Episteme (ἐπιστήμη), the Greek word for “knowledge,” is the cornerstone of Western thinking and the foundation of modern society.  Knowledge gives us human beings a sense of security which, in turn, allows us to make plans, organize our thoughts, put the pieces together, and to generally feel that our lives have meaning and value.  What is interesting, however, and perhaps not expected in this era of constant suspicion and rampant skepticism, is that there is a hidden and undeniable spirituality in episteme: e (ἐ) meaning “out of” + pistis (πιστις) meaning “belief.”  Indeed, any authentic act of knowledge is based on a core belief in reality which gives the phenomena that pervade our earthly existence credibility.  In other words, it’s not possible to know something without first trusting that it exists.  Let’s, therefore, get in the habit of questioning the things that we think we know.  Let’s get to the root of our so-called knowledge.  Let’s exchange our assumptions about things for faith in them.  We shall quietly make our way, through this sure method of prayer, to the ground of all being, the Lord, who has been quite literally dying to be known by us, and who promises to know us fully, perfectly and perpetually in return.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

The Imitation of Christ is a long-standing spiritual classic that has shaped the interior lives of innumerable laypersons and religious over the centuries.  The thesis of the text, of course, is that when we commit to being like Jesus, the sweet rhythms of blessed communion take over and our lives increasingly become his life.  While such conformity to Christ may seem like an overwhelming proposition, the real challenge is actually imitating Christ and not some sanitized version of Christ whose human texture has been ground down by a million pious platitudes and obscured by thick layers of religious sentimentality.  The savior of the world was truly in the flesh (Jn 1:14); wept (Jn 11:35); got angry (Jn 2:15); was sometimes lonely (Lk 5:16); became frustrated with others (Mt 26:40); felt misunderstood (Mk 3:21); lashed out at his enemies (Mk 12:34); made mistakes (Jn 5:46); bled (Mk 15:15); got yelled at by people who didn’t like him (Mt 26:67); and experienced death (Jn 19:30).  If we are following a Jesus who is polished, pious and one-dimensional, we are not following Jesus at all and are, in fact, in big trouble!  The next time, therefore, we are tempted to be like one of those pretty saints on the prayer cards of our youth, with eyes cast heavenward, pleading to be rescued from this world, let’s have the courage to lean into the mess with Jesus and in so doing imitate the authenticity that saves.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

“Love and do what you will” is the famous maxim offered by Augustine of Hippo to his faithful flock during one of his early years as bishop (Sermon on 1 Jn 4:4-12, §8).  Such simplicity perhaps comes off as curious for the Doctor of Grace who was best known for his theological ferocity and clever turns of phrases.  The message, nevertheless, is unambiguous and suggestive of Augustine’s own spiritual commitments: if we get to the root of our lives and find our center, we cannot but love as God loves and the rest is just details.  Indeed, what’s the point of having a vocation but not understanding what our lives are fundamentally about?  What’s the point of winning the admiration of others but not knowing who we are?  Or, as Jesus himself puts it, what’s the point of gaining the whole world but losing our souls (Mk 8:36)?  While we may nod in agreement to these rhetorical questions, human experience suggests that all of us are actually more in the habit of doing what we want then calling it “love,” resulting in a big angsty mess that we drag through life.  During this season of resurrection, therefore, let’s recommit to focusing on the important stuff.  We shall discover that we are made for love and that the rest truly is just details.  Ave Crux, Spes Unica.

Hallelujahs will reign down from choir lofts and bellow forth from church steeples this coming weekend and all throughout this season of resurrection.  While we may treat this exclamation as just another undecipherable religious term, in some undecipherable ancient language, we might be delighted to hear that it simply means Praise God, or more literally Praise Yah(weh), the eternal and unbounded ground of being who transcends human cognition.  Could such worship, that is, praising the one true God, be the key to our salvation?  Could the singular decision to orient our lives around the infinite, instead of some passing fancy or worldly idol, make us whole and lead us to communion?  The answer is apparently “yes” in light of the paschal mystery: the crucified Christ, made radically open to the truth, arms and legs splayed upon the cross, allows himself to become vulnerable to the divine mystery which transforms him over a period of three days into an absolute and enduring expression of life.  Let’s therefore get into the habit of praying Hallelujah with Jesus in the joyful, luminous, sorrowful, and glorious times. Instead of coming down with a case of the “poor me’s” or defaulting to “it’s all your fault” mode, we can patiently praise God—even behind clenched teeth—and begin to savor the sweetness of the first light of our own resurrection. 

Ave Crux, Spes Unica.