The Luminous Mysteries

THE LUMINOUS MYSTERIES WERE INTRODUCED BY POPE JOHN PAUL II in October of 2002. They are another set of five scenes, this time taken from the public life of Jesus, which we might consider while praying the Rosary.

For most people the word mystery means: A puzzle we can't solve. Sometimes we can't understand something, like the resolution of a crime, because the clues have been covered or removed. Or something might be a mystery because: "The clues were right under my nose all the time."

I might not be able to see well because there is not enough light, or I might not be able to see because there is too much light. Christian mystery is the later: right under my nose, so close, too much light. How's that? In Jesus Christ God has come to be with us as close as God can get. "So the Word (the self-expression of God) became flesh and blood and lived for a while among us, abounding in blessing and truth..." (John 1:14).

Luminous means shining with a bright light. Don't we need to be invited to the light in a dark world: a world where terrorism is now an everyday world, a world so often constructed on lies, a world of uncertainty and fear?

In the 1930's throughout parts of Europe, the clergy devised a method of praying the rosary in which two or three sentence reflections were offered between each Hail Mary, to help the mind remain focused or locked on the mystery being considered. Here I've composed a new set of reflections, using that helpful format.

Better to light a candle than curse the darkness, the Chinese Proverb and the Christophers say. Maybe these new prayer-flames will light up some dark place within and help to focus our thoughts - distractable as we are.

The First Luminous Mystery

The Baptism of the Lord Jesus in the Jordan River

Our Father who art in heaven...

"I want to walk as a child of the light..." the hymn says. What could this mean for my mind and its thoughts? What could this mean for my awareness, intentions and gratitude?

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Jesus begins  his public work at his Baptism. Later He will tell us "Don't hide your light; let it shine, (Matthew 5:15).

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Jesus steps down into the waters of the Jordan. In Jesus Christ, God begins to take back everything lost to Him. He begins with the water of which we're all made.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

The waters of our planet are increasingly polluted. Millions upon millions of people have no access to drinkable water. I can't ignore this.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

The nakedness of Jesus. But it is not sensual nakedness like in a movie or in a magazine. He is each human person, stripped of nationality, custom, time. Jesus stands as God sees us - without masks.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

The waters of the Jordan don't flow crisp and clear all the time. In places the river is muddy, cloudy and even polluted. Much of it flows through lands where war seems perennial. In Christ, God immerses Himself in the muddiness of our human story.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

A dove appears. I am reminded of the dove which did not return to Noah after the waters of the flood receded. God is always ready and eager to begin again (Genesis 7:10-13).

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Jesus is in the crowd of people whose land is occupied by the Romans. They are full of  anticipation, of weariness, desire and a sense of failure. I may discover Jesus in church, in my prayers, in the teachings of religion, but will I find Him in the human crowd?

Hail Mary, full of grace...

The humility of John, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" (Matthew 3:14) However I may hold to religious truths, values or practices - humility means I still have so much to learn  from others.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Mother's water broke and I passed through to be born. In Baptism I returned to the water, passing  through again, to be born this time from above; born to become the new kind of human person Jesus reveals and to which he invites.

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Glory be to the Father...

That with Thy saints I may be praising Thee, forever and ever

THE SAINTS. I have always loved them. I remember as a young boy kneeling by my bedside praying a prayer to Saint Aloysius out of my prayerbook. Moonlight illumined his picture on the opposite page. But we have canonized so many nuns, religious order priests, bishops, popes and consecrated virgins, I can't envision heaven as a place of great fun.

To tell you the truth, I get annoyed or uneasy when I hear there's going to be more canonizations in Rome. I automatically expect it will be  another round of celibate, 19th century religious order founders and foundresses.

I hope for a truly Catholic Church that canonizes a married Haitian man and his wife who came to Brooklyn after their lives were reduced to rubble in the earthquake. He's a livery cabdriver working long hours and she's a mom, who takes the subway into Manhattan to work in an office. They work hard to pay their rent for an extremely modest apartment. He's got to secure his own insurance because he's free-lancing, and yet they put aside some money each month to send back to Haiti to help their large families, struggling to get back on their feet. They're God-loving people who keep the faith and love their neighbors. They thoroughly enjoy making a baby. They're hospitable, generous with the poor,  honest as the day is long, patient,  kind and merciful. They worship and pray, and for heaven's sake, they know how to laugh and laugh. I want to spend eternity with folks like them.

...I may be praising Thee forever and ever. What do these words, praising Thee, mean? That we be singing Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, eternally? That we be posing eternally for a great saint, photo-shoot, like we see painted on the ceilings of churches - everyone posed looking at God, holding the symbols of their martyrdom? Does praising Thee mean having become an angel and  sitting on a cloud with an instrument? Many people don't think beyond these kinds of images or they are comforted by them or totally okay with them. But I don't think it will be like that at all.

I awoke the other morning and this line from seminary came to mind: Saint Irenaeus wrote,  "The glory of God is a human being fully alive, and to be alive consists in beholding God." Now we must know that people behold God who don't believe in what we believe.

