Am I a Conscious Woman?

Strangely enough, the first chapter of the next book we are going to read at School of Community is closely related to my last posts. I didn't know that when I wrote them, in fact, looking at its title (At the Origin of the Christian Claim), I thought it was all about Jesus.
Instead, the book begins with an examination of the religious experience in general and of its dizzying inherent quality. Giussani writes:
"I, a human being, am forced to live out all of the steps of my existence imprisoned within a horizon upon which a great inaccessible Unknown looms".
In the Old Testament God says:
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts and your ways are not my ways".
Throughout history and all over the world, man has felt the urge to figure out God's ways.

The first chapter of The Origins of the Christian Claim is appropriately titled Religious Creativity of Man. Here is a quote:
"When faced with the mystery he perceives as the determining factor of his life, man recognizes his power, and since he cannot bear to entrust himself "sine glossa" to an Unknown, he tries to imagine It in relation to himself, according to his own terms".
Giussani appreciates this effort, which dignifies religious imagination.
Well, in my post titled The Human need to Penetrate the Unknown I wrote precisely these words: 'Let's use our imagination.
He continues:
"When he becomes aware of the existence of many religions, the conscious man feels that, in order to be sure of the truth of the one he has chosen, he has to study and compare all of them and then decide".
Isn't this precisely what I've described in my previous post? Am I, then, a conscious woman? Not so fast.
Giussani quotes a famous historian of religions who states that this is an impossible task:
"Most of us (historians) are really familiar with only one poor little sector of the immense domain of religious history".
And so Giussani concludes that "hoping to know all religions in order to choose the best is utopian, and whatever is utopian is a false ideal".
He argues against the idea of creating a universal religion which takes the best from them all, an idea born with the Enlightenment and which, as I mentioned, is called "religious cafeteria" by its critics.
Giussani writes:
"This (idea) does not consider that what might be the best for one man might not be the best for others".
Let me elaborate on that. In my experience, those who make up their own religion end up with an overly inflated ego.
So, what is our best option according with Giussani?
"Man is born into a certain environment, at a particular moment in history, and it is highly probable that the religion his surroundings profess will be the expression best suited to his temperament."
Didn't I write that one of the reasons I chose Catholicism is that, after all, I'm Italian?
He continues:
"Perhaps an encounter in life will draw attention to a doctrine, a morality, an emotion more suited to our reason matured over time or to our heart with its particular history. In that case, we could well change, convert. But the suggestion that we follow the religion of our own tradition remains a basic unpretentious directive. In this sense, all religions are 'true'. "
Apparently, my thoughts are the same thoughts of many people of faith, and Monsignor Giussani would have approved of them. But for us Christians, the issue is not to attempt to imagine God, but rather to recognize Him in Jesus Christ.

What I went through before choosing Catholicism

As we have seen in my previous post, in Hindu religion Avatar is the consciousness of God that takes on a human body and, when necessary, comes on earth to put humanity on the right track. But if, as modern schools of Hinduism maintain, Krishna, the Buddha, Muhammad and Jesus were all Avatar, how do we explain the diversity of their messages? Is it possible that it was somehow distorted by the receiving cultures?

At the beginning of my conversion, although Jesus had conquered me, I wanted to make an educated choice and read about other religions, but most of all about the origins of Christianity. I found out that Gnostics were an integral part of early Christian communities and that they were labeled as heretics in the second century. The realization that there had been a controversy within the early Christian movement intrigued me. We came to know more about it only in 1945, when the Gnostic Scriptures were found in a sealed six-foot jar buried near the town of Nag-Hammadi in Egypt.

The main heresy of Gnosticism consists in the idea that Jesus was a spiritual entity. Some Gnostic texts go as far as affirming that He didn't suffer during the crucifixion because He wasn't a human being. The interpretation of His suffering was a very controversial subject among Christians. While some Gnostics condemned orthodox for coercing naïve believers to undergo martyrdom claiming that they would gain eternal life, Tertullian wrote that "gnostics purposefully looked for false theological means to avoid martyrdom and even spoke of martyrs with contempt." Generally, in fact, they managed not to be persecuted. They were criticizing the faith of most believers and, as a result, dividing the Church.
However, Gnosticism wasn't limited to the wacky belief that Jesus wasn't human. It had many aspects, in fact, to say it with Tertullian, gnostics agreed only to disagree. From the gnostic gospels the figure of Jesus comes across even more mysterious and hermetic. For example, the gospel of Thomas depicts Jesus as a teacher or a prophet, but also as a divine being. In this gospel Jesus sounds like a Vedic sage: We won't know God unless we know ourselves. In other words, we need to understand that our true self is the soul, which is united with God. The reality we see is only real from our perspective, which will shift in the afterlife, and this world will become unreal. This gospel is a collection of Jesus' sayings, many of which are similar to those in the synoptic gospels. Thomas teaches that we have to look for the divine within ourselves, for we are made in God's image. For Thomas, the kingdom of God is already on earth, but we don't see it because we don't understand the world we live in, trapped as we are in the dichotomy between past and future.

I was surprised to learn that self-knowledge was at the core of the Gnostic Scriptures. In fact, the word "gnostic"means knowledge or insight. Like in Hinduism, self-knowledge is knowledge of God and salvation doesn't come through faith alone, but through meditation. In the second century, Valentinus was the leader of a branch of Christianity which gave an allegorical interpretation of the Scriptures that were going to be chosen as the New Testament by St. Irenaeus of Lyon. The latter labeled Valentinus as heretic and had him cast out of the Roman Church. He wrote a huge treatise against Gnosticism, affirming that "heretics read wildly, concentrating on the enigmas".
In the Gospel of Mark, the apostles ask Jesus why He talks to the crowds only in parables, and He answers:
"The mystery of the kingdom of God has been granted to you. But to those outside everything comes in parables, so that they may look and see but not perceive, and hear and listen but not understand, in order that they might not be converted but forgiven".
Jesus seems to imply that people have different levels of insight; therefore He's giving His teachings according to their ability to comprehend. As for those left behind, forgiveness will have to be enough. Thus, the gnostics found ground for passing their teachings only to persons who had given proof of being spiritually mature. The initiation of an adept lasted five years, and during this time he or she participated in meetings where his or her role would change continually. Men and women, in fact, rotated as priests following a principle of equality.
Valentinus' followers didn't bother to argue with orthodox Christians because they considered them at a lower level of understanding for taking the Bible literally. Valentinus quoted the passages where God shows His vindictive nature to argue that humans have created a lesser God, the God of creation, who is portrayed as a craftsman and not as the ineffable First Principle, the God of Love.

There are other similarities between Hinduism and Gnosticism. In the Gospel of Mary of Magdala, she is the most spiritually gifted and Jesus reveals to her how the souls ascend to heaven in a mystic vision where the soul, superior in knowledge to the negative powers which try to send her back in a different body, succeeds instead in reaching God. The belief in reincarnation is an interesting aspect of Gnosticism. Unlike Indian religions, it doesn't mention the rebirth of the sinner in an animal body where, quite obviously, there would be no chance for him to correct the mistakes made in the course of his life. In the Apocalypses of Paul, for example, the sorrowful soul is cast down again, into a body prepared for it.

Like Hinduism, the Gospel of Mary of Magdala describes the existence of different spiritual planes, the lowest inhabited by lost souls. According to this gospel, a human being is composed of body, soul and mind. The mind is the most divine part of the self, which rules and leads the soul. Knowledge will allow the soul to escape the domination of the flesh. The spirit is part of the divine, not of the human being. Wisdom and visions are perceived by the mind, which acts as a mediator between the soul and spirit.
In the Gnostic Scriptures there is no hell and sin doesn't exist as such, but people produce sin when they follow the desires of their material nature, so punishment is self-inflicted. Consequently, gnostics didn't believe in baptism as a tool to erase original sin, but as first symbolic step towards Christianity.
Like Hindus, they believed that sex has a mystical meaning.

At this point I should probably tell you why I have expanded so much on Hinduism and Gnosticism. It all started with me trying to explain my random posts about the afterlife, remember? Well, I hope you have concluded that those posts were not so random after all. On the contrary, there was a lot of pondering behind them. See, I was interested in Buddhism in my youth. Having fallen in love with Jesus later in life, I had to believe that we have a loving Father in heaven, and that Jesus was the Way. I went through a period where I though that the truth lied between Christianity, some aspects of Gnosticism and Hinduism (these last two agreed on reincarnation, which was part of my Buddhist back-ground). But in the end I changed my mind.

Gnostic and Hindus thought that through self-knowledge we can become like God. But, even if we could find God within ourselves, could we really understand Him? For the father of orthodoxy, St. Irenaus, it was heresy to assume that human experience, even through meditation, could ever comprehend God. Only one Gnostic source, Allogenes, agrees with Irenaus and teaches that we cannot attain knowledge of the Unknown God and that we should see gnosis as a tool to achieve spiritual development. True gnosis, for Allogenes, means to recognize the limits of human knowledge, and I agree with him.

The Dalai Lama, whom I went to see when he came to Rome in the 90s, advised people of faith to make up their mind and follow one religion. I found an answer to my need of reflecting upon my choice  in Communion and Liberation. After all, Catholicism is the religion that stemmed from the early Christians. And, last but not least...I'm Italian! Do I believe or accept all its teachings? Honestly, no. But I bow before the Mystery, on which Monsignor Giussani insists so much. As I said before, I have problems with the catholic concept of hell, and that's what prompted my post on Medjugorie: It was an answer to the problem of the afterlife that worked without involving reincarnation. I'm not saying that reincarnation is not a possibility. What I'm saying is that nobody can claim to know what happens in the afterlife, so I'm comfortable speculating about it.

