Still in Need of Conversion

In today’s reading from Isaiah, we hear a beautiful vision: “The deaf shall hear… the eyes of the blind shall see… the lowly will find joy in the Lord.” These words are full of hope, and we rightly cherish them during Advent. They promise renewal, justice, and a people restored to God. But if we read the whole chapter, Isaiah’s hope comes only after a very hard truth. Before the healing comes the diagnosis. Before the restoration comes the revelation of what is broken.

Isaiah speaks to a faithful remnant, people who want to follow God and so cling to the covenant. But he also tells them that they are still part of a larger community of people who have become blind, deaf, self-satisfied, unjust, and spiritually forgetful. It is a remarkable tension: Israel is both remnant and rebellious; faithful, yet deeply flawed; and chosen, yet still wandering.

That well describe many of us here in the first week of Advent

We are the faithful remnant. We are here at daily Mass listening to the Word of God. We pray. We serve. We try to love our families and neighbors. We want the Lord to come and find us ready.

But we are also the people Isaiah warns. We are not separate from the blindness and deafness he condemns; some of it lives quietly within us. We hear God’s Word, but we can be deaf to the parts that challenge our comfort. We see God’s blessings, but we can be blind to our own patterns of sin. We pray with our lips, yet our hearts drift into distraction, self-protection, or indifference. We want justice, but sometimes resist the personal conversion that justice requires. We admire God’s mercy, but can be slow to offer it to others.

Isaiah is not just speaking to the miscreants and wayward. He is speaking to all of God’s people, including those conscientiously trying to walk in faith. This is why the Church gives us Isaiah in Advent. Not to condemn, but to awaken. Not to shame, but to shake loose what has grown numb or complacent in us. 

The good news is that God does not reveal our blindness to punish us. He reveals it to heal that blindness. Isaiah says: “Those who err in spirit shall acquire understanding, and those who find fault shall receive instruction.”

This is a promise directed not to strangers, but to us. If we admit what is not yet right in our hearts, God will teach us. If we bring Him the parts of us that resist Him, He will give understanding. If we acknowledge our spiritual deafness or blindness, He will open our ears and eyes.

Advent is only a few short weeks, but we can still name our blindness and deafness. And then ask God to show us how we might be part of the problem. We can examine our prayer life. Is it routine? How is our attitude? Are we becoming more jaded? Impatient? Uncharitable? 

Advent is not only about waiting for Christ. It is about making room for Him and making room requires clearing away what blocks the door. But it is also remembering that all this is spoken with a hopeful message surrounding it all: God already sees the remnant in us. He can heal what we cannot. He can restore what looks worn out. He can remove what blinds us or renders us deaf.

Advent offers that grace now that we might be ready, not only as the faithful remnant who hope, but as the people who allow themselves to be ever changed and growing so that the promise of Isaiah will be fulfilled in us: “The lowly shall find joy in the Lord.”


Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels

Inside and Out

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion in which we will hear the well-known gospel of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (from outside), The Passion narrative recounts many events inside the city as do the daily gospel readings. But at the end of the Passion, Jesus is again outside the city, crucified and entombed. There were those who cried Hosanna on Sunday and crucify him on Friday. There are those who swore they would stand by him no matter what and then ran away. With respect to the Messiah, Jerusalem and its inhabitants are a divided city. Continue reading

On the way to Damascus

Today’s first reading is about the conversion of St. Paul. It is an event in history that we note in reference to the place it transpired – the Road to Damascus. It is an event that inspired the great Italian artist, Caravaggio to create his masterpiece, The Conversion on the Way to Damascus. The artwork is located in the Cerasi Chapel of the church of Santa Maria del Popolo, in Rome. Across the chapel is a second Caravaggio depicting the Crucifixion of Saint Peter. On the altar between the two is the Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Annibale Carracci.  It is quite the chapel.

