Part 5 of the The Lord opens up with the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem, on the back of a donkey. The crowds greet him by laying down palm branches, and all around are cheering and proclaiming the arrival of the Messiah. It truly would have been a sight to behold, and we can’t help but wonder what it actually would have been like to have been there. To have witnessed this triumphant arrival would certainly be a tremendous blessing. But was it really that grand of an affair, visually speaking? If we could look at it now as a video recording, would it look like how we would expect the Son of Man to openly reveal himself to the world? I don’t think so. I found myself thinking about this quite a lot lately. The current situation in the world with the COVID-19 pandemic has many of us sitting at home nearly all the time. We don’t go walking about the streets like we normally would, we don’t go about our normal routines of traveling to and from work or popping into the markets for an afternoon. But this situation is what made me think about the people who were there to welcome Jesus. This wasn’t a royal welcome. This wasn’t a parade filled with pomp filled with dignitaries and leaders all recognizing the kingship of the man on a donkey. But nor was it the opposite. It wasn’t just the poor out gathering to welcome the one who will overthrow the powers that have kept them so overburdened. Jesus surrounded himself with the poor and the downtrodden throughout his public ministry, so we might suspect this moment to act a crescendo for all he has done so far. We might expect it to serve as a contrast to the pomp of a worldly royal entrance, where instead of the rich and powerful it is the poor and weak who are there to celebrate their king. But neither of these things is what occurred. Instead, it was average people, going about their daily business. It was blacksmiths and tailors and shopkeepers and people just popping out to get a bite to eat. Not the poor or the rich, not the powerful or the weak, not the Jews or the Gentiles, there is no label or category we can put this crowd into, other than “they were people.” “Crowd in which we all could find our place—human reality, mediocrity bare of the pathos both of splendor and of misery.” But something about the fact of Jesus’s arrival changed everything about that boringly ordinary and mediocre crowd. It’s in his arrival to Jerusalem that Jesus ceases any attempt to conceal who he is. Here he openly proclaims himself the Messiah, the Son of God, and he does not back down from that claim even unto his death. His ride into the city is an act of revelation. That’s clear from the crowd’s response. Instead of going about their day and ignoring this man riding a donkey, surely not even a strange sight in the city, they all stop. The Holy Spirit moves through the crowd, enabling them to see the truth of who this man is and the significance of what is occurring. Suddenly all of these ordinary people are overcome with joy, for they can now truly see the God-man, and they all proclaim “Hosanna to the Son of David!” “Jesus acts—the same Spirit that inspires his action moves in those about him, revealing to them its meaning. Simultaneously, their eyes see the Lord as he rides through the street, and their spirit sees what is behind the event. The physical eye and the spiritual are one. And those who so truly ‘saw’ in that hour were not the particularly talented, neither geniuses nor in any way the elite or the mighty, but ‘the common people,’ those who happened to be in the streets at the time. For the power that opened their eyes and hearts was not human power, but the Spirit of God moving among men.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") Perhaps it’s how uninteresting and average this crowd was that finally tipped the scales for the powers of the day. The Pharisees had been opposed to Jesus for some time already, but the Sadducees had remained indifferent and aloof. It’s not until after his arrival that they begin to take him as a threat and begin to move against him. Perhaps it’s because they saw that he wasn’t just a Pharisee problem, nor even just a Roman problem. Something about him stirred the souls of everyone he encountered, regardless of class or race. In that act of revelation, Jesus became a Sadducee problem as well. In that moment, the Holy Spirit revealed to the world who Jesus was.
So would it have been that spectacular an affair to have been there? Absolutely! But only by the grace of the Holy Spirit moving within us. Without that grace, we would have just seen a wayward man on a donkey. But with it, we would have seen the Son. It is the same for us today. The Holy Spirit, the Advocate sent in Christ’s name by the Father (John 14:26) , is the one who teaches us to recognize such divine things, and how to respond to them. Only with the help of the Holy Spirit will we also be able to proclaim, in the here and now, “Hosanna in the highest!”
