My Top 5 Reasons Why I Love Mary

A Month to Celebrate

The month of May is the month of Mary, the Catholic Church's most revered human figure, second only to than the Savior himself. A lot has happened this past month regarding Mary, primarily the celebration of the 100th year anniversary of the first apparition of our Lady in Fatima, Portugal, on May 13. In addition, the feast of Mary, help of Christians was on May 24, and, on May 31, to conclude the month of Mary, we celebrated the feast of the Visitation from Mary to St. Elizabeth.

Since the month of Mary had just concluded, I figured that I would write this up to explain to my friends just how important Mary is to me and my spiritual journey, especially in light of encountering some "God the Mother" folks this semester. Ever since I encountered those people, I've reflected pretty heavily on why Mary is such a vital figure in the life of the Church, and I figured that, despite the month of Mary being over, we should still reflect on this deep mystery and great gift called Mary.

Before I go further into this blog, I probably should clarify the major misconception about Marian doctrine for my non-Catholic friends out there: Catholics do not worship Mary. Like all Christians, we reserve worship solely for God (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). This respect is pretty hardcore, so it might make sense why this mistake might be made. However, as I hope you'll come to discover, this respect will make sense and is actually grounded in Scripture.

So, without further ado, here are my top 5 reasons why I love Mary and Marian doctrine.

5. It's logically sound.

The whole reason as to Catholics' respect for her actually makes sense. It can actually be boiled down to a basic deductive argument:

1. Mary is the mother of Jesus.
2. Jesus is God.
3. Therefore, Mary is the mother of God (Greek: theotokos; Latin: Genetrix Dei).

Essentially, the thing that I want to stress here is that this conclusion should be a simple one for the Christian. And, as all deductive arguments go, if one agrees with all the premises, then the conclusion must follow. As we'll come to find out out, this simple syllogism has implications that are legion, no matter on what side of the debate a Christian might be in the above argument.

4. Christ himself loved her.

This seems obvious since--and I hear it all the time--"Jesus loves everyone." But this must be especially true for his mother. I mean, if we look at the Wedding at Cana story, it's so obvious that Jesus is a mama's boy:

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine." [And] Jesus said to her, "Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come." His mother said to the servers, “Do whatever he tells you.” (John 2:1-5)

I love this scene because, well, first, Jesus is trying to be sassy, and I always try to take note of what's going on when the Lord is whipping out the sass. But, more importantly, usually when the Lord is sassy, the people around him just submit (see Mark 11:12-14, Matthew 15:1-3, and Matthew 23:23 for my personal favorite examples); however, in this case, his mother does not submit at all. Rather, she fires back with her own passive-aggressive sass by telling the servants to listen to whatever Jesus tells them. And, guess what: The Lord himself actually does it!

Whenever I read this exchange, I immediately think of my mom telling me to take out the trash and, no matter how much I grumble and complain, I do it anyway. So why do I take out the trash despite my complaints? Well, I can guarantee you it has nothing to do with having a fresh, not-so-smelly garbage bin; it's because I love my mom.

Similarly, the Lord loves his own mother. I can hardly imagine that St. John would have just included that exchange for storytelling purposes, either. So, as Christ loved her as his mother, I'm thinking that I should follow suit.

3. Mary looks like Jesus.

I think it is safe to say that any orthodox Christian--Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant alike--would say that Mary gave birth to Jesus. Therefore, if we believe that he was conceived virginally--ie., Joseph isn't his biological father--then Jesus pretty much looks like Mary. I'm not going to expand on that anymore, but the point I'm trying to get at is that if we look upon the face of Mary, then we can see Jesus's face.

In fact, to go further, it makes sense that Mary, as a mother, would be the one to teach Jesus about her Jewish faith, primarily her own love for the Father. So to look upon Mary is not only to look upon the face of her Son, but, rather, his love for the Father. "But she's only human, Kevin!" This is true; but this same human, at 14 years old, faithfully said, "Yes," to the angel who even called her "full of grace" (or, at the very least, "highly favored") (Luke 1:28), and to God who expected such a heavy burden from such a young woman: to bear the Savior. Clearly, she is qualified to teach love of the Father.

