Mirroring the Trinity

There simply isn’t enough time to meditate on our Gospel today. Pope Saint John Paul II spent weeks meditating on it, as it was one of the critical inspirations for his Theology of the Body. He notices the gravity with which Jesus says “in the beginning it was not so,” and begins to wonder, “What is it about the beginning that makes it so significant?”.

His early reflections culminated in the realization of the “spousal meaning of the body.” This phrase, central to John Paul’s reflections, is hard to define succinctly, but we can get close. The body reveals the person. It is a window into the person, revealing his thoughts, feelings, personality, and ultimately his identity. In the beginning, that is, in Eden, this was transparent. The moment Adam saw Eve, it was clear that she was a person like him, and that she was extraordinarily beautiful. They were able to be naked without shame together, truly seeing the other as a gift.

This is the core of the spousal meaning of the body: having been created as a gift from God, we are meant to imitate His Trinitarian life of infinite love. Through our bodies, we reflect the Creator, and through our sexuality we reflect His boundless gift. In our relationships with others, in our bodily life, we are meant to express this total gift, ultimately through our sexuality. We ought to carry forth God’s love, and this comes prewritten in our bodies.

This provides the context for Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel. In the beginning, marriage was the flowering of this spousal meaning of the body, the ultimate expression of self-gift through sexuality, imaging God’s Trinitarian communion of love. This is still what marriage is. With God’s grace, marriage today lives up to this original state of unity and innocence.

Still, Jesus does not deny the disciples’ words when they point out that it is better not to marry. He points out that not all can accept this, but only those to whom it has been given. Saint Paul speaks similarly in 1 Corinthians 7:7, saying that “each has a particular gift from God.” Some are called to marriage, and some to continence for the kingdom.

We can see why this is. In marriage, spouses live out the spousal meaning of the body in a natural and direct way. Through the very sexuality which speaks of self-gift, they give themselves completely to another in a comprehensive (psychological and physical) union, becoming one flesh.

In the priesthood and consecrated virginity, men and women live out the spousal meaning of the body in a supernatural, indirect way. They express the same impulse toward self-gift, but give themselves entirely to their heavenly spouse. Both Christ here and Saint Paul in 1 Corinthians 7 call this the higher calling, since it mirrors life in heaven, when we will give ourselves entirely to be God and no longer be married.

As mentioned, each has his own gift from God. The superiority of continence for the kingdom is not meant to downplay the beauty of marriage, but it is something to give thanks for. God calls specific men and women to consecrated celibacy, and he gives the grace for them to reflect His Son’s life as a virgin dedicated to the kingdom. He also prepares specific men and women for holy marriage, giving the grace to maintain a one-flesh union that reflects the boundless love of the Trinity.

In both cases, we have reason to give thanks, reflecting the praise of God echoed in both our First Reading and Psalm. It all comes from the Lord, Who does the work and wins the fight for us. We need only to trust Him, cooperate, and be grateful.

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: Moises Becerra, https://www.cathopic.com/photo/10531-creacion-obra-capilla-sixtina

True Rest

Today, the Lord tells us that He can give us true rest, beyond that which the world gives. Christ invites us to take His yoke upon us and learn from Him, but this claim is much more significant in light of our First Reading.

When God reveals His name to Moses in the burning bush, He make a bold claim: “I AM.” At face value, this is somewhat redundant. Deeply examined, it reveals two things. First, God is the only God, and all the “gods” that others worship are either non-entities or demons. They cannot begin to compare to the God of the universe, the only One who is. Compared to Him, they do not even exist. Second, this is a metaphysical claim: God is existence itself, in that there is nothing lacking to Him. He has every possible perfection, fullness of being, life in abundance.

With this revelation, God is communicating that He is and always will be truly God, truly all-powerful and all-encompassing, and that no other can compare to Him. He is the one we should turn to for all our needs, since He holds all existence in Himself and has every good gift in abundance. He remains so for all time, never able to be hindered. 

Jesus points to this reality at a different point in the Gospel of Luke (20:38), when He uses this passage to prove the resurrection: God revealed Himself as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, even though they were thought to be dead or annihilated. In reality, He remains their God, because they remain alive, even after bodily death.

