"What is truth?" (John 18:38, ESV - Pontius Pilate speaking)
"I am the way, and the truth, and the life." (John 14:6, ESV - Jesus speaking)
Modern science seeks the truth, but the truth it seeks is a "what" rather than a "whom," much like Pilate. As a result, this experiential truth is necessarily limited to "what works" rather than the "who is" of revealed truth.
Not that that's a problem, as long as we understand how far it goes. In fact, Christianity could sometimes benefit a bit more from "what works" in our journey to appreciate revealed truth.
The case in point I have in mind is the Lord's Supper, also known as communion or the eucharist.
Generally speaking, Protestants and Catholics differ on whether the bread and wine (or grape juice in some cases) are actually the body and blood of Christ, or whether they just represent it or are somehow inhabited by Christ without actually being real body and blood. Of course, there are also many Catholics whose level of education in the faith is not sufficient for them to believe the doctrine of transubstantiation either.
In fact, this is such a big stumbling block that people have been unable to accept it since the first time that Jesus proclaimed it (John 6:51-66). Our scientific sense tells us, "that just doesn't work!" How can bread and wine become the real body and blood of Jesus Christ, while still appearing to just be bread and wine? And yet, that's what the doctrine of transubstantiation proclaims.
My own experience, however, leads me to see that it does work from a different perspective: respect.
Begin with: if Jesus referred to eating his flesh and blood during his ministry, and then proclaimed that this is what the disciples were doing on the night before his execution, it must have been pretty important to him. In fact, it is one of a very small number of rituals that Jesus himself prescribed.
Continue with: therefore, whatever this mystery actually is, we must treat it with utmost respect.
Arrive at: no attitude to it other than taking Jesus' words throughout the gospels literally brings us to respond with the respect worthy of such an important practice.
To illustrate this, when I was young and still going to St. Paul's Presbyterian church, I happened by the church kitchen one Sunday after a communion service. We had those several times a year.
One of the church elders was using a special plastic bottle capable of syringing the grape juice from those small glasses which were untouched, and then transferring it back into the original bottle of Welch's grape juice where it originated. He then returned the partly-full bottle to the refrigerator.
Now, it's important to point out that this was why Welch's grape juice was invented: in 1869, Thomas Bramwell Welch devised a way to pasteurize grape juice so it could be used in communion services without having alcohol, an important matter for this supporter of the temperance movement (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grape_juice). This was a much bigger deal than you might suppose, because before that time all grape juice inevitably fermented and became wine, alcohol and all. (In other words, all references to wine in the Bible refer to the kind with alcohol in it, as there was no other kind of grape juice until 1869.)
In any case, what this incident with the syringe and the juice bottle meant is that the same grape juice which had, at least symbolically, been recognized as the same ritual body and blood that Jesus had instituted, was now being allowed to return to a situation where it had the potential for secular use.
I've seen worse: at one church, powdered juice and cookies were served. However, this was a denomination I already had some question about, so I'll leave it at that.
Of course, as long as the wine (or juice) and bread are just symbolic, it doesn't seem like such a bad thing to treat them casually, and dispose of the leftovers in an even more casual manner.
Contrast that with the Catholic Church's extreme respect for the elements of communion, based on the belief that they are the physical, body-and-blood presence of Jesus Christ. Nothing is treated casually. Only people who have gone through a process of preparation are allowed to partake. And leftovers are either consumed by communion ministers in a respectful manner before the service is over, or, in the case of the host (i.e. body that was bread), stored in a secure, locked container known as the Tabernacle.
As Jesus said in Matthew 7:16 and 20 (ESV), "you will recognize them by their fruits." For me, the respectful treatment of this definitively important ritual is the fruit of understanding it properly as being literally intended by Jesus, and not just a nice symbolic snack.
And that works.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Gold Standard of Billy Graham
Does Protestant Christianity have saints?
Of course: all Christians are saints! And many Protestant churches are named after some of the earliest heroes of Christianity from the New Testament, such as Saint Paul, after whom the Presbyterian church I attended growing up was named.
The Catholic Church also acknowledges that all true Christians are saints (after all, the word "saint" is a synonym for "holy"). However, it has pointed out some special heroes of the faith who are particularly good examples of how to live a holy life, and canonized the most outstanding among them as Saints, reflecting the Catholic Church's advice that we can benefit in our own faith journeys by learning about and reflecting on the lives and teachings of these holy people.
How about modern saints? Do the kind of people who become the recognized heroes of Christianity still exist?
Sure! Think of Mother Teresa, who, while not yet canonized due to the short amount of time since she passed away, was an example to us during her life, and continues to be a great example from our lifetimes. In fact, many would suggest we can also learn a great deal in our journey from reflecting on Pope John Paul II's life.
Great. But how about non-Catholics? If I really believe that there are Protestant Christians as well as Catholic Christians then I must believe there are heroes of the faith among Protestants as well, even if the Catholic Church isn't currently in a position to canonize them as Saints.
Actually, I can think of quite a few, including Jim Elliot who was martyred among the Aucas, and Billy Graham, who has lived an exemplary life of preaching God's word and inviting people to join the faith.
So, you can imagine how pleased I am that Billy Graham and Pope John Paul II met in person, had a very high regard for each other, and that Billy Graham called Pope John Paul II "the most influential voice for morality and peace in the world in the last 100 years."
I love it when saints get together, and so much good results.
And I particularly love it that one of the great Protestant saints of our time, in many ways the Gold Standard of Protestant Christianity, explicitly acknowledged the common faith he shared with Pope John Paul II, one of the great Catholic saints of our time - regardless of whether either of them eventually gets canonized.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Of course: all Christians are saints! And many Protestant churches are named after some of the earliest heroes of Christianity from the New Testament, such as Saint Paul, after whom the Presbyterian church I attended growing up was named.
The Catholic Church also acknowledges that all true Christians are saints (after all, the word "saint" is a synonym for "holy"). However, it has pointed out some special heroes of the faith who are particularly good examples of how to live a holy life, and canonized the most outstanding among them as Saints, reflecting the Catholic Church's advice that we can benefit in our own faith journeys by learning about and reflecting on the lives and teachings of these holy people.
How about modern saints? Do the kind of people who become the recognized heroes of Christianity still exist?
Sure! Think of Mother Teresa, who, while not yet canonized due to the short amount of time since she passed away, was an example to us during her life, and continues to be a great example from our lifetimes. In fact, many would suggest we can also learn a great deal in our journey from reflecting on Pope John Paul II's life.
Great. But how about non-Catholics? If I really believe that there are Protestant Christians as well as Catholic Christians then I must believe there are heroes of the faith among Protestants as well, even if the Catholic Church isn't currently in a position to canonize them as Saints.
Actually, I can think of quite a few, including Jim Elliot who was martyred among the Aucas, and Billy Graham, who has lived an exemplary life of preaching God's word and inviting people to join the faith.
So, you can imagine how pleased I am that Billy Graham and Pope John Paul II met in person, had a very high regard for each other, and that Billy Graham called Pope John Paul II "the most influential voice for morality and peace in the world in the last 100 years."
I love it when saints get together, and so much good results.
And I particularly love it that one of the great Protestant saints of our time, in many ways the Gold Standard of Protestant Christianity, explicitly acknowledged the common faith he shared with Pope John Paul II, one of the great Catholic saints of our time - regardless of whether either of them eventually gets canonized.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Adding Polish to my Faith
As far as I know, I have no personal Polish ancestry, though I can't say this with certainty since I'm effectively a North American mongrel - a combination of hundreds of years of European immigrants, particularly ranging from Ireland, through plenty of England and Scotland, passing through the Netherlands and France, and full of German, including my last name.
So, when Pope John Paul II became the first pope from Poland in 1978, I found it mildly interesting, but it wasn't something that spoke to me personally, as I was still a Presbyterian Protestant - and not even baptized yet.
And when, having attended the University Catholic Community's Sunday Masses for a year, I decided to take RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) in order to better understand the Catholic Church, my only Polish connection was a friend of mine I'd know in the early 1970's, whom I hadn't seen for over a decade. His parents had taught me one or two Polish words at the time, and I retained some vague recollection of them.
In January of 1986 that all changed, when I started going out with a girl of Polish descent who attended the same Catholic Community and whom I'd gotten to know as a friend over the preceeding months.
We were still going out at the conclusion of RCIA, just on time for Easter, when I had to decide whether to finish the process and become a Catholic, or just take what I'd learned and live as a somewhat better-informed Protestant. Her supportiveness, including a commitment not to break up with me regardless of which decision I made, enabled me to have the clearest possible perspective, as I decided to continue my Christian journey inside the Catholic Church.
A year later, we were married. As a result, in addition to my church-level exposure to Catholicism, I got a front-row seat in some of the best of cultural Catholicism, since Catholic Poles (i.e. most Poles) treat their faith as central to their culture, and celebrate every season of the church year with great attention.
Over the years, while there are some parts of the cultural practices of various Catholics that I've never been able to agree with, the Polish Catholic culture has come to be a very special and positive part of my life and faith journey, and one that I have been able to joyfully embrace, as have our two children.
Of course, the fact that there was even a Polish pope added something very special as well. I guess you could say he was kind of like a Polish Catholic Billy Graham in some ways. Which is a good segue to my next topic.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
So, when Pope John Paul II became the first pope from Poland in 1978, I found it mildly interesting, but it wasn't something that spoke to me personally, as I was still a Presbyterian Protestant - and not even baptized yet.
