Silver Devil Teresa Denys Ebook Torrents

Qoheleth is the Hebrew name for Ecclesiastes. The name has many meanings: One who conveys an assembly, member of an assembly, official speaker in an assembly, head of an assembly of wise men, preacher, debater, and the great collector of sayings. The author is unknown although up until the nineteenth century it was believed to have been written by Solomon because Qoheleth is referred to in this book as King David's son. There are social conditions mentioned in this book which are contrary to what is known about the Israelites in Solomon's day, therefore, Solomon's authorship is unlikely. The date of this book is fixed somewhere around the close of the third century B.C. The word 'Vanity' is translated as 'a breath' or 'a vapor' and 'Vanity of vanities' is the Hebrew way of saying 'the merest breath'.

• The Silver Devil Teresa Denys

In order to comprehend the meaning of this Reading, it's important to note that at the time of this writing, the idea of an afterlife was not widely accepted or taught in the Hebrew creed. The theology of the time was that the infinitely good God rewarded obedience to His laws with temporal goods and punished disobedience by denying or taking away temporal riches. This theology is perplexing to Ecclesiastes or Qoheleth and is the general theme of the entire book. The rewarding of temporal gifts which reflect the teachings of that particular time in history led Qoheleth to believe that wealth, riches and the pleasures of this life were an inadequate reward for obedience to the Mosaic Law.

In the grand scheme of things the author felt that humanity's labor, the accumulation of wealth and living for the pleasures of this life, only to have it all come to a screeching halt because of death was unfulfilling and disappointing. Saint Paul is referring to that mystical death and rising to a new life which occurs at Baptism when he writes, 'If you were raised with Christ'. At Mass during the Eucharistic Prayer the priest says: 'Sursum corda - Lift up your hearts'. Saint Paul assures us that we are called to that constant lifting up of our hearts to our Lord, keeping our thoughts on what is above and not what is on earth until that day when we the members are joined with our Head in eternal glory. Review once again the parts that Paul refers to as earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire and greed.

We are not strangers to any of these things. We are either guilty of these things ourselves or at least are unfortunate witnesses of such things in our culture.

In our present existence, we're all labeled in one way or another: Black, white, Hispanic, Republican, Democrat, Catholic, Protestant, Jew, Muslim, conservative, liberal, moderate, blue-collar, white-collar, and the list goes on and on. While these labels may help to identify who we are, humanity's brokenness also makes them a source of division and prejudice. Saint Paul exhorts us to put these things to death and focus on the new self, which is being renewed and transformed. In the end, when all is said and done, all of us will have only one label that really matters: 'A child of God'. And surely it is more beneficial for us to make that the only label that really matters now. Gospel, Luke 12:13-21. There are possibly two meanings to being 'rich in what matters to God'.

Most certainly it can be applied to storing up treasure in heaven, living one's life focused on eternal riches. It could also be referring to how the riches or material goods of this life are handled.

In other words, are the abundances of this life hoarded because of greed or are they distributed to help those who are less fortunate? Saint Ambrose says that the hands of the poor, the houses of widows, are storehouses that endure forever. In this Gospel, Jesus uses a parable which is a reminder that all the material wealth possessed in this life cannot add a single minute to our lives.

Jesus has the answer to Qoheleth's concerns in the First Reading: Yes there is indeed much more to life than the material rewards obtained; and there is without a doubt an afterlife. The message in the Gospel since beginning this 'Journey Narrative' several weeks ago is to stay focused on heaven. If heaven is to be our focus, then surely this life has inflicted all of us from time-to-time with attention deficit disorder. It's that old battle of flesh versus spirit.

The flesh has a distinct advantage because it can behold its desires with the physical senses. What the spirit desires is intangible and can seem elusive. Exercising the spirit requires a certain denying of the senses.

For heaven to be our focus and desire, the physical senses cannot be permitted to dictate policy. When we deny ourselves the influence of the senses, the eyes of faith see with confidence, for example, that what we behold is not bread - it is Jesus.

What we behold is not wine - it is Jesus. This is why prayer is so important. At prayer, the affairs of the spirit are in charge while the flesh takes on a role of a disruptor by means of distractions. But through perseverance, the spirit grows in love for the Lord; and this growth renders the flesh less obtrusive. Consider what happens whenever you go to the cinema to watch a movie.

You have to sit through all the previews of other films before you get to the feature film. Whether the previews are good or bad, in reality your thoughts and desires are focused on the feature film. Heaven and eternal life is our feature film. While it is necessary to experience the previews of this life, it is much easier to bear its pains while also not being dependent upon its rewards when one's ultimate desire is the beatific vision. God would not be infinite Goodness and Wisdom if, seeking and even demanding our love, He had not at the same time made it possible for us to enter into this intimacy with Himself.

The means He has provided, and of which we can be absolutely certain, to enter into immediate contact with Him, are the theological virtues and the gifts which accompany them. By faith we adhere to the truth of the divine life offered to us. By charity this life becomes ours.

By hope we are certain, with the help of grace, to live this life more and more, and finally to possess it forever in eternity. This is the essence of all true and real prayer. Instead of frittering away our time of prayer on various points; instead of philosophizing about God, multiplying acts of the intellect, of the will and the imagination, in order to conjure up ‘pictures’ of what we are thinking about, how simpler it is to go to God directly in our hearts. Seek Him in simplicity of heart Wisdom 1:1. It is Our Lord Himself Who gives us the invitation. Be simple as doves Saint Matthew 10:16.

Man is a complex being, but it would be a pity if he introduced his complications into his relations with God. God, on the contrary, is simplicity itself. The more complicated we are, therefore, the farther we stray from Him; the simpler we are, on the other hand, the closer we come to Him.

We have seen that God, our Father, is present in us. When a child wants to talk to his father he does not make use of a manual of etiquette or a code of manners: he speaks in a simple and unaffected way, without formality; and we must do the same with our heavenly Father. He Himself said: Unless you become as little children, you shall not enter into the Kingdom of heaven Saint Matthew 18:3. A mother never grows tired of hearing her little one say: ‘Mother, I love you’. It is the same with God. The more childlike our prayer, the more it is pleasing to Him.

After all it was He Who chose for Himself the name of Father. It is the Holy Spirit Who cries in us: Abba, Pater Galatians 4:6. It is the Holy Spirit also Who places on our lips the inspired words of Scripture and of other liturgical texts. Our prayer, then, must be quite simple – as simple as possible. All we have to do is to place ourselves on our knees, and with complete sincerity make our acts of faith, hope and love.

There is no method of prayer more certain, more elevated, and more salutary than this. First Reading, Genesis 18:20-32 'The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah' is one that calls to heaven for vengeance. Obviously the Lord does not really need to go down to Sodom and Gomorrah to see if their actions correspond to the cries for vengeance. God is all-knowing and all-seeing.

It is done this way so that this exchange between Abraham and the Lord could occur. This is a test for Abraham who has been called by God to be a father of nations. We're all tested many times in this life. God allows these temptations not because He needs to see how we will respond - He already knows how we will respond.

It's more for our own benefit - an opportunity for us to be able to see for ourselves how we will respond. It is these tests and temptations that help us to grow in the spiritual life. Because of our fallen nature, however, pride and ego could get in the way and delude the mind and heart into believing that the pinnacle of spiritual growth has been reached or that there really is no need to grow more spiritually. A secular society such as our own might suggest that spirituality has little to do with real life, day-to-day activity. But when considering the needs of the human body, for example, it doesn't make sense, nor is it healthy, to focus on quenching thirst but ignoring hunger. Likewise, the human make-up of flesh and spirit for overall health requires that consideration is given to both. The tests in life not only shed light on what areas need growth but also gives aid to the struggles with humility.

Abraham who is to be a father of nations was able see for himself that he will be a concerned and loving father of nations, one who reaches out and cares for the safety of both the innocent and the guilty. Abraham does not ask the Lord to spare all the innocent and wipe out the guilty. Instead, he asks for the entire city to be spared even if only ten innocent people are to be found. This points towards Christ's salvific act in which He willingly handed over His innocence to the guilty. God's affirmation to Abraham's request shows Abraham and us that we have been called to serve a merciful God. For many of us, Abraham's line of questioning might be annoying. It would seem more appropriate if he had asked God to spare the city for the sake of ten innocent people right from the start.

It does demonstrate, however, how patient our Lord is with human weakness and our own imperfect prayers. This Reading depicting God's mercy offers a level of comfort when attempting to comprehend the love He has for each and every one of us; and Jesus, the Word of God Incarnate, beyond a shadow of a doubt would still have come to offer Himself as a living Sacrifice even if only one of us were in need of His saving grace. Second Reading, Colossians 2:12-14 Saint Paul's message here is one of forgiveness. He stresses that Christ brought us to life with Him, forgiving us of the transgressions that rendered us dead.

'Obliterating the bond against us' - the Latin translates to mean: 'Blotting out the handwriting of the decree which was against us'. 'Handwriting' is meant to express a contract or law that legally binds us to something. Paul is probably referring to the Mosaic Law which was unable to remove transgressions.

He also could be referring to the eternal death that humanity was sentenced to by the fall of Adam. Whichever meaning applies here, the point is that Christ was able to take away its clutches from us by 'nailing it to the Cross'. Gospel, Luke 11:1-13 Saint Luke's version of the 'Our Father' is shorter than we're accustomed to praying at Mass. For liturgical purposes Saint Matthew's version is used. All of us have been granted the privilege to call God 'Father'. The world's standards may judge humanity as individuals; that is, one's worth and effectiveness being greater than someone else's, but we're all equal in the gift of heavenly nobility. Saint John Chrysostom points out that 'Our Father, Who art in heaven' is not meant to insinuate that heaven is the only place He can be found.

