them through love and fidelity. The language of these prophecies were flowery and sometimes analogical, but the lessons were usually very clear and explicit. Even John the Baptist followed this model, preaching baptism and repentance for the remission of sins as preparation for the kingdom of God.

Jesus, however, often uses parables to teach rather than prophecies to command, even sometimes with the twelve disciples. He later tells them in this passage that this is because the people themselves are currently so hard-hearted and steeped in sin that they will not comprehend a direct prophecy, quoting Isaiah. This parallels another use of parable from an earlier prophet: Nathan. In 2 Samuel 12:1-14, after David has committed adultery with Bathsheba and murdered her husband, Nathan traps David by using a parable about a rich man killing a poor man’s favorite lamb rather than be satisfied with his own. Only through the telling of this parable does David begin to understand the great sin and offense he has committed — and while that does not make the consequences of his sin disappear, that understanding leads David eventually back into the Lord’s favor.

This demonstrates the value of parables in working around our own egos and expectations. God slowly opens the hearts of the disciples to the truth of the Messiah and His mission, but even among them Jesus uses parables to help them understand it. For the rest of Israel, whose expectations of prophets and the Messiah are disconnected from what the Father has planned, a direct exegesis will be useless, or perhaps even counter-productive.

Instead, Jesus finds ways to connect his listeners to the familiar — farming, vineyards, weddings, fathers and sons, and so on.  Even David would have balked at the truth had Nathan just simply accused him directly. Instead, by telling a parable that appeals to David’s better nature as a just ruler, Nathan forces David to step out of himself and his own desires to see the truth, even one as painful as David’s crimes against Israel and the Lord.

Jesus tells us these parables to force us to step out of ourselves, too. We get wrapped up in our own identities and our desires that we begin to have difficulties in discerning sin and truth at all. Arguing with one’s teenage children gets to be like this, when both sides are issuing frontal attacks on the other’s positions, and both sides just dig in deeper and deeper. On more than one occasion, I know I found myself making arguments that I later couldn’t believe ever left my lips, but after a while my position and my concept of the world became more precious to me than reality. A good parable or two would have helped in those days, believe me.

This parable in particular shows what Jesus intends with this approach. He wants Israel to become rich soil for the Word, but that will only happen when the hearts of the Israelites soften their hearts to Him — and Jesus knows that now is not the time. The disciples will later scatter the seeds of faith in their apostolates, but Jesus is working the soil now. He tells parables that will resonate through the ages in order that hearts will become rich soil for the Word.

At the time of this passage, Jesus sees the seeds scattering on the roads where some people largely ignore his teachings, or perhaps mostly on rocky soil. This we saw in John 6:51-58 on the Feast of Corpus Christi, where the joy of the Gospel withers under the first clear understanding of what it means. Very few will be among those who are rich soil during the time of Jesus’ ministry, which Jesus knows. Jesus is forming the hearts of Israel in His own time, for a permanent harvest of salvation, which will come later and not in the blinding flash of that moment. His patience reflects the Scriptural patience that the Lord has always had with Israel and with His people, wherever they are and whatever they have done.

The parable of the sower and the Lord’s patience doesn’t just apply to that generation of Israelites, but to all of us, and all throughout our lives. I have gone through all four stages of ground in my life. I’ve left the Word on the path, I’ve accepted it with great joy only to compartmentalize and forget it, and I have allowed the cares of this world to take precedence over it. At times, I feel I am rich soil, but there are days in which I feel I have regressed into all of these stages at once. The beauty of this parable is that it gives us an easily understood measure to recognize our shortcomings, and a path to healing as well. We just need to open our hearts, drop our expectations and our preconceived notions, and return to prayer and the Word.

When we do that, our hearts become stronger and stronger ground for faith and fidelity. Even David understood that, and humbled himself to the Lord’s authority, an opportunity presented to him by the power of a parable. The Lord forgave and eventually blessed David for it, and He stands ready to do the same for us as soon as we open our hearts to His Word.

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Sundayreflection:Matthew11:25–30 postedat10:31

Sunday reflection: Matthew 11:25–30

posted at 10:31 am on July 6, 2014 by Ed Morrissey

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“Sunday Reflection” is a regular feature, looking at the specific readings used in today’s Mass in Catholic parishes around the world. The reflection represents only my own point of view, intended to help prepare myself for the Lord’s day and perhaps spark a meaningful discussion. Previous Sunday Reflections from the main page can be found here.  For previous Green Room entries, click here.