And when, having attended the University Catholic Community's Sunday Masses for a year, I decided to take RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) in order to better understand the Catholic Church, my only Polish connection was a friend of mine I'd know in the early 1970's, whom I hadn't seen for over a decade. His parents had taught me one or two Polish words at the time, and I retained some vague recollection of them.
In January of 1986 that all changed, when I started going out with a girl of Polish descent who attended the same Catholic Community and whom I'd gotten to know as a friend over the preceeding months.
We were still going out at the conclusion of RCIA, just on time for Easter, when I had to decide whether to finish the process and become a Catholic, or just take what I'd learned and live as a somewhat better-informed Protestant. Her supportiveness, including a commitment not to break up with me regardless of which decision I made, enabled me to have the clearest possible perspective, as I decided to continue my Christian journey inside the Catholic Church.
A year later, we were married. As a result, in addition to my church-level exposure to Catholicism, I got a front-row seat in some of the best of cultural Catholicism, since Catholic Poles (i.e. most Poles) treat their faith as central to their culture, and celebrate every season of the church year with great attention.
Over the years, while there are some parts of the cultural practices of various Catholics that I've never been able to agree with, the Polish Catholic culture has come to be a very special and positive part of my life and faith journey, and one that I have been able to joyfully embrace, as have our two children.
Of course, the fact that there was even a Polish pope added something very special as well. I guess you could say he was kind of like a Polish Catholic Billy Graham in some ways. Which is a good segue to my next topic.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Composed or Spontaneous Prayer?
Do you say grace before a meal? If so, do you spontaneously say one, or do you repeat one that you've said many times before?
If your answer was, "spontaneous," then how similar is it to every other spontaneous grace you've ever said?
One of the things I grew up with as a Protestant is the the idea that prayer should be spontaneous, in order to avoid "vain repetition" of words that had been previously put together, likely by someone else. I'll admit that I don't recall any instance when my parents specifically admonished that this should be the case, but I somehow adapted to the idea in the context of all the various prayers I heard.
In fact, in some public contexts, the prayers sounded almost more like speeches than spontaneous communications with the creator of the universe - but they didn't sound like a repetition of something I'd heard before.
So, when I came to the Roman Catholic Church, I was somewhat uncomfortable with the vast array of prayers that had already been written by someone else. Shouldn't I be using my own thoughts and relationship with God as the basis for my communication with Him?
Of course, as mentioned in another blog/chapter, I was used to repeating some Protestant versions of the Lord's Prayer. And there were also some songs that were effectively prayers (and, as also mentioned, who sings prays twice) such as the Doxology that I repeated pretty much every week.
For that matter, now that I think of it, there were many songs I was in the habit of singing which were effectively prayers - most of them hymns. But I never made the connection between those and repeating a prayer that someone else had written.
So, joining the Catholic Church and having an endless array of prayers available for me, including many that were standard parts of Sunday worship, was somewhat uncomfortable for a while.
But, just like I got used to singing the same worship songs repeatedly when growing up, I slowly got used to all these composed prayers. And now I am increasingly appreciative of the rich selection of prayers available to allow me to focus on their meaning to my deepening relationship with God, rather than having to struggle to say something original every time.
None of which takes away from the many other kinds of prayer, from personal and spontaneous, to composed, to sung, to spiritual and without English words, all of which are available in my journey as a Christian, including in the Catholic Church.
Nor does it take away from one of the least spontaneously-composed and most meaningful prayers that so many Christians speak at the beginning of their journeys, especially those that begin at events such as Billy Graham crusades:
"Lord Jesus, I need You. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. I open the door of my life and receive You as my Savior and Lord. Thank You for forgiving my sins and giving me eternal life. Take control of the throne of my life. Make me the kind of person You want me to be."
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
If your answer was, "spontaneous," then how similar is it to every other spontaneous grace you've ever said?
One of the things I grew up with as a Protestant is the the idea that prayer should be spontaneous, in order to avoid "vain repetition" of words that had been previously put together, likely by someone else. I'll admit that I don't recall any instance when my parents specifically admonished that this should be the case, but I somehow adapted to the idea in the context of all the various prayers I heard.
In fact, in some public contexts, the prayers sounded almost more like speeches than spontaneous communications with the creator of the universe - but they didn't sound like a repetition of something I'd heard before.
So, when I came to the Roman Catholic Church, I was somewhat uncomfortable with the vast array of prayers that had already been written by someone else. Shouldn't I be using my own thoughts and relationship with God as the basis for my communication with Him?
Of course, as mentioned in another blog/chapter, I was used to repeating some Protestant versions of the Lord's Prayer. And there were also some songs that were effectively prayers (and, as also mentioned, who sings prays twice) such as the Doxology that I repeated pretty much every week.
For that matter, now that I think of it, there were many songs I was in the habit of singing which were effectively prayers - most of them hymns. But I never made the connection between those and repeating a prayer that someone else had written.
So, joining the Catholic Church and having an endless array of prayers available for me, including many that were standard parts of Sunday worship, was somewhat uncomfortable for a while.
But, just like I got used to singing the same worship songs repeatedly when growing up, I slowly got used to all these composed prayers. And now I am increasingly appreciative of the rich selection of prayers available to allow me to focus on their meaning to my deepening relationship with God, rather than having to struggle to say something original every time.
None of which takes away from the many other kinds of prayer, from personal and spontaneous, to composed, to sung, to spiritual and without English words, all of which are available in my journey as a Christian, including in the Catholic Church.
Nor does it take away from one of the least spontaneously-composed and most meaningful prayers that so many Christians speak at the beginning of their journeys, especially those that begin at events such as Billy Graham crusades:
"Lord Jesus, I need You. Thank You for dying on the cross for my sins. I open the door of my life and receive You as my Savior and Lord. Thank You for forgiving my sins and giving me eternal life. Take control of the throne of my life. Make me the kind of person You want me to be."
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Of Weeds and Wheat
One could spend a lifetime analyzing, meditating on, and applying any one of the parables Jesus shared.
As someone who has participated in multiple denominations of Christianity, ending up in the Roman Catholic Church, which many Protestants have written off as no longer Christian, one parable that really speaks to me is of the weeds and the wheat (Matthew 13:24-30), in which weeds are sown in a wheat field, but are not pulled out before the harvest to avoid accidentally uprooting any wheat.
Combined with Jesus' numerous admonitions to forgive over and over again, this builds a picture in my mind of Christianity being filled with imperfect sinners who keep making mistakes, and keep needing forgiveness, along with some who, in the final analysis, turn out to not be Christians, but have to be given every chance to demonstrate that they are.
This is important for me as I look at some of the missteps of individuals the Roman Catholic Church throughout history, including those whom Martin Luther derided for apparently offering indulgences for sale. If all of the Roman Catholic Church could be condemned based on the actions of some "weeds" then it would be a pretty significant variation from this parable and the admonitions to forgive.
Likewise, there have been many Christians in other denominations, including "generic Protestant," who have made some pretty significant stumbles, and the more public, the bigger the fall. But if we violate Jesus' admonition in the Sermon on the Mount not to judge (see specifically Matthew 7:1-6), and reject those who have failed in some way as no longer worthy to be Christians, we've fallen short of one of the most important lessons of the entire New Testament: forgive.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
As someone who has participated in multiple denominations of Christianity, ending up in the Roman Catholic Church, which many Protestants have written off as no longer Christian, one parable that really speaks to me is of the weeds and the wheat (Matthew 13:24-30), in which weeds are sown in a wheat field, but are not pulled out before the harvest to avoid accidentally uprooting any wheat.
Combined with Jesus' numerous admonitions to forgive over and over again, this builds a picture in my mind of Christianity being filled with imperfect sinners who keep making mistakes, and keep needing forgiveness, along with some who, in the final analysis, turn out to not be Christians, but have to be given every chance to demonstrate that they are.
This is important for me as I look at some of the missteps of individuals the Roman Catholic Church throughout history, including those whom Martin Luther derided for apparently offering indulgences for sale. If all of the Roman Catholic Church could be condemned based on the actions of some "weeds" then it would be a pretty significant variation from this parable and the admonitions to forgive.
Likewise, there have been many Christians in other denominations, including "generic Protestant," who have made some pretty significant stumbles, and the more public, the bigger the fall. But if we violate Jesus' admonition in the Sermon on the Mount not to judge (see specifically Matthew 7:1-6), and reject those who have failed in some way as no longer worthy to be Christians, we've fallen short of one of the most important lessons of the entire New Testament: forgive.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Pattern Oster
One of the great mysteries of the Christian faith is the Lord's Prayer, also known as the "Our Father" or "Pater Noster" by many, including Catholics, for the first two words of the prayer in English and Latin.
It's mysterious for many reasons, the first and foremost being because it was spoken as the template example of how we should pray by Jesus himself.
Interestingly, what Jesus didn't say was, "Oh, just talk to God and tell him whatever's on your mind and He will understand." In fact, that part of our prayer life, which for many - and particularly devout Protestants - may be most of our prayer life, appears to be such a brief portion that the New Testament spends very little time prescribing it, instead ranging from a template prayer to the Spirit praying for us in groans deeper than words (see Romans 8:26-27).
Obviously, this prayer is not a vainly repeated one, since in Matthew 6:7, two verses before the version of this prayer used by most of us (as distinct from the version in Luke 11:2-4), clearly tells us not to use vain repetition, right before giving us the template text for the prayer likely most repeated by Christians around the world.
