Clearing the Air

Ours is a sobering reality that we can expect to see and hear only bad news whenever we tune in to current events broadcasts. But it would be incredibly ignorant to deny that over the past few years — and particularly the last few months — the news has grown increasingly grim. Although I hesitate to introduce politicizing material, in the United States we are experiencing frightening levels of civil unrest stoked by concerns over terrorism, immigration policies, police brutality, racial tensions, gun violence, economic turmoil, and of course the tremendously polarizing — and I daresay pessimistic — 2016 presidential election. I will not trouble with citing specific instances, as they are too many to list. (If any of this sounds unfamiliar to you, would you kindly give me directions to the mammoth rock under which you have been living?) This volatile combination of confusion, misunderstanding, disagreement, anger, and vengeance has coalesced into a brand of hatred that is forced to find expression in displays of escalating intensity and greater tragedy, a hatred that has poisoned the proverbial air we breathe.

American WWI soldiers donning gas masks

I recently read an (old) report in Chemical & Engineering News marking the 100-year anniversary of the first successful deployment of poison gas as a weapon of mass destruction. While by far not the first act of chemical warfare in history, the April 22, 1915 release of chlorine gas on woefully unprepared Allied troops entrenched near Ypres, Belgium claimed in excess of 8100 casualties — of which over 1100 were fatalities — and set a lethal precedent for armies and regimes to follow. In addition to tear gases, phosgene, and diphosgene, the debilitating blistering agent known as mustard gas was uniquely dangerous in that it had a delayed effect, which meant that soldiers could unknowingly contaminate their camps upon return from the battlefield. Chemical agents were responsible for relatively few WWI fatalities — less than 1% — but they produced grisly images of human (and ecological) suffering. These poison gases made inhospitable the spaces they occupied, not unlike the animosity which plagues our present social climate...

Perhaps the archetypal symbols of this chemical warfare are the gas masks worn by infantryman (and their animal counterparts), like those shown above. It is a fear-invoking image, a horrifying deformation of the human countenance (one that, disappointingly, seems to have been romanticized in the steampunk culture). And rightly so, as it is a reminder of the terrible things that armies introduced to humanity to yield devastating results. Moreover, the masks were quite uncomfortable. But they served as necessary protection, protection that enabled soldiers to overcome the hazards of this new shade of warfare. Is it surprising, then, that people would require protection against the evil and hatred which permeates our present lives?

A typical medieval plague doctor costume

I remember thinking a while back how strikingly similar (and visually unsettling) the gas masks worn by WWI infantryman were to the masks worn by plague doctors during the Middle Ages. In that time, the miasma theory of disease was predicated on the belief that illness was propagated by the movement of miasma or "bad (or night) air" generated by the decay of organic matter. To prevent the transmission of disease, doctors placed scented substances [including ambergris lemon balm, mint leaves, camphor, cloves, laudanum, myrrh(!), rose petals, and storax] and straw as a filter in the cone nose. Consequently, these doctors sought to keep out the "bad air" by filtering it and replacing it with other scents. Consider further how modern doctors and other medical professionals — who have come to adopt the germ theory of disease — use appropriate facial protection when treating patients. Or how firefighters wear oxygen masks to brave the cocktail of harmful substances they encounter at structure fires. Although the everyman is less likely to encounter these physical hazards, I very much believe that the aura of hatred which contaminates our goodwill as human beings is actively choking us out. So what is our protection?

The answer seems obvious to me: the Word of God. Now, I do not mean that holding a sacred book to one's mouth and nose will shield a person from some kind of "miasma." Instead, it is in the living out of the Word, through acts of love and mercy, that we guard our hearts against the "wickedness and snares of the Devil" (from the Prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel) and in so doing can work to dispel that air of evil. In taking in the "breath of life" (see Genesis 2:7), a life force free of the corruption of human sinfulness, we are strengthened by God's grace to triumph over the toxic and soul-killing enmity that threatens to suffocate us all.

