The Light-Bearer's Blunder

God said, "Let there be light," and there was. 

As Catholics we believe in the existence of angels, those who have chosen to obey God and those who have turned away from Him (which we call fallen angles, or demons).  It has always puzzled me, though, that the creation of the angels is not clearly identifiable.  However, in my Masters studies, a professor proposed that the creation of the light on the first day, which is then separated from the dark, is an allusion to the creation of the angels.  This would make sense on some level, since God makes the sun, moon, and stars later in the narrative, which we know as our sources of light in the universe.

Initially, I wasn't sure what I thought about this.  But when I proceeded to do a search for icons depicting the creation of the world, I noticed, as you will see in the icon posted above (and a close-up below), that the light is actually depicted with faces and wings, much like depictions of the angles in classic artwork (particularly representations of the Serpahim, which are described also in the book of Isaiah). 

The interpretation that follows from this position is that the separation of the light from the dark would indicate the test of the angels and the fall of Lucifer (who becomes Satan) and his followers (the demons).  

It's important to understand something about the nature of the angels before we go any further.  Angels have intellect and will, much like humans do. However, angels are pure spirit.  Therefore, their intellect is superior to that of humans, and the will and intellect of an angel are in perfect harmony.  Their learning is not hindered by the flesh the way human learning is.  The Catechism of the Catholic Church says: 

As purely spiritual creatures angels have intelligence and will: they are personal and immortal creatures, surpassing in perfection all visible creatures, as the splendor of their glory bears witness (330).  

Why does this matter? Because we have to understand that the fall of the angels (now demons) and their eternal state that results is not an injustice.  When angels choose, they choose with their whole being.  There is no hindrance in the connection between their intellect and their will.  Therefore, the decision that the demons made to not serve the Lord was one in which they fully knew what they were choosing.  They do not look back on that moment and think: "Shoot, I really messed up there."  They committed to their decision fully because that is in their nature as pure spirits ("pure" being used in the sense that this is fully, completely, and only what they are).  

Tolkien communicates this well in the creation myth he wrote for Middle Earth.  Tolkien beautifully described the creation story like a celestial symphony.  Iluvatar (who is an image of God) created the Ainur, also called the Holy Ones, who "were with him before aught else was made" (which alludes to the angels).     

And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad...And it came to pass that Ilúvatar called together all the Ainur and declared to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed; and the glory of its beginning and the splendor of its end amazed the Ainur, so that they bowed before Ilúvatar and were silent. 

Then Ilúvatar said to them: ‘Of the theme that I have declared to you, I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and devices, if he will. But I will sit and hearken, and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song.  

Ainulindale V by Anduin1000 on DeviantArt

The Ainur make beautiful, harmonized music before their Creator.  But one of the Ainur, Melkor, decides that he doesn't like Iluvatar's melody.  

But as the theme progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor to interweave matters of his own imagining that were not in accord with the theme of Ilúvatar; for he sought therein to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself. To Melkor among the Ainur had been given the greatest gifts of power and knowledge, and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren. ...Some of these thoughts he now wove into his music, and straight-way discord arose about him, and many that sang nigh him grew despondent, and their thought was disturbed and their music faltered; but some began to attune their music to his rather than to the thought which they had at first. Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider, and the melodies which had been heard before foundered in a sea of turbulent sound. But Ilúvatar sat and hearkened until it seemed that about his throne there was a raging storm, as of dark waters that made war one upon another in an endless wrath that would not be assuaged.  

Then Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled; and he lifted up his left hand, and a new theme began amid the storm, like and yet unlike to the former theme, and it gathered power and had new beauty. But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it, and again there was a war of sound more violent than before, until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer, and Melkor had the mastery. Then again Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Ilúvatar, and they were utterly at variance. The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice, but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern.

Sound familiar?  If anyone knows the traditional story of the fall of the angels, it's not difficult to see who Tolkien is trying to represent in the character of Melkor.  Lucifer, the Light Bearer, once was one of the highest angels.  In Tolkien's story, Melkor decides he wants glory apart from Iluvatar.  He creates discord among the other Ainur.  Yet Iluvatar makes it clear that he is the one in control. He is so in control that even the triumphant notes of Melkor are taken up in Iluvatar's melody and woven into the pattern.  What this means is not that the evil Melkor stirs up is turned into a good, but that a good is drawn out of it.  Sounds like Divine Providence if you ask me.  