And yet, in English alone there are many versions of this prayer, one of the big differentiators being whether the words "debts" or "trespasses" are used, and another being which translation of the Bible it can be found in.
However, one of the most interesting parts of this prayer is one that makes a clear distinction between Catholics and most Protestants: the part right after "deliver us from evil."
This second half of verse 13 in Matthew 6 is generally absent in modern translations, which have more ancient and authoritative texts to draw upon. But Protestants are so used to saying it, based on the King James version (which, somewhat surprisingly, many Protestants seem to believe is the original language of the Bible, and not Greek or Hebrew), that it's one way that Catholics notice the first time a Protestant attends a Catholic Mass.
You see, in the Catholic Church, the prayer itself stops after "deliver us from evil," but in a Mass, the priest continues with an additional prayer confirming and building on what has just been said, and then the congregation responds with, "For the kingdom, the power and the glory are Yours, now and forever. Amen"
So, as you may guess, the first time I attended a Catholic Mass I continued on with "For Thine is the..." and stopped when I noticed that no one else had.
Now, you've probably already noticed that what Catholics say in Mass is logically identical to what Protestants say at the end of the Lord's Prayer. The main difference, other than phrasing, is that it's treated as additional to and separate from the prayer itself, which reflects how the prayer is represented in modern translations such as the NIV, ESV and New Jerusalem versions of the Bible.
Those are the main patterns I wanted to put into the mix of this particular blog/chapter, but I do have one more thought to leave you with: since Jesus said not to use vain repetitions two verses before giving us the prayer that most Christians repeat most often, it is clear that Jesus was not forbidding useful repetitions of a prayer that opens our minds and hearts to express a request for what God wants most for us, even if we aren't the ones who composed it.
I'll write more on that topic later.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
It's mysterious for many reasons, the first and foremost being because it was spoken as the template example of how we should pray by Jesus himself.
Interestingly, what Jesus didn't say was, "Oh, just talk to God and tell him whatever's on your mind and He will understand." In fact, that part of our prayer life, which for many - and particularly devout Protestants - may be most of our prayer life, appears to be such a brief portion that the New Testament spends very little time prescribing it, instead ranging from a template prayer to the Spirit praying for us in groans deeper than words (see Romans 8:26-27).
Obviously, this prayer is not a vainly repeated one, since in Matthew 6:7, two verses before the version of this prayer used by most of us (as distinct from the version in Luke 11:2-4), clearly tells us not to use vain repetition, right before giving us the template text for the prayer likely most repeated by Christians around the world.
And yet, in English alone there are many versions of this prayer, one of the big differentiators being whether the words "debts" or "trespasses" are used, and another being which translation of the Bible it can be found in.
However, one of the most interesting parts of this prayer is one that makes a clear distinction between Catholics and most Protestants: the part right after "deliver us from evil."
This second half of verse 13 in Matthew 6 is generally absent in modern translations, which have more ancient and authoritative texts to draw upon. But Protestants are so used to saying it, based on the King James version (which, somewhat surprisingly, many Protestants seem to believe is the original language of the Bible, and not Greek or Hebrew), that it's one way that Catholics notice the first time a Protestant attends a Catholic Mass.
You see, in the Catholic Church, the prayer itself stops after "deliver us from evil," but in a Mass, the priest continues with an additional prayer confirming and building on what has just been said, and then the congregation responds with, "For the kingdom, the power and the glory are Yours, now and forever. Amen"
So, as you may guess, the first time I attended a Catholic Mass I continued on with "For Thine is the..." and stopped when I noticed that no one else had.
Now, you've probably already noticed that what Catholics say in Mass is logically identical to what Protestants say at the end of the Lord's Prayer. The main difference, other than phrasing, is that it's treated as additional to and separate from the prayer itself, which reflects how the prayer is represented in modern translations such as the NIV, ESV and New Jerusalem versions of the Bible.
Those are the main patterns I wanted to put into the mix of this particular blog/chapter, but I do have one more thought to leave you with: since Jesus said not to use vain repetitions two verses before giving us the prayer that most Christians repeat most often, it is clear that Jesus was not forbidding useful repetitions of a prayer that opens our minds and hearts to express a request for what God wants most for us, even if we aren't the ones who composed it.
I'll write more on that topic later.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Conversion(s)
How many times can one Christian be baptized?
Of course, John 3:5 talks of being born of both the water and the spirit, and so many Christian denominations that practice the charismatic aspects of the faith (including Catholics) talk about baptism in water as distinct from baptism in the spirit, though it's possible both may happen at the same time.
For that matter, some denominations don't recognize each others' baptisms in water, so a given Christian's journey may involve more than one baptism by water. (As mentioned in another blog/chapter, it turns out that the Catholic Church recognizes my Presbyterian baptism, so I only got water-baptized once.)
And, while ceremonies such as Catholic confirmation are meant to include baptism in the spirit, it is not often that the gifts of the spirit listed in I Corinthians 12 and 13 are manifested at that time, so it is often left for other events such as "Life in the Spirit" seminars for people to be prayed for and have such an experience - thus at least allowing for the manifestation of baptism in the Spirit on more than one occasion in one's life.
Then how about conversion? Now the question gets really open.
In my own life, with Protestant missionary parents, it was felt strongly that I should choose as a person of the age of reason when I had converted. So when, at the age of 4, after a conversation about my faith with my parents I chose to explicitly accept the Christian faith with a prayer, my parents didn't seem fully convinced that it counted yet. Consequently, nearly a decade later when Billy Graham was in town and I answered the altar call, at least one of my parents decided that was when to reckon the date of my conversion.
Yet, in the book of Acts, we see that baptism is an essential part of conversion, and I wasn't baptized with water until I was nearly done high school.
And then, as my fourth year of university drew to a close, I was confirmed into the Catholic Church on Easter weekend, 1986, so some might count that as a conversion.
However, I never renounced Protestant Christiantiy (nor was I ever asked or encouraged by anyone to do so), treating my joining the Catholic Church as another step forward on an ongoing journey of faith, not a rejecting of the past. So it's hard to see that as a real conversion - nor, for that matter, is any time I attend a Protestant Church service a reversion.
So how many times have I been baptized, and how many times have I converted? It's a mystery :-)
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Of course, John 3:5 talks of being born of both the water and the spirit, and so many Christian denominations that practice the charismatic aspects of the faith (including Catholics) talk about baptism in water as distinct from baptism in the spirit, though it's possible both may happen at the same time.
For that matter, some denominations don't recognize each others' baptisms in water, so a given Christian's journey may involve more than one baptism by water. (As mentioned in another blog/chapter, it turns out that the Catholic Church recognizes my Presbyterian baptism, so I only got water-baptized once.)
And, while ceremonies such as Catholic confirmation are meant to include baptism in the spirit, it is not often that the gifts of the spirit listed in I Corinthians 12 and 13 are manifested at that time, so it is often left for other events such as "Life in the Spirit" seminars for people to be prayed for and have such an experience - thus at least allowing for the manifestation of baptism in the Spirit on more than one occasion in one's life.
Then how about conversion? Now the question gets really open.
In my own life, with Protestant missionary parents, it was felt strongly that I should choose as a person of the age of reason when I had converted. So when, at the age of 4, after a conversation about my faith with my parents I chose to explicitly accept the Christian faith with a prayer, my parents didn't seem fully convinced that it counted yet. Consequently, nearly a decade later when Billy Graham was in town and I answered the altar call, at least one of my parents decided that was when to reckon the date of my conversion.
Yet, in the book of Acts, we see that baptism is an essential part of conversion, and I wasn't baptized with water until I was nearly done high school.
And then, as my fourth year of university drew to a close, I was confirmed into the Catholic Church on Easter weekend, 1986, so some might count that as a conversion.
However, I never renounced Protestant Christiantiy (nor was I ever asked or encouraged by anyone to do so), treating my joining the Catholic Church as another step forward on an ongoing journey of faith, not a rejecting of the past. So it's hard to see that as a real conversion - nor, for that matter, is any time I attend a Protestant Church service a reversion.
So how many times have I been baptized, and how many times have I converted? It's a mystery :-)
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Ex-Smokers
In my experience, there are few people who are as militant anti-smokers as ex-smokers. The trials they've gone through after deciding to renounce their habit, combined with their reason to take that hard journey, often leave them feeling quite strongly about the importance of the decision they made and their reasoning behind it.
In my experience, many converts to Protestant Christianity are that way too. One might even also call them "ex-smokers" given the destiny they've escaped.
It always makes me happy to see a new Christian who is full of joy at what they've received, regardless of their denomination.
Sadly, however, some of these "ex-smokers" have grown up in homes that may have had certain cultural practices associated with one or more denominations of Christianity, but didn't actually live the faith. Of course, since the largest denomination of Christianity is Roman Catholic, the odds are good that any given person of this ilk will have grown up in an ostensibly Catholic home.
What is saddest about this is that, when these newborn-again Christians discover what they'd been missing all along, they often condemn the denomination(s) their families had ostensibly been associated with when young.
Add to that a certain flavour of "Protestant superceded Catholic" that is common in Protestant Christianity, and Catholic Christians can often get quite a rough ride from their Protestant brothers and sisters, and particularly those who grew up in nominally Catholic homes and then converted.
This is especially a shame because we all need each other's prayers and support - particularly in a world that so readily rejects many of Christianity's core beliefs.
