On Having Multiple Vocations Or Callings

One of the reasons given to me for not retiring next summer came from a parishioner who said to me:  “You cannot retire.  You are a priest.  That is your vocation.  You keep doing it until the end, until you drop.”  

 

Well, in fact, I have a number of vocations, and in retiring from active duty as a parish priest, I will have more time to dedicate to other vocations, and especially to the search for God.

Some of my vocations or callings:

—As a being-thing (Parmenides)

—As a living being (Genesis 2)

—As a creature of the Creator (Genesis 1)

—As a human being, or being in a human way (Socrates-Plato-Aristotle)

—As a male of the species (Nature)

—As a Christian (Christ Jesus and the Apostle Paul)

—As a Catholic (Christ in the community of the faithful)

—As a student of political philosophy (Plato, Aristotle, … Voegelin)

—As one drawn to seek God (Prophets of Israel, Jesus, St. Augustine, St. Anselm…)

—As a Benedictine monk of St. Anselm’s (St. Benedict and his Rule)

—As a Catholic priest in and for the Church (ordained to serve the faithful)

—As an American citizen (from birth in the U.S.A)

—As a citizen of the State of Montana (since 1966)

—As a member of the human community (from birth on planet earth)

I intend to retire in the near future from full-time service as a Catholic priest, and if permitted, will do some part-time priestly duties; if not permitted, then that vocation is shelved.  At the same time I let go of one demanding vocation, I plan to give myself to my callings in several others, coming together as one:  as a human being drawn to seek God through the study of philosophy.  By no means am I “abandoning my vocation.”  On the contrary, I am submitting myself to my calling anew:  “Seek the LORD while He may be found.”…”Seek and you will find.”…”Whom do you seek?”…”Say to my heart: It is your face, O LORD, that I seek.”… “Who are you, LORD?”

 

I need more time to dedicate myself to my more compelling vocation, the one truest to my heart:  seeking God, and especially through the philosophical life articulated by St. Anselm as fides quaerens intellectum, “faith seeking understanding.”  It is my life’s work.

 

Socrates:  “Now it is time to go—I to die, you to live.  Whoever of us has the better fate is unknown to anyone, except to God.”

Modification On My Meditation Of IT

This little meditation is a work in progress, and is likely to be modified again. Such is life, dear friend.

What is It? It has always fascinated me, or has fascinated me for as long as I have been conscious. I never knew its name, and still do not. Divine names speak to certain aspects of It, but It is more than the gods or God; It includes trees, sky, wind, fire, water, many kinds of animal-beings. It lives, moves, and is always here—or there. It is All, and, if it were possible to say so, It is still more than all. As far as I know, It is unbounded in time and space, without an experienced Beginning or End. No one I know of has ever experienced Its Beginning or End. Every being simply and directly experiences that it is, for it is ever-present and all-encompassing. 

To be conscious and being fascinated by It are nearly synonymous. I have no recollection of being conscious without some awareness of It. Can one be conscious and not be conscious of It? How would that be possible? How could one see a rock and not be aware that there is more to what exists than that rock, and that the rock manifests It in the rock’s unique way of being in time and space? One see and names a part, and in doing so, has an abiding awareness that whatever is named does not exhaust It, but participates in It and presents It here and now. For It is ever present, all-encompassing, yet also felt or known to be beyond anything and all that one can experience in any way. It is more than the sum of all the parts. It seems to be alive, at least speaking analogously to what we experience in living beings, and It may give life to each and to all—I do not know. All life is in It. 

Sometimes I name it “You,” and do so when I focus on the divine mind or wisdom at work in It, perhaps ordering or structuring It. To every thing It bestows a nature or a particular way of being, and an inexhaustible, unsurpassable uniqueness. Perhaps what we call “God” is the Mind of It, or It under certain aspects, such as the eternal—that question will need to be explored. In speaking about It or even to It (when in a playful or poetic mood), I am ever aware that It far transcends my understanding, or any name, or any conception. It is, and everything is within It. To think of there being multiple Its, and that It is just one of them, is a childish game. It is all-encompassing. There is no experienced basis for multiple Its, for It is present in everything that one experiences, even in one’s fanciful imaginings. Nothing can escape from It.