I believe in what I have experienced. I have felt my father's presence after he died. I feel Jesus' presence and He has changed my life. So I believe that there is life after death. And I believe that, sooner or later, in a timeless space, I'll be with Jesus.

Is Jesus the only Avatar?

Prompted by my random posting about the afterlife, an anonymous reader from Australia left a comment with several links to websites dedicated to Avatar Adi Da Samraj, obviously in the attempt to shed some light on my confused mind. I want to thank the anonymous reader for his/her concern, but I also want to take this opportunity to say something about how I came to be or, I should say, to remain a Catholic.

Hinduism and its concept of the afterlife aren't new to me, for in the process of my conversion I have taken them into consideration. In fact, although I had fallen in love with Jesus, I did not assume that Christians were the only holders of the truth. I found parallels between Hindu philosophy and western culture. Let me give you some examples.
 

In Hinduism, the Vedic Hymns precede all forms of life, including the gods (like in the Gospel of John: In the beginning was the Word…). The hymns don't separate nature from Brahman, who is the only reality, ultimate and impersonal. Dreams are as real as reality, which is also a dream from which those liberated from samsara, or the endless cycle of death and rebirth, are awakened. Shan Kara (788-820), one of the two most influential Indian philosophers, maintains that reality is entirely originated from speech, meaning that what we can describe is more real than what is really out there. In other words, we sort of create or shape reality through language. For Shan Kara, the world as we know it is an appearance, namely it exists in relation to the minds to which it appears. We split up reality in concepts to be able to deal with it. In the absence of the observer, reality is a whole.
Ideas like these are not as foreign to our culture as one may think. Marcus was a 300 C.E. prophet who had a vision suggesting that the whole alphabet, and all human speech, can become a mystical form of divine truth. He believed that the restoration of all things will take place only when the illusion of separateness will be overcome. Plato also maintained that the intelligible world is more real than the one of sensory reality.
Thomas of Aquinas describes God very much like Shan Kara describes Brahman: utterly simple, timeless, changeless and ineffable.
Hindu philosophy states that "the effect is in reality no different from the cause", meaning that we are one with Brahman, although we are actually separated from Him because diversity belongs to the realm of appearances. This concept is not so different from what Aquinas wrote, namely that we are the "effect" produced by God, a reflection of Him and dependent on Him. But Shan Kara sees the act of creation in a negative way, because it's the result of Brahman's desire for "another".

In the place of Hell, in Hinduism there are the laws of karma, which unfold during our lives on earth. Our salvation is not to improve the world, but to escape it. For Shan Kara, the concepts of individual soul and of personal God are illusions. His God is beyond good and evil, and is not concerned with His creation.
Instead, the Indian philosopher Ramanuja (1017-1137) is much more close to our own view of religion. He teaches that Brahman can be seen as a personal God and possesses qualities in their higher forms. The universe is the product of His creative activity and the soul is real and eternal. The true self is not pure consciousness beyond experience; on the contrary, it can experience a state of bliss in knowing Brahman. We don't have to renounce the world; rather we have to learn how to live in it freely.

Modern Hindu thinkers have rethought the old, depressing idea of reincarnation: Instead of an endless cycle of rebirth, where a soul might reincarnate from a human to an animal body, the process of rebirth is now seen as a constant progress towards the final goal.

Hindu theology is not incompatible with the Christian theory of Incarnation, if one sees Jesus as an Avatar, or God-Man. Avatar is the first soul that ever manifested itself in the universe. When incarnated, the God-Man realizes his divine status, but at the same time is fully human. The Avatar does not reincarnate, because he is the consciousness of God that takes on a human body. When humanity is driven by corruption and anger, the God-Man comes on earth to bring it to a new level, where spiritual awakening is available to all. Modern schools of Hinduism maintain that Krishna, the Buddha, Muhammad and Jesus were all Avatar, and here the similarity with Christianity ends.

As we have seen, it's possible to compare different theologies and find affinities between them. But ancient Buddhism denies the existence of a Creator, and Muhammad doesn't describe God as a forgiving Father.
How are we to explain these fundamental differences? As a Christian, I believe that Jesus alone was Avatar, whereas the others were interpreting the Unknown according to their personality and culture. Jesus Christ took upon himself the evil forces that ruled the world and crushed them under the weight of His Passion. He loved humanity more than anyone else ever did. As opposite to eastern religions, Jesus did not deny the reality of the self and of God's creation; rather he brought it to a higher level. He taught that it's crucial to improve ourselves and to care for other people. He said that He lived in each and every one of the poor on earth and that the Father lived in Him. Therefore God is within us. For Jesus there are no boundaries between us and the rest of the universe, provided that we are able to live up to this communion of souls.

In my youth I practiced Buddhist meditation, so turning to Christianity I had to learn how to appreciate the theatricality of the Old Testament prophets and their fearless attitude toward the establishment. They did not behave like Hindu sages, but as shameless, rebellious God messengers. They were angry, because their people did not understand the will of Yahweh. The ancient prophets had deep religious insights, for their God cares for His creation's outcome.
On the other hand, it's obvious that Hindu philosophy can be read in Jesus' words. The kingdom of heaven as He describes it was a revolutionary idea in ancient Judaism, but not in Vedanta. Jesus said that the kingdom is not only with the Father, but it is present here and now and at the same time is within us. He describes it as a mustard seed that grows until it becomes a large bush. Similarly, Brahman is said to be greater than the greatest and smaller than the smallest. Jesus is speaking of karma when He says "As soon as you sow, you shall reap". But most of all, Jesus preaches detachment from earthly affection, like eastern religions do.

To be continued….if you have the patience to read more!

The Human Need to Penetrate the Unknown

My son's main interest in the field of philosophy is Ethics, and this represents a further obstacle for him to accept the idea of a God. He maintains that the principles of Ethics are universal and therefore must be extended to a hypothetical creator.
I firmly believe that, although God created us in His likeness, it is impossible for us to understand His mysterious ways. Yet, I sympathize with my son. As a matter of fact, two weeks ago, in my post about Medjugorje, I said that I had finally found my favorite explanation concerning the afterlife. Thanks to the Blessed Mary's apparitions in the small Yugoslavian village, I could insist with my son that God, after all, is not a cosmic dictator. In part I wrote that post for his sake, but it also satisfied my own need to figure out God.

Atheists or believers of different faiths, we all try to pin down the Mystery, but its wings are more powerful than our will. This is the subject of the religious Sense last chapters.
Giussani praises reason for yearning to penetrate the Unknown, because this is the driving force that brings us closer to God. But at the same time he reminds us of the futility of the attempt to unravel the Mystery. He writes:
"Reason…degrades the object by identifying it with itself, with something it fully comprehends, that is, within the confine of its experience, because experience is the horizon of the comprehensible".

Instead of reducing the Mystery to our own measure, let's use our imagination to figure out the laws of Ethics that might rule our life on earth and the afterlife, assuming that the two are connected. Perhaps there is a cosmic battle going on in the heavens, where Good and Evil fight each other with unfathomable weapons. Maybe the suffering of good people on earth serves the purpose of saving souls by the thousands. It sounds unjust, but what do we know about cosmic battles?
At Mass, we repeat again and again that Jesus offered Himself as a ransom for many. Should we take this statement as a metaphor or should we take it literally? Atheists despise this cruel God who demanded the ultimate sacrifice of His son to save those who had gone ashtray, but what if Jesus' death was necessary to reestablish a cosmic balance between Good and Evil? These may sound like absurd speculations, but my point is simple: It's dizzying, but the only rational position is to admit that we live suspended upon the Beyond, waiting to cross its borders.

Jesus' advent did not unravel the mystery, but it made it more approachable: the Beyond is inhabited by a loving Father, whose Son walked the earth as any other human being. God become man, He has a face. Almost five years after my conversion I still don't really know how to pray, but I can sit in contemplation before that face and be filled with awe, hope and joy.

Jesus, a Perceptible Presence

A reader of this blog sent me a link with the conversion story of an English psychiatric nurse turned published poet. This woman and I have a few things in common: We are about the same age, she lives in Rome (where I used to live before I moved to the USA) and she was not a believer for most of her life.
I was moved to tears when I read about her experience:

"In that church, there was an icon of Christ and, prayerless, I would simply look at him. It was on one of these occasions that I spoke aloud to the face and asked for help. There was no visual or aural hallucination, or anything; as a poet, I can use as a metaphor to tell what happened. The nearest I can come to describing it is to say that it felt like I was an amnesiac in a fit of quiet panic, and suddenly someone walked into the room that I recognised.
Later, I would read Simone Weil’s account of a very similar experience: “Christ lui-même est descendu et m’a prise.” It was unlike anything I had ever experienced and was impossible to replicate internally. I had and have no doubt that it was the presence of Christ. That, earlier in the spring, my breaking apart had allowed God enough of a crack in my intellect and defences to let me know him. Now I was open enough to let Christ embed himself in me".

