Saturday, October 31, 2015

5. Moral discourse


Everyday English transmits a moral discourse which enables individuals to transform the longing for a more fully human and uniquely personal existence into a realizable quest.  In a supplementary way, this discourse encodes a critical apparatus capable of exposing the will to power hidden in rhetorics which pretend to define what it is to be fully human or to exist as a unique individual.

In this context, a moral discourse which delineates human existence as a quest is centered in the narrative structure of the Exodus-theme used by Jewish storytellers to process Israel’s historical experience.  As a result, it echoes the Yahwist’s vision of unique individuals endowed with unfathomable depths and a mysterious freedom.  In marked contrast, ethical theories designed to generate definitive moral judgments assume that a rigorous use of a literary construct, the conception of reason, will yield deterministic analyses of human motivations and intentions and of the consequences of human actions.  To validate that pretence, they must assume that this abstract conception provides a detached, disinterested, dispassionate, god-like perspective which individuals can occupy interchangeably.

My analysis of moral discourse is grounded in my conviction that the detachment inherent in literacy ruptured an illusory sense of immediate presence, fullness and totality fostered by orality.  To appreciate the revolutionary result of this rupture, we do well to begin with the awareness that words in orally transmitted cultures were transitory events whose meaning depended on consensual validation and that, since memory was the only repository of the past, languages lacked the means to distinguish between past and present.  As literacy gradually displaced orality as the foundation of culture in ancient Greece and ancient Israel, however, languages consigned to texts took on lives of their own, and dialogue was increasingly textured by a discourse which encoded increasingly complex moral issues in words laden with meanings through their use by authors to formulate distinctive visions or promote distinctive purposes.

As texts displaced memory as the repository of the past, distinctions between past and present states of affairs become obvious.  And as the power of language increased, authors enamored with the workings of literary languages gradually realized that human agency could produce future states of affairs different from past or present.  Inevitably, the contention among adherents of contending visions fostered the emergence of tangled moral issues, and languages which had taken on lives of their own replaced consensual validation with moral discourses which textured questions raised by the awareness that some actions were conducive to the quest for a fully human existence, while others were dehumanizing.  In effect, these moral discourses encoded questions concerning the promises and perils inherent in changing conditions of life.


The Tests Which Transform Metaphors into Forms of Life

In the western literary tradition, authors in ancient Greece and ancient Israel wove words laden with meanings into metaphors with testable implications.  Over the course of centuries, metaphors which generated languages capable of transforming longings and aspirations into realizable purposes took on lives as distinctive forms of life.  Since these forms of life are preserved in everyday English, they evoke a sense that the use of this language to process everyday experiences plunges language-users into journeys into the unknown as naked pronouns in search of metaphors capable of transforming their uniquely personal longings, desires, dreams, hunches and aspirations into realizable purposes.

From this perspective, it is obvious that the reach of metaphors initially exceeds their grasp, that we need many forms of life designed to realize a distinctive purpose to promote the quest for a fully human existence, and that there is no reason to suppose that all possible purposes have been formulated.  As a result, the moral discourse encoded in everyday English transmits textured distinctions among the purposes at the core of the natural, personal, social, political, economic, aesthetic, historical and religious dimensions of life.     

In sum, honest searchers do well to embrace a code for re-reading the philosophical  and theological strands in the western literary tradition which recognizes the revolutionary import of Ong’s analysis of the gradual triumph of literacy over orality as the foundation of western culture and Wittgenstein’s analysis of the workings of everyday languages.

First and foremost, a re-reading the interplay between the philosophical and the biblical tradition governed by this code shows (1) that the misplaced debate between Catholic and Protestant theologians has more to do with Aquinas’s wedding of philosophy and theology than with an unbiased return to the biblical tradition, (2) that forms of life transmitted by everyday English are derived from two over-arching metaphors, a metaphor of power and judgment (exploited by the philosophical strand in the western literary tradition) and a metaphor of intimacy (introduced to the biblical strand in this tradition by Israel’s prophets), and (3) that forms of life generated by both metaphors over the course of centuries are conducive to the quest for a fully human and uniquely personal existence.  But it also shows that moral discourses in which the metaphor of power and judgment rules are inherently dehumanizing and depersonalizing.

This revelation raises the obvious question:  Which of these foundational metaphors is used to frame the quest?