In our Gospel today, Jesus connects Himself with this same image of God. It may sound comforting to hear that all who come to Jesus will find rest, and it is comforting. However, it goes much deeper than the surface. As Pope Benedict XVI pointed out, this passage comes directly before Jesus’ statement that the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath. Coupled with the concepts of “rest” and “burden,” this coalesces to the claim that He is above the Sabbath, not merely as a lawgiver but as the Author of the Sabbath, God Himself.

Only God can give the true Sabbath rest promised in the Ten Commandments and echoed in the Exodus from Egypt. Only He can provide this freedom from both external and internal enemies, from Pharaoh and sin. With this divine claim, Jesus Christ is directly connecting Himself to the “I AM” Who introduced Himself in our First Reading.

We all know that Jesus Christ is God the Son, but it is important to reflect now and again on what this really means. He is the I AM, the one God, the fullness of existence, the giver of every good gift. There is no goodness without God, because there is no existence without God. Jesus Christ, being God, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. There is no other, and any attempt to place our final hope in another will deprive us of the promised rest.

Today, we give praise to God for His providence, for His loving care that provides us rest from our enemies, both from within and from without.

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: Vanesa Guerrero, rpm, https://www.cathopic.com/photo/1016-arder-amor-dios

A Greater Calling

Today we see the gravity of following Christ. In the center of our readings, we are reminded of the beauty of our call, a call to remain in the presence of the kind and merciful Lord. In the surrounding readings, God points out both the consequences of abandoning Him and the implications of following Him.

At face value, our passage from Genesis 18 concerns the great mercy of God — this is correct, of course, and our Psalm confirms it. However, we need to remember the larger context. Sodom and Gomorrah were known for their depravity, specifically the sin of sodomy. Though God shows His great kindness in condescending to Abraham and informing him of His plans, He still executes judgment on the people of the two cities. Their grave sin does not go unnoticed.

By contrast, the Lord makes clear that He would have spared the city if only ten righteous persons were found within it. He takes the opportunity to worn Lot and send His angels ahead to protect the family. But because only Lot and his family are righteous, the city is destroyed. God shows mercy to the righteous, but His judgment comes for those who repeatedly ignore His pleas.

This helps us place the other accounts of judgment throughout the Old Testament into perspective. The way God acts in response to grave sin may seem excessive, especially when we consider the manner of death — slaying, earthquake, stoning, and the like. Seen in light of Sodom and Gomorrah, though, we can see that God would never go to such lengths for those who would return to Him, called the “righteous” in our First Reading. Destruction of cities and other grave punishments are reserved for truly wayward sinners.

On the flipside of God’s stark justice, we see His great mercy. He is willing to spare the city for ten righteous, and ultimately He is ready to call all into the New Covenant in Christ. When we come to our Gospel, we see the glory of this call. All manner of people come to Jesus to follow Him, but He is no ordinary rabbi. His ministry demands sacrifice and dedication.

To the scribe, He says that following Him will mean homelessness. To the other disciple, He implies that discipleship means letting go of intimate family ties. The follower of Christ is never at home in this world, and he is ready to choose God over family and friends, if it comes to that.

Combined with our First Reading, this may seem like a bleak image. Turn away from God, and He will judge decisively. Follow God, and He will demand that you sacrifice what you hold dear. Such an image, taken on its own, neglects the fact of Who we are following: the kind and merciful Lord, Who gives us all that we need and more.

Jesus Christ is worth following no matter the sacrifice. We know that we were created to be with the Lord in heaven, and that nothing else will satisfy us. He made us to serve Him, but He made serving Him sweet. It may demand some purification so that we have room to accept Him, and it may mean some conflict with those who do not understand, but the alternative is not glamorous, and the journey is worth the sacrifice. As our Alleluia verse says, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: Diego Zamudio, https://www.cathopic.com/photo/23936-sagrado-corazon-jesus-piedra

God’s Flesh and Blood

On this Solemnity of Corpus Christi, the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, we focus on the ultimate sacrifice of Our Lord, and just as much on His ultimate miracle. In the Eucharist, Christ feeds us with His very Body and Blood, the same that was given on the Cross for our salvation. He gives us food for eternal life while perpetuating that one perfect sacrifice which ushered in the New Covenant.

