ON THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM. ------------------------------ For thus says the Lord: I will spread prosperity over Jerusalem like a river, and the wealth of the nations like an overflowing torrent. As a mother comforts her child, so will I will comfort you; in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
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.
Friday, October 28, 2011
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!
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!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
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
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
Friday, September 2, 2011
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.
"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.
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