The Biblical Tradition and the Religious Right

Tragically, voices identifiable as the Religious Right use a moral discourse derived from the metaphor of power and judgment to politicize the issues to be addressed by voters in the United States.  Shaped and formed by the metaphor of individuality championed by Luther, they ignore moral issues voiced by the prophetic metaphors of intimacy.  The latter imply that a moral discourse designed to promote the quest for a fully human and uniquely personal existence must be grounded in the anguished and often inarticulate cries of the oppressed, dispossessed, abused, marginalized and silenced individuals.  As prophetic voices, these cries call for a willingness to approach moral issues with a sympathetic imagination situated in the existential experience of a shared vulnerability rather than a moral discourse derived from a metaphor of power and judgment.

Though these voices of the Religious Life may pretend to find grounds for the politicizing of moral issues in a literal reading of the Word of God, they echo the rationalist assumption that the moral discourse they espouse enables them to impose  universally valid judgments on others without exercising a hidden will to power.   As a result, they perpetuate a bias in favor of dehumanizing and depersonalizing structures, norms and practices which legitimate the privileged positions of the powers-that-be. And they do so by using reason to offer rationalizations for their hidden agendas.

(Historically, the ethical strand in the western philosophical tradition supposed that, since the use of reason provided a perspective which individuals could occupy interchangeably, it possessed the power to compel universal consent to its dictates.  In point of fact, the rule of reason over moral discourse has been used (1) to license rhetorics which dictate submission to a totalitarian form of government or to an economic system supposedly guided by an “invisible hand”, (2) to justify the use of the language of rights or a commitment to law and order to clothe litigious defenses of a form of life derived from a traditional metaphor of individuality with moral authority, and (3) to foster the belief that the dimensions of human existence can be protected and  promoted by the vigilant assertion of a virtually solipsistic existence disguised as personal autonomy.

In each of these instances, ethical analyses are supposed to ground moral judgments in a way that frees them from prejudice, arbitrariness or conventionality.  In point of fact, the assumption that the rule of reason provides a detached, dispassionate, disinterested, god-like perspective on the workings of language and experience is itself quite untenable.  Moreover, its use tempts theories to invoke a single dimension of existence as the god-term which accredits the judgments they accredit.  (The advocates of these theories agree with Kant’s assertion that morality resides in judgment.)

In this regard, the political rhetoric of the Religious Right offers a clear example of the workings of a will to power at the core of any moral discourse designed to privilege a single dimension of existence.  On the one hand, the rhetoric targets moral issues designed to resonate deeply in the consciousness of true believers.  For its authority, it privileges the religious dimension of existence through a pretence that it expresses a literal reading of the Judaic-Christian Scriptures.  For evidence that its rhetoric calls for a theocracy in which crucial distinctions among the personal, social, political, moral and religious dimensions of life are shamelessly erased, see my analysis of the immorality of members of the Catholic hierarchy and clergy who have politicized the abortion-issue as  though it trumped all other moral issues.  See also the analysis of the metaphorical reference to a moral center.

Summary

In western culture, distinctively personal, social, economic, political, aesthetic and religious discourses which have taken on lives of their own ensure that a tangle of moral issues lies, inextricably, at the core of any human action and assertion.  On the one hand, inhabitants of these cultures enter their own journeys into the unknown as naked  pronouns in search of fruitful metaphors.  On the other, the everyday language they acquire through a pervasive process of socialization exerts an almost indiscernible formative power on their longings, passions, desires, perceptions, imagination, motives, intentions and aspirations.  As a result, individuals can use everyday English to rationalize almost any judgment or agenda.  From this perspective, analyses which center  moral discourse in a longing for a fully human and uniquely personal existence reveal that the rationalist tradition is framed by a metaphor of power and judgment encoded in a fictive voice of reason.  As the product of the western philosophical tradition, this literary construct weds the interiorization of literacy as an interrogatory stance and the confident belief that the inner structure of totalizing thrust of languages is governed by a logical principle of identity.  As such, the interrogatory stance can be celebrated as a means to liberate individuals from the formative power of the past, while the rule of the One empowers them to live as unique individuals.

