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Faith Formation Fruits of the Holy Spirit Ink Slingers Mindy Series Spiritual Growth Year of Faith

Come Holy Spirit, Give Us Fidelity

This is the ninth of a 12-part, once-a-month series on the Fruits of the Holy Spirit. This month’s fruit is FIDELITY. Be sure to see previous posts beginning with CHARITY and check back next month as another contributor explores the fruit of MODESTY.

Gifts of the Holy Spirit: Fidelity

 

The tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to him, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

So to them He addressed this parable.

“What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?

And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, “Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.”

I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.

Or what woman having ten coins and losing one would not light a lamp and sweep the house, searching carefully until she finds it?

And when she does find it, she calls together her friends and neighbors and says to them, “Rejoice with me because I have found the coin that I lost.”

In just the same way, I tell you, there will be rejoicing among the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Luke 15:1-10, New American Translation

Occasionally, the parables Jesus use fall a little flat to our modern ears. Of course, that does not render them irrelevant, but sheds light on our own shortcomings.

When discussing the faithfulness of God, the Catechism of the Catholic Church states in paragraph 211:

The divine name, “I Am” or “He Is”, expresses God’s faithfulness: despite the faithlessness of men’s sin and the punishment it deserves, he keeps “steadfast love for thousands“. By going so far as to give up his own Son for us, God reveals that he is “rich in mercy”. By giving his life to free us from sin, Jesus reveals that he himself bears the divine name: “When you have lifted up the Son of man, then you will realize that ‘I AM’.” (emphasis mine)

I had to finally admit to myself that I would not probably care that much about one sheep out of a hundred who ends up straying from the group and getting lost. Would I leave the sheep and go off into the wilderness in search of that missing one? With most of the group intact and numbers practically the same, it’s hard for me to imagine going out of my way for one sheep.

Probably there are loads of cultural considerations of which I do not have any grasp. My livelihood does not depend on sheep. Likewise, when I think about the coins of this one woman, I probably would sweep my house looking for a coin if it were valuable to me (it’s hard to imagine that in this day and age; I suppose I should liken it to a large paper bill) but would I call my friends and rejoice with them? Nah. (Okay, maybe a Facebook status update.)

Rejoicing now in my own inability to completely relate to these two parables, I am left with a stark and heightened awareness of the difference between my fidelity and Jesus’ fidelity.

I should be on my knees thanking God that His attitude toward me is not like my own toward that one stray sheep. Jesus would go find me. He would pick me up and sling me over His shoulders.

Not only that, He rejoices with His friends in heaven, the saints. The parables are a beautiful illustration of His fidelity, or faithfulness, this very gift He seeks to impart to us as one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit.

What are the ways in which we overlook our lost brothers and sisters, the ones who have fallen away from the faith, or who have never found Him to begin with? How about the ones who are struggling in the midst of challenges, existential crises, emotional turmoil leading to a tepidity of faith, or distrust in God? Jesus is looking for them. Are we? Are we so faithful that we will drop what we are doing to go tend to that one sheep, look for that lost coin? Do we sincerely rejoice when our brothers and sisters get found, find solace, healing, renewed faith?

Equally as important, do we maintain hope and continue to lift up our suffering brothers and sisters in prayer? It is easy to throw up our arms and assume the sheep is lost—the wolves have eaten him. What’s the point? we think. Why risk our own lives, our own comfort, our own security?

Let us pray for fidelity during this Year of Faith.

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Faith Formation Feast Days Ink Slingers Mindy Saints

Obedience to God Alone: St. Maximilian Kolbe

A remarkable book came my way recently by a Polish Carmelite priest named Fr. Ladislaus Kluz, OCD. Kolbe and the Kommandant: Two Worlds in Collision offers a dual biography of two figures which have captured the attention of millions in recent history but for dramatically and painfully different reasons.

Growing up within a few hundred miles from each other and only six years apart, Kluz describes how both St. Maximilian Kolbe, Catholic priest and martyr, and Rudolph Hoess, Kommandant of Auschwitz, were each raised in devout Catholic families. In fact, both men desired to become  priests, and by the time of his execution for war crimes, Hoess expressed regret that he had not continued to follow God’s law and pursue a priestly vocation, rather than giving his obedience blindly to the Nazis.

At a young age, St. Kolbe entered the Conventual Franciscan Order and Hoess gave up on his plans to become a priest and gave up his faith. Instead, he became a militant and decorated soldier who began to apply himself to the  base and dehumanizing treatment of his fellow man for the cause of German dominance. After serving a prison sentence for murder, Hoess settled into what he hoped would be a quiet life of agriculture with his wife and children as he subscribed to the ideology of the Artaman Union, a group of young people from many political groups in Germany who desired to reject the superficiality of the day and return to a healthy and natural peasant life. But it wouldn’t be long before the Nazis would find in his former dehumanizing behavior a suitable tool for their cause.