Again, to be conscious is virtually synonymous with being conscious of It, the ever-present background to every act of knowing. One can know or feel nothing in which It is not present. When I first awake in the morning, and open my eyes, I may realize that I am beholding It in everything I see, and that It is simultaneously present in my gazing. It is present in the knower, the known, and in knowing. It is present in everything, presenting Itself in everything, including one’s feelings, sensings, knowings. There is nothing that exists or is in any way that is not sufficed with It. Not as far as I know, based on direct experience. I find no reason to think that even God as I AM is excluded from It. Perhaps I AM is It under the aspect of the eternal, the uncaused, the everlasting. That will be explored. Does It change? I do not know, but experienced parts of It are changing constantly. Perhaps to be in It is to change. This too must be explored. 

Some seeings more fully stir the awareness of It. When I behold the starry sky on a winter night, so light and wondrous, I am intensely aware of seeing within It, of gazing with wonder and joy at Its cosmic presence. Seeing the stars reminds me afresh of Its sheer vastness in time and space, and this is achieved by becoming conscious not only of beauty and magnitude, but simultaneously, of my own ignorance of It, and before It. And I, too, am a part of It, just as the stars and ice-cold air, and Moses, walking along beside me in the dark illuminated by stars. The entire cosmos presents It to one who looks. It is presenting Itself through the whole mysterious Cosmos and through every part of It. From moment to moment, It is manifesting Itself, revealing Itself. Trying to grasp Its nature, or comprehend It, is like trying to pick a piece of eggshell out of egg. As you touch It, It withdraws. Ever mysterious, It transcends and informs all understanding. 

While gazing in wonder of It, then praying in words to God or to a god, or to a saint or remembered loved one, is a kind of downward movement, a kind of unnecessary addition or even distraction, although words may spontaneously erupt from the mouth. In anything named or imagined, there remains in the mind an awareness that the words and names do not exhaust It, or even do It justice. And yet sometimes, words seem to just jump out, as in a spontaneous cry of the heart. That cannot be helped. One word I find myself spontaneously uttering is “Wow!” But on such occasions, consciously to compose words and to speak them seems less appreciative, less receptive, less alive than simply looking, gazing, delighting in the wonder of Its cosmic display. There is a time for words, and a time for silence. It presents Itself most intensely in silent wonder. To gaze at It lovingly is a silent prayer, the heart of being alive. 

In words I read in youth, “I do not know Its name.” Indeed, and the “Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao.” And the It that is named is less than It. And yet, if It were not here, now, I would not be writing, nor thinking about It, and my heart would not be beating, breath not moving in and out.

IT

It has always fascinated me, or has fascinated me for as long as I have been conscious. I never knew its name, and still do not. Divine names speak to certain aspects of It, but It is more than God or gods; It includes trees, sky, wind, water, many kinds of animal-beings. It lives, moves, and is always here.  It is All, and, if it wear possible to say, still more.

To be conscious and being fascinated by It are nearly synonymous. Ever present, all-encompassing, yet also felt or known to be beyond anything and all that one can experience in any way. It is more than the sum of all the parts. It seems to be alive, at least speaking analogously, and may give life to each and to all. 
 

Sometimes I name it “You,” and do so when I focus on the divinity at work in it. In speaking of It and to It, I am ever aware that It far transcends my understanding, or any name, or any conception. It is, and everything is within It. 

To be conscious is virtually synonymous with being conscious of It. One can know or feel nothing in which It is not present. When I first awake in the morning, and open my eyes, I know that I am beholding It in everything I see. It simply is present in everything, and in the consciousness of everything. There is nothing that exists or is that is not sufficed with It.
 

Some seeings more fully stir the awareness of It. When I behold the starry sky on a winter night, so light and wondrous, I am intensely aware of seeing within It, of gazing with wonder and joy at Its cosmic presence. Seeing the stars reminds me afresh of Its sheer vastness in time and space, and this is achieved by becoming conscious not only of beauty and magnitude, but simultaneously, of my own ignorance of It, and before It. And I, too, am a part of It, just as the stars and ice-cold air, and Moses, walking along beside me in the dark illuminated by stars. 

In gazing, praying in words to God or to a god or saint is a movement downward, a kind of unnecessary addition or distraction, although words may spontaneously erupt from my mouth. That cannot be helped. "Wow!” But consciously to compose words and to speak them seems less appreciative, less receptive, less alive than simply looking, gazing, delighting in the wonder of Its cosmic display. To gaze at It is the heart of prayer.