Then the Ainur were afraid, and they did not yet comprehend the words that were said to them; and Melkor was filled with shame, of which came secret anger. But Ilúvatar arose in splendour, and he went forth from the fair regions that he had made for the Ainur; and the Ainur followed him. 

And so the question arises.  What was the angels' test?  

The test put to the angels is traditionally expressed in terms of service.  The response of Lucifer to this request or revelation from God is: "I will not serve."  To which Michael responds: "Who is like unto God?" (In fact, that is what his name means in Hebrew. Micha + el.) 

The reason that I chose to write about this (rather lengthy) subject is academic in origin.  My professor, in speaking about God's transcendence, and the whole mystery of creation in light of God's transcendence, proposed an analogy that shed light on the choice of the demons not to serve (and, more importantly, the choice of the angels to serve).  

I briefly touched on the subject of transcendence in the last post (Dirty Hands).  But it's important here, as well. (In truth, I think it sheds light on all the truths of the Faith.) For the record, I take no credit for the following analogy. I was privileged to receive it from Prof. John Cavadini and it helped me to reach a place of wonder. I hope it will do the same for you. 

The angels, because they were created first, were witnesses to the work of creation (that is, the creation that happened after they were created).  Imagine this, if you will.  They are watching God, whom they know to be totally fulfilled in Himself because He is an eternal exchange of love (as He is a Communion of Persons, the Trinity).  They know that He has no need to create.  And yet, here He is, making a beautiful universe.  My professor compared it to some sort of whimsical action on God's part, where God has everything He could possibly need, and yet He goes out and creates the most elegant and beautiful seaside carousel.  (Told you it was going to be whimsical.)  In this act, God is not creating something to make Himself happier or satisfy Himself.  He has no need to do that.  His creation of the universe transcends His wisdom and love by going beyond what we would expect or think to be enough.  

This is what Lucifer can't understand.  He looks at this "fanciful" work of God and he shakes his head and says: "That's stupid. Why would you ever do that?" Because he can't comprehend why God would stoop to this act of creation that He has no need for, Lucifer determines that he can't serve a God like that.  He can't serve a God Who is great beyond imagination or comprehension, but Who will also stoop so low as to make this universe and these puny human beings.  And He doesn't just make them, but He sustains them rather then leave them to their own devices! Lucifer can't understand it. So his response is, "I will not serve."  And others of the same mindset follow. 

On the other side of this, we find the angels.  Michael calls out: "Who is like unto God?" Because of Cavadini's analogy, I now come to a place where I see this as an expression of profound trust in God's transcendence. Michael and the rest of the angels who choose to serve God see the same thing that Lucifer and the fallen angels see; but rather than see that and think God is foolish, they trust that God's wisdom transcends wisdom and they choose to trust in God because there is no other like unto Him.  

St. Michael, defend us!

Like Melkor, Lucifer became proud.  He wanted a glory apart from God's because God was taking actions that Lucifer considered "beneath God."  And so, Lucifer, once the Light-Bearer, becomes Satan, the father of lies.  Satan and the demons are cast down from the heavens.  It's comparable to what the prophet Isaiah says of the king of Babylon in Isaiah 14: 12-15. 

“How you are fallen from heaven,

O Day Star, son of Dawn!

How you are cut down to the ground,

you who laid the nations low!

You said in your heart,

‘I will ascend to heaven;

above the stars of God

I will set my throne on high;

I will sit on the mount of assembly

in the far north;

I will ascend above the heights of the clouds,

I will make myself like the Most High.’

But you are brought down to Sheol,

to the depths of the Pit. 

And, like Melkor, Satan harbors anger in his heart. (Though of course, it is no secret from God.) But he can't touch God, so how does he "get back" at God? He harms the creation.  To return to Cavadini's analogy, he throws a wrench into the works of the carousel and laughs as it all falls apart.  This is the fall, following the original sin of man and woman.  But God is not shaken or befuddled by this.  Tolkien paints Iluvatar in The Silmarillion as smiling, then stern.  He is not beaten.  He has a plan. With all His foreknowledge, God knew what Satan would do, and He knows what He will do in response.

