Why is community such an important part of being Catholic? Can’t I just go to church and be a good Catholic on my own?
We live so alone today. In the book Bowling Alone, social scientist Robert Putnam expresses his concern that in the last 50 years we have experienced an unprecedented collapse in civic, social, associational, and political life with some rather serious negative consequences. He cites as an example that there are more bowlers today but fewer bowling leagues, because everybody is “bowling alone.”
From a purely scientific viewpoint, Putnam says that our rugged individualism and some of our habits such as watching TV rather than sharing face time around the dinner table, has undermined what he calls our “social capital:” the product of communal activity and community sharing (and his book was written before the smart phone!).
His research shows that social bonds are by far the most powerful predictor of life satisfaction. Social capital is also a strong predictor of personal health. If you both smoke and belong to no groups, it’s a close call as to which is the riskier behavior. Clinically measured depression has increased ten-fold in our country over the past 50 years, and although the origins of this epidemic are not yet clear, the prime candidate is social isolation. The loss of social capital is reflected in higher crime rates, lower educational performance, dysfunctional democracy, more teen pregnancy, and incidents of suicide.
Jesus was no fool. He knows us better than we know ourselves and knows our needs better than we do. Human beings are designed by God to find joy in being with one another. Without each other, we shrivel and become very unhappy, confused and unfulfilled people. We become disconnected from God and one another. Through our collaboration and communal celebrations we are building the Kingdom of God here on earth, one relationship at a time.
A story: A theologian died and went to the pearly gates, where St. Peter welcomed him warmly. Though eager to enter heaven, he had a request. He said “As a theologian I’ve often speculated on the essential difference between heaven and hell. Before I go in, could I have a glimpse of hell, just to satisfy my curiosity?" St. Pete said "Of course!” and took him to a great banquet hall. Wash basins and grooming supplies were located around the perimeter. At the center was a banquet table loaded with the finest in food and drink. But the people milling around the great hall were naked, dirty, unshaven, and emaciated. They were clearly starving.
Shocked, the theologian asked, "What’s wrong? Why are they like this?" St. Peter said, "They have no elbows. They can grab the food, but they can’t get it to their mouth. Neither can they wash, dress themselves, cut or comb their hair, shave, or scratch where it itches. Just try to do any of those things without bending your arms!"
"How horrible! Please, show me heaven" he said and St. Peter whisked him to another banquet hall identical to the first. The room and food were the same. But the people were handsomely dressed, immaculately groomed, well fed and happy. The sounds of singing, conversation, and laughter filled the room.
"So, the difference between heaven and hell is…elbows?" the theologian asked incredulously.
"No," said St. Pete, "they don’t have elbows here either. The difference is that here, everyone takes care of each other. They wash each other, dress each other, and feed each other. They scratch each other where it itches. You don’t need elbows in heaven. The people that come here have learned to accept their interdependence. People can go to hell all by themselves, but they never go to heaven alone, but as a community.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Monday, September 19, 2016
Listen to reflection on the Gospel from Catechetical Weekend Sept. 17/18
Listen to reflection on the Gospel from Catechetical Weekend Sept. 17/18, 2016 on the Dishonest Manager at this link:
www.ctredeemer.org/september-18-2016
www.ctredeemer.org/september-18-2016
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Crazy Catholic Question #80: Abiding
CCQ# 80: Is there a second atrium in the works?
Yes! Slowing it’s coming together! The central theme for our second atrium is taken from John 15 when Jesus describes himself as the vine and we as the branches.
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. Abide in me, as I abide in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that withers and is thrown into the fire and burned…”
Our definition of abiding is nuanced. It can mean waiting, enduring, living within. Pope Francis says that to “abide” in Christ is another way of saying being close with Jesus, connected, attached and talking with him all the time. Abiding is an attitude, a habit, a willingness to let ourselves be led by God.
Bishop Ken Untener said that this image of the vine and the branches - and in particular the details about pruning - are meant to teach us about how kind and loving God is toward us. This may not be clear at first, because the scripture sounds a little rough when it speaks of cutting off the branches that don’t bear good fruit and throwing them into the fire. Once, he was giving a retreat at a Trappist monastery, where the monks live in the Benedictine tradition which can be summarized with the Latin phrase, “Ora et Labora” – which means “Prayer and Work.” They earn their own way by working, and they pray day and night, a majority of the time in silence.