 (Regarding tensions between freedom and the use of power, rhetorics designed to promote the agendas of activists reveal the way that the interrogatory stance and the totalizing thrust of languages which have taken on lives of their own evoke instances in which reason recoils upon itself.  E.g., in the midst of chaos, political conservatives who embrace Locke’s thesis that freedom is an inalienable right elect politicians who promise a reign of law and order.  I suggest, therefore, that reason recoils upon itself whenever the totalizing thrust of language threatens to silence the interrogatory stance or a metaphor of individuality licenses the will to power exposed so penetratingly by Nietzsche.  Moreover, in this context, ideologies which promise that the course of history will end in an ideal state of existence offer intriguing examples of the way that ideologues can harness the recoil of reason upon itself to their own purposes.  In this vein, Marx  integrated the interrogatory stance and the totalitarian thrust of language in a dialectically structured materialism.  On the one hand, he used the interrogatory stance to protest against the dehumanizing and depersonalizing violence inherent in the totalitarian import  of a laissez faire Capitalism.  On the other, he used the totalitarianism inherent in the rule of reason to promise that a cataclysmic expropriation of the appropriators would create conditions in which the state would wither away and unique individuals would be able to use all their abilities to the fullest.  In the end, however, Marx’s reductive definition of human beings as homo economicus offers a prime example of the way that each of these promises of a fullness of life grounds the judgments it legitimates in a god-term which privileges a distinctive dimension of human existence.)

To escape from the will to power hidden in rationalizations posing as universal, definitive and authoritative moral judgments, moral discourse must be centered in person-to-person involvements, not a mythical existence in which detached individuals face one another as the Other.  The point at issue can be clearly formulated.  The use of reason as a detached, disinterested, dispassionate, god-like perspective on language and experience grounds moral discourse outside of human reality.  Quite explicitly, the pretense that such discourses offer an objective description of a fully human and uniquely personal existence devalues passion.  And the pretense becomes pernicious when a metaphor of individuality implies that one’s uniqueness is already given and must be jealously guarded.  In marked contrast, the longing for deepening person-to-person involvements inevitably reveals that our emotional reactions to individuals and events offer glimpses of buried depths, crippling woundedness, distorting fears and self-protective flights from vulnerable self-revelations. As such, they evoke in those who enter a dialogue informed by a sympathetic imagination a profound longing for a uniquely personal existence and expose the many ways that we ourselves violate or silence that longing.  By extension, they reveal that, without intensely personal  involvements with other tangled human beings, we remain blind to what aborts or distorts our quest for a fully human and uniquely personal existence.       

Hosea was the first prophet to compare God’s covenant with Israel to a marriage-union.  In subtle ways, his metaphors of intimacy countered a judgment licensed by the Deuteronomic tradition which asserted that the coming exiles were God’s punishment for Israel’s failures to  observe the prescriptions and prohibitions of the Mosaic Law.  In the jumbled text that preserved his utterances, he recorded the process through which his temptation to punish and even abandon his unfaithful wife, Gomer, revealed to him how passionately, vulnerably, respectfully and faithfully he loved her.  Quite obviously, this intensely personal experience evoked his awareness that God loves each and every human being in this way.

In my long experience with married couples, the moral discourse implicit in Hosea’s metaphor will soon account for the sad fact that spouses who believe that marriage is an involvement designed to unite two people into one by erasing differences  will attempt to realize that unity through the use of manipulative and capitulative  emotional reactions.  But they are in for a rude awakening if they fail to discover that the judgments which trigger the strategies encoded in emotional reactions do violence to the commitment to an ever-deepening person-to-person involvement.  They may not  immediately recognize the consequences of judgments and strategies designed to realize purposes generated by a metaphor of power and judgment, but, in instances in which they are at cross-purposes, invocations of a language of rights designed to protect their unique individuality will force them to admit that such reactions abort or distort the quest.

On a positive note, a commitment to a shared journey to deepening intimacy will teach them that vulnerable and respectful self-revelations set in motion a process of individuation.  E.g., I may try to be honest when I tell my version of an event in which I find myself at cross-purposes with a loved one, but I cannot discern the  multi-dimensional ways that this story is shaped by the formative power of everyday English and by events in my personal history.  If my loved ones and I have a personal history, they will be sensitive to the judgments and strategies enshrined in the long-practiced emotional reactions which hide my deepest feelings from me.  Consequently, since their version of the event will assign me a different role in the event than the role I assign myself, their stories will tap buried feelings, question well-meaning intentions and expose acquired prejudices.  And the interaction will, in effect, invite me to try once again to speak in my own voice and to listen with a sympathetic imagination.