...and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Ilúvatar, and they were utterly at variance.

Tolkien is alluding to Catholic theology here.  Yes, Satan has thrown a wrench in the works.  But God's plan goes on.  Not only that, but no matter what evil Satan and the demons bring into the mix, they are never more powerful than God.  God can always bring a greater good out of the evils that arise.  That's not to say that "magically" evil becomes good; no, that is impossible. But God, in His infinite goodness and power, can bring something good out of the situation.  For instance, a disaster or tragedy, while it brings death and suffering, somehow brings people together to strengthen and help one another.

I think this is what Tolkien has in mind when he says of the two themes of music:

The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came.

 This is the divine theme of God's Providence. 

 The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice...

And this is the theme of the demons.

...but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern. 

God brings a greater good. 

The Light-Bearer's Blunder, then, was that he refused to be "taken in" by God's transcendence.  He thought it foolish, frivolous, needless.  He thought it shameful for God to stoop so low as to make something He didn't even need.  But he fails to understand the transcendent love of God.  He cannot comprehend it.  No creature fully can.  But he also fails to trust it.  The angels don't.  And so the light is separated from the dark. 

Now, I will put in a small disclaimer here.  I am a student of theology, not a theologian.  I have no degree in Theology of Angels. I have done my best to present the angels as the Catechism and the Church have declared them to be, but some of the points I made may be open for speculation.  What I'm trying to say is: if there is any misunderstanding on my part of the teachings of the Church, I did not intend to misrepresent these teachings and would be grateful for correction from someone who has a more thorough knowledge of the subject than I do.  

I have found this beautiful reflection eye-opening.  That is why I have tried to share it with you. I can only hope and pray that I have helped you to glimpse a little more of the depths of the beauty that is the Christian Faith.

Until we meet again, I remain,
the Itinerant Catechist

Dirty Hands

The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: "Arise and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. Then the word of the LORD came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter has done? says the LORD. Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel." 

~Jeremiah 18:1-6~ 

While my experience with a potter's wheel is almost non-existent, I have had many opportunities to work with clay in the art of ceramics.  This is thanks to my mother's artistic pursuits and knowledge, which she saw fit to hand on to all of her children. 

A bit of context for why I chose to write about this: We are in the midst of our orientation in Echo.  Things are going very well. In these last few days, though, I have noticed themes that keep returning for me personally.  It was the case, especially on the first day here, where it seemed like the Lord would place on my mind or my heart something that I needed to think about and pray about.  Soon after that moment of acknowledgment, something related to that inspiration would be brought up in the session/discussions.  I'm so thankful to God for this because it is helping me to realize these areas are areas that I need growth and that I want to grow in.  Some of these themes have been: vulnerability, gratitude, and formation/conversion requiring a desire to be changed.  

On our third day of orientation, we had an opportunity to dive into the passage from Jeremiah in a very tactile fashion.  We listened to the passage as we sat in a ceramic studio, and were encouraged to engage our senses as we explored the clay.  Now, clay is a familiar medium for me, so the experience was not exactly new.  But the reflections that were brought forward by many of my colleagues were very inspiring and provoked me to think about some conclusions we can draw from this passage but that I think we tend to overlook, whether that's because they make us uncomfortable or we just don't understand the potter's work and it's connection with God and His work.  

God tells Jeremiah that it is God who is like the potter.  The people of Israel (who represent us) are the clay.  And God helps Jeremiah to understand that just as the potter sometimes collapses his work and restarts/reforms the vessel, so God can do with us.  

What does that mean? 

Picture the potter at work.  Maybe you've seen a ceramicist work, maybe you haven't. It involves a lot of "hand work."  When the potter first takes the clay, he/she has to feel the clay to determine its pliancy.  Usually the clay is fairly pliable when it's taken from the larger brick/mound, but it does take some force to pull it away from the rest of the clay.  As the potter works with the clay, he employs various techniques to form the clay and make it more pliable/workable.  If the clay starts to become dry, stiff, or cracked, he adds water to help the clay bind to itself more.  If the clay is too wet, the potter has to work some of the moisture out again.  