Our First Reading, recounting the sprinkling of the blood of the covenant upon the Israelites in the desert, shows us the importance of Christ’s sacrifice. In the Old Covenant, blood was considered to hold the life of the animal. The sprinkling rite in Exodus was not simply a reminder of punishment for not following the covenant — it was moreso a purification, as Paul points out in our Second Reading: “If the blood of goats and bulls and the sprinkling of a heifer’s ashes can sanctify those who are defiled so that their flesh is cleansed, how much more will the blood of Christ … cleanse our consciences” (Heb 9:13–14).

Christ’s Blood, shed for us on the Cross, is also a cleansing agent, but one infinitely more potent than that of sacrificial cattle. While their blood sanctified legally, His sanctifies thoroughly. But as Paul is at pains to explain, Jesus follows in the same tradition, building upon it while at the same time surpassing and perfecting it. His is the definitive sacrifice, and He commands it to be re-presented in the action of the Mass. 

It is enough for us to attend Mass to participate in this sacrifice. But to truly experience its fruits in the most extraordinary way, to have life within us, we must receive His Body and Blood. As most of us know, this is not a metaphor at all. The Eucharist is truly Jesus Christ’s, God’s, Body and Blood. 

Through transubstantiation, the changing of the substance of bread and wine into His Body and Blood, we can receive Him without having to experience the potentially-nauseating taste of human flesh and blood. He preserves the accidents, the non-essential features proper to bread and wine: taste, shape, color, smell, and the like. How this is possible may be difficult to understand, but we know that it is true, at the very least from Christ Himself in John 6 and in our Gospel passage, and again from the infallible definitions of the Council of Trent.

This ultimate sacrifice made present to us is a profound gift, allowing us to experience and participate in the New Covenant in the same practical, visceral way that the Jews did in the desert. The Cross and its fruits are not something abstract, thanks to God’s providence: they are present at every Mass throughout the world, available to us day after day.

Corpus Christi is a wonderful time to reflect on the Eucharist. Though I cannot go into it here, I strongly suggest reading over the full Sequence, read between the Second Reading and the Gospel, for today. Take your time, look up the words you don’t know, and pray over the words detailing God’s providence and His impressive design in the Eucharist. Happy Solemnity!

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

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Mother of the Church

Today we celebrate the Memorial of Mary, Mother of the Church. Our Lady, as the woman through whom the Lord came into the world, sits as Queen of the Church, continuing to mediate His graces.

Even knowing the memorial, the First Reading can seem out of left field. Why are we hearing about the Fall on the feast day of Mary? The key is in Genesis 3:15, traditionally called the Protoevangelium, or “First Gospel”: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel.” It is considered the first proclamation of the triumph of the Messiah.

This most obviously refers to the conflict between our first parents and Satan, but it also refers to a number of other things. Depending on the language translated, it can either read as shown, or as “she will strike at your head.” Both interpretations are valid, one referring to the Messiah and the other to a female descendent of Eve. This female descendant, who will strike at Satan’s head, is none other than our Blessed Mother, the Mother of the Church.

Mary’s authority is not simply abstract. From the beginning of history, the Lord intended that she would not only bear the Savior of the world, but also that she would conquer Satan through her ministry. This is borne out not only in Marian apparitions, but even in the realm of exorcism: demons are no match for Our Lady. Her intercession is truly powerful, as we acknowledge in the Memorare.

The triumph of Our Lady, predicted in Genesis 3:15, gets fleshed out at Our Lord’s crucifixion. As we see in the Gospel, Jesus’ last act before His death is to entrust Mary to John and vice versa. The saints have always interpreted this to mean that Jesus is giving Mary to the Church as Mother, and the Church to Mary. Christ certainly rules His Church, but He chooses to do so through Mary, just as He chose to become flesh through her. 