Jesus wants us to pray this way to keep our minds fixed on heaven. Jesus is not saying that this prayer is the only prayer we literally need to pray, but there are intimations that all other prayers should be identifiable with the 'Our Father'. That is to say, for example, if praying for a specific need, then it must be exactly that - a real need and not something that could be considered a luxury. This way, it is harmonious with 'give us this day our daily bread'. The Greek text translates as 'our daily bread' which supports the meaning of the necessities for this life.

The Latin, however, translates as 'super-substantial bread' which could refer to the needs of this life but also seems to point to the Eucharist. In the 'Hail Mary' we ask our Blessed Mother to 'pray for us sinners' - all sinners. This conforms to 'forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us'. In our prayer to our Lady we add, 'now and at the hour of our death'. Here, we are praying for the Queen of heaven's own perseverance in prayer. We are children of God. Jesus says that we must become like little children (cf.

Matthew 18:3). If you've ever raised a child then you already know that no one is more persevering about getting what they want than a child.

'Hallowed be Thy Name' is a reflection of how we conduct ourselves in this life. Does our life reflect the holiness of almighty God or is it one of luke-warmness and indifference? In a homily on the 'Our Father', Saint John Chrysostom said: 'Those who desire to arrive at the Kingdom of heaven must endeavour so to order their life and conversation, as if they were already conversing in heaven.'

The parable Jesus uses in this Gospel is found only in Saint Luke's Gospel. Christ first teaches His disciples how to pray and then with the use of this parable, shows them the efficacy of prayer.

Jesus impresses upon us the need to persevere in prayer. Our Lord would not want us to make requests if He wasn't prepared to give. In all truthfulness He is more ready to give than we are to receive. Saint Cyril explains that after our Savior teaches this form of prayer, He already knows we would recite it with remissness and negligence, and then after not being heard, we would become slothful.

In order to avoid this indolence in prayer, it is more advantageous to be persistent in prayer. There's also the need to understand that God's time is not always our time. God intends to grant our earnest petitions but only at a time when it is most beneficial to us. You simply don't set before a child a jar of cookies right before dinner. Our own summation that God perhaps doesn't see our needs as pressing usually causes impatience and then finally leads to a tendency to give up. Fortunately, in all of these moments of human weakness God is patient and merciful with us.

God is a brazier of love. Prayer brings us near to Him, and in coming near to Him we are caught by His fire.

The soul is raised by the action of this fire, which is a kind of spiritual breath that spiritualizes and carries it away. The soul frees itself from all that weighs it down, keeping it attached to this wearisome earth. The Psalmist compares this breath to incense: Let my prayer be directed as incense in Your sight Psalm 140:2.

Now incense is a symbol universally known and exceptionally rich. But from all the substances that fire penetrates under the form of flame or heat, there follows a movement by which it spreads, causing it to increase by communicating itself to all that surrounds it. The movement of the soul that prays has something special about it. It goes out from itself and yet remains in itself. It passes from its natural state to its supernatural state; from itself in itself to itself in God. At first glance, these expressions may seem strange.

The mystery is not in the realities but in our understanding of them. Our mind is not used to these realities; we have to become accustomed to them. Our soul is a dwelling with many apartments. In the first, it is there with the body: that is to say, with all the body's sensitiveness. It sees when the eye sees, hears when the ear hears. It moves with the muscles; it remembers, imagines and appreciates distances, when we take part in all the activities which are the common ground of its action with the body.

In the second, the soul is alone and acts alone. The body is there - it is always there - but it no longer acts, it has no part in the soul's action. The soul alone thinks and loves. The body with its senses prepares the matter and elements, the conditions of this spiritual activity, but it has no part in producing it. That room is closed: the soul is there alone, and dwells there alone. In that spiritual dwelling there is a part still more remote.

It is the dwelling-place of Being, Who communicates Himself and makes us to ‘be’. We are so accustomed to live turned outwards; we hardly ever open the door of that chamber, and scarcely give it a glance; many die without ever suspecting its existence. Men ask: Where is God? God is there - in the depths of their being, and He is there communicating being to them. They are not ‘Him Who is’ and Who gives being to all other things.

They receive being; they receive a part of being which does not depend upon themselves. They receive it for a certain time, and under certain forms. And from His ‘beyond’ God gives them existence. They exist only by His power, and are only what He enables them to be.

He is at the source of all they do and, no matter how much they may desire to continue those activities, they cannot do so if He is not there. To understand this, we have to think a great deal, and reflection - perhaps the highest form human act can take - has given place to exterior action and to local movement, both of which are common to animals and matter. The soul that prays enters into this upper room. It places itself in the presence of that Being Who gives Himself and enters into communication with Him.

To ‘communicate’ means to have something in common, and by this common element to be made one. We touch, we speak, we open out to one another. Without this ‘something’ we remain at a distance; we do not ‘communicate’. We enter into communication with Him when we love, and in the measure of our love. The soul that loves and that has been introduced by Love into that dwelling-place where Love abides, can speak to Him. Prayer is that colloquy.

God will not resist that love which asks. He has promised to do the will of those who do His will: He will do the will of them that fear Him Psalm 144:19. It is to love that is due these divine communications which have drawn from those happy recipients the most amazing exclamations. ‘Lord, stay, I beg you, the torrent of Your love: I can bear no more’.

The soul, submerged and ravished, has fainted under the weight of these great waters, and has asked to be allowed to take breath for an instant, in order the better to renew its welcome. The anchorite in the desert, when he prayed, had to forbear extending his arms, so as not to be rapt in his prayer. Saint Mary the Egyptian, Saint Francis of Assisi, were raised up from the ground and remained upheld by a power greater than the weight of their body.

The following reflection is from Saint Jean-Marie Vianney. These are wonderful words to reflect upon in preparation for the holy Sacrifice of the Mass. These saintly words teach us about postures, what our interior and exterior disposition should be, and this reflection also teaches us about where we really are during Mass – which is – Calvary. The best way of hearing Mass is to unite ourselves with the priest in all he says, and to follow all his actions.

Be like penitents pierced with the keenest sorrow for their sins, and take for your model the publican in the temple. The Gospel says that he stood at the bottom of the temple, with his eyes on the ground, not daring to look at the altar, striking his breast, and saying to God, Lord, be merciful to me a sinner. He stood at the bottom of the temple, in the least conspicuous place, thinking himself unworthy to enter. He was very different, then, from those nominal Christians who are never in a good enough place. He kept his eyes on the ground, so ashamed was he at the sight of his sins. He did not behave like those Christians who enter our churches with a proud, arrogant air and a kind of contempt for God’s presence, and who seem to approach Him like people who have nothing on their conscience that can humble them before their Creator. Be like ministers who offer Jesus Christ to God His Father and make Him the Sacrifice of all they are.

What progress he makes during the three hours that he finds himself in the company of his dying Saviour! First, he opens the eyes of his soul to recognize his Deliverer; then fastened to the cross, and having nothing that remains free but his heart and tongue, he offers both to Jesus Christ. He consecrates his heart to Him by faith and hope, and humbly asks of Him a place in Paradise; and he consecrates his tongue to Him by proclaiming His innocence and holiness: ‘It is just that we should suffer’, he says to his companion, ‘but as for Him, He is innocent’. He makes himself Christ’s panegyrist at a time when others think only of outraging Him, and so great is his charity that he does all he can to convert the other.

Consider yourselves as those who are to participate in Christ’s adorable Body and precious Blood, and be inspired with the sentiments of the Centurion in order to communicate spiritually and sacramentally. The Centurion’s example is so admirable, that the Church seems to take pleasure in putting it before our eyes each day at holy Mass. Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, said that humble officer, but speak only the word and my servant shall be healed.

Oh, if the good God saw in us this same humility and realisation of our nothingness, with what gladness, with what abundance of graces would He come into our hearts; what strength and courage would He give us to overcome the enemy of our salvation! First Reading, Genesis 18:1-10a Mamre is near Hebron which is about twenty miles south of Jerusalem.

The Lord appeared to Abraham there apparently in the form of three men. Saint Augustine refers to them as men in appearance only, but in reality they were angels. This part of the story will probably forever remain in obscurity. If these are angels that look like men, how does Abraham immediately identify them as angels or representatives of God?

Some have suggested that Abraham didn’t know, but only that it was his nature to be hospitable. The fact that Abraham bowed to the ground and referred to himself as a servant just doesn’t seem to support this theory. In the New Testament, however, there is a passage in the Letter to the Hebrews that could at least lead one to consider this theory: ‘Do not neglect to show hospitality, for by that means some have entertained angels without knowing it’ (Hebrews 13:2). Another theory is that one of the men is Jesus Christ and Abraham bows only in adoration of Him because the story seems to hint that by the use of the word ‘Sir’ Abraham is addressing only one of the men. This theory continues by stating that this is a presage of the Trinity as Abraham adores One in Three Persons. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains that the message to Abraham concerning his wife Sarah foreshadows the Annunciation of the true Son of the promise (cf. As we read of the promise of a son for Abraham and Sarah, it is here that we can start to watch God's plan for the salvation of humanity unfold.

Second Reading, Colossians 1:24-28 The opening verse is often misunderstood. It does not mean that Christ’s sufferings are insufficient or that somehow He didn’t finish the job. The following is from the Carthusian, Dom Jean-Baptiste Porion, a twentieth-century monk of La Grande Chartreuse. If we were able to grasp and act out at each moment of our lives what is written here, the world and its current condition would be a very different place.