This morning’s Gospel reading is Matthew 11:25–30:

At that time Jesus exclaimed:

“I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to little ones. Yes, Father, such has been your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

“For I am meek and humble of heart.” Those words may strike us as puzzling, for wow often do we exalt the Lord? We praise Him for His mighty works, for the breadth of creation. We acknowledge His infinite power and His infinite wisdom. Yet here we have, and also in today’s first reading in Zechariah, the statement that our Savior, the Son of God, is meek and will come to us “riding on an ass, on a colt, the foal of an ass,” a picture of humility.

How do we resolve the apparent contradiction? First, we must understand that there is no contradiction, and that the confusion is caused by human nature rather than reality within God’s love. We are used to human projections of power and knowledge, where both are used to gain advantage and dominate others. The Pharisees and Sadducees of that time used their superior knowledge of Scripture and law to dominate the Israelites in Jesus’ time, for instance. We see numerous examples from the Gospels of the ruling classes attempting to derail Jesus’ ministry, especially in defense of the economy and power structure of the Temple.

They are hardly unique, though — we see plenty of other examples in every era and time, and not just from the ruling classes but within ourselves, as well. We laugh and point with scorn at those who attempt to dominate others with the “Do you know who I am?” retort when challenged, and others who point to degrees or awards as ways to put themselves above reproach. These impulses come naturally to us, because our fallen human nature finds power and domination attractive. We acquire these outward signs of knowledge and power in order to present ourselves shortcuts to authority and avoidance of engagement. It gives us a chance to dominate, which is the opposite of humility and charity.

There is nothing wrong with knowledge, of course, or wisdom. Those gifts can be put to great use, but in ways that benefit others and contribute to the common good rather than serve selfish desires. It’s the inordinate desire for power, fame, money, and/or honors that end up being sinful and move us away from God, and away from our own true identities.

God Himself does not seek to dominate, as the Gospel and the first reading indicate. God will rule in His kingdom, but will rule through love and the free-will choice of those who become His sons and daughters. C. S. Lewis offered this clear explanation in his indispensable book The Screwtape Letters:

You must have often wondered why the Enemy does not make more use of His power to be sensibly present to human souls in any degree He chooses and at any moment. But you now see that the Irresistible and the Indisputable are the two weapons which the very nature of His scheme forbids Him to use. Merely to override a human will (as His felt presence in any but the faintest and most mitigated degree would certainly do) would be for Him useless. He cannot ravish. He can only woo. For His ignoble idea is to eat the cake and have it; the creatures are to be one with Him, but yet themselves; merely to cancel them, or assimilate them, will not serve.

Could God dominate us and force us into abject slavery? Sure, He could if He so chose. His will could crush us into unchosen obedience, into a fear-filled existence that only promised more of the same throughout eternity. This, however, is just the opposite of love and charity. In fact, this is exactly what sin does to us. It insinuates itself through our fallen human nature and our need to become our own gods, and feeds us on our own lusts — for power, sex, vainglory, vanity, and so on. We become enslaved to sin while believing ourselves to have been liberated by it. We need more and more of it in order to feed the emptiness that it expands, until we finally become so lost to it that we no longer recognize ourselves.

Do you know who I am eventually becomes less a slogan of domination, and more a plea for help.

God does know who we are, and wants us to be ourselves — the best part of ourselves, but still distinct, unique, and free within His love. This is why Jesus emphasizes the point here that choosing the path of righteousness may look more difficult and more like servitude, but it is a true liberation.  Jesus tells the disciples and “all you who labor and are burdened” that “my yoke is easy, and my burden light,” and that “you will find rest for yourselves.” We can do this by taking His yoke upon us and setting down the yoke of sin. Furthermore, this is possible because Jesus is “meek and humble of heart.” That is not just a coincidental point, but the foundation for the lighter yoke, the truly refreshing rest.

The difficulty in choosing the yoke of Jesus is recognizing that it is a choice between two yokes, and not a choice between one yoke and the concept of self-liberation. Too often, we fall back into our sinful self-deception that we are the only God we will ever need, and that leads us back to the inevitable slavery of sin and the perpetual emptiness that first makes Do you know who I am? a brag and then into a wail of despair.

Even in those times, though, we can rest assured that God knows who we are, and is ready for us to set down the yoke of sin and self-adoration. All we need to do is pick up the yoke that Jesus gives us of charity and faith. When we do, we will finally recognize the burden of sin, and find rest in setting it down. And in doing so, we will finally find ourselves, rather than the illusory identities we have built up through our refusal to recognize the one true authority — and we won’t ever have the need to say Do you know who I am to anyone else, least of all to ourselves.

Today’s image is from a mid-3rd century fresco in the Catacomb of Callixtus in Rome, one of the earliest images of Jesus as the Good Shepherd yet discovered.

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