The ecclesial typology is complete with the piercing of Christ’s side. Blood and water flow out, symbolizing the Eucharist and Baptism, marking the birth of the Church. Just as Eve came from Adam’s side, so too does the Church come from the side of Christ. None of this escapes John, the same disciple to whom Mary was entrusted.

As Mother of the Church, Mary, the “Destroyer of all heresies,” helps to preserve her from error and apostasy. She protects the Church from those who would subvert her purpose, and keeps her members fixed on Christ. Though she does not have much to say in the Gospels, she rules the Church with serenity and authority. She excellently fulfills the role of Queen Mother, serving at the right hand of the King.

Today, we receive a welcome reminder of Our Lady’s intercession, and ultimately of Our Lord’s provision for His people. Let us turn to Mary, Mother of the Church, knowing that her intercession and authority are both real and effective.

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: Julya Severino, https://www.cathopic.com/photo/21762-maria-matilde;e-da-igreja

The Merit of Suffering

Good Friday is the darkest day in history, but it is also a day of hope. God has been crucified, but He will rise before long. We know that he will soon rise, but today is a day of solemn grief. The Savior of the World has been handed over to men to be scourged and killed.

We hear the culmination of the Suffering Servant songs in Isaiah’s prophecies. Jesus is “crushed for our sins, pierced for our offenses”. We hear his cry in the Psalm: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” The Son of God experiences the depths of loss, ridicule, and pain. He takes on the weight of our sins.

But this suffering is not all darkness: it bears fruit. Not simply in the sense that it is the occasion for Jesus to show His glory. Christ’s suffering itself is fruitful: “Because of his affliction he shall see light in fullness of days; through his suffering, my servant shall justify many, and their guilt he shall bear” (Isaiah 53:11, my emphasis).

What does this mean? We know that there is a purpose in suffering, but how do we understand that suffering itself can be fruitful, regardless of the result? This is one of the greatest mysteries of our Faith, and it is placed before us on Good Friday.

Jesus Christ freely accepted His Passion, knowing the pain that it would cause Him. He endured the harshest treatment, never losing His peace and never complaining. He knew that He would endure the greatest suffering of all — great because of the pain, infinitely greater because of the sacrilege.

Our Lord did this of His own free will, even in His fully human will, firmly resolving to be conformed to His divine will in the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew full well that He would endure great suffering, and He also knew that it was this that would best atone for the sins of man. If a true man suffered the penalty of sin with the infinite merit of God, the curse would be broken. Our sin, though its guilt can be forgiven, nevertheless merits divine punishment. The suffering itself pays the price. 

This is one key truth of suffering. Our suffering is a participation in the Cross. Of course, we need to know what exactly the suffering of Christ on the Cross was meant to accomplish to understand what this means. Being united to Christ’s sufferings means that our sufferings are done in expiation for the sins of men. We are pierced for others’ (and our own) afflictions, just as Christ was pierced for ours. Through His salvific work, our own sufferings bear fruit.

There are many other reasons for suffering, more than could be described in a blog post. But for today, let’s focus on one more reason. For all of the explanations we can give, we never really come to terms with suffering. It never ceases to be painful. However, even in our most difficult times, we can fall back on the firm conviction that Jesus suffered. Not only did He suffer, but He suffered greatly. He suffered the worst pain of all, and did it confidently, preserving His dignity and choosing not to spurn any of it. Though we may not always understand, Jesus Christ will always be with us in our sufferings. That was His choice. Today we celebrate that choice and join Him on Calvary.

Contact the author

David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

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Be Attentive

Today is “Spy Wednesday,” the day that Judas betrayed Our Lord. Our First Reading and Psalm speak eloquently of the Suffering Servant of God, the Messiah, who will come to save His people from their sins. He will bear beatings, insults, and ultimately death, but will do so willingly, ready to accept anything to accomplish the will of the Father. We have been hearing these prophecies from Isaiah all week, and we will continue to hear them through Good Friday.

It is good to reflect on just how humble and confident the Lord must have been to allow Himself to be betrayed, beaten, abused, insulted, stripped, and killed so mercilessly. Today, however, I want to focus on Judas Iscariot. Why would he betray Our Lord? This is a good question on its own, but for Judas it is all the more baffling. Why would he betray Jesus Christ, whom he walked with for years and saw as a friend and master?