In this particular Monastery, their work was cultivating plum trees; this was how they made their living. During the retreat Ken got to know one of the older monks whose specialty was pruning the plum trees. There were thousands of them, and he spent all day out there - every day deciding which branches were the ones that should be “pruned” in order to make the tree more capable of producing good plums. He was their expert “pruner” - something a machine could never do. One day Ken asked the old monk “You must be able to do a lot of praying and feel very close to God when you’re working out in the peace and quiet of this orchard.”
The monk stopped and a tear crept into his eye as he said, “Oh, indeed I do. I love these trees and I know them well. I always think of when Jesus talks about the fact that he is the vine and we are the branches, and that the Father prunes away the branches that are in the way. And while I’m pruning I say to the Lord:
‘Thanks for doing that to me. You have pruned me, and shaped me, and helped me become what I never could have become without you. I’m not perfect, and I know I need more pruning, but you are always there to make me more into your image.’ The Lord has done wonderful things for me, and I’d be nowhere without it.”
All of us, in our own lives, consciously and perhaps sometimes unconsciously, have a very clear order of priority concerning the things we consider important. Prayerfully abiding in God has a consequence in our lives; we empty ourselves of the many small or great idols that we have and in which we take refuge; we are “pruned” of the idols that we sometimes keep well hidden; the things that we often seek to base our security. A beautiful seed for our second atrium indeed.
Yes! Slowing it’s coming together! The central theme for our second atrium is taken from John 15 when Jesus describes himself as the vine and we as the branches.
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. Abide in me, as I abide in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that withers and is thrown into the fire and burned…”
Our definition of abiding is nuanced. It can mean waiting, enduring, living within. Pope Francis says that to “abide” in Christ is another way of saying being close with Jesus, connected, attached and talking with him all the time. Abiding is an attitude, a habit, a willingness to let ourselves be led by God.
Bishop Ken Untener said that this image of the vine and the branches - and in particular the details about pruning - are meant to teach us about how kind and loving God is toward us. This may not be clear at first, because the scripture sounds a little rough when it speaks of cutting off the branches that don’t bear good fruit and throwing them into the fire. Once, he was giving a retreat at a Trappist monastery, where the monks live in the Benedictine tradition which can be summarized with the Latin phrase, “Ora et Labora” – which means “Prayer and Work.” They earn their own way by working, and they pray day and night, a majority of the time in silence.
In this particular Monastery, their work was cultivating plum trees; this was how they made their living. During the retreat Ken got to know one of the older monks whose specialty was pruning the plum trees. There were thousands of them, and he spent all day out there - every day deciding which branches were the ones that should be “pruned” in order to make the tree more capable of producing good plums. He was their expert “pruner” - something a machine could never do. One day Ken asked the old monk “You must be able to do a lot of praying and feel very close to God when you’re working out in the peace and quiet of this orchard.”
The monk stopped and a tear crept into his eye as he said, “Oh, indeed I do. I love these trees and I know them well. I always think of when Jesus talks about the fact that he is the vine and we are the branches, and that the Father prunes away the branches that are in the way. And while I’m pruning I say to the Lord:
‘Thanks for doing that to me. You have pruned me, and shaped me, and helped me become what I never could have become without you. I’m not perfect, and I know I need more pruning, but you are always there to make me more into your image.’ The Lord has done wonderful things for me, and I’d be nowhere without it.”
All of us, in our own lives, consciously and perhaps sometimes unconsciously, have a very clear order of priority concerning the things we consider important. Prayerfully abiding in God has a consequence in our lives; we empty ourselves of the many small or great idols that we have and in which we take refuge; we are “pruned” of the idols that we sometimes keep well hidden; the things that we often seek to base our security. A beautiful seed for our second atrium indeed.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Crazy Catholic Question #79: Did you see the light?
After a four-month plus hiatus, the crazy questions column returns! There really is only one question that I have been asked repeatedly during this time: “Did you see the light?” For those of you scratching your head right now, in the early morning of April 17th, just a few hours before our formal ribbon cutting and dedication of our new atrium here at CTR I suffered a cardiac arrest at home, in bed. Miraculously my husband, who can usually sleep through a freight train, became curious about some strange noises from my side of the bed just in time to see me pass out and feel my pulse cease. He and my 13-year-old daughter took turns giving me CPR until EMS arrived. I was shocked twice on the floor of my bedroom.