In order that we may fully understand more clearly God’s supernatural presence, let us first consider His natural presence in all things. God is everywhere – a simple truth all too easily forgotten. Yet it is a thought which could change the whole tenor of our lives. We tire ourselves at times by trying to imagine God as someone far away, and our prayer suffers accordingly.

God is a Spirit, Whose presence is not limited to any one place but is to be found in all things. So shall the true adorers of God, we are told, adore Him ‘in spirit and in truth’ (Saint John 4:23).

So, too, the apostle says: In Him we move and live and have our being (cf. This is the first truth that strikes us at the beginning of our spiritual life, and it would achieve amazing results if only we could make this thought of God’s actual presence in all things a reality in our lives. Even apart from and before all supernatural revelation, reason tells us that God knows and sees us completely and constantly, since He knows and sees all things. Where shall I go from Your Spirit, or where shall I flee from Your Face? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; if I descend into the abode of the dead, You are present (cf. Psalm 138:7-8). Not only is God present to us by simple knowledge, but He governs and directs us in all our ways.

It is He Who gives us ‘both to will and to accomplish’ (Philippians 2:13). Apart from Him we cannot lift a finger.

There is nothing, literally nothing, which is not subject to His governance – not even sin. Even when we sin, God is present, since it is He Who gives us the power to act and sustains us in the act: the only thing which does not come from Him is the depravation of our will. Were we able to do the slightest thing without Him, He would not be the first and universal Cause: in other words, He would not be God! ‘If I take my wings in the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall Your Hand lead me, and Your right Hand shall hold me’ (Psalm 138:9-10). But that is not all. It is enough that God should watch over us and direct our ways. As the sole and sovereign source of all being He must keep us in existence, giving us at each moment all we are.

Were this divine action to cease for one instant, we and the universe itself would vanish like a dream. Once we have understood the necessity for this divine intervention, preserving all that God has created, the tiniest object for us assumes a singular greatness, since it is the omnipotent God and He alone Who, present in this little creature, saves it from falling into nothingness. Who would deny that a shadow is the frailest of realities?

Our shadow is nothing compared to ourselves. But compared with God, present within us, we ourselves are even less real: indeed, in the presence of the divine Reality, we are not even shadows! The two paragraphs below are taken from a Carthusian publication (out of print), but every word is credited to Saint Louis-Marie Grignion de Montfort and his ‘True Devotion’.

God Who became man found His freedom in being hidden within the womb of Mary. He made His omnipotence shine forth in letting Himself be carried by the Blessed Virgin. He found His own and His Father’s glory in hiding His splendours from all creatures here below, and revealing them alone to Mary. He glorified His independence and His Majesty in depending upon that sweet Virgin, in His conception, His birth, in His Presentation in the Temple, in His hidden life of thirty years, and even in His death, where she was to be present, in order that He might make with her but one same Sacrifice and be immolated to His Father by her consent, just as Isaac of old was offered to the will of God by Abraham’s consent. O admirable and incomprehensible dependence of a God, which the Holy Spirit could not pass in silence in the Gospel, although He has hidden from us nearly all the admirable things which that Incarnate Wisdom did in His hidden life, as if He would enable us by the revelation of that at least, to understand something of its price! Jesus Christ gave more glory to God the Father by His submission to His Mother during those thirty years than He would have given Him in converting the whole world by the working of the most stupendous miracles.

Oh how highly we glorify God when, to please Him, we submit ourselves to Mary, after the example of Jesus! The saints and spiritual writers constantly return to this idea of the disorder within us, which is the consequence of sin, and they are right in doing so. Life is not literature. Before we can assimilate anything, we have to turn it over in our minds again and again.

To take in and to assimilate is a slow process. The mind has to concentrate on its object a long time, if it is to take on its form and live it.

This object is a positive one: it is God, the ideal form and the perfect model. But it is also, on the other hand, all that is opposed to His pure Image, and to His communication of life. God wants to transform us into sons of light, but He finds us children of darkness. He wants His Spirit, the Spirit of Love, Who is the Gift of Self, to live in us, but He finds us possessed by another spirit which is the love of self. This negative element, which surrounds only after a struggle, must disappear. Life is a battle, a battle between God and the spirit of evil. When a soul ceases to fight, it may be counted as hopelessly lost.

And a soul that does not pray is one that has given in without a struggle. It possesses a kind of peace, but it is the peace of an occupied territory, conquered by the invader and resigned to his domination. What we find blameworthy in spiritual writers is not that they insist on this too much, but that they do not insist on it enough. We are living in an age of knowledge rather than of understanding. Pure reasoning and memory hold the day. The whole object of so much of our writing is to satisfy these cravings, to provide men with ideas rather than to enrich their souls and deepen their lives. It is the fashion today to write popular works and articles in magazines for people living in the world.

They must know everything, and be able to talk about the latest book or the most recent discovery. Men's minds are like those artificial floral displays we see on festive occasions. We arrange beautiful flowers, which we enjoy without having cultivated them. We do not even know their names and by the morrow we have forgotten all about them.

With prayer it is not just a matter of having read and realized for the moment its necessity, its grandeur, the immense blessings it confers, its increasing comfort, the glory it gives to God and its mission to the world. We must return to these thoughts again and again; we must constantly reflect on them and live them. This is what the Holy Spirit does in the Scriptures, what the Church does in its offices, and the saints in their daily prayers and constant meditations. We must continually look for the essential Beauty behind the external beauty of things. We must turn from the weakness of our fallen nature to the strong tenderness of the Son of God, Who became our Redeemer and is ever ready to receive us back into His favour. We must turn from the perpetual menace of the devil and of the world which hangs over us, to the unfailing help which is offered us by our Saviour, Whose great desire is to rescue us from their tyranny.

Our principal danger is a spiritual one, the danger of losing our true life; all other dangers are directed towards this. They are the various ways in which each of us may be put to the test. We must pray, therefore, before all else, that God may live in us and we in Him. We must pray that our trials may contribute to that divine life, which is the only true life and the only true good.

We may ask that God will in His goodness preserve us from persecutions, injustices, calumnies, attacks of one kind and another on our interests and rights, illnesses of body and mind - but always subject to the designs of His love, which must be our chief rule in all we ask for. In His loving plan, God has foreseen that we must be tested, but He knows also that the patience with which we bear such trials in union with our divine Lord can prove an exceptionally rich and pure source of merit and of grace to expiate our sins. He knows that our natural and supernatural growth will in general be proportioned to such trials, and that the divine image, the reflection of the model of infinite Beauty, will shine resplendent in us as a result of these trials. In spite of myself, I return to these thoughts again and again; they do not exclude others, but they seem to me to embrace and assimilate them.

The world is not a machine, a mechanism in which every movement is determined, but a place of life, that has come from a living intelligence, and is impregnated by it, open to the action of God, and borne by a finality of love. In this world in which we live, the effects of prayer are objective and can be verified. Prayer is a gift of God. From all eternity God has wanted this prayer that I am making here and now, at this point in time, in view of a particular effect, which He has also willed from all eternity.

And yet I make this prayer freely; on my part, it is an act of faith and love that is meritorious. And it is freely that God answers my prayer. God, by His grace, by the action of His Spirit, inspires me to pray. God answers my prayer.

Why did God create prayer? In order to bestow the dignity of causality upon His creatures: real causality, placed between an initiative of God and His fulfilment of it. God in His mercy has freely decreed that it is only with the collaboration of humanity that He will accomplish His plan of salvation: and prayer is an example of this. What Moses is saying to the Israelites is that there is no excuse to plead ignorance of the commandments and statutes of the Lord. This sounds harsh but it is actually a loving plea from Moses. God’s will for them is not ambiguous - it is clearly written in the book of the Law, therefore, Moses pleads with the people of Israel to return to the Lord with all their heart and soul. This message is timeless.

Today, there’s really no reason to be in the fog when it comes to understanding what our Faith teaches. It’s in Sacred Scripture; it’s in the Catechism. Church documents, papal encyclicals, writings of the saints and early Fathers are all over the internet. All that is required is the same that was required of the Israelites - returning to the Lord with the full extent of heart and soul. What would Moses say of our age of political correctness?

Can you even begin to imagine him saying something like: 'It's a good idea to return to the Lord with all your heart and soul, assuming that’s what you really want and it doesn’t interfere with your schedule, and it’s not going to agitate your family or offend your friends'? While this sort of diplomacy will not likely pluck anyone’s nerves, in reality it is a disservice to the hearer.

If truth is to be offered with a sincere expression of love it can never be watered down. Truth is not always popular, but it will set us free. 'Christ Jesus is the Image of the invisible God'.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church reads: 'By His revelation, the invisible God, from the fullness of His love, addresses men as His friends, and moves among them, in order to invite and receive them into His own company' (CCC 142). Saint Thomas Aquinas relates 'Image' with 'prototype' and says that Image has three qualities at the same time: It must have a likeness with the original prototype.

It must be derived from the prototype. It must belong to the same species as the prototype. This explanation of 'Image' delineates that mere likeness alone would not be sufficient. A photograph, for example, is a likeness but it is not an image in the sense that is applied here. By Saint Paul writing that 'Jesus is the Image of the invisible God', he most certainly means God the Father. Therefore, Christ is the Image of God the Father because He exemplifies the Father.

