Tag Archives: Pastoral Care

Marked as Christ’s Own Forever

Posted on November 9, 2011 | 10 comments

Heavenly Father, we thank you that by water and the Holy Spirit you have bestowed upon these your servants the forgiveness of sin, and have raised them to the new life of grace. Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. Amen. You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever. Amen. The Book of Common Prayer.

This past Sunday at my parish we baptized two children into the family of God.  Not twenty minutes earlier, I had taught a Sunday school class in which the discussion centered on the story of a judge in Rockport, Texas who had been captured on video in the process of “disciplining” his 16 year-old daughter.  The stark contradiction between that story and the sacrament of Holy Baptism left me astonished and wondering:  “How did we get from here to there?”

The video of the Texas judge and his daughter has now gone “viral.”  (I think one could make a pretty good argument that there was something viral in this family dynamic long before the release of the video.)  In case you haven’t seen it,   the video reveals a brutal, sadistic, beating of a teenage girl. The judge’s wife appears to encourage and facilitate the beating. It lasts for almost seven minutes, and I must confess that I was able to watch only about two minutes of it. Two observations emerge from watching this video.  First, this was not the first time this had happened.  This savage beating clearly occurred as part of a pattern of violence in the life of this family.  Secondly, this family did not honor or practice the rubric that one should never strike one’s children in anger.

I don’t think we get very far by simply observing that this was a bad man, or a dysfunctional family, or an instance of genuine evil.  (As I’ve said before, I try to make it a practice not to judge the content of a another man’s soul. Jesus taught us to pray for these people, and I have and will continue to do so.)  Rather, I want to pose a different question.

Knowing the Texas judiciary as I do, I’m fairly certain that this man, that this family, sat in some church in the area pretty regularly.  Whether they did or not, we should all ask ourselves how people can sit in our pews, nod their heads, and then go home to their families and beat, abuse and neglect our children.  Aren’t these the same children that we, at some point, presented for their baptism?  That strikes me as the real question.

I’m familiar with the biblical text in proverbs which seems to condone, and perhaps even recommend, the corporal punishment of children.  I’m also familiar with a good deal of literature and the testimony of several friends that corporal punishment does not work.  (Actually, it actually might work to change behavior in the very short-term, but we should rightly wonder whether it also fosters a culture of violence in our families and our children.)  But more importantly, Jesus said: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  Matt.  25:40.  I don’t think the Savior was foolin’ around.

In my legal practice, I have volunteered as an attorney representing children in cases where the State has intervened in cases of abuse and neglect.  I have seen the cycle of family violence repeat itself too often and seen the tragic results.  Our churches should, no, our churches must, take their teaching responsibilities in this area more seriously.  We could begin by starting a serious conversation about this issue, or by teaching new parents about other disciplinary practices they could add to their parenting toolboxes beyond corporal punishment.

As part of our promises during the sacrament of baptism, every member of our congregation agrees we will:  (1) “seek and serve Christ in all persons,” loving our neighbors as ourselves; and (2) “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”  In those promises, we recognize the sacramental nature of our duty to keep our children safe.  I’m at a loss to reconcile those promises with what I saw in that video, and it’s well past the time that our churches did something about it.

Lord , make us instruments of your peace.

Pax,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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Our Dangerous Habits

Posted on November 6, 2011 | 2 comments

Jesus said, “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, `Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, `Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, `No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, `Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, `Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  Matt. 25:1-13.

In the Lectionary today, we encounter the Parable of the Bridegroom. The parable sounds a well-known warning to us:  “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  While Jesus is teaching us about the need for preparation, I think he’s also pointing out just how difficult the Christian life will be.

In the field of law, we have a doctrine called stare decisis.  It means that once a case has been decided a certain way, future cases that present similar facts should generally be decided the same way.  The doctrine allows for consistency (the hobgoblin of small minds), predictability and promotes a certain sense of fairness.

We apply a similar practice in our own lives.  Each of us have developed a habit, a rubric, for dealing with telemarketers, panhandlers on the street, or older people who corner us to talk about their aches and pains.  We have a formula for how we deal with the coworker who stops by our desk to talk about their family problems.  These rubrics, these habits, offer us a certain level of efficiency.  But they may also pose a danger to our spiritual lives because they prevent us from having to think about individual situations or feel compassion when confronted with a unique situation.

