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26 November 2011

Advent In The Church Year

The Catholic Church has placed the Season of Advent at the beginning of the Church year, which suggests its importance to Catholic faith life. On the other hand, the first and greatest of our Catholic celebrations is and has been for two thousand years "the Feast of the Resurrection” of Christ (now called “Easter,” after a Phoenician goddess!). So as the Church year begins with Advent, the year pivots and climaxes on the Triduum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, Easter. Just as Lent is the season preparing for Easter, historically Advent prepares for the Feast of the Incarnation (Christmas), even though Advent is essentially more than a preparation for Christmas.

It is good to keep in mind that every Catholic liturgy celebrates what God has done for the world in Jesus Christ. Different seasons of the year emphasize different aspects on this one mystery of God-in-Christ: Suffering, death, Resurrection of Christ; incarnation, birth, Motherhood of Mary; baptism, ministry, teaching of Jesus; the giving of the Spirit, the growth of Christ in His Church, evangelizing the world. All are aspects or movements within the same mystery of Christ, of God-in-man-for-us (Emmanuel). As preparation for “the End,” as well as for Christmas, Advent fits into this single-mystery reality being celebrated by the Church.

There is, however, a surplus of meaning to Advent, so the season indeed transcends the distinctly Christian revelation of God-in-man, Christ, and moves the faithful towards openness to the whole divine mystery. In truth, each Christian celebration is grounded on the ultimate mystery of God. But Advent especially moves the faithful into darkness: an awareness that no one truly knows God but God, and that the One we await is far beyond our grasp and understanding. Indeed, all of reality--all of the Cosmos and history--are grounded in this one divine Mystery. And it is the everpresent background truth of Advent to keep the reality of divine Mystery before the hearts and minds of the faithful. Hence, properly understood, Advent should remind us of our common humanity under God, and increase our sense of solidarity with all human beings who await ultimate fulfillment, not in themselves, but in the Mystery we call “God.” Something of what this means will be explored in our Advent liturgies.

The Man Who Would NOT Be King

Each year, as the Solemnity of Christ the King comes around to conclude the Church Year, pointing towards Advent, I find myself wrestling with the name, “Christ the King.” Given the lowly birth of Jesus; given his “working class” origins; given his dignity and humility; given his God-forsaken, self-sacrificial death for us; and especially given the fact that he explicitly rejected being made a king and his attitude towards the title Messiah” (Christ), is it not odd that we in the Church now call Jesus a “King”? And even more for us in the United States of America, with our Founders’ emphasis on freedom and the equality of all under God, is it not a little jarring to call a man our “King”? The title “King” for Jesus is disturbing or empty for many of us, and that should be admitted. Unless one has just accepted the title without thinking about it, “King” does not seem suitably to describe Jesus of Nazareth.

What is the truth that is rather poorly presented in the phrase, “Christ the King?” What Christian experiences are being expressed in the phrase? Or what beliefs about Jesus are being summarized?

First, a disciple of Jesus believes that Christ is indeed “the way, the truth, and the life,” and that as such, He is the true ruler of human hearts. Hence, he could be called “the king of hearts,” for by love he rules over human beings. In this sense, to say, “Jesus is my king” means “I obey Christ as my true master, my ruler, my guide to God.”

Second, Christians believe that Jesus deserves full respect and obedience from every human being, for he died for each and for all, “to bring us to God.” In his utter humility and self-giving love, Jesus is far more truly the rightful ruler or “king” of humankind than any political leader--king, president, prime minister--could ever be.

Third, the title “Christ the King” is equivalent to saying, “Jesus Christ is the good shepherd.” Again, the experience underneath the words is a strong sense and conviction that through faithful obedience to Jesus and his Gospel, a person is gradually becoming fully one with the mystery that we call “God.” In this sense, Christ is God’s agent to bring human beings to full union with the Creator of all that exists.

In sum, let us suggest a few different phrases to communicate these and similar meanings: “Christ the Bridge between God and man,” “Jesus Christ the way to life eternal,” “Jesus the LORD of love,” “Christ our faithful guide home.” Far more and better than being “a king,” I would say.

08 November 2011

Why Do We Pray For The Dead?

I have often been asked, “Why do Catholics pray for the dead?”  Sometimes I answer:  “We don’t pray for the dead, we pray for the living.”