Saint John Damascene explains that image in itself does not demand equality with the original model, but we know that Christ, the Image, is identical and equal to the Father in every way. The only difference is that Jesus is begotten. Saint Paul continues this letter by writing that Christ is 'the firstborn of all creation'. This is not a reference to being born of the Virgin Mary. Paul’s meaning is that Jesus was before all creatures, proceeding from all eternity from the Father.

Firstborn, then, as it is applied here is a metaphor for pre-existence before creation. Christ is Supreme, Eternal and the final revelation of God because 'all things were created through Him and for Him'. He is the reason and cause of all things and yet as our Creator He does not distance Himself from us, but instead, He thirsts for intimacy with His brothers and sisters by means of His boundless love. Christ is 'the Head of the Body, the Church', and yet His Sovereignty over the members does not deter Him from a close and intense union with them. He is 'the firstborn from the dead' in the sense that He is the first to rise to a new life and in His glorious triumph He is the cause of our resurrection.

'For in Him all the fullness was pleased to dwell'. Generally, 'fullness' is synonymous with 'totality'.

In this case, however, fullness more appropriately means 'all existence'. Being reconciled to God through Christ with those on earth primarily means the human race; but what does Paul mean by reconciliation with those in heaven? Saint John Chrysostom defines those in heaven as angels.

This doesn't mean, however, that Christ sacrificed Himself for angels. Angels in heaven are totally and unequivocally devoted to the cause and glory of Almighty God. This suggests, then, that before Christ’s redeeming Sacrifice the angels were at enmity with the human race because our sins separated us from God. Christ put an end to this division by restoring us to God’s favor through the Blood of His Cross.

A scholar asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus refers him to the Law, of which this man, because he is a scholar, would know like the back of his hand. The scholar quotes the part of the Law that is found in Deuteronomy (6:5). Most likely, any Jew of Christ's day would have answered the same way since these words of the Law are the beginning of what is known as the 'Shema'.

This is the ritual prayer that was required to be said by every Jew twice a day. What’s interesting about the scholar’s answer, though, is that he added the words 'and your neighbor as yourself'. This is not part of the Deuteronomy text or the Shema but is found in the Book of Leviticus (19:18). The Law did require neighborly love but was almost never referenced by the doctors of the Law. The combination of the two biblical texts is found nowhere in the rabbinical writings. It would seem that Saint Luke is presenting this scholar to us as a man who is not committed to the Law in the traditional sense, but who was able to discern the spirit of the old Law and thus surmised that Jesus was a kindred Soul.

Jesus, Who knows what’s in the heart of every human being obviously saw that this man was indeed a scholar beyond the traditional sense because the parable that Jesus tells involves a Samaritan; and the relationship between Jews and Samaritans was not pleasant as Saint John's Gospel makes note of: 'Jews have nothing to do with Samaritans' (John 4:9). Keep in mind, though, Samaritans also followed the Pentateuch and regarded Moses as their teacher. The contrast in Christ’s story is vivid. On one hand, there is a wounded man, presumably a Jew. He was stripped, beaten and left for dead.

A priest and a Levite, both of whom earn their living from the offerings of the people, at least by human standards and conscience would be more obligated to the command of neighborly love and concern. Both, however, ignore the wounded man and pass him. On the other hand, a Samaritan who is not well-liked as it is, and who is also walking in unfriendly territory, shows compassion to the wounded man. This story makes it abundantly clear that our neighbor is anyone and everyone in need.

Upon further review, which has already been done for us by many of the early Church Fathers, this reveals that there’s more to this Gospel passage than meets the eye. The Fathers teach us that Jesus is also speaking allegorically and this story has a much deeper meaning. The Samaritan is actually a representation of Christ. The wounded man represents the condition of the human race before our Lord's Supreme Sacrifice on the Cross. The robbers represent the devil that stripped the human race of their supernatural gifts and wounded our relationship with our heavenly Father. The priest and Levite represent the Old Covenant.

The oil and wine represents the Sacraments while the inn where the wounded man was taken to receive care represents the Church. Finally, the innkeeper represents Saint Peter, his successors, the bishops and priests.

Saint Jerome, Saint Ambrose, Origen and many others are all in agreement on this. The Catechism of the Catholic Church summarizes this Gospel with the following: 'Our Father desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. His commandment is that you love one another. This commandment summarizes all the others and expresses His entire will' (CCC 2822). Here is another reflection on Our Blessed Lady by a Carthusian monk who borrows from the writings of a well-known Carthusian writer: Lanspergius.

What is quoted here is from the fourth volume of his ‘Opera Omnia’. This particular reflection focuses not so much on being a servant of Mary, but instead being a loyal child of Mary – that is, to be what Jesus is.

We have abandoned all into the hands of Mary, even breaking, like the Magdalene, the alabaster vase containing the perfume which we have poured over her feet. By our consecration, we have cut off all possibility of taking back our love; what will Mary give us in return?

‘Mary has not chosen us’, wrote our own Lanspergius, ‘to be her servants, but to be her sons! Sons whom she is not satisfied with protecting and defending, but whom she wishes to cherish in her heart, to nourish with exquisite tenderness. For our part, do not let us attach ourselves to her service as servants but as her most loving children; she herself has set no bounds to her maternal solicitude for us. Let us honour her and love her with truly filial affection, by meditating constantly on her life and her virtues’. Let us bless God, then, for His inestimable gift to us; for bringing us into His divine cellar, wherein He has hidden the most exquisite delights, and where, as man, He Himself experienced such deep joys. Mary was the paradise of His Heart, the heaven of His affections, the abyss hollowed out by the almighty Hand of God to receive the full outpouring of His created love.

There was nothing in the full course of His life on earth that He did with more constancy than to love this sweet Virgin to whom He owed His life. At the Canonization Mass of Maria Goretti, Pope Pius XII said: ‘There is still in this world, apparently sunk and immersed in the worship of pleasure, not only a meagre little band of chosen souls who thirst for heaven and its pure air - but a crowd, nay, an immense multitude on whom the supernatural fragrance of Christian purity exercise an irresistible and reassuring fascination. Know that above the unhealthy marshes and filth of the world, stretches an immense heaven of beauty. It is the heaven which fascinated little Maria; the heaven to which she longed to ascend by the only road that leads there, which is, religion, the love of Christ, and the heroic observance of His Commandments. We greet you, O beautiful and lovable saint!

Martyr on earth and angel in heaven, look down from your glory on this people, which loves you, which venerates, glorifies and exalts you. On your forehead you bear the full brilliant and victorious Name of Christ.’. No doubt, if Maria Goretti were living in our world today, she would find reading the breviary, praying the Rosary, daily Mass, Eucharistic Adoration, spending time with Our Lord in the Scriptures much more preferable and fruitful activities than all those pleasurable impulses that seem to take precedence over our own reaching out to touch the garment of Jesus. Pope Pius XII spoke of an immense multitude who are fascinated by the supernatural fragrances of saintly people.

Indeed, the funeral of Pope John Paul II was the largest in this world’s history. There was mass media coverage of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta when she passed from this world. The limited resources of the 1960’s, compared to today’s technology, gave its all for the passing of Padre Pio. Alessandro Serenelli, Maria’s murderer, had a major conversion experience during his incarceration which he credits to a dream he had of Maria Goretti. In the dream he said that Maria had handed to him some lilies that she was gathering, and the lilies suddenly appeared to have a heavenly radiance, and he felt her forgiveness. No surprise that he would dream of her forgiveness since she was concerned for his soul as he was attacking her. She said: ‘No Alessandro!

You will go to hell’. Alessandro Serenelli became a model prisoner and was released from prison three years before his sentence was completed.

Unfortunately Maria’s forgiveness did not stretch out to the rest of the community, and Alessandro was forced to live as a snubbed vagabond doing some gardening work at various monasteries. It was at a Capuchin community where he died at the age of 87. In Egypt, at midnight, God threatened the Egyptians with the tenth plague, by which their first-born should perish, because they kept in captivity His first-born people. But, lest the beloved Jews should share their danger, because they were all in the same place, He found, in His wisdom, a remedy.

Behold then a wonderful figure, that you may learn His power in truth. The anger of the divine indignation was expected, and the Angel of Death circled over every home. What, therefore, did Moses do? Kill, he said, a yearling lamb, and sprinkle the doors with its blood. What did you say, Moses? Is the blood of a sheep likely to deliver a reasoning man?

In truth, he says, not by what that blood is in itself, but because by it, there is displayed a figure of the Blood of the Lord. For as the statues of monarchs, mindless and speechless images though they are, have sometimes been a helpful refuge to men endowed with soul and reason, not because they are made of bronze, but because the likeness they bear is a King's. And just so did this unconscious blood deliver the lives of men, not because it was blood, but because it foreshadowed the shedding of the Blood of Jesus. On that night in Egypt, when the destroying Angel saw the blood upon the lintel and on the two side-posts, he passed over the door, and dared not to enter into the house.

Even so now much more will the destroyer of souls flee away when he sees, not the lintel and the two side-posts sprinkled with the blood of a lamb, but the mouth of the faithful Christian, the living dwelling of the Holy Spirit, shining with the Blood of the True Messiah. For if the Angel stopped before the type, how much more shall the enemy tremble if he should perceive the reality itself? Would you like to hear more of the power of that Blood? I am willing. Consider from what source it wells up, from what fountain it springs forth. Its fountain is the Cross itself, its source is the Side of the Lord. The soldier opened His Side, and laid open the wall of that holy Temple; and I have found that most noble treasure, and I rejoice to discover the glittering riches.