All of that is significant because we know that Jesus is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life" and that there is no other way to the Father except through him (John 14:6). As I've heard some of my Protestants friends tell me from their conversion stories: We all find our way to Jesus somehow. It just so happens that, at least for me, Mary has been so vital to my way to Jesus; I can't express how meditating on the Gospels through a daily Rosary has helped me on my spiritual journey. But, in fact, I'll try:

Whenever I pray the Rosary, I conclude it with, "Grant, we beseech thee (Mary), that by meditating upon these mysteries of the most holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may both imitate what the contain and obtain what they promise through the same Christ our Lord. Amen." What kinds of mysteries does the Rosary contain and promise? I used to think that they were the literal promises of the Rosary, but, contained in those promises, are something much more: the promises of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We Christians all know what those are--I don't need to repeat those back to you--but my point in this reason I love Mary is that I find myself meditating on them in a more serious way by praying the Rosary. In this way, Mary is a way to Jesus, who is the way to the Father; as I heard in a homily once, "Praying the Rosary is reading the Gospels with your mom while sitting on her lap." And, as I'll discuss in the next point, praying with Mary has some powerful implications.

2. Jesus gave her to us and us to her.

Whoa, time out, did he really? Well, as far as Scriptures go, Catholics point to John 19:26-27, where Jesus was on the cross and told his mother, "Woman, behold, your son," and to the beloved disciple, "Behold, your mother."

Honestly, I never really thought too much about this passage. They always taught it to us in Sunday school and whenever we covered apologetics in LifeTeen (youth group), but it was never really more for me than a historical occurrence that St. John included. However, the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) explains the John verse in this way:

This union of the mother with the Son in the work of salvation is made manifest from the time of Christ's virginal conception up to his death; it is made manifest above all at the hour of his Passion:

Thus the Blessed Virgin advanced in her pilgrimage of faith, and faithfully persevered in her union with her Son unto the cross. There she stood, in keeping with the divine plan, enduring with her only begotten Son the intensity of his suffering, joining herself with his sacrifice in her mother's heart, and lovingly consenting to the immolation of this victim, born of her: to be given, by the same Christ Jesus dying on the cross, as a mother to his disciple, with these words: "Woman, behold your son." (CCC 964)

Ok, that was a lot of words, but what the heck does it all mean? For me, it means that Mary was totally with God's plan for salvation, from the minute she agreed to carry God the Son (theotokos), all the way until the hour of his death. In fact, she even shared in his passion--his suffering--specifically because of her love for Jesus--God the Son, the Savior--as his mother. Then Jesus, in literally the second-to-last line before he dies in John's Gospel (I'm counting "It is finished" as his dying breath), gives Mary to his disciple.

But she didn't just stop at the cross. In the very first chapter of Acts (linked below), we find not only the disciples praying for the coming of the Spirit....they are joined also with Mary! In this passage, it's clear that Christ did not just give her to the beloved disciple: He gave her as a resource for the whole Church! This passage, as well, is proof that we as Catholics don't worship Mary: The disciples are not praying to Mary here; rather, they are praying with Mary! And I love her for this: Christ gave her to us as a resource--as another person to pray alongside with.

I mean, this all ties back to the beginning of my essay: Mary is the mother of God, Who, as we saw in the Wedding at Cana, listens to her requests, even if He should find them silly, but, regardless, He gave her to us as a resource as a guide to Himself and as an extra special (cf. definition of holy) person to join in our circle of prayer friends because, unlike your grandmother or your aunt, she actually has a direct pipeline to God. But my list doesn't end here....I still have one more reason to love Mary.

1. I have a spiritual mother.

So far, we've covered why we ought to respect Mary, at the very least, as the mother of God. But how does a relationship between the Lord and His mother swing over to us having a relationship with her?