In the meantime, St. Kolbe, even prior to ordination, began Militia Immaculata, an apostolate dedicated to increasing faith and devotion to the Immaculate Conception. While placing their vows of poverty at the center of their community, the Blessed Mother showered graces upon their efforts until their evangelizing publication reached millions in Europe and tens of thousands in Japan and other countries. St. Kolbe was an intrepid missionary and profoundly moving witness to Christ in the context of spiritual father and confessor.

Eventually, Hoess became the mastermind behind the death chambers of Auschwitz, particularly proud of the efficiency with which he could execute huge numbers of people. St. Kolbe was imprisoned in several camps, finally arriving at Auschwitz, where he ultimately provided a shining and otherworldly example of love and peace for those who knew him.

He was a refugee from insanity. I remember I risked my life once. I stole some potato peelings from a kitchen cart. And though Fr. Kolbe was very, very hungry, he didn’t ask for any food. He gave his food away, the little food we received, twice a day. The average American doesn’t realize, even the Catholics don’t realize, of his existence, his greatness. He gave away his food. He taught me so many things. His lips were swollen from hunger, but he was always smiling, always cheerful, the only one. Go spoke through him. It was always raining at Auschwitz and Fr. Kolbe said it was God crying with us.

Sigmund Gorson, Polish Jew and survivor of Auschwitz*

When a man was to be executed who cried out in pain for the fate of his wife and children, St. Kolbe volunteered to take his place, spending more than two weeks in starvation barracks, leading the other 9 men with him in hymns of praise to God as they each died, one by one. By the time the barracks were opened, St. Kolbe was the only man left alive—the orderly who removed his body from the cell testified that “it was strangely clean and radiant, not grimy and contorted as the others were”—and they finished him off with a lethal injection on August 14, 1941. His body was burned and ashes commingled with the countless others who met their earthly demise in that same place. At his canonization, the only first class relics which could be offered to the Church were collections of soil from Auschwitz.

Hoess, once the Nazis were defeated, stood trial and was sentenced to death, hung just outside of Auschwitz on April 16th, 1947. The author includes a great deal of personal correspondence from Hoess, who wrote an autobiography before he died and also wrote to his wife and children. Eventually, he came to express remorse about his actions. While it is clear that he initially denied responsibility, placing any of his own culpability into the hands of his superiors to whom he was unquestionably obedient, he wrote several times of the shock he experienced when finding, in the Polish prison, that there, the Poles still continue to see in him his humanity and treat him with dignity.

This, it appears, was the eventual means by which Hoess took responsibility for his role at Auschwitz.

My conscience is forcing me to make also the following assertion: In the isolation prison I have reached the bitter understanding of the terrible crimes I have committed against humanity. As a Kommandant of the extermination camp at Auschwitz, I have realized my part in the monstrous genocide plans of the Third Reich. By this means I caused humanity and mankind the greatest harm, and I brought unspeakable suffering particularly to the Polish nation. For my responsibility, I am now paying with my life. Oh, that God would forgive me my deeds! People of Poland, I beg you to forgive me! Just now in the Polish prisons have I recognized what humanity really is. In spite of everything that happened I have been treated humanely, which I had never expected, and this has made me feel deeply ashamed. Would to God…that the fact of disclosing and confirming those monstrous crimes against mankind and humanity may prevent for all future ages even the premises leading to such horrible events. (emphasis mine)

Eventually, Hoess requested a Catholic priest to be brought, and Fr. Lohn, a Jesuit, was brought to the prison from Cracow to hear his final confession and grant him absolution.

St. Kolbe eventually became glorified as a Saint in heaven, interceding for all who call upon him.

That both these men can be reconciled with God and spend eternity with him—what a scandalous faith we have! As Paul proclaimed,

“The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” 1 Cor. 1:18, NAB

With God, even the most hardened sinners can be redeemed and spend eternity with Him.

May the prayers of St. Maximilian Kolbe convert many souls in this difficult age.

*All quotes above come from the book cited at the top.

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Apologetics Confession Conversion Faith Formation Ink Slingers Mindy Sacraments

That Grace May Become Ordinary

Being an individual can be fun, but God asks us to worship in common.

Maybe it was just me. But as a Protestant, I squirmed when it came time to raise up my arms during worship.