Judas was a Zealot, a member of a radical Jewish sect that sought to overthrow the Roman government and encourage the Messiah to come forward and lead the insurrection in the process. Many Jews thought that the Messiah would hold secular political power. The Zealots thought that they could help the Messiah achieve victory. Iscariot, Judas’ surname, gives away his Zealot sympathies. This is a title meaning “dagger man,” referring to the Zealots who would carry daggers at all times.

Over the course of Jesus’ ministry, it’s likely that Judas became disillusioned. Somewhere along the line, it became obvious to him that Jesus did not want political authority, at least not in the sense that many of the Jews thought that the Messiah would. He did come to rule and to lead, but in a very unexpected way. Judas may have hung around because of Jesus’ holiness, or simply because he wanted to get back at Him later. Either way, he remained until his betrayal, the fatal move.

Judas’ betrayal was a result of his failure to pay attention to Our Lord. He expected one Messiah, got another, and couldn’t stop and consider that he might be the misguided one. Later on, he understood his error, but was too crestfallen to make amends. Instead, he took his own life, crushed by the weight of his sin.

Job presents another way for us. He too had a misguided view of God. Though he was always righteous, unlike the sin-prone Judas, he too thought that God was different than in reality. Job, afflicted by Satan, expected the Lord to give him a comprehensive explanation. Instead, the Lord says that Job simply can’t understand: “Who is this that darkens counsel with words of ignorance? Gird up your loins now, like a man; I will question you, and you tell me the answers!” (Job 38:2–3).

In the end, Job repents in dust and ashes, admitting that God’s ways are unfathomable. He was attentive, and by listening understood that the Lord’s ways are greater, much more marvelous than his. He allowed God to change his perspective in a radical way, and humbly accepted the consequences. Let us do the same this Triduum, attending to the Lord and allowing Him to transform our lives, even if it means giving up what we might want from Him. On Good Friday and beyond, we will see Him surpass even our wildest expectations, giving the ultimate explanation for suffering.

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David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

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Repent!

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matt 4:17).

These are the first words of Jesus’ public ministry. Today, Ash Wednesday, we have greater occasion to reflect on them. Of course, we know the basics of Lent: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. We’re probably still thinking about what to do in each of these areas, and I’m sure our friends and pastors will have some helpful advice. But today more than ever, we ought to have an oft-neglected subject in mind: repentance.

Our readings are shot through with contrition, intense sorrow of the heart for sin. We hear Joel’s powerful call to “proclaim a fast” and to return to the Lord with “weeping and mourning” (Joel 2:12, 15), and we read from the famous Psalm 51, which David created after committing murder and adultery. The Scriptures express a sorrow that we often do not experience. 

Sure, we’re familiar with sorrow. We have plenty of occasions to mess up, and therefore plenty of occasions to apologize. But can we relate to the intensity of Joel’s sorrow? Can we relate to David’s profound contrition? It’s important to remember that the people of the Old Testament, at certain times, were accustomed to expressing their sorrow for sin by wearing sackcloth and covering themselves in ashes. Why go so far?

In our psalm, David says “against you [the Lord] only have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight” (Psalm 51:6). By saying this, he acknowledges that ultimately, all sin can be referred back to God. When we take that perspective, we can understand his contrition more clearly.

Sin is, at its core, a turning away from God, elevating some created person or thing above Him. In sinning, we’re saying, “That’s nice, God, but I’d really prefer to listen to myself (or someone else) right now. I know that You created me and that everything You ask of me is for my own good and happiness, but I don’t really believe that right now.”

Knowing what sin really is and how much it offends Our Lord, why would we ever deliberately do it? How can we get so carried away by our own desires and by the temptations of the world and Satan that we forget who our Creator is? Do we really want to give Him another reason for His ultimate sacrifice on the Cross? “God, I appreciate what You’re doing for me, and I know it’s painful, but could you stay up there a bit longer? There are some things I’d like to do.”