From all the reports it looks like I was dead between 10-16 minutes. I spent the next 2 days in an induced hypothermic coma and two weeks in ICU. The survival rate for out of-hospital cardiac arrest is just 6%, and of those 6% even fewer live without significant and lasting brain, liver and/or kidney damage. I am very happy to report I am a member of that very small percentage. I have no lasting damage and now have a defibrillator/pacemaker implant, so I guess you could say I have my bases covered. They don’t know what caused it. I’m having some genetic testing to be sure my daughters are not at risk.
My husband and children are doing well. I have very fuzzy, but warm memories of my husband’s tender, patient care of me in the hospital. The nurses and doctors at Troy Beaumont are simply the best. I’ve been back to work since early June, feeling strong and focused. My priorities had a bit of a shake up, but I surmise that is a good thing.
So back to the question. In short, the answer is “No. I did not ‘see the light.’” No meeting Jesus for me quite yet. But some things have certainly come into the light through this experience.
I “see the light” through all your cards, letters, prayers, emails, gifts and other expressions of love and concern for me and my family. YOU continue to be the light of Christ to us. Thank you. Sincerely.
I “see the light” every time I pass the red ribbon on the door of our atrium that was never cut (that I just can’t bring myself to take down) because it reminds me to stop and thank God for the gift of life, the gift of this compassionate community, and the gift of the creative, meaningful work that I share with our amazing CTR staff who went above and beyond in their support through this trauma (Fr. Joe was a “first responder,” at my bedside, anointing and singing over me on your behalf, before Masses even started on Sunday).
And I know it sounds so cliché, but I “see the light” in all the clichés! Such as:
· Life is short (God's way of encouraging a bit of focus?)
· Too often too late comes too soon.
· Work to live, don’t live to work.
· Many sundials in old monasteries have inscribed on them the words of St. Benedict “memento mori: remember that you will die.” But there are also some that say “memento vivere: remember to live.”
· Most importantly, tell and show those you love that you love them often. All the time. I advise you to hug them right now if they are in arm’s length.
From all the reports it looks like I was dead between 10-16 minutes. I spent the next 2 days in an induced hypothermic coma and two weeks in ICU. The survival rate for out of-hospital cardiac arrest is just 6%, and of those 6% even fewer live without significant and lasting brain, liver and/or kidney damage. I am very happy to report I am a member of that very small percentage. I have no lasting damage and now have a defibrillator/pacemaker implant, so I guess you could say I have my bases covered. They don’t know what caused it. I’m having some genetic testing to be sure my daughters are not at risk.
My husband and children are doing well. I have very fuzzy, but warm memories of my husband’s tender, patient care of me in the hospital. The nurses and doctors at Troy Beaumont are simply the best. I’ve been back to work since early June, feeling strong and focused. My priorities had a bit of a shake up, but I surmise that is a good thing.
So back to the question. In short, the answer is “No. I did not ‘see the light.’” No meeting Jesus for me quite yet. But some things have certainly come into the light through this experience.
I “see the light” through all your cards, letters, prayers, emails, gifts and other expressions of love and concern for me and my family. YOU continue to be the light of Christ to us. Thank you. Sincerely.
I “see the light” every time I pass the red ribbon on the door of our atrium that was never cut (that I just can’t bring myself to take down) because it reminds me to stop and thank God for the gift of life, the gift of this compassionate community, and the gift of the creative, meaningful work that I share with our amazing CTR staff who went above and beyond in their support through this trauma (Fr. Joe was a “first responder,” at my bedside, anointing and singing over me on your behalf, before Masses even started on Sunday).
And I know it sounds so cliché, but I “see the light” in all the clichés! Such as:
· Life is short (God's way of encouraging a bit of focus?)
· Too often too late comes too soon.
· Work to live, don’t live to work.
· Many sundials in old monasteries have inscribed on them the words of St. Benedict “memento mori: remember that you will die.” But there are also some that say “memento vivere: remember to live.”
· Most importantly, tell and show those you love that you love them often. All the time. I advise you to hug them right now if they are in arm’s length.
A side note, my daughter says she learned CPR from watching Grey’s Anatomy. I very seriously considered not allowing her to watch that show because…well, so many reasons. But, alas, I’m alive and she wants to be a doctor. So, Dr. McDreamy? Not to be underestimated.
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