In my own life, one of many examples is a Bible Study I attended at noon once a week, which was held in a conference room of a former employer of mine. Some people who knew me personally welcomed me as a fellow Christian, but there was one very active lady there who had grown up in a nominally Catholic home, and recently converted to Christianity as a Protestant. She was convinced that Catholicism was anti-Christian, and did everything she could to make my attendance uncomfortable, including bringing a ghetto blaster and playing tunes before each meeting began which had messages intended to help me see the error of my ways.
I finally concluded that my presence at that Bible study was not going to contribute to anyone's well-being, least of all my own, and gave up on it with regret.
Today, one of the things I continue to take from this is the importance of accepting our fellow Christians, imperfections and all, and journeying with them in our forgiven relationship with our redeemer, rather than looking for ways to exclude them based on some area of mutual non-understanding.
Hopefully, we can all avoid that ex-smoker attitude in dealing with other Christians.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
In my experience, many converts to Protestant Christianity are that way too. One might even also call them "ex-smokers" given the destiny they've escaped.
It always makes me happy to see a new Christian who is full of joy at what they've received, regardless of their denomination.
Sadly, however, some of these "ex-smokers" have grown up in homes that may have had certain cultural practices associated with one or more denominations of Christianity, but didn't actually live the faith. Of course, since the largest denomination of Christianity is Roman Catholic, the odds are good that any given person of this ilk will have grown up in an ostensibly Catholic home.
What is saddest about this is that, when these newborn-again Christians discover what they'd been missing all along, they often condemn the denomination(s) their families had ostensibly been associated with when young.
Add to that a certain flavour of "Protestant superceded Catholic" that is common in Protestant Christianity, and Catholic Christians can often get quite a rough ride from their Protestant brothers and sisters, and particularly those who grew up in nominally Catholic homes and then converted.
This is especially a shame because we all need each other's prayers and support - particularly in a world that so readily rejects many of Christianity's core beliefs.
In my own life, one of many examples is a Bible Study I attended at noon once a week, which was held in a conference room of a former employer of mine. Some people who knew me personally welcomed me as a fellow Christian, but there was one very active lady there who had grown up in a nominally Catholic home, and recently converted to Christianity as a Protestant. She was convinced that Catholicism was anti-Christian, and did everything she could to make my attendance uncomfortable, including bringing a ghetto blaster and playing tunes before each meeting began which had messages intended to help me see the error of my ways.
I finally concluded that my presence at that Bible study was not going to contribute to anyone's well-being, least of all my own, and gave up on it with regret.
Today, one of the things I continue to take from this is the importance of accepting our fellow Christians, imperfections and all, and journeying with them in our forgiven relationship with our redeemer, rather than looking for ways to exclude them based on some area of mutual non-understanding.
Hopefully, we can all avoid that ex-smoker attitude in dealing with other Christians.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Who Says this Ain't Communion?
When you hear the word "communion" what do you think of?
If you have environmentalist inclinations, you may think of communion with nature.
If you're a Protestant then you may think of drinking grape juice and eating bread at church several times a year - that's certainly what I used to think of when I was growing up.
Since joining the Catholic Church, however, I've come to appreciate another meaning which, oddly enough, I'd unthinkingly proclaimed as part of my articles of faith when growing up: communion of the saints.
The reason I'd been proclaiming it is that it's part of one of the oldest expressions of what it means to be a Christian: The Apostles' Creed. If you look it up at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apostles'_Creed, you'll see that it has its roots in the early church and is widely accepted by the oldest and largest of Christian denominations. Every translation used by every denomination that recites The Apostle's Creed includes reference to belief in the "communion of the saints" (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communion_of_saints) which is undisputedly a reference to all Christians, including those who have passed on, being a single body of Christ.
That's why, when I asked my grandmother, who is Christian but not a Catholic, if she will pray for me when she's in heaven, she was comfortably able to say "yes".
However, like most Protestants, she is not at all comfortable with the idea of me continuing to ask her to pray for me when I can no longer speak to her face to face (or at least by phone).
Such great thinkers as Luther and Calvin have had serious discomfort with us asking for prayer from fellow Christians who were no longer bodily with us. So, it's important not to take such scruples lightly.
However, for me, it's not much of a real communion with those saints who have gone before if we aren't able to ask them for prayer to help us with our burdens like we can in communion with those saints who are still alive on Earth. Besides, unlike my fellow Christians here on Earth, who already have plenty of worries of their own in addition to the prayers I ask them to make for my burdens, those who are in heaven have literally no worries, and one would think they'd delight in this expression of their communion with the rest of the body of Christ.
For my Protestant brothers and sisters who still aren't comfortable with asking fellow Christians who have gone before to pray for them, may I suggest you make some time to meet with your elderly fellow Christians now while they're still alive and ask them to pray for you when they're in heaven, so you don't have to feel uncomfortable about the idea of asking them this when they're no longer physically with us.
After all, one thing's for sure: we all benefit from each other's prayers.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
If you have environmentalist inclinations, you may think of communion with nature.
If you're a Protestant then you may think of drinking grape juice and eating bread at church several times a year - that's certainly what I used to think of when I was growing up.
Since joining the Catholic Church, however, I've come to appreciate another meaning which, oddly enough, I'd unthinkingly proclaimed as part of my articles of faith when growing up: communion of the saints.
The reason I'd been proclaiming it is that it's part of one of the oldest expressions of what it means to be a Christian: The Apostles' Creed. If you look it up at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apostles'_Creed, you'll see that it has its roots in the early church and is widely accepted by the oldest and largest of Christian denominations. Every translation used by every denomination that recites The Apostle's Creed includes reference to belief in the "communion of the saints" (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communion_of_saints) which is undisputedly a reference to all Christians, including those who have passed on, being a single body of Christ.
That's why, when I asked my grandmother, who is Christian but not a Catholic, if she will pray for me when she's in heaven, she was comfortably able to say "yes".
However, like most Protestants, she is not at all comfortable with the idea of me continuing to ask her to pray for me when I can no longer speak to her face to face (or at least by phone).
Such great thinkers as Luther and Calvin have had serious discomfort with us asking for prayer from fellow Christians who were no longer bodily with us. So, it's important not to take such scruples lightly.
However, for me, it's not much of a real communion with those saints who have gone before if we aren't able to ask them for prayer to help us with our burdens like we can in communion with those saints who are still alive on Earth. Besides, unlike my fellow Christians here on Earth, who already have plenty of worries of their own in addition to the prayers I ask them to make for my burdens, those who are in heaven have literally no worries, and one would think they'd delight in this expression of their communion with the rest of the body of Christ.
For my Protestant brothers and sisters who still aren't comfortable with asking fellow Christians who have gone before to pray for them, may I suggest you make some time to meet with your elderly fellow Christians now while they're still alive and ask them to pray for you when they're in heaven, so you don't have to feel uncomfortable about the idea of asking them this when they're no longer physically with us.
After all, one thing's for sure: we all benefit from each other's prayers.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Sacramentals vs Superstitions
One of the biggest differentiators between Catholic and many Protestant cultures is the use of physical objects in our devotions and other practices of our faith.
I've already mentioned holy water, though it's worth adding that many Catholics keep containers of this blessed water in their homes for use in blessing themselves, those that they care about, and even places and objects they care about such as their houses.
Catholics have many other such objects they may use, from scapulars to holy medals to rosaries to statues and beyond.
To Protestant sensibilities, these often smack of idolatry, or at the very least, a distraction from focusing exclusively on Christ.
Historically, however, before the average person could read or even possess a Bible, such objects were useful reminders of their faith and ways of keeping attention on devotions and not being distracted. They occupy our hands and eyes, and allow us to unite our senses in prayer.
This is counterintuitive to many Protestants, my younger self included, for whom their private experience of faith and devotion is an almost exclusively intellectual one, ideally suffused with the joy of which C.S.Lewis speaks in his great autobiography, "Surprised by Joy". To involve the other senses, and particularly touch, almost feels like we're degrading the purity of our devotions.
And yet, we are more than intellectual beings. We have five physical senses, and if we can find ways to involve them in our prayers, we can pray more deeply.
Of course, the clearest illustration of this, and a standard part of most Christians' experience, is song, which contains the intellectual content in the words, but the additional auditory and aesthetic content in the music. If you think about it, the music by itself isn't necessarily self-evidently a form of devotion. However, coupled with the words and/or the worship context, it gives a much deeper experience of prayer and praise. Or, to quote a sentiment often attributed to St. Augustine, "Who sings prays twice."
The problem is, it's human nature to put the gift above the giver. In my earlier blog/chapter about snakes and trees I mentioned how the bronze serpent on a pole, used to heal people from snake bites if they looked upon it, became an idol that people sacrificed to.
I have met some Protestant Christians who likewise idolized the Bible, treating their personal interpretation of isolated verses out of context as having an infallible meaning that just happened to perfectly suit their own personal agendas. Others may have had similar attachments to their church buildings, or at least the cross which may be found at the front.
Here's the thing: these are all good objects which, when treated reverently, enable our faith journeys. Indeed, while there have been many people throughout history who became Christians without having access to a whole Bible (think of many of the converts described in the book of Acts, for example), and many more who haven't read the entire Bible, there's no question that the Bible is a critically important part of a full faith life as a Christian.
Now, when my kids were too young to read the text of the Bible, they had access to a picture Bible. Was it really the Bible? No... but it was an object that helped them deepen their faith by enabling them to learn about and mediate on stories from the Bible, and disposed them to be able to more readily receive the full Bible when they were mature enough. And they still enjoy looking at the picture Bible.