Witness like this move me and reinforce my faith, because my experience of the divine is similar. At times I've had a strong perception of Jesus' presence, for me He is real and alive in the Spirit. Father Giussani defines Him a "perceptible Presence", and the members of my School of Community interpret this as a metaphor, where His presence becomes evident in people's actions and goodness. This is beautiful, but for me there is more to it. There is that "Lui- meme", "Lui stesso", Jesus Himself who dwells among us. The risen Jesus.

Last week, at School of Community, we read about "the experience of risk". Giussani wonders why it is so difficult for man to read the existence of God in the reality that surrounds him, why man remains paralyzed before the real. I still experience this difficulty when I try to see the hand of a Creator. Without the Incarnation I wouldn't believe in God. But Jesus came on earth and suddenly God was not so hidden anymore, nor did he want to be. The "risk" for me is that of loosing contact with Him, of ending up thinking that He is a projection of my mind. How do I avoid this risk? I hold on to my love for Him and to the perception of His love for me. When love feels real, it's hard to believe that the object of our love is just a product of our imagination..

The Afterlife according to the Blessed Virgin Mary of Medjugorje

As I've said before, after Christmas my son decided to read the Gospels. His main objection to Jesus' words is that they introduce the idea of Hell. I understand his point of view. As a matter of fact I've struggled with the concept of eternal punishment myself, finding a way out in the fact that Jesus' language was appropriate for an eschatological prophet.

Of course His words can be interpreted in different ways, and unfortunately I must admit that I don't like the Christian interpretation, where our only chance to be saved is to behave and convert during our earthly life. What about a good boy who does not believe in God (as you know I'm related to one)? Or what about an evil person who became evil because was abused as a child?  For this reason I believed in reincarnation even after I returned to Catholicism. I found hints in the Gospels about the possibility of reincarnation: Jesus, for example, tells His apostles that Elijah had already returned but had not been recognized, and they realize that He's referring to John the Baptist. This may very well mean that Elijah reincarnated into John the Baptist, doesn't it?

However, I was never completely at ease with this mix and match of religions I was doing. My Catholic friends, and even my atheist son, wanted me to fully adhere to one faith, accusing me of picking and choosing what I liked bests from different belief systems. I defended my position, maintaining that no one can claim to know what happens in the afterlife. I still hold the same opinion, but I don't like to be labeled as a "cafeteria" believer.

Well, I think I've found the answer to my problem, and it comes straight from the Mother of Jesus. I'm reading a book about the apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Medjugorje, Yugoslavia. One of the visionaries, Mirjana, allegedly asked Her how a merciful God could condemn people to Hell for eternity. The Blessed Mother answered that souls who stay in Hell do so by their own choice. To avoid misunderstandings, let me quote Marjana:
"If a person goes to Hell…Don't people pray for their salvation? Could God be so unmerciful as not to hear their prayers? Then the Madonna explained it to me. People in Hell do not pray at all; instead, they blame God for everything. In effect, they become one with that Hell and they get used to it. They rage against God, and they suffer, but they always refuse to pray to God".
Unmistakably, this means that great sinners have the possibility to repent in the afterlife, and that nonbelievers can still believe and fall in love with God after they die. Hell is for those who don't want to be delivered from it by God, whom they reject. However, according to the Blessed Mother, most people go to Purgatory, where they can deal with their issues.

I know that the Catholic Church does not accept Medjugorje apparitions as indisputably true, but I embrace the Madonna's explanation because, for the first time, I'm completely satisfied with a description of the afterlife. God is not a tyrant, and we are truly free.

Meditating on Facebook

As soon as we came to the USA twelve years ago, my husband plunged into the Internet world never to resurface again. He found solace in the unending sources of information and exorcised his nostalgia finding new friends online.
On the contrary, I was always very suspicious of these mysterious gadgets called computers and of the entire concept of virtual reality. I insisted on consulting my Encyclopedia Britannica and on writing letters to be sent my mail for quite a few years. But I could type, so I didn't have to face too many difficulties when I decided to write a book about my conversion. Sitting for hours in front of a computer screen, I started to explore its possibilities. That hellish machine seemed to have a mind of its own, but little by little I was able to come to terms with it. I'm still computer-impaired, as you can see from the look of this blog, but at least I've learned how to send emails and post my writings.

Recently I've joined Facebook, and that opened a surprisingly surreal world for me. Ghosts of my past emerged from the laptop, carrying with them floods of lost memories. I found on Facebook people I hadn't even thought about for years, and all of a sudden I had a chance to take a glimpse into their lives. I found people I used to care for, or they found me, and we both marveled at how much older we looked in our recent picture. Children had become adults and adults had become elderly in the silent flowing of time. Some had moved, some had stayed put, but everyone had changed one way or another. I was able to reestablish some good relationships that were lost because of the distance, and I was content when somebody answered a "Friend Request": Even if it didn't have a follow up, it was still a sign of human connection. I felt that the memories we shared still have a place in our lives; time has not erased them.

Strangely enough, it sort of make sense to think that past, present and future all exist at the same time, in agreement with the discoveries of modern physics. It's even more surreal to think that the moments we create together are lived in a different way by each one of us. A woman sent me a Friend Request today. I knew her when she was a little girl and I was living with her father, with whom I broke up after a four years engagement. How do I look in her memory? She obviously must have an image of myself that I've lost, which means that I exist in a dimension that is foreign to me; I'm perceived in a way that I can't figure out.
But this is also true as far as the present is concerned. How does my husband see me right now? Is his image of me built on our life together, on our good and bad moments? And who am I in the eyes of my son? Does a part of him still see me with the eyes of a little boy looking for his mother?

Perhaps only God can see my true essence, which will blossom in His Holy Presence, making me whole.

Is God a Dictator?

At School of Community we are currently reading the last chapters of "The Religious Sense" by Monsignor Luigi Giussani, the founder of Communion and Liberation. I quote from the back cover: "This is a book for all faiths and no faith…Christians, Buddhists and Jews celebrated the spiritual and religious renewal that Luigi Giussani's work has inspired throughout the world (1997 United Nations Conference)".
I love all his books, and from now on I'll blog mostly about what I gather from these readings.

During our last meeting we talked about the freedom that can be experienced in the faith. As I anticipated last week, my son has started to read the Gospels and, having a problem with authority, he's taking them the wrong way.

Is God a dictator or a peace-maker? Is He someone who enslaves us or someone who sets us free? Apparently, it's a matter of opinion. Those who embrace Him find in Him unexpected, all-encompassing freedom. But others reject Him on the ground that not only His existence is not proven, but it's also undesirable.
Questioned about the possibility of the afterlife, Bertrand Russell said that, should he die and find himself before a Creator, he would tell Him: "Sir, you did not give me enough evidence".
Christopher Hitchens, author of "God is not Great", died a couple of weeks ago. He wrote:
"It would be horrible if it were true that we were designed and then created and then continuously supervised throughout all our lives…and then continue to be supervised after our deaths…It would be like living in a celestial North Korea. You can't defect from North Korea, but at least you can die. With monotheism they won't let you die and get away from them. Who wants that to be true?"


As a Christian, Hitchens' misconception seems to me huge, but understandable. God may be mistaken for a tyrant by anyone who doesn't experience His love. Converted at the age of fifty, I've found true freedom for the first time in my life in Jesus Christ. It is the kind of freedom that Buddhists strive for, achieving it, if they are diligent enough in their practices, after years of meditation. It is freedom from attachment, suffering and sin. It's nothing but peace.

We Christians believe that God chose not to impose His presence on the human race; that's why He doesn't offer us evidence of His existence. Jesus actually died to preserve our freedom of choice: We are free to believe, as were the people of His time, that He was a failed prophet crucified by the Romans or the Son of God raised from the dead. But atheists are angry at God precisely because He gave us the option of accepting Him or rejecting Him. And yet, our society has come to value freedom as the most important aspect of civilization. Why then is it so hard for them to appreciate it when it comes from God?
I have posed this question to my son, and the answer was that there is no freedom where there is punishment, even if punishment consists of being separated from a God they didn't love. It seems to me that, given these premises, God just can't win. For the atheist, the act of creation itself implies dictatorship, for whatever system of relationship with His creatures the Creator would choose, would be an imposition on them. Therefore they don't want a Creator, and they are ready to give up eternal life to eliminate God.

I want to conclude quoting Giussani: "To be conscious of oneself right to the core is to perceive, at the depths of the self, an Other".
Can being in contact with yourself right to the core enslave you? Of course not. It can only set you free.

At each School of Community meeting, the partecipants share their everyday experiences related to the reading. Would you like to do the same here? How do you experience freedom in God?  (Moving around my posts I've lost all your comments. ..I hope to get new ones!)

Remembering Christmas in Italy

Here we are, my family and I, on our eleventh Christmas in the USA. For the first time we receive the Italian TV channels and that increases our nostalgia. Actually I should say my husband's nostalgia and mine, because our son doesn't miss Italy.
I miss Christmas in Rome, with the life size Nativity in Vatican Square. On TV I'm watching Piazza di Spagna at night (over there it's already late, six hours later than here). White Christmas lights are wrapped around the trees and shining decoration is hanging from the branches like fruit.

My son was nine years old at the time of our last Christmas in Italy, and I took him to every Nativity display both in Rome and Naples, so that he could have some memories. Unfortunately he doesn't remember much, but I do remember the huge villages full of shepherds dressed in real fabric in Santa Chiara Monastery, and most of all the live Nativity with camels, elephants and sheep at Naples' harbor. What a night, and what beautiful songs!

