Relativism is the constant bane of our human existence.  From our first parents in the garden who made their own desires the definitive point of reference for their lives to the postmodern person who becomes tragically hyper-individualized through an unending sequence of “I feel…” statements, it is practically our default setting to be stuck in ourselves!  And while well-meaning religious people may try to side-step such dead-ends by substituting religious ideas and imagery for the language of the self, they can just as easily get caught up in ecclesiastical relativism, such as obsessing over liturgical traditions or doctrinal expressions or moral concepts, which gets them no closer to the truth.  The fact is that the Lord is the ultimate meaning of our lives.  When our knees are drawn to the floor in prayer, or our hearts are opened in a graced moment of contemplation, or tears stream down our face at the sight of a loved one, or we are moved to minister to a person on the side of the road, we encounter the primordial pattern at the heart of the universe.  In this way, the truth comes to us, and ours is simply to respond in love and learn how to remain in that truth.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

I do my best thinking in the bathtub.  Stationary and vulnerable, the water simply accepts me without judgment and without challenge.  There I sit reading a book, praying the rosary, bathing and being.  The dirt and grime are difficult to ignore.  My creatureliness is inescapable.  This ritual is less about relaxing after a long day and more about the art of being human.  As the half-filled tub, in fact, grows tepid and eventually cold, my toes wrinkle, my limbs shiver, and my teeth chatter; yet it is hard to part from one who is close!  Indeed, my skin keeps insisting on listening to the water: stillness, consistency, presence, gentleness and peace.  This is my evening baptism, and there is much to learn.  When the last drops have gurgled through the drain, it is time to rise and go about my father’s business.  Lord, lead me to my inner bathtub.  Help me to desire something beyond cleanliness and purity.  Take me to that mysterious place of trust that allows my spirit to be buoyed in you. Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

God is not our buddy or our uncle or the mascot of our favorite sports team.  God is not thunder or lightning or a tsunami or an earthquake.  God is not a customer service agent, a politician or a salesperson.  God is not liberal or conservative, male or female, religious or secular.  God does not wear a funny white outfit and wave to people from an armored vehicle.  God is not a book of dramatic stories and lists of laws.  God is not a symbol that hangs on church walls to remind people of their sinfulness.  God Is Love, and the more we believe in the God who is love, the less need we will have to define God.  All of our fears will be cast out; we will gladly and easily put out into the deep; we will run the way of the truth.  Our lives indeed will be easy and free, and all of our cares will be forgotten among the lilies.  The time is now.  There is no other way.  We must risk everything.  God Is Love.  

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“The Heat of Midnight Tears” by Mirabai

Ignatius of Loyola is perhaps the greatest religious outlier of the modern era.  He was a valiant soldier who dreamed of worldly glory, but his leg was shattered by a cannonball, a career-ending injury, which, in turn, shattered his heart.  While convalescing in the hospital, he came across the story of another outlier, the brown-clad founder of a group of little brothers a few centuries earlier, whose humble life and missionary zeal captured the wounded warrior’s imagination.  Ignatius thus traded his royal status and privilege for beggar’s garb and literally walked to Jerusalem to lead a hidden life of service and worship in imitation of his spiritual mentor.  Having been turned away by the ecclesiastical authorities there, however, he made the journey back home, where he eventually became a priest and founded what has become the largest male religious community in the world today.  When we hear about Ignatian “spiritual exercises” or Jesuit “discernment,” we should not get too excited about the fancy language or mystical undertones of such practices.  We should instead remember that it was only through failure that Ignatius was able to uncover the truth of his life.  May we be so bold as to also risk failure for the greater glory of God.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Rosaries are a real smash among Catholic people.  They hang from car rear view mirrors, sit neatly in baskets at church entrances, dangle elegantly from religious habits, and you just might see a person praying one!  While most people view the rosary as some antiquated religious hardware, a relic of the past, this pile of beads actually has a profound meaning.  The many diverse moments of our life’s journey, joyful and sorrowful and glorious, are paired with the singular anchor of our human existence, Christ.  When we pray the rosary we begin with the crucified Christ, whose outpouring of love brought us into being; we then embark on a very long pilgrimage for which Christ serves as the constant point of reference; and finally, we return to Christ, who, with open arms, invites us into the pattern of self-giving love which alone sustains eternal life.  Let’s therefore exercise our humanity by holding the rosary in our hands for a brief meditation when we wake up, during our morning commute, on our lunch break at work, and again before we go to bed.  We shall discover the one Christ and his many mysteries within our very souls.  We shall come to pray just by being and rejoice. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.