Likewise, when Catholic sacramental objects are used to remind us of our faith, to give us something to hold and look at and think about, and to help us keep focused during our prayers, they are a very special part of our faith journey that allow us to keep the less-intellectual dimensions of ourselves from distracting us.
Which doesn't change the fact that some people - including non-Christians who have some measure of Catholic culture, and some Catholics whose faith isn't well-informed for various reasons - may mistake these sacramentals as magical objects and misuse them. Just like some people may misuse the Bible. But both, when used properly, can be important parts of our journeys into a deeper relationship with Christ our Redeemer.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
I've already mentioned holy water, though it's worth adding that many Catholics keep containers of this blessed water in their homes for use in blessing themselves, those that they care about, and even places and objects they care about such as their houses.
Catholics have many other such objects they may use, from scapulars to holy medals to rosaries to statues and beyond.
To Protestant sensibilities, these often smack of idolatry, or at the very least, a distraction from focusing exclusively on Christ.
Historically, however, before the average person could read or even possess a Bible, such objects were useful reminders of their faith and ways of keeping attention on devotions and not being distracted. They occupy our hands and eyes, and allow us to unite our senses in prayer.
This is counterintuitive to many Protestants, my younger self included, for whom their private experience of faith and devotion is an almost exclusively intellectual one, ideally suffused with the joy of which C.S.Lewis speaks in his great autobiography, "Surprised by Joy". To involve the other senses, and particularly touch, almost feels like we're degrading the purity of our devotions.
And yet, we are more than intellectual beings. We have five physical senses, and if we can find ways to involve them in our prayers, we can pray more deeply.
Of course, the clearest illustration of this, and a standard part of most Christians' experience, is song, which contains the intellectual content in the words, but the additional auditory and aesthetic content in the music. If you think about it, the music by itself isn't necessarily self-evidently a form of devotion. However, coupled with the words and/or the worship context, it gives a much deeper experience of prayer and praise. Or, to quote a sentiment often attributed to St. Augustine, "Who sings prays twice."
The problem is, it's human nature to put the gift above the giver. In my earlier blog/chapter about snakes and trees I mentioned how the bronze serpent on a pole, used to heal people from snake bites if they looked upon it, became an idol that people sacrificed to.
I have met some Protestant Christians who likewise idolized the Bible, treating their personal interpretation of isolated verses out of context as having an infallible meaning that just happened to perfectly suit their own personal agendas. Others may have had similar attachments to their church buildings, or at least the cross which may be found at the front.
Here's the thing: these are all good objects which, when treated reverently, enable our faith journeys. Indeed, while there have been many people throughout history who became Christians without having access to a whole Bible (think of many of the converts described in the book of Acts, for example), and many more who haven't read the entire Bible, there's no question that the Bible is a critically important part of a full faith life as a Christian.
Now, when my kids were too young to read the text of the Bible, they had access to a picture Bible. Was it really the Bible? No... but it was an object that helped them deepen their faith by enabling them to learn about and mediate on stories from the Bible, and disposed them to be able to more readily receive the full Bible when they were mature enough. And they still enjoy looking at the picture Bible.
Likewise, when Catholic sacramental objects are used to remind us of our faith, to give us something to hold and look at and think about, and to help us keep focused during our prayers, they are a very special part of our faith journey that allow us to keep the less-intellectual dimensions of ourselves from distracting us.
Which doesn't change the fact that some people - including non-Christians who have some measure of Catholic culture, and some Catholics whose faith isn't well-informed for various reasons - may mistake these sacramentals as magical objects and misuse them. Just like some people may misuse the Bible. But both, when used properly, can be important parts of our journeys into a deeper relationship with Christ our Redeemer.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Water Babies
"Throwing out the baby with the bathwater" is a commonly-used expression to refer to something of value being lost in the process of disposing of something unwanted.
The reason we have such an expression is that it's a common human behavior. We like to start fresh, eliminating everything we can that feels like an obstacle to our future freedom to succeed. We also like to differentiate ourselves from what we're leaving behind.
During my 25+ years in the Roman Catholic Church, I've discovered many such "babies" that were not part of my Protestant upbringing. In some cases, these were things that Luther, Calvin and others had explicit issues with, such as transubstantiation. In other cases, they were cultural differentiators, as the newly emerged Protestant denominations tried to differentiate themselves from Catholicism. And in other cases they just got forgotten in the rush to establish a new, fresh, simpler form of the "Faith of our Fathers."
For that matter, some of these differentiators only emerged (or fell off) in certain denominations, but not others.
As a result, if you were to take stock of all the various differences between Protestant Christiantiy and Catholicism, you'd find that some were consistently different from the Catholic experience across the board, while others would form a sort of interesting negative space, leaving a hollow outline of Catholic practices if you were to draw a line around all the interdenominational differences.
Perhaps most interestingly, I've begun to find that, now that most Protestant Christians are secure enough in their distinct Christian identities that they don't feel a need to explicitly differentiate themselves from Catholic practices that weren't the nub of their original parting of ways, there's an increasing openness to benefiting from these historical treasures which the Catholic Church continues to maintain.
One of these is infant baptism. Of course, adult baptism is a standard Christrian practice across Christianity for new converts to the faith. However, when Christian parents have babies, there is a desire to bring them up in the faith and include them as much as possible. In the Cathollic Church, this begins with infant baptism, and then proceeds through first communion to confirmation as the child comes of age and is able to fully assent to their continued involvement with the faith.
Some Protestant denominations have an explicit requirement that those being baptised be of the age of reason at least, and preferably somewhat more mature. But others are increasingly allowing parents to have their infants baptised, not just christened.
Interestingly, it seems that non-denominational churches, and particularly those with adherents with some Catholic family background, often lead the way in allowing for such "Catholic" (or perhaps more appropriately "catholic") practices.
Then there's the whole question of the amount and use of water. The Catholic Church allows for but does not require immersion; infant baptism, in my experience, is pretty consistently done above a small font, with the water poured on the infant's scalp. Other denominations may also allow baptism by "sprinkling" while others expect full immersion.
One of the big disappointments in my life is that my baptism, as a teenager in the Presbyterian Church, was accomplished with a very small amount of water on my forehead. I would love to have been dunked, but you don't need to be baptised twice - the Catholic Church accepted my Presbyterian baptism as valid when I joined - so I missed out on that sensory immersion experience.
Fortunately, I have had the waters of baptism sprinkled on me many times since joining the Catholic Church - a special experience every time.
That's because of the concept of Holy Water. When a priest blesses water, either for use in baptism or for some other sacred occasion or use, he then generally will dip a branch or other object in the water and use it to sprinkle many of those present with it (and they respond by crossing themselves). Holy Water is also available at the entrance of Catholic churches for people to dip their fingers into and then bless themselves with it by crossing themselves with the moistened fingers.
Given that Christians are to be "born of the water and the spirit" (John 3:5) this water is both a reminder and a renewing experience that touches me on a physical and visceral level, and not just the intellectual level where sermons, homilies and studying often predominate.
There are many other practices in the Catholic Church which I have also come to claim as my own, not merely as a new convert discovering them for the first time, but as an established Christian who is uncovering parts of my birth right that I had been unaware of before joining the original Christian denomination.
I'll talk about these more in future blog entries/chapters.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
The reason we have such an expression is that it's a common human behavior. We like to start fresh, eliminating everything we can that feels like an obstacle to our future freedom to succeed. We also like to differentiate ourselves from what we're leaving behind.
During my 25+ years in the Roman Catholic Church, I've discovered many such "babies" that were not part of my Protestant upbringing. In some cases, these were things that Luther, Calvin and others had explicit issues with, such as transubstantiation. In other cases, they were cultural differentiators, as the newly emerged Protestant denominations tried to differentiate themselves from Catholicism. And in other cases they just got forgotten in the rush to establish a new, fresh, simpler form of the "Faith of our Fathers."
For that matter, some of these differentiators only emerged (or fell off) in certain denominations, but not others.
As a result, if you were to take stock of all the various differences between Protestant Christiantiy and Catholicism, you'd find that some were consistently different from the Catholic experience across the board, while others would form a sort of interesting negative space, leaving a hollow outline of Catholic practices if you were to draw a line around all the interdenominational differences.
Perhaps most interestingly, I've begun to find that, now that most Protestant Christians are secure enough in their distinct Christian identities that they don't feel a need to explicitly differentiate themselves from Catholic practices that weren't the nub of their original parting of ways, there's an increasing openness to benefiting from these historical treasures which the Catholic Church continues to maintain.
One of these is infant baptism. Of course, adult baptism is a standard Christrian practice across Christianity for new converts to the faith. However, when Christian parents have babies, there is a desire to bring them up in the faith and include them as much as possible. In the Cathollic Church, this begins with infant baptism, and then proceeds through first communion to confirmation as the child comes of age and is able to fully assent to their continued involvement with the faith.
Some Protestant denominations have an explicit requirement that those being baptised be of the age of reason at least, and preferably somewhat more mature. But others are increasingly allowing parents to have their infants baptised, not just christened.
Interestingly, it seems that non-denominational churches, and particularly those with adherents with some Catholic family background, often lead the way in allowing for such "Catholic" (or perhaps more appropriately "catholic") practices.
Then there's the whole question of the amount and use of water. The Catholic Church allows for but does not require immersion; infant baptism, in my experience, is pretty consistently done above a small font, with the water poured on the infant's scalp. Other denominations may also allow baptism by "sprinkling" while others expect full immersion.