And so was it done concerning that Lamb; the Jews killed a sheep, and I have learned the value of the sacrament. From the Side flowed forth Blood and Water. I would not, my hearer, that you should pass by the depths of such a mystery as this without pausing; for I have yet a mystical and mysterious discourse to deliver. I have said that the Water and Blood showed symbolically baptism and the sacraments. For from these, the holy Church was founded by the laver of regeneration, and the renovation of the Holy Spirit. Through baptism, I say, and through the sacraments, which seem to have issued from His Side.

It was therefore out of the Side of Christ that the Church was created, just as it was out of the side of Adam that Eve was raised up to be his bride. This is the reason why Paul says, no doubt in allusion to his Side: We are members of His Body, and of His Bones. For even as God made the woman Eve out of the rib which He had taken out of the side of Adam, so has Christ made the Church out of the Blood and Water which He made to flow for us out of His own Side.

Maria Immaculata, Ora Pro Nobis. I haven’t been as active on this blog as I had hoped for the last week or so, but I do have several good posts in store. In the meantime, please do pray for me. I’m off to Ireland for a retreat in honor of the Immaculate Conception, and I would appreciate your prayers as I spend this time unplugging and drawing near to Our Lord in His Blessed Infancy. I noticed yesterday that I’ve accidentally timed the whole thing rather well. I leave England on the feast of St. Birinus, Bishop of Dorchester.

He baptized Cynegils, King of the West Saxons, in what is now Dorchester on Thames, only a short bus ride from Oxford. I leave Ireland to return home to the United States on the feast of St. Juan Diego, the first indigenous saint of the Americas (and a deeply Marian one at that). And of course, the culmination of the retreat falls on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, America’s patronal feast. Providence works through these kinds of coincidences. The Immaculate Conception, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, c.1767.

I love Our Lady’s expression – a mixture of humility before the Spirit above and regal contempt for the Devil at her feet. Additionally, by a quirk of the academic calendar, this year is the first time in my life that I will have a genuine Advent. Since seventh grade, I’ve had exams deep into December. Since I became Catholic four and a half years ago, I haven’t had the chance to experience this season for what it is, a time of profound peace, penance, and prayer in preparation for the Nativity of Christ.

All of which prompts me to beg for your prayers. Our Lady, Immaculate, pray for us. Our Lady, Theotokos, pray for us.

Our Lady, Queen of Heaven, pray for us. A stigmatic, c. Recently two very worthy endeavors have come to my attention.

The first is the blog of the at the Ruusbroec Institute, University of Antwerp. The project “studies the promotion and devotion of the hundreds of stigmatics reported in five European countries during the nineteenth and early twentieth century.” It takes a scholarly, non-confessional approach to its subject. No doubt this new venture will yield greater insights into the stigmata as a social phenomenon.

The second is a much more theological blog called, and it presents a veritable treasure trove of mystic spirituality. The blogger has clearly read widely in the library of the soul passed on to us from age to age by the Church. He seems to place a special emphasis on the 19th and early 20th century mystics, much like the Stigmatics Project. In fact, they probably cover some of the same figures. But unlike the recently-founded work of the Ruusbroec Institute, Littlest Souls has been up and running since May 2012. There is consequently much more material here to review and contemplate. Fans of that other great blog, will find much here to admire.

In my, I noted that he represented a kind of lost world of the faith. Today, it is hard to imagine a Catholicism that once supported the kind of imaginatively baroque and overtly sentimental spirituality that oozes from his pages. Father Faber looks odd to our cynical, postmodern eyes.

But in exploring his writings now, I find much in them that’s salutary and beautiful. My hope is that I can play some small part in recovering those gems for our times. Both of these blogs seem to do precisely that; one at the level of scholarship, and one at the level of spirituality. Both set out to investigate and present a spiritual school that often seems morbid, unhealthy, or slightly daft – certainly one that has little place in our age. But there are real values here, real impressions of humanity in communion with the divine.

I can only commend their efforts as important contributions to the memory and mystical life of the Church Militant. I’ve said it, and I’ll say it again. The Church is weird because she is supernatural, and the supernatural is always strange. We should embrace that fact.

His Eminence’s Friend, Andrea Landini. And eating watermelons, and throwing cakes to swans, and delightedly casting books into the fireall courtesy of 19th century anticlerical academic painters! See this Cardinal?

He’s not worried about the Church. Look at his cat. Look at the PRECIOUS LITTLE BOW on his cat. (His cat, incidentally, is named Dom Paphnutius). Just look at that watermelon. He’s not worried about whether or not the Barque of Peter can handle a dangerous destabilization of the sacrament of marriage through the undermining of Canon Law in various quasi-magisterial documents and interviews. His only worry is whether or not he can handle the PRECIOUSNESS of his cat’s little bow.

These two fine gentlemen are out for a stroll. There seem to be sweets involved. The Cardinal is very cross, perhaps because said sweets have attracted a flock of unwanted water birds. Or because the liturgy wars have been needlessly reignited by Rome itself and liberal bishops’ conferences are probably going to start forcing people to say “and also with you” and “one in being” in the English Novus Ordo.

I’m not really sure why. Probably the first reason.

Anyway, he should have expected it. Water birds are notorious for their sweet teeth. Give ’em a few bonbons and they’ll love you forever.

Though tbh I’d be more angry at the other guy for not telling me where he got that fabulous scrolly-hat. (Note: 19th century priests were very fashion-forward.) Speaking of which, this Cardinal is too busy tearing up the runway to care about who’s tearing up the Reform of the Reform. Apparently this is “Champagne Toast,” which I guess is one of those new brunch fads like Avocado Toast. Thanks for killing EVERYTHING, Millenials.

Oh yeah I’m just enjoying ‘A Quiet Smoke.’ Haha. Nope, I’m not thinking about Amoris Laetitia footnotes 329 and 351 at all. Just enjoying my Cuban here. Sure is nice. Also, don’t ever talk to me or my son again.

Oh, this old thing? Lemme seewhy, it’s a relic! A piece of the Holy Napkin of the Trastevere! So then I says to him, I says, why don’t we elect an Argentinian? Mmmmmmyessss of course I could tell you about the Synod mmmmmbut I wouldn’t know anything mmmmmmmmmmmbout that.

Certain saints haunt the Western canon. Who could fail to recognize slender St. Sebastian leaning languidly against a tree, or St. Lucy peering primly over her cup of eyes? Jerome is the only cardinal known for consorting with lions, and St. Mary Magdalene carries her jar of spikenard from century to century.

Benedict is one such ubiquitous saint. Today, in honor of his feast, I would like to offer a few examples of St. Benedict’s image drawn from the history of Western art. Each offers a unique view of the Patriarch of Monks, and each bears careful examination and meditation. Benedict may have one of the most stable iconographic traditions in the Church, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t inspired a wide variety of artists to bring their own stamp to his image. His life and spirituality are too vast; he fills and spills beyond the few symbols allotted him.

Thus, I give you these 21 representative selections. Sancte Pater Benedicte, ora pro nobis. Philip Neri blessing the departing seminarians of the English College.

Matthews tells us that St. Philip would hail the seminarians, whose college is directly across from San Girolamo, with the words Salvete Flores Martyrum, “Hail, flowers of the Martyrs” (Matthews 85). Edited photo by Fr.

Lawrence Lew, OP. In a, I suggested that Rod Dreher’s The Benedict Option is a flawed, if well-intentioned, strategy for the Church in our times. I stand by that opinion. I also would like to offer my own “option,” as so many others have done. I will refrain from detailing specific suggestions and strategies, as I have neither the time nor the knowledge nor the experience to profitably contribute to any discussion of specifics.

Nonetheless, I think I can say a few things about the general spirit and principles of what we might choose instead of The Benedict Option. For starters, it would be called something different. Benedict is an eminent and powerful patriarch, I submit to you that, for our purposes, we must look at another man in an era far more like our own, a man whose spiritual sons also offer powerful examples. That man, of course, is St.

Early Modernity as Proto-Postmodernity Like Dreher, I choose my patron saint in part because I think the unique conditions of our own moment deeply resonate with those which St. Philip faced.

Any comparison between different periods of time are naturally going to fall flat in certain specifics. But consider, if you will, the following phenomena.

The rise of the Internet, like the advent of printing, has opened up and new conceptions of the self. Our lives are ever more, even as new forms of emerge. We are increasingly aware of various forms of religious.

Some are extremist, and even (see, inter alia, the and the of the ). Within the Church, we public, dangerous, and laxism, a that is falling apart, and a whom the. We face serious problems with the. Our educational aspirations and models are increasingly oriented towards, even as our specialties are becoming. Literary and textual criticism set the terms of debate in the academy. More broadly, sexual mores have changed considerably, and culture war is the order of the day.

And have emerged as increasingly social phenomena. Our civilizational with Islam is, to say the least.

Class divisions and structural have led to political instability. Indeed, political, stemming in large part from those class frictions, have jettisoned any sense of certainty we might hope to sustain. Philip arrived in Rome shortly after just such an unthinkable event.

In 1527, the armies of the Emperor descended upon the Papal States and launched a horrifyingly brutal sack of the Eternal City. Both Lutheran and —more scandalously —Catholic soldiers raped, pillaged, and desecrated their way through Rome. It was the second and last committed by civilized Christians, and it put an effective end to the Renaissance in that great city. Alfonso Cardinal Capecelatro, one of St. Philip’s nineteenth century, describes the event as: the terrible sack of Rome in 1527, which had no parallel in the history of the Church, whether regarded as a warning or a chastisement.