Am I merely playing with words, or far worse, avoiding the reality of death--the way our culture usually avoids the reality of death?  Not at all.  When a creature dies, he or she dies.  When a human being dies, our bodies die.  But does that mean that human beings enter a state of death?  Surely the body “lies in death,” and so it is fittingly buried in the ground:  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust....”

Return to the question: “Why pray for the dead? 

After all, are they not `dead and gone’?” Remember in the Gospels when Sadducees, who believed that “when you are dead you are dead,” tried to trap Jesus in a clever question about “resurrection,” and “whose wife would she be in the resurrection?”  They thought that they were being so clever, and making a fool of Jesus.  He turned the tables on them, and gave what I consider the most brilliant interpretation of a Scriptural passage I have ever read (drawing from both Mark 12:24-27 and Luke 20:34-38):

“Is not this why you are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God?... The children of this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are accounted worthy to attain to that age and to the resurrection from the dead neither mary nor are given in marriage.  For they cannot die any more, because they equal to angels and are sons of God, being children of the resurrection.  And as for the dead being raised, have you not read in the book of Moses [Exodus], in the passage about the bush, how God said to Moses, `I AM the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’?  He is not God of the dead, but of the living; for all are alive to Him.”  

The ones whom we unthinkingly call “dead” are indeed “alive to God.”  And that is what matters.  So we pray to God for them, as we pray for one another with thanksgiving:  That we will grow forever in our love and knowledge of God, and that “God will be all in all” (I Corinthians 15).

A First Note On The Appreciation Of Music

Last evening in the home of parishioners I tried introducing people to Wagner's "Liebestod," the famous "Love-death," which concludes his music drama, Tristan und Isolde.  The immediate reaction to hearing the soprano voice (of Birgit Nilsson) was sharply negative.  "I don't like soprano voices," and so on.  For those unfamiliar with der Liebestod, it is by no means "a song" or "an aria" in the usual sense, but virtual splashes of sound set to Wagner's own highly idiosyncratic, even bizarre poetry, as Isolde joins her lover in death. Her voice displays ecstatic cries, especially as the music reaches its evident orgiastic climax. The music is as sexually explicit as any I have ever heard, and is extremely masterful in its ability to incite passions in the audience of Wagner's drama.   As I said to the family present, "Everyone ought to listen to the "Liebestod" at least once before death."  It is unforgettable music.  

Although one of those present said, that "one must be raised with that kind of music" in order to appreciate it, in reality I was not raised with Wagner, nor with opera, nor with serious vocal music at all.  One must cultivate one's ability to enjoy various arts, and especially the incredible variety of music over the centuries and across cultures. In my home, I heard popular music and jazz more than anything else, but some "classical music" on occasion.   My father loved Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and especially Gershwin, American jazz, and big band music--all of which I can appreciate to this day.  My mother liked pop music on the radio, and country western (which my father hated and mocked); but my mother's special love was for the "golden oldies" from the 1920's through the 1950's or so.  My father's father, a truck driver, loved opera, and especially Italian opera, and I remember at least once seeing him sit by the radio listening to opera, although the memory may be reconstructed from what my father told me about his father.  The strongest influence on my appreciation of serious music came from my sister.  She took piano lessons, and would often play sonatas by Beethoven, music by Bach, and so on.  

One incident stands out as highly formative in my ability to appreciate serious music:  One day, when I was five years old (living in Rochester, New York), my sister had me lie down on the sofa when I came home from school, and she played for me a recording of Grieg's famous "In the hall of the mountain king" from his "Peer Gynt Suite."  She told me the story briefly, and I could picture being chased down the mountain by an ogre.  What a gift she gave me at that moment.  That really began my love of serious music.  

But all loves take work and cultivation, and over the years I have spent much effort teaching myself to appreciate good music.  Sometimes I study scores, or at least follow them as I listen to music.  But often, I simply listen to a composition, and try to think about what I am hearing, and observe what effects the music has on my soul (mind, feelings).  Self-education in one's ability to appreciate beauty is crucial in life.  Simply to put the mind in neutral, and listen passively, is lazy, and deprives one of the joy of discovery what the composer was doing in the music, and how the artists are interpreting it and communicating it to listeners.  Again, to learn to appreciate any art takes much effort and study, although initial sparks can come spontaneously.  This experience fully parallels human love:  there can be an initial spark of "falling in love," but real love takes much work, many choices, and "dying to self" in various ways.  So it is with enjoying and appreciating music, poetry, painting, photography, philosophy.  To live well takes much work.  Why should the appreciation of music be different? It is not.