The great German philosopher Martin Heidegger called this “unreflective everydayness.”  I think, in part, that’s what Jesus was warning us about in the Parable of the Bridegroom.  By relying on our preprogrammed responses, we miss the opportunity to see the face of Christ in those around us, and perhaps, to be the face of Christ for them.  I do not know how often God intervenes in the world around us, but I suspect it’s a lot more than most of us realize.  Christ’s advice “Keep awake” may well offer the best cure for the spiritual doldrums that obfuscate  God’s presence in the world.

 To paraphrase one of  the great prophets of our age, Ferris Bueller, “The Christian life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Shabbat Shalom,

 James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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The Sin of Hopelessness

Posted on October 26, 2011 | 10 comments

One of the seven deadly sins recognized by the medieval church was acedia, which gets poorly translated into “sloth.”  The words “despair” or “hopelessness” offer a  much better translation.  I’ve encountered these far too often in my life:  suicide, alcoholism and depression run deep in my family.

It’s important to offer a couple of clarifications at this point.  First, I’m not so much talking about clinical depression here.  (Clinical depression generally arises from a complex miasma of environmental circumstances and chemical imbalances.)   I’m also not talking about the sort of transitory sadness that is an appropriate response to a loss or to tragedy.  I’m talking about that deep, spiritual despair most of us encounter at some point of our lives.  Acedia involves a kind of spiritual resignation: the conclusion that not only can I not do anything about this situation, but also the suspicion that God cannot or will not help either.

It seems cruel to suggest that people like this, who live with genuine pain which they may have had little role in, are somehow in a sinful state.  And that would be true if we view sin as simply doing something forbidden or naughty or wicked.   I think it’s important, however, that we recognize this notion of sin is too narrow and ignores the true nature of sin.  Sin, simply, is separation from God.  And anyone who’s encountered deep spiritual despair knows quickly we can fall into feeling distant from God and God’s help.

In other words, I think we need to re-imagine sin as not just something we’ve done, but as a state in which our souls are in peril.  Sin may or may not involve some act of the will or volitional conduct.  (The question of whether our brothers and sisters had some role or fault in their current state must not be our concern.  That determination lies exclusively within the Almighty’s province.) Regardless of whether it’s volitional, the danger to our souls is just as real, and the danger lies in our separation from the Source of our lives and healing.

To paraphrase Woody Allen very roughly, eighty percent of the Christian life is just showing up.  I sometimes wonder if that’s not an important distinction between Judas Iscariot and St. Peter.  Both betrayed Jesus; both broke trust and listened to their lesser angels.  Judas despaired, and resigned himself to his failure.  Peter, on the other hand, kept showing up.

Jesus said that the devil did “not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks according to his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies.”  John 8:44.   One of the most powerful lies our Ancient Enemy ever tells us is:  “This will never change.  This will never get better.  Things will always be this way.”  As Christians, hope provides our greatest weapon against the despair and resignation which the world so often pulls us toward.

In an earlier post, we discussed the Parable of the Good Samaritan (https://dominicanes.wordpress.com/2011/10/23/go-and-do-likewise/).  Most of us will never encounter someone lying on the road, beaten almost to death.  We are far more likely to meet a friend, neighbor or co-worker deep in the well of despair or hopelessness.  Sometimes, we may merely let them know that “it gets better.”  Sometimes, we may take them into our prayer lives, our hearts, or simply offer them a cup of coffee.  Sometimes, the situation calls for nothing more than sacred listening, or the ministry of simply being present to the struggle.  Either way, when we act as the hands, the voice and face of Christ, we engage in good and holy work.

Our faith often demands that we muster hope when it seems extraordinarily foolish, that we recognize God’s power to recreate when desperation has overcome us.  Our confidence lies in knowing that our Redeemer lives.  Thus, we pray in the Collect for this week that the living God increase our faith, our charity, and our hope. Like faith and charity, hope is a gift from God: a gift for which we should all pray.

God watch over thee and me,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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Go And Do Likewise

Posted on October 23, 2011 | 10 comments

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.  So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.  But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.  He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  The next day he took out two denarii,  gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’  Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”  Luke 10: 30-37.

In this morning’s readings in the Daily Office, we encounter the Parable of the Good Samaritan.  It’s an extraordinarily familiar story, although it appears only in the Gospel of St. Luke.  Perhaps we know the story so well that it’s lost some of its impact.  Familiarity, after all, breeds indifference long before it breeds contempt.  So, we may have forgotten just how shocking this story was to the audience in first century Palestine.

Part of what’s been lost to us is the geography.  The story takes place on the long, downhill road between Jerusalem and Jericho, a road also known at the time as the “Bloody Pass” or “The Way of Blood.”  The road meanders and the topography provides the perfect environment for an ambush:  a paradise for bandits and robbers.

