From the malignant enemy, defend me

MALIGNANT IS A SCARY WORD. And the author of the Anima Christi lived in a world that was much more spiritually attuned than our own. Some would at once dismiss that to mean superstitious. But that's too easy. The Medieval world produced arguably some of the most refined responses to God in music, painting, architecture and poetry the world has known.

Perhaps we're unable to fully comprehend how the author understood the words, malignant enemy, followed by defend me, but it surely sounds as if he believed there could be something ruinous poised against each of us. I'd say it this way: it seems that there is something personal to each of us that wants us down, not good, not whole or holy, undone, un-realized. I'd call it personal as it seems to be somehow tailored to each of us as we struggle to live our own unique lives truthfully.

A Buddhist occultist visited Athens in our own time, and while being taken around the city, he stopped his guide and said to him, "I see demons hanging off of people's lips, eyes, ears and throats. And who are the men in the black robes and beards?" The guide answered, "They are our priests." The occultist said, "I see demons swirling around them looking for a way to get in." When I shared this account with a Greek monk here in the United States he said, "Regrettably, demons do find a way into the priest's life too often."

Some will say, you'd expect an occultist to talk that way. But there are lots of people whose seeing is inexplicable. If that were not so, then police departments wouldn't employ certain clairvoyants to help solve crimes. Admittedly, it seems like dangerous business. Contemporary Christians are often embarrassed by these kinds of references. Maybe we've become too sophisticated.

But whether we frame it spiritually,  psychologically or socially - there does seem to be a malignant enemy against which we need to be defended. If the Medieval or Buddhist images are metaphoric, I'd suggest again that metaphor doesn't mean not real - but rather most real. So we can name these things for ourselves.

When I was a boy in the 1950's and 60's, the first vestment the priest put on over his street clothes before celebrating the Catholic Mass, was called an amice. An amice is a rectangular piece of white linen with strings attached to the two top corners. The priest would pass the opened amice over the right side of his head, and touching it to the back of his head he would begin a prayer. Then lowering the vestment to his shoulders he would arrange the amice around his neck, pass the strings around to his back, cross them over and pull them around to the front where he would tie them. The other vestments would be placed on top of the amice, making it essentially unseen, except for a little around his neck. A medieval amice kept a priest's throat warmer in a winter-cold church, and collected perspiration in a summer church. But like all the vestments, the amice had a mystical significance. You'd have to stand in a sacristy these days while priests are preparing for Mass to understand just how neglected this mystical awareness is.

One Sunday morning, when I was about seven years old, my large family was early for Mass. Taking up the front pew I had an unobstructed view of the sanctuary. Before the Mass began the old pastor appeared in the doorway leading out of the sacristy (priest preparation room) to the sanctuary (where the Mass would take place). He seemed to be checking things: are the candles lit, is the tabernacle key in place, are the people arriving? He was wearing a black cassock and the amice, which I had never seen before. But very clearly I heard in my mind, "I want to wear that." And on my ordination day, twenty-one years later, I did, and have ever since.

Some years later I became chaplain to a school for young people who were in trouble. Some had done dangerous things, illegal things, terribly hurtful things. Most had some kind of drug-alcohol involvement which resulted in not a little life-damage. Early one Wednesday morning as I was in the school-chapel sacristy getting ready for Mass, the teen-aged altar server stood nearby watching me. As I put the amice on my head and lowered it to my shoulders he asked, "What's that?" I told him "It's an amice and the little prayer the priest prays while putting it on asks God to protect the priest's thoughts." The boy answered, "We should all wear an amice." He understands.

Here's the Latin prayer and its English translation, with a final thought about the power of words. And indeed we can all pray the prayer, even each morning, asking to be defended against the malignant enemy, as in the course of the day, perhaps the place of the greatest ruinous and unholy toxicity might well be the place of our thoughts The amice is called the Helmet of Salvation, which clues us in: this is a kind of warfare.

Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus.
Place, O Lord, the helmet of salvation upon my head, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.