In sum, the process of individuation sketched in the preceding paragraph is the process encoded in the moral discourse indebted to Israel’s great prophets.  That moral discourse locates the quest for a fully human and uniquely personal existence in the ability to listen with a sympathetic imagination to the cries of the poor, the oppressed, the abused, the marginalized and the silenced and to respond creatively to those cries.  And it calls for  this stance in the personal, social, political, economic and religious dimensions of life.

(Addendum:  The hermeneutics of suspicion is designed to target authority in any shape or form.  In their re-readings of the western literary tradition it generates, postmodernist critics expose the violence enshrined in the distinctions and boundaries transmitted by everyday languages and in appeals to authority.  And to deprive pronouncements and judgments of authority, they expose the literary foundations of forms of life generated by the metaphor of power and judgment, including the form  encapsulated in the conception of the autonomous individual and the many forms legitimated by the purportedly compelling power of the fictive voice of reason.  But its devotees do not pretend to erase the conception of the self entirely.  Instead, to avoid re-inscribing authority in their texts and utterances, they are content to speak in a hollow voice of prophetic protest against the violence they expose.

I rejoice in their relentless critiques of purportedly definitive conceptions of a fully human and uniquely personal existence invoked by the powers-that-be.  As a  philosopher of language indebted to Nietzsche, I must protest against the will to power hidden in such conceptions.  (As one who had to find my way out of the moral discourse which ruled my formative years in the Catholic tradition, I can attest to the violence that this moral discourse did to my longing for intimacy.)  But I must also protest against their exclusive focus on forms of life generated by the metaphor of power and judgment which blinds them to the ways that the literary tradition has exploited the literary form of the prose narrative and the metaphors of intimacy used by the ancient Hebrews to process Israel’s historical experience.

Tragically, the postmodernist movement does recover the prophetic insight (1) that moral discourse must evoke a response to the cries of the oppressed, marginalized and silenced first voiced by Israel’s prophets and (2) that, as a result, tangled moral issues lie, inextricably, at the core of every human action and assertion.  But Israel’s prophets  derived this insight from a metaphor designed to transform the longing for deepening person-to-person involvements into a realizable quest.  From this perspective, the hollow voice of prophetic protest legitimated by the hermeneutics of suspicion inscribes a hollow conception of the unique individual.

In this context, Gergen’s metaphor, “the saturated self,” functions as both a factual description of the existence fostered by a life governed by a hermeneutics of suspicion and an intriguing effort to legitimate this existence as a state of immediate presence, fullness and totality.  In an age in which the medium of instant communication across boundaries reigns, individuals can fill their everyday existence with textual or oral-aural stimuli at will.  But the cost of this version of a participative existence is horrific.  This cost is most evident in individuals whose identity is defined by the last contact they had through their cell-phones.  If this is the form of life which they embrace, they lack a language of interiority capable of evoking a longing for intimacy, with its call for vulnerable self-revelations of one’s tangled depth.  Like the promise encoded in Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone, it promises instant intimacy.  But that is a contradiction in terms.  And any form of life which lends credence to such a promise condemns those who embrace it to an existence devoid of a moral center.





4A. I believe . . .


a.  I believe in a Triune God who is Love.  Since I understand love as an intimate involvement, I believe that the three Persons in the Trinity share so intimately in each others’ lives that there is only one divine life.

b.  I believe in the Incarnational theology inscribed in the hymn in the Prologue of John.  This hymn (1) places the eternal Word at the center of the life of the Trinity, the act of creation, human history and the lives of each and every human being and (2) attributes creation to an outpouring (overflow) of the creative love of the Triune God.

c.  I believe that the life of the Word incarnate reveals that each of the divine Persons longs to be intimately involved with human beings on their journeys into the unknown.  And since they are distinctive Persons, they long to be involved with us in distinctive ways.

d.  Because I believe that passionate, vulnerable, respectful and faithful interactions are the only way to deepen person-to-person involvements, I believe that Jesus is passionately, vulnerably, respectfully and faithfully involved with me and every
other human being.

e.  Since I process my involvements with others from this perspective, I trace my many breaks with intimacy with each of the three divine Persons and with other human beings to a fear of being fully human and of living with personal integrity.  I do like things about  being human, but there are others that I want to avoid.  In the same vein, I am often arrogantly self-assertive, but I often lie to protect my backside.  In his love for me, Jesus keeps confronting me with the call to intimacy with him, fully human as well as fully God.

