Greetings All,
All my bags are packed...I'm ready to go...I'm leavin' on a jet plane. That's right folks I am busting out of seminary for a week (they left the gate open...jk). Five of my brother seminarians and I are headed to Guatemala with the medical mission team from St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church. Please pray for us while we are gone as we will be praying for all of you. We will return on Saturday, March 19th. My annual review at the seminary is three days after my return. Please pray for that as well. Until then, I wanted to share with you this reflection I wrote during a day of prayer last month. I debated whether or not to share it. You can't say you don't know me very well after you have read this. I don't hold much back. I hope it helps you in your own journey to the Father.
Pax tecum,
Tom
“In the Arms of My Father”
By Tom Reitmeyer
A few days ago, at about eight o’clock in the morning, I called my best friend as he was leaving work (he works the night shift). Since we live almost one hundred miles apart it is difficult for us to spend as much time with one another as we used to. We attempt to overcome the distance with these short telephone conversations. While our varied schedules keep the calls from being as often, or as long, as I may like for them to be, I certainly treasure the few minutes a week we do get to talk to one another.
A few minutes into this most recent conversation, I could tell by the sound of a garage door being opened that my friend had arrived home. Several seconds later, I heard him chuckle and say to me, “Hah! My son (seven months old) is just sitting on the floor and looking up at me with a huge grin on his face.” My friend didn’t need to say anything more to tell me what he was feeling. I know him well enough that, by the sound of his voice, I had a pretty good idea of how that smile from his son made him feel. A moment later, I heard the voice of his daughter (three years old) yell with great joy, “Daddy! You’re home!” While not being able to see what was going on, from past experience I had a pretty good idea that she ran across the room and leaped into his arms. For those children, one of the best parts of their morning is seeing their father come home and hold them in his arms. The younger one is only able to reach his arms up toward his father and ask to be picked up, while the older one is able to sprint across the room and leap into her father’s arms. I knew that our time on the phone needed to end. I told him I loved him and said that I didn’t want to keep him from his family. The children wanted/needed their father and I knew that he needed them as well.
One of my great joys in life, and a real blessing from God, has been to watch my friend become both a loving husband to his wife and a loving father to his children. I get a great amount of joy from just sitting in the same room and watching him play with his kids. I love the way that he wrestles with them. I love the way they make each other laugh. It’s one of the greatest sounds in this world. I love the way that he consoles them when they are sad or not feeling well. I love watching how much it pains him to discipline them when he needs to. I always thought that parents just threw out that cliché line, “this will hurt me more than it hurts you,” but now as an adult, I see that there is a certain amount of truth in that statement. As I watch my friend with his children, I get an ever increasing sense of what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely.
I don’t need to look very far to find the person who taught my friend to love this way. After only a few times of seeing my friend with his own father, I began to understand. What is truly awesome for me to see is that the love and admiration is not only from son to father, but also father to son. There has been a few times where I have seen them say goodbye to one another after a visit. I am always impressed that there is no hesitation from either one to give the other a hug and say, “I love you.” Despite the distance that is created as one or the other travels back to his home, I know that my friend keeps his father with him always. After years of being a child who was once held by his father to his chest, my friend not only holds his own children close to him, but continues to hold his father as well. What a lesson for me!
As a seminarian who is studying to be a Catholic Priest, I am often called to spend time praying and reflecting on what it means to be a ‘Father’ to God’s children. Part of my formation (in life not just in seminary) is to learn what it means to be a father who loves his children immensely. Although I have a wonderful example in watching my friend and his family, I must also look to my own relationships to discern the ways in which I have been taught a father’s love. To be honest, that is at times a painful journey and one which I do not always want to undertake. However, over the past few years, God the Father has taken my hand and led me along this path and I want to share some of those thoughts with you in the hopes that you may consider your own relationship with not only your own human father, but also your Father in Heaven.
This year will mark nineteen years since the death of my father in 1992. It is odd to think that I have spent more of my life without my father physically present than I have spent with him. I have spent a great portion of my life lamenting the fact that my father died when I was young. I felt cheated out of many of the experiences that my friends got to have with their father. Sure, there were father-figures (brothers, coaches, priests, teachers, etc) in my life that stepped in and tried to fill the void, but the shoe never quite fit. As a result, I had a difficult time understanding how my Heavenly Father, who according to Scripture would never abandon me, had left me without a father in this world not only to love me as his son, but also to show me how to love as a father. I felt abandoned. I was angry, even more so after the death of my oldest brother in 2006. You see, my oldest brother was not only one of the many “father-figures” and friends in my life, but, as a Catholic Priest, he was also my spiritual father. Where was the love of my Father? Why was He abandoning me? How am I to become a father if there is no one there to teach me?
