Waiting...and Waiting...and Waiting: The Essence of Advent

Like every year, the many pre-Christmas festivities of Advent have nearly worn me out. I’ve decided implement a cookie-fast for the last week of Advent just to regain a taste for cookies, which is pretty drastic, considering that the cookie is one of my all-time favorite edible things. Last weekend, however, I was blessed with a very long wait that helped me get re-focused on what Advent is all about. For the first time here in Europe, I experienced a confession line that would rival any I’ve sat through in college. (That is saying something, as any UD people reading this will know.)

It all began amid colored spotlights, lively music, hazy smoke and people walking around carrying trays of cups filled with fiery goodness. No, I wasn’t in a bar, I was at Mass, followed by Adoration. Every second Saturday of the month, a group of young people gathers in the Church of the Holy Spirit on the Viktualienmarkt (literally the victual market—they still sell food) here in Munich for the event “Stay and Pray.” They have Mass at 7:30 pm followed by Adoration until midnight. All passersby are welcome to come in to pray, sing, talk to a priest, or just take a moment of silence. Last weekend the group happened to be celebrating their 40^th anniversary—there must have been at least 200 people at Mass. I saw at least five confession stations, possibly six. I saw lines forming and knew I was in for a wait.

I found a nice short line with three people in it. Can’t be that bad, right? The woman who happened to be confessing at the time seemed to be taking forever, though. After a while, the other women in line began to ask the typical question—what could she be confessing that takes so long to say? After a little longer while, one of them left to find another line. Now, by a while I mean about 45 minutes. By a longer while I mean an hour. Eventually another woman left, leaving only one person between me and the confessional. I decided to stick it out. When it got to be almost 11 (I’d been there since a little before 10, roughly) I realized I was going to be sitting there until midnight. I decided to say a rosary. By the time I was done, I think the next person had finally gotten to go. It would all be faster now, right?

Wrong. The girl in front of me, who had just wanted to go to Confession, not spill her life’s story to the priest, ended up taking at least as long as the last one. I was left on the hard wooden bench, near the open door through which the December air was blowing. I sent my friends on home without me, telling them it would be a while. I started to get existential thoughts running through my head. Why am I here? Do I really mean all this? This existential angst was only heightened by what I heard the priest say about 45 minutes into the confession (they weren’t actually in confessional boxes, just on chairs a little ways away). He asked the girl, “What do you want? When you first came, you said to wanted to go to confession. What do you want now?” Uh-oh, thought I. It was entirely too late at night for this kind of thinking. I don’t remember the results of my existential soul-searching, but I remember that it was a very good mid-Advent mini-retreat. Waiting. What do you want? What are you waiting for? Why are you waiting?

...Ten minutes before midnight, it was finally my turn. I actually had a lady try from another line try and beat me to the spot I’d been waiting nearly two hours for. With a small twinge of conscience, I thought, no way, and sat down quickly to finally confess my sins, if I could remember them after all this time. Apparently the priest realized that time was tight and listened quietly, only asking me at the end what I would ask from Jesus. Closer friendship with Him, and clarity for my life’s path were my answers (good thing I’d had time to think about it beforehand). Since the hour had struck and Benediction was beginning, the priest let me go without much further soul-searching. All in all, the experience was a very good way to crystalize the meaning of Advent for me.

In case anyone is wondering, the aforementioned fiery goodness was tea lights in plastic cups! J

A Late Reflection on the Solemnity of Christ the King

Over the past few years, the feast of Christ the King (November 20) has become one of my favorites. It’s so beautiful and full of light and eschatological. This year, on the evening before the feast, I finished reading the biography of Sophie Scholl, a 21-year-old resistance fighter against the Nazis. Sophie’s story speaks to me because she was about my age, a college student who lived the ideals of the philosophy and theology books that she loved to read. Anyway, the story ended with her execution by guillotine in February 1943. I must have cried for an hour after reading how she was arrested, put through a show trial and condemned to death all in a matter of days, with barely time to say goodbye to her family. The only way I could stop crying that night and finally go to sleep without having to get up for a Kleenex every five minutes was by thinking of St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians in which he calls Christ the first-fruits of the dead, i.e. the first of us to rise from the dead, without even realizing that this was one of the readings for the next day’s Mass.