f.  Since Jesus no longer walks about this earth, I believe that his longing to love us into wholeness also comes to us through one another.  That longing speaks in and through two passages in the Gospels, "Love one another as I have loved you" and "Whatever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to me."  And my belief is reinforced when loved ones share the pain my breaks with intimacy evoke in them vulnerably and respectfully and I respond in kind.

g.  Given my conviction that each of the three divine Persons longs to be intimately involved with us on our journeys through life, I believe that the Scriptures must be read through an interplay of many biblical themes.  The Exodus-theme depicts our lives as perpetual journeys into the unknown.  On this journey, Jesus assures us that, since the Father’s providence extends to the fall of a sparrow, the Father is ready to lead us through cross-situations into new life in God’s love.  This assurance is encoded in the Covenant-theme, with its promise that God’s everfaithful love will be with us each step of that journey.  In the same vein, the Cross-Resurrection theme promises that, if we learn how to discern how each of the three divine Persons is active in cross-situations in our lives, each of the crises can lead to deepening intimacy with the Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and our loved ones.  And Francis of Assisi’s life bears witness to the inseparability of three symbols – the Crib, the Cross and the Eucharist – for those who seek the sort of intimate involvement with Jesus that he had.

h.  I believe that Jesus instituted the Eucharistic celebration at the Last Supper to express his willingness to entrust himself passionately, vulnerably, respectfully and faithfully to anyone who comes to him in this re-enactment of the Last Supper.

i.  As other reflections attest, I believe that the Agony in the Garden is far more revelatory of Jesus’ saving activity than the Crucifixion.  When Jesus instituted the Eucharist as a ritual re-enactment, he implicitly entrusted himself to anyone who
received him in communion.  In the Agony, he was initially overwhelmed by a dawning awareness that the command to re-enact this ritual in memory of him had committed him to share the pain of all human beings throughout the ages.  His acceptance of this commitment was immeasurably more difficult than the willingness to undergo the admittedly excruciating pain of the Crucifixion.  In this context, Francis’s focus on the Eucharist rather than the Resurrection celebrated the Risen Lord’s faithfulness to the commitment encoded in the Eucharist.

j.  I believe that tangled moral issues lie, inextricably, at the core of human actions and assertions.  Consequently, I believe that the moral discourse we use to resolve these moral issues must be framed by the metaphor of intimacy which Israel’s great prophets forged to illuminate person-to-person involvements, not by a metaphor of power and judgment designed to illuminate relationships  between and among detached individuals.  In this context, a sympathetic imagination trumps reason every time.

k.  This approach to moral theology is framed by my belief that each of the three divine Persons is involved in our lives in ways designed to love us into wholeness.  Since we  cannot know what it is to be fully human, we do well to trust the insistence of Israel’s great prophets that the call of God can be heard in the cries of the oppressed, the abused, the marginalized, the silenced and the stranger, since these cries reveal how our responses to them are dehumanizing and depersonalizing.  In sum, if we are open to the urgings of the Spirit at work in our tangled depths, these cries evoke intensely personal responses to those we might otherwise ignore or actively exclude from our worlds.  For the Spirit will not allow us to forget that what we do to the least of our brothers and sisters, we do to Jesus, since he is intimately involved with them.

l.  I believe that most of us must hit some bottom before we can encounter the Holy Spirit in intensely personal ways.  Usually, we are plunged into these bottoms when cross-situations with loved ones expose traces of smug self-sufficiency and reveal that we are not in control of our lives.  Invariably, these events tap tangled feelings that we buried alive in the mistaken belief that we were thereby mastering them.  And once I realized that the Spirit’s love for me was involved in bringing these feelings to the surface, experience taught me to believe that I break with intimacy because I am wounded, not because I am wicked.  And experience also taught me to bring my flights from a fully human involvement with others to Jesus, the Wounded Healer.

m.  And as philosopher whose dominant interest is moral discourse, I believe that only those who have met the indwelling Spirit in intensely personal ways can come to discern the moral center which allows them to bear witness to the love of the three divine Persons without judgments or agendas.    



4. A Pentecost sermon


Fear that I could not make its theme intelligible to a diverse audience would prevent me from giving this homily on Pentecost.  I dare to develop the theme here, since it mines themes addressed in other reflections.