When I took an introductory class on Jewish traditions during my freshman year of college, I was introduced to the Book of Ruth. I must admit, back then (even now, if I was more honest), I wasn't much of a Bible-reader, so I wasn't too familiar with her story. However, the Jews use her story as one to tell their new converts, and, as I reflect more on it now, there's a good reason for that. But, I'll let the summary below do the introductions for me:

Ruth summary

In the very beginning of Ruth, we meet a mother, Naomi, and her family, consisting of her husband and two sons, who left their hometown of Bethlehem (sounds familiar) because of a famine. The two sons eventually get married to these Moabite girls (ie., not Jewish) named Orpah and Ruth. They all live happily ever after.....until all the men in the family died, leaving Naomi with her two daughter-in-laws. However, things are great again in Bethlehem, so Naomi packs up to go to her home, but, in her love for her daughter-in-laws, she pleads with them to each go back to their own mothers and homes since their husbands--her sons--are gone.

Naomi managed to convince Orpah to go; of course, she isn't ruthless (pun totally intended) because she kisses Naomi before leaving. However, Ruth wasn't having any of that; she "clung to [Naomi]" (Ruth 1:14), saying to her,

"Wherever you go, I will go, wherever you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God, my God. Where you die I will die, and there be buried. May the Lord do thus to me, and more, if even death separates me from you!"

Connecting Ruth/Naomi and the beloved disciple/Mary

When I read this chapter, I instantly connected with Ruth's relationship with Naomi in my own relationship with Mary. Especially since the feast of the Ascension of the Lord was last Sunday, there's this great parallel that I noticed. As the Easter feast is drawing to a close, I'm reminded of the conclusion of Christ's time on Earth and his inevitable departure. Of course, Christ said that he would leave us the Holy Spirit (John 14:16-17), which is what we will celebrate this Sunday in Pentecost.

But in Ruth's reaction, I see, again, my third reason why I love Mary. In Ruth's love for her husband, she loved also the woman who gave him life and raised him, and when he had died, she clung onto Naomi as if she were her own mother, refusing to return to her real mother. In a similar way, while I live in and come from the world, I've spent so much time with Christ and basked in his love throughout Lent and Holy Week and the Easter season that I don't want to return to that life. As Pope Benedict XVI said, "The world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness!"

And Ruth was, indeed, made for greatness: In case you didn't know, she actually ends up marrying one of Naomi's relatives in Bethlehem, Boaz. If you're familiar with Matthew 1, this name will sound familiar: "Boaz is the father of Obed...Obed became the father of Jesse, Jesse the father of David the king" (Matthew 1:5-6). Therefore, Ruth, our exemplar of a child clinging to her mother, is even more significant as an ancestor of our Lord. The Book of Ruth and the Davidic narrative happens because a young woman clung onto her mother-in-law.

Loving Our Own Mother

In this week between the Ascension and Pentecost, I think about how lonely the disciples were since their teacher was gone, but they had not yet received the Spirit. In this time, we read from the Acts of the Apostles that they prayed fervently (Acts 1:13-14). As I mentioned before, they didn't just pray by themselves....they had Mary in their company! Mary prayed with them!

Why? Ruth knew just how much Naomi loved her as her own daughter; I know that, should I ever get married, I hope that my wife can see my love for her in my own mother's love for her (no pressure, Mom). And yet, the disciples, I think, must've felt similarly: Through Mary's love for her son, they could feel her love for them, and, reflected in that love, they could feel Jesus's love for them (again, a throwback at my third reason why I love Mary).

Within the Catholic Church, I find such a deep history of tradition, starting from the very beginning with the original twelve apostles and St. Paul; I find myself in the midst of these great giants of Christianity. And yet, they found a companion--a mother--in Mary. If a Church giant like St. Peter or St. John could find in Mary a mother....why can't I? Should I not cling to the mother of my own Lord, as Ruth clung to her husband's mother? Should I not expect to find a deep love from Mary, who so bravely loved her God? As I prepare to go to Mass to receive the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, I am reminded of Mary's great love for me....because of that, I cling onto her tightly.

Conclusion

As I had mentioned above, earlier this past spring semester, I came across some folks who preached to me about "God the Mother." In that encounter and during my reflection of it afterwards, I realized that people actually do desire a spiritual mother, not just a Father, a brother, and Advocate. I pray that, as we conclude the joyful nature of the Easter season and as we move away from the month of Mary, we may never forget the immense love that she has for her son and, in extension, for us, the members of the Church, his bride. 