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As we close out Part 4, we take a look at forgiveness. It seems a simple enough thing. Christians are called to forgive those who wrong us, no matter the offense. But it’s tremendously difficult, and goes against every instinct we have. We are to “turn the other cheek,” not merely in the sense of avoiding the retaliation we so desire, but to truly wipe away the image of the other as an “offender” at all. Merely ignoring an offense, by comparison, is simple. But that leads to apathy regarding offenses against us. We are not called to apathy. We are called to love, and you cannot love one you do not forgive. The thing is, man is very acutely aware of violations of justice, at least in the sense of losing what we believe to be rightly ours. When someone takes or damages what is ours, whether it be a physical possession, our bodies, our family members, or even our honor (honor perhaps most of all), we recognize the violation immediately. Everything in us boils and screams that the order of justice be restored. That person has, in our minds, become an enemy, and that enemy must be punished for his offense. “The desire for revenge is slightly more ‘human.’ It is not a response to mortal danger, but to the danger of loss of power and honor. The fact that the other was able to damage me proves that he was stronger than I; had I been what I should be, he never would have dared to attempt it. The impulse to retaliate aims primarily at reestablishing my self-respect by humiliating my enemy. I would rise by the other’s fall.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") At the heart of it is fear. We fear losing what is ours and we fear being made out to be less than we are. An offender challenges our status and our power. This cannot go unpunished. An eye for an eye! If you take my honor, I will take yours, and the order of the world will be restored! But he will then retaliate against me, and I against him, and he against me. That’s not order at all. That’s pure chaos. The proper order of things set forth from Creation was marred by our lust for power, and now we presume to restore it by reasserting our power? No, only God has claim to power, only God can bring about order to the world.
Instead, our call is to forgiveness, to realizing that our self-respect does not depend on honor or power. My self-respect is grounded on my being a child of God, and everything I do ought to spring from that reality. Then every offender, every enemy, becomes a fellow man, a brother. Forgiveness is not just turning a blind eye to his offense, but turning to him and saying “I love you.” It is not renouncing our instinct to punish, but a “relinquishment of the wish to see punishment meted out at all.” The call to forgiveness is a call to completely reorient ourselves, how we view the world, how we view each other, and how we view justice itself. We’ve talked about justice before as we’ve gone through Guardini’s book, and we’ve realized that justice, true justice, is not something man is capable of absent grace. We can never restore true justice because true justice requires that one see all parties involved as they truly are, into their very hearts and their intents. That takes love, and from love springs mercy and forgiveness. The scope of the knowledge we have, and even the knowledge we are capable of, makes us utterly unable to enforce justice, because our very idea of what is just is skewed by our limited perception. But through love we are able to forgive, and be merciful. That is a higher form of justice, true justice. As we move into chapter eleven of The Lord, Guardini spends several pages reflecting on “blessings.” At its most simple level, a blessing is a thing given by God which enables us, empowers us, to grow. And not merely like a power boost, where it might speed up our growth in particular spiritual or physical or intellectual matters, where we end up at a place we could have been anyway, only more quickly. Rather it provides the seed and fertilizer for growth to something beyond what is ever naturally achievable. Think of the very first blessing: life itself (Genesis 1:20-28). On the fifth day of Creation, God creates the creatures of the sea and the skies. “God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’” He says the same to Adam and Eve. God blesses the world with life. Not merely “animation,” but the capacity to grow and develop and bring forth new life. This is the heart of what a blessing is: the divine creative force that spurs everything into being. Without it, everything apart from God would be static and lifeless, unable to move or grow. But because of it, “God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.” And what is the font of all blessing? Christ himself, the Son of God. He is the divine creative force personified. “He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being” (John 1:2-3). The blessing of life, from the beginning, comes through Christ. We shrugged off that blessing, preferring to consider ourselves the blessers rather than the blessed. And yet despite our attempts to depose God, He still comes with an even greater blessing than the first: life eternal. The Son’s entrance into the world is the greatest blessing of them all. To get at the truth of that statement, we need to delve into the “why” of Christ’s arrival. “Why did Jesus come? To add a new, higher value to those already existent? To reveal a new truth over and above existing truth, or a nobler nobility, or a new and juster order of human society? No, he came to bring home the terrible fact that everything, great and small, noble and mean, the whole with all its parts—from the corporal to the spiritual, from the sexual to the highest creative urge of genius—is intrinsically corrupt. Jesus does not uncover hidden creative powers in man; he refers him to God, center and source of all power.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") The fact of our corrupted state is one not easily accepted. But it is the thing that prevents us from becoming anything at all. Indeed, it destroys us, little by little, with every intrusive thought and every passing glance. We were created and blessed with the purpose and capacity to grow, to constantly improve, to live in a perpetual state of becoming more. This is the core of what we are. But we have steered off course. We are still trying to grow, as it is our nature. But we are like a ship barreling toward the shoals, with nobody at the helm. If left to our own devices, we will all be destroyed.