The sermon would revolve around the biblical assertion that the love of the indwelling Holy Spirit for human beings called the eternal Word to become a foetus in Mary’s womb.  It would begin with a sadness that, for so many years, I was unaware that I, too, must meet the Spirit in an intensely personal way if I were to let Jesus share intimately in my life.

To develop this insight, I would then set forth the dynamics of my constant struggles with Jesus who is fully human as well as fully God.  In his love for me, Jesus wants me to be fully human and uniquely myself.  On my part, though I like much about being human, I resist involvements that disturb my comfort zone or threaten my false sense of self-sufficiency.  In the same vein, though I often respond with personal integrity, I also lie to protect my backside.  In these situations, Jesus’ passionate and faithful love for me comes to me through individuals who tap deeply buried tangles.  And since I am haunted by his call to love others as he loves me, I am forced to acknowledge that these tangles distort even my best efforts to let others into my life through vulnerable self-revelations and respectful responses.  In short, I discover that I do not know how to be fully human and to respond with personal integrity.

At this point, I would invoke the poignant description of distorted responses in Romans 7:  “The good that I would do, that I don’t;  and the evil that I would not do, that I do.”  And I would move to the passage in Romans 8 where Paul formulates the promise that the indwelling Spirit can free us from these tangles: “We do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit within prays in groanings that cannot be expressed in speech…”

In sum, when inner turmoil tempts us to adopt a strategy of fight or flight, we are called to listen to the word of love which the Spirit speaks in and through our groanings.

To illustrate how the Spirit speaks words of comfort, I sometimes appeal to a striking way that the Spirit’s love came to me through my mother.  As a child, my older brother knew how to tap a rage in me, and, since he was stronger than me, he could frustrate my attacks in ways that filled me with an overwhelming sense of futility.  When I went to my mother in tears, she would often go to her rocking chair and simply hold me as she rocked.

That simple act sent more messages to me than I have yet been able to decipher, all of them healing.

At other times, when I have allowed the Spirit to move in what I initially feel like doing or saying in situations which evoke anxiety or rage, the Spirit reveals to me what I must do, regardless of the consequences, if I am to live with personal integrity.  And on these occasions, I can face even painful consequences with an inner peace.

In sum, if I am to let Jesus share fully in my life, I must, like him, listen to the word of love spoken to me in my tangled depths by the indwelling Spirit.  (The Spirit also helps me discern how the Father’s providence is at work in my life.)

                   

Friday, October 30, 2015

3. A man of one sermon


     I am a man of one sermon.  In my homilies, I attempt to translate the implications of Jesus’ command, “Love one another as I have loved you,” into a practical spirituality.  And since I am compelled to live with intellectual integrity, my explorations of theological and philosophical issues are designed to show that the call to love intimately speaks for itself, timelessly.

     Through long experience, I have also become convinced that anyone who is committed to Jesus as the Wounded Healer and Tremendous Lover is also a person of one sermon.  And the gift of sharing community-life for the last five years with a confrere, Ralph Parthie, has helped me understand why.  Ralph’s one sermon is the proclamation of God’s all-inclusive love.

     The first time I voiced my summary of his one sermon, it seemed to me that Ralph took my remark as a declaration that he repeated himself.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  Preachers who lack a moral center repeat themselves endlessly.  In marked contrast, each of Ralph’s homilies reveals sinful ways that I want to exclude some person from my life, whether it be a Pope whose writings and utterances proclaim an objective morality which I reject, a friar in my community, or a person who touches my life in ways that disturb my comfort zone.  And, more importantly, his positive proclamation of God’s all-inclusive love assures me of his loving presence when I dare to embark on a journey into the unknown in each encounter with another person.


2. Jesus' agony in the garden


     For as long as I can remember, I have been deeply moved by the report that, when Jesus went to the garden, he took Peter, James and John apart with him and asked them to watch and pray.  He obviously wanted understanding friends to be with him as he brought his anguish to God, but they fell asleep. In the meantime, he underwent an agony so violent that blood burst through his veins.  In that agony, he asked that "this chalice might pass from him,” but echoed the words of his Mother in the story of the Annunciation:  "Not my will, but thine be done." Then, when he returned to his sleeping friends, he asked, plaintively, "Could you not watch an hour with me?"