We do our best to recreate the Italian Christmas atmosphere. My husband and I have built a typically Neapolitan Nativity in our living-room. I painted on carton board a night sky full of stars and high mountains dotted with small houses. We struggled with aluminum foil to make it look like a stream. Dipping brown paper in a bucket of liquid glue, he made papier-mâché hills, a lake, and of course a barn where, according to the tradition, Mary gave birth to Jesus.
It might seem awkward to you, but the Neapolitan Nativity, which in Italy is called Presepe, also includes a restaurant complete with chunks of prosciutto and mozzarella hung from the ceiling. We brought our hand-made terracotta figures from our country, and besides the classic Nativity characters we have two small terracotta tables with people sitting around them, happily having dinner. Jesus, as you probably know, loved to share good meals with his disciples, so the pizzeria is not so out of place after all!

My husband and son like to keep the Presepe tradition going, but their are not believers. However, this last Christmas I felt that something was changing. My husband found on U-Tube the Neapolitan version of an old Christmas song and kept listening to it all day long. He said that it was touching, because it showed that Baby Jesus was a human baby born in a magic world where, although it was winter,  flowers were blossoming, birds were singing and sheperds were waking up in the middle of the night at the beat of their heart. I thought what he said was important because, from personal experience, I would say that the first step towards faith is to understand Jesus' humanity. Isn't it for this reason that he became man?
Our son also manifested his will to take an important step. He said that when he's done with studying he will read the Gospels, and he will do it with an open mind. I hope he will perceive Jesus' humanity, his frustration and his suffering. I hope that next Christmas will mark another step towards faith for them.
  
Here in the States Christmas is fun because of the outdoor lights that decorate people's houses, but there isn't much to see about the Nativity. To preserve the spirit of Christmas I sculpted the one you see right here, on the right.
Merry Christmas to all! See you next week.

A Messenger of Christ

First, a message to my readers: This is the last time that I re-post. Starting next week I'll try to write about what I get from my weekly meeting with my School of Community (Communion and Liberation). See you soon!

The weather has been chilly for a couple of weeks. I was already bracing for winter when a glorious sun emerged from the clouds, warming up the air. Immediately, I run to my summer closet, unpacked a pair of shorts and walked past my balcony to sit on the fire-escape, where I could have a better view of the courtyard. For some reasons, this reminded me of a day, about five years ago, when I was sitting on some steps waiting for a bus. My car was broken and I had missed the bus, but I wasn't upset. It was a beautiful summer day and I was content, as I always am when I can sit in the sun. Yet, as I recall, I had reasons to be worried. You know, the usual staff: loss of jobs, uncertainty about the future and so on.

At the time, my interest in Jesus Christ had just begun. I was going to church already, but I hadn't met my CL friends yet and I was quite alone in my faith. As a was waiting for the bus, a tall Hispanic man walked by and, completely out of the blue, said to me:
"Don't worry, madam. Jesus will take care of you."
I was surprised, but something inside of me instinctively assented. I smiled back at him and said:
"Of course!"
And, at that moment, I actually had no doubt: Jesus was going to take care of me and my family.

Five years later, I must confirm that He has kept His promise. I've had moments of doubts, when the rational aspect of my personality was still peeping out, sometimes overbearing. But today I look back at that first messenger of Christ with gratitude. He had no reason to talk to me that way. I wasn't crying or asking for help. True, I was sitting on some steps, but so what? I didn't look desperate! I always make a point of being nicely dressed when I go out, and I never live the house without wearing some make-up and a pair of earrings. I believe that Someone up there wanted to send me a message. That's why that man spoke to me.

"Don't worry about tomorrow: tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil."
I love this saying for the lightness that brings into our life. But it's easier said than done. How can one not worry about tomorrow when one doesn't know where the next meal will come from? And yet, in my experience, Jesus' sayings work precisely because they are so extreme. Only aiming at the impossible I can get half way.
Take for instance "Love your enemies". I might not be able to go that far, but if I try to love them I will overcome my resentment.
This is the meaning of "transcending our humanity". Let's reach higher. Get past our limitations. Leave behind the everyday evil, for there is plenty of it without us adding more. Let's go through life like children climbing up the hill on a sunny day and then rolling down only to climb up again. Let's play in the grass and then lay on our back looking at the sky. Let's bring home some flowers, arrange them in a vase and put them on the table. Soon they'll be surrounded by the most delicious dishes we have ever tasted. It's going to be an abundant meal, for Jesus came because we may have life, and have it more abundantly.
　

Time and Free Will

Most of my catholic friends, here in the USA, have not two, not three, but five children. It seems like a lot
of children to me, because in Italy child number three is usually the last one.
I have great respect for these mothers. I've had only one child and I could barely cope with fatigue. But probably having more children forces women to approach motherhood with more balance. I insisted on picking up my baby every time he cried at night, and as a result I was badly sleep-deprived. As if that wasn't enough, he wanted to be held all the time also during the day. He cried in his stroller, on the floor, in his chair, basically everywhere except in somebody's arms. Exhausted, one day I went out and bought a baby-walker. As soon as my baby's feet touched the ground, he became the happiest child in the world. I guess he felt more in control of his surroundings. He would run around all day long laughing and cheering, so I thought that I had found the perfect solution to his tantrums. But there was only one problem…my son was only seven months old! In my defense, I can say that I didn't know any better. Today it's common knowledge that baby-walkers don't help toddlers' physical development and that it's much better for them to crawl and learn how to walk on their own. Anyway, to make a long story short, my little boy got into the habit of walking on his toes, and for that I blame myself and the baby-walker. Countless times I've wished that I could go back in time and correct that mistake. But I can't change the past; what's done it's done.

The past is unchangeable, but what about the future? People have different theories. When something they wished for doesn't happen, some find consolation in the idea that "it wasn't meant to be". They believe in destiny.
Others believe in will power. If you want something strongly enough, they say, it will happen. From a religious perspective, this is pretty much what Jesus said:
"Amen, I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there', and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."
But is our destiny determined by our actions? The protestant thinker John Calvin thought that God chooses
who is going to be saved and who is not, and called this "predetermination". Of course Catholics rejects this idea: They believe that God gave us free will and our salvation depends on our choices.

Free will is an old philosophical problem, which is coming up again in the light of modern physics. As a matter of fact, it's giving nightmares to the above mentioned son of mine, who on and off tiptoed all the way to his twenty-second birthday.
He recently discovered that Einstein special relativity says that time doesn't flow at all, rather it's simply there as a part of the physical universe. Time burst into existence, together with space, in the great explosion known as the Big Bang. We presume that the past is gone and the future is still unformed, we think that they don't exist, but apparently they do. Space-time is like a book and, to say it with the physicist Paul Davies, change occurs because objects move about through space in time. According to some physicists, this implies that free-will is an illusion. But before we get into that, let's look at the problem of time more deeply.
Christian thinkers have always been intrigues by the notion of time. Remarkably, St. Augustine had an exact intuition of modern physics. He wrote:
"The world and time had both one beginning. The world was made, not in time, but simultaneously with time."
Boethious thought that a metaphysically simple being must be eternal and immutable, for it is an imperfection of temporal human beings to have a past that is lost and a future that is still unknown.
St. Anselm also held an intuition of the truth. He wrote:
"You (God) exist neither yesterday, today, nor tomorrow, but You exist right outside time".
He claimed that God is present at different times at once, and that the eternal and temporal entities exist all at once in eternity.

If God is not in time, how does He act in it? John Polkinghorne, a physicist and theologian, rejects the classical idea of the atemporal God in favor of a temporal and eternal One. In other words, a God who observes the succession of events and can act in the physical world, lasting forever within our time. Polkinghorne gives up omniscience in favor of omnipotence: His God doesn't know the future of our universe of true becoming.
I admit that it's difficult to reconcile the atemporal God of classical theology with the God of the Bible, who is deeply engaged in history. Yet, I find Him more consistent with the idea of divinity. I believe that God has knowledge of events that are in the future, but our future is not predetermined because it takes shape according to our actions. If space-time is like a book, then the end couldn't be what it is unless something happened in the storyline to determine that specific end. This makes perfect sense to me, but I have to acknowledge that some imagination is necessary to be at peace with the discoveries of modern physics, for they contradict our perception.
It is precisely for this reason that we should stretch our imagination as a spiritual practice. This doesn't mean, as my atheist son maintains, "wasting time entertaining meaningless speculations". Rather, it means to look at the universe from a broader perspective. It means to overcome our boundaries and take a glimpse of the beyond.

My son thinks that, since his future is somehow already existent, his life resembles the one of a robot. But how can he come to this conclusion if he doesn't know how space-time actually works in respect to our existence? Science doesn't have an answer to that. John Polkinghorne writes:
"Science's inability to reproduce so fundamental an aspect of human experience is to be interpreted as indicating the incompleteness of the scientific account rather than the illusory character of our experience".

We all perceive our actions as dictated by our own free will. Why should we doubt its reality when it takes only a small leap of imagination to figure out how it may be compatible with special relativity?
Pride is what prevents people from seeing the Kingdom. The kind of pride that makes them say: "Unless we understand every aspect of an idea, that idea is unworthy not only of our faith, but also of our time."
But why should we, limited human beings, understand everything? We are like travelers, equipped with all the necessary gadgets; we have laid out a map to reach our destination, but can't find the means of transportation to get there. We need a ride. Let's hope that Jesus will take us all the way to His Kingdom.

