The Eternal Losers and The Power of Christ

Were you as creeped out as I was when you heard that there might be a consecrated host at the Harvard black mass?  While the fight to get it cancelled was totally worthwhile, here’s why you can rest easy tonight regardless of the outcome.

I admit it--when I heard that a Harvard student group was sponsoring a “reenactment” of a satanic ritual involving a potentially consecrated Communion host, I was not only angry, but also a little scared.  After all, Catholics believe that the consecrated host is Jesus—not a symbol or a reminder, but Jesus, truly present, in the flesh and blood.  While we agree with outside observers that the physical characteristics do not change, we believe that on the level of its identity—its substance, to use the theological language—it is truly, really, totally Christ.

So if somebody who hates Christ (or thinks they hate Christ, because if they really knew Him they would almost certainly love Him) gets a hold of one of these consecrated hosts, I start to wretch at the possibilities.  Though I had always brushed such thoughts under the rug of my conscious mind in the past, this Harvard story made that impossible.

Thankfully, God (Who cannot be abused, hurt, or controlled by any of us idiots down here) decided in His mercy and goodness to show me why such worry was unfounded.  Take a look at this post from Elizabeth Scalia’s blog, which talks about why such satanic rituals do not actually possess the power they claim to have:

“Christ gave himself to us, freely, of his own free will. A Gift freely given. If someone takes the Gift and spits on it or whatever — they’re only destroying what was given to them, they are destroying what is ‘theirs.’ They don’t in any way destroy the Giver of the Gift, or lessen the Giver, or the Gift. So they have no power over it, they can’t dominate it. All they can do is destroy themselves within themselves.”

 

The consecrated host is the presence of Jesus, but Jesus is a suffering servant who submitted himself to extreme denigration and humiliation for our sake.  His presence in the Eucharist is that same gift, which we are free to accept or reject.  While desecrating the Eucharist is an outrageously sinful act, it does nothing to injure or even demean God Himself.

Simply put, they have no power over God!  They never could.  And while we’re bashing devil-worshippers, I’ve also always wondered why, if someone believes in God, they would purposely choose to “worship” the guy who got kicked out of Heaven by God.  Purposely picking the loser—isn’t that sort of like choosing to play as Jigglypuff in Super Smash Brothers?  But I digress.

 

Now, mind you, I’m not trying to minimize the reality or power of the devil.  He was created as an angel—which means that, in terms of creation, he’s way more powerful than any of us on our own.  But we have ways of keeping him at bay and protecting ourselves.

I remember the advice I got from someone on the beach in Hawaii: never turn your back on the tide.  If you do, it can kill you.  It’s so easy to write it off as nothing, but people have literally been swept away by creeping tides that unexpectedly descended upon them when they turned their back.  Satan is much the same way.  Always keep one eye on him, and be aware that he is actively trying to mess with you.  Whatever you do, do not write him off as a legend or a myth.  As they say in The Usual Suspects, “the greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he doesn’t exist.”  Don’t fall for it.  He’s out there, and he doesn’t like you.

But the good news is this:  God has given us a protector who has already once beaten the tar out of Satan, and is totally willing to do it again whenever we call upon him: Saint Michael the Archangel.  This supernatural guardian—who, I contend, must actually be way more ripped and imposing than the girly-man he is usually depicted as—is more than willing to step up and defend us from the devil whenever we ask.  Take a look at the statue pictured below.  Now we're getting somewhere!  That's more the Michael that I believe in.

 

And since, in writing this post debunking his followers’ false power, the devil may be a little extra peeved at me, I finish with this prayer—in which I have complete faith as a means of protection from all the attacks of the evil one:

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.  Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.  May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host [remember, that means army!], by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

Amen.

Now, let’s say it again!

Confidently,

Joezilla

P.S.:  Read the whole post at Elizabeth Scalia’s blog here.

12 Years A Slave: Feel-Good Movie of the Year?

Why was I clicking my heels in the parking lot after seeing this movie?  While you might be inclined to suspect me of insanity, the truth is quite understandable.

But first, let’s be clear: 12 Years A Slave is absolutely not a “feel-good” movie.  It is an intense and gritty immersion into the inhumanity of slavery, the racial and sexual injustice of past societies, and the disturbing potential for human depravity in every age.  It contains scenes of brutal torture (less bloody but about as intense as The Passion of the Christ) and is speckled with cruel and dehumanizing speech.  There are very few punches pulled in this movie’s presentation of historical realities.

It is even-handed in its approach, presenting slave-owners as the mixed bag of humanity that they surely were—though all were complicit in a morally offensive societal structure, some no doubt treated their slaves with a degree of civility or even kindness, while others inflicted unspeakable evils upon their fellow men and women.  The film shows examples of both, though it centers on a particularly disgusting example of the latter type.