The word expugnandos is translated here as overcome. But we get the word expunge - which is a stronger word - suggesting a violent pushing back or driving out of what is dirty, evil or seriously undesirable. The word incursus is translated here as assaults. But we get the word incursion - which again signifies a hostile, frightful, enemy invasion or raid.

Thoughts can be like that, can't they? Like J.R.R. Tolkien's Orc invaders!

Suffer me not to be separated from Thee

HERE IS A PAINTING OF SAINT ANTONY OF EGYPT who is said to have been the first Christian monk or hermit. The new Butlers Lives of the Saints (January 17) says this about Antony:

"Anthony was born to Christian parents around 252 in Corna...in Upper Egypt. His parents were fairly wealthy landowners; they died when he was eighteen or twenty. Around this time he heard the Gospel words, "If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give the money to the poor...then come, follow me" (Matt. 19:21). Taking these quite literally, he gave some of the family estates to neighbours, sold the remainder, giving the money to the poor, and became the disciple of  a local hermit. Around 273, he retired to an old burial ground, where he stayed for thirteen years. By the time he was thirty-five, this was not hard enough for him, and he moved to an abandoned hill-top fort in the Arabian desert, some three days march from the populous area of the Nile valley. There he stayed for the next twenty years. He is said to have lived in near complete solitude and to have followed a regime of great asceticism (spiritual discipline)."

Holy people who live alone are soon enough discovered and so we have a report of some things Antony said to visitors and followers. Anthony said: I no longer fear but, but I love Him." We don't know where Anthony would have ever learned to be afraid of God. Could his parents have mistakenly taught him that? Or did he pick it up from friends? Or in his earlier years did he do something very wrong that caused him to be afraid of God? At any rate, it's clear he ultimately learned the most important thing: the love of God.

The expression Fear of the Lord then must mean that I would be afraid only of whatever could take me away from God. That I would dread only the loss of God. There are written accounts and paintings of Anthony undergoing horrifying temptations to abandon the love of God.

But what could cause me to lose God? The core teaching of Jesus is found in Matthew's Gospel, chapters 5,6 and 7. Christians should have a look at it now and again. In Matthew 6:19,20 Jesus teaches:

"Do not store up riches on earth, where moths and rust destroy them, and where thieves break in and steal them, but store up your riches in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy them, and where thieves cannot break in and steal them. For wherever your treasure is, your heart will be also."

And again, in Matthew 6:24-34 Jesus says:

"No slave can belong to two masters, for he will either hate one and love the other, or stand by one and make light of the other. You cannot serve God and money. Therefore, I tell you , do not worry about your life, wondering what you will have to eat or drink, or about your body, wondering what you will have to wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body than clothes? Look at the wild birds. They do not sow or reap, or store their food in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more account than they? But which of you with all his worry can add a single hour to his life? Why should you worry about clothing? See how the wild flowers grow. They do not toil or spin, and yet I tell you , even Solomon in all his splendor was never dressed like one of them. But if God so beautifully dresses the wild grass, which is alive today and is thrown into the furnace tomorrow, will he not much more surely clothe you, you who have so little faith? So do not worry and say, "What shall we have to eat?" or "What shall we have to drink?" or "What shall we have to wear?" For these are all things the heathen are in pursuit of, and your heavenly Father knows well that you need all this. But you must make his kingdom, and uprightness before him, your greatest care, and you will have all these other things besides. So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will have worries of his own. Let each day be content with his own ills."

This is a very difficult teaching for those of us who live in the first world. This is the world which is characterized by shopping. One Trappist monk upon entering one of America's mega-stores said, "It's not the kingdom come but the thingdom come."

Is it possible to live this teaching of Jesus literally? Alessandro is a young Franciscan Friar in Italy. He doesn't own a car and so once (that I know of) he walked from Assisi to Florence, which took three days. He slept wherever someone offered him hospitality. He ate only what was offered to him; one little boy gave him an apple. He carried only a small cloth bag which contained a toothbrush, a change of underwear and a pocket bible. He had only non-material things to offer: listening to those he met, a word of  encouragement, his smile, a song, a wave.