Now, we aren’t usually so callous when we sin. However, we need to understand that each sin against God (which all sins are) is saying these things to a greater or lesser degree. When we see this, we can begin to understand Joel and David. We can begin to understand the point of such great lengths as sackcloth, ashes, and public penance. We can embark on our Lenten prayer, fasting, and almsgiving practices with greater fervor.

This perspective, coupled with the firm confidence (also in our readings) that God will accept our repentance and replace our sin with grace, will allow us to have a truly fruitful Lent. We can foster these attitudes through prayer, fasting, almsgiving, and frequent Confession. This is a powerful time, when the entire Church atones for its sins, experiencing a purgative season. We experience discomfort and sorrow for forty days, but these days bear great fruit. In the end, we experience the mercy, love, and forgiveness of the Savior, and we merit grace for the salvation of souls.

Contact the author

David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

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Light is Meant to Shine

Today is the memorial of Saint Thomas Aquinas, a great saint and a Doctor of the Church. As most of us already know, Aquinas is a giant in the Catholic theological and philosophical sphere. He took Aristotle, Plato, and the other ancients and combined them with Augustine and the best of the Christian faith. His beginner’s text, the Summa Theologiae, may not seem like beginner’s work to us, but it masterfully and systematically explains the Faith while giving it a sure defense. Though he spent most of his time writing, teaching, and praying, we can learn more from the life of this academic than at first glance.

Our readings speak of light, both in the sense of God’s Word and in the sense of the light of our good works. In the Gospel, light refers to the hidden things of God and of the human heart: “Is a lamp brought in to be placed under a bushel basket or under a bed, and not to be placed on a lampstand? For there is nothing hidden except to be made visible; nothing is secret except to come to light” (Mark 4:21–22). Saint Thomas Aquinas shows what can happen if we let our light shine before others, revealing both our good works that God has enabled us to do and the hidden things of God.

Aquinas spent his life’s work doing this, both expounding the mysteries of God and the human heart and using his good works to glorify God. For him, these activities were one and the same. He taught, spoke, and wrote about the things of God, humbly displaying his natural talent and letting the Lord infuse it with grace. He was immersed in the life of the Trinity. His writings, academic and devotional, are still widely read today, and his light continues to defend the Faith and bring souls to Christ.

We can look at the example of so great a saint and use it as a model for our own lives. We may not have the gifts necessary to be effective writers, teachers, or speakers, but we do have particular gifts that God has given to us. Whether we look at our personalities or our particular talents, there is something unique that we can use to glorify God. Just as Saint Thomas Aquinas did, we should spend our lives using our gifts and talents for the glory of God.

Next comes the important step of allowing God to guide our actions. Saint Thomas Aquinas would not have written a word if he thought that staying silent would glorify God. Nearing the end of his life, Aquinas had a magnificent vision of God, and immediately ceased writing. Compared to what he had seen, his writing counted as straw, he said; he could not do his vision justice, and knew that it was better not to write any more. We need to have the same docility, ready to work when God calls and cease when He shows us a new path.

Taking Saint Thomas Aquinas as our model, let us cultivate the gifts and talents that God has given us so that we can truly let our light shine. In doing so diligently and with docility, we will clearly reveal the hidden things of God and be able to let Jesus Christ work through us.

Contact the author

David Dashiell is a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader based in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. His writing has been featured in Crisis Magazine and The Imaginative Conservative, and his editing is done for a variety of publishers, such as Sophia Institute and Scepter. He can be reached at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

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There’s Nothing to Worry About

“When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say. You will be given at that moment what you are to say. For it will not be you who speak but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you” (Matthew 17:19–20).

As always, and especially on this Feast of Saint Stephen, the First Martyr, God promises tribulation. And as always, and especially on this feast day, God tells us not to be afraid or troubled. This can be a perplexing dichotomy: if we should expect trials, isn’t there something to worry about? Yet, Jesus is clear: “Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil” (Matthew 6:34).

Saint Stephen is a great example of this tension. Because of his courageous defense of Christ as the Messiah, he faces imminent death. Even before he gave his speech, he actively debated those who disagreed. He knew that this would cause trouble, and that it might lead to worse. Despite this, Stephen pressed onward without a trace of anxiety. He did not worry.