These were many of the questions that I have struggled with for the past five years or so. I have prayed with them many times and rarely have I come up with any answers. After years of wondering why God wasn’t answering me, I eventually realized that the only way for me to hear His response was to be silent, free myself of all the distractions, worries, and fears in order to listen. I had to provide a time of silence so that, as Blessed Cardinal Newman would say, cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart). It was in this time of silence during a retreat in Omaha, NE, that I received my answer.
It was during the third day of an eight day silent retreat that I was asked to pray with a passage from the Book of Hosea (Hos 11:1-4):
When Israel was a child I loved him,
out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
The farther they went from me,
Sacrificing to the Baals
And burning incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
Who took them in my arms;
I drew them with human cords,
With bands of love;
I fostered them like one
Who raises an infant to his cheeks;
Yet, though I stooped to feed my child,
They did not know that I was their healer.
It was this last verse that really stopped me in my tracks and for that reason I have put it in boldface print. When, Father, were the times that you drew me in with bands of love? When, Father, were the times that you held me to your cheeks like an infant? When, Father, were the times that my father here on earth did those things? In what way was I loved by him and by you?
I began to reflect back on my life and was surprised as memories that I had previously forgotten or was unable to recall began to flood my mind. I began to consider the times in my life when I remembered being held in my father’s arms. I remembered a time when we lived in Virginia when I was about three years old. I was hiding in the bushes with my brother as my father arrived home in a taxi cab. I remembered running and leaping into his arms to greet him as he came home. I remembered being held by my father upside down by my ankles (as was the tradition) when I received my Bobcat badge in Cub Scouts. I remembered some of the times when I wanted my father to hold me but he couldn’t, especially after his illness and subsequent death. But most especially, I remembered a time when my father and I sat on a dam in the middle of a river at a place called Five Mile Dam. I was probably five or six-years-old at the time and I was sitting on my father’s lap as he held me in his arms. In that moment of prayer in Omaha in the year 2010, I could see the smile on my father’s face as he proudly held his son. I could feel the coolness of the water and could smell it as well. I could feel the joy of being a child in his father’s arms. It was a reminder to me that not only did my biological father love me but I was also a beloved son of God the Father who desperately wants me to allow Him to hold me in His arms.
The next day of the retreat I was invited to consider the six years my father suffered from a massive stroke that he had approximately two or three years after this experience in the river. I could feel his sadness, anger, disappointment, frustration, and sense of abandonment. A great sense of compassion welled up inside of me and tears streamed down my face as Jesus allowed me to experience what my father felt. It was a compassion that replaced previous feelings of anger and resentment. I had never considered my father’s experience of his illness. My father passed away when I was thirteen and as you can imagine left me with a significant wound in my heart. God was in the process of healing this. Jesus then placed me back in the scene in the river. This time I was the five-year-old boy who knew everything that his father would experience in the remaining eight years of his life. Instead of my father holding me, I placed my head on his shoulder, embraced him, and attempted to console him. I felt a great sense of love and compassion for my father. I was also grateful as I realized that God felt the same way towards me as His son. God knows all of the joys and sorrows that I will experience and He seeks to be with me in the middle of all of them.
Lest I be fooled by this moment and think that it was wishful thinking on my part, I remembered that a photographer for a local newspaper (Onion Creek Free Press) had captured the moment on film and published the picture the next week. I had a copy of the photo for many years but have since lost track of it. What a gift it would be to have it back! The photo was only a silhouette of the two of us. It was a photo of a proud father who was holding his son. It was a photo of a son who made his father smile with a smile of his own. It was a photo of the type of love described in the Book of Hosea. It could have been anyone, but it wasn’t. It was me in my father’s arms. What a gift from my Father to recall that moment and to have it made present to me again! There is much more to that prayer experience, but I think that I have shared enough for now to make my point.