Fifth Sunday of Lent 2017

Readings can be found here.

I used the Long Form of the Gospel.

Original painting by Leon Joseph Florentin Bonnat, 1857

For the last couple of weeks in my Philosophy of Religion class, we've been discussing the Problem of Evil. Even if you're unfamiliar with the name, I guarantee you've heard or even considered the argument before. Depending on the variation, it goes like this: If God is almighty and all-knowing, then He'd know about and have the power to stop evil/suffering. If God is all-good, then He'd want to stop any (unnecessary) evil/suffering. However, there's (unnecessary) evil/suffering in the world. Therefore, the Judaeo-Christian God doesn't exist. 

Now, how does this argument apply to this week's readings? Honestly, I would never have thought it applied, either; after all, the story of our Lord raising Lazarus from the dead is one I've heard often. But I noticed, finally, all of the typical signs of the believer questioning the existence of evil paralleled this week: 1) Mary and Martha send a messenger informing the Lord that the one he loves is ill; this represents us reminding God in prayer that He loves the one whom we're praying for and informing Him that he/she is ill/suffering. 2) Lazarus dies a couple of days after the news, and, I assume and hope, his sisters were there with him, waiting their Lord; this represents us watching our loved one suffer and perhaps pass away, despite our prayers. 3) Jesus finally decides to show up, and both Mary and Martha run up to him to tell him that if he had been there, their brother would not have died; this, most obviously, represents our anger in God if we think He "hasn't heard our prayers," shaking our fists in the air saying, "If You only existed..."

I think, out of all of the arguments against God, this one is the strongest case. After all, evil and suffering are things we hear about, witness first hand, and slave through ourselves. However, I think (understandably) what we fail to realize in our suffering is that God Himself suffers as well, both due to knowledge of the suffering and in His attempt to help us, and St. John shows us this. I won't even attempt to explain God's intentions, so I leave the interpretation of the following parallels up to you: 1) Jesus loves Lazarus and his sisters. 2) Jesus clearly wants to go back to Judea, where Lazarus has died, but the disciples remind him that it is dangerous to go back; despite this, he goes back, anyways, with Thomas Didymus saying, perhaps sarcastically, "Well, let's go die with him." 3) When Jesus sees Lazarus's body, in his human nature, he weeps (once again, a reminder of how much he loved Lazarus). 

I think it's important to note that although Lazarus's particular story has a purpose that we know and are familiar with--"that the Son of God may be glorified through it"--the characters in the story don't, creating a dramatic irony. We don't have the luxury of understanding the purpose of our sufferings most of the time; if we're lucky, we're graced with some hindsight that helps us see how it all fit together in the end, but this also rarely happens. I'm sure the Israelites who Ezekiel spoke to this week wanted some hindsight knowledge; for all they knew, God had abandoned them too. But Ezekiel promised them that God would bring them back to Israel, and while they thought he meant their physical homeland, it's clear to us now (Hindsight? Nah, revelation.) that, in fact, it's our spiritual homeland. Additionally, St. Paul this week reminds us that getting to the heavenly Israel has some requirements: We have to die first and have the spirit of Christ. 

Jesus himself knows how difficult these requirements are. How? Through his Passion, which we'll celebrate in just a couple short weeks. Both require us to suffer, physically and spiritually. Thomas, here, is our model: "Let us also go die with him." We might not know what's going on, and, very often, we want the answers. But, if we call ourselves Christian, we must follow Christ, unreservedly and patiently. Through Ezekiel, God tells us, "I have promised, and I will do it..." Through St. John, Christ reminds us that he is the "resurrection and the life." May God help us to remember all of these things through our own weeping, and may our steadfastness in faith, hope, and love in these trying times help us--and others--come to believe in "the one who raised Christ from the dead." 

Fourth Sunday of Lent 2017

Readings can be found here. 

I used the Long Form this week.

Original Video: "Why You Asking All Them Questions"
by Spoken Reasons on YouTube

As I was going through the readings for this week, I thought, "Gosh, everyone is assuming!" I don't know if any of you guys remember that hilarious video from 2012 depicted in that picture, but that was what came to my mind....and then I watched it because #nostalgia. But, seriously, the Pharisees, the disciples, and even the prophet Samuel are making some serious assumptions!