“I do not know its name.” Indeed, and the “Tao that can be expressed is not the Tao,” and the It that is named is less than It.  And yet, if It were not here, now, I would not be writing, nor thinking about It, my heart would not be beating, breath not moving in and out. 

On Faith

As we heard from the author of the Letter to the Hebrews at Mass recently, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1). The object of faith, the living God, is received only into the one who has faith, who truly and lovingly believes. And with the awareness of the presence of God, one shares in God’s Life, a spiritual experience known since Plato as “eternal life.” 

 
Distinctly Christian faith usually begins by hearing the word of God, such as the good news about Jesus, and responding. Many must hear the story of God in Christ a number of times before they do not only hear words, but open up to their truth, and allow the God of Christ to break in. Or rather, one opens up his heart and mind, and recognizes the One who was present from the Beginning, even before the soul tasted life, or sensed that it was alive. “You are here, and always were.” Cosmic faith, which Christian faith presupposes, and which undergirds a person’s spiritual life, begins as one gazes with loving wonder at the awesome beauty of creation, and one becomes aware of the Mind that moves all of reality from nothingness towards perfection in Himself. Christian faith and cosmic faith merge in the soul of the man or woman who responds to the reality of the God of the cosmos, the creator, fully present in the man Jesus, and partially present in and with the one who lovingly believes.    

Faith in the soul is essentially a loving trust, an inward surrender, to that which we call “God.” The divine Presence flows in, and is experienced as present, in the soul, in the consciousness, of the one open to God. The response to God’s presence begins with faith, and grows into love, as one realizes how utterly good, true, and beautiful God is. The fruit of faith growing into love is the union of the divine Lover with the loving soul, so that Lover and Beloved become one in the act of spiritual love. It is a sweet union, a “most delightful union,” a union often taking place in the darkness of the night of the intellect, when one does not see, or consciously know, the Lover, but is quietly and trustingly aware that “I AM with you.” Words cannot suffice, nor can they tell, what transpires between God and the soul of the man or woman of faith, but the experience speaks for itself: love, joy, peace.

When one lovingly trusts God, a balance of consciousness is restored. In more familiar words, one is grounded, sane, sober-minded, dependable, in peace. Forces of evil, the quicksand of the soul, are kept in healthy check: overwhelming fear, restless anxiety, depression, hatred, lust, greed, self-absorption, acedia. One becomes able to think more clearly, to examine the world, others, oneself, and the divine Presence in a calm, meditative light. Without faith as the grounding in the Ground of reality, one is prey to wild and nonsensical flights of imagination, to the domination of powerful passions, to the grip of fear that chokes one’s ability to rest in peace.

  

Perhaps nothing happens, or one is inchoately, hiddenly moved. Then suddenly, as if one hears a gentle knocking on the door, one becomes aware of the Presence of the divine partner, not seen or grasped, nor comprehended, but recognized in the stillness. One knows Who it is, as one has become familiar with his visitations. A light touch, very light; a soundless inner voice; a most gentle nudging. One turns around, and sees but does not see anything, anyone. But by faith, one understands: You are here. That is all, and more than suffices.  

Brief Thoughts On Prayer: Levels of Mental-Spiritual Development

This weekend at our four Masses I delivered a homily on prayer, responding to the first reading from Genesis and to the passage from St. Luke’s Gospel on prayer. I did not attempt to interpret either Abraham’s wrestling with God or a collection of sayings from Jesus on prayer. Rather, I briefly addressed these questions: What is prayer? What are the main types of prayer? And how can types of prayer be arranged on a scale of mental-spiritual development? My concern, alluded to in the homily, is that many Christians learn to “pray” as a child, and often do not make much advancement beyond a child’s or even childish prayer. However fitting in a child, for an adult to remain fixed at an early stage of prayer in general displays the underlying spiritual problem of entrapment in oneself, in one’s own ego. In order to be an exercise in self-transcendence into divine presence, one must learn different modes of prayer. Either one grows in ways of prayer, or one stagnates mentally and spiritually.