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St. Clare of Assisi

In the last several articles we have described the brothers who gathered around Francis and committed themselves to his way of following Christ. Two of the earliest arrivals were Leo and Rufino.  The first became Francis’ chaplain and confessor, as Leo was an ordained priest already. Rufino, a lifelong confidant and wisdom figure for Francis, was also the first cousin of an aristocratic woman of Assisi, the niece of Monaldo, lord of Coriano.  Clare di Favarone di Offredicio was a woman from the very class of landed aristocrats that the young Francis had imitated and longed to join socially. Continue reading

The Conversion of Paul

Today the Church celebrates the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle. It is an event in history that we note in reference to the place it transpired – the Road to Damascus. It is an event that inspired the great Italian artist, Caravaggio to create his masterpiece, The Conversion on the Way to Damascus. The artwork is located in the Cerasi Chapel of the church of Santa Maria del Popolo, in Rome. Across the chapel is a second Caravaggio depicting the Crucifixion of Saint Peter. On the altar between the two is the Assumption of the Virgin Mary by Annibale Carracci.  It is quite the chapel.

Continue reading

Francis of Assisi – The Young Man

The first article of the series about St. Francis essentially proposed that what most people think they know about St. Francis of Assisi is a very limited and romanticized version of the “poor man from Assisi.” Such versions often emphasize the Francis who loves animals, who was an ecologist before “ecology” was a word or a concern, and who wrote the “peace prayer.” The first article ended with a challenge: discover the “real” Francis whose story will challenge, inspire, unsettle, amaze, and maybe…. just maybe, change your world.

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Infinite Mercy

In Jesus’ time, large agricultural operations such as the one described in our gospel parable were rarely run by the owner or the family, such things were left to the steward to oversee. The steward had the full faith and backing of the owner to operate the business. The steward would sell the oil and wheat production for cash, trade, or in exchange for promissory notes. The bartering that preceded the execution of the promissory note was classic commodity bargaining:  I will give you so many measure of oil now, and at this future date you will repay with a higher measure of oil.  There were two thing buried in the difference between the higher amount and the original amount: profit for the owner and commission for the steward. That was the way things worked. Continue reading

Francis of Assisi: the Conversion of Clare

St. Clare of Assisi

In the last several articles we have described the brothers who gathered around Francis and committed themselves to his way of following Christ. Two of the earliest arrivals were Leo and Rufino.  The first became Francis’ chaplain and confessor, as Leo was an ordained priest already. Rufino, a lifelong confidant and wisdom figure for Francis, was also the first cousin of an aristocratic woman of Assisi, the niece of Monaldo, lord of Coriano.  Clare di Favarone di Offredicio was a woman from the very class of landed aristocrats that the young Francis had imitated and longed to join socially. Continue reading

So…what are you giving up for Lent?

lent-2-heartlargeIsn’t that always the question? As if that is the reason for the season. Growing up, everything I remember about Lent circled around the acts of self-denial – what food, entertainment, or habit one would give up and how hard it was to deny oneself of that thing. It was not always made clear that the denial was meant to help one think about God and Christ’s sacrifice.

Of course it’s understandable that the deeper meaning of Lent can be missed. Even elsewhere in this bulletin we mention the religious traditions rituals and “Lenten obligations,” which are easier to promote, understand, and implement than spirituality and faith. We Catholics understand rules. It is far easier to tell kids (and ourselves) to obey rules than to explain to them why we should desire to act rightly. We can end up following the rules simply because… well because that is what we do, that is how we think of religion. In Lent, too often we are denying ourselves for the sake of denial. We give up chocolate or Facebook thinking that act of denial is the purpose of Lent. And we end up missing the point. Continue reading

Francis of Assisi – The Young Man

The first article of the series about St. Francis essentially proposed that what most people think they know about St. Francis of Assisi is a very limited and romanticized version of the “poor man from Assisi.” Such versions often emphasize the Francis who loves animals, who was an ecologist before “ecology” was a word or a concern, and who wrote the “peace prayer.” The first article ended with a challenge: discover the “real” Francis whose story will challenge, inspire, unsettle, amaze, and maybe…. just maybe, change your world.