In the First Reading, we hear about God choosing David to be His chosen king for Israel. This story is pretty well known: Samuel goes to see a guy named Jesse because God told him that one of Jesse's sons will be the king. So Jesse shows Samuel seven of his sons, who are all very handsome and impressive looking, and Samuel jumps the gun on especially the first son, but none of them are it. Plot twist, Jesse's youngest and eighth son is tending to the animals, and, despite his relative stature, God hits the golden buzzer. Save God's explanation on how He sees versus how man sees--it'll come back up later.

Next, in this week's Gospel, both the disciples and the Pharisees commit the complex question fallacy (also called "loaded questions"). A complex question is one where a controversial assumption is embedded into the question being asked, "controversial" here meaning "disputed" or "not previously established." An example, to stick with Spoken Reason's video, could be when the girlfriend asks, "You been where? With who?" The assumption embedded in the question is that the boyfriend went somewhere with someone. The dangers of committing the complex question fallacy is that they control the flow of the discussion towards the bias of whomever asked the question--in the prior example, a "yes" will lead down an accusation of cheating, which leads to a fight; on the other hand, a "no" will lead to a demand of proof and the boyfriend's perceived violation of privacy, which also leads to a fight. Either way, guys, you're screwed, so good luck. (The irony is that this example embeds its own assumption. Can you spot it?) Keeping in mind what complex questions are, let's look at the examples within the Gospel.

First, the disciples' question: "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" The assumption here is that someone had to have sinned bad enough that God's wrath was invoked to punish the blind man. Next, the Pharisees ask two complex questions: 1) "You were born totally in sin, and are you trying to teach us?" and 2) "Surely we are not also blind, are we?" The former question embeds the assumption that the Pharisees were not born totally in sin, while the latter embeds the assumption that the Pharisees can see--the "surely" sells this, in addition to Jesus exposing the irony in their question. The disciples' question pales in comparison with these two; at least we can take the disciples as curious. What is the problem with all of these questions? They seek to understand something else other than their own situation.

I think you all know it at this point, but I love me some St. Paul--he knows what he's talking about. This week, he writes to the Ephesians about being children of God, or children of the light. Particularly the first sentence, "You were once in darkness, but now you are light in the Lord," illustrates for me the juxtaposition between a child of light and our three readings, especially the Pharisees. What the Pharisees got wrong is that man, including themselves, actually is born in the totality of sin, making us blind. According to St. Paul here, it is through rejecting the works of darkness and trying to learn what is pleasing to God that we will attain the light of Christ. However, emphasis on "trying" because, being born in the totality of sin, we're bound to mess up; therefore, the next part is exposing the dark to the surface whenever it creeps into our lives (Confession, anyone?). 

Therefore, stop asking about someone else, stop making statements, and stop assuming. Start looking inwards, start exposing your darkness, and start trying to walk the path of God. Start seeing as God sees: Within the heart, specifically, your own. The Lord is our shepherd; there is nothing we should want but His Light. Therefore, "awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead," for "whoever follows me will have the light of life." (Eph 5:14, Jn 8:12)

Third Sunday of Lent 2017

Readings can be found here. 

(I am using the long form for the Gospel.)

My "Player Jesus" meme
Generated via memegenerator.net

This week, it seems like the theme is water, and I have to admit: It's ironic for me. This past week, I was just thirsty. All. The. Time. And, of course, I had every sexy symptom that comes with thirst, including dry lips, a dry mouth, and a scratchy throat. We all know how important water is--besides the fact that we need it to survive, it keeps our skin glowing and smooth. Yet, we often avoid drinking water for whatever reason and fill our bodies with junk that can be used to clean toilets! (Coke, I'm looking at you.) Why?! Why do we do that to ourselves??

I think it has something to do with the "taste" of water. We fill our bodies with all this crap that when we finally get to the stuff that's actually good for us, we start grumbling and complaining: "It doesn't taste like anything!" "It tastes like my spit!" "It tastes like old plastic!" What do we do after that? Fill our bodies with more crap.