Inevitably, the potter's hands get dirty.  If it's your first time working with clay, or if you just don't like things sticking to your hands, then this can feel strange and uncomfortable.  But for someone who does it every day it becomes a familiar sensation to them.  To really have fun with the clay and make progress in the act of making something, you have to become okay with the mess that gets all over your hands and work with that to create something beautiful.  

What struck me about this analogy is that the same that is true of the potter is true of our God.  God is a potter who is not afraid to get His hands dirty with us in order to transform us into something beautiful.  Think about that.  I think it has become normal for us to "hide our mess" in today's culture.  We don't want people to see our weaknesses or struggles because we're afraid that they'll be turned off by them and we'll be left alone.  We can project this image onto God.  God wants to work with our weaknesses and form us through our struggles; but sometimes we're so busy hiding it or pretending that it isn't there that we deny Him that privilege of transformation.  When there is this resistance in us, it becomes more difficult for us to be formed into the people we are meant to be.  Similarly, sometimes the only way to get your clay smooth and to have a good surface for working is to slap it against the table or roll it with a rolling pin.  I think this is also significant.  Sometimes in life, we find ourselves up against a wall with difficulties we never expected. But if we cling to the Lord in those moments and seek His will, we can find ourselves coming out of those struggles stronger and better people than we were before.  This isn't just a nice idea.  It's a part of our faith.  Now I'm not saying that "Everything happens for a reason" should be your instant reaction to any difficulties that come your way.  Sometimes it's just not possible for us to feel that way.  But there's a difference between adopting an attitude of nonchalance and living a life of faith.  Nonchalance says: "I guess there's some good that will come of this."  Faith believes: "This is a bad situation. And what's happening to me doesn't feel good, and I didn't do anything to cause this. But I know my God is powerful enough to bring a good out of this, and I believe that He will."  

We can easily see how this is amazing for us, that God is not afraid to work with us, in our good times and our bad times, to help us to become what He made us to be.  He is not afraid to get His hands dirty.  But it's easy to miss how significant this is for God as well.  How so? 

One of the ways the Catholic Church likes to describe God is "transcendent." This means that He surpasses all we know and understand to be beautiful, good, true, mighty, the list goes on. Another great mystery of the Catholic Faith (the central mystery, in fact) is that God is a Trinity, or a Communion of Persons.  Now, the Trinity, as a mystery, is something that we could talk about all day because it is so profound, or something that we could have trouble speaking about because it is so deep and so beyond our imagination.  But one of the best ways that I have ever heard of explaining the doctrine of the Trinity is in a children's catechism called St. Patrick's Summer by Marigold Hunt.  

In this catechism, or adventure catechism as Hunt has called it, two children and St. Patrick are having a discussion.  

Patrick says: “You and I are three persons too, aren’t we?  But we each have a human nature of our own: three persons with one human nature each, and you know that your nature is what you are. Now tell me, is what you are the same thing as who you are” (20)?  

An example is then presented that if you were to bump into another human in the dark you might say: “What was that?” And the answer would be: a human. But once you knew that, you would ask further: “Who is that?” They are not the same thing. 

“The mystery isn’t how three can be one or how one can be three at all: you can’t even get near the mystery until you understand that much. The mystery is how it can be that if you asked God, ‘What are You?’ the answer would be simply, ‘God,’ but if you asked, ‘Who are You?’ the answer would be threefold” (22). 

I bring this up because it's important for us to realize that God does not need to make us.  God is a Community of Persons, an Eternal Exchange of Love between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  God is Love. But His Love is also fulfilled in His being.  But then the mystery of why God creates us is even more beautiful.  He does not have any need to create us, but He does so because His love goes beyond fulfillment. It is transcendent.  God's creation of us could almost be seen as frivolous, even whimsical, because it wasn't necessary.  Like the Cross, it is foolishness to some, yet it is the power of God for us who believe.  It is so amazingly and transcendently beautiful!    