Dedicated to Atheists

My son and I have an ongoing debate over religious terminology. He's an atheist and I, an agnostic until five years ago, can see his point. It feels funny even to me to use words such as evil and sin. The new me fully understands their meaning, whereas the old me laughs condescendingly at this nonsense invented by the Church to undermine human dignity.
Expressions that praise the greatness of God are also controversial. If you have read my last post, you'll know that my son described as "meaningless slogan" this statement of mine: Jesus transcends my humanity. For my son's sake, I'll try to show how this statement is, instead, profoundly meaningful.

The New Atheists, which my son often paraphrases, maintain that we don't need religion to lead a morally sound life, and I agree with them. But the problem is much more complex than it may appear at first sight. At the risk of upsetting my son before he goes on reading, I'll say that the inability to probe deep into the human soul is characteristic of his fellow atheists. They believe that knowing how to achieve well-being will be, in the future, sufficient for the human race to stay on the right track. I believe that human beings are basically faulty and more than capable of telling themselves lies to adjust to their imperfections. It's all a question of where to draw the line between good and evil.

To illustrate my viewpoint, I'll describe the dynamics that may cause major problems to apparently happily married couples, both atheists and Christians.
Let's say that the husband looses his job, clearly a possibility in this economy, and the wife works hard to keep the family afloat. She, a good woman who loves her husband, is determined to face the situation in good spirit. But a year later her husband is still unemployed. They are about to loose their home. She obsesses over their financial problems, desperately looking for a way out. When it becomes obvious that they have no choice but to move into a rental apartment, she reluctantly admits to herself that she's harboring some resentment towards her husband. It's not her intention to turn against the father of her
children. Yet, unable to suppress her resentment, she looks for reasons to justify it.
"All women want to have a good provider as a husband", she thinks. "Why should I be different?"
If she believes in God, she will pray, but that won't necessarily help her. She'll feel better for a while, but then her resentment could come back, maybe in the form of bad dreams and fantasies of a better life with another man.
If she's an atheist, she might go see a therapist.
She feels guilty, but she can't control her thoughts. They build up inside of her, until one day she will burst out saying something that she will regret.

Here is another scenario.
A different woman has had many pregnancies and has lost her figure. Her husband loves her, but he's not attracted to her anymore. Instead, he can't help being drawn to a beautiful coworker. He feels guilty but, unable to suppress his feelings, he finds a way to justify them.
"I'm only human", he thinks.
If he's a good Christian, he will pray for strength and self control, but he might still not be able to win the temptation. Haunted by erotic dreams and fantasies, sooner or later he might do something that he will regret some day.

These two individuals, the working wife and the tempted husband, are telling themselves something absolutely true, namely that they are only human. Yet, the moment they accept this truth, they loose all hope of overcoming their weaknesses. We human beings are faulty and weak. This is the original sin we carry within us. The serpent, the evil one, is a liar. He wants to convince us that it's OK to pursue our impulses.
"Go for it", he says. "You have the right to be happy."
But no real happiness can derive from destructive behavior.
Or, if we are stronger than him and would never act on illicit desires, he will take away our peace of mind anyway bringing back unwanted thoughts and dreams. There is only one way to overcome them, and that is the way of Christ. Or, I should say, His way is the easy one, much easier than struggling with one's own demons.

My yoke is easy, my burden light."

If we are Christians not only by denomination but by experience, if we have experienced Christ's presence at some point in our life, He will come to the rescue. All of a sudden, He will be there with us, freeing us from our nightmares. A small miracle will take place within our minds. It has happened to me more than once. I have no better words to describe Him than "a Presence that transcends my humanity". The Savior. Someone so impossibly high and yet reachable. Not only a God, not only a man, but rather someone who unites God and men by merely existing. Someone who led the life of a man who was united with God, to show us that we can, with all our imperfections, do the same.

Be perfect, like your Father in heaven is perfect."

A healing presence, which dissolves my problems like snow in the sun and gives me joy. All I have to do is let His splendor shine on me, and I'm effortlessly brought to transcend my humanity. He doesn't turn me into a saint, He just shows me that it's possible to live above the lies.

I realize that I have no choice but to resort to sentences that may sound like religious slogans the atheist's ear, but unfortunately it's impossible to put into words even the most modest mystical experience.
Being unable to say what Jesus is, I'll say what He's not. He's not an inspirational character who tells you how to think and act. He's not the face of an Aha! moment. He's not a spiritual teacher. When you are in need of healing you don't have to meditate on Jesus' teaching. You must CONTEMPLATE Jesus. If you are able to perceive His presence, you'll be filled with love in overflowing abundance and you'll give it to others. You won't have to climb a steep ladder to reach the sky. Take His hand and you'll be there in one single leap. You might fall again because you are human, but you'll know, by then, that you can transcend your humanity. Thanks to Him who lies within.

A Town Fair

I live in a small town near Philly. During the summer the township organizes weekly events with good music, food and things for sale.
There is nothing like a town fair to make one wonder about human destiny.
It seems unreal that so many persons, that multitude of human beings, will all have eternal life. And what about all the other people walking the earth? It must be one crowded heaven up there! But surely a merciful God wouldn't pick some and leave the others behind! With all their differences, they look basically the same to me: Children holding ice creams and balloons, who will become cool teenagers in tight jeans and flip-flops, who will grow into adults pushing strollers and then into old people leaning on each other.

This year a friend of mine, who owns a shop on the main street, let me borrow her windows to display my paintings. Among Neapolitan landscapes, colorful birds and portraits, I hung a large painting depicting Jesus walking in the desert. The apostles are standing behind Him, while a woman is kneeling on the ground stretching her arms towards Him.
I sat between the two windows with my easel and started painting a young Mary, also kneeling on the ground while the Archangel Gabriel tenderly lays a hand on her head.
People stopped to watch me painting and to ask questions. Some of them had comments about the painting I was working on. Most of them realized that it depicted the Annunciation. A woman stood there for a while, then said:
"You are brave! Taking up a subject like this…!"
"I'm not afraid of affirming my faith", I answered.
"Me neither", she retorted, "but…to paint Mary…not all churches are devoted to her."
Not being in the mood for a theological debate, I said:
"Well, I just think that it's a nice subject for a painting".

A little later a man stopped by and, with a conspiratorial air, whispered that he knew what really happened when Mary became aware that she was going to give birth to Jesus.
"There was no angel!" he stated. "That part was made up by the Church! I'm Catholic, but I don't buy everything they say!"
Kind of annoyed at his attitude, I asked him how he could be so sure.
"Because I can think!" he answered.
Undeniably, people have very strong opinions about what supernatural event took place when Jesus was born. Unfortunately Christian churches find necessary to fight over it. Some even split hairs over the elements that lead to salvation.Which comes first, grace or good work? As for me, I enjoy the uncertainty.
Later on, a girl approached me and asked what my interpretation of the Annunciation was.
"I think that Mary felt very humbled at that moment", I answered.
Only then I realized that both the women I had depicted in a religious setting were kneeling.
"What's up with that?" I thought. "Have I forgotten everything about women's dignity after my conversion?"
Then it occurred to me that I was probably representing my own state of mind. I am humbled before the Mystery. I'm grateful for the gift of faith that Jesus bestowed on me and for all the grace that came with it. But although I feel that I've received a revelation, I can't be sure that I've got it entirely right.

Religion is essentially Mystery, for revelation is always cryptic and it's mediated through the person who receives it. Let's say, for example, that God "speaks" to an Indian yogi; he will verbalize grace according to his cultural background. Therefore the resulting message will be different from the one of an inspired Christian. Pope Benedict XVI examined this issue in depth in his "Many Religions, One Covenant".
There is nothing unassailable in matters of faith, except for our own personal experience of revelation. We may be filled with certainty, yet we know that others are too, even though their beliefs do not coincide with ours.
But what gives us certainty? How can we define revelation? I would say that it must be something that gives us no choice. We may not live up to it, but we must feel its commanding nature. This kind of revelation lies at the heart of the Christian faith. A true Christian will not carry out Jesus' message because it's appealing or morally sound. He will carry it out because Jesus will take over his or her whole life. If you let Him, little by little He will annihilate your old self and give you a new one, and you will be whole.

Going with The Flu

It has been raining for days and there is no sign of stopping. When last week I tuned on the Weather Channel, on the screen appeared a long line of small squares featuring dripping clouds, with one exception: The one marked Sunday showed a bright yellow sun. And so, in the attempt to catch the last rays of summer, on Sunday I headed for the pool. Trying not to pay attention to a looming head-ache, I plunged head first into the freezing water. The following day I had a stiff neck and a cold, but I still roamed around the house obsessing over things I had to do and things I wanted to do. Frustrated because of the pouring rain, I picked up a fight with my husband and son over a possible move to California.
"I refused to go on living in such a horrible climate!" I yelled at their perplexities about relocating.
Then, trying to channel my negative energy into something positive, I took up scrubbing the kitchen floor, only to strain my arm's muscles.