This is the blessing Christ offers. To right the ship, to take the helm and steer it toward its proper destination. While we stand quibbling about whether to move the deck chairs around, or which light bulbs on board need replacing, or fight amongst each other about who was supposed to scrub the cabin floors, ignorant of our impending doom, Christ steps on board and offers help we didn’t even realize we needed. We were so blinded to our present condition, so caught up in the affairs of the ship, we forgot about our destination. But it’s more than this as well. Christ doesn’t merely offer to steer us in the right course. A philosopher could do that, or even a wise grandmother. No, the path to our destination is not navigable. We don’t have a way to get there, no matter how hard we try, no matter how many cartographers or navigators or seasoned ship captains we throw at the problem. It’s unreachable. Christ offers us safe passage. He can guide us through the dangers, along that narrow path. “Follow me” he says. It was through him that we were blessed with life in the beginning, and it is through him that we are blessed with a final destiny: life eternal. In chapters nine and ten of Part 4 of The Lord, Guardini talks about two kinds of orders of virtue: an order of common virtue and an order of exceptional virtue. Both of these kinds of orders are good (they are “virtuous”), and both can lead to eternal life. And neither can be achieved by man through any purely natural means—both require the help of grace and that they be lived out in faith. But one stands above the other in terms of its perfection. To illustrate these two kinds of orders, he uses two pairs of examples of Christian vocations. In the first pair, in chapter nine, we see a reflection on marriage. Marriage is a tremendous good, in its own right. Two people become one flesh, initially paired together out of passion and an almost infantile love that ebbs and flows and sometimes beats faster and slower like a heart being exercised. Two people joined in a union chosen by themselves, but consecrated before God. The union is not their union at all. It is God’s. That is why Christ speaks against divorce; this is not man’s institution which can be discarded at his own will—man has no claim to authority over it. A Christian marriage properly has Christ at its center. We’ve heard the old joke about two young people dancing a bit too closely when someone walks up and pulls them apart saying “Make room for Jesus!” It’s silly, but it has a ring of truth. A Christian marriage does not succeed in its vocation if Christ is not in the midst of the couple. When it does, the love the two have for each other grows ever more real, far beyond fleeting passions. The two look upon each other as fellow children of God, they work to help and correct and guide each other on the path of sanctification. Their shared faith contributes to each other’s holiness in a way far deeper than even a mother with her child. It is truly a good thing. However, there is another thing Jesus mentions which stands on the higher order: virginity. He mentions it immediately after talking about marriage in Matthew. The disciples are aghast at what Jesus has just said concerning divorce (and combining what they have already heard him say about lustful glances already being adultery, you can imagine their panic on the subject). It would be better to never marry at all, if that is what marriage is! Jesus responds that there is, indeed, another order of virtue for the Christian sexual life. “For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by others, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.” -Matthew 19-1-12 Eunuchs who have made themselves such “for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.” That is, voluntary celibates—those who have chosen to devote the entirety of their love to God alone. This is a hard thing to do, and Jesus acknowledges it. “Let anyone accept this who can.” It is not something to be done lightly, and it is reserved for those “who can.” It is reserved for those who are called to that particular vocation. But certainly it stands on a higher order of perfection. The voluntary celibate devotes the entirety of himself to God. That is a tremendously virtuous thing! That is not saying that marriage isn’t “good” or indeed even “less good.” Both are good and holy, and both lead to eternal life. But one, for those who are called to it, does more perfectly emulate what beatified life will be like. Many are called to marriage, while few are called to celibacy. Hence why we might call these the “common virtue” and “extraordinary virtue,” respectively.