Our First Reading begins as Stephen is finishing his eloquent defense of the Faith. Though the people are infuriated, Stephen is not paying attention to them. What is he doing instead? “But he, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked up intently to heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and he said ‘Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God’” (Acts 7:55–56). Stephen is looking up to heaven.

Saint Stephen knows what is truly important, and it’s not how others will react to Catholicism, or the pain that comes with being a committed follower of Christ. It is the things that are above: “Seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God” (Colossians 3:1). This is exactly where Stephen is looking, down to the last detail. He does not mind the hatred of the crowd, because his joy is based in heaven. He is confident in his Faith, and he has a solid foundation in the teaching and power of Christ.

This should be a lesson for us. It is not that we shouldn’t expect adversity as Catholics — in fact, there’s an argument to be made that we should be concerned if we are not experiencing any kind of persecution for our beliefs. But in reality, the persecution doesn’t matter. If we have the protection of the Holy Trinity and the heavenly host, we will always conquer. Nothing but our own sin can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ. There is truly nothing to worry about.

As we continue to celebrate the Christmas season, let us keep this in mind, not just as a nice phrase, but as a true and practical fact. The trials and tribulations of this life, while truly difficult, are really not important in the long run. What is important is eternal life with God, and this has been promised to those who love Him and follow His commands. Let us remember this and rejoice that Christ made it possible on Christmas Day.

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David Dashiell is the Associate Director of Liturgy for a group of parishes in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. When he is not spending time with his wife and infant daughter, he is writing on philosophy and theology for various online publications. You can find some of these in Crisis Magazine and the Imaginative Conservative, and you can contact him at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: Guadalupe Belmonte,  https://www.cathopic.com/photo/4129-divina-majestad

Christ is King, and Not Just in Heaven

Today is the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. This impressive title calls to mind Christ’s heavenly glory and His power over nature. But how often do we think of the authority of Christ on earth?

Our readings give us a hint of this: imagery of Christ as the Good Shepherd surrounds talk of Christ’s all-encompassing victory over the grave. The First Reading and the Psalm give a comforting picture of a Lord Who provides for all the needs of His people, watching over and protecting them in this life and preparing them for the next. These are important duties of earthly authorities: protect your subjects and promote the common good. They bring out Christ’s daily guidance of His people.

Deeper still, we see the Good Shepherd take on the responsibility of judgment in Matthew’s Gospel. The Son of God takes judgment beyond the earth: He is the judge of our eternal state, and can give eternal rewards and punishments. Of course, this is nothing new to us, since we already know that God has authority in the heavenly sphere.

What about the earthly sphere? Matthew 25 not only refers to eternal judgment, but also to earthly authority. Just as the kings of the earth can punish our wicked actions and incentivize our righteous ones in this life, so can Jesus Christ the King do the same. The difference, at least in this passage, is that He chooses to wait until the final judgment to hand down His decisions. This does not mean that our actions or inactions do not matter, but rather that the response comes later than we might expect.

This can catch us off guard, but it is important to keep perspective. In the Old Testament, before the coming of Christ, it was common for God to mete out harsh punishments in the moments following grave sin. We need only to look at Sodom and Gomorrah, the Golden Calf incident, and the Ten Plagues to see examples.

Now, rewards and punishments are still present, but many of them are reserved for the afterlife. Christ speaks of earthly tribulation in store for His faithful disciples, but promises eternity for those who last until the end. He often chooses to simply rebuke rather than smite sinners in His public ministry, but He is clear about their final state. The judgment is still there, claimed by Jesus Christ the King, but it might not come until purgatory, heaven, or hell.

Remembering this fact helps us to keep in mind that Jesus is still watching over us — a central point in the readings. Christ holds authority over both heaven and earth, the entire universe, and we experience that authority differently depending on our relationship with Him. In this life, we may either hear the gentle call of the Shepherd or feel the strong sting of His rod. After death, we will hear Him say either “Depart from me!” or “Come, you who are blessed by my Father.”