So what is the point that I am trying to share with you? I have learned from both my friend and my own father what it means for a father to love his children. I have also learned that the love a father has for his children is unconditional and everlasting. I have learned that a child is one of the greatest sources of joy for his/her parents. However, it is not enough for me merely to learn how to love as a father loves his children. No, that simply won’t be enough to make me a good priest, a good Christian, or a good man. I must also learn to allow myself to be loved as the beloved son of my Father in Heaven. Like Jesus Christ, the only Son of God the Father, I must learn that in the hour of my greatest need, the moment when I think the cross is too much to bear, the hour when I feel abandoned, I must do like he did during his agony in the garden: fall to my knees in prayer, raise my hands to the sky, and cry out “Abba (daddy)!” Like Israel, I must come to realize that I am a child who is loved by his Father. In every moment of my life, whether I have been aware of it or not, I have been held like an infant to my Father’s cheeks. As my Father has continued to call me to Him from my place in Egypt (a place of slavery), I have, at times, increased the distance between us. And while there have been many difficult moments in my life (death of family members, tragic situations in police-work, feelings of rejection or loneliness, etc) where I have felt abandoned, where I have felt like a crying infant waiting to be picked up and consoled by his Father, my Father in Heaven, like my earthly father, has always taken me in His arms and held me to his cheek with bands of love. The bands were in the form of: the love of a friend who teaches me to be a father, the love of the many people in my life who never allow me to feel abandoned despite the increasing distance, the love of those who have waited patiently for me to come back from Egypt, the love of those who I will one day serve as their spiritual father, and most especially the moments of prayer where I am once again able to be held in my Father’s arms. For me, prayer is sometimes as simple as placing myself in the arms of my Father and remaining there in order to receive His love.
My prayer is that in reading this reflection, you will reflect on your own experience of both your earthly father and your Heavenly Father. Know that despite whatever distance there may be between you and your Heavenly Father or whatever event(s) in your life (divorce, cancer, loss of a spouse, loss of a child, loss of any kind, depression, etc) may cause you to feel abandoned by Him, He is always there to hold you in His arms. Like my friend, and many other people in your life, you must be able to realize that there are times where we are called to love as the Father loves us, but there are also times where we need to allow ourselves to be the children who desperately want to be in His arms. All you have to do is make that time where you can quietly sit with Him, smile up at Him, put out your arms as a request to be picked up, and allow Him to hold you. If you will permit the anthropomorphic language, put a smile on His face, give Him great joy, and let Him hear you say with excitement, “Daddy! I’m home!”
Friday, March 11, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Should we pay or should we not pay?
The following is a brief reflection that I will give at the end of one of my classes today. It is based on the gospel reading for Tuesday, March 8th, 2011. Mk 12:13-17
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Pax tecum,
Tom
Should we pay or should we not pay?
This year, for the first time in sixteen years, I will not file a tax return. After two and a half years of being a seminarian, I no longer have any reportable income that requires me to pay Federal Income Tax. And yet, there is the distinct feeling that this year I will pay a higher tax than I have previously.
As seminarians we are asked to devote ourselves to a demanding academic schedule combined with various meetings, appointments, ministries, and other events. We are asked to submit ourselves to the authority of the faculty and ask permission for things that we would not previously have given a second thought. We are asked to embrace a life of gospel simplicity, celibacy, and obedience. We are asked to endure Friday afternoon group formation practices and to learn to speak with a cork in our mouth (don’t worry, it’s coming). Yes, as seminarians, there are ‘taxes’ to be paid.
And often times the payment of these taxes seems to stand in direct opposition to what it is we would rather do or even what we think we should be doing. I would rather immerse myself in a life of contemplative prayer. I would rather be back in the parish engaged in active ministry. I would rather feed the homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick and imprisoned. I would rather try to figure out a way to allow myself to relax and recreate in a healthy way. Yes, there are many good things that I would rather do than pay my taxes.
So should I pay or should I not pay? This is the very question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and Herodians who were sent to trap him in a no-win situation. In their minds no matter what answer Jesus gave them, he would lead himself into great peril. Either he would lose the support of the people or he would be reported to Caesar for acts of sedition.