In chapter ten, Guardini takes on another pair of virtues: responsible management of property, and poverty (that is, voluntary poverty). In the first, man still retains ownership of things. But he always manages and dispenses his property in accordance with justice, and mercy, and generosity. He is not ravenously chasing down his debtors out of greed, he is not profiting off the misery of others, he is not hoarding wealth for himself. With Christ as his guide and teacher, he is able to manage his estate in a fair and just manner. This is a good and virtuous thing, and the vocation most of us are called to. But there is another, higher vocation: poverty. We see this in the same chapter, in Matthew 19:16-26. A young rich man comes to Jesus and he asks what he must do to have eternal life. Jesus lists a few commandments. The man says “I have already done those things all my life! What more can I do?” Jesus perhaps senses the man has earnestly tried to keep the commandments, but that the man is desperately yearning for a higher, more challenging calling. He gives it to him. “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The man is struck by the difficulty of this calling. He weeps and leaves—it is too difficult a thing. Indeed, voluntary poverty is a tremendous burden. But like the responsible property owner must learn to release his ties to his property, in order to truly manage them in a just and fair manner, one who is called to poverty must do so even more radically. He must release all claims to ownership whatsoever. He must acknowledge that everything, ultimately, belongs to God, and view everything from that perspective. He gives up the things that rule him in order that God alone may take ownership of him. Again, just as with celibacy, this is a more perfect reflection of the beatified life. But it is tremendously difficult, and only a few are called to it. We must be clear when talking about these things that none of these are possible without grace. Common virtues or extraordinary virtues, it makes no difference. They all require Christ at their center, and the help of grace in order to be lived at all. So, no matter your vocation, whether you feel called to something as extraordinary as celibacy or something as beautiful and “common” as marriage, pray diligently. No matter your vocation, keep Christ as your center. Matthew 18:1-6 (RSVCE) At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them, and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened round his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea. Jesus holds up a child as the example of one who will be the “greatest” in the kingdom of heaven. From the context we’re given, it’s a seemingly random child that Jesus called up to be his model. All the more perfect, really, to hammer his point home with the disciples. Remember the incident with the sons of Zebedee and their mother, when she asks Jesus which one of her sons will sit on his right, and which on his left. The disciples are still stuck in thinking of the heavenly kingdom as an earthly kingdom, where there are the powerful and the weak, the rulers and the ruled, and they want to make sure they will be counted among the powerful. That’s the heart of their question about who the “greatest” will be. Jesus turns the question on its head by holding up a random child. But Guardini wants us to not be sucked into the romanticism of being “childlike.” It’s far too easy and even instinctual for us to associate “childlike” with qualities like innocence and malleability. Rather we need to look deeper into what Jesus is saying, past our own biases of what a “child” is, and really reflect on what it means for this child to be considered the “greatest” in the kingdom of heaven. Guardini separates this into particular points Jesus is making: Whoever receives the child receives Jesus, meaning “to accept, to make room for, to respect.” “Unconsciously we reserve such regard only for the person who is able to prove himself; who accomplishes something, is useful and important. The child can prove nothing. It is only a beginning, has not yet accomplished anything; it is still only a hope. The child cannot force the adult to take it seriously.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") Maturity has hardened us to view things in terms of their utility, in terms of what they have achieved and what they are able to achieve for us. Guardini is quick to note that this is not merely an opinion of strict realists, but that we see the same attitude toward children in parents. The parents become overprotective. The child is not worthy of the respect of a human being, and rather it must be shielded from normal human things. As adults, we respect only things which are able to assert themselves before us. We respect only things which demand respect from us. Whoever causes a child to sin, it is better that for him to be drowned in the sea. “The child cannot compete with the ableness, experience, greater knowledge of the adult, and is defenseless when a grown-up wickedly poisons its mind, confuses its conceptions of right and wrong, plays upon its helpless senses, and destroys its natural modesty or reverence.