One of the big disappointments in my life is that my baptism, as a teenager in the Presbyterian Church, was accomplished with a very small amount of water on my forehead. I would love to have been dunked, but you don't need to be baptised twice - the Catholic Church accepted my Presbyterian baptism as valid when I joined - so I missed out on that sensory immersion experience.
Fortunately, I have had the waters of baptism sprinkled on me many times since joining the Catholic Church - a special experience every time.
That's because of the concept of Holy Water. When a priest blesses water, either for use in baptism or for some other sacred occasion or use, he then generally will dip a branch or other object in the water and use it to sprinkle many of those present with it (and they respond by crossing themselves). Holy Water is also available at the entrance of Catholic churches for people to dip their fingers into and then bless themselves with it by crossing themselves with the moistened fingers.
Given that Christians are to be "born of the water and the spirit" (John 3:5) this water is both a reminder and a renewing experience that touches me on a physical and visceral level, and not just the intellectual level where sermons, homilies and studying often predominate.
There are many other practices in the Catholic Church which I have also come to claim as my own, not merely as a new convert discovering them for the first time, but as an established Christian who is uncovering parts of my birth right that I had been unaware of before joining the original Christian denomination.
I'll talk about these more in future blog entries/chapters.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Monday, December 5, 2011
OMG and other Sibboleths
The book of Judges, chapter 12, verses 5 and 6, tells the story of one of the original passwords: shibboleth. In this instance, some warriors on the losing side of a battle had a particular accent that caused then to pronounce this word as "sibboleth" rather than "shibboleth," thus bringing about their discovery and elimination when they tried to escape by disavowing their identities.
As a result of that story, we have the occasionally-used term "shibboleth" which refers to saying something in a certain way to show that we're part of an "in group." A good example of this in some parts of Protestant Christianity would be sprinkling one's prayer language with the word "just" as in "we just ask that you would just heal..." Clearly, there's no biblical or other requirement for the inclusion of this word when praying - it's even absent from the Lord's Prayer, though one can easily imagine where it might be overzealously inserted.
Interestingly, recent history has given English-speaking Protestants something of an un-shibboleth - let's call it a sibboleth - that causes many well-meaning Catholics to be judged as non-Christian because they're seen as breaking one of the Ten Commandments - the one that says not to take the Lord's name in vain. (This is the third commandment for Protestants and Jews, but the second commandment for Catholics - more about that in another blog entry or chapter.)
Of course, the original intent of this commandment was to not misuse the name of God (also known as the Tetragrammaton, which, out of respect, I will not type in this blog) through acts such as swearing by it and then not keeping that oath.
Over the centuries, many references and terms have come to be used to refer to God, including the English word "God," and while they aren't God's name, they certainly also deserve respectful treatment due to their meaning.
But here's the problem: sometimes, when we are praying, we just want to say as succinctly as possible, "Help me God" - particularly when we encounter some unpleasant and unexpected circumstance that we're not prepared to deal with on our own.
In languages such as Polish, one way to do this is the Polish expression "O Boże" which translates literally as "O God" (as distinct from "Oh God") and is among the briefest possible invocations of God's assistance in a time of trouble.
The problem here is self-evident in the preceding paragraph: you can't hear the difference between "O God" and "Oh God" - and it is such a brief expression that any tones of reverence can be missed.
Sadly, the result is that, while many Catholic Christians may use the invocation "O God" as a brief prayer in times of need, other people, including some fellow Catholics who may not have picked up on the difference, may take this as implicit permission to say "Oh God" as an exclamation of surprise or disapproval, leading to other similarly inappropriate exclamations such as using the name of Jesus Christ as an expletive.
A perfect example of this confusion in my life was at a University Pastoral Council meeting I attended once. Various chatter was happening before the meeting began, when the priest, a sociable and friendly fellow, suddenly said, "O God" and a number of the people giggled, thinking he'd said, "Oh God" until he continued with the rest of his opening prayer, which brought the giggling to an immediate and embarrassed end.
So, are Catholics in the cultural habit of taking the Lord's name in vain? Not precisely - there are many who are scrupulous not to use any reference to God or Jesus in an exclamation, and also many who only use these as a brief prayer. Sadly, there are also some who do give a bad example by using these as expletives, thus demonstrating that, like every other Christian, they are imperfect and need Christ's redemption. However, I don't recall ever hearing a Catholic actually use what is known as God's proper name as an expletive, let alone swear by it to do something and then fail to come through.
To my Protestant brothers and sisters - particularly those who, like myself, scrupulously avoid any reference to God or Jesus in their expletives - I ask that you understand this distinction, not to overlook an offense, but to recognize it for what it actually is, and not let it become a barrier to sharing Christ's love with fellow Christians.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
As a result of that story, we have the occasionally-used term "shibboleth" which refers to saying something in a certain way to show that we're part of an "in group." A good example of this in some parts of Protestant Christianity would be sprinkling one's prayer language with the word "just" as in "we just ask that you would just heal..." Clearly, there's no biblical or other requirement for the inclusion of this word when praying - it's even absent from the Lord's Prayer, though one can easily imagine where it might be overzealously inserted.
Interestingly, recent history has given English-speaking Protestants something of an un-shibboleth - let's call it a sibboleth - that causes many well-meaning Catholics to be judged as non-Christian because they're seen as breaking one of the Ten Commandments - the one that says not to take the Lord's name in vain. (This is the third commandment for Protestants and Jews, but the second commandment for Catholics - more about that in another blog entry or chapter.)
Of course, the original intent of this commandment was to not misuse the name of God (also known as the Tetragrammaton, which, out of respect, I will not type in this blog) through acts such as swearing by it and then not keeping that oath.
Over the centuries, many references and terms have come to be used to refer to God, including the English word "God," and while they aren't God's name, they certainly also deserve respectful treatment due to their meaning.
But here's the problem: sometimes, when we are praying, we just want to say as succinctly as possible, "Help me God" - particularly when we encounter some unpleasant and unexpected circumstance that we're not prepared to deal with on our own.
In languages such as Polish, one way to do this is the Polish expression "O Boże" which translates literally as "O God" (as distinct from "Oh God") and is among the briefest possible invocations of God's assistance in a time of trouble.
The problem here is self-evident in the preceding paragraph: you can't hear the difference between "O God" and "Oh God" - and it is such a brief expression that any tones of reverence can be missed.
Sadly, the result is that, while many Catholic Christians may use the invocation "O God" as a brief prayer in times of need, other people, including some fellow Catholics who may not have picked up on the difference, may take this as implicit permission to say "Oh God" as an exclamation of surprise or disapproval, leading to other similarly inappropriate exclamations such as using the name of Jesus Christ as an expletive.
A perfect example of this confusion in my life was at a University Pastoral Council meeting I attended once. Various chatter was happening before the meeting began, when the priest, a sociable and friendly fellow, suddenly said, "O God" and a number of the people giggled, thinking he'd said, "Oh God" until he continued with the rest of his opening prayer, which brought the giggling to an immediate and embarrassed end.
So, are Catholics in the cultural habit of taking the Lord's name in vain? Not precisely - there are many who are scrupulous not to use any reference to God or Jesus in an exclamation, and also many who only use these as a brief prayer. Sadly, there are also some who do give a bad example by using these as expletives, thus demonstrating that, like every other Christian, they are imperfect and need Christ's redemption. However, I don't recall ever hearing a Catholic actually use what is known as God's proper name as an expletive, let alone swear by it to do something and then fail to come through.
To my Protestant brothers and sisters - particularly those who, like myself, scrupulously avoid any reference to God or Jesus in their expletives - I ask that you understand this distinction, not to overlook an offense, but to recognize it for what it actually is, and not let it become a barrier to sharing Christ's love with fellow Christians.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Of Snakes and Trees
One of the images that stands out in the Bible is that of a snake or serpent. In the third chapter in Genesis, the first book in the Bible, we've already encountered the devil embodied as one, and the last mention of this same serpent is in Revelation 20, the third-last chapter of the Bible.
Trees, bushes and vines - all of them hardy plants that endure multiple years and may produce fruit - are another image occurring frequently in the Bible. Before the first chapter of Genesis is half over we've encountered the first trees, and early in chapter two we meet the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. This same tree of life appears at the end of the Bible in Revelation chapter 22.
Between these two ends of the Bible, numerous references to both occur, both literal and figurative. In the time of Moses (of Ten Commandments fame) the most famous bush is the burning bush from which God called Moses to his mission, though Moses' brother Aaron's staff also has a claim to fame of having blossomed like a tree and been placed in the Arc of the Covenant, and so is auspicious in its own right.
Interestingly, the most famous serpent from Moses' time is actually one that healed by being lifted on a tree. Specifically, a plague of snakes was let loose on the children of Israel due to their complaints, so Moses fashioned a bronze serpent and placed it on a pole, and anyone who was bitten by a snake could look up at it and not die from the snake bite. (See Numbers 21:4-9.) This serpent lasted a very long time, until king Hezekiah smashed it because it had become an idol named Nehushtan to which the Israelites had begun offering sacrifices. (See 2 Kings 18:4.)
Biblical references to snakes and serpents are generally not very positive, from the embodiment of the devil to a scourge against those who have sinned. And, as we look at ways that one might use a snake or serpent figuratively, three of its behaviors emerge as analogies to things we look at disapprovingly: biting people, slithering on the ground, and shedding its skin.
Stay with me here: I'm going somewhere with this.