This is the same false dichotomy that is presented by the Pharisees of my own heart and I dare say I am not alone in this. We are led to believe that paying the taxes of seminary formation and being faithful to a life of prayer and service are somehow mutually exclusive. We become imbalanced as we seek to fulfill the demands of one and neglect the other. At times, we find ourselves asking for extensions in order to avoid a timely payment of the taxes; or we become so concerned with completing every single task on time and to the best of our ability, that we completely ignore our times of prayer and communion with God.
But Jesus shows us another way. He does not simply choose one option over the other but instead institutes the long standing Catholic Tradition of the ‘both/and.’ Jesus tells us that it is possible to repay Caesar what belongs to him and also to God what belongs to him. Having heard this, I am, like the Pharisees utterly amazed at his answer. Not only for his elusive escape from the trap that had been laid before him but also at the notion that such a ‘both/and’ response is actually possible.
For as I stand here today I recognize that, while I may have the capacity, I do not yet have the ability to discern the proper balance between the demands of seminary formation and a complete rendering of myself to God. Frankly, I am challenged by the very idea that such a balance exists.
Thankfully, I do not have to find such a balance on my own. For just as God has given us certified public accountants to help us avoid the dreaded audit of the Internal Revenue Service, he has given us formation advisors, professors, spiritual directors, and I think most importantly, he has given us one another, so that together we may help each other prepare ourselves for the final rendering of accounts. And remember, as with any other accounting, in order for the numbers to match up in the end, it is often necessary to forgive a debt or two.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Becoming Perfect...
I find myself once again apologizing and trying to explain why it has been so long since my last post. I have learned that there are times in seminary when it is best for me to keep quiet. It may be a time when a lot is going on spiritually and I need to take time to sort it all out. It may be a time when little is going on spiritually and therefore do not have much to share. Other times, it is simply a matter of finding the time to craft these reflections. I have a lot to say as of late and there is much I would like to share with you. I had a particular order in which I wanted to share several of my reflections, but I think the lectionary and the readings for this weekend have somewhat forced my hand. So, for now, I hope you will enjoy this reflection I wrote on what it means to be 'perfect.' I wrote the reflection as a result of prayer during my silent retreat in January. I was asked to give the reflection to the Second Year Theology class here at the seminary. They seemed to receive it well and I hope that you will find something useful in it as well. Here we go...
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
"Becoming Perfect" by Tom Reitmeyer
Throughout my formation in seminary, and to be honest, for most of my life, I have struggled with perfectionism. Like most people I have my ideas of what it means to be perfect. I have not only struggled with living up to my own standards of what it means to be perfect but also realize that, at times, I have grown quite used to pointing out the imperfections of others as well. I seem to have this sense of what it means to be perfect deeply ingrained in my mind and have come to realize it as being a real obstacle to my further growth. I have spent a lot of time recently thinking and praying about what it means to be perfect and who it is that God is calling me to be, not only in the future, but right now, today. This reflection, then, is a summation of those prayer experiences and an attempt to share with you an insight that has given me a new sense of freedom and peace.
Over the break I gave a lot of thought to my first semester here at St. Mary’s. I did a sort of examination of consciousness for the entire semester. Through prayer and conversations with some trusted friends, both lay and clergy, I became aware of areas for growth that I had not previously recognized or understood. I remember one day in particular when the readings at Mass seemed to be speaking directly to me. The reading from was from 1 John 4: “We have come to know and to believe in the love God has for us. God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him. In this is love brought to perfection among us, that we have confidence on the day of judgment because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love…” (1 John 4:16-19).
After hearing these words I realized that they were both comforting and troubling to me. They were comforting in the sense that I knew that the fears I had regarding my formation, my life, my love of self, my vocation, etc. were not from God. There is no fear in love. At the same time I was troubled by the fact that the Scriptures used the word perfect or some other variation of the word no less than three times in three short verses. If the goal is truly to be perfect in love, how do I get there? After all, being very aware of my many shortcomings, my challenges, and my fears, perfect seems so far away….almost too far.
This is where I was spiritually as I entered into our silent retreat. I asked the Lord for the particular grace to show me how I was to become perfect in love. I asked him to increase my faith so as not to be controlled by my fears. I asked him to set me free.