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") As adults, we sin freely. We lie, we cheat, we deceive, we tear each other apart every chance we get. Without devolving into cliché notions like “childish innocence,” as we know of course children also do these things. Any parent will have endless stories of how their children tried to deceive them. Children rely on adults for their guidance. By nature, they have tremendous instincts to trust others. They must do, for they are ignorant of most things. Just as we tend to view children as not worthy of our respect or acceptance, we also corrupt children with our own biases and sinful ways. We impose our sinfulness on them, mold them into our likeness, until they are just as lost as we are. Jesus warns us: one day, you will be judged for this. But it’s not just a warning. It’s also a calling: be like the children, and learn how to trust. Rather than being so concerned with self-assertion and pride, trust your peers, trust strangers, trust the Lord. We talk all the time about how children absorb knowledge like a sponge. It’s partly because of their ability to trust. But it’s also more than that. We, as adults, have walked this world for many years. In that time, we’ve learned much about how to navigate it and its peculiarities, which is good. But we’ve also learned how to harden ourselves to its challenges, like living in a community of persons. We lie to each other all the time, and tell ourselves it’s better that way. “White lies,” after all, are just to protect the modesty of others, right? So really, we’re lying out of respect! But is it respect to hide yourself from others? Are they not worthy of knowing you? Children know no such modesty. Children are embarrassingly candid. They freely speak their minds any time their mind has anything on it. This is not saying we ought to be careless—far from it. Rather, we ought to deal with reality as reality, rather than try to hide ourselves and others from it. That’s perhaps the biggest point to be made here. Children openly accept reality as it is, and deal with it as best they can. While we adults are constantly and tirelessly filtering reality through the lenses of culture, personal biases, religious rigidity, or whatever else, children merely walk through reality as it is and take it for what it is. Adults take reality only inasmuch as we think we can improve upon it. “The Jewish people, the Pharisees and Scribes and high priests, how ‘grown-up’ they are! They examine, weigh, differentiate, doubt; and when the Promised One and prophecy is fulfilled, their long history about to be crowned, they cling to the past with its human traditions, entrench themselves behind the law and the temple, are sly, hard, blind—and their great hour passes them by.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") What we gather from this is what Guardini calls “Christian Maturity.” That is, being “like children” not in the sense of blind innocence or ignorance, but by washing away our rigidity and pride. By looking at the world, and indeed at ourselves, as it truly is, rather than filtering it through our obscuring lenses. By learning, once again, how to trust. That is Christian Maturity, and only those who are truly mature, as a child, will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
Why did Moses and Elijah appear with Jesus at the Transfiguration? I can understand why it makes sense for someone to appear with him, for the sake of showing not only the radiance of the Son of God but also of mere man. But why those two? Why not Abraham, or Isaiah, or any number of the prophets? Well, let’s consider for a moment the lives of these two men. Moses was at the top of his game, a beloved prince among the Egyptians. In a moment, his life is changed when he kills an Egyptian, and flees. God comes to him, and tells him to return to Egypt and free his people, to lead them into the Promised Land. Moses is not too keen on the idea. He knows all too well how difficult it will be. But he does manage to lead the people out of Egypt and into the desert, where his struggles really begin. At every turn, he is having to corral them. These indignant and unfaithful people are his responsibility to lead. For years, he has to shoulder that burden. Eventually it becomes too much, and in a moment of weakened faith, he strikes the rock which would bring forth water. For this, God tells him he will lead the people to the Promised Land, but he will never be able to enter. Shepherding these people is to be his entire purpose in life, his cross to bear, and when the task is finished, he is to die alone. Then consider Elijah. He has no real tremendous wisdom about him, or fantastical miracles, or stirring soliloquies. Rather, he spends his entire life as the sole bulwark of faith against an entire kingdom flush with paganism and darkness. Everywhere he goes, he is forced to confront it. And he does so, head on and without hesitation. He is relentlessly besieged by it, but he does not waver in his faith. Once that siege finally lets up, he retreats, exhausted by his fight, and begs God to allow him to die. Instead, God sends the fiery chariot which whisks him away into the unknown. The stories of both of these men bear striking similarity to the story of Christ. Christ, too, has to constantly reproach his followers, has to act as the shepherd who endlessly pokes and prods his people in an effort to get them to change their sinful ways. He is the sole warrior in the fight against darkness and evil, relentlessly besieged and always firm in his resolve. He bears the cross of all people, and when the task is finished, he will die alone. Christ is the fulfillment of the prophets, the final and definitive stroke. From this fact, it seems most fitting that it was Moses and Elijah who would appear at his side. Though a question arises here, when we think of Jesus and the prophets. Why is it that God speaks through prophets? Why is it that we are expected to hear the Word of God through other men? Wouldn’t it be much better for Him to simply speak to all of us? The disciples were given the tremendous gift of being able to hear from Christ himself. If only we had lived in that day! To hear Jesus speak, to see him walk down the street, to witness the miracles! How much easier it would be for us to believe if we could only see Jesus and not have to hear it from others, especially now that we are two thousand years removed. Would it be easier, though? Even the people who witnessed Christ’s miracles, most of the people who walked with him and spoke to him, rejected him. Would we be any different? Are we so special as to be able to see Jesus without bias and trepidation? The answer, of course, is “No.” Recalls the story of Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:19-31). The