Here in Munich, a city once quite in the grip of the Nazi regime, many resistance heroes were remembered on the feast of Christ the King. Among them were Bl. Fr. Rupert Maier, a local priest who spoke out against the regime, and Bl. Clemens August Cardinal Graf von Galen, a bishop known as the “Lion of Münster” for his sermons against the Nazis, especially their program of euthanasia. Both of these men only survived the regime because their deaths would have made them martyrs in the eyes of the people. The solemnity of Christ the King also became the day for the German Catholic youth to profess their faith; this day of profession had previously been the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity until the regime chose that day for the national sport festival.

Professing Christ as King is, however, goes beyond setting up the Kingdom of God over and against an oppressive political system. Proclaiming Christ as your King involves setting yourself against the values of the world—‘world’ here referring to the aspects of our world which are not of God. Thinking about this made me think of having dual nationality. The US government does not encourage this because a person who is a citizen of two countries must obey both countries’ laws, which may conflict with each other. This is similar to being both a citizen of the world and of the Kingdom of God, two realms whose laws quite often contradict each other.

Shortly before Christ the King I also read an article by Dr. Marcelino D’Ambrosio of Crossroads Ministries about how this solemnity reminds of the second coming of Christ, when Christ will come back to earth in glory to judge the living and the dead. This judgment will be based on one thing: “whatsoever you do for the least of my people, that you do unto me.” We are citizens of a Kingdom in which the laws are: love God above all things and love your neighbor as yourself. This includes feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger, visiting the sick and imprisoned. (See Matthew 25: 31-46.) These are the commandments of the King, and if we do not carry them out to the best of our ability, how can we expect eternal life with him?

Back to Sophie Scholl and her fellow students who formed the resistance group “The White Rose”. In the spring of 1942, she became convinced that mankind would not allow Hitler to win in the end. She wrote, “[i]ch will versuchen, mich auf der Seite der Sieger zu schlagen”—“I want to try to set myself on the side of the winners“ (Beuys 375). This is perhaps partly due to the fact that she expected the war to be over soon, based on how badly things were going in Russia, but it also shows great confidence in God and humanity. Christ really has already won the battle with evil, has already conquered death. All that remains for us to do is to testify to this victory in acts of love and justice, empowered by the grace of the Holy Spirit and Christ in the Eucharist.

Sources:

Beuys, Barbara. Sophie Scholl. Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag, 2010.

D'Ambrosio, Marcelino. Feast of Christ the King: Last Judgement and Sins of Omission. http://www.crossroadsinitiative.com/library_article/806/Christ_the_King___Last_Judgment.html

The Bishop and the Bear: Jugendkorbinian 2011

November 20^th is the feast of St. Korbinian, a Frankish missionary to southern Germany (specifically Bavaria) in the early 8th century. He is the patron of our diocese of Munich-Freising, and was its first bishop. Last weekend, I joined thousands of Bavarian young people in a pilgrimage to the cathedral in Freising, where Korbinian’s relics are housed. Jugendkorbinian, or “Korbi” as it’s known to the youth, is a long-standing tradition around here; this is attested to by the many smaller traditions associated with the annual pilgrimage, such as the “Never-empty-Korbi-Cup”, a tin-looking mug that you buy once and fill with all the tea you can drink for free every year you come back.

So, you might be wondering where the bear comes in. Once when St. Korbinian was making his way back to Rome to visit the Pope, a bear came up and ate his horse. Korbinian simply told the bear that now it had to carry his things to Rome, and it obeyed. (If you’ve ever wondered about the bear on Pope Benedict’s papal insignia, that’s the one.) The current Pope was also ordained a priest in the cathedral of Freising, along with his brother Georg, and became a successor of St. Korbinian when he was made archbishop of Munich-Freising.

The theme of this year’s “Korbi” pilgrimage was the very Bavarian and very untranslatable expression “Guad, dass di’ gibt!” This pretty much means, “Good, that you exist.” As part of my work here at the student residency, I prepared stations for us to pray as we walked the five kilometers from the neighboring town’s train station to the cathedral. In keeping with the theme, I selected bible verses that emphasized human dignity and individual worth, beginning with Genesis 1:26-31, the creation of man in the image of God. Next came Psalm 139:1-18 (God, you have searched me and know me…You knit me in my mother’s womb…). Every person is loved and wanted by God. Next was Luke 15:11-24, the Prodigal Son; God loves us even though we don’t deserve it. Our worth is based on the fact that we are created in God’s image, independent of our deeds. Finally, we ended with John 14:1-3 (In my father’s house there are many rooms…I go to prepare a place for you) and Luke 23:39-43, the repentant thief on the cross. All of humanity has the same destiny: heaven, and we have the responsibility of helping others fulfill this destiny, as well as doing so ourselves. (To read the full bible texts and meditations, see my blog “Pilgrimage Stations”.)

