Made of Glass

Stained glass windows have been a trademark feature in many Christian churches the world over for centuries. I've long admired the use of these windows to not only permit colorful light to enter the spaces they adorn but to also edify observers through their visual representation of the rich history of the Christian faith and their renderings of glimpses into the life to come. It's amazing how such a delicate medium can convey such a profound subject. Take, for instance, the gorgeous windows of the Sainte-Chapelle ("Holy Chapel") in Paris, France (more pictures can be found here)...

Sainte-Chapelle, Paris, France

Human beings, I find, are very much like stained glass. For starters, we're all fragile. We crack - sometimes we shatter - when we experience difficulty, anxiety, loss. The weight of our burdens can overbear us. People rarely like to admit to it but we all have our breaking points, though naturally individuals have differing tolerances for life's stressors. (The materials scientist in me can't help but draw analogies to properties of substances used in assessing mechanical failure.) Moreover, the shards of ourselves can harm others when our fragmented souls exhibit too many sharp edges. How blessed we are to have a God Who can take our fragments and create something magnificent...

Stained glass allows light to pass through its painted panes. In a metaphysical sense, the same is true of people when they are open to God's radiant love. We each have our stories. Our hopes, dreams, desires, fears, emotions - these all are shaped by our experiences and reside within our hearts. In our everyday affairs we typically regulate our self-expression, usually as dictated by the conventions of our circumstances. But when the Spirit of life and light impinges upon us and permeates our being, the kaleidoscope of colors that give form to our souls shines forth and reveals our innermost, fullest identities. We sometimes say a strikingly perceptive individual can "see right through us." Imagine, if you can, how deeply discerning is the Eye that sees straight to our very cores.

Most artistically, the Father, through the workings of His mercy, is able to collect the colored shards we offer Him and arrange them in a divine mosaic. But He does more than simply reconstruct our broken selves. Better yet, He mingles our fragments with those of our neighbors. Every interaction - every shared experience - brings us in closer communion with one another and to a better awareness of ourselves as we exchange our joys and sorrows. After all, is it not true that mosaics crafted by mortal hands are the products of many different pieces? In effect, the Father intertwines our lives in a flawless - if poorly understood - pattern that only a true master of an artist can achieve.

The essence of this beautiful fragility is aptly captured in Red's "Pieces." (Have I mentioned I've drawn a lot of inspiration from their art? Never fear, I will make use of other musicians' work.)

 

I'll leave you with this: When we are honest about our weaknesses and submit to the love of God, He brings forth perfection from our imperfections (2 Cor 12:9-10). He alone can take our "scattered pieces" and "make [us] whole."

Lifeguard on Duty

As summer comes to an (unofficial) close, I know I'm not the only one wondering where the time has gone. Rightly so, people are bewailing the end of warm, sunny days... and I'll bet many of you just imagined yourselves on a breathtaking beach, gazing out past the sandy shore where the waves crash with a rhythmic rumble to the distant horizon that joins the sparkling sea with the endless sky. I could expound on the beauty of this locale and how it is a fine example of the way God reveals Himself through His Creation - in fact, I hope to return to this "God in nature" idea later - but for now I want to focus on a feature of this summer scene, a human feature, that is sometimes overlooked but plays a vital role in ensuring that the water doesn't become a cause of tragedy.

By way of introduction, here's a little dark humor:

 

Source

Some of my readers may know that I worked for a number of years as a lifeguard during the summer season. Fortunately, I never had the trouble of only being able to walk on water. (More fortunately, I have been involved in relatively few dramatic rescues.) Lifeguards sometimes get a bad rap as overly suntanned, brawny whistleblowers (pun intended) whose sole purpose is to deprive beachgoers and facility patrons of any kind of fun. ("No running! No diving! No swimming!") While it's true that much of our time is spent enforcing rules meant to keep people safe, our greatest challenges manifest in the form of aquatic emergencies.

I have been responsible for saving the lives of dozens of people. Kids, teens, adults, strong and weak swimmers alike. After the realization of their impending drowning, within a few shades of emotion the victims' responses are all the same. The victims start to flail futilely, beating at the water. They gasp for air, unable to call out and dreading that the next breath might be their last. Sometimes they look over to the lifeguard chair, the terror in their eyes begging for help. And the most horrifying part of all is that, but for the sound of splashing, their demise transpires in deafening silence. For even a seasoned lifeguard these frightening incidents can get him thinking, "Please, God, let me reach him in time."

In the waters of life, even the strongest swimmers can get swept away by the current. Responsibilities, circumstances, fears, temptations, and the weight of our sins all threaten to pull us under. When the sufferings of this world overwhelm us we can feel like we no longer are capable of keeping afloat, catching our breath, being saved. In essence, we feel like we're drowning. Thank God Jesus is our lifeguard.

Recalling the story of The Walking on the Water, St. Peter was petrified by the rising wind and in his distress abandoned his faith in Jesus and began to sink into the sea upon which he had gingerly trod. Is it not true that we continually profess our devotion to Christ only to be shaken in our conviction at the first sign of tribulation? Still, even in our human frailty, God loves us so much that He comes to our rescue as soon as we ask. So much that He promises to do so over, and over, and over again. Because very simply, we will find ourselves in new riptides as our lives progress.