rich man finds himself in the fires of Hell, and begs Abraham to allow Lazarus to give him something to drink. Abraham refuses, and also tells the rich man that a great chasm lies between them which cannot be crossed. The man instead asks that Lazarus return to the world, so that he might warn the man’s friends about what is to come if they do not repent and change their lives. Again, Abraham refuses, for those men have Moses and the prophets to hear it from (that is, they have the received Revelation of God). The rich man presses, insisting that if only they could see with their own eyes, they would believe. “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” We are to hear the Word of God from other men, here in the world. We are to hear the faith through the lived experience of faith from others. This is the essential character of Christian community. “Plant-like, we sprout from our own seed, but we grow by feeding upon other growth. In the same way we arrive at truth through personal recognition; the ‘ingredients’ which go into that recognition, however, are brought us by others. Man is humanity’s way to life. Man is humanity’s way to God, and it befits us that God’s word personally penetrate each of our hearts, but that it be brought to us by others. God’s word through the lips of man: that is the law of our religious life.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") God created us to be in community with one another, to grow and feed off each others’ experiences and life. It is why he saw fit to create Eve, to be that first companion of Adam. It is why God sent the prophets, instead of merely revealing Himself individually to every individual person. It is why Jesus founded a Church, and not a bullhorn with which he could shout his message to the ends of the Earth. Christ is the fulfillment of the prophets, and just as the prophets called a people, a nation, to faith, so too Christ calls a people: us.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” (John 3:16) We know the verse by heart. It’s the promise that is made through Christ, the promise of life eternal. But what does this eternal life look like? Surely it can’t just be “endless life,” as we, having souls from God, are already “unending.” And beyond what this life eternal is, how is it to be obtained? The answer in John 3:16 is obvious enough: by believing in the Son whom the Father sent. But what does that mean in at the practical level of our every day lives? What does this belief look like? Regarding the first question, we get a glimpse of what this “life eternal” looks like on Mount Tabor in the Transfiguration. The disciples see Jesus arrayed in spectacular, even blinding, light and splendor. It’s a breaking through of the divine into the world. In that moment, the disciples catch a glimpse of who Jesus truly is. And it’s not just Jesus present. Moses and Elijah appear as well, at his side. For a brief moment, the disciples see what glorified man will be. This is not merely an endless life. This is a completely transformed life, in which man exists in his full potential, in perfect love with God. “What is revealed here is not only the glory of pure, angelic spirit, but of the spirit through the body, glory of the spiritualized body of man. Not the glory of God alone, not a piece of disclosed heaven, not only the sheen of the Lord as it hovered over the ark of the covenant, but the glory of the God-Logos in the Son of Man. Life above life and death . . .” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") This is the “life eternal” we are promised. Not only an avoidance or superseding of death, but a complete elevation of life itself. And how is this to be obtained (again, in the practical sense)?
Christ gave us the Church. He founds it at Caesarea Philippi, when Peter correctly identifies Jesus as the Son of God, and Jesus responds: “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). The Church is founded, and will act as Christ’s representative on Earth after his death. While all the evils of the world will attack it and seek to tear it apart, the Church will stand as a “rock” and never fall. It is through the Church that Christ’s mission will be carried out, and Christ’s message will be proclaimed to all the ends of the world. Thus our duty as Christians is to bind ourselves to Christ’s holy Church, and participate in that sacred duty and mission. Though a question arises immediately here. Christ was rejected. His Kingdom-to-be did not arrive, because we killed him. If this rejection had not happened, would the Church be necessary? If Christ had not been rejected, and was able to bring about this Kingdom as it should have been, would it not then be individuals responding to the Kingdom rather than needing the Church? Guardini gives an emphatic: No! The Church was always intended, if only purely because of the nature of man. Recall what Jesus calls the greatest commandment: Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as yourself. These are not two commands, but one. They cannot be separated. You cannot love God if you do not love your neighbor, and you cannot truly love your neighbor without loving them in reference to the God who created and loves them (I’ve written about this previously here). We are inherently a “we,” as fundamental to our personhood as our being an “I.” This “we,” more than merely the sum total of a collection of individuals, but rather a nation, a chosen people, “product of a long history, vocation, guidance and destiny, and in its turn bearer of history, the history of God in the world.” The fact remains, however, that we rejected Christ. That fact changes everything. The Church we have is neither the Church which could have been, nor the Church which will be. We have a Church which is scarred by the horrific decision that was made. But even with that scar, she remains the holy Bride of Christ, “Mother, constantly bearing and rebearing heavenly life.” And so our