Mass on Sunday morning (we started out on a Saturday) was quite an event. Our group was literally camped on a foam mat a few feet behind the altar where the cardinal was celebrating. I could have touched the concelebrating priests’ robes, had I wanted to. The Gospel was the one where the master gives his servants talents (a form of money) and expects them to invest it while he is away. This message didn’t particularly speak to me at Mass, but it came back to me later in the day.

After Mass there were many, many different workshop we could participate in and booths we could visit. We decided to see a film called Soul Boy, about a boy (Abila) living in Kibera, one of the biggest slums in Kenya. This film, and the dialogue we had afterwards, ended up being the thing that inspired me most about the weekend. Unlike what you might expect, the film was not in the least depressing. Abila’s father loses his soul to a witch-doctor woman, and the boy has to get it back by performing seven tasks, including standing in another’s shoes and representing him in public, helping a sinner without judging him, paying another’s debts without stealing, encountering a new world and realizing how it is different from his own, using his reason to save a life and facing the snake that he fears (a train). What I liked about this movie was that it was a production made with the people of Kibera, not about them. They wrote the story, and they were the actors. The slums were also not directly the focus of the story—they were simply the background in which the characters lived their lives. The movie also sent the positive image of a young person making his world better by making himself a better person and gaining confidence in his abilities and gifts. Such a film can help people living in places like Kibera gain a sense of self-worth. It was also inspiring for me, though, to see how art and creativity really could do something good, even in Africa, where we normally just think of sending food and medicine. Here is the theme of the talents again! Each of us has gifts, and God has a plan for these gifts; we just have to dare to use them, a challenge that is currently shaping my volunteer experience. Guad, dass' uns alle gibt!

Sources:

http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korbinian

http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soul_Boy

Remembering 9/11 at the World Peace Prayer in Munich

This year, 2011, marked the 10^th anniversary of the attacks of September 11, 2001, but it also marked the 25^th anniversary of the interreligious World Prayer for Peace called in Assisi by Pope John Paul II. I was fortunate enough to be able to commemorate Sept. 11 by participating in this prayer for peace here in Munich. The peace prayer is organized by the Community of Sant’ Egidio, a group founded after the first World Peace Prayer to continue the spirit of Assisi. This group also works to foster peace by caring for the poor and the otherwise needy. The local diocese of the host city also plays a key organizational role. Religious leaders from all over the world, from many different religions, come to discuss and to pray and to build friendships. A main message of the World Peace Prayer is that religion does not have to be a source of conflict, but can rather be a path to peace.

The three-day prayer event (Sept. 11-13) started off with Mass in the Cathedral in Munich, at which Reinhard Cardinal Marx of the Arch-diocese of Munich-Freising was the main celebrant. Countless other bishops, cardinals and priests were also present—I hadn’t seen that many pink and red hats since Rome! Many Eastern Orthodox priests were present as well, including the Metropolitan of Minsk and Sluzk Filaret, Patriarchal Exarch of all Belarus, who gave an address and blessing at the end of the Mass. There were also a number of Lutheran bishops who processed in with the other Christian church leaders and addressed the congregation. In the congregation itself I definitely saw some Buddhist monks, and a man who looked like a Muslim, judging by the turban on his head. The readings were so perfect: Sirach 27:30—28:7 “Wrath and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight. The vengeful will suffer the Lord’s vengeance, for he remembers their sins in detail.” Psalm 103 “The Lord is kind and merciful, slow to anger and rich in compassion.” Romans 14:7-9 “Whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s”. Matthew 18:21-35: The servant whose debt was forgiven but who refused to forgive his debtor. Hearing these readings, I could only think of the feelings of anger, and probably of revenge (though mostly fear on my part), felt by myself and others after the attacks on Sept. 11. I remembered the homily given by a visiting priest one day in my home town: “If you don’t forgive Bin Laden, you’ll end up in hell right next to him.” Aside from the assumptions made about the state of Bin Laden’s soul, this is pretty much what the Bible says, put plainly. This peace prayer was very symbolic for me, in that I could commemorate these attacks by praying together with peace-loving Muslims. I had wanted to find one and shake their hand in person, but I didn’t end up doing so.