On the Monday of our retreat, the second week of Ordinary time, the church prayed one of my favorite readings from Scripture (Heb 5:1-9). In these nine verses we are told of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, the high priest who was chosen by God to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. One verse in particular stood out to me. Verse 8 reads, “Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; and when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8) There was that word ‘perfect’ again. What does it mean to say ‘when Jesus was made perfect…’? Doesn’t that imply that there was a time when Jesus was not yet perfect? It sounds almost heretical even to pose the question. And yet, the grammatical structure of the sentence implies a time when he was not perfect. I have always assumed that the word perfect as we use it today means ‘without blemish’ or ‘without sin, fault, error, or lacking of any kind.’ By this definition Jesus was undeniably perfect. What was it the scripture was trying to tell me?
I went back to my room and immediately sat down with the dictionary. I looked up the word perfect and saw that it was defined as “being without fault or defect; exact or precise.” That did not seem to be much help. I knew that the English word comes from the Latin ‘perfectus’ or the participle ‘perficio’ from the verb ‘perficere’, meaning roughly ‘having been made through to completion.’ While this began to make more sense than the English definition I still could not see what was not yet complete in Jesus.
I then took a look at my copy of the New Testament in Greek. I turned to Matthew 5:48 where it says, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’ I was surprised to see that the word used in Greek for the word perfect was ‘teleioi’ (τελειοι) which is an adjectival form of the noun ‘telos’(τελος). I knew from my philosophy studies that ‘telos’ refers to our final end or our ultimate destiny. It refers to that for which we were created. So, in this verse, Jesus himself was telling the disciples to be the persons whom God created them to be. My definition of perfect was quickly starting to change.
I then turned to a Greek dictionary to find a definition for telos. It was defined as ‘an end attained, consummation, or closing act.’ At this point I felt like I was pulling on a golden thread that had been woven through the Scriptures and was leading me to my prize. Focusing on the word ‘consummation’ I turned to John’s Gospel where it offers the last words of Jesus on the cross. In Latin, the words used are, “Consummatum est,” which is translated into English as ‘It is finished.” With great anticipation, as I felt I was on to some new discovery, I turned to the Greek where it says, “Ϊησουσ ειπεν, τετελεσται” or “Jesus said, it has been finished.” The word used for perfect is the perfect passive indicative of the Greek verb ‘τελεω’ meaning ‘to finish or complete.’
Jesus, having received his identity from His relationship to the Father through His baptism, brought his mission to completion. Having become perfect in love, he offered himself as a gift and a sacrifice for the sins of others. He had become fully perfect in being the one sent by God to reconcile all of us to him. “And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” (Heb 5:8)
What does all this mean for me? It means that I no longer have to live my life measuring myself to some unobtainable external objective standard of what it means to be perfect. It means that I can be free of the idea that, being a perfect seminarian means perfect attendance, never being late, straight A’s, following every rule to a ‘T’. It means that I do not have to be perfect by someone else’s standards of what it means to be a man, a son, a friend, a Catholic, etc. It means that because I am a beloved Son of the Father who has been baptized into this faith, I must become perfectly me. I must become the man who God calls me to be. The man He knew before He formed me in the womb. This is not a crutch or a means to not deal with my faults or imperfections. That work still needs to be done. On the contrary, it is a challenge to become perfect in love. It is a realization that my identity is not one that I choose for myself; but is instead one that needs to be actively received from God. And from this identity comes the mission to love God and neighbor as He Himself has loved me. My mission is to become perfect in love; and there is no fear in love.
Finally, I will end with this quote from a great spiritual writer: "Perfect joy is the fruit of Christianity when it is lived as Christ taught: joy in the midst of our pain, joy that flowers precisely from pain, from the sacrifice of self, of our own views, of our own will, our ego, to leave space for God, for his plans, for his light-filled and wise design for the world and for each one of us."
Pax tecum,
Tom
Saturday, September 25, 2010
I'm leavin on a jet plane...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I doubt that any of us are strangers to this classical poem. We have heard it many times growing up. It has become a classic because virtually every reader can relate to the experience of being at a crossroads in life. The poem meant something for me in middle school when I first read it. It took on more meaning in high school as I struggled to decide what university I would attend. Again, the poem meant something different as I wrestled with the idea of either going to medical school or fulfilling my dream and becoming a police officer. I admit the poem wasn’t exactly on my mind as I struggled with the decisions: to leave the criminal investigation division to go back to patrol, to leave the police department, to begin working for the Church, to leave my comfortable life for seminary, to accept or reject certain offers on my house that remained on the market for fifteen months.