Now, regarding the case of Wagner's "Liebestod" ("Love-death") that concludes Tristan und Isolde:  I know well the problems with Wagner, not only from reading Nietzsche's analysis, but from listening and observing the effects on the soul.  Wagner's ability to move the passions is amazing, and must have been the main reason Hitler so loved Wagner's music dramas, and tried writing an opera in Wagner's style.  The Nazi sense of drama on a grand scale owed much to Wagner, and we know that Wagner's heirs and the Nazis formed some very close ties, but I really doubt that Wagner would have been a Nazi.  (Nietzsche would have hated the Nazi movement as a most degenerate form of herd mentality, although the National Socialists made much use of bowdlerized passages from Nietzsche's writings.)  But there is a similarity between Wagner and Hitler which has been widely observed:  Manipulation of the masses was the common thrust.  The way that Hitler could move masses in his hysterical and histrionic rants had been anticipated in the moving of masses through music, and perhaps most notably through the intoxication and delirium effected at the Wagnerian Bayreuth festivals.  

In the generation before Wagner, of course, there was Beethoven, who clearly unleashed a new era in the musical manipulation of passions in his highly revolutionary Eroica Symphony (1803)--the composition that must be the single most influential work in the history of modern western music.  From its opening crashing chords, Beethoven brilliantly and most effectively communicates his rage at existence through orchestral sound.  Although the Eroica is magnificently composed, and much "rock music" is dashed off mindless sound, these musical works have in common the immediate expression of feelings, and especially of intense anger.  (For his part, Wagner's soul is much less driven by rage than was Beethoven's, but both exemplify Nietzsche's analysis of "die Wille zur Macht," "the will to power.")  One can go further back to Luther's hymns, such as "Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott," ("A mighty fortress is out God"), to observe music as propaganda for a modern mass movement.  The composer seeks not only to express himself, but to assert his will over the minds and hearts of hearers.  This will to power is clearly evident in the examples noted, but grows in intensity and effectiveness over time, from Luther's hymns, to some of Beethoven's symphonies, to Wagner's music dramas, up to the Nazi movement.  As an example of Nazi art as will to power, and as a spiritual successor to Beethoven-Wagner, see the brilliant and artistic masterpiece by Leni Riefenstahl, "The Triumph of the Will."  The viewer is moved to feel awe and even "reverence" at the Nazi heroes and "ideals" displayed on the screen.  This is effective (and damaging) propaganda.

There may be truth in the claim all art can have an element of manipulation in it.  But surely not all art is destructive or malformative of the human soul.  What matters is not only the purpose of the art, but whether it instills restraint and self-control, or wild abandonment, in the human psyche.  This claim needs further exploration and proof, but let it suffice for the present to note that Wagner, for one, intoxicated his hearers-viewers.  While I can readily appreciate Wagner's skill in manipulating his audience, much of it is, at the same time, degenerate art, as Nietzsche came to understand.   One can allow oneself a little Wagner, without being corrupted.  Or a little rock music, without being corrupted.  But much exposure to highly manipulative art corrupts the soul badly, whether the music be that of Wagner, or much of rock music.   This ought to be clear to anyone who understands music and the human soul.  

Palestrina, Tallis, Bach, Haydn, Mozart, for examples, elevate and refresh, with minimal corruption. Listening to true spiritual masterpieces in music can indeed elevate, ennoble the soul, and even give its glimpses of "the Beyond," of union with the One manifested in the many.  Again, this issue needs much further exploration, but let the bald statement suffice for the present.  This much is clear, and needs to be understood by parents and educators:   Healthy souls create healthy music; sick souks create sick music, and spread their disease.  The disorder of rock is very harmful to children--often, it is poison.  And yet the hearers do not know it, and parents wonder why their children seem to become unruly, at worst, young criminals in the making.   Degenerate music contributes, by breaking down order in the soul, and instilling lawlessness, disharmony, and sheer immersion in destructive, excessively passionate forces in the soul.  By contrast, Tallis, or Bach, or Haydn, cultivate the sense of beauty, of balance, and surely educate the intellect in studying what is good and beautiful.  And they calm and help order the soul.  At their best, the truly great composers help to elevate the human soul into God through the love of the beautiful and union with the One.  (Again, this truth needs much more development.)

All of this, and more, was analyzed by Plato in the Republic, written in the 4th century before Christ. Education in good music is crucial.  Bad music, bad art, corrupts.  Anyone with sense can understand that. Just listen and reflect on the effects in one's soul.