Anti-entropy

Read Galatians 5:15-25

Scientists speak of entropy as a unit which allows them to measure the degradation of a system. Popular authors turn it into a principal: that the whole world is decomposing, sliding into an undifferentiated state. Entropy is the rust that attacks us, old age creeping up on us, fire reduced to embers, time fleeing. Entropy means everything comes to an end.

We could speak of an analogous principle in the spiritual life. Left to oneself, the human person degrades, turning in on oneself in self-sufficiency and deadly selfishness. The human community is dislocated, divided, at war. Human hope is darkened by visions of unending strife, irreversible injustices, unsolvable ecological and economic crises.

What is astounding in such a context is not that there should be evil in the world, but that the world should continue to spin in spite of all this evil. What surprises is not the existence of hatred and jealousy, but the fact that love manages to surge forth and make a path for itself. There must be another principle at work here, a dynamism more powerful than the moral entropy Paul names sin. This greater power is the Holy Spirit.

Without the Spirit, men and women are carried away in a spiral of hatred and violence: "an eye for an eye, and the whole world goes blind." Such an evil-spawning spiral can only lead to the plethora of vices Paul lists in today's text, expressed powerfully in Eugene Peterson's translation: "loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community." This is a living hell that, sadly, too many people know too well.

Jesus-Christ came to reverse this deadly movement, to smother this fatal tsunami. He came to release in our hearts a new power, a new breath. Under the influence of his Spirit, something new is coming to birth. The inertia that grinds us down is overcome, the death-dealing spiral is undone. A hand is stretched out in friendship across borders, a word of peace resonates in the silences of hatred, an act of kindness warms frigid solitude. And the beautiful virtues Paul rejoices in naming can flower: love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, trust, tenderness, self-control.

We recognize the Spirit alive within us every time we surprise ourselves into forgiving, sharing, praying for someone who no longer knows how to pray. The Spirit dwells within those moments that awaken within us a gesture of friendship, a word of kindness, an act of generosity. The Spirit awakens us to a world make for transformation in beauty, truth and gratefulness.

Are we of this Spirit? The choice is ours. We need only open our hearts.

To conquer "the world"

Read I John 5:1-6

To conquer Everest ! This was a dream that fascinated me as a child. I loved reading books that told of the adventures of mountaineers as they tackled the Himalayas. These stories spoke to my fantasies of accomplishing impossible things, pushing myself to the limit of my abilities, my talents, my possibilities.

These days, the media report all kinds of conquests. Men and women are taking up strange and wondrous challenges: crossing the Atlantic in a rowboat, circling the globe in a balloon, walking from Chile to England. Others take on more manageable but still impressive challenges: conquering a triathlon, completing a marathon, doing a century on a bicycle, canoeing the length of a river.

The French author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote something like this: « People find the measure of themselves in the obstacles they confront.” This is so true: there lies in us a need to prove ourselves by overcoming obstacles, by conquering mountains, whatever shape a particular mountain may take.

Yet all of these examples are taken from the merely physical realm: a distance to be traversed, a height to be climbed, a time to be bettered. The deeper obstacles we must confront as humans are the obstacles of the spiritual life. We must overcome hatred, prejudice, injustice, anger. And if we want to overcome them when they confront us, we must first overcome them when they arise in us. This is the greatest and most noble conquest: to master oneself.

These powers of evil are identified by Saint John as “the world.” This expression is shorthand for him: it represents the selfishness of the human heart, the injustice of human society, the refusal to believe or to love. This is what needs to be conquered, according to Saint John: “the world” around us, “the world” within us.

Left to ourselves, such a victory is impossible. The obstacle is too great, beyond our own strength or capacity. Only one man has ever conquered the world: the risen Christ. And the only way for us to imitate his victory is to conquer with him. For if we believe in him, his Spirit will abide in us and give us incredible strength and power. Not a physical strength, but a moral and spiritual power that will help us overcome the selfishness that, within us, is always threatening to strangle love. “What allows us to conquer the world is our faith!”

This is the conquest worth achieving, the victory we must claim. With the risen Lord Jesus, we can do so. With him, we will conquer “the world”.

The weakness (?) and foolishness (?) of God

Read I Corinthians 1: 18,22-25

Imagine a high school student who’s grown up listening only to popular music: rap, rock and film scores. Imagine that on his sixteenth birthday, someone decides to play him some classical music. What would his reaction would be? Indifference? Boredom? Outright repulsion? He’d probably consider this music to lack rhythm, feeling and power, the harmonic and orchestral complexity of the piece going right over his head, the quality of the interpretation beyond his ability to judge or appreciate.

This wouldn’t be surprising, for he would have no context by which to judge this music. His criteria for appreciating music are not those of the classical repertoire. The gulf between his own experience and such music is simply too wide.

So was it with the Jews and the Greeks as they considered Jesus’ message and life. He just did not fit into their pre-established ways of understanding, the Jewish people wanting signs of power and miracles of a messianic age, the Greeks desiring well-turned oratory and philosophical subtlety. What did the Gospel offer? A powerless Christ, crucified on the cross, silent and meaningless. At least, so it seemed to most Jews and Greeks of the time.