     In my youth and in my early years as a priest. I went to Jesus when I was achingly lonely, anguishing over wounds, in need of comforting, pleading for help in remaining involved with individuals I would gladly exclude from my life, and hoping to yield to God’s will as he did.  Recalling his agony in the garden, I knew that he would understand.

     As I probed the implications of an incarnational theology, I began to see the events remembered on Holy Thursday and Good Friday as a single process. Thus, Jesus’ command to reenact the Last Supper instituted a ritual designed to assure us of his continuing presence with us, despite the cruel crucifixion.  In each reenactment, he reaffirms the Covenant sealed at his birth, when he became fully human in order to share intimately in the lives of all human beings.

     In the garden, he glimpsed the existential implications of the promise encoded in the Eucharist.  In sum, his promise to entrust himself to anyone who receives Communion committed him to intimate involvement in the pain as well as the joy they experience. And if he loved with an ever faithful love, he would have to be willing to seek even those who inflicted horrendous pain on other individuals.

     When I began to see the Agony as a willingness to empathize with the pain of every human being throughout the ages, I was more awed by the Yes in the Garden than by Jesus’ submission to a cruel scourging, a crown of thorns, and a humiliating and painful death on the cross.  But I also became convinced that regarding the Agony in the Garden and the Crucifixion as discrete events distorted the meaning of both.

     Perhaps the most staggering insight came on the feast of St. Francis. I had long been awed by Francis’ intimate involvement with Jesus, but I had also been uncomfortable with his apparent desire to suffer as Jesus did.  Frankly, I tended to dismiss it as a motivation inspired by an ascetical theory that I could easily reject.  (In that vein, I could never understand how he could treat everything in nature with profound respect except his body.)

     On this feast day, I realized that, in his intimate involvement with Jesus, Francis longed to comfort Jesus in his Agony.  As a child of his age, he lived out that involvement in part by inflicting pain on himself through fasting.

     The point of this reflection:  I had often imagined Jesus undergoing the agony in the garden to aid me in bringing my anguished struggles to him, the wounded Healer.  Until that day, I had never recreated the scene in my imagination with the intent of watching with him, as one of his disciples.  I could tell myself that I went through his agony with him when I did so with wounded individuals who came to me.  After all, he assures me that whatever do to them, I do to him.  Now, though, I want to converse directly with him, as I would with them, to hear his cry for human companionship in the agony he continues to experience because of his intimate involvement with all who suffer.

     (Addendum:  The pain Jesus experienced was the price of being human and loving with an ever faithful love, not a price paid to divine justice in reparation for human sinfulness.)


1. Conversations with Jesus


     In my more arrogant moments, I instruct Jesus on what he meant to say.  His call to take up our daily crosses and follow him is a case in point.  I suggest to him that he really wanted to say:  "Let me walk with you, facing your everyday crosses with you, sharing intimately in your joys and sorrows, healing your wounds, and coming to others through your compassion, care and concern."  In that vein, I remind him of the words of Micah which call us to live justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with our God, and I suggest that we often need reminders that he walks humbly with us.

     As often happens when I am arrogant, I fail to get in the last word.  With utter simplicity, Jesus reminds me that his willingness to come to me in Communion expresses a comitment to walk humbly with me despite the fact that I so often fail to live the commitment  that I made to him.


Sunday, October 11, 2015

Why this blog/website

On October 10, 2015, Holy Cross Friary in Quincy, Illinois honored Fr. John Joseph Lakers, OFM ("Father JJ") at a banquet in a Quincy hotel. At that dinner, Mary Ann Klein, a close friend of his, suggested that I make his later writings available on a website.

I had done this at an earlier time, but the website service was discontinued. This is a new attempt to make those writings available.

JJ wrote a lot during the last years of his life, but his writing was not organized. He refused to use a mouse, and did not know how to move text in his Wordperfect 1995 software. So he simply wrote things again, as ideas came to mind.

Much of his later writing was intended to be published in a second book, in six chapters, as a follow-up to his first book, published by Franciscan Press in 1996, titled Christian Ethics: An Ethics of Intimacy. Copies of this book are available for $10.00 upon request (to me).

I will begin entering materials on this site with dated writings, beginning in 2001. Some of these writings he may have intended as part of the second book, but many appear to be his reflections on events of the day.

Joseph Zimmerman, OFM
October 11, 2015