As we left the cathedral (and other events later that day), there was a weak scattering of protestors facing us. I was surprised—who would protest peace? It’s like reverse hippies…I was not happy to see that one of these protestors was waving an American flag. The signs they carried said things like “9/11 was an Islam job” or “Solidarity with persecuted Christians”. They seemed to be accusing us of cooperating with people who should be our enemies. 9/11 may have been an Islam job, but will refusing good relations with those Muslims who actually want peace prevent future attacks? And how can persecuted Christians be better helped than by religious freedom, an important issue in many of the talks? As to the American flag being used to protest peace and interreligious cooperation, all I can say is that our flag represents freedom, which cannot be had without peace, which cannot be had without people of different communities working together.

Speaking of freedom and cooperation brings me to another point: tolerance. I know many good people who say that tolerance is not at all a characteristic of a faithful Christian. This view tends to define tolerance as saying that “all religions are equally true and efficacious for bringing about salvation”. There might be some (or many?) who use this word with such a meaning in mind, but for me, tolerance is first and foremost simply not killing those who disagree with you. We take this so much for granted in the U.S., but so many people all over the world continue to be persecuted and killed for their religion. Live and let live, literally—this is tolerance. Taken a step further, tolerance is establishing a positive, respectful atmosphere in which ideas can be exchanged. Seen in this light, tolerance is a precursor to evangelization—it is only a hindrance when it turns into apathy.

As for me personally, a quality I will need to develop while I am here is what I call “diversity tolerance”. (I took a foreign language pedagogy class in college in which we learned about “ambiguity tolerance”: basically, not freaking out when you don’t understand every word being spoken around you.) By diversity tolerance I mean the ability to deal with the fact that other people believe different things than me. The ability to remain cool and not get angry, the ability to not feel threatened by different views. If my own beliefs are true, then the erroneous beliefs of others cannot hurt them, no matter how badly I argue or debate my point. If my own beliefs are in need of revision, I pray God for the humility to accept the truth. I’ve been faced with this quest to discern the truth almost every day that I’ve been here in Germany. It’s funny—I never saw diversity as a value until recently. I now see it as a value because exposure to other beliefs helps you to better articulate your own beliefs, and to keep evaluating them critically, making sure they withstand all possible tests.

Anyway, back to the Peace Prayer. On Monday the 12^th, David Brodman, head Rabbi of Savyon in Israel, spoke to a special group of youth convened by the Community of Sant’ Egidio. What struck me more than anything he said was the fact that he was so open and friendly towards a group of German youth, since he himself had been in a concentration camp when he was a boy. One more thing made an impression on me:  his description of the many peace talks he’d been to where they’d sign an agreement only to revoke it three days later. His tone overall remained optimistic, but after the discussion I was left with the impression that peace talks were not how peace was ultimately going to come about. This one Muslim boy in the group seemed to have a similar idea: “Let’s just close the books and agree not to kill people.” By “books” he meant religious texts, and was referring to the passages in the Koran that seem to condone violence, though he and other Muslims at this peace prayer all found ways of interpreting those passages that did not involve actually killing infidels. He also referred to a passage allowing revenge on those who kill one’s relatives. He said that his family had been in this situation, but had chosen not to do what their book would have allowed them to. He then proceeded to say that the Bible allowed revenge too, definitely a misunderstanding. Maybe the Old Testament in some passages, but certainly not the teachings of Jesus. I wanted to jump up and correct him—and there we would have been, arguing over texts again, talking about doctrine and already misunderstanding each other.

It may never be possible to make all of these religions agree on paper. It may be possible, however, to bring them together in reality. Another thing that left an impression on me was a story the rabbi told us about an Israeli family whose son was killed in a bus explosion. His organs were saved, and the family donated them to save the life of a young Palestinian girl. In the end, the mothers of the boy and girl were simply two mothers who loved their children. Acts of love like this are what will really bring about peace. Peace conferences like this one do have value, however, in that the big discussions spark lots of little conversations between individuals, which is where real progress is made.

To conclude this admittedly gargantuan post, I would like to share the experiences I’ve had since the Peace Prayer. I never did shake hands with a Muslim, but I played soccer with five of them several days after the event. Twice a week I go to an after-school center at which many immigrant kids come for help with their homework, and for somewhere to hang out while their parents are at work. A large number of the kids happen to be from Iraq. They have only been in Germany for two or three years, which means they must have experienced the recent war in Iraq. For years now, the word Iraq has only been associated in my mind with roadside bombs and death counts on the evening news. At the worst of times, I even (not very seriously) entertained the idea that our world would be better off if the entire Middle East just ceased to exist. After meeting these kids, thoughts like that make me sick. Perhaps because of the long war that our country has led in their country, the Iraqi kids have become dear to me, and I feel a certain responsibility towards them. How terrible, if anything had happened to them. I was at first very reluctant to tell them I’m American, but now that’s gotten out and we’ll see how it goes. Despite western panic that Islamic immigrants will spread ideas hostile to our own, I think there are potential benefits to this immigration. The kids in our group are learning (hopefully) that Christians can be their friends, and hopefully they will learn to value democracy by being here in Germany.