It seems that the Israelites were doing just this in our first reading. We see throughout the exodus that the Hebrews always have something to complain to Moses about, and, this week, it's water. They filled their minds with all this crap that life in Egypt was better, specifically mentioned in Exodus of the meals and water that they didn't have to worry about. Then, when they get to thoughts of God (Who, in our analogy, is water), they complain with thoughts, particularly, about where He is, if He even loves them, or even if Moses was playing them all along. Thus, they either openly complain about it or secretly take in more soda, AKA the thoughts of Egypt.

Yet, later, in Psalm 81, we find that God was testing them there at Meribah, leading us to our Psalm for this week: "If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." If we maintain the analogy of God and His Word being water (Which, philosophy input here, the pre-Socratic philosopher Thales believed everything is water. I'm probably stretching here, but coincidence?), and water is a natural thinner (like, opposite of food thickener), then we can hold that the Word of God can thin/soften our hearts. That's the easy logical conclusion. But what are the implications of this? Well, if we're a hydrophobic substance, then we're not going to very well be inclined to accept that Word. So how do we go from being hydrophobic to hydrophilic?

I think, as we find in this week's Gospel, it is about asking the right questions and being open to, first, finding out what those questions are; second, to continue to desire both the questions and the answers that might be found; and, third, to be open to have those answers changed. (This might sound Gnostic, but hear me out here.) Take a look at the woman at the well and contrast her to the disciples. While she may be slightly hesitant at first--most likely due to societal boundaries--she continues to probe Jesus with questions, eventually arriving at Mark's secret, which is that Jesus is the Christ. Obviously John isn't too worried about Mark's secrecy motif, but, in this passage, he sure keeps the disciples ignorant because John clearly states that they were amazed, yet they didn't ask questions. Of course, not taking that first step is going to hinder a person from achieving the other two in order to be hydrophilic, so let's keep exploring the Samaritan woman.

To the second step, clearly the woman has to be wondering who Jesus really is at some point. Yet she is unafraid to continue to probe Jesus without having the answer to that question just yet. She has to be wondering where to get the living water Jesus is talking about, yet she continues on the dialogue without having the answer to that question, hoping more questions will lead her closer to the answer.

As the dialogue continues between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, she reaches our third step eventually comes to a point where she stops asking questions and, instead, begins to posit what she knows: "Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain; but you people say that the place to worship is Jerusalem" and "I know that the Messiah is coming...when he comes, he will tell us everything." This leads to the third step because she has her whole understanding changed here. Jesus tells her that neither Jerusalem nor the mountain is the place to worship and that he is indeed the Messiah. Finally, after all of this, she seems like she finally has the answers....right? Well, in this story, sure. But, of course, humans have this bad habit of dying, and we all know the man Jesus eventually dies. So, the question turns into "What now?"

Well, shoot, this is where I'm at an impasse because I don't have an answer. Sure, we know the story continues, yet we're still here and Christ hasn't come back; in the meantime, many of our friends have fallen away from the faith or just don't really try, and sometimes we join in with them and take a day off from "this God stuff."

And yet, as St. Paul reminds us in our second reading, it's one thing for a person to find the courage to die for another good person; it's another, harder thing for a person to find the courage to die for a sinner. This proves to us the love of God: We're willing to take in the Coke every once in awhile, but despite that, He still loves us enough that He died for us. That's why the theological virtues--faith, hope, love--are so significant. Last week, I talked about faith. This week, I think the theme is love. God loves us always. It is we who grumble and complain about it. Let us not be like the Hebrews at Meribah who grew stony hearts; instead, let's allow the Lord to soften our hearts like He did with the Samaritan woman. It's okay to be curious, ask questions, and be open. This is where we become hydrophilic. Through our curiosity and, hopefully, eventual understanding of God's love, may we reject the Coke the world offers us and come to love the Living Water, which is everything.

Second Sunday of Lent 2017

Readings can be found here.

PC: Entrepreneur

When I first went through these readings, I thought that God was having us be a little on the lazy side: "Our soul waits for the LORD" in the Psalm and God's whole dialogue to Abram in the First Reading come to mind. It took awhile though, but I've come to the conclusion: God is pretty bossy this week! 