It should be said, this "mask of protection" is not an easy one to wear. To have the courage to stand against the rising tide sets one apart and can be off-putting (read: frightening) for those who have decided to follow the current. Consequently, this Christian bravery can be burdensome, and there are no doubt times that we will desire to wrench it off and embrace the alluring ease of evil. In my opinion, this is one of the great paradoxes of our faith: That we are promised an "easy yoke" (Matthew 11:30) but must be willing to "take up [our] cross" (Matthew 16:24). Yet, infinitely more unbearable is the burden of hate that will bury us in the end.

I proffer these two musical pieces for reflection, one more serene and the other (from my favorite Christian band) more impassioned:

From both, we see that it is only the sweetness of God's love that can fill our spirit with true goodness. If we ignore that love, we fall. But if we immerse ourselves in it, we become the greatest possible versions of ourselves. It is then our Christian duty, as vessels of God's love, to go forth and "breathe" new life into a diseased world. And in the fullness of time, with fervent hope, we will be able to remove our masks and breathe forever freely.

The Penitent's New Clothes

As we near the end of the Lenten season, we look forward to the celebration of Easter and the resurrection of Jesus. It is an occasion for joy! But until that time, it is important we remember to reflect upon our failings to live as Christ calls us to live and to seek forgiveness for our transgressions through acts of sacrifice and penance. On Sunday, we recounted Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem, how He was welcomed with the waving of palm branches and the proclamation of praises: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest” (Luke 19:38). And yet, this is the same crowd that will condemn Him in four days' time, sentencing Him to death in a most brutal fashion (cf. Luke 23:18-25).

Any self-respecting Christian will say that (s)he loves Jesus. The question is, how often do we betray that love for Jesus? The simple answer: Whenever we sin. Whenever we decide to disobey God's commandments in efforts to satisfy our own selfish ends — either by doing something we know to be wrong (sin of commission) or deliberately failing to do something we ought to (sin of omission) — we become like the duplicitous crowd. I have no doubt that any person other than Jesus would find such treachery virtually inconceivable to forgive. Thank God (quite literally) that the love and mercy of Christ are inexhaustible. But we can only receive that forgiveness if we are truly repentant; that is to say, we must strive with every fiber of our being to cast off the evils which plague us. The trouble is, sin (by its very nature) can be very tempting.

I have found a compelling metaphor for the destructive, parasitic power of sin in Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 3 (2007). (CAUTION: I will do my best to avoid spoiling the movie, but there are some significant elements that I will need to reference.) Now, by many accounts, the third film in Raimi's trilogy fell short of the expectations set by its predecessors. However, it contains some profound moral truths on the consequences of indulging in powers we cannot honestly hope to control. Take, for instance, the scene where Peter Parker falls under the influence of the alien symbiote...

Much like the symbiote slinking along the floor towards an unsuspecting Peter, sin creeps into our lives in the form of temptation, concealing the evil it comprises. The devil often tries to seduce us when we are in a weakened state — tired, frustrated, sad — just as the symbiote is drawn to Peter, who is clearly restless and agitated in the above scene. These are the times ripest for temptation, and the evil one makes certain to exploit our vulnerabilities. If we do not continuously guard against the allure of sin, then we are certain to fall.

When sin does take hold, it darkens our soul. While this darkening is not as visual as the transformation of the Spider-Man costume, it possesses a very real power over our physical and spiritual being. At its worst, sin can make us feel empowered, perhaps liberated from the limitations set by our conscience and sound moral reasoning. By embracing sin, we may feel like we are in control of it, master of its power, not unlike Peter. A particularly subtle example is a grudge: One might believe he is in control, but the fact of the matter is that those angry feelings will eventually become a greater and greater detriment to his inner peace. (Guilty. I blame my Italian/Irish/German roots.) And then the hammer comes down...