One last related thought: at one of the talks at the peace prayer, it was once again disputed as to whether the Israelis and Palestinians could ever live in peace. Someone then said, however, that the integration is already taking place in the schools, where the children play side by side and learn to be friends. This example is one more testament to the fact that peace will only come as a result of concrete relationships and friendships between individual people. Hopefully future World Peace Prayers, such as the one next year in Sarajevo, where there has been much religious conflict, will bring about such friendships.

Celebrity Fever: Poets and Pope Benedict in Germany

For the last few days (September 22-25), I and various sisters here in Munich have been glued to the TV as Pope Benedict made his third visit to Germany as Pope. My experience of this visit, however, began a week before his arrival. I had a friend from Hungary who was studying in the small but historic town of Jena, in the eastern German state of Thüringen. She would only be there until the end of September, so I was anxious to see her before she left. Now, I knew Jena was famous because the great German poet Friedrich Schiller had lived there. I also knew that the town of Weimar, famous because of the even greater poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, was in the same area. (Goethe is pretty much the German Shakespeare, and these two poets are German classicism, just to give you an idea of how famous they are.) What I didn’t know, however, was that just 45 minutes from Jena was the city of Erfurt, where Martin Luther had been an Augustinian monk. Erfurt was one of the stops on Pope Benedict’s packed itinerary, specifically because of its connection to Luther; ecumenism between Lutherans and Germans is a pretty hot topic in the German Church right now, with the 500^th anniversary of the Reformation coming up in 2017.

So, in all my anxiety to visit my friend, I got very confused as to various dates. She had said that she might be able to get me a ticket to the Pope’s Mass at Erfurt. At first I thought the Mass was on Monday, when I had to work. Then my friend thought it was on Sunday, when she had to leave for Hungary. To make matters worse, she had no internet with which to communicate. Anyway, it ended up that I went to Jena exactly a week before the Pope came to Erfurt. I wasn’t so bothered by this until I realized how close the towns were. Saturday night I stood in front of the Cathedral at Erfurt, looking at the massive altar they were setting up for the Pope, exactly a week too early. Then it hit me how narrowly I’d missed him, and I was quite depressed and angry with myself for a few days.

Now, just hours before all this Pope-craziness took hold of me, I was obsessed with poet-craziness. We looked at Schiller’s garden house, Schiller’s town house, Goethe’s garden house, the botanical garden where Goethe studied, the university where Schiller studied and taught, and even Goethe’s girlfriend’s house. I even paid to see the graves of the pair of them, though I thought this both expensive and overly touristy. It was in Schiller’s garden, though, that something caught my eye and made pause and think about all this madness. Near the gate was a concrete bust of Schiller, painted white but chipped in places, with rain dripping down the graven features. This made me think of the multitude of Greek marble statues I’d seen in various museums, and of how the classicists were crazy about the Greeks—almost idolized them, you could say. I could only think of the Bible verse (Ps. 135: 16-18) that talks about how those who build idols will become like them—mouths but cannot speak, eyes but cannot see etc. Now, I’m not saying these poets were really guilty of idolatry, but it did make me think about the fanatical way in which I was retracing their every step. This was also a warning against making an idol of a famous person, reducing them to one concrete, static image without actually getting to know them, so to speak, or entering into a dialogue with them. Crazy as I was about Schiller, I think I’ve read exactly two poems of his, and the first few lines of one of his plays. Strange as it may be, the moment when Goethe and Schiller seemed most alive to me was when I was standing at their graves, when I remembered that they were real people with eternal souls which could possibly benefit from my prayers. I also began to realize, on the train ride home, that the best way to get to know these poets was to interactively read their works and discuss them with others, seeing what relevance they had for our lives today.

This brings me back to my disappointment at not seeing the Pope in person. I realized that in order to get to know him, I should read his writings, discuss them, learn from them and apply them, instead of just blindly cheering along with the 100,000-person crowd, cool as this would have been. I came away from Jena and from the TV screen bound and determined to read Pope Benedict’s homilies, encyclicals and books, and to think about them, discuss them, and write about them. Then I realized I could do this with the Bible to get to know Jesus better…funny what thought processes a little statue can trigger!