Trees, bushes and vines, on the other hand, are generally symbols of good - either actualized or potential. In fact, in the gospel of John, chapter 15 verse 5, Jesus himself says he is the vine and his followers are the branches. There are also many references to bearing fruit and grafting new branches onto an existing vine or tree.
What you won't find anywhere is a reference to God's people being a snake that sheds its skin and emerges, a brand new snake.
You will find references to giving trees second chances to produce fruit, among many other images and directives that compel reconciliation with astranged kin.
You'll also find an interesting reference to a field of wheat being sown with weeds, and both being allowed to grow together rather than throwing out the weeds, in order to avoid accidentally throwing out the wheat.
OK, here's where I was going with all of that: many of my Protestant fellow-Christians, including some of my relatives, seem to have the attitude that, with the advent of the Protestant Reformation, God rejected the Roman Catholic Church and only accepted all, or some subset of, Protestantism as Christianity.
That's almost like saying the snake was rejected and the skin it shed was approved. Or like saying that the entire wheat field should be burned because some weeds had arisen in visible places.
The reason I've spent so much time getting to the point is that it needs to be understood: there's no Biblical precedent for rejecting over half of the Christians in the world as non-Christians based on the misdeeds of a few historical individuals in positions of authority. Even Israel, after a series of rotten kings and an ensuing exile, was brought back, and later redeemed by the Messiah, not discarded like a used snake skin.
To me, a much more self-evidently relevant image is of a tree that has diverged into branches while the trunk continues to thrive.
So, regardless of the historical reasons for schisms in Christianity, I see no valid precedent for a permanent rejection and uncompromising condemnation of the tree trunk by its own branches, or even of a fellow Christian who has been subject to sufficient punishment. See 2 Corinthians 2:3-11 for an elaboration on this theme.
For these reasons, I invite my Protestant brothers and sisters to open their hearts and minds to the possibility that the evil they think they're rejecting in the Catholic Church is based on historical and cultural differentiations and misunderstandings, not on some inherent evil that Protestant Christianity somehow mysteriously managed to rise above while leaving the rest of modern and historical Christianity in some unredeemed and rejected state.
Of course, part of this journey is getting to know the truth about these things which have historically been part of the Catholic Church but have not been included in some or all denominations of Protestant Christianity. That's a primary goal of this blog/book.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Trees, bushes and vines - all of them hardy plants that endure multiple years and may produce fruit - are another image occurring frequently in the Bible. Before the first chapter of Genesis is half over we've encountered the first trees, and early in chapter two we meet the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. This same tree of life appears at the end of the Bible in Revelation chapter 22.
Between these two ends of the Bible, numerous references to both occur, both literal and figurative. In the time of Moses (of Ten Commandments fame) the most famous bush is the burning bush from which God called Moses to his mission, though Moses' brother Aaron's staff also has a claim to fame of having blossomed like a tree and been placed in the Arc of the Covenant, and so is auspicious in its own right.
Interestingly, the most famous serpent from Moses' time is actually one that healed by being lifted on a tree. Specifically, a plague of snakes was let loose on the children of Israel due to their complaints, so Moses fashioned a bronze serpent and placed it on a pole, and anyone who was bitten by a snake could look up at it and not die from the snake bite. (See Numbers 21:4-9.) This serpent lasted a very long time, until king Hezekiah smashed it because it had become an idol named Nehushtan to which the Israelites had begun offering sacrifices. (See 2 Kings 18:4.)
Biblical references to snakes and serpents are generally not very positive, from the embodiment of the devil to a scourge against those who have sinned. And, as we look at ways that one might use a snake or serpent figuratively, three of its behaviors emerge as analogies to things we look at disapprovingly: biting people, slithering on the ground, and shedding its skin.
Stay with me here: I'm going somewhere with this.
Trees, bushes and vines, on the other hand, are generally symbols of good - either actualized or potential. In fact, in the gospel of John, chapter 15 verse 5, Jesus himself says he is the vine and his followers are the branches. There are also many references to bearing fruit and grafting new branches onto an existing vine or tree.
What you won't find anywhere is a reference to God's people being a snake that sheds its skin and emerges, a brand new snake.
You will find references to giving trees second chances to produce fruit, among many other images and directives that compel reconciliation with astranged kin.
You'll also find an interesting reference to a field of wheat being sown with weeds, and both being allowed to grow together rather than throwing out the weeds, in order to avoid accidentally throwing out the wheat.
OK, here's where I was going with all of that: many of my Protestant fellow-Christians, including some of my relatives, seem to have the attitude that, with the advent of the Protestant Reformation, God rejected the Roman Catholic Church and only accepted all, or some subset of, Protestantism as Christianity.
That's almost like saying the snake was rejected and the skin it shed was approved. Or like saying that the entire wheat field should be burned because some weeds had arisen in visible places.
The reason I've spent so much time getting to the point is that it needs to be understood: there's no Biblical precedent for rejecting over half of the Christians in the world as non-Christians based on the misdeeds of a few historical individuals in positions of authority. Even Israel, after a series of rotten kings and an ensuing exile, was brought back, and later redeemed by the Messiah, not discarded like a used snake skin.
To me, a much more self-evidently relevant image is of a tree that has diverged into branches while the trunk continues to thrive.
So, regardless of the historical reasons for schisms in Christianity, I see no valid precedent for a permanent rejection and uncompromising condemnation of the tree trunk by its own branches, or even of a fellow Christian who has been subject to sufficient punishment. See 2 Corinthians 2:3-11 for an elaboration on this theme.
For these reasons, I invite my Protestant brothers and sisters to open their hearts and minds to the possibility that the evil they think they're rejecting in the Catholic Church is based on historical and cultural differentiations and misunderstandings, not on some inherent evil that Protestant Christianity somehow mysteriously managed to rise above while leaving the rest of modern and historical Christianity in some unredeemed and rejected state.
Of course, part of this journey is getting to know the truth about these things which have historically been part of the Catholic Church but have not been included in some or all denominations of Protestant Christianity. That's a primary goal of this blog/book.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
The Imperfect Duckling
Perfection is not a burden that I've had to bear in my life.
True, my parents brought me up insisting on a high standard - especially of morality and intellectual awareness of my faith. However, praise me though they might for my achievements, experience left no doubt that, while I might aspire to excellence, perfection was quite another question.
My experience in school made this even clearer. My muddled culture was an imperfect and constantly changing combination of my parents' background, the Stoney first nation among whom I grew up, and the blue-collar, recent immigrant cement mining families of Exshaw whose children were my classmates during my most formative years.
All this led me to take the story of the ugly duckling to heart, hoping some day I would find that I would be a fit in some culture of wonderful people who would turn out to be just like me.
Instead, I went to university and found that I fit in no better than at any previous time in my life.
After a few years of trying out different Christian communities, however, I was invited to one church where I found a niche, not because it was populated with people who were perfectly like me, but because it was full of a diverse mix of unquestionably imperfect people who were all different from each other and from me - and who accepted me as I was and didn't expect me to adopt their local microculture in order to fit in or be judged as acceptable.
I respected and enjoyed all of the different denominations I visited during my journey, and fell well-treated by all, but always as an inevitable outsider, who couldn't be easily adjusted to fit in and behave like everyone else.
But this last community, the Roman Catholic community at my university, didn't expect me to fit in. They welcomed me as myself, eccentricities, uniquenesses, imperfections and all.
Over 25 years later, I'm still an outsider in many ways - and yet, none of those ways make me any more an outsider than any other Catholic from one part of the church would be in some other part of the Catholic Church. I'm also still very imperfect - though I believe, by the grace of God, I'm getting better all the time. And I have yet to meet a fellow Catholic who isn't imperfect.
But that's OK with me. A fellow Christian who went to the same church as our family when I was growing up used to have a bumper sticker on his car which expressed this as well as I've seen anywhere: "Christians aren't perfect - just forgiven."
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
True, my parents brought me up insisting on a high standard - especially of morality and intellectual awareness of my faith. However, praise me though they might for my achievements, experience left no doubt that, while I might aspire to excellence, perfection was quite another question.
My experience in school made this even clearer. My muddled culture was an imperfect and constantly changing combination of my parents' background, the Stoney first nation among whom I grew up, and the blue-collar, recent immigrant cement mining families of Exshaw whose children were my classmates during my most formative years.
All this led me to take the story of the ugly duckling to heart, hoping some day I would find that I would be a fit in some culture of wonderful people who would turn out to be just like me.
Instead, I went to university and found that I fit in no better than at any previous time in my life.
After a few years of trying out different Christian communities, however, I was invited to one church where I found a niche, not because it was populated with people who were perfectly like me, but because it was full of a diverse mix of unquestionably imperfect people who were all different from each other and from me - and who accepted me as I was and didn't expect me to adopt their local microculture in order to fit in or be judged as acceptable.
I respected and enjoyed all of the different denominations I visited during my journey, and fell well-treated by all, but always as an inevitable outsider, who couldn't be easily adjusted to fit in and behave like everyone else.
But this last community, the Roman Catholic community at my university, didn't expect me to fit in. They welcomed me as myself, eccentricities, uniquenesses, imperfections and all.
Over 25 years later, I'm still an outsider in many ways - and yet, none of those ways make me any more an outsider than any other Catholic from one part of the church would be in some other part of the Catholic Church. I'm also still very imperfect - though I believe, by the grace of God, I'm getting better all the time. And I have yet to meet a fellow Catholic who isn't imperfect.