In short, for those who have not yet seen the film, it is likely what they expect it to be: intense, eye-opening, moving.  However, all this serves to intensify the question of why I would feel happy after seeing this movie.  Patience is a virtue, and it’s time I rewarded you for it.

12 Years A Slave made me feel exceptionally grateful.

I take many things for granted, you see.  My family.  My home.  My freedom.  The basic civility and social decency of the people I meet in the world.  The fact that people (mostly) stop at red lights.  These things come to mind easily when I try to name them, but on a typical day I am not overcome with gratefulness for them.

Have you ever rear-ended a car on the street?  I did several years ago, and the first feeling I remember having is a sharp double-edged regret.  The first edge was, of course, regret at being distracted and running into that Chevy Tahoe’s bumper; the second was subtler, but no less real: I regretted not appreciating what I had before the hit.  Before the hit, I had a certain insurance premium.  Now, it would go up.  Before the hit, I had a class I was going to be on-time for.  Now, I would be late.  Before the hit, I had a peaceful drive ahead of me.  Now, that peace was shattered.  The thought that went through my head was, “Man, everything was going so well before this happened…and I didn’t even know it!”

Whenever I pass a minor car accident on the road now, my heart pangs with empathy for those involved.  I’ll bet they weren’t appreciating what they had before the hit, either.

The protagonist of 12 Years A Slave, one Solomon Northup, is a victim of the same dangerous mindset, and his ordeals drive the point home about as effectively as 100 auto crackups.  Solomon is a free black man in New York prior to the Civil War (which is a really strange name for a war, now that I think about it).  Solomon has a wife, two children, a house of his own, and a profitable career as a violinist.  He is respected, applauded, and afforded the same rights and privileges of others in his society.  Virtue and discipline have played a key role in his success, to be sure—but in the final analysis, he is lucky.  He has been equipped by God’s providence with a healthy environment and good people.  And like many people in similar situations, and like me, he takes almost all of it for granted almost all of the time.

Suddenly, his world is plunged into chaos as he is abducted and sold into slavery under false pretences.  Laboring at the plantation of a warped and cruel man, Solomon slowly, painstakingly, surveys the depths of misery and depravity his race is subjected to in the pre-war South.

And soon those days back in New York take on a new light.  Suddenly, the veil is lifted and Solomon’s former life—which for many of us is routine, as it was for him—is revealed to be the Shangri-La that it really was.  And as the possibility of returning to it dims, every under-appreciated moment stings like another lash of the whip.  How he would love to go back and relive one of those “routine” days!  How different those responsibilities now appear.  What were considered burdens are understood as privileges.  And life’s great blessings are, for one sublime season, truly recognized.

By now, you might have realized that I am no longer talking about Solomon Northup.  I can’t speak for what he, the historical figure on whom the film is based, felt as the grim reality of slavery dawned on him each morning.  But I know how it made me feel to see his story dramatized, super-sized, and projected on the screen.

It made me feel happy.  Thanks be to God, now and forever!

A Song of Late October

A Song of Late October.

Upon the sun’s descending leave,
A hoot rings in October eve.
And out, against a lively breeze,
I venture through the fired trees.

Howls building from the south,
Issued from a hungry mouth,
Kindle daring mixed with fear:
The season of mystery is here.

Day by day, the rising tide
of color, cold, and fancy hide
anticipation for the night
of costume, candy, pumpkin light.

*    *    *

Howls fading from the north,
Old Man Winter plodding forth,
Trading chills for milder winds—
The season of thanks begins!

Loneliness: The Millennial's Plague

Loneliness is the virus that is killing our generation.

The online connections we can make, while they help us stay in touch, have also hyper-exposed us to one another.

We can have a 2-minute conversation with a stranger and gain access to a library of their likes and dislikes merely by friending them on Facebook.

After setting up a date, we can go ahead and find out everything we would've learned on that date. Rather than hearing it from the person, studying their face and looking into their eyes--connecting like real human beings, in other words--we can find out everything we think we need to know online. And then we wonder why we're so awkward with each other.

This is not another anti-Facebook rant. FB is not the enemy, but merely a piece of technology, a tool. It can be used for good or bad.

The enemy is much deeper and more sophisticated. The enemy wants us to feel disconnected, inadequate, lonely.

The enemy wants to make us forget that we are loved.

I have felt the signature emotion of our generation. It is a deep longing, buried so as to be almost invisible to us, in the back of our hearts. Its calls echo up to our minds and manifest themselves through our desperate measures in search of connection.

The longing burns like an inferno within us, and we long for connection, communion. But we aren't looking for it in the right places.

Consider the picture above. Yes, it's funny, but think about what it implies: that guy is miserable unless he can turn someone on. If we think that way, then we truly will be "forever alone," whether we find someone or not. The egotistical joys of pleasure are fleeting, and leave us feeling worse in the long run.