I really didn’t feel “ready” to be that person. I wanted it to “well up from within me,” a spontaneous gesture of worship toward the Lord. I got the impression that only the most authentic worshipers had graduated to the point of raising up one’s arms.

Over-thinking it for the first five songs before finally doing it did not equate to “authentic.” Nor did I trust myself. I felt suspicious when someone immediately raised their hands from the moment the music started. Did that urge just come over them from the very first notes? Were I to raise my arms, I did not know if this was about God or if this was about me. As in, “Look. I’m the real thing now. I worshipReally worship.”

I suspect I was entirely too self-conscious to remain a Protestant for long–that is, if I were to advance at all in the spiritual life. Individual anything usually causes me to question my motives and wonder what other people are thinking about me. I don’t know if this is from growing up as an only child who was closely observed and received a lot of attention, or if it’s just that plain old fallen nature we all contend with. Ultimately, it’s a form of pride, thinking that one’s own process is something that other people are pondering to any degree.

With all the opportunities for self-expression and lay involvement, with all the spontaneity and contemplative Bible studies, I suspect I would not have improved much. When one does not have to humble one’s self before authority, or lose one’s self in the non-spontaneous liturgy, the Christian experience remains very self-oriented.

Protestantism, inherently individualistic as it is, founded on the very premise that man is man’s own authority, does not guide the average believer into a truly communal experience.

That is not to dismiss the communal experience that is had. Everyone has a communal experience of some sort if they are a part of a group of any type.

But if everyone is encouraged to be spontaneous and “do one’s own thing,” placing the “personal relationship with Jesus” as the main priority, unity becomes impossible to express. Humility, devalued as a virtue, remains something that some of us desperately need (ahem–me). Some more than others!

And for that humble person who does not struggle with attention, who stays in the background and feels no conflict about the timing of hands lifting into the air, who does not spend many moments worrying about what other people think, other than the gaze of our Lord: is it fair to insist upon the spontaneous self-injection of that person into the self-oriented Protestant experience?

I’m specifically thinking about confession right now. So often, in Protestant circles, this equates to a public divulging of personal sins heard by many people. Prayer requests may devolve into a chance to share information about someone else’s problems, often without any discretion at all. The juiciest prayer requests hang in the air that much longer and get reduced to concerned conversations after the fact.

The effect of all of this individualism is to elevate the person, our sins, and our will to an exalted state. Sins often will be rehashed and re-confessed as part of a “testimony.” And testimony is good. But shouldn’t the Lord’s grace and forgiveness and mercy be the ordinary part? If that is the only way to confess one’s sins, does the introvert have any hope to participate in this vital act upon which our salvation depends?

Becoming Catholic seldom feels good for converts at first. When the Lord’s urging to convert dawns upon the mind of a person, the person can become sincerely confused and disturbed. There is an imminent loss of individuality realized almost immediately.

The Church often has the reputation of being “rote,” of having practices that are “routine,” of having “repetitive prayers,” all of which can seem very strange and uneventful to a Protestant, accustomed as that person might be to spontaneous self-expression and personal time with Jesus.

Yet one notices almost immediately a relief descend as the priest gazes at the words in the Missal or the Liturgikon (in the Byzantine rite). He is not creating something new in his mind, or making up the words as he goes along. Indeed, he might be reading or chanting from a text which has been essentially the same for more than 1500 years. He uses words written by our Fathers in the faith, St. John Chrysostom, for instance, in the Byzantine Divine Liturgy. He uses terminology which connects us to the catechesis of the Church from its earliest days. While words such as oblation sound strange to the modern ear, they convey the faith of the earliest Christians. Our bodies and minds can relax into the shared experience, speaking, singing, and moving in unison with one another as we communally worship God and beseech His Presence among us as one body.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, highly respected in Protestant circles (and by many Catholics), implies that the Catholic way of regular confession can border on evil. But is this fair? Does every confession have to involve gushing emotions? Is sin really that innovative? Confessing regularly, face-to-face or anonymously, but secretly with a priest, has the most effective way of reducing sin to its appropriate place. More importantly, the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ becomes encountered in a way that borders on–dare I say?–mundane.

Now, “mundane.” Perhaps that evokes negative connotations of somehow being overly secular and boring. But that’s not what I mean. The definition of “mundane” is “typical of this world,” “ordinary.” How blessed to have this encounter with Christ as one’s “ordinary” existence. Of course we know that it is not truly ordinary or truly of this world. It is other-worldly. But for the other-worldly to become commonplace is called the Kingdom coming, and God’s Will being done.

Confessional at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in Anchorage, AK