Encountering the Numinous (continued)

In a recent post, I mentioned the three things that all of the major religions have in common from the Introduction to The Problem of Pain, a classic C.S. Lewis work.  They are: [1] an awareness of the numinous (or supernatural) elements existent in the universe, [2] an understanding that the moral law is written on the human heart (i.e., not learned), [3] an eventual awakening that [1] and [2] are necessarily related to each other which is another way of saying that all of the major religions deduce that God put morality in us when he made us. 

Christianity has a fourth thing which is an historical event:  the coming of a Jewish messiah, born of a virgin, and who claimed to be the son of God and also one "in being" with God.  He made a most extraordinary claim, a claim that he came to redeem us, that is, to take our sins away.  No one had ever said that before.  It is extraordinary in the sense of its universality.  What I mean by that is this:  I can forgive you if you sin against me and in some small measure redeem you, but Christ claimed that he could forgive the sins that I commit against you, that you commit against me and all other sins that are being commited and that ever will be committed to the end of the world.  The redemption in the case of Christ's forgiveness restores our friendship with God, opens the gates of heaven, and changes the world for ever.  But he had to pay a price for this universal redemption.  He not only claimed that he had to suffer brutally, and die on a cross for us, an act of unequalled love, but he did it. 

So Lewis makes the point that a person who would make such fantastic claims:  "I am God," "I forgive the sins of all," "I must die to accomplish that forgiveness," and then who in fact does die, must be either who he says he is, the God of the universe, or a raving lunatic.  Lewis posits that there can be no middle way.  He was not just a great teacher, prophet or king.  God or a madman.  Pick one.  

Don't Be Afraid

Archbishop Chaput recently wrote an article in First Things about what a gift Down Syndrome children are to their families and communities (see article). The article is extremely well done. What resonated most for me though was what he said in the last paragraph: "[D]on’t be afraid. Fear is beneath your dignity as sons and daughters of the God of life." Today's Mass readings reminded me of this quote.

The Gospel reading today (http://www.usccb.org/nab/readings/110809.shtml) is the story of the poor widow who put a few coins worth a few cents into the treasury in contrast to the rich people who deposited large sums. Jesus teaches: "This poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood." I like what this story says about stewardship, but even more about what it says about faith. Single women in Jesus' time lived precarious, even dangerous lives, so being a widow, and a poor one at that, would be cause for much fear in her life. But not so for her. We moderns naturally equate money with security and security can mitigate fear right? But we are told that "she gave out of her poverty" all that she had -- seemingly all of her security. The beauty of the story is that she placed her trust in God entirely having faith that God would provide for her. The story does not tell us what happened to her later. How did she manage? How did she eat?

However, we know what happened to her. We find out, not by going forward in time, but by going back to the Old Testament Book of Kings and today's first reading. In that story, a poor widow has just enough flour and oil to make a final meal for her and her son to eat and she tells Elijah that after they eat it, they will die. Elijah tells her not to fear, but to take what she has and make a Elijah a little cake to eat. In faith she does as she is told and we see that her faith saved her and her son: "She left and did as Elijah had said. She was able to eat for a year. . .the jar of flour did not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry." The widow was literally at the point of death by starvation, but instead of eating (who would not ignore Elijah and eat?!), she gave all that she had. Faith in Christ conquers our fear, for fear is beneath our dignity as sons and daughters of the God of life.

So, I am sitting there in Mass this morning, reflecting on the scripture readings and convicting myself for not having anything close to the faith of the widow women and I pray that God will give me the grace to trust, to have more faith and not to fear. When I do this, I feel something come over me and I believe it must be the Holy Spirit and so I am thankful and joy-filled.

Periodically on Saturdays I meet with this small group of men and we share our "most aware of Christ's presence" moment from the last week. It's only Sunday, but I have mine.