My First Week in Munich

It’s been exactly a week since I arrived in Munich at the Jugendwohnheim St. Ermelinda, a kind of dorm for female students and apprentices, run by the Salesian sisters. I did not have many expectations coming into this experience, but I still managed to be caught off guard a bit. I imagined myself being here for the girls, helping the new ones move in, showing them around etc. Somehow it slipped my mind that I would also be one the “new ones”. For the first few days, all the sisters had to show me how everything worked (not that they’re done with that), and the girls that had already lived here for a few years showed me around the town a little. (Thank goodness for this one very outgoing Polish girl who invited me to join her on several outings, and who can keep a conversation alive!) I was kind of frustrated with this situation—I was there to help them. Then I remembered that I couldn’t be there for the girls nearly as well if I didn’t experience the things they experienced. I had to be the small-town stranger in the big city, staring wide-eyed at the metro plan and fumbling with my map, before I could help the other new girls find their way.

So far my jobs have been great amounts of housecleaning and list typing (both very typically German I think), dish washing, manning the reception desk and locking the doors to the dorm at night. Eventually I hope to do some spiritual activities with the girls, but Bavaria still has vacation, so there aren’t that many people here right now.

I think perhaps one of the hardest things about being here will be convincing myself that it’s actually worth it. I’m still struggling with that feeling that I should have gone to a third world country, especially while hearing about the German VIDES volunteers who went to Zambia and (I think) Venezuela. I almost don’t dare call myself a missionary, having visited a famous art museum (the Alte Pinakotek in Munich) my first weekend here, and being kept awake at night by one measly little mosquito. My relatives over here (of which there are many) seemed to not quite comprehend what I was doing here. Missionary work? We don’t need missionaries…And then I’m almost kind of jealous of all the girls who are studying at the university here, thinking that that could be me right now…Anyway, my consolation is the fact that all this craziness—flying all the way across an ocean to wash dishes for ten months—is for God. If the other girls see that I’m doing what I’m doing for God, then that will be a witness to God’s power and love.

In reading the above paragraph, please do not think that I am overwhelmed with negativity. I am enjoying getting to know the sisters and the girls and the city (and I am doing more than just dishes). It does seem as if the sisters could use a hand. Today one of the girls who’s been here for a while said that the sister more-or-less in charge seemed happier since I’d gotten here. Hopefully she was right. One beneficial thing about being here in Europe is that I will have ten whole months to focus on how to be a missionary, a witness to God’s love, in the same contemporary world that awaits me upon my return home.

Some Thoughts on the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary

About a month ago, I took on a week-long babysitting job that involved playing with a little girl at her mother’s office. On Thursday morning, this little girl was unusually tired and slept most of the morning. With little else to do, I decided to pass the time by saying a rosary. I’m always excited to realize that it’s Thursday, because the Luminous Mysteries are my favorite. Anyway…sitting on a rolling chair in this cold doctor’s office, it finally hit me why the mystery of the Proclamation of the Kingdom of Heaven is at the center of this group of mysteries. Of all the mysteries of the rosary, I’d always understood this one the least, perhaps because it is one of the most basic mysteries. Jesus’s revelation: “My kingdom does not belong to this world” (Jn. 18:36) shows us that this world that we can see is not all there is. There is something beyond this world. This is such a basic tenet of the Christian faith that I tend to take it for granted. So many people out there, however, do not believe there is anything else out there and therefore do not have the consolation of this wonderful fact of existence.

After this first realization, God then showed me how all of the Luminous Mysteries were related to the Kingdom of Heaven, and that there was a progression in the order of the mysteries. Baptism is our gate of entry into the kingdom—even the King himself went through this gate. The Wedding at Cana is the closest we can get, on the purely human level, to what the Kingdom of Heaven is like. First, it is a time of rejoicing and being reunited with everyone you love, a great celebration and feast, just as I often picture heaven. Second, it celebrates the coming together in marriage of a man and a woman, sexual relations being the best human image of heaven as union with the Beloved, union with God. After the Wedding, the Proclamation of the Kingdom (as mentioned above) takes us beyond the human, earthly level. In the Transfiguration, the disciples get a glimpse of this heavenly glory, seeing Jesus in his full glory as King of heaven and earth. This experience is also a confirmation for the disciples (and for us) that what was announced in the Proclamation is indeed true. Finally, in the Institution of the Eucharist, we have the merging of the two worlds, earth and heaven. The Eucharist is heaven on earth because it is physical and spiritual union with God, as well as union with the entire Mystical Body of Christ, living and deceased. It is not yet the Beatific Vision, but it’s as close as we can get on earth. Within these five mysteries, the Wedding Feast foreshadows the Eucharist, which is even more intimate than any human sexual relation.