Have you ever felt so miserable that not only your present, but also your past and your future seemed to be overshadowed by a grey curtain of pessimism? Have you ever said to yourself that you haven't accomplished anything in your life and are just too tired to face the future? Luckily, I don't have a lot of days like that, but when I do, I pray to Jesus for some relief. This time, He wisely decided to knock me down. I'm home with the flu and, thanks to God, I have no choice but to relax. I've canceled my appointments and now I lie in my bed, this time praying for Him to alleviate the pressure between my eyes. Then I start looking for Him. How can I find Him, right here in my room? Maybe concentrating on that old snap-shot of my mother, sitting on the beach with Capri's coast in the background? No, that's just awakening my nostalgia. We used to take pictures of each other when we were on vacation. I can almost feel the weight of the big old-fashioned camera in my hands, while I was holding it in front of her smiling face. It must have been before my teen-age years, and now I'm probably older than she was in that picture.

My mother is not among us anymore, and the thought of her makes me feel lonely. Longing for some company, I call my son by my bed.
"Sweetheart," I say to the non-religious fruit of my womb, "Would you read a few passages from the Bible to me?"
"Are you out of your mind?" he rebels.
"Come on!" I insist, "I have a terrible headache and I can't read that small print. But that's what I need to hear right now."
With a sigh, he sits next to me and grabs the Bible that I'm holding out to him. He opens it at random.
"I lie prostrate in the dust; give me life in accordance with your word. I disclosed my ways and you answered me; teach me your laws. Make me understand the way of your precepts; I will ponder your wondrous deeds. I weep in bitter pain; in accord with your word to strenghten me."
He turns to me: "I can't read this. To put oneself down before an imaginary being…it's humiliating! Why are you so fascinated with this depressing stuff?"
"Because in it I see the hand of God. It gives me hope, it speaks to my heart. Because I want to hear a message that transcends my humanity".
"These are just meaningless slogans, mom."
"That's because our vocabulary is limited, sweetheart. There are no words to describe God's love, not to mention to open your mind to its meaning. But it's OK; you don't have to read if you don't want to. Let's listen to the Pink Floyd together."
And as the room is filled with music, I perceive Jesus' love bringing us together in a bundle of tenderness. In a drug induced daze, I see tens of doves rising towards the ceiling, carrying small black musical notes in their beaks. Angels in disguise, breaking through the boundaries of my imagination.
　
　

Simply Art

I do some volunteer work at my parish, feeding the people in need. The space used for this purpose is called "Day Room", as it is open from 9 o'clock in the morning to 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It is crowded all day long with Mexican moms and their children, whereas American customers show up at lunchtime. Adult men are not allowed to hang around before or after the meal, except for one man, who is treated like a member of the family by all the women who volunteer at church. He's 67 years-old but looks 97, thus awakening that maternal instinct that good women feel for old people. His name is Paul, and he shares his apartment with Francis, a 77 year-old black woman who takes care of him. They are the most peculiar pair of individuals I've ever seen. Except for the fact that she's blind in one eye and toothless, Francis looks like a teen-ager in her jeans and colorful t-shirts. Perfect posture, lean muscular body, she runs around the Day Room tirelessly, carrying weights that would give a back-ache to most men of her age. Paul instead, ten years younger than her, moves cautiously leaning on a walking stick. All I know about him is that he was married and has two children, but bipolar disorder and drug abuse ruined his life. I have a hard time understanding him, because is voice is reduced to a hoarse whisper. He doesn't seem to have enough strength to breath, yet once in a while he shamefully walks outside and lights a cigarette. He's dreadfully pale and thin. There is something ethereal about him, as if his body were just a shred that hung on to life.

But sometimes, half-way through the morning, Paul does something incredible. He sits at the table and Francis, who already knows what he wants, places in front of him an exercises book and a few colored pens. He opens the book, grabs a pen with his callused hand and start drawing a flower. His flower is nothing but a green stem with a small sphere on top, which he colors in red, blue or yellow. And then he starts all over again, drawing another flower. Soon many pages are filled with those small colored spheres balancing on their thin stems. Now and then one of the women lays a hand on his shoulder and says:
"That's nice, Paul!"
He smiles and turns the pages, looking for the prettiest flower that he could show her.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven…"

The beauty of Paul's act consists precisely in its poverty. It reminds me of an event that happened in Italy in 1973, when I was a junior in high school (Liceo of Art). During a visit to a mental institution in Trieste, two artists run into a woman patient who was sketching a horse. Drawing some lines, she divided it into six compartments and drew something else into each one: a flowerpot, a duck, a pot, a house, a tree and a Pinocchio. She said that the horse was named Marco, like the old horse who carried back and forth the dirty laundry and was about to be sent to the slaughter-house. That's how Marco Cavallo (horse in Italian) was born. Run by the two artists, for two months the laboratory welcomed hundreds of patients. All were invited to write and draw on large white leaves of paper. They told stories, organized shows and finally built a big blue horse in wood and papier-mache, talking about how to save the old Marco from his horrible destiny.
Marco Cavallo laboratory turned upside-down once and for all what was left of the old order and discipline which had reigned in mental institutions for centuries. But in my eyes, Paul's flowers represent something even more moving in their simplicity. They depict his poverty of spirit, which is necessary to open our heart and mind to the love of Christ. My son, who is an atheist, confuses poverty of spirit with naivete and even stupidity. Instead, it's the factor that allows us to realize that our faith doesn't come from within, but from without, and in order to embrace it we have to be open to the Mystery that is engaging our being.
Acknowledging this was fundamental to my conversion, because it helped me understand that I wasn't deluding myself.


Writing is, to me, a constant reminder of Jesus' presence in my life. I am certain that I couldn't do it on my own, whereas, when I paint, I rely on my technique. I have struggled to master it, and I've never had the feeling that my ability to paint was a gift from God. But maybe that's because I was a painter before I converted. I don't need inspiration to paint, all I have to do is call for my sense of aesthetics. There is no poverty of spirit there. But when it comes to writing, I have to place my trust in God. In fact, I never know if I will ever be able to write again. My inspiration comes from without, and not only that: If I'm looking for a quote or a book that might clarify what I'm trying to say, it systematically appears before my eyes like magic. For example, here is what happened when I was writing my book. Part of it is about Jesus' journey through Palestine, so I wanted to include some descriptions of the landscape. I thought about looking it up on the Internet, but I never did it. One day I was at the Public Library, browsing the "memoirs" section. I randomly picked up a book from the shelf, and to my amazement it was about a woman writer who had taken a trip to Israel! Now, what are the chances for that to happen?
The white page is the place where I encounter Jesus, which is synonymous of encountering my soul. Leaning down to me, He helps me probe into my "I".

The Ultimate Question

Yesterday I drove to the pool under a luminous blue sky, the car windows open to the breeze. Days like that are rare down here, and as glorious as the memories of my Italian summers.
The YMCA was hosting a summer camp, so I sat in the sun watching the unfolding of the games. It was beautiful to see teen-age boys and girls taking care of younger children, unconsciously getting ready for their own future parenthood. And it was beautiful to observe how the children looked different from one another: the pale Irish girl with wavy red hair, the muscular young boy honey-colored from head to toe, the bright-eyed black girl who looked even darker in her white bathing-suit. Maybe it's because I'm Italian, but I was moved by their diversity. In Italy children look pretty much the same: nice tan, chestnut hair, but more blue eyes than American people might think.

As I was delighting in the children's playfulness, the image of a Somalian kid popped into my mind. I had seen him on CNN the night before, his limbs skeleton-like, his face covered with flies. I didn't have the courage to keep watching.

…"Give as our daily bread"…God, why aren't You listening?

On one of the blogs I follow, "Being! Or Nothingness", appeared with much delay a post by Msgr. Lorenzo Albacete, who is very active in Communion and Liberation. The article was previously posted on "America - The National Catholic Weekly" after the earthquake in Haiti, and had generated a lot of comments, some angry at a silent God, others accepting suffering as imposed by His mysterious hand. Those capable of acceptance argue that God has reasons for permitting suffering, and that if we are tempted to doubt the value of suffering patiently, according to His will, we only have to look at the Cross. There is a lot of truth in this statement, but I disagree with the premises.
The theologian Bonhoeffer wrote:
"God is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, He is with us and helps us".
I'm comfortable with the idea that God is omnipotent only in that He is omnipresent. Nobody can figure out God, yet it's only natural to try. I believe that when God created the universe He put in motion a sort of chain reaction that we call evolution, and chaos, or evil if you want, is still present in it. He can't step in here and there to fix it. It's in our hands; we have to make it work. In fact, we have evolved to the point that we can do a better job at anticipating natural disasters and building safer structures.

Albacete point of view is very subtle. He writes:
"I do not want an explanation for why this God allows these tragedies to happen. An explanation would reduce the pain and suffering to an inability to understand, a failure of intelligence so to speak. I can only accept a God who 'co-suffers' with me. Such is the God of the Christian faith. But faith or no faith, Christian or not, our humanity demands that the question 'why' not be suppressed, but that it allowed to guide our response to everything that happens."
Albacete doesn't want an explanation because he knows that we can't unravel the Mystery. Yet he insists on the importance of the question. Perhaps that implies that we ask "why" to ourselves and not to God: Why didn't we do something to prevent a tragedy of such magnitude? Why did we wait to evacuate the area? Why aren't we taking action to alleviate our neighbors suffering?

The Christian aim is the perfect world, heaven on earth. The prophet Isaiah predicted the coming of a new Garden of Eden, where all the wars, diseases and misery would disappear. Christianity, as opposite to eastern religions, doesn't wait for the end of this illusion that is our world, but only for the end of its imperfections.
Jesus never said that he would wipe away the sorrow from humanity. He told us to love our neighbor, because he would be hidden inside of him. He told us to take care of the poor and the outcasts:
"Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did it for me."