Now, this week is probably where I'm going to drop some philosophy: How can humanity be truly free when passages such as "He...called us to a holy life, not according to our works, but according to his own design" are out there? Even if we are free, are we not just slaves to God? John Milton expressed it best: "Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven." 

Yet, as we see this week in our Lord's Transfiguration, He doesn't yank the three up to their feet or force them up in any way; rather, He "came and touched them." Touched. That sounds rather gentle, not forceful. But maybe this is too strong of an example; after all, I'm sure that if we saw the Transfiguration, we'd be pretty hyped about that too.

Let's take it back to the First Reading. Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard really focused on Abraham, and one of his key points regarding our dear father in faith is the fact that, while the Bible portrays a one-on-one conversation, in fact, neither Sarah nor Isaac actually encounter God. This leads to the question: What makes Abraham the father in faith rather than a madman? For Kierkegaard, this depicts that fine line as to what faith really is: Faith causes "fear and trembling," the name of one of Kierkegaard's books; faith transcends the world we know. Man's existential aim is transcendence.

I think, now, our Lord's Transfiguration is not such a hard example anymore. His Transfiguration is our aim, an aim possible only through faith. For those of you who hate "faith" as an answer: Believe me when I say that I'm with you in that boat. But that's kinda the point of faith. If you're giving a person who really hurt you a second chance, you're taking a leap of faith; if you're asking that stellar girl/breathtaking guy out, that's a leap of faith; picking an academic/career plan is a leap of faith. All three of these things induce fear and trembling. Faith is not easy--it's not supposed to be. So, then, how the hell do we do this? Why take me around in a circle, Kevin?

The passage I used from St. Paul to reference God as "bossy" explains this perfectly, I think: A calling is not a command. Rather, a calling is simply an invitation. The Lord is simply inviting us to live that "unique" (holy) life, that "special" life. If it's special, then it's not a life designed by man, but, rather, it is modeled by our Lord. But, of course, anything divine is difficult--nay, impossible--for us mortals. And I think we forget this about faith and Christianity sometimes: It's not easy--it's not supposed to be. If it's easy, you're not doing it right. I don't think I'm being judgmental here, either; St. Paul calls us to "bear [our] share of hardship for the gospel." In fact, he often talks about his own hardship--his "thorn in the flesh." But we're not alone in this endeavor though: We bear this hardship "with the strength that comes from God."

If I lost you in all of that philosophy, I'll use this paragraph to sum up my main reflection in three points. First, I think that this week is introducing to us part of what it means to live a Christian life, in that this life induces fear and trembling. Second, God is inviting us to live this life--He doesn't command us to it. (That's kinda part of the whole "free will" package.) Finally, "our mission, should we choose to accept it," will not be an easy one. It will require the grace and strength of God; it will require us to "listen to him." Then, as we pursue our Christian journey, when we look up, hopefully, we will see no one else but Jesus alone.

First Sunday of Lent 2017

Readings can be found here

PC: Youtube video "Jesus Temptation in  Desert"

That face that this actor is making right there? Yeah, that's basically how I looked at my dinner at our Catholic Campus Ministry (CCM) dinner on Ash Wednesday after fasting that whole day. If I could only have one full meal that day, I was going to take advantage of that fish fry that we had that night!! I'll admit: By the time my 3:30 class rolled around, I was getting hungry, and watching my classmates eat their snacks during a film did not help at all. I was pretty much tempted to say, "Screw it," go to a vending machine, and pull the line from our Responsorial Psalm from this week: "Be merciful, O Lord, for [I] have sinned."

But our Lord couldn't do the same thing that I wanted to do. Well, I suppose He could have, if Satan is going to dare him to do it ("...command that these stones become loaves of bread."). But the point is that He didn't; instead, the Lord chose to slave through ALL forty days--as opposed to just one--and suffer....suffer like He did on the way to Calvary, which we'll be celebrating in a little over a month. 