We must go back to Attila and Genseric to find any event which even distantly approaches it in horror; and even those barbarians were civilized and even reverent in comparison with the soldiers of the most Catholic king and emperor, Charles V. A drunken, furious horde of Lutherans and Catholics together was let loose upon Romethere wereunutterable outrages not to be thought of without a shudder. (Capecelatro 23).

Pertinent to our purposes, however, is the effect that this calamity left on the culture of Rome. Here, too, Capecelatro is a helpful resource. To enter into the city of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul at a time when their authority was spurned, vilified, and trampled into the mire by a terrible heresy; to visit the spots hallowed by the blood of martyrs when all around were the hideous traces of their recent profanation; to live in the holy city when the lives of the clergy themselves were dissolute or unbecoming, when paganism in science and letters and art was alone in honours must have been, to the heart of a saint such as Philip’s, an anguish inconceivably bitter. (Capecelatro 24). A blasphemous mock-Papal procession during the 1527 Sack of Rome.

If, like Dreher, we wish to compare our own times to the sack of Rome, we ought to look a thousand years later than he does. As with Rome circa 1535, we live in a culture riddled with “a terrible heresy,” Dreher’s “” (among others). We Christians in America have witnessed the martyrdoms of our over mass media. The Church is from a time when “.” The sins of clerical sex abuse continue.

And insofar as there is a pagan tendency in our culture today ( certainly thinks there is), it resides in our “science and letters and art.” While I don’t wish to belabor the point too much, I’ll add that not all is cause for alarm. Many of the good things about early modernity are also true today. Faber gave a series of lectures to his spiritual sons at the London Oratory. His subject was “.” The second lecture includes a long consideration of St.

Philip as the “representative saint of modern times” (Faber 38). Faber argues, The very essence of heresy and schism is constantly found in the disobedient and antiquarian worship of some pet past ages of the Church, in contradistinction to the present age, in which a man’s duties lie, and wherein the spirit and vigour of the living Church are in active and majestic energy.

The Church of a heretic or schismatic is in books and on paperA Catholic, on the contrary, belongs to the divine, living, acting, speaking, controlling Church, and recognizes nothing in past ages beyond and edifying and instructive record of a dispensation, very beautiful and fit for its day, but under which God has not cast his lot, and which, therefore, he has no business to meddle with or to endeavour to recall. One age may evoke his sympathies, or harmonize with his taste, more than another. Yet he sees beauty in all and fitness in all, because his faith discerns Providence in all.

(Faber 40-41). Dreher would do well to note Fr. Faber’s point.

The uncharitable pessimism that animates so much of The Benedict Option is not entirely misbegotten, but certainly falls short of the truth. In part, because Dreher never mentions Church history. His historical narrative of Christianity in Western culture overlooks the actual ways that Christians have responded to modernity since the 16th century. Faber does not.

Instead, he writes, it is plain that we are in possession of a great many more doctrinal definitions than we were; the limits of theological certainty are immensely extended. Just as verified observations have extended the domain of the physical sciences, so the number of truths which a believer cannot, without impiety, or in some cases formal heresy, reject, has added to the domain of theologyNow this greater body of certain dogmatic teaching must necessarily influence the whole multitude of believers. It it tells upon literature; it tells upon popular devotion; it tells upon practiceand lastly, it tells upon ecclesiastical artNeither, in speaking of Modern Times, must we omit to notice the natural connection there is between an increased knowledge of dogma, and the spirit of reverent familiarity in devotion, which has been so prominent a feature in the later Saints. Frederick William Faber, founder of the Brompton Oratory in London. Faber adds that anyone who would ignore this latter tendency towards “subjectivity” when seeking to evangelize would inevitably “find himself miserably out in his reckoningThe experiment would correct itself” (Faber 50). Faber’s optimism is perhaps just as simplistic as Dreher’s pessimism, his perspective helps us attain the proper, prudential, balanced orientation towards modernity that The Benedict Option flatly misses.

Faber offers his historical assessment as a prelude to the consideration of St. Philip Neri’s life and spirituality. Philip combines in his person and example the very best of what modernity has to offer. After all, Faber notes, Pippo Buono was ordained while the Council of Trent met. His movement began in an urban setting, “the very capital of Christendom itself,” and he managed to meet and influence “people of all nations” (Faber 51). Philip’s personality was that of a modern gentleman, of scrupulous courtesy, sportive gaiety, acquainted with what was going on in the world, taking a real interest in it, giving and getting information, very neatly dressed, with a shrewd common sense always alive about him, in a modern room with modern furniture, plain, it is true, but with no marks of poverty about it; in a word, with all the ease, the gracefulness, the polish, of a modern gentleman of good birth, considerable accomplishments, and very various information.

But why bother applying the example of this modern saint to our peculiar cultural and religious circumstances? It is one thing to say that a saint might have something to teach us. It is another thing altogether to say that a saint’s teaching might prepare us for the peculiarly harsh cultural conditions which seem to loom on the horizon (Dreher wasn’t wrong about all of it). Faber answers this question, too. He writes of St. Philip: He came to Rome at one of the most solemn crises of the Church; the capital was full of Saints, and full of corruption too. He was the quietest man at his hard work that ever was seen; yet he magnetized the whole city; and when he died he left it quite a different city from what it was, nay, with the impress of his spirit and genius so deep upon it, that it was called his city, and he the apostle of it, second only to St.

It was no man clothed in camel’s hair, with the attractive paraphernalia of supernatural austerities upon him, no St. Francis, with his Chapter of Mats all round the Porziuncula, that the city and its foreign visitants went so anxiously to see; it was simply an agreeable gentleman, in a comfortable little room, apparently doing and saying just what any one else might do or say as well. He had come at his right time; he suited his age; men were attracted; he fulfilled his mission. Philip’s example is pertinent to our present debate insofar as he reformed late Renaissance Rome, a society much like ours, by means far more achievable and far more charitable than the contorted stratagems of The Benedict Option. “Roots Are Very Important” Admittedly, those words weren’t spoken by St.

They’re actually the climactic revelation from Paolo Sorrentino’s (2013), one of my favorite films —a story that takes place in Rome. And as with all things Roman, St. Philip is never far away. Two very singular facts stand out about St.

One is that he was deeply attached to the Eternal City. And, relatedly, he never wished to start a religious order. He always claimed that the Congregation was entirely the work of Mary and the Holy Spirit. Philip was even reluctant to permit some of his sons to begin a house in Naples, a decision which would ultimately yield the harvest of many saints.

Long before that, St. Philip required those priests he sent to San Giovanni dei Fiorentini to return to San Girolamo every day for the exercises of the Oratory —even in sweltering heat and downpours of rain. Borromini’s facade of the Roman Oratory, sketched 1720’s. Philip’s Benedictine tendencies, I noted that St.

Philip understood that spiritual fatherhood can only be built upon a certain degree of stability. Along with that comes a strong sense of place, an immersion in the particular life of any given community. This decentralized localism is why every house of the Oratory throughout the world has its own unique spirit and apostolate. The Congregation only unites under the general aegis of St. Philip’s inspiration, not the ordinary vows of a religious order.

To use a somewhat hackneyed analogy —if the Jesuits are the global corporations of the ecclesiastical world, then Oratorians are the folks who run mom & pop shops. However, there is a deeper meaning to this organizational quirk that we will have occasion to examine soon. That domestic spirit can be summed up by the Oratorian conception of nido, or “nest.” As has it, St Philip’s disciples and penitents sometimes sought him out in his room, where the Exercises of the Oratory were held in the early days. The Oratorian does not emulate a monastic detachment which would periodically surrender one’s very bedroom in manifestation of the premise that material goods are merely ad usum. The Oratorian identifies his room as a nido, a “nest.” Strong Christian community requires roots., as well as the good folks over at places like and, has frequently made this point over the last several years. It is not a new idea. The Benedict Option is peppered with quotes from, the godfather of all American localist movements today.

If Dreher’s Christian communitarianism is to succeed, then it must be predicated on something very much like the Oratorian sense of place. We would be wise to draw upon the domestic spirit of St.

Philip’s nido. The Venerable Cardinal Caesar Baronius, author of the Annales Ecclesiastici, father of Church history. None of this is to suggest that St. Philip was actively anti-intellectual.

After all, St. Philip was a devoted student of theology and philosophy in his younger days, and Father Faber calls even the mature St. Philip a “great student of history” (Faber 53). Those words could perhaps be more truly applied to St. Philip’s spiritual son, the Venerable Cardinal Caesar Baronius. Philip who commanded Baronius to write the Annales Ecclesiastici, the first great work of church history in modern times.

The project served a few functions. First, it got Baronius off of preaching, as he had the unpleasant but slightly amusing habit of turning every sermon into a lengthy and vivid discourse on the everlasting torments of hell (I hope that, when he is eventually canonized, the good Cardinal becomes the patron saint of horror writers). The project also productively occupied Baronius’s prodigious intellect, which St. Philip mortified in many other ways.

For instance, Baronius was given kitchen duty so frequently that St. Philip playfully wrote above the stove, “Baronius, Coquus Perpetuus.” Finally, St. Philip and Baronius conceived of the book, which unexpectedly became a decades-long enterprise, as a way of challenging the then-dominant historiography of Protestant authors, as exemplified by the Magdeburg Centuries. A cynic might call this bias. In context, it’s perhaps more fair to interpret Baronius’s motive as one very much akin to those that animate the scholarly disputes of our own day. And because of Baronius’s thoroughgoing method, academic rigor, and meticulous attention to detail, the Annales were received with respect even by those who disputed its claims. It was so impressive a work that several centuries later, Lord Acton could honestly call it “the greatest history of the Church ever written”.