Jesus asked "why" on the cross:
"My God, why have You forsaken me?"
Reading Psalm 22 we realize that his "why" was not intended as a question, but rather as a cry for help. The mocked Jesus, who had not been rescued by his Father, who had been surrounded by evildoers and tortured, whose life was draining away, whose heart was melting, that same Jesus was still praising God, seeking Him, trusting Him. As always, Jesus' response is the only possible one.

The Body according to St. Augustine, John Paul II and...my dreams.

Over the years I've done a lot of climbing in my sleep, usually on stairs. I've ascended all sorts of buildings, modern and old, made of steel, glass or stone. Many of my dreams were about reaching the top, and according to Freud the meaning of this image is the desire for sexual climax. I'm not sure about that; I'd rather think that I was trying to reach Heaven.

However, I do believe that some of those dreams had a hidden sexual connotation. For example, let me tell you about a nightmare I had about thirty years ago. I was running up the stairs, and a monkey-like man was running after me, growling. Short and ugly, he was equipped with an extendable arm that would twist like a serpent in the attempt to catch me. But he failed, and I arrived safely at the top of the building.
As you probably know, the serpent is a phallic symbol. Looking back, I think that the monkey-man represented the negative effect that my sexuality was having on my life.

A few months ago I had a beautiful dream. I was walking on a steep path, among gorgeous plants and flowers. The path led to a fantastic villa. I entered a cozy room full of colorful pillows and looked out of the window. About fifty feet down I could see a pond, and under the surface I saw three gigantic dormant beasts: a dragon, a lion and a rhino. I looked at them in disbelief. Flat under the still water, they seemed to occupy the entire pond. I woke up with a sense of peace.
Of course, the rhino is also a phallic symbol. I think those beasts represented my sexuality, finally at rest.
I'm fifty-five-years old, so I can't take credit for having tamed my sexual impulses. They have simply subsided. I converted to Christianity five years ago, therefore I didn't have to struggle to keep them under control when they were at their peak. I just set them free. But sometimes I wonder: had I converted in my youth, would I have been able to live without sin?

Some of us, both women and men, encounter a lot more obstacles on the path to purity, simply because their hormonal level is higher. St. Augustine was one of them. He identified sexual desire with the factor that enslaves men and cannot be overcome. For him, sexuality expressed itself in a "diabolical excitement". He wrote:
"…These members are rightly called pudenda (parts of shame), because they excite themselves just as they like, in opposition to the mind which is their master, as if they were their own master".
He accused ascetics of being arrogant and deranged, because they didn't accept the plain truth, namely that they couldn't win over their sexual impulses.
The historian Elaine Pagels informs us that the most passionate of his opponents, Julian, wrote that "Augustine's view of the world expressed the emptiness of a person who is spiritually dying, and having failed to cultivate his own possibilities, projects onto the world his own sense of loss".
But St. Augustine was engaged in a constant struggle against his sexual impulses, of which Julian had probably little experience. For some, the struggle is a lot more difficult than for others.

Today, Catholics can find inspiration in John Paul II Gospel of the Body. He was convinced that we can regain a culture of love and understanding of God through nuptial communion, because sexuality is by no means purely biological, but concerns the innermost being of the human person. The family relationship is founded on the union of the sexes, and family is the fundamental call of society. If man does not encounter love, his life remains senseless. We want to know another person and be known by another person. But men and women must know each other spiritually first, to integrate body and soul. When this doesn't happen, people feel disintegrated, at least in the long run.
Man can only find himself through the sincere gift of the self. Sexual union represents this gift. We all seek to become unique for our partner, and John Paul II wanted to demonstrate that the moral teaching of the Church is not against human nature but, on the contrary, they correspond to the deepest desires of the heart. Modern man is disconnected from this desire. If we fail to realize this, living a moral life will inevitably become a burden of imposed and arbitrary rules. To follow the moral rules without understanding them would be sterile. Original sin is a mystery confirmed by human experience, for it has turned our heart into a battlefield between love and lust. Jesus speaks about committing adultery in the heart because the heart is the core of our personality.

Speaking about marriage, Jesus repudiates Moses' permission to divorce, Moses, he says, made a concession to the "hardness of heart" of human beings, but it wasn't so in the beginning, when the Creator made them male and female so that they would become "one flesh", leave their parents and live together for the rest of their lives. The disciples aren't pleased to hear this teaching. Their response is that, in this case, it's better not to marry at all. Jesus answers that celibacy is not for everybody, although some renounce marriage "for the sake of the kingdom of heaven". In conclusion, all Jesus ever said about sexuality is that marriage is a sacrament and should be avoided only by those who prefer the ascetic life and can handle chastity.

But what about sexual impulses that we accept as normal? What about lust that we mistake for love? According to John Paul II, the first step to overcome lust is to recognize that it isn't something that we really wish to pursue in our heart. We identify freedom with the possibility of indulging without restraint in lust because we feel bound by it, therefore we are not free at all. To say it with John Paul II, lust is at the core of the human being, and "…it invades his senses, excites his body, involves his feelings and, in a certain sense, takes possession of his heart". To get rid of this enslavement is not an impediment to Eros, which only exists when a true communion of the two people is achieved. To seek redemption doesn't mean to seek disembodiment, whereas a separation between body and spirit is taken for granted in our culture. We may learn how to control sexual impulses instead of being controlled by them, but if we only constrain them we'll never achieve freedom. Respect and love for ourselves and for others are the ultimate answer. In our divorce culture, the "other" only has value so far as he or she is an instrument of enjoyment. As soon as she or he doesn't allow our self-gratification, we don't love anymore and seek the next useful person. This is the "hardness of the heart" of which Jesus spoke.

John Paul condemned lust even among husband and wife, but he was misunderstood and the media reacted negatively all over the world. What he meant was that especially the conjugal relationship shouldn't be reduced to a mere satisfaction of sexual needs, but should be founded on love and respect. The Song of the Songs shows that fascination with the spouse's body is biblical, but we know that concupiscence is a distortion. Looking at our spouse's body through the latter we see just an object, but looking at it through the first we see a person and not just a body.

No one can deny that John Paul's ideas are beautiful and truthful. I was surprised to learn that the Pope exhorts men to care for their wives pleasure. He wrote:
"Sexologists state that the curve of arousal in woman is different from that in man - it rises more slowly and falls more slowly…The man must take this difference…into account…so that climax may be reached by both…and as far as possible occur in both simultaneously."
I also found interesting that he insisted on restoring Michelangelo's original nudes in the Sistine Chapel, which had been covered up by prudish clerics.

If you are not Catholics and are still thinking that the Pope is the representation of an old-fashioned prudery, think again. The late Hindu Master Meher Baba expressed exactly the same ideas not only about sexuality, but also about contraception. For him, we must overcome both indulgence and repression to free ourselves from the bondage of sexual craving. Sex within marriage achieves perfection when even the slightest shadow of lust is overcome. Artificial control methods are to be avoided, for they prevent us from exercising mental control, which leads to spiritual awakening.
I bet that these concepts sound acceptable to modern intellectuals, when they come from a Hindu Master instead of from the Pope!

So listen, religious or non-religious people, it's hard but you can do it! And if you can't, don't despair. According with St. Augustine you are in good company!
　

Miracles

My parents, whom I loved deeply, both passed away after I had moved to the USA, so I didn't have a chance to say good-by. My father, however, came to visit after my mother died, when he was almost ninety years old. We used to sit on the porch together, talking about her. A few years later, after his death, I found myself sitting on that porch all by myself, overwhelmed with anxiety. My problems were keeping me awake at night in spite of the medications, and the lack of sleep was driving me crazy. I thought that I was loosing my mind.
All of a sudden I felt my father's presence. It was a very matter-of-fact feeling, almost emotionless. He was simply there, as if he were sitting behind me so that I couldn't see him. He stayed for a while and, although I couldn't hear his voice, he told me that I shouldn't worry.
That night I slept well, and I haven't had major sleeping problems since then.
At that timeI wasn't a believer, yet I had to admit that something out of the ordinary had happened to me. I had been healed.

When years later I started reading about Jesus, the first thing I tried to understand was the claim that He had been a miracle worker. I decided to read A Marginal Jew, an ambitious historical investigation in three volumes written by a catholic priest, the historian John P. Meier. At the risk of annoying you, who are Christians and don't need any convincing, I would like to write briefly about what I learned, because it was so fascinating to me at the time, and it still is.
Today the word "miracle" is for many synonymous to the word hoax, but that wasn't the case in the ancient world. Back then people took for granted that God would intervene in earthly matters and sometimes even change the laws of nature. On the other hand, they weren't more gullible than a lot of 21 first century people are, for they weren't prone to accept an exceptional event as truthful on the basis of a rumor.
A great number of modern scholars admit that we can only explain the huge impact that Jesus had on the crowds if we reckon that he performed deeds for which there was no natural explanation. His miracles played an important role in His fate, for they differentiated Him from the other itinerant prophets of His time. Because of his deeds, He appeared more dangerous to the authorities and more appealing to the people.