Just now in researching the Luminous Mysteries, I came across the apostolic letter with which John Paul II introduced them into the tradition of the rosary, entitled Rosarium Virginis Mariae. I only read over it quickly, but what I did read made me see the rosary in a very new and wonderful way. (I highly recommend this letter, in case you can’t tell.) Anyway, this letter describes the Luminous Mysteries as being especially concerned with the public ministry of Jesus. “Each of these mysteries is a revelation of the Kingdom now present in the very person of Jesus” (21).

Thinking a little more on this, I realized that these mysteries are very closely tied to the sacraments of the Church. Baptism, Matrimony and Eucharist are obvious. The Proclamation, seen as a call to conversion, contains in it the offer of Reconciliation: “This is the time of fulfillment. The Kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the Gospel.” (Mk. 1:15) Finding a parallel sacrament to go with the Transfiguration proved difficult. For now, I’ve settled on the practice of Eucharistic Adoration, which, while it is not one of the seven sacraments, greatly enriches our experience of the sacrament of the Eucharist.

Finally, these five mysteries contain the basic mission of Christ and his Church on earth: caring for God’s people in body and soul. Jesus provided for our physical and emotional human needs by providing the wedding guests with wine. He provides for our spiritual needs in the preaching that accompanies the Proclamation, in baptism and in forgiveness of sins. The Eucharist, of course, nourishes us both physically and spiritually. The Luminous Mysteries show us how to make a reality those familiar words that open the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Works Cited:

John Paul II. Rosarium Virginis Mariae. 2002. http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/apost_letters/documents/hf_jp-ii_apl_20021016_rosarium-virginis-mariae_en.html

The New American Bible. Iowa Falls: World Bible Publishers, 1986.

There and Back Again...The Healthy Way to Read Fantasy

Bilbo Baggins’ title to The Hobbit is “There and Back Again.” It can hardly be coincidence that the title of this prelude to the greatest fantasy epic of our time provides the key to effectively reading the genre that follows after this great story. This title is also reflective of Tolkien’s theory of fantasy and its role in the life of its readers. This theory can be summarized as follows: fantasy should turn our gaze back to our own world, with new eyes more appreciative of the beauty of our world.

I am writing this while still on the post-Harry-Potter-#7-part-2 emotional high—I was itching to get to a computer or a notebook the minute I stepped out of that film. Then I realized that in my flurry to write down my ideas, I was in danger of rendering them empty and meaningless. I had been so moved by the portrayals of love in the film, and yet, in my excitement to write down my feelings, I was forgetting to love those around me. My wild rush to the computer was interrupted by my mom wanting to check her email and my brother wanting to go online for something, and my mad drive to write was interrupted by my sister wanting to play a game with me before (and past) bedtime. So I asked my guardian angel to keep a hold on my thoughts for me while I went to play, somewhat distracted, but not enough so as to prevent my winning the first round of memory. As I hugged my mom and sister good night, I realized that this is what Harry was willing to give his life for. If I didn’t cherish the love of my family and friends, then the film had taught me nothing.

In this last experience, I thank God for giving me the grace to read/watch this story the way I just did: with eyes turned on my own world and more attuned to the riches that lie beneath the surface of everyday actions. It wasn’t always this way for me. In high school I became a huge fan of The Lord of the Rings. (I still am, in case it isn’t obvious from the first paragraph above.) I was in a melancholy state of discontent after finishing the books and watching the films, disappointed that it wasn’t real, and bored with this world because it didn’t have elves. I imagined so many times being magically transported to Middle-Earth and just staying there forever, with one hang-up: no Mass on Sundays. I’d have to take along a priest...or a bishop, so he could ordain new priests once we got there…Anyway, the turning point in the story of my unhealthy desire to fall into another world is this: the realization that Christ died to save this world—this world and no other. If Jesus loved this world (or at least its people) enough to die for it, then who was I to spurn it as boring? Our world took on a whole new value in my eyes upon this realization.