duty, in the practical sense, is to join ourselves to this Church, as a member of the Body of Christ, with all her flaws and failings, and participate in that sacred mission: to spread the Good News to all the ends of the Earth, and to love one another as God has loved us, and to love God above all things. That is true belief. That is how life eternal is made possible. As we begin Part 4 of The Lord, we are forced to face the horrible fact: we killed Jesus. The actual historical act was of course carried out by the Romans, at the bidding of the people of ancient Palestine. But not only does that decision made in history have its effects on us in the present, in a very real way we also participated in that act. We rejected Christ. As Guardini says in the closing lines of chapter two: “Everyone who hears Jesus speak of the ‘necessity’ of the road to Jerusalem, should substitute himself for the Scribes and the Pharisees. That necessity is woven of the eternal Father, of Jesus and his mission, and of me—all that I am and do; not a distant nation a long, long, time ago. It is I, with all my indifference, refusals and failings, who strap the cross of Calvary to Christ’s shoulders.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") St. Augustine speaks in similar terms with regard to the first sin of Adam (I have previously written about this here). Yes, it was Adam and Eve themselves who sinned in that historical moment, but we all participated in that sin, and thus we are all guilty of it. The story of salvation history is the story of man’s failure. We sinned in the Garden, and for it we were cast out. We made idols. We failed to uphold the demands of the Law. Now God enters into the world to usher in the Kingdom of God and restore the world to the glory it was meant to be, and instead of receiving Him with open and grateful and repentant arms, we strap Him to a cross to have Him executed. How different things might have been if we had not done so—if the Jews had recognized Jesus as the Messiah, and Jesus was able to usher in the New Age of the Kingdom of God. Instead, he was seen as a threat. The powers of the day managed to steer the crowds against him, and the will of the Father was such that the Kingdom of God would remain in a state of “coming.” Jesus was to head to Jerusalem for the last time, to be put to death, and every man now would have to contend with the decision to either accept or reject the Kingdom, his decision to be judged at the end of time. If only we were so obedient to the Father’s will as Jesus was. It was not easy for Jesus to face his death. He was just as much a man as you or I. Even more so when we consider he was without the sin that corrupts the rest of us. The pain of his impending death was felt more strongly than any we could ever experience. We see this in his prayer the night before: “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will." (Matthew 26:39-40) And perhaps even more strongly, we sense it in his reply to Peter, when Peter tries to convince Jesus not to go to Jerusalem and face execution. “Be gone, Satan!” (Matthew 4:10) His obedience to the Father’s will is too strong to be overcome, but it is as if he cannot bear the temptation to disobey. Not only his own death is at stake here, but also the lives of all men for all time. He carries the cross of us all, of all our failures and our sin, and being both fully human and fully divine he feels the full weight of it. “If one were to ask of the New Testament: What is Man? It would reply with the words of the apostle John: That creature whom God ‘so loved . . . that he gave his only-begotten Son . . .’ The answer immediately evokes a second: Man is that creature who dared to slaughter the Son God sent him.” -Romano Guardini ("The Lord") The Father sent his Son to us in the fullness of His love, so that we all might be saved from the sin that binds us and so that in perfect freedom we may see the coming of the Kingdom of God, which will reign forever. That is the primary characteristic of man: those who are most loved by God. But the other dark reality of man is that we, time and again, reject His love. We reject it so completely and so forcefully that we will literally put God to death to avoid it. We need a Savior indeed. We need the help of one who is strong enough to say to the temptation to sin “Get behind me, Satan!” With his help, perhaps we will be able to say it too, one day.
Closing out Part 3 of The Lord, we’re presented with some very difficult questions. God offers to us salvation, eternal life through His Son. The only thing asked in return is that we believe, that we have faith in Him. But make no mistake about it, believing is not easy. At all times we are inundated with doubts and prejudices that relentlessly chip away at our faith. Take the Bread of Life discourse, for example (John 6:22-71). The crowd that Jesus had fed with the loaves and fished had been searching for Jesus again, and they finally find him on the other side of the sea. Jesus remarks that they are looking not because of the miracle they saw, but because they enjoyed the food he gave to them. He urges them not to work for food, but to work for God. They ask what they must do in order to perform the works of God. Jesus replies that they merely need to believe. “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you?” Jesus then recalls the bread that came from heaven when the Jews were being led by Moses. He calls himself the true bread that comes from heaven. The crowd is reasonably appalled. They are faithful Jews. The sacrificial feast is central to their lives. Who is this man to suggest that he is from heaven, and that he is the bread we shall eat? It’s preposterous! Jesus reiterates that he is the bread which must be eaten in order to have eternal life. “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.” At this, the crowd abandons him. This is a ridiculous thing he is asking us to believe. We cannot bear it. Only the Twelve remain.