We call Jesus "the new Adam." When I was little, I always wondered how we could just give God this human title. However, this week's readings clearly illustrate just why this title is given to Jesus: It's not a title, but, rather, a juxtaposition. According to Genesis as seen in our first reading, Adam did what I wanted to do on Wednesday: He wanted to eat. It looked good, and God made it sound good; therefore, it must be good! ....right?

Well, if you were a Roman asking St. Paul, he'd say no....in fact, St. Paul pretty obviously says, "He screwed us over." What makes me paraphrase it that way? Well, I don't know about you, but "death [coming] to all men" probably isn't a good thing.

Continuing on with St. Paul, even if there was someone who did not sin since Adam, that person could not save humanity. Much like a specific person messed up, a specific person is needed to make it up: Jesus Christ. 

The juxtaposition between Christ and Adam is this: For St. Paul, Adam was disobedient, which messed everyone up, but Christ was the opposite of Adam, and thus, through His obedience, saved everyone. 

Mary, as the new Eve, can be seen in a similar light: Eve, speaking to Satan, hesitated at first and then said, "Yes,"  to Satan; our Blessed Mother, speaking to the Lord through Gabriel, did not hesitate at all with her fiat ("yes"). Eve's "yes" doomed the whole human race, while Mary's "yes" saved it. 

What do all of these things have to do with us? I think the secret lies within our responsorial psalm. (That's right, the one part of the Mass we probably chill through.) How? Our Lord and Lady saving us is all fine and dandy, but why ought we still say, "Be merciful, O Lord?" 

For as long as I want to pull an Adam and disobey God, I'm going to have to pray this psalm, and I think that applies to all of us. So, by Sunday, we'll be 5 days into Lent, and even though Sundays don't count, I hope that we're not banking on Sunday to go nuts with whatever we gave up. 

Pope St. Leo the Great wanted people to not just give up on food and drink for Lent, but completely renounce sin. And I think it is fair to say that the Lord would want the same thing. Therefore, let's do that: If you've messed up already in these last few days, keep trying; if you're doing well, keep doing well; if you think your "challenge" is too easy (or you picked it because it was easy), then go deeper. This is the season to do that. This is the season to say, "Be merciful, O Lord," and, from there, stray no more. By doing this, we can hope the devil can leave us alone and then to be attended by angels. 

Introductions

Hello!

My name is Kevin Tran, and I am a junior at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. I am double majoring in philosophy and religious studies, and, with these majors, I hope to continue my education until I am hopefully a doctoral student in theology. But the rest is by the grace of God. 

Speaking of which....

Purpose

I am Roman Catholic, and I made this blog for my Lenten experience this year in the hopes of bettering my prayer life. This blog will be my medium to reflect on Sunday Mass readings, and I hope to share these with you all. My two disclaimers for this blog are: 

1. This blog is for my own personal reflections, and, thus, are my interpretations and/or reactions to the readings for the week. As such, I hope to be able to speak freely on this blog about my own personal feelings, so if it starts getting mushy (which I don't plan on that happening, but should it happen), that's why. 
2. I do not claim any kind of Church authority. While many of my friends know that I am praying about my vocation, I'm no clergy, so don't be going around saying, "Well, Kevin wrote this and that." Should I happen to be completely wrong and you spot it, please correct me; I am always willing to learn more about the faith and what she teaches.

Meaning Behind the Title

The title of this blog is Caritas Christi Urget Nos. This title is inspired by my local bishop's motto, which, I'm sure, is derived from 2 Corinthians 5:14, which says, "The love of Christ impels us, once we have come to the conviction that one died for all; therefore, all have died." To focus on the first half, I believe that Christ's love did urge me to start this: For a personal benefit, my desire to fall deeper in love with Christ and Holy Mother Church led to my doing this, and, for those whom I share these blogs with, I hope that my reflections urge you all to do something similar to develop/maintain your own relationships with Christ. 

I hope this Lenten season urges you into deeper prayer, and, as Pope St. Leo the Great wrote, that whatever you chose to abstain from helps you to renounce sin and propel you into the Easter season, the source of our joy. I also hope that the habits you and I develop in these next 38 days will live on everyday, inspiring a symbolic daily baptism. 

I hope that the love of Christ urges you as it urges me.

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all." (2 Cor 13:13)