No, I can’t say that I always referred to classical poetry when I made a decision. As I grew older I began to learn methods of discernment and how to bring my major decisions before God in prayer. I learned to wrestle with my decisions until I reached a sense of peace that my course of action was in line with God’s will. As much as I have grown in my discernment abilities, there have been, and still are times, when I simply pick a path and get to walking. As I walk down the strange and unfamiliar path I sometimes second-guess myself. I begin to worry. I realize that this path is overgrown (lack of travelers) and at times the path is full of thorns and thickets that scratch and cut as you walk through them. Sometimes the path less traveled is not to be glorified as the path of an independent thinker who is willing to be counter-cultural and has a great sense of adventure as Frost describes in his poem.
More often than not, when I find myself on an unfamiliar path these days, I am reminded of something that I learned in my philosophy studies. In his work De Caelo (On Heaven) (I,5), Aristotle states, “The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold.” Less you panic because I am quoting a pagan philosopher, I offer you St. Thomas Aquinas’ version in De Ente et Essentia (On Being and Essence), as he states “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.” While these two quotes have all sorts of implications for our need to properly form our moral consciences and seek out Truth in all that we do, I will try to restrict their implications to the discussion at hand. With both of these quotes in mind, how does Frost even begin to take a single step down one of the two paths? What if he is wrong? What then? What if he does not realize the small mistake he made in the beginning that leads him to a great error in the end? What if the decision he is making ruins the rest of his life? What if the decision he makes in not God’s will?
Can you hear the fear in these questions? Can you hear the lack of trust in the providence of God? Let me very reverently say that I not only hear them, but I have felt them. Less you be quick to judge me, I think I can safely say that we all have. It doesn’t make us unfaithful Christians. It makes us human. So, how then do we ever make some of those life changing decisions, big and small, with some sort of confidence? I offer you the following analogy that was partially given to me by my spiritual director this past summer. I have added to it and have made it my own but I simply trimmed back the branches. The planted seed came from him:
Have you ever been sitting on a plane prior to leaving the gate and looked out the window? There are all sorts of people in jump suits that are working frantically at their various tasks in order to prepare the plane for its flight. Some are providing the fuel. Others are loading food and beverages. Still others are loading baggage onto the plane. Amidst all these people who complete their jobs with such ease that you know it has become routine for them, there is one man or woman who walks among them that sticks out like a sore thumb. The man (I am going to use the masculine gender from here on for ease of writing. I do not mean to exclude females from this position) is wearing a starched white shirt and a tie. He carefully walks around the plane somewhat oblivious to those around him. He checks out every piece of the plane to make sure that all is in proper working condition and the plane is ready to fly. He may pull on the wing, wiggle the flaps, or kick the tires. He goes through a checklist that is by no means routine. He makes sure that everything is where it is supposed to be or else the plane never leaves the ground. There is nothing that will cause this man to skip parts of his list and assume that all is okay. He is diligent in his efforts because he knows that “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.”
By now you have probably assumed that I am talking about the pilot of the plane. While that assumption will work, I am actually talking about the co-pilot. Usually, it is the co-pilot who does the walk around. The point of the analogy is that the co-pilot always makes sure that things are in order before the plane takes off. If he finds a problem, he calls someone else who is more qualified to fix it. If he doesn’t find a problem, he tells the pilot it is time for both of them to fly the plane together. Now, for the sake of the analogy put yourself in the role of the co-pilot. The decision to fly is any one of the minor or major decisions that you are faced with in your everyday life. Let’s fill in the rest of the roles to wrap this up.
We all know what the baggage is that has been loaded onto our plane for us to carry. Sometimes the bags that have been checked are our own and we have put them ourselves. Other times the bags belong to someone else and yet we are still asked to carry them. So far I have not yet mentioned the passengers although they play an important role. We all have passengers in our lives that fly with us. They may be friends, family, parishioners, or complete strangers. The point is, that as the co-pilot, we make our decisions the best we can based upon our assessment of the situation. Our assessment is informed, however, by our education, past experience, and prayer. We realize that we are under the guidance and teaching of the pilot (perhaps God, perhaps our priest), we fly the plane. Notice that I did not say anything about the emotional condition of the passengers. Sure there are some on the plane that are afraid to fly. There are some on the plane who become anxious at the slightest bit of turbulence. There are some who question your ability to spot a problem with the plane’s mechanics. There are some who will complain not matter how smooth the flight is. There are some who fail to pay attention to the many signs that tell them prior to getting on the plane where the flight is headed and yet they get on the plane thinking that they can insist upon it going to some other place. There are those who sit in first class and others that sit in coach. However the safe arrival of all of them is equally our concern. There are even some who may have intentions of bringing the plane down altogether. However, and most importantly, there are those who walk by the cockpit after the plane has landed, smile, and say, “Thanks for the nice flight. I look forward to flying with you again.”