There is also the much larger and certainly more difficult question of why God sent his Son in the way He did. Why does the Son come in the form of a man, who is able to be doubted and denied? If salvation was the plan, why would God not simply reveal Himself in His full omnipotence, making Himself undeniable? It’s certainly within His power. Why would He even give us the room to not believe, when it seems it would be so simple to compel us all to believe, and thus to save us all? I don’t pretend to know the answer to this question, nor do I think anyone truly can answer it. At the end of the day, it is all divine mystery. We can poke and prod at it, putting the best minds humanity has to offer to the task, but man will never be able to comprehend the will of God. But understanding isn’t what is asked. Humble belief is, admitting to our own inadequacy and having faith in the One whom the Father sent. St. Peter provides an example for us. When the crowd abandoned Jesus, Jesus turned to the Twelve and asked “Do you also wish to go away?” Peter’s reply comes from the heart of one who understands that he will never understand, but whose faith compels him. “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” In other words, “I don’t understand, but I trust in you.” It’s a profound humility that Peter is demonstrating here, on behalf of the Twelve. It’s that kind of humility that will fortify belief. We will always have doubts and questions and struggles with regard to matters of faith. That’s fine. That’s human! These things help to drive us deeper into the mystery, as we yearn to understand more about God. But it takes humility to hold all of these doubts and still be able to say “I trust in you.” It’s that kind of humility which we ought to pray for every day. We ought to pray “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24) Moving on through Part 3 of The Lord, Guardini devotes all of chapter seven to meditate on the people closest to Jesus. Not his disciples, but his friends: Lazarus, and his sisters Martha and Mary. It’s Mary and Martha who are the most interesting, in my mind. Recall the story (Luke 10:38-42): Jesus comes to visit the home of Mary and Martha. Martha is quick to lay out food and all manners of hospitality for her guest. But while she is incredibly busy trying to make sure Jesus feels welcome, Mary merely sits at his feet and listens to what he has to say. Martha gets cross, and asks Jesus if he thinks Mary ought to be pulling her weight around the house a bit. Jesus replies quite plainly: you are so full of worry about your guests’ comfort that you are allowing yourself to be distracted from what matters. “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” It’s quite clear from this story that Jesus is not a stranger to this home. Martha is a good hostess, and wouldn’t dream of being so direct with a stranger. She speaks to Jesus as if he is an old friend, and Jesus responds in kind. Jesus points out the difference between Martha, the eager one, and Mary, the reverent one. This isn’t the only time we see Mary and Martha being played against one another like this. After Lazarus dies, and Jesus comes with his disciples to raise him from the dead, Martha is the first to greet him (John 11:1-44). She believes in Jesus, and so the first thing to come out of her mouth is “If you had been here, Lazarus never would have died.” She certainly has faith, but might be a bit impulsive. She also calls her sister Mary out to meet with Jesus. There is no ill will between them, she knows Jesus loves Mary and she is happy to bring them back together again. Mary doesn’t say a word, but merely weeps at his feet. When Jesus goes to raise Lazarus, Mary remains silent while Martha expresses worry about the smell, as Lazarus has been dead for days. Again we see Martha always ready with an answer, ready to spring into action. Martha looks outward, while Mary’s focus is inward. And again, when Jesus visits the risen Lazarus and his two sisters, we see it again (John 12:1-8). Martha is busy serving, eager to make her guests comfortable. Mary, on the other hand, chooses to spend her time anointing Jesus with the finest perfume. This upsets Judas, of course, because he would prefer to sell it so he can skim some of the profits. But that’s another concern. Our attention here is on Mary and Martha. Martha is always busy with things going on around her, with the practical. Mary only ever acts from the heart. Guardini points out the tension that exists between these two. It is not a hostile tension, as we see from the raising of Lazarus that Martha loves Mary very dearly. The two of them seem to balance each other out. Mary, so fixated on the things of the heart that she never seems to get anything done, and Martha, so focused on doing things that she forgets to stop and experience the important things. These two women reflect the two fundamental tension that exists within all of us: the external existence and the internal existence. Both are important, and both are essential to who we are as human beings. But as Guardini says, one is primary. The internal is most important, as it is from the heart that all things flow. He uses the analogy of a tree: “If the leaves are taken from a tree, its roots do not save it from suffocation. Both are part of life, but the inner part is the decisive one.” In other words, Martha is not wrong. Martha is a loving soul, and cares deeply for her sister, brother, and her friend Jesus. But she is too easily distracted. She needs her sister to help her focus her efforts. Mary thinks purely from the heart. With Mary and Martha side-by-side, Mary providing the guiding direction, they are in perfect tension.
So the question is, how is that tension in me? Is it properly ordered, in a perfect tension where my inner existence guides and directs my outer existence? Or is that tension strained to the point of breaking, where my outer life is so busy going about its own business that my inner life is ignored? If the leaves carry on without the roots, both will wither away and die. The inner and the outer must exist together. |
Series Info
Every day of Lent, I am writing a reflection piece on two chapters of "The Lord" by Romano Guardini. If you'd like to read or follow along, you can find the full calendar of where we're at below, or Click Here for the main landing page. Archives
April 2020
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