There's a  little joke about a man who died and when he went to heaven Saint Peter met him at the gate, and after welcoming him, took him on a tour of heaven. The man was utterly impressed. Along the way they passed a very high wall with sounds of fabulous partying coming out over the wall. The man asked, "Who's that, so happy on the other side of the wall?" And Saint Peter answered, "Oh, it's the Catholics; they think they're the only ones here."

Now of course we could use the name of any group in place of Catholics. It's: the Greek Orthodox, the Hasidim, the Southern Baptists, the Muslims... Notice too that Saint Irenaeus doesn't say, "The glory of God is an orthodox Roman Catholic whose life is lived in Full Communion with the magisterium."

When I did a bit of research to see if I had the Irenaeus quote correct in my memory, I immediately found web pages that went to some lengths to be sure we all understood that "human being fully alive" didn't mean any of the new-age, self-actualization, fully realized, psychologically well adjusted stuff we hear so much of today. I think these people are afraid of what it might mean to be a real human being, fully alive. Jesus, of course is the human being fully alive.

I suppose that's where we get the term Alter Christus, which means that we are to be another Christ. Most often that term refers to priests, but by baptism we're all supposed to be other Christ's. And what does that mean? Carl Jung asks the question: "What does it meant to be another Christ?" And then answers: "Does it mean to ape his stigmata? No, but rather that I should live my own unique self as truthfully and as beautifully as Christ lived his." I can't think of another way of living. And to live this kind of life, in a world often gone ugly and weary with selfishness, violence, lies and earth-bound greed,  requires a tremendous awareness and resolve.

Forever and ever. Like the word Alleluia, it's almost baby talk. "And they lived happily ever after." Or with a kiss a mother will say to her little child at bedtime, or newlyweds will whisper on wedding night:  "I'll love you forever and ever." It's a lovely way of wrapping up the things of love.

At the hour of my death, call me and close to you, bid me

In the 1991 film, Black Robe, young, French Jesuit Father LaForgue has come to North America. Escorted by Algonquins, he is being sent up river to start a mission to the Huron Natives. The river scenes are uncomfortable: full of suspicion and alienation.

Along the way, Father LaForgue is being questioned about heaven by the doubtful chiefs. They want to know if there will be women and tobacco in heaven. Father LaForgue is uneasy and resorts to a catechism answer. The chiefs effectively roll their eyes and mutter among themselves, why bother? The young priest is well-intentioned, but he's failed to make heaven in any way real for these men, who are asking a legitimate question.

In  The Green Mile, Arlen Bitterbuck is in State Prison's Death Row awaiting execution for having killed a man in a drunken argument over a pair of boots. Arlen is a silent man, deeply introspective and remorseful. One night as his execution approaches, he opens up to the Tom Hanks figure, Paul,  who is in charge of the inmates, wondering aloud about heaven:

"Do you believe that if a man repents enough for what he done wrong, that he'll get to go back to the time that was happiest for him and live there forever? Could that be what heaven's like?"

Paul answers: "I just about believe that very thing."

Christians haven't done a very good job of convincing people that heaven is especially desirable. Lots of people, so unable or unwilling to explore what heaven means, have us all becoming angels when we die. In Emily Dickinson's poem, Going to Heaven! she doesn't sound especially excited about the prospects saying, "How dim it sounds!"

Jesus knew how to talk about the Kingdom of God - the full realization of which we call heaven. He more often than not made references people could identify with in happy, sensory and satisfying ways: a great banquet, a wedding feast. Food is one of the most memorable aspects of life on this planet: This food is heavenly, we might say.

But here the author of the Anima Christi uses the words call and bid in reflecting upon one aspect of heaven. Calling and bidding can be understood in many ways, perhaps signifying danger or trouble: the soldier being called-up for active duty, or being called to the Principal's office, or a refusal to do someone's nasty bidding. But here the sense is a warm invitation.

Keeping Arlen Bitterbuck's thoughts about heaven in mind, perhaps we're able to think of some time in our lives that was particularly wonderful, when we felt most alive, perhaps when, if even for a few moments all was well, when we were called or bidden into something that was, happiest. 

I have in mind when I was 8 years old, the third graders took a field trip to Farmingdale Agricultural College on Long Island. It was spring and when the yellow buses pulled onto the college property, the lambs were literally jumping up vertically in the air.

I was fascinated as we spent the day seeing all the animals: calves, turkeys, horses, chickens. This was a working farm and not agri-business. I was typically an introverted boy who would have moved throughout the day staying on the edges and in the rear - silent - almost invisible.

The last stop was the sheep pen with the lambs. The farmer-professor took the class right up to the fence and told  us about  the newborns. He ended by saying, "Would anybody like to hold the lamb?" I don't remember anything else except that my right arm shot up in the air from the back of the group and the voice calling - bidding: "You there, in the back, come on up!" and walking up to the front and having a lamb, just days old, put into my arms. And I doubt I had the words for it, but I remember feeling this happiness could last forever."

There's a death-bed for all of us. This week an 8 year old boy was killed by a bomb in Boston.  Saint Irenaeus says that we should think of death often. I think we should think of life often - real life, then death will take care of itself. Maybe Arlen Bitterbuck is very right, that when death comes we might go back to that time which was happiest for us and live there forever. And Jesus-God will be there, who has said, "I have come that  you may have joy and have it fully," (John 15:11).