To classify kinds of prayer, and to allow me to make general points on the nature ofprayer, I sketched out a typology of seven stages of prayer, using the image of stages of education. The three most elementary types of prayer are a kind of K-12 education. Then there are three forms of prayer which could be likened to being in spiritual college.  The seventh type of prayer I likened to “graduate school.”  Finally, I mentioned in a sentence the perfection of prayer beyond death. 

    A. Public school of prayer (3 distinct levels). The first level of prayer, most elementary, is rooted in the literal meaning of “pray” as “ask.”  One asks “God” for something, or for some benefit for oneself or for someone else.  This form of prayer is a an expression of the self’s desires, and to a degree, remains self-centered. 

The second level of prayer, rising a little higher, is not asking God for things or benefits, but thanking God for blessings received, either for oneself, or for others. A thankful heart is gradually transcending the confines of the contracted self, the primary spiritual problem of our age. One could take as a model some of the Psalms of thanksgiving:  “I thank you, God, with all my heart. You have heard the words of my mouth.”  

The third level of prayer is, in effect, spiritual-mental high school:  Without thinking about oneself, one praises and worships God for Who He Is, or for what God has done in creating us and saving us. The prayer of praise is a salutary form of self-transcendence, and makes one more like God in simple goodness. Opening words of St. Augustine’s Confessions come readily to mind—and he borrows from the Psalms:  “You are great, O LORD, and highly to be praised….” 

    B. The next three types of prayer I would not arrange on a ladder of ascent, because they not only interact, but one can advance towards union with God through any of these three types of prayer. All are beneficial, and represent genuine self-transcendence.  This is “college level praying,” so to speak, because mindfulness of self is being left behind.  Loving union is growing.

One of these types of prayer is simple, ongoing awareness of the presence of God.When one is engaged in his or her daily activities, one may be ever aware of being in God, and working with God in one’s tasks at hand. Whether or not one pauses explicitly to offer prayers in words to God (asking, thanking, praising), one is aware of the One here and now. Last week we considered the story of Martha and Mary. Had Martha been content to prepare a meal and serve it, happy and at peace to be in the presence of the LORD, she would have been engaged in this kind of prayer. Instead, she was on level one, telling God what to do for her: “Lord, tell my sister to help me serve.” Martha was self-absorbed; Mary’s attention was lovingly absorbed in Christ’s presence.  And of this Mary, sitting at the Lord’s feet and listening to his Word, Jesus said, “Mary has chosen the better portion, and it will not be taken from her.” 

In a second type of “college level prayer,” one actively seeks God, responding to the Lord’s command, “Seek, and you will find.” One questions God, as Abraham did in the reading from Genesis: “Lord, should not the God of all the world act with justice?” The biblical tradition may raise a question, but does not actively pursue it, until Jewish-Christian spiritual experience merges with Greek philosophy, the life of the mind. The Church has produced a number of men and women through the centuries who devoted much study and effort to seeking God with questioning consciousness. And these questioners drew directly or indirectly on the well-spring of philosophy, on Plato and Aristotle. A favorite example of mine of a mind seeking God is the great St. Anselm (c 1050):  “Lord, if you are here, why do I not see you?  If you are absent, how can I seek you? Surely you `dwell in inapproachable light.’ Who will lead me into this light?… I do not understand in order to believe, but I believe in order to understand (credo ut intelligam). His habit of questioning God, of actively seeking God in prayer makes St. Anselm a great model of genuine prayer. I highly recommend to those interested the Prayers and Meditations of St. Anselm, and especially his masterful Proslogion. 

The third “college level” type of prayer is most simple and direct. Rather than being active and also mindful of God, and rather than using discursive reasoning in the search for God, one sits still in the presence of the One who is present. Without words, images, thoughts, the one praying simply and lovingly attends to the present of the Lover-Beloved, the God beyond all words and images.This kind of prayer uses the highest faculty of the human soul, the divine-human intellect, which works by simply gazing. The classic text of this kind of prayer is the masterful Cloud of Unknowing. This kind of prayer deserve to be called “contemplative prayer.” The one who is doing the work is not the self, but the divine Spirit—the divine partner in the human-divine process we call “the soul.” Indeed, in all genuine prayer, to be true and salutary, it is the Spirit who gives life, who works; and the human partner lovingly cooperates.  