But that's OK with me. A fellow Christian who went to the same church as our family when I was growing up used to have a bumper sticker on his car which expressed this as well as I've seen anywhere: "Christians aren't perfect - just forgiven."
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Blame it on John Wycliffe
More than a century before Martin Luther, or John Calvin, or King Henry VIII, there was John Wycliffe. That makes him a Catholic, of course.
However, due to his efforts to translate the Bible into the vernacular and his opposition to papal authority influencing secular rulers, many see John Wycliffe as as the "Morning Star of the Protestant Reformation."
His influence didn't end with the beginning of that great schism in Christianity, though. Early in the 20th century, inspired by the opportunity to make the Bible available to the first nations of Central America in their own language rather than Spanish, William Cameron Townsend founded an organization dedicated to translating the Bible into every language of the world, and named it "Wycliffe Bible Translators" after John Wycliffe. You can learn more about them at http://www.wycliffe.ca/aboutus/history_aboutus.html.
Roughly 20 years later, my parents, who had met at Houghton College, a Protestant Christian college in south-western New York state, joined Wycliffe Bible Translators and, after further post-degree training, sought out a cultural/linguistic group of people who didn't yet have the Bible in their own language, and were willing to ask for it.
So it was that my brother James and I grew up in south-western Alberta, Canada, amid the Stoney Nakoda first nation, who requested my parents come, learn their language, and translate the Bible into it.
As you might imagine, that led to a rather unique upbringing for us. It also led to our going to school variously in Morley, the townsite at the centre of the Stoney reserve; Exshaw, a small town with a cement mining economy about 30 minutes' drive east of Banff National Park; Strathcona-Tweedsmuir, a school just south of Calgary; Springbank, a western suburb of Calgary; Banff Composite (now Community) High School in the Banff Townsite in Banff National Park; and finally the University of Calgary for our first (and so far my only) degrees.
This whole time, my parents were living out a mission that had more twists and turns than the road to the Mt. Norquay ski resort in Banff. And James and I were growing up in a home where our Christian faith was so pervasive that we just took it for granted - until we arrived at university. We were also attending a St. Paul's Presbyterian Church in Banff, a fine church with a congregation that was a tiny fraction of the Sunday attendance thanks to the large number of tourists who attended each week.
Obviously, the foregoing paragraphs hint at many potential books' worth of content, and I'll often visit various episodes during this time frame from 1965 to 1986, but this blog, and any book that it may become, is not first and foremost about my parents, brother or me. It's about my experience of the Roman Catholic Church as the previously Protestant son of these two Wycliffe missionaries.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
However, due to his efforts to translate the Bible into the vernacular and his opposition to papal authority influencing secular rulers, many see John Wycliffe as as the "Morning Star of the Protestant Reformation."
His influence didn't end with the beginning of that great schism in Christianity, though. Early in the 20th century, inspired by the opportunity to make the Bible available to the first nations of Central America in their own language rather than Spanish, William Cameron Townsend founded an organization dedicated to translating the Bible into every language of the world, and named it "Wycliffe Bible Translators" after John Wycliffe. You can learn more about them at http://www.wycliffe.ca/aboutus/history_aboutus.html.
Roughly 20 years later, my parents, who had met at Houghton College, a Protestant Christian college in south-western New York state, joined Wycliffe Bible Translators and, after further post-degree training, sought out a cultural/linguistic group of people who didn't yet have the Bible in their own language, and were willing to ask for it.
So it was that my brother James and I grew up in south-western Alberta, Canada, amid the Stoney Nakoda first nation, who requested my parents come, learn their language, and translate the Bible into it.
As you might imagine, that led to a rather unique upbringing for us. It also led to our going to school variously in Morley, the townsite at the centre of the Stoney reserve; Exshaw, a small town with a cement mining economy about 30 minutes' drive east of Banff National Park; Strathcona-Tweedsmuir, a school just south of Calgary; Springbank, a western suburb of Calgary; Banff Composite (now Community) High School in the Banff Townsite in Banff National Park; and finally the University of Calgary for our first (and so far my only) degrees.
This whole time, my parents were living out a mission that had more twists and turns than the road to the Mt. Norquay ski resort in Banff. And James and I were growing up in a home where our Christian faith was so pervasive that we just took it for granted - until we arrived at university. We were also attending a St. Paul's Presbyterian Church in Banff, a fine church with a congregation that was a tiny fraction of the Sunday attendance thanks to the large number of tourists who attended each week.
Obviously, the foregoing paragraphs hint at many potential books' worth of content, and I'll often visit various episodes during this time frame from 1965 to 1986, but this blog, and any book that it may become, is not first and foremost about my parents, brother or me. It's about my experience of the Roman Catholic Church as the previously Protestant son of these two Wycliffe missionaries.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
First Post
If you had asked me on Easter weekend, 1986, why I was joining the Roman Catholic Church, I would likely have told you, "It's a mystery."
Of course, like many things I say, it had a slightly whimsical double-meaning, but still was intended to be completely true. I loved the depth and mystery of what the RC Church professes, found it to be fully consistent with what I had learned and come to believe in my faith journey so far, and appreciated the fact that not every question about belief and practice had to have a simple, easy answer - unless you're satisfied with, "It's a mystery." Some of the simplest questions have answers so profound that, even if we know the words, we may continue to discover their meaning throughout our lifetimes and still not be satisfied.
But another part of that mystery was the experience: I was at the edge of a new stage in my journey, and while I had a strong sense that I was going in the right direction and many great things lay ahead, I could barely have guessed them - they, too, were a mystery.
Fast forward 25 years, and some of those mysteries have begun to manifest themselves in concrete experiences, some in greater depth and breadth of insight, and some have become familiar in their unresolvability.
One of my favourite quotations is from Neils Bohr, who reputedly said, "You never understand quantum physics, you just get used to it." If you take what Christianity says seriously, then the same God who created the universe - and therefore its rules including quantum physics - is the Truth inherent in the essential facts of Christianity, so one should expect no less profundity (or concrete practical relevance) in one's journey of faith than in the deepest insights science has to offer. Now that's a real mystery - and, like science, not one whose limits we should ever expect to fully grasp.
So, the daily mysteries of life, sometimes meriting further investigation, sometimes compelling a cheerful, "I don't know," as I get used to them, interact with my journey as a human, a Christian, and for over 25 years, a Catholic.
Of course, not everything has to be a mystery. Sometimes, experience, attention, and dilligent effort can change that to mastery. Regardless, by sharing these experiences without needing to fully characterize them in black-and-white terms, it is possible to build bridges of understanding between people of goodwill who just need some insight into each other to realize that they've been journeying together all along.
So begins my blog. We'll see where it goes. If I produce enough entries of sufficient interest to others, it is my intention to "harvest" them and publish them as one or more e-books. I look forward to your feedback as I choose my way forward.
One last note: the perspective of this blog should be clear, but it is not intended to exclude any audience. I hope it will be a good opportunity for non-Christians to better understand Christians, and for Catholics to understand Protestants, even if the audience I'm most often likely to have in mind are my Protestant brothers and sisters, and the perspective is that of a practicing Catholic who still has a significant measure of Protestant culture and sensibilities in my personality.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
Of course, like many things I say, it had a slightly whimsical double-meaning, but still was intended to be completely true. I loved the depth and mystery of what the RC Church professes, found it to be fully consistent with what I had learned and come to believe in my faith journey so far, and appreciated the fact that not every question about belief and practice had to have a simple, easy answer - unless you're satisfied with, "It's a mystery." Some of the simplest questions have answers so profound that, even if we know the words, we may continue to discover their meaning throughout our lifetimes and still not be satisfied.
But another part of that mystery was the experience: I was at the edge of a new stage in my journey, and while I had a strong sense that I was going in the right direction and many great things lay ahead, I could barely have guessed them - they, too, were a mystery.
Fast forward 25 years, and some of those mysteries have begun to manifest themselves in concrete experiences, some in greater depth and breadth of insight, and some have become familiar in their unresolvability.
One of my favourite quotations is from Neils Bohr, who reputedly said, "You never understand quantum physics, you just get used to it." If you take what Christianity says seriously, then the same God who created the universe - and therefore its rules including quantum physics - is the Truth inherent in the essential facts of Christianity, so one should expect no less profundity (or concrete practical relevance) in one's journey of faith than in the deepest insights science has to offer. Now that's a real mystery - and, like science, not one whose limits we should ever expect to fully grasp.
So, the daily mysteries of life, sometimes meriting further investigation, sometimes compelling a cheerful, "I don't know," as I get used to them, interact with my journey as a human, a Christian, and for over 25 years, a Catholic.
Of course, not everything has to be a mystery. Sometimes, experience, attention, and dilligent effort can change that to mastery. Regardless, by sharing these experiences without needing to fully characterize them in black-and-white terms, it is possible to build bridges of understanding between people of goodwill who just need some insight into each other to realize that they've been journeying together all along.
So begins my blog. We'll see where it goes. If I produce enough entries of sufficient interest to others, it is my intention to "harvest" them and publish them as one or more e-books. I look forward to your feedback as I choose my way forward.
One last note: the perspective of this blog should be clear, but it is not intended to exclude any audience. I hope it will be a good opportunity for non-Christians to better understand Christians, and for Catholics to understand Protestants, even if the audience I'm most often likely to have in mind are my Protestant brothers and sisters, and the perspective is that of a practicing Catholic who still has a significant measure of Protestant culture and sensibilities in my personality.
(Copyright (c) 2011, Reg Harbeck, all rights reserved)
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