Let’s return our young man. Let’s imagine he’s decided to listen more seriously to this strange classical music. Let’s pretend he really pays attention and gives the music a fighting chance. Perhaps some passage will touch him in a particular way, some selection awaken something in his heart. He’ll come back to this passage, this selection, explore a bit more of this music that he’s starting to appreciate. Over the months and years, he’ll discover that this music is indeed deeply rhythmical, capable of provoking powerful, overwhelming emotions in him. His appreciation of popular music also starts to change, finding it a bit superficial and plain compared to this music that has endured through the centuries and still today touches minds and hearts.

So was it with the first Christians. Deciding to reflect on the teaching of Jesus and discovering within it a true wisdom, contemplating his life and finding, hidden in his powerlessness, the power of divine love, they came to understand Christ as true wisdom and true power.

Where does that leave us today? Judging the message and life of Jesus from the perspective of our own criteria, shaped as they are by the media, our superficial reading and our discussions with our neighbours, we risk seeing nothing but folly and weakness in the Gospel. On the other hand, we could try understanding Jesus’ message from the perspective of faith, asking the Spirit to enlighten us as we contemplate his life, joining with the Church in a journey that strives to live in faithfulness to his call. Then might we well discover that Jesus truly is the wisdom and the power of God.

Of gods, rights and responsibilities

Read I Corinthians 10:23 – 11:1

A few years ago, I had the chance to visit the ruins of Pompei in Italy. I was impressed by the number of temples there dedicated to the various gods of the Roman pantheon. Each street corner had its own little temple to the glory of some particular god. It was explained to us that each god had his or her own area of influence: commerce, love, weather, friendship, agriculture, work, etc. People would come and sacrifice animals on the altars of these little temples in order to ask for help or to give thanks for a favour. What happened to all that meat? It would find its way to the market and eventually to someone’s dinner table.

The Christians of Corinth lived in the midst of just such a pagan culture. A problem often arose for them: should they buy this meat that had been offered to idols? Should they eat this meat when it was offered to them during a meal? They all agreed that they should not participate in the worship offered to these idols, nor offer any sacrifices at their temples. But if these gods did not exist, if this cult was empty and vain, why not eat the meat? Hadn’t Paul preached that salvation in Christ freed us from all religious laws? Hadn’t Paul taught that salvation is to be found in our faith, and not our deeds? Hadn’t he even said that “everything is allowed?”

In today’s excerpt, Paul answers this question with a sentence that we should all engrave on our hearts: “All things are lawful, but not all things are beneficial.” Paul agrees that the meat offered to idols has no meaning in itself and that Christian freedom gives us the right to eat it. But… and this really is an important point… one has to ask oneself what impact such a decision will have on others. If my Jewish friend, whose law teaches this meat is not to be eaten, is scandalised by my action, shouldn’t I hold back? If my pagan friend interprets my action as an acknowledgment of the god, should I not abstain? If a Christian brother or sister is weak in his or her faith, should I not eat something else for the sake of the community?

We live today in a world where everybody speaks of rights. The “charter of rights and freedoms” has become the new bible of our society. But who speaks up to remind us of our duties and our responsibilities?

Personal rights are not absolute. Life in community, love of others is more important. There are times when I should sacrifice a personal right out of love for others, for the greater good of the community. What point is there in exercising my rights if I thereby destroy the community which is giving me these rights? The language of rights needs to be enriched by a superior language: the language of love.

How shall I make a return to the Lord for his goodness?

Read I Corinthians 9:16-23

I found myself in a real fix one day. Or should I say, one very early morning. I had decided to drive from Timmins to Ottawa at night, a distance of close to 800 kilometers. At around four in the morning, on the road between Temiskaming and North Bay, I ran out of gas. Those who are familiar with that stretch of highway know that it wanders through about one hundred kilometers of uninhabited forest. I waited nearly an hour before a car passed by. Luckily, the driver had mercy on me and picked me up. We found an isolated gas bar some thirty kilometers later where I picked up a few gallons of gas. My good Samaritan offered to drive me back to my car, which I gladly accepted. In return, I paid to fill up his own gas tank.

Wasn’t it normal that I should respond to this man’s charity? The gas I paid for him was little compared to the service he had rendered me, to the time he had sacrificed. I’m sure he didn’t want to dawdle so on his way to Toronto. Courtesy required that I pay back a bit of the favour he had done for me. I have no glory to claim for my act. In telling the story, he is the hero, not me.

This is also Saint Paul’s attitude in the verses that are proposed for this Sunday’s second reading, as he explains to the Corinthians how he understands his mission as an apostle. He has no glory to claim for this mission. He is not the hero of his story. To the contrary, all glory should be given to the Lord who delivered Paul from darkness and made him enter into his wonderful light. For Paul, his ministry is not a favour he is doing for God: it is an obligation laid upon him because of the great generosity God has shown him.

Paul goes even further. As an expression of gratitude, Paul tries to do without any help from those he is evangelizing. Not that he doesn’t have the right to it. But in this case, Paul would rather work with his hands to gain a salary, so as to remain free in his relationship with the Corinthians.

This allows him to come among the Corinthians as a friend rather than as an employee. He comes to share their lives, to participate in their community. This sharing in a life of friendship will be the privileged way for him to spread God’s Word. This he does for the good of the Corinthians themselves. He has already received the only reward he seeks – salvation in Christ – and he has received it not as a reward but as a gift.

Thus is it still today for those who know the love of God. Whatever we do that is right or beautiful, whatever services we render, whatever acts of compassion we make, these are but a response to the extraordinary generosity that has already been shown to us. Christian life is never a search for reward, but the heart’s response to a love that has been given freely.