    C. Graduate school of prayer: mystical union with God. A number of Christian mystics have left accounts of their experiences of being taken up into divine union. Outside of the New Testament and early Church fathers (such as Origen and Clement of Alexandria), nearly all of the mystical traditions in Christianity have drawn from the works of the Egyptian-Roman philosopher, Plotinus (d. 270 AD). I referred to Plotinus in the homily, for he elaborated astoundingly beautiful experiences of mystical union with the One in his voluminous writings. Plotinus writes about the experience of ekstasis, of being lifted out of himself and absorbed in awareness of divine presence. In one such visionary state, he wrote of seeing the All present in each, and each creatures in All. They were not dissolved, but fully penetrated by the One who is “all in all.” Written of a present experience, it is the most moving description of what Christians call “heaven”I have ever found. Mystical union is not someone’s fancy or imagination, or a human achievement, or a futuristic dream, but the fruit of years of cooperation with the Good, or with that which Christians usually call “God.” 

Two summary points:  First, we heard in the Gospel today Whom to ask to “teach us to pray.”  It is the LORD, Christ, who is the divine Master and Teacher, first and foremost. Secondly, Jesus tells us what to ask for, and what to receive:  not this or that, but “the Holy Spirit who will be given to you.” All genuine prayer is the work and fruit of the Holy Spirit, the divine presence at work in the hearts of the faithful.  It is the Spirit alone who opens up the self into the realm of God. 

On Reading

Friends

Of all the many good gifts my parents gave me, and for which I am truly thankful, I often recall with sweet sorrow (as the days are past) when my mother would read to me. I was young then, and very impressionable. My mother would let me curl up in her lap or by her side with a book, and she read to me. She read to me about the little engine that could, about a wolf dressed up as grandma, about Daniel in the lion’s den, about David and Goliath. Her reading to me was an act of unearned, utterly delightful maternal love. And her reading took me into a world I had not known before. Blessed me her memory. 

Read to your little ones, to the elderly, and to those who are sick.  Read what is good, inspiring, ennobling. Read to one of our seniors, who may be seriously ill, from Scripture, or from a holy book, or prayers. And this I ask of you, and beg you to remember: If I am sick in bed, or in a coma, or perhaps dying, please read to me. (And by all means, no TV or pop music; Mozart and Bach are always welcomed.) Do not read junk to me, please, but the best. Read the Gospel of John to me, or some of the Psalms, or the Gospel of Luke. Read to me the Prayers and Meditations of St. Anselm. Read to me Plato’s Apology, or the Republic. Don’t bother me, please, with gossip or news, when I lay upon my death bed, but read from books that help to row the boat of my soul across the stream of the underworld. No rock, no rap, no crap, but words from faith to faith, from the heart of God into my heart. Then you will truly be loving me into the LORD. Please remember, dear souls.  

Dear friends in Christ:  Read! As a teacher told me when I was a boy, perhaps ten or twelve: “Read the best books, and always read above yourself.” How else does one stretch one’s mind, and if possible, stretch out towards the unseen depths of divinity? And she reminded me that it is terrible “to waste one’s mind.” And a teacher told me as I left the 7th grade for the summer:  “Read books now, because you will not have as much time later.” She recommended Mutiny on the Bounty, which I have yet to read! But I listened to these good teachers, and have been reading above my mind every since. 

When I speak with one of our children, I often ask, “Are you reading?” Quite a few look down, and  shuffle their feet, anxious to escape my question. A few tell me that they read. And I ask, “What are you reading?” and they tell me. To begin with, in early years, parents should encourage children to read according to their natural talents and interests: on mechanics, horses, ranching, flying; stories about children growing up on the Prairie, or in mountains, or with a tree outside their apartment in Brooklyn. The point is:  Read! Discover the joy of learning. I found many hours reading maps as a small boy. 

I do not recommend one book for all, but I welcome folks to ask me for ideas about what to read. Surely a readable translation of the Bible should always be close at hand, and often opened, and read slowly. There are kinds of literature for all tastes within the library called the Bible.  As a boy, I loved the historical books, and tales of heroes, such as Daniel and David. As a student in school, I loved Shakespeare above all, and the Greek tragedies. As a young man, I devoured the Gospels, taking the words to heart, and using them to guide my life choices and actions. In college I discovered, by divine Providence, the joy of philosophy, and especially of Plato. I read what challenges me to question, to think, to examine myself before God, to love in truth.

