This week’s discipleship topic hits me in all my worst places.  I’d love to be good at listening, or good at talking — and I can certainly do both.  But getting the timing and topics right?  Not always.

My catalog of weaknesses:

Between my secular and shy-Catholic upbringings, including God in ordinary conversation does not come naturally to me.  I don’t go around saying “God bless you”, or praising God in random moments with strangers.  I really love it when people do, and living in the Bible Belt, I get to hear Jesus Talk, the good kind, quite a lot.  It really breaks the ice, and lets the listener know what they’re dealing with.  If you’re Christian, it lets you know you’ve found a kindred soul; if you’re not Christian, it lets you know you’re dealing with one of those Christian nutcase people.  I approve all around.

My early-adulthood evangelical upbringing allows me to feel guilty every time I don’t mention Jesus. Did I just miss an opportunity to share the Gospel?  Souls are at stake!  Say something! On the one hand, you can drive yourself nuts, agonizing over whether you said the exact right amount of Christian Stuff in each conversation.  But realistically: Souls are at stake. If you love someone, you don’t want them to spend eternity in Hell.  So attentiveness to how we use our words is a pretty good habit to cultivate.

Wait a minute – where does devotion to the Holy Name fit into this?

I didn’t grow up with novenas and statues and holy water fonts in the house.  We went to Mass a couple times a year, owned one heirloom Bible, and lit the Advent candles and put out a nativity scene at Christmas.  That was as devotional as we got.  But I think that longstanding custom in many parts of the world to bow the head at the mention of the Holy Name?  Probably it influenced our family conversation.  There was “baby Jesus” in the manger, but He pretty much stayed there.

I know it influenced me deep inside, because when I first discovered that people south of the border name their children “Jesus”, I was floored.  You can’t do that!  Name your kid the same thing as his first cousin if you must, but *that* name is taken!

(Development of cultural broadmindedness update: As long as I pronounce it “Hay-soos”, I’m good.  But don’t try to make me call your kid Gee-zuss.  No can do.  I’m not there yet.)

The solution to the Holy Name conundrum I learned from an evangelical friend: Call Him “the Lord”.  I remember years ago listening to a friend at home group talking freely about her conversations with The Lord, her reliance on Him, her trust in Him . . . so comfortable and intimate.  The person who loves her most in the world, but who is also King of the Universe.

And it reminds you who’s in charge.  Easy to forget that God’s got the internet, the airlines, the kid’s math homework, fire ants, the Republican party .  .  . all of it under control.  Nothing, no matter how stupid or evil, happens that He doesn’t allow — and He only allows it because he’s got the ultimate double-effect back-up plan, in which everything evil gets turned back for good in the end.  The Lord.  There’s only one.  And He’s on the job.

A Time for Talking and a Time for Shutting Up

I fall apart coming and going on this evangelizing thing.  I tend to not mention God when I should, see above + shyness + don’t like to offend + [insert excuse here].  But then I’m such a problem-solver helper-type, that when someone does bring up the whole God topic . . . I go into “Here’s what you do” mode.

Yeah, that doesn’t really fly.

So I’m working on my listening skills.

If you’re good at this, please share?  If you stink at it, you can share that too.

 

The questions this week get right to the ugly bit about reforming the Church: There would be no need for reform if people weren’t doing things wrong.

To be a disciple of Christ is to concede that you do a ton of things wrong.  That it’s your mission in life to find out what you’re doing wrong, and to change — through your own willingness, and through your cooperation with the grace of God.

All this would be unbearable if we were condemned for our sins.  The reason to stick around for Christianity is because God does not demand our blood, He offers his own.  We don’t have a religion that let’s us brush off our sins as “no big deal” or “not really hurting anybody” or “just a mistake”.  It is a big deal.  We do get hurt.

And we freely choose to do wrong even when we know better.   Venial sin is worse than the measles, to quote the much-maligned children’s Baltimore Catechism.  Mortal sin is worse than cancer, to quote I’m-not-sure-whom.  You only die of cancer once; you die of mortal sin for all eternity.

I’m persuaded that Christians today, in addition to having a loose grasp on the reality of God and everything else, haven’t got much of a notion of forgiveness.  We observe (correctly) that our friends are eminently likeable people, so we decide that must mean they are innocent.  We observe (correctly) that God loves our friends, and therefore they can’t possibly be headed to Hell.

The results is that when someone really betrays us, or really commits some serious, shocking harm, we have to switch over to demonizing.  I’m reminded of a murder I read about in the newspaper once. The neighbor observed that the murderer (a mother) loved her children dearly, evidenced by the fact that she made her children brush her teeth every night.  Surely a mother who makes her children brush her teeth before bed wouldn’t murder them in the morning?  Except that she did.  The clean-teeth rule doesn’t hold.

I happen to like just about everyone, so the Do I Like You? method of moral theology doesn’t satisfy.

In our parishes, the reality that our leaders sin (and err) does not negate everything they do.  A devoted musician, a kind catechist, or a generous priest, doesn’t cease to be devoted or kind or generous on account of this or that unrelated shortcoming.  “How can you say Mrs. Beazly wasn’t prepared for her lesson!  She loves the children so dearly!”  Well yes, she does love the children, and that’s to her credit.  She still needs to brush up on her theology.  And since she loves the children, surely she’s willing to sit down for a quick review of the creed, to make sure she’s got her facts right, no?

And it works the other way.  “How can you say that man is a good priest, when he presides over Disco Mass every Sunday?”  Well, yes, the disco Mass really must go.  But that doesn’t mean Father needs to go.  May the disco Mass perish in the netherworld, and Father chuckle with relief in a safe, happy place where we’ll spend 10,000 years with never a glimpse of shag carpet*.

So on the one hand, sin and stupidity ought to be shocking.  How *could* you spend all these years in church leadership, and not even have a personal relationship with the Lord? Seriously?  And on the other hand, sin and stupidity are such part and parcel of our everyday lives, it gets a little boring.

Which is not to say we shrug and put up with up with it.  Measles, remember?  Vaccinate, prescribe, rest and fluids, visit the sick person, recover slowly, be careful about hand-washing and sharing cups.  But you would no more hate your friend for catching the measles than you ought to hate your friend for catching original sin.  It happens.

Forgiveness is that moment when we let go of the natural horror of realizing things are really, really wrong, and step in and help out the sinner in whatever way we are able.  Sometimes all we can do is pray. Sometimes, for the eternal safety of ourselves and others, spiritual quarantine really is the only prudent option.

(Said with full force of the virtue on that ‘prudence’, not a wiggly fearful over-caution hiding behind the real thing.)

Other times, we can do something more.  When we can, we do.

*This vision of Heaven has not been approved by the Church.  But if there is shag carpet in Heaven, it will be some kind of Divine shag carpet that persons actually want in their homes. Purgatory, on the other hand? All bets are off.