With the help of God's grace we can become stronger swimmers and brave fiercer waters, but we can always rely on His unfailing strength to buoy us when the waves get rough. Ours does not need to be an audible cry; rather, it is nothing more than the soundless yearnings of the heart that He needs to hear. Jesus is Lord and Savior, and He will lift every desiring soul from the darkest depths into the light of new life.

Defeating the Dragons

Disclaimer: This entry is lengthy and heavily academic. I don't intend to persist in this style, but I think it's very important in establishing my motivational basis for the blog. More anecdotal entries are to come!

A few months ago, I attended a series of adult faith formation lectures given by a seminarian visiting my parish for the late spring/early summer. (Prior to entering the seminary he was a graduate physics student from Germany; his example is a refreshing reminder of how science and faith complement, not contradict, each other.) His first talk was titled, "On the Benefit of Dragons." Now, most people in the Western world see dragons as fierce monsters and associate them with danger, evil. I imagine I wasn't the only person in attendance curious about how something sinister could serve a beneficial purpose. I probably was also not alone in wondering why a physicist turned Catholic seminarian was going to be talking about green, scaly creatures that sometimes fly and breathe fire and are usually either guarding a massive hoard of treasure or holding a beautiful damsel captive.

It turned out, for the most part, that the talk was not about mythological lizards. Instead, he introduced me to the discipline of theodicy (of which I can only scratch the surface here). As it applies to Catholicism, it is an attempt to reconcile the four basic principles of the Church's dogma:

1. God is omnipotent.
2. God is omnipresent.
3. God is omnibenevolent [all-good].
4. Evil exists.

Most Cradle Catholics and even converts to the faith are indoctrinated with the notion of an all-powerful, ever-present, all-loving God. But no one of sound mind can rightly deny the evidence that evil nonetheless manifests itself in our midst. As the argument goes: If God is omnipresent and omnibenevolent, then He must not be omnipotent. Or, if God is omnipotent and omnibenevolent, He must not be omnipresent. Or, most painfully, if God is omnipotent and omnipresent, He must not be omnibenevolent.

As Seminarian Daniel outlined, there are three kinds of evil: moral (the type with which most people are familiar), physical (or natural), and metaphysical (the most abstract type). Just to give a small number of examples:

Moral: Theft, murder, adultery, profanity
Physical: Natural disasters, poverty, loneliness, illness, death
Metaphysical: Being finite in quantity by virtue of its physical nature; that is, it lacks the complete goodness that belongs to the immaterial God alone. To use Daniel's analogy, "There could always be more cake, but there could never be an infinite amount of it."

In a metaphorical sense, these evils are the "dragons" that confront us in our lives. Some are more easily surmounted than others (moral > physical > metaphysical) through introspection and corrective action but they are all inherent to our human existence. But this sheds no light on why an all-powerful, ever-present, all-loving God would permit such pain and suffering.

The key concept to understand is that in order for us to experience the greatest good we must also have the potential to experience the greatest evil. In the biblical story of the creation of Adam and Eve, God gave them free will to choose to act in accordance with His will or not. This is a true act of love. While the Father could undoubtedly have created a world whose creatures were unwaveringly inclined to His will, this world of automatons would be incapable of experiencing the fullness of love that only free choice can give. Put another way, there could be no joy in receiving and returning the Father's affection if His creation had no choice in responding to it. This means that if mankind chooses to ignore or deny God's love it must also be ready to accept the consequences of that choice. In short, as paradoxical as it may sound, it is because God loves us that He allows the potentiality (not inevitability) for evil in this world... so that we might experience the greatest good.

Moreover, does having evil in the world present us with the opportunity to show God's love to those who are suffering? How often do we see someone in pain and wish we could help him or her? Do we not give food to the hungry? Medicine to the sick? Encouragement to the doubtful? Comfort to the grieving? (I hope this list sounds familiar.) Does the suffering of others offer us the grace-filled capability to become like Christ?

Consider the legend of Saint George and the Dragon:

Saint George and the Dragon by Gustave Moreau, 1889/1890

In the story, Saint George rescues the daughter of a Libyan king who is to be sacrificed as an appeasement to a plague-bearing dragon that had ravaged the countryside. Reinforcing himself with the Sign of the Cross, the knight charges the beast on horseback and seriously wounds it with his lance. He brings the creature to the city of Silene, where he slays the dragon in exchange for the people's conversion to Christianity.

What can we draw from this tale? The presence of evil, while lamentable in its own respect, presents us with the choice to submit to its influence or to be bearers of goodness and overpower its tenacious grasp. By helping others bear their burdens we affirm the love of God through our imitation of Christ. The evils that surround us may intimidate and sometimes paralyze us, but we can take solace in God's promise that He will deliver us unto redemption, so long as we are ready to reflect the love He has given us. This is "the benefit of dragons."

In developing this blog, Seminarian Daniel's presentation came to be a great motivation and inspiration. Through the exploration of everyday experiences I hope to expose the "dragons" that plague our existence and reframe those encounters as opportunities to draw closer to the one Lord who truly loves us. Indeed, we may find that theodicy is "the odyssey" to God...