There is some superb symbolism here. To start with, the scene takes place in a church [a Catholic church, no less (inferred by the presence of the corpus on the crucifix)], God's dwelling place and a house of healing, where we come to seek forgiveness and reconcile ourselves with the Father. Peter has come to realize how he has become corrupted and enslaved by his newfound "power," and he now fights with all his might to extricate himself from the clutches of this evil controller. The symbiote is nothing short of resistant to this attempt; it takes the tolling of the bell — an audible representation for the glory of God — to weaken the creature enough for Peter to rend it off. Indeed, it takes deep strength and humility to recognize the negative impact of sin, to confess wrongdoing, and to struggle to remove and banish sinful tendencies from our lives. And yes, that struggle can be quite painful, leaving us feeling exhausted and perhaps beaten. But with the grace of God we can learn to combat temptation and become our fullest selves.

[I would also like to remark on Eddie Brock's fate. His is a reminder that we need to be mindful of how we pray. Without giving too much away, Eddie had legitimate grounds for being upset with Peter. He made a good first step by walking into a church and seeking God. Where he went wrong is that he prayed for Peter's (presumably agonizing) death. Jesus teaches us that we must love and pray for our enemies, as difficult as that is. (Consider Christ's prayer on Calvary in Luke 23:34.) When we instead wish ill upon them, even if the original offense was theirs, then we become like monsters, our humanity polluted by sin.]

Stripped of the "garments of evil," what are we to wear instead? The prophet Isaiah speaks of "garments of salvation" and "a robe of justice" (Isaiah 61:10). St. Paul instructs us to "put on the new self," renewed in the virtues of "heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience," forgiveness, peacefulness, thankfulness, wisdom, and above all love, "the bond of perfection" (cf. Colossians 3:10-16). This is alone made attainable by Jesus' sacrifice at Golgotha, the culmination of His Passion, which we memorialize and reenact in our celebration of the Easter Triduum. In an act of love impossible to fathom, Christ gave His life to destroy the eternal death warranted by our transgressions. By the shedding of His blood, our souls are cleansed. The obvious reference I can make is to the Elect in Revelation 7:9-17, who "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." And while a white garment is a classic illustration of purity and freedom from sin, I would like to propose another article of "clothing" befitting the "new self..."

 

In his letter to the Ephesians (6:10-17), St. Paul urges his audience to defend itself not against "flesh and blood" but against "the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens." To this end, he enjoins the people to don the "armor of God" in order to "stand firm against the tactics of the devil." In beautiful metaphorical language, St. Paul tells the people to equip themselves "with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace. In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all [the] flaming arrows of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." The soldier in me finds this illustration quite captivating, and I deem it remarkably appropriate as a representation of the revitalized sense of mission we ought to feel upon reconciling ourselves to the Father. We are made strong in God's love, and no matter how many chinks we make in the armor or their size we can always return to Him to ask him to mend our broken selves. We are called to be warriors for Christ, and so Jesus, with a "refiner's fire" (cf. Malachi 3:2-3), is always willing to smith and repair our armor if we approach Him with contrite hearts and a loving spirit.

Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen once remarked, "Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there can be no Easter Sunday." If we are unwilling to accept our failings and die to ourselves, we cannot experience the joy of the Resurrection. But as the prophet Joel says, "Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relenting in punishment" (Joel 2:13). For the Lord will bestow on us a "new self," a self purified of sin and provisioned with the grace to "resist on the evil day and, having done everything, to hold your ground" (Ephesians 6:13). May God bless you upon the conclusion of this Lenten season, and may you have a glorious and Happy Easter!

How We Survive

It is said that the voice of God can be found in many places. In the sweet chatter of birds, the laughter shared between friends, the silence of a dark room... The Lord speaks to us in countless and often unexpected ways. But I was especially surprised to hear Him speaking in a most unlikely place: through the lyrics of a high-octane, metalcore song.