Philip urging Baronius to write the Annales. Nor was Baronius the only model of learning in the Oratory. His fellow cardinal, the aristocratic Francesco Maria Tarugi, was the fox to his hedgehog. Louis Bouyer writes that Tarugi “captivated everyone with his natural eloquence and was never at a loss, no matter what the topic of the moment might be” (Bouyer 64). Here again we see the mark of what we may call the specifically Oratorian genius —erudition crowned with beautiful style and fluency in speech. Philip stands for an appropriate humility of the intellect, Baronius for a rigorous love of truth, and Tarugi for eloquence in discourse, then we must turn to a fourth figure, the greatest scholar ever to enter the Oratorian life. I speak, of course, of John Henry Cardinal Newman.

In Newman’s long, productive, and complicated life, a few key themes emerge. Three are worth examining in connection with the intellectual tradition of the Oratory. First, we may duly note that Newman always exhibited a great love of knowledge for its own sake, and thus of Truth as such. As he writes in The Idea of a University, Useful Knowledge then, I grant, has done its work; and Liberal Knowledge as certainly has not done its work,—that is, supposing, as the objectors assume, its direct end, like Religious Knowledge, is to make men better; but this I will not for an instant allow, and, unless I allow it, those objectors have said nothing to the purpose. I admit, rather I maintain, what they have been urging, for I consider Knowledge to have its end in itself. For all its friends, or its enemies, may say, I insist upon it, that it is as real a mistake to burden it with virtue or religion as with the mechanical arts.

Its direct business is not to steel the soul against temptation or to console it in affliction, any more than to set the loom in motion, or to direct the steam carriage; be it ever so much the means or the condition of both material and moral advancement, still, taken by and in itself, it as little mends our hearts as it improves our temporal circumstances. And if its eulogists claim for it such a power, they commit the very same kind of encroachment on a province not their own as the political economist who should maintain that his science educated him for casuistry or diplomacy. Knowledge is one thing, virtue is another; good sense is not conscience, refinement is not humility, nor is largeness and justness of view faith. Philosophy, however enlightened, however profound, gives no command over the passions, no influential motives, no vivifying principles. Liberal Education makes not the Christian, not the Catholic, but the gentleman. Newman never abandoned the life of the mind.

Along with this purity of vision, we naturally find in Newman a perennial appreciation of academic engagement, and when necessary, controversy. Indeed, Newman rose to fame and eventually converted because of his involvement in the ecclesiastical turmoil of the 1830’s and 40’s.

He produced his first two great works, (1833-1841, in collaboration with others) and (1833) in light of those disputes. Likewise, Newman articulated his great theories of doctrinal development and the important role of the laity in texts occasioned by ongoing controversies within the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches respectively.

And although he could be terribly sensitive to even the slightest criticism, Newman took pains to respond with courtesy, as he did to Charles Kingsley in his famous (1865). While Newman never sought out polemics and controversies, he was willing to engage in them when the Truth and Honor of God was at stake.

Finally, we ought to remember that Newman was always animated by a sincere love of that singular matrix of the intellectual life —academic community. His experience at Oxford profoundly shaped his worldview. He is, of course, still widely regarded as one of the great theorists of higher learning.

Remains one of the most influential texts on Catholic education in modern times. But the impression that Oxford left on Newman is deeper and more subtle.

Newman was drawn to the Oratory in part because he recognized in it the same collegiality that defined the best of the houses at Oxford. Newman writes, Now I will say in a word what is the nearest approximation in fact to an Oratorian Congregation that I know, and that is, one of the Colleges in the Anglican Universities. Take such a Collegechange the religion from Protestant to Catholic, and give the Head and Fellows missionary and pastoral work, and you have a Congregation of St Philip before your eyes.

(Newman, quoted ). Newman first considered the Oratory in part because he hoped to offer a ministry to the intellectuals of Britain: The local bishop, Nicholas Wiseman, invited them to the former seminary at Old Oscott while they decided what to do.

Newman named it “Maryvale” and planned some sort of Catholic educational institute there. But then Wiseman sent them off to Rome for ordination. While there, they examined various religious congregations, and realised that St Philip’s Oratory was the most suitable. The Birmingham Oratory was accordingly set up in Maryvale (2 February 1847), before settling on its present site, with another Oratory in London.

Sadly, Newman was unable to achieve his dream of an Oratory in Oxford during his lifetime. Jerome Bertram CO has, worth looking into. Suffice it to say, Newman looked upon the university as a major and potentially ripe field for an intellectual, aesthetically sensitive Catholic missionary presence. There is a reason why Catholic ministries to university students are very often called. The Oratorian tradition of scholarship continues today, as with, inter alia, the work of Fr. Jonathan Robinson of the Toronto Oratory.

Here is the cover of his 2015 book, In No Strange Land: The Embodied Mysticism of Saint Philip Neri. Insofar as we are trying to draw out principles that might be of use to the Church in the face of the various cultural challenges which prompted Dreher to write T he Benedict Option, I think the Oratorian example, particularly as reflected in Newman’s life and work, may be of use. What lesson we should take? That we ought not abandon the universities and all that they stand for. Yes, there are failures of free speech, episodes of intimidation, and other serious problems at many institutions of higher learning. Dreher, to his credit, has done a good job reporting on the recent madness at and. But the universities overwhelmingly remain the central locations of serious intellectual exchange in this country and the world.

While there are some impressive institutions of higher learning outside of or parallel to the formal university system, these are few and far between (see, inter alia, the and the ). For what it’s worth, Alasdair MacIntyre has explicitly argued for a retrenchment of our position within the academy, both in (1990) and. As, Dreher seems to write off public discourse entirely. Dreher’s decision to do so is very foolish, more likely to hurt than help the position of Christians in our culture.

The Silver Devil Teresa Denys

Moreover, it is alien to the quintessentially Oratorian spirit of a man like Newman. Contemplate Beauty One of the marks of the Oratorian charism is a devoted attention to aesthetics. Perhaps it is only appropriate that a vocation emerging from and responding to the Neo-Platonist Renaissance should share its love of beauty. The Florentine St. Philip seems to have known instinctively that beauty evangelizes well and widely. Baroque apse of Santa Maria in Vallicella, by Pietro da Cortona. The exercises of the Oratory were never complete without a great deal of music.

Louis Bouyer tells us that St. Philip “liked the conversations to be interspersed with music and the meetings to be brought to a close by some singing, so that the evening was filled with harmony” (Bouyer 54). Philip engaged the talents of some of the greatest Roman composers of his day. Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina took St. Philip as his confessor, and Giovanni Animuccia was so frequently involved that Bouyer tells us, “In all truth nothing but one of Animuccia’s could distill the essence of the Oratory and pass it on undiluted” (Bouyer 55).

That same essence continued in the Congregation even after St. Philip’s death. Emilio de’ Cavalieri’s premiered at the house of the Roman Oratorians in 1600, and as a result, is generally considered the first oratorio.

Philip did not limit his careful deployment of beautiful and holy music to the formal exercises of the Oratory. He also knew that the long walks and pilgrimages he conducted around Rome would more easily win souls if they were elevated by sweet harmony. As Bouyer reports, On such occasions music played a more important role than ever.

Animuccia would bring along Rome’s best musicians, and the ‘Adoremus te Christe’ by Orlando de Lassus, or the ‘O vos omnes’ by Vittoria, would mingle with the sound of the fountains’ silvery cascades, of the leaves rustling in the sea breezeOn their way in the freshness of those early summer mornings on the Roman Campagna, Serafino Razzi’s Laudi would alternate with Gregorian Litanies. At San Sebastianowould follow a fine Polyphonic Mass, perhaps Palestrina’s wonderful ‘Mass of Pope Marcellus’ or his ‘Ecce Sacerdos magnus’On their return to the centre of the city they would visit Santa Maria Maggiore on the heights of the Esquiline. Beneath the ceiling which Alexander VI had just decorated with the first American gold to be brought by Christopher Columbus from Peru, and among the Ionic columns of pure white marble, the day would draw to a close in an outburst of Palestrina music, and a ‘Salve Regina’ would fill the falling night with its loveliness gathered from the rivers and the stars. (Bouyer 57-60).

Philip insensible to the appeal of visual beauty. He was fond of. We can detect in Barocci’s work a certain light sfumato, an airy other-worldliness that hovers over the strikingly intimate scenes the artist depicts.

In the works of Barocci, there is something of the spirit of St. Philip, in whom the presence of God was so manifest and so exemplary in one so strangely human. The Entombment of Christ, Caravaggio, c. These artistic traditions have not fallen away in later houses of the Congregation. Is renowned for its as well as its. Its founder, Fr. Faber, gained wide respect as a and poet.

Newman also wrote, though he is more commonly regarded as a master prose stylist; Joyce considered him. Philip wrote some poetry too, though he destroyed most of his verses before he died.

All that survive are. As one Italian author puts it, Philip was perhaps the first who, after the reform in our poetry effected by Bembo and other distinguished men, treated religion with that fine poetic taste with which Petrarch treated the philosophy of Plato. Philip flourished as a poet about 1540; and then he forsook literature and gave himself wholly to God, and flourished far more in holiness, until his death. But though he no longer wrote poetry, he did not set it altogether aside.

He well knew its great uses when guided by a christian spirit, and therefore he made a great point of it in his Congregation. He read poetry himself, and ordered that it should be always read and used by his followers in the way described in our previous notes. (Crescimbeni, quoted by Capecelatro, ). Philip frequently found ways of incorporating the Laudi of Jacopone da Todi into the spiritual reading that formed such an important part of the exercises of the Oratory. It was one of only two books we know he brought with him from Florence.