One more thing, the co-pilot doesn’t fly alone. Not only does he fly with someone in the left-hand seat, but he consults his charts (Scripture), air-traffic controllers and ground handlers (Spiritual Directors and wise friends), weather reports (let’s hope he has a better weatherman than we do), but perhaps most importantly, the experience of the pilots and co-pilots who have gone before him on other flights. While sometimes we may choose the path less traveled, it is important to listen to those who have gone down the path before. They make us aware of cross winds, weather systems in our path, wind shear, etc. Some of those people may just be other pilots who are now your passengers. Listen to them. Take their guidance, but in the end, the decision is yours. You must choose to fly the plane. You must trust your walk-around of the situation and fly to the best of your abilities. There comes a time when you close the cockpit door so that you can concentrate on flying the plane. But remember, that door has to open again at some point and you will have to face your passengers. My point is, you can’t let their anxiety keep you from flying the plane or else no one ever moves. You have to choose: fly or don’t fly. As a wise man and a dear loved one used to say, “The choice is yours, choose well.”
As for me:
All my bags are packed. I’m ready to go.
I’m standin’ here outside your door…
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go….
Sing it with me!
Pax tecum,
Tom
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I doubt that any of us are strangers to this classical poem. We have heard it many times growing up. It has become a classic because virtually every reader can relate to the experience of being at a crossroads in life. The poem meant something for me in middle school when I first read it. It took on more meaning in high school as I struggled to decide what university I would attend. Again, the poem meant something different as I wrestled with the idea of either going to medical school or fulfilling my dream and becoming a police officer. I admit the poem wasn’t exactly on my mind as I struggled with the decisions: to leave the criminal investigation division to go back to patrol, to leave the police department, to begin working for the Church, to leave my comfortable life for seminary, to accept or reject certain offers on my house that remained on the market for fifteen months.
No, I can’t say that I always referred to classical poetry when I made a decision. As I grew older I began to learn methods of discernment and how to bring my major decisions before God in prayer. I learned to wrestle with my decisions until I reached a sense of peace that my course of action was in line with God’s will. As much as I have grown in my discernment abilities, there have been, and still are times, when I simply pick a path and get to walking. As I walk down the strange and unfamiliar path I sometimes second-guess myself. I begin to worry. I realize that this path is overgrown (lack of travelers) and at times the path is full of thorns and thickets that scratch and cut as you walk through them. Sometimes the path less traveled is not to be glorified as the path of an independent thinker who is willing to be counter-cultural and has a great sense of adventure as Frost describes in his poem.
More often than not, when I find myself on an unfamiliar path these days, I am reminded of something that I learned in my philosophy studies. In his work De Caelo (On Heaven) (I,5), Aristotle states, “The least initial deviation from the truth is multiplied later a thousandfold.” Less you panic because I am quoting a pagan philosopher, I offer you St. Thomas Aquinas’ version in De Ente et Essentia (On Being and Essence), as he states “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.” While these two quotes have all sorts of implications for our need to properly form our moral consciences and seek out Truth in all that we do, I will try to restrict their implications to the discussion at hand. With both of these quotes in mind, how does Frost even begin to take a single step down one of the two paths? What if he is wrong? What then? What if he does not realize the small mistake he made in the beginning that leads him to a great error in the end? What if the decision he is making ruins the rest of his life? What if the decision he makes in not God’s will?