Friends of mine might know that hard rock and metal are among my favorite genres of music — a preference that may seem to conflict with a Christian lifestyle, but skeptics might find an amusing example in the work of Fratello Metallo — so I am always delighted whenever I discover a musical piece with a powerful sound and a message which, intentionally or not, speaks to the God-seeking heart. Such was the case when I heard Wage War's "Twenty One." An intense piece which reflects on the trials and tribulations of growing up, I was nearly floored by a few key lines that made a subliminal reference to the trust we are told to place in God's loving mercy. (Even so, I do not expect it to be endorsed by the Holy See any time soon.) I would like to explore with you through a Christian lens that hidden, if not entirely deliberate, message in the style of a Genius post.

For those who would like to hear the song, I have inserted the official music video below. WARNING: As a metalcore piece it is loud and has a heavy sound; those readers with finer sensibilities may wish to skip ahead. I have reproduced the lyrics (with friendly edits) from the YouTube page below the clip.

They say that there's no hope
Don't think, do what you're told... No
 
An obvious declaration of defiance, these lines sound as though they are coming directly from the mouth of an angst-ridden teenager who has had his fill with being told to conform to a certain set of expectations. In our spiritual lives, how often have we (erroneously) felt that the tenets of Christian living have pigeonholed us into a rigid kind of existence? Sought to defy those principles in order to pursue what we believed was actually best for ourselves? There is a word for that: sin. We are all guilty of it.

There is a second way we can interpret these lyrics. The devil, working through the manifestation of evil in the world, tries very hard to convince us that there is no hope for deliverance. In this way, he hopes to close our minds to the workings of evil and lure us into the state of complacency which holds many of our brothers and sisters captive. Do we have the courage to then challenge the devil and turn back to God?

We've lost our way
Abandoned foundations on which we were made
We're all dying of the same disease
I looked for the answer and the problem was me 

Any honest Christian will admit to the fact that he/she has been led astray by temptation and sin, forsaking the holiness to which the Lord has called him/her. We are modeled in the image and likeness of God, and yet by our own free will we choose to renounce this rock of salvation (cf. Psalm 62) to seek a different path, only to find ourselves traveling in endless, self-destructive circles. Our waywardness is the unfortunate consequence of original sin — the "same disease" — and it has indeed cost us our bodily immortality. Mercifully, by the grace of God we are able to seek reconciliation for our transgressions. But until we do so we need to be wary of one of the devil's favorite lies: that we cannot be forgiven. In the performance of the song, the sense of desperation and finality of a sinful state is quite evident in the delivery of this stanza, especially in the first line. 

[Bridge]
All along we've been searching for a place to call our home
You and I will never learn if we try to do this on our own

In all our longings in this life there is one common denominator: the desire to find somewhere — or someone — who will take us in and give us the safety and security that we so earnestly crave. It is a basic human need to feel loved and in the fullest possible way; that is, in the way that only the Almighty can provide. We devote so much of our energies towards finding this sense of belonging, even in unholy pursuits. As the Catholic novelist Bruce Marshall once wrote (the quote is often incorrectly attributed to G. K. Chesterton), "The young man who rings the bell at the brothel is unconsciously looking for God."

The second line of the bridge is pretty straightforward. Try as we might, we can never hope to understand our longings unless we are humble enough to admit our ignorance and seek help from God through the inspired wisdom and experiences of His people. Says a Danish proverb, "He who is afraid of asking is ashamed of learning."

[Chorus]
Underneath it all we are all the same (All the same)
Never knowing where to go, lost in our way
Can we ever escape? Can we decide our fate?

Echoing the earlier sentiment that we are all alike in our brokenness, the chorus explicitly raises the question of whether or not we can put an end to our cyclic waywardness and come to travel the righteous path. Our earthly journey is riddled with doubt, so escape from our sinfulness can seem unattainable. A certain fallen angel would undoubtedly celebrate a surrender to doubt. But the vigilant Christian knows that surrender to a higher authority is what enables him/her to overcome these uncertainties and free him/herself from the bonds of sin.

Let go...
I'm more than familiar with feeling like I've failed to meet everyone's expectations
When every definition of success becomes different, it's hard to really feel like you're making a difference

This portion appears to mark the beginning of a shift in the speaker's thinking. He seems to recognize an emptiness in the world's demands, demands that can be so dissimilar that it becomes impossible to satisfy anyone. Consequently we cannot find a sense of fulfillment. In such a scenario, all we are left with is a feeling of loss and failure. This is not the life God intends for us.