We think that romance will quench the fire. We look for a date. Sometimes we get absolutely desperate. We try. Sometimes we fail.

And we might find someone, even the right person, but we soon wake up and realize that, despite the ring on our finger, we are still the same. Life goes on. Turns out Marriage, wonderful as it is, doesn't complete our happiness like we thought it would. And that fire still burns.

We turn to friendships, sometimes. They help. They give us a true connection like Marriage, and they are an essential part of life, but they still do not complete us.

And so that feeling remains. You know it well. It's the one that somehow, time and again, gets you to scroll down that Newsfeed, looking...for what? The moment you stop, you realize that the Newsfeed is an infinite void that promises something, but never really delivers.

There is a deep emptiness within every individual. We are tricked into thinking it's our job to fill this emptiness, but we are running against a brick wall if we try. This space can only be filled. We cannot fulfill ourselves.

I believe in a personal God. God is personal because He is a person, He knows you as a person, and is open to relating to you that way. And there is nothing and no one in the universe powerful enough and big enough to fill that emptiness that burns inside you except for Him.

He made the space infinitely large so that He could fill it, complete our personalities with supernatural Love. Nothing else is going to cure our loneliness.

So how do we start to cultivate this relationship, if the loneliness we face has been weighing us down lately?

The answer is the opposite of what you would expect: go off alone for a while. Take a walk every day for a week or month, visiting public places and secluded natural hideaways. Eat a meal alone without reading or playing with a smartphone. And then, when your distractions and self-consciousness have melted away, you will start reaching for Him. You see, God is always there, but sometimes we shut Him out and the only way to get ourselves seeing Him again is to go back to the basics.

"You will seek me and you will find me," says The LORD, "when you seek me with all of your heart."

~ Jeremiah 29:13

Hail, Holy Queen

Hail, Holy Queen

Hail, Holy Queen, of mercy’s longed-for sweetness mother,
Hail to the living hope that soothes us like no other.

To thee we bring our anguish, as our fallen temple sighs,
To thee we open careworn hearts and focus bloodshot eyes.

Turn then, Blessed Mother, through your graceful intercession,
The eyes of mercy toward us as we offer this confession

To the One Who knew our fall and rise before the world was new,
The living God of Abraham Who came to life in you.

O clemens, O pia,
O dulcis Virgo Maria.

Amen

On the Feast of Saint John

On the Feast of Saint John

If ever kindly voice or act
Hath helped a stinging pain subtract,
And love to flower in its place,
Then know, I pray, its Source was grace.

The gnarled, hardened roots of pride
Have halted men of hopeful stride
Who dared to labor and to love,
But gazed inside and not above.

Oh! What suffering may cease
The day I say "I must decrease."
Oh! What springs erupt of peace
The day I say, "He must increase."

Why are you a Christian?

Today we echo Michael Scott's question to Toby on The Office, "Why are you the way that you are?"

If someone were to ask you why you are a Christian, what would you say?

If you are a Christian, you might be rather paradoxically dumbstruck in your attempt to answer. Do not feel bad; like me, you just haven't approached the question in a while. But now that you have been reminded of it, you have a duty to furnish an adequate and genuine response: "Always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in you," as 1 Peter 3:15 says.

What follows is my reason.

God is present; His presence is as real to me as my own personality. My personality cannot be seen directly, touched or physically sensed in any way. But its effects are obvious to all who spend any measure of time with me.

God is the same way; the Father is not physically present (with the exception of Sacraments, which are a more complicated issue and require a deeper discussion). However, to say that God cannot exist because He cannot be physically accounted for is absurd. Surely we do not hold all things to such a careful standard as some seem to hold God.

The average atheist will discard God as a fairy tale because He is not an empirically verifiable reality. But the same atheist will then appeal to the ideal of Human Rights (quite rightly) in order to decry genocide in Africa. Where are human rights? What energy or matter comprises them? Can we find them if we search really, really hard?

Of course not. Neither can we find God. Like a pen pal on the other side of the world, God is there, communicating with us, even though we don't see His face. The cool part is that once we commit to a relationship with Him, God's presence invades our life more clearly than before, infusing our moments of sorrow with power and strength, and our moments of joy with perspective. That is precisely what happened to me when, in high school, I traded in my outmoded model of passive faith for a dynamic, searching love of Jesus Christ.

I am a Christian because I can feel God's presence, and believing in Jesus has only made God clearer to me. I am honored to say that Jesus is the Lord and Savior of the human race. I thank Him for the life he gives me, and the opportunity to praise him.

Jesus loves you! Reach out to him, and you will realize that, all your life, he has been reaching out to you.

Sincerely,
Joezilla