  
I will never seek to insult anyone who finds pleasure reading ranching journals, or magazines about motorcycles, or stories ancient or new. Read! And try to give some time to stretching your mind by reading noble stories, or good poetry, or history, science, philosophy, various holy scriptures. Man cannot live by pop culture and entertainment alone. These things malnourish. Although there are some very good movies available, in general, there is no substitute for slow, thoughtful, mindful reading.

“LORD, I am not trying to make my way to your height, for my understanding is in no way equal to that, but I do desire to understand a little of your truth, which my heart already believes and loves. I do not seek to understand so that I may believe, but I believe so that I may understand; and what is more, I believe that unless I do believe, I shall not understand.” From the Proslogion of St. Anselm, c. 1070. [Note:  the so-called “Dark Ages” were in some decisive ways much lighter than our dark age.]
 

“Now it is time to go, I to die, and you to live; whoever of us has the better lot is unknown to anyone, except to God.” Apology of Socrates (put to death by Athens in 399 B.C.).

"Mary Had To Become Martha..."

The story of Jesus sitting in the home of Mary and Martha (Luke 10), although brief, speaks to the attentive soul some words worth hearing, pondering, and putting into practice. Indeed, the main point of the story is being attentive to Christ, God’s Word speaking to you—not out of the past, but here and now, in the depths of your soul. Be attentive, listen, rather than “be anxious and busy about many things.” That is the main point of the story. 

As with any passage in Scripture read at Mass, or read in the quiet of your home, there are multiple ways to read and to understand. First, one needs to ask and wonder, “What did the author (here, St. Luke) intend to communicate in this passage of his Gospel?” To answer this, one must read attentively, and perhaps with some good scriptural aids, and at least for scholars and clergy, reading the text in the original Greek. Second, one should have some idea of how this story has been interpreted and applied over the centuries. Third, one should consider some of the interpretations presently being offered. Because most of our people lack the time, background, or perhaps interest to read a text in these ways, it is the duty of your pastor to do so. Why? What is the goal? What matters is not scriptural study for its own sake, but finding in the passages read at Mass sufficient food with which to strengthen and encourage your spiritual life—that is, your love life with Christ, your journey into the heart of God. I offer here a few remarks, to be developed in the homilies on the week-end of July 16-17. 

Taking these three approaches to the text in reverse order: I have heard some fanciful and unimpressive interpretations of this passage from various clergy in my life. The most foolish ones today try to elevate Martha as the more noble soul, because she is cooking and serving food, whereas Mary is just sitting on her tail. This interpretation arises from one of the dominant diseases of modernity: activism or busybody-ness without attending to God. Note that in the story, neither the evangelist nor Jesus praises Martha, yet some of our clergy do. Why? Because they may be like her: “busy and anxious about many things.” To such do-gooders with all of their programs and plans, Jesus says, “One thing is needful,” and that one thing is placing oneself under Christ and listening to him speak. However, let’s consider: 

The story of Mary and Martha took on a life of its own in the Middle Ages—partly fanciful, perhaps, but suggestive and enriching, at least for the many thousands of religious and clergy in the Church during those centuries. Martha became a symbol for the active life, for being engaged in the everyday world, such as having a family and providing a livelihood for the family, and taking care of them. Mary became a symbol of contemplative life, of renouncing wealth and family to enter cloisters, where one could seek God in study and prayer. There is some truth here, but neither St. Luke nor Jesus sought to discredit those who live by looking after their needs and that of their families. We know that all of the Apostles were themselves married, with the exception of Paul. As presented by Luke, the problem with Martha was twofold: she was anxious and troubled; and unlike her sister, she was not sitting at the feet of Christ and LISTENING to his WORD. Martha needed to become more like Mary. On the other hand, the brilliant medieval mystic, Meister Eckhart, drew a profound lesson from this story, one which has spoken to me over the years: “Mary had to become Martha, before she could be be Mary.” You may be puzzled by this mystic’s meaning, and I will share a few words about it. Suffice it to note: contemplation without charity is empty, misleading, and dangerous. 

Finally, St. Luke’s intention in the story: You and I, as disciples of Christ, must place first things first, and sit at the LORD’s feet and listen to him. In other words, you must ATTEND to the presence of the living God in your soul. So many Christians, yet so few who listen to Christ.