They say that there's no hope
Don't think, do what you're told
Dare to be different, to break the mold
Live your life with intention, go forth and be bold

With a feral yell that announces the speaker's realization of the madness that plays out in this world, the song's opening lines are reproached and completely turned on their head. As Christians we are set apart as "a chosen race" (cf. 1 Peter 2:9) to stand out. This becomes a very daunting task in a society that demands complacency towards the state of affairs. It is all the more daunting when that same society celebrates diversity but selectively discriminates against particular groups and philosophies. Nonetheless, we are told to "be strong and steadfast," to "not fear nor be dismayed," because the Lord has promised to walk with us throughout the journey (cf. Joshua 1:9). It takes great courage to be different for God, but that is the calling bestowed on us in our baptismal vows.

[Bridge]

Why do we try to overcomplicate the things that used to be so simple? 
So step back, you'll be able to see that your purpose in life is not just to be

The outrage in these lyrics — and not to mention their sick (in the positive sense of the word) rhythmic delivery — are unmistakable. Much in life is complex, but in hearing this first line I am inclined to think of how we as people have an unfortunate tendency to complicate relationships in every form: relatives, friends, partners, etc. We frequently set unfairly high expectations for people, especially for those to whom we feel close (or want to be close). This can lead to broken relationships, and then we brood over them as they continue to deteriorate without our efforts to mend them. As these relationships languish their complexity only compounds with our desire to fix them running counter to the instinct to preserve our pride. And we wind up being angry and confused.

Because Christ instructed us to live with a simple, childlike faith (cf. Matthew 18:2-4) we ought to embrace opportunities for simplicity. The love of God is perfect; therefore, elegant; therefore, simple. This is the kind of love that we should feel for one another, not one that manufactures unreasonable expectations. Relationships need to grow and evolve naturally, a difficult truth to accept when we as human beings want things to transpire in a particular way on our timescale. Even so, to secure our relationship to the Father He asks for only one simple thing from us: everything. Our understanding of and participation in that love develops with time and patience, but the conditions for starting along that road could not be more clearly defined.

Are we as children of God called to live a passive existence? Far from it. Jesus tells us that he "came so that [we] might have life and have it more abundantly" (John 10:10). Moreover, we are entrusted with spreading the Good News, "glorying the Lord by your life" (that should sound familiar to all you churchgoers). It is impossible to comprehend the gravity of this summons and not feel compelled to act upon it. In baptism we share in Christ's inheritance to the Kingdom of Heaven, but it requires some work on our part. Says St. Francis of Assisi, "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." This is how we participate in God's love.

[Chorus x 2]

I've come to grips with the fact that I'll never be able to change my own past
But I've found strength in divine perspective
It took me twenty one years to realize: Hope, Love, and Faith are how we survive
Grace sustains me, pain has ending... There's still hope

These are the lines that grabbed my attention. While we are alone powerless to make recompense for our past trespasses, God has blessed us with the tools to move beyond our transgressions. Of course, it takes time for us to grow and reach spiritual maturity (hence, "twenty one years"), but as we approach this stage — though I would argue we never quite achieve it until we see the Father face-to-face — we come to realize that "faith, hope, [and] love remain" (1 Corinthians 13:13) and are undeniably the means by which we persevere in our earthly lives. As the visceral performance of these last lines of lyrics suggests there will be suffering in the meanwhile, but we cling to the hope that Christ will be there waiting for us with open arms when the pain is finally at an end.

But just in case you would like some more tangible (and maybe less scary) Christian survival tips, here's an idea from Pinterest:

 

May this rather unorthodox example of seeking God be a reminder that He meets us whenever, wherever, and whoever we are, and is our "strength and [our] shield" (Psalm 28:7) throughout this pilgrimage of life.