The Laudi was a text to which St. Philip returned frequently throughout his life, and one that always bore new graces (Bouyer 53).

“L’Angelo mostra a San Filippo Neri un dipinto della Vergine con Bambino e San Giovannino,” Circle of Carlo Maratti. All of this goes to say that St.

Philip and his sons were no philistines. They appreciated and, in some cases, produced fine art across a variety of disciplines. While their vocation was never primarily or deliberately aesthetic, Oratorians throughout history have understood the spiritual importance of beauty. Dreher hits this point pretty well in The Benedict Option. In that sense, my dissent from his recommendation may be more a matter of emphasis than of substance. Insofar as we differ at all, I think my issue is summed up well by: Perhaps the critics who are timid about these powerful Catholic writers working right now in our midst are waiting for someone else to “baptize” them?

Perhaps they are waiting for someone else to say “I heard God there” – because they, themselves, have not learned to open the inner chambers of the ear? Because we do not have a robust Catholic arts culture that teaches us to open all the portals for reception, but instead have embraced a misnamed “Benedict Option” which is all about putting up walls and barriers, drawing those lines in the sand. Nevertheless, I do strongly criticize Dreher for. The Oratorian aesthetic makes up for this failure, in that it is primarily liturgical. Live and Love Eucharistically And thus, we finally turn to the most important feature of St.

Philip’s life and charism, the feature which made him a saint and a father of saints —his burning, Eucharistic charity. We can find evidence of St. Philip’s Eucharistic life in the peculiar and highly somatic form of mysticism that we encounter in his vitae.

Philip never trusted ecstasies and visions, though he was granted such graces himself —usually in connection with the celebration of the Holy Sacrifice. Capecelatro depicts the scene for us: But now, in his 76th year, he could no longer restrain the impetuosity of Divine love which glowed within his heart, and he resolved to say Mass in private that he might give free course to his devotion. “Madonna con Bambino in trono e san Filippo Neri,” Giacomo Zoboli From that time his usual method of saying Mass was this: up to the Domine, non sum dignus, everything went on as before; but at the solemn moment which precedes the priest’s communion, those who were in the chapel withdrew, the server lighted a lamp, put out the altar candles, closed the shutters of the windows, locked both doors, and left the Saint alone with God. Philip would have none to witness the raptures of his love, or to check the freedom of his sighs, words, and tears. A notice was then hung on the door, with these words: “Silence —the Father is saying Mass.” He would remain alone with Jesus in the Adorable Sacrament for two hours, hours of contemplation and of prayer with many tears, and urgent intercession for the Holy Church, the Bride of Jesus Christ, that He would render it as holy in the life of its children as it is in its faith and teaching.

After two hours the server came back and knocked gently at the door; if the Saint answered, he opened the door, relighted the candles on the altar, opened the window-shutters, and Philip finished his Mass in the usual way. If the server received no answer, he went away for some time longer, nor did he enter the chapel until the Saint gave some sign that he might do so. What passed in those hours is known to God alone; those who saw Philip when his Mass was over were struck with amazement and awe, until his countenance was pale and wasted, as of one about to die. (Capecelatro 131-32). And this in the immediate age of Trent! What are we to make of these irregularities?

Philip’s Mass is not a model of liturgical praxis, but of liturgical spirituality. In his own highly idiosyncratic prayer, St. Philip becomes a universal model of the soul in adoration of the Eucharistic God. Philip was, indeed, one of the great apostles of adoration in his time, as he popularized the Forty Hours’ devotion in Rome.

Today, the Quarant’Ore remains a tradition of the Church and the Oratory throughout the world. The Forty Hours’ Devotion at the London Oratory. Philip’s sons are known for their tender devotion to the liturgical rubrics.

In fact, I draw my title from a line in Fr. Jonathan Robinson’s foreword to (2014), by Dr. Peter Kwasniewski. Robinson speaks of an “Oratorian option” not in relation to the early stages of the Benedict Option controversy, but as “a Reform-of-the-Reform ars celebrandi” (Robinson, in Kwasniewski 3).

Indeed, the Oratories of the Anglophone world have a particularly strong reputation for their reverent and careful celebration of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. As with the best monasteries, the best Oratories exhibit “dignity and magnificence of the liturgical ars celebrandi”. In London, Birmingham, Oxford, Toronto, Vienna, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Washington, Brisbane, York, Manchester —in short, wherever the spirit of St. Philip prevails over all rivals and distractions —we find a true Domus Orationis, a “House of Prayer”. The chief fruit of this discipline is supernatural charity. Philip sought to found his congregation on this virtue, not the vows which have historically defined the religious state.

There is a Trinitarian logic to this plan. For, just as the superabundant love in the heart of the Trinity impels the Three Divine Persons freely to create, redeem, and sanctify, so too should the love of the Oratory overflow into the streets and lead its members to good works. The love of God descends to a love of brethren, which descends in turn to a love of neighbor. Each of these lesser loves ought to confirm, extend, and refine the higher loves. This chain of charity, then, is a veritable Jacob’s ladder, for those in the angelic state are called ever to climb up and down until their passage into beatitude. Of course, the basic pattern here is not unique to the Oratory.

What sets the Oratory apart is its love of the world. A kind of holy worldliness distinguishes the Oratorian spirit, even as St. Philip’s own outlandish behavior earned him a reputation for other-worldliness. I don’t mean to suggest that St. Philip and his sons were given over to the permissive and pagan times in which they lived.

Rather, I mean that St. Philip and the Oratorians are characterized by two separate but related qualities that proceed from their Eucharistic life. Philip was renowned for prudence. After all, he was a much sought-after confessor. The irony at the heart of so many of his jokes is that, by mocking his own and others’ pretensions, he demonstrated how utterly divorced so many of our lives are from good Christian common sense. In this respect, he was a true fool for Christ very much after the Eastern model. Philip’s prudence did indeed appear foolish to those whose vision could not penetrate to the mysteries of God.

From Guido Reni. It seems only appropriate that St.

Philip should be so frequently depicted fully vested for Mass. While in other ages, prudence led some saints to undertake and advise great hardships for the kingdom, that same virtue taught St.

Philip a different path. He drew his own strength from fastidious and hidden rigors, but he always counseled his penitents to avoid excessive asceticism. Once, when the future Cardinal Tarugi, still young and wealthy and vain, came to him for confession, he asked St.

Philip if he might wear a hairshirt. Philip saw through the man’s pride. He assented —but only allowed Tarugi to wear the hairshirt on top of all his other garments! For such an admirer of Savonarola, St. Philip could hardly have been farther from his practice when it came to matters of mortification. What little he did urge he usually salted with his own brand of humor.

He famously took the Dominican novices of the Minerva out on long picnics and urged them to eat and grow fat. So, too, his pleasant indulgence of children was legendary. And what of those long walks with the crowds under the Roman sky? Philip loved the world.

He hated its lies and vices, but he was ever able to peer beyond that sordid stratum and into God’s glory. As puts it, “St. Philip was the Apostle of Rome, who by means of the ‘counter-fascination of purity and truth’ reconverted both clerics and laymen in the city at the centre of the Church.” Or, as Louis Bouyer tells us, Does not Philip, in fact, merely yield to Renaissance optimism? Does he not ignore original sin when he bases his apostolate on freedom and confidence? His ‘religion without tears’ surely expects from undisciplined nature what the discipline of grace alone can produce? There is no doubt that it was dangerous to go out against the new paganism with no other arms save love, and just as dangerous to expose his apparently vulnerable simplicity to its disturbing influence, yet his outrageous method made him the victorious apostle of neo-pagan Rome.

(Bouyer 28-29). The love that conquered Rome was the fruit of St. Philip’s sacramental interior life.

The unique grace of his special relationship with the Holy Spirit was a cardinal element of that life, but so was his ardent devotion to the Eucharist. It was this element that I found in Dreher’s book. There is no properly Christ-like love of the lost in The Benedict Option, only one angry jeremiad after another. Perhaps because Dreher hardly ever mentions the Eucharist. Dreher writes as if Christ’s presence on earth is an afterthought, one tool among many to be deployed in the quest for community.

The result is a spiritually crabbed book, insufficiently sacramental and brimming with self-righteous anxiety. Philip shows us another way. Conclusion At the end of the day, there is no silver bullet to halt the various troubles that the Church faces in what seems like an increasingly hostile, secular West. Christ never abandons us to the narrow limits of our own imagination and resources.

Instead, He furnishes the Church with untold gifts, charisms, and holy exemplars among the saints. In this sense, the recent proliferation of “Options” —to which this essay contributes —is probably a blessing.

But we musn’t forget one ineradicable fact. Christ never raises these lesser creations over His own Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. There is no blessing, no vocation, and no grace that can go beyond the work of the Adorable Sacrament. If we forsake the one rock of the Altar and instead build upon the sand of the innumerable personal graces and unique charisms spread throughout the Church Universal, then all of our works will shatter beneath the hammer of the storm. Philip Neri understood this truth and lived it out across the long span of his ministry.

Those qualities which distinguish the Oratorian charism —domesticity, localism, intellectual rigor, humility, collegiality, aesthetics, urbanity, prudence, and love of the world —can only be integrated and understood in the light of the sanctuary lamp. Philip’s entire life was a ceaseless testament to the power of the Eucharist “for the life of the world”. In keeping close to the Sacrament and to the example of St.

Philip, we may just make it after all. Posts navigation.