We can gain a new appreciation for the gifts which are non-material and also begin to practice the rule of Saint Basil of Caesarea who said: If you have not used it in a year, it no longer belongs to you but to the poor." We might also begin to get into the habit of buying only what is essential. In this way we'd be freeing ourselves from the culture  built on lies. We only need to listen to the attractive promises of television and radio commercials to understand this: Take this pill and lose thirty pounds in a weekend!

The other way we risk losing God is through resentment, which is negative feeling about people. The injunction of Jesus is that we don't become stuck or grounded in resentment. I expect Jesus is especially tolerant and understanding of our difficulties in getting free of resentment as he lived surrounded by tedious, obnoxious, spiteful, malevolent people who wanted him gone, if not dead. But Jesus knows that when we're grounded in resentment we become sleepless, distracted, weary and frustrated. Here's the teaching of Jesus, again found in the Sermon on the Mount, (Matthew5:43-48).

"You have heard that they were told, "You must love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for your persecutors, so that you may show yourselves true sons of your Father in heaven, for he makes his sun rise on bad and good alike, and makes the rain fall on the upright and the wrongdoers. For if you love only those who love you what reward can you expect? Do not the very tax-collectors do that? And if you are polite to your brothers (and sisters) and no one else, what is there remarkable in that? Do not the very heathen do that? So you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is."

I"m not free if I'm stuck in resentment. A friend said that resentment is like taking poison and hoping that the other person will sicken and die. I wonder if whenever Jesus speaks of being free he has in mind my own inner freedom from negativity, fear, cynicism and resentment.

I learned a wonder-working prayer from a friend who lived the Twelve Steps of AA. He suggested making a list of every person with whom I have any negative feelings. As I  create the list I should go as far back in my life as memory will allow: teachers, parents, siblings, old friends, relatives, people whose names I don't even know, fellow school mates, neighborhood people. Then I should make a list of those names and if I don't know the name I should write down, "The person who..." Then everyday, twice a day for two weeks, I should slowly read the list of names and then pray this prayer:

Lord, as you know I have resentments with all of these people, and even if I don't feel it right now, I ask you to remove them. Take my stony, cold, hard heart and make it into a heart of mercy, compassion and love. Amen.

Notice that the prayer asks God that I would change, not the other person. The  soul who wrote the Anima Christi prayer understood loss. It was a world and time of deadly plague, slavery, great poverty for so many, brutality and seemingly endless wars. Yet, he or she prays to be kept from the suffering of only one loss - the loss of Jesus. Talk about a different world! Jesus gives us a heads-up in his great Sermon. And the two things which seem to  matter most to Jesus,  if I am to live in a happy and close relationship with him, are: attentiveness to things and resentment. And in my prayer I thank Jesus for his kind patience with me.

Within Thy wounds, hide me

A NON-BELIEVING PHYSICIAN WAS WORKING IN A CATHOLIC HOSPITAL and one night ventured into the hospital's chapel to look around. He evidently had seen the Stations of the Cross on the walls, telling me, "How ridiculous, a god who suffers and dies."

I can only imagine he didn't know the story doesn't end with the sealed tomb, but an Easter morning Resurrection. But it also occurred to me as strange that a doctor, who ought to be searching everywhere for meaning in suffering, would so readily dismiss this story that has endured and encouraged people for over two thousand years. It is the story of God, who rather than watch us from a distance, perhaps even laughing at us, has chosen to join us in our own human story so filled with self and communal rejection, sadness and loss. That Jesus has gone through the death, the doctor saw depicted, to the other side, where we discover the promise that death, which claims us all, has been defeated and that we can wait in joyful hope, for the full realization of the victory Christ shares.

Within Thy wounds, hide me

Hiding can be of different kinds. We play hiding games when we are little. Children squeal with delight over things hidden and then suddenly found. But as we age, we start to hide ourselves or the evidence which will land us in trouble: too much spending, a ticket for speeding, a failed test, a poor report card, drug paraphernalia, something stolen, a dirty book or DVD, forbidden cigarettes, alcohol or drugs.