Following from this truth, how amazing is it that, even after man rebels against God through sin and falls from grace, God still loves us; still stoops down and saves us; still works with us in our mess and helps us rise out of it?  We know this because God has become man and has saved us.  He did not have to do this.  He could have started over.  But throughout salvation history, He continues to stoop down to His people and to sanctify them.  This is accomplished ultimately in Jesus Christ's life, death, and Resurrection.  "Oh happy fault, which gained for us so great a Redeemer!" (from The Easter Vigil Liturgy) 

I will, most likely, carry on this theme in further posts, since it is too great a mystery to speak about in just a few paragraphs (and the potter and clay analogy has already been long). Until we meet again, may the Lord bless you. 

Pax et bonum,

the Itinerant Catechist

In Which the Adventure Begins

Grace and peace to you in Christ Jesus!

This is the greeting that most (if not all) the writers of the Epistles use to introduce their writings. It is a combination of the greetings that the Jews and the Gentiles would use, which I think is cool for a few different reasons, but I'm going to save that for a later post.

Welcome to my blog! It is not my first, but it is the first catechetical blog that I am trying, so bear with me as I experiment.

You're probably wondering: What's a "catechetical" blog? (Or you're about to leave the page. But, if you will, please wait for me to explain before you decide to click the back button.)

"Catechetical" is the adjectival form of the word "catechetics." This is a term used by the Catholic Church to describe the task of handing on the Catholic Faith.  A person who carries out this work is called a catechist.

Over the last four years, I have studied at a small private Catholic university.  I had a double major in Theology and Catechetics, which basically means I was learning the "what" of the Deposit of Faith and also how to hand on the Deposit of Faith to others.  I recently graduated from said university and am now embarking on a new journey as I pursue my Masters in Theology through a specialized program.  So if you were to ask me, "What do you do?" to answer you plainly and simply I would respond, "I am a catechist."  What does that involve?  A lot of things that I would probably overwhelm you with if I tried to say it all in this first blog post.  But in a single sentence you could say that this involves helping other people to come to know Jesus and have a relationship with Him by helping them to know Him through His Revelation of Himself, which is the Deposit of Faith.

This blog will mostly be centered around what catechesis involves, the work of the catechist, and other points of theological/catechetical interest.  But it will also be a place where you can learn a little bit about what I'm doing.

This blog is titled "The Itinerant Catechist" because, for the next couple of years that is more or less what I will be.  Two days ago, I made the longest car drive I have ever done so far. And it was only 4 hours. Yes. I'm new to this.  But I made it! No problems.  For the next several weeks, I will be taking two different modules of theology courses as a part of the Echo Program through the University of Notre Dame.  After the summer, I will be on the road again for a short amount of down time in the hometown, and then I will be on the road again for a long trip south to work in a parish for the next two semesters of the academic year.  During that time I will also be doing some online coursework, living in a faith-based intentional community, and participating in a program of ongoing formation.  This will broadly be my life for the next couple of years.  There will be a lot of travel, a lot of work, a lot of study, a lot of prayer, and a lot of blessings and struggles to go around.  Of that I am sure.

But I am also certain of this:  My God is with me.  No matter where I go, no matter what changes around me, He continues to be the same.  He is always good, always loving, and always forgiving.  He is patient, He is kind, and He is extravagantly benevolent to me.  So even though I look ahead at the amount of work that lies before me, I am not afraid.  I am excited and I am at peace because I know that He has brought me here for a reason, and He is perfect in all of His ways.  I am not afraid because He is the same and He is with me.

"Itinerant" is also applicable, I believe, because it's not just that I am journeying in the sense that I am traversing the country, but I'm also on a spiritual journey.  That's what the life of Faith is.  St. Augustine says so beautifully:

To fall in love with God is the greatest romance,

to seek Him the greatest adventure,

to find Him the greatest human achievement.

This program and this opportunity is where God has called me to be.  It's part of that great adventure of seeking Him, and I am excited to discover what this part of my journey holds (as well as what I can bring to the journeys of others as we take this road together!).  

Until next time, I remain, 

The Itinerant Catechist

2 Timothy 4:5 

As for you, always be steady, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.