Upon re-reading Tolkien’s On Fairy Stories in college, I found articulated the exact description of my above experience. This function of fairy-stories that Tolkien calls “recovery” involves seeing things as we are meant to see them; cleaning our windows; “so that the things seen clearly may be freed from the drab blur of triteness or familiarity—from possessiveness” (77). Far from causing us to be bored with our own world, the reading of fantasy should restore in us a sense of wonder for the things of this world: “We should meet the centaur and the dragon, and then perhaps suddenly behold, like the ancient shepherds, sheep, and dogs, and horses—and wolves” (77).

Another wonderful example of “there and back again” is Michael Ende’s Neverending Story. (Typing this, I realize the irony—or perhaps the fittingness—of the book’s title.) Bastian is sent to Phantasien so that he can make both that world and his own world whole. He goes to save Phantasien from the nothingness caused by the lack of imagination exercised in his world, but is nearly trapped there by the temptation of a world completely shaped by his own will. He would not be the first to be so trapped. In Phantasien there exists a city known as the Old Emperor City. All of its inhabitants are humans from Bastian’s world (our world) who have lost the will to leave Phantasien, and therefore cannot leave, since the world is determined by their will. All of the people in this city have lost their reason and are occupied with futile, irrational tasks, such as sticking stamps to soap bubbles or digging a hole to bury a burning candle. These people, in wanting to remain in the world shaped by their will rather than return to their own world, have lost the ability (but first the will) to distinguish between fantasy and reality. Tolkien also emphasizes that, rather than confuse fantasy and reality, fairy-stories must take reality as their base. Without a clear knowledge of what is real, there can be no concept of the imaginary. “If men were ever in a state in which they did not want to know or could not perceive truth (facts or evidence), then Fantasy would languish until they were cured. If they ever get into that state (it would not seem at all impossible), Fantasy will perish, and become morbid delusion” (75).

Those of you who are not heroic fantasy aficionados like me probably think that I have made my point to the point of redundancy: you can’t live in a fantasy world forever. For those of you out there, though, who really wish deep down that elves were real and who are reluctant to relegate fantasy to that safe little box of “it’s just make-believe”, I will try to elaborate on one more point. Reading fantasy can help us become more in-tune to the world of invisible realities all around us. Seeing the Gospels as the paradigmatic epic of our own world, we can imbue each moment of reality with so much more meaning. Suddenly, stopping to hold the door and smile at someone becomes a testament to the hidden reality that everyone is loved and valued by God. Praying in front of an abortion clinic becomes like bearing down on the gates of Mordor--or hell--with a flask of starlight, a light of truth. The imagination cultivated by the reading of fantasy will help us picture the guardian angels that are always with us and the city of heaven that awaits us. If we see the Gospel as the greatest (true!) story of all time, in which evil has already been defeated, then evangelization turns into a mission to convince people that this story is indeed reality. There is more to this world than what we can see; fantasy can awake in us the desire for this higher, hidden reality, a desire which is then fulfilled by the Gospel story. Summing up this whole view of fantasy, Aslan the lion reassures Edmund and Lucy at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader that he is will be with them in their own world. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia” (270). Truth is truth whether it comes from the lips of elves, angels, or even talking lions. It remains our task as readers to discern the truth in whatever dress it is presented to us and to apply this truth to our own lives.

Works Cited:

Tolkien, J.R.R. “On Fairy Stories” in The Tolkien Reader. New York: Ballantine Books, 1966.

Lewis, C.S. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. New York: Harper Collins, 1980.

Mission Statement

My name is Stephanie and I am a recent graduate of the University of Dallas, with a BA in Comparative Literature and a BA in German. Currently, I am a lay missionary with VIDES+USA. VIDES stands for Volunteers in Development, Education, Solidarity, and is affiliated with the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians (also known as the Salesian Sisters), a Roman Catholic religious order dedicated to serving youth. From August 2011 to May 2012 I will be working with the youth of Munich, Germany.

In this blog, I hope to share my faith journey as a missionary, in particular as a missionary to the developed worlds of the US and Europe. I first created this blog on the feast of St. Benedict, patron of Europe, and today is the feast of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), also a patroness of Europe. I ask these two, as well as St. Francis de Sales (patron of journalists and writers and namesake of the Salesians), to also be patrons of this blog, my humble little effort to share the fruits of my contemplation, as the Dominicans would say.

Part of evangelizing a people is evangelizing their culture. Despite the many negative things that can justifiably be said about contemporary culture, I'm convinced that you can find God in there somewhere, if you look with the right kind of eyes. I intend to look at our culture, particularly in its narrative, dramatic and lyric aspects (i.e. books, film and music), through these eyes of faith. I pray that you who read this will take away some food for thought that will strengthen your love for Christ.