For some the hiding becomes a lifestyle: the person who is unfaithful to a spouse, the teenager who won't come out of his/her room, the person who is cutting or throwing up food, the addict who keeps saying, "I'm just tired" when asked about drug use. Criminals hide money and weapons. They even speak of their hideout.

Very religious or pious people can hide in religion. Sometimes religion is called a vaccination against the real thing. These people live in a world of religious teachings, vocabulary, morality, worship and said prayers. And like a vaccination, it keeps them from experiencing the real thing - the little bit that prevents them from the transforming, freeing, joyful relationship with a living God. They seldom know how deep their hiding is. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. said, "I would have considered a vocation to the ministry if the clergy didn't so much resemble the undertaker."  And it is known that Gandhi was never baptized because, while he was fascinated with the person of Jesus Christ and his teachings, he never met a Christian who he felt was authentic.

Animals hide by their camouflage and people do too: dressing, talking, acting, walking, laughing, posturing so as to blend in and belong to the group. It's ultimately a way of hiding; were they to be themselves they might wind up being rejected, tormented or hurt.

But there is also a kind of holy hiding. Here is a Carthusian hermit- monk wearing his cowl up. He's kind of hiding, but so that he won't be noticed by the other monks who might think: Oh, there's Brother Stephen; he's so holy, so devout, such a good monk. The monk kind of hides in the room he creates with the hood around his face, so to be alone with God.

There are other monks who live in caves and on the tops of plateaus and mountains. Their food is pulled up in a basket by ropes. As the world goes, there are very few who live this kind of life, but some men and women do indeed choose to hide in God this deeply. When the rest of us are asleep or going about the busy-ness of the day or even being very sinful or silly, they pray for our weary world in all of its troubles.

Psalms are the poem-prayers of ancient Israel. Psalm 17:8 prays to God: "Hide me in the shelter of your wings." This is a very intense image. In desert climates a mother bird will stand the better part of the day with her wings open wide, umbrella-like, over her chicks hiding them  from the sun's heat. And after a great California  fire, which incinerated miles of forest, a group of fire fighters was walking through, putting out the last of the hot spots, when one of them kicked over a totally charred and blackened bird with its wings outstretched. As he did so, six agitated chicks came out from under their mother and scampered down the hillside. She hid them from death.

And in Matthew 23:37 Jesus likens himself to a mother hen, eager to gather her chicks around herself. An Ohio farmer told me that at the first sign of a vulture or hawk in the sky, the mother collects the chicks, hiding them under herself until the coast is clear.

When human mothers nurse their babies, often they cover them with a soft blanket, perhaps not so much for modesty but so to create a place of  safe intimacy, comfort, rest and calm. Hiding in Christ's wounds might be like that. But they are not raw,  bloody wounds. While they are real: Jesus showed and even invited the apostles to touch them (Luke 24:39,40)  they are now the transfigured signs of victory - heaven's signposts of life and love around which we can gather, all of us, finding ourselves and one-another as accepted and loved.

Father James Janda has written a great gift of a poem titled: Russian Easter. It appeared in America Magazine in April of 1997. I'd invite us to use it as an Easter time prayer, paying careful attention to the lines about Christ's Easter wounds.

Russian Easter

Gold onion
domes
rise
above the
snow in

Kiev

above the
leafless
trees

the gold

and in dark
woods
the silver wolf
watches

and in the
brush
blanketed
with snow the
rabbit chews

roots

and in the
church icons
glow in candle
light

and opening
lilies
scent
the air and

near

the icon of
the Mother
holding the
Child whose
shoe
unloosed running
from

fear

the priest
whispers
to
the penitent
that sins are seeds

from
which flowers
may grow

but only after
they
are buried

in Christ
our earth

whose wounds
after
the Resurrection
did
not disappear

but shone
more
than rubies
on a stole

or flowers
in snow

gold onion
domes
rise
above the
snow in
Kiev
under the
leafless
trees

the snow

can look
lemon
yellow
lavender blue
and
rose