Even in Francis’ day Assisi was a small town’.but it was not untouched by the political, economic, and social changes of the late 12th century. The old guard of the city – the noble whose wealth stemmed from rural land holdings inherited from the feudal era were the majores – the people who counted. The popolo of Assisi were families whose wealth lay in their riches and successes from the new age of commerce.  This group strove to become majores – to be among the group of citizens who mattered. In any case, it was not a struggle that included the minores, the poor and landless people.

Francis was born in 1182, the son of a flourishing cloth merchant, Pietro Bernadone and his wife Pico. Francis grew up as a son of relative privilege, wanting for little, but he also grew up in an age when pilgrimage and Crusade were models of exemplary life. As Francis came of age, he traveled with his father to markets in France and other locales, where he learned French and the troubadours’ stories of knighthood. This fed Francis’ own imagination at the same time Assisi began to recover and celebrate the martyr saints of Assisi: Rufino, Vittorino, and Savino. The effect of all this seems to have instilled in Francis a desire for the glory of chivalry as a means to attain the status of majore through celebrated adventure and conquest – perhaps even martyrdom.

But Francis was expected to become part of his father’s business. To that end, Francis was fortunate to receive an education, which consisted of a rudimentary knowledge of Latin; basic reading, writing, and composition; and the skills needed to keep business records.  The formal education seemed to end at age 14 when he became an apprentice in the family business.

But it was not all work. One of the interesting phenomena of this age was the appearance of societas invenum. These were basically fraternity-party clubs that arose among the children of the nobles and wealthy merchants. Francis had access to fine clothing, funds, and by all accounts became a leader within the Assisi society of the well-to-do. Several early accounts report Francis as holding the leader’s baton aloft leading the society in singing, joking, and travel between their favorite drinking haunts – all the while footing the bill.  Francis was somewhat vain, charming, and cavalier towards expenses, so long as he was at the center of things. Still, Francis was a bit like the prodigal son, with his endearing qualities that included generosity and a courteous manner. It is not clear if Francis was patterning himself after the chivalrous nature of knights or merely aping the manners of his more connected and privileged peers. In general, the reputation of the societas invenum was that its members were immoral, intemperate, and debauched. While there is no direct evidence of Francis’ own participation, two years after his death, the biographer Thomas of Celano wrote that Francis was raised “indulgently and carelessly…was taught detestable and shameful things full of excess and lewdness…He boiled in the sins of youthful heat.”

Shortly before his death, Francis dictated reflections on his life and his vision for the future of the Franciscan Order. He began by referring to his youth as a time when he was “in sin.” It does not seem an expression of false humility, but an objective assessment of his misspent youth. It matches an “Office of Prayer” used soon after Francis’ death, in which his brothers prayed, “He was raised shamefully amid all sorts of folly, and as he grew up he surpassed those who raised him in even worse folly.” Some suggest this is an exaggeration of his youth meant to contrast with his later conversion – but there are no early sources which record an exaggerated account of youthful piety. Some 35 years after his death, those lines of the “Office of Prayer” were revised to say, “…as he grew up by God’s grace, he mercifully kept himself free of contamination.” Certainly a more suitable and pious, if unrealistic, picture of young Francis.

But there were moments. During this time, while busy in the family store, a poor beggar came in asking for help. Francis dismissed him and returned to work, yet the affair ate at him. He realized his courteousness extended only to his peers and noble folk. Contrite, he swore to show chivalry to everyone regardless of class and so ran after the beggar to make up for refusing alms. But there were limits. Chivalry did not offset Francis’ aversion to physical or social ugliness – and nothing was more revolting than the lepers. He avoided these outcasts whose outward deformities were considered an expression of an inward spiritual or moral deformation. Francis would hold his nose as he ran away from them.  Courtesy and manner only went so far.