Can you hear the fear in these questions? Can you hear the lack of trust in the providence of God? Let me very reverently say that I not only hear them, but I have felt them. Less you be quick to judge me, I think I can safely say that we all have. It doesn’t make us unfaithful Christians. It makes us human. So, how then do we ever make some of those life changing decisions, big and small, with some sort of confidence? I offer you the following analogy that was partially given to me by my spiritual director this past summer. I have added to it and have made it my own but I simply trimmed back the branches. The planted seed came from him:
Have you ever been sitting on a plane prior to leaving the gate and looked out the window? There are all sorts of people in jump suits that are working frantically at their various tasks in order to prepare the plane for its flight. Some are providing the fuel. Others are loading food and beverages. Still others are loading baggage onto the plane. Amidst all these people who complete their jobs with such ease that you know it has become routine for them, there is one man or woman who walks among them that sticks out like a sore thumb. The man (I am going to use the masculine gender from here on for ease of writing. I do not mean to exclude females from this position) is wearing a starched white shirt and a tie. He carefully walks around the plane somewhat oblivious to those around him. He checks out every piece of the plane to make sure that all is in proper working condition and the plane is ready to fly. He may pull on the wing, wiggle the flaps, or kick the tires. He goes through a checklist that is by no means routine. He makes sure that everything is where it is supposed to be or else the plane never leaves the ground. There is nothing that will cause this man to skip parts of his list and assume that all is okay. He is diligent in his efforts because he knows that “a little error in the beginning leads to a great one in the end.”
By now you have probably assumed that I am talking about the pilot of the plane. While that assumption will work, I am actually talking about the co-pilot. Usually, it is the co-pilot who does the walk around. The point of the analogy is that the co-pilot always makes sure that things are in order before the plane takes off. If he finds a problem, he calls someone else who is more qualified to fix it. If he doesn’t find a problem, he tells the pilot it is time for both of them to fly the plane together. Now, for the sake of the analogy put yourself in the role of the co-pilot. The decision to fly is any one of the minor or major decisions that you are faced with in your everyday life. Let’s fill in the rest of the roles to wrap this up.
We all know what the baggage is that has been loaded onto our plane for us to carry. Sometimes the bags that have been checked are our own and we have put them ourselves. Other times the bags belong to someone else and yet we are still asked to carry them. So far I have not yet mentioned the passengers although they play an important role. We all have passengers in our lives that fly with us. They may be friends, family, parishioners, or complete strangers. The point is, that as the co-pilot, we make our decisions the best we can based upon our assessment of the situation. Our assessment is informed, however, by our education, past experience, and prayer. We realize that we are under the guidance and teaching of the pilot (perhaps God, perhaps our priest), we fly the plane. Notice that I did not say anything about the emotional condition of the passengers. Sure there are some on the plane that are afraid to fly. There are some on the plane who become anxious at the slightest bit of turbulence. There are some who question your ability to spot a problem with the plane’s mechanics. There are some who will complain not matter how smooth the flight is. There are some who fail to pay attention to the many signs that tell them prior to getting on the plane where the flight is headed and yet they get on the plane thinking that they can insist upon it going to some other place. There are those who sit in first class and others that sit in coach. However the safe arrival of all of them is equally our concern. There are even some who may have intentions of bringing the plane down altogether. However, and most importantly, there are those who walk by the cockpit after the plane has landed, smile, and say, “Thanks for the nice flight. I look forward to flying with you again.”
One more thing, the co-pilot doesn’t fly alone. Not only does he fly with someone in the left-hand seat, but he consults his charts (Scripture), air-traffic controllers and ground handlers (Spiritual Directors and wise friends), weather reports (let’s hope he has a better weatherman than we do), but perhaps most importantly, the experience of the pilots and co-pilots who have gone before him on other flights. While sometimes we may choose the path less traveled, it is important to listen to those who have gone down the path before. They make us aware of cross winds, weather systems in our path, wind shear, etc. Some of those people may just be other pilots who are now your passengers. Listen to them. Take their guidance, but in the end, the decision is yours. You must choose to fly the plane. You must trust your walk-around of the situation and fly to the best of your abilities. There comes a time when you close the cockpit door so that you can concentrate on flying the plane. But remember, that door has to open again at some point and you will have to face your passengers. My point is, you can’t let their anxiety keep you from flying the plane or else no one ever moves. You have to choose: fly or don’t fly. As a wise man and a dear loved one used to say, “The choice is yours, choose well.”
As for me:
All my bags are packed. I’m ready to go.
I’m standin’ here outside your door…
So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go….
Sing it with me!
Pax tecum,
Tom
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