To those who love Him and seek to walk in his paths, the supreme authority of Christ the King is something sweet. To those who ignore His commands and go astray, it is terrifying. Confident in our Faith, let us happily follow our King wherever He leads.

Contact the author

David Dashiell is the Associate Director of Liturgy for a group of parishes in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. When he is not spending time with his wife and infant daughter, he is writing on philosophy and theology for various online publications. You can find some of these in Crisis Magazine and the Imaginative Conservative, and you can contact him at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.

Feature Image Credit: mileschristi,  https://www.cathopic.com/photo/4129-divina-majestad

A Blueprint for Charity

As we continue to hear of the difficult questions posed to Jesus, we come to the Great Commandment: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Matt 22:37). The second, also essential, follows close behind: “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt 22:39). We ought to honor God in the public square, attending Mass, defending core teachings of the Faith, and avoiding the idols of our time. In addition, we ought to care for the poor and needy, offering our time, talent, and treasure to be present to the disadvantaged. Often, we focus more on one or the other of these commandments. After all, worship and charity seem to be quite different. This focus is good to the extent that we truly put the Great Commandment, love of God, first. Even so, it is easy to miss the unifying connection between these two commandments: charity.

The Catechism, in paragraph 1822, refers to charity as the virtue “by which we love God above all things for his own sake, and our neighbor as ourselves for the love of God.” Both commandments, touching God and neighbor, are encompassed by this virtue. Just as the Great Commandment takes primacy in Jesus’ response, so does love of God take primacy in the virtue of charity. Even love of neighbor, while seemingly centered on our brothers and sisters, is ultimately done for love of God. When we love God with all our heart, soul, and mind, we love all people for his sake, recognizing that the Lord wants his creation to flourish.

Our readings give us a sort of blueprint for this understanding of charity. Our reading from Exodus gives us a foundation: charity cannot exist in us without justice. Justice, at its core, means giving the other person what is due to him. If we wrong the widow, the orphan, the poor, or our neighbor, we cannot possibly move forward in acting out of love for them. We must treat all people as they deserve, created in God’s image and likeness. This is the minimum, asked of the Hebrews immediately upon being freed from Egyptian slavery. Still drawn to idolatry, they were expected to be just.

Once we learn to be just, as even the pagans were, we turn our thoughts to God. The Psalmist expresses this beautifully, proclaiming God as his strength, rock, fortress, and deliverer. “The LORD lives and blessed be my rock! Extolled be God my savior” (Ps 18:47). We proclaim in reply, “I love you, Lord, my strength.” All charity, as seen in the Catechism, begins with love of God. As Love himself, the Lord is the perfect object of our love. He gives us all that we need and even more, equipping us for a life of joy. Throughout our trials and triumphs, he is present. Beyond what he gives us, God is always worthy to be praised and loved, perfect and wonderful as he is. God is to be loved with all of our strength. This is why love of God is the Great Commandment.

Saint Paul shows us the flowering of charity in our second reading. Having practiced justice and the love of God, we can perfect our love of neighbor. The Thessalonians impress Paul precisely in showing this charity: not only did they hear the words of the Lord and implement them, but they spread them far and wide. They cared so deeply for their brothers and sisters that they could not bear to see them deprived of the grace of God. They strove to bring all to Christ, both to fulfill God’s will and to serve their neighbor. Their evangelization was an act of love for neighbor, but it was done out of love for God. This unity of the commandments is exactly what charity calls for. We practice justice, love God in himself, and love God in our neighbor, all at the same time.

Often, we hear gospel passages such as this one and remain at the surface. It is fairly easy to imagine what Jesus means when he tells us to love God and to love our neighbor. However, when we read in context and look for the depth of God’s Word, we can see the riches of a life of charity, lived in union with God and in communion with our neighbors.

Contact the author

David Dashiell is the Associate Director of Liturgy for a group of parishes in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. When he is not spending time with his wife and infant daughter, he is writing on philosophy and theology for various online publications. You can find some of these in Crisis Magazine and the Imaginative Conservative, and you can contact him at ddashiellwork@gmail.com.