There’s nothing surprising then about the man being beaten, robbed and left for dead on that road.  Nor would Jesus’ audience have been particularly surprised to hear Jesus tell that the priest and the Levite both passed the man by, in fact they walked by “on the other side” of the road.  (The laws of ritual purification at the time might actually have recommended this practice to devout Jews.)  We aren’t surprised by Jesus’ casting the priests and Levites in the role of the villains:  both Jesus and John the Baptist had been doing that for a while.

But the notion that the Samaritan showed the quality of mercy, the notion of the Samaritan as the hero of the story, that would have astonished and befuddled Jesus’ first century audience.  The Samaritans and the Jews had hated each other for hundreds of years at the time Jesus told this story.  The Samaritans had desecrated the Temple with human bones.  The Jews reciprocated.  According to the Mishna (the first major work of Rabbinic Judaism), “He that eats the bread of the Samaritans is like to one that eats the flesh of swine” (Mishna Shebiith 8:10). So, hearing about a “good Samaritan” would have bewildered Jesus’ audience.  It would be the equivalent of a modern parable about the “good Klansman” or a “good Zeta” (one of the Mexican drug cartels) or the “Good Al-Qaeda fighter.”

Thus, part of Jesus’ message continues the message of the sixth chapter of Luke’s Gospel.  “But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.”  Luke 6:27-28.  This commandment teaches that there is nothing soft or squishy or indulgent about the Christian life.  It is, as C.S. Lewis observed, “as hard as nails.”  And this teaches one of the many ways that Christianity must remain counter-cultural:  loving our enemies, caring for those who’ve wounded us, will never be a popular position.

I think, however, this parable suggests at least one more critical lesson.  Jesus teaches us about our most common sin, if not our greatest sin: indifference.  Jesus contrasts the compassion which overtook the Samaritan with the indifference of the priest and the Levite.  It’s a sharp criticism directed at the religious leaders of his day, and I’m not so certain it doesn’t apply with equal force today.  Indifference, perhaps even more than hatred, may have the greatest power to separate us from God.

So, I’m wondering, who did I not notice?  Who did I walk to the other side of the road to avoid?  As Bruce Cockburn wrote, “Lord, spit on our eyes so that we can see.”

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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The Troubles

Posted on October 9, 2011 | 6 comments

Since at least 2003, we have been squabbling in the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, arguably over the issue of human sexuality.  (In this case, however, as in many cases of marital discord, the fight is probably not about what the fight’s about.) That’s not what I’m going to write about, and I hope not to write about that topic until I can say something that will bring the people of God together rather than tear them apart.  But I do think this squabble provides an excellent example of two competing visions of the Church.

In the first model, the Church is a holy place where holy people come to do holy things.  I grew up with this vision, and it saturated my understanding of the Church, probably from the moment of my baptism.  Raised in an Irish Catholic family, I served as an altar boy from the age of six.  It was not uncommon for me to serve at three services on Sunday.  I acquired a deep and abiding love of liturgy, vestments and all the other holy things one could find in church.

This model understands the Church as struggling towards “true righteousness and holiness.”  Eph. 4: 24.  Corinthians seems to reinforce this understanding of the Church:

Therefore come out from them,
and be separate from them, says the Lord,
and touch nothing unclean;
then I will welcome you,
and I will be your father,
and you shall be my sons and daughters,
says the Lord Almighty.’

2 Cor. 6:17-18.  This view of the Church seems to motivate Jesus in the cleansing of the Temple, when he tells the money-changers, “‘My house shall be called a house of prayer’, but you have made it into a den of thieves.”  Matt. 21:13.

The second model of the Church sees its role as essentially that of a hospital for sick people.  In the Daily Office this week, we heard Jesus endorse that vision of the Church.  The Pharisees commented on Jesus’ regular association with notorious sinners.

But when he heard this, he said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

Matt. 9: 12-13.  C.S. Lewis affirmed this view of the Church in Mere Christianity when he wrote:  “Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness.  It therefore has nothing to say (as far as I know) to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need any forgiveness.”

Each of these visions of the Church claims the moral high ground, each relies on Holy Scripture to support its understanding of our work.  So, who’s right?  The appropriate response seems decidedly Anglican:  they both are.  We need both understandings of the Church.  Our churches must be places where people encounter the holiness of the living God, and where broken people come for healing.  Without both visions, we have shrunk the Church, and we have diminished the body of Christ.  I hope you’ll join me in praying, along with St. Francis, “Lord, make us instruments of your peace.”

Pax,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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