In the ancient world, extreme ascetism was identified everywhere with the acquirement of supernatural powers. The path of renunciation was well-established among Buddhists and Hindu yogis long before the rise of Christianity and its saints. Silence, solitude and self-denial were the three imperatives of the ascetic, who had to achieve spiritual discernment to learn what comes from God and what from the devil. But the outpouring of miracles in the Gospels outnumbers by far the amount of miracles performed by any other religious figure in history. The Gospels say that Jesus was charged with being in league with the devil, and it's highly improbable that the Church would have deliberately added such a claim if it wasn't true. Therefore, He must have been performing remarkable deeds.
Some historians maintain that the evangelists aimed at making certain theological points when they wrote their accounts of Jesus' miracles, but this is true especially in John and concerns in particular the nature miracles, namely the stilling of the storm, the cursing of the fig tree, the walking on water, the catching of fish, the changing of water into wine and the feeding of the multitudes.

However, the words used by the Gospels writers to describe Jesus' deeds are not correctly translated with the English word "miracle", which carry the idea of the supernatural. Rather, they imply that something unexpected happened within the natural world that made it more "whole". Jesus' healings were not performed to impress or prove His divinity, but to bestow the gift of wholeness to those who lacked it. In ancient Israel, to carry a physical imperfection was considered a shame, and those who were already suffering because of their illnesses or deformities were also marginalized by the Jewish society. Jesus restored their integrity and welcomed them into the new Israel He was professing.
The exorcisms have a specific meaning because, except for King Solomon, they are not part of the Old Testament tradition. Jesus alone was engaged in a battle with the devil, and he was winning:

"If I by the finger of God cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you."

Meier made use of scholarly criteria to establish the historicity of Jesus' miracles, but also to extract the historical Jesus from the Gospels' narratives. Here are the most important ones:

The criterion of discontinuity: It focuses on the originality of the Gospels narratives. For example, the ancient texts don't talk much about exorcisms, so it makes sense to conclude that something that was understood as casting out demons was really happening rather than being an invention of the Church.
It also focuses on words or deeds of Jesus that cannot be derived from Judaism or from the early Church, but rather contradict them. For example, the prohibition of divorce, the rejection of fasting on Sabbath and so on.

The criterion of embarrassment: It focuses on actions or sayings of Jesus that would have created difficulty for the early Church. There are several examples that fall into this category. Among others: Jesus' baptism by John the Baptist, Judah's betrayal, Peter's denial, the women as the first witnesses of the resurrection (women were not considered reliable).

The criterion of multiple attestations: It focuses on those sayings or deeds of Jesus that are attested to in more than one source or genre. This criterion abundantly satisfy the attestation of His miracles, for they are mentioned in more than one Gospel and in general in Josephus, an historian of the time of Jesus who did not believed in His divinity but described Him as a powerful miracle worker.
　

An overwhelming majority of people believe that miracles still happen. Meier writes:
"…hence, the academic creed of 'no modern person can believe in miracles' should be consigned to the dumpster of empirically falsified hypotheses, After all, that is what is done when other hypotheses are empirically falsified by the social science. I fail to see why this particular creed, however passionately held, can apply for a special exemption, simply because so many academics keep reciting it".
The cures that take place in Lourdes serve to testify that what was claimed to happen by the hands of Jesus is still claimed to happen today in a religious setting and is thoroughly investigated by the International Medical Committee, therefore the miracles stories in the Gospels deserve to be historically investigated. To dismiss them as a creation of the evangelists because "they couldn't possibly occur" is a faulty procedure.

As for me, needless to say, I've come to believe in miracles. Sometimes I think that my entire life is a miracle. I used to enjoy living dangerously, and I could have ended up in big trouble. I thank Jesus every day for His mercy. And my father too, for loving me.

Padre Pio

A few days ago it was the feast of Padre Pio.
Apparently, some devotees believe that he would do just about anything from up there to celebrate the occasion. For example, today I saw a guy on TV enthusiastically holding his picture in front of the camera after Naples's soccer team won a game against Villa Real Spanish team.

I was born in Naples, and although I've never met Padre Pio, I've heard a lot about him. My mother went to visit him when I was a young girl, and I remember her returning home in a state of shock: He had refused to give her the absolution. I wonder why. He was known for his ability to see into people's heart. She never went back, which makes me think that he saw something in her that she couldn't easily change. My mother and I had a wonderful relationship, but she didn't get along with all the members of our family. Perhaps Padre Pio condemned her temper, or saw that she couldn't love her neighbor as she loved herself.

My husband met Padre Pio at the age of five. He remembers that, before celebrating Mass, he kicked two women out of the church because they were dressed inappropriately. That was scary. But later he took him on his lap and talked to him in Neapolitan dialect, and that was sweet. My husband is not a believer, yet Padre Pio's picture has been sitting on his night-stand since we moved to the USA.

Padre Pio was a man who strived towards perfection and wanted others to do the same. Like St. John of the Cross, he tried to achieve purification of the senses and suffered the Night of the Spirit. He wrote:
"I find myself enveloped in a profound night and no matter how I turn and toss I cannot find the light. How then can I walk before the Lord?"
And somewhere else, like Mother Theresa:
"My Father, how difficult it is to believe!"
Many saints have experienced interior darkness. Theology attributes this phenomenon to the increasing closeness of the saint to Jesus, who also suffered the absence of God on the cross. The saint will remain obedient to God even during years of darkness.
Another explanation could be that mystics perceive the evil nature of temptation more deeply than ordinary people. Maybe Padre Pio was horrified at the kind of thoughts that would simply remind us that we are human and therefore subject to temptation.

But of course Padre Pio had an insight of the truth: The devil's most cherished activity is to mess up with our minds. For decades I did not realize that I was, so to speak, a toy in his dirty hands. Then one night, a few weeks into the process of returning to the faith, I fell pray of an unusual sensation. I was sleeping on my side, and I felt as if someone was pressing hard on my chest and on my back at the same time. I woke up more than once because of the discomfort, realizing every time that it wasn't caused by stomach pain. Exhausted, I fell asleep again and again.
The morning after I rushed to church and asked for the priest. He was a thin, dignified man with snow white hair. I was embarrassed. "This is ridiculous!" I thought. But I told him my story and he took me seriously. He advised me to keep a crucifix next to me the following night.
"Father," I said, "I don't own anything of that sort. I'm not a religious person."
"Nothing at all?" he exclaimed. "Well, no wonder…Wait here, I'll get you what you need."
I went back home with two crucifixes and a Bible, and they have been in my bedroom ever since.

It is said that Padre Pio had physical confrontations with the devil. I certainly don't envy him. Yet, sometimes I do welcome temptations, because they allow me to recognize Jesus' power against the Big Liar. What can I say? Every so often I need to see Jesus in action.
Jesus engaged in his own private battle with Satan, whom he understood as the real cause for the wickedness of Rome. He couldn't be the kind of Messiah who would fight Rome in a war, because the one thing that God can't do is to go against His nature. Jesus couldn't fight evil with the devil's weapons, but only with the love he had for his people. So he went to the cross. He was afraid, but he trusted His Father, and Christianity won against the evil empire of Rome

Words and Flowers

This post is a follow up to the previous one, so please, if you are new to my blog, read "Simply Art" first. It's about Paul, the sweet old man who likes to draw flowers. Today Francis, his roommate, told me something I didn't know: When they are at home, Paul spends all his time drawing his little flowers, from morning to night.
"We use up note-books pretty quickly in our home!" she said.
That got me thinking. Paul doesn't seem to draw because he suffers from a compulsive disorder. When he picks up his pen, he's at peace with himself. He draws flowers because that makes him happy. He likes to be told how pretty they are, but he finds pleasure in the simple act of drawing them. In one word, he has a healthy relationship with his flowers, probably one of the few healthy relationships he has ever had in his troubled life. That is how any artist should relate to his art, including me. Old Paul is teaching me a lesson.

As far as painting goes, very rarely I have painted for the sake of it. I've always had a second goal in mind, such as getting good grades, learning a new technique or making money. And I've never been completely satisfied with the result. I always expected something more from myself, or something different. This attitude has prevented me from finding real joy in my work. I don't want to make the same mistakes with writing.

When I was working on my book, I felt more "whole" than I had ever felt while painting. Nevertheless, when I was finished I put my manuscript away and never wrote again until I started this blog. Why? Because I though of it as an "unproductive" activity. But then I learned that even my little stories can speak to the depth of the human soul. A friend of mine told me that she made it up with her son, to whom she hadn't talked for years, after listening to my "Witness for CL" (check the page on this blog), and that made my day. Still, when after writing the first two posts I saw that no one was leaving comments, I was tempted to stop again. Why writing if nobody is reading me? Because, I should answer, it's good for me. It helps me reflect upon things that would otherwise go unnoticed. It brings me closer to my "I" and to Christ. It gives me joy. But, if you are reading me and don't feel like leaving a comment, please click on one of the boxes below. Like Paul, I too need a little encouragement!

Maybe I find writing more fulfilling than painting also because I believe that words are at the root of everything.
"In the beginning was the Word…"
Our universe is made of words, for we couldn't describe what we see without them. Like God, we create our world through words. Yet, Paul's flowers are the product of a humble creative act performed in the sacredness of silence. I couldn't tell you about them without resorting on words; that much is true, but those flowers speak directly to my heart. I asked him to give me one of his drawings and I put it on my desk, to remind myself that beauty can be found in the smallest and simplest things, if one looks closely enough. Then I volunteered to show him how to draw a butterfly. He smiled and accepted the offer. I'll let you know how it goes.