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Sometimes it seems as if we’ve lost the capacity to engage in complicated conversations.  I get so frustrated with our political process sometimes.  How can we, as citizens, make good decisions about issues as complex as economic stimulus, immigration reform, health care, and world hunger, when every argument is reduced to a soundbyte?

In the wake of Pope Benedict XVI’s visit to Washington and New York, ordinary people of the United States have focused prolonged attention on the role of the religion in the world.  It’s a complicated issue.  Yet people stayed engaged for more than five minutes at a time.  As a Paulist seminarian, I find it especially fascinating.  I plan to devote my life to wrestling with the role of the Church in society, and right now, everyone’s talking about it!  (Believe me, when I was an optical engineer, I rarely attended dinner parties where people wanted to talk about my job.)

But the events of April 2008 are not the only time we’ve engaged in complicated discussions.  In the 1780s, the citizens of this country debated the pros and cons of the proposed U. S. Constitution.  Just last month, a particular campaign speech gained wide attention, in part because the candidate argued that genuinely good people can reach differing points of view.  Pretty complicated stuff for a stump speech.

God gave us the gift of reason, and it would be a disservice to our Creator not to engage in the tough questions of our time.  Why don’t we discuss complex issues more often?

Because it’s difficult.  We lead busy lives in a world overloaded with information.  Even if someone wants to make informed decisions about public education, global warming, or the relation between church and state, how does one find time to hear multiple perspectives and wrestle with the data?

I wish I had the answers.  But one thing I do know:  we can all strive to become better listeners.  Jesus shows us what’s required to be a good listener.  Listening requires energy.  When Nicodemus came in the middle of the night (John 2:23 – 3:21), Jesus didn’t just smile and nod at Nicodemus so that he could get back to bed.  Listening requires focusing our attention even when twenty other obligations are screaming out for our attention.  When Jesus was on his way to heal Jairus’s daughter, he still found time to speak with the woman with the hemorrhage (Mark 5:21-43).  Listening requires acknowledging that the other person has something to contribute to the conversation.  Jesus found merit in having dinner with a tax collector like Zaccheus (Luke 19:1-10).

Listening is hard work.  Nevertheless, it’s essential to bringing forth the kingdom of God.  As Jesus says in Matthew 11:15, “Whoever has ears ought to hear!”

Even the prediction of showers for Yankee Stadium receded as everything seemed perfectly in tune for the first visit of Pope Benedict XVI to the United States. Blossoms and balmy weather greeted him in Washington, permitting thousands to glimpse him in his pope-mobile, and thousands more to pray with him in the new Nationals Stadium.

New York was only slightly more cloudy as the Holy Father called for observing human rights at the U.N., visited a synagogue, spoke at the St. Patrick’s Cathedral, joined in a youth rally and celebrated the Mass at Yankee Stadium, the last time that will happen before that famed arena is taken down later this year.

Commentators all around were glowing, whether they spoke from a Catholic podium or in some other forum.  Many of us Paulists were involved in these broadcasts, acquitting ourselves with pride. Cameras caught the exceeding elegant robes of the Pope, and the yellow-and-white of the Vatican colors adorning every setting.  The Pope himself seemed quite at home, battling fatigue very well, maintaining his positive smile and reacting to the thousands who came to see him.

Perhaps what surprised everyone was the outright enthusiasm—not only for Benedict, but also, it seemed, for Catholicism.  Even as he spoke of his shame at recent scandals, and tried to apologize for the failings of Catholics, people seemed to be relieved that Catholicism in America, well battered by bad press for half a decade, was still alive.  Even more, there was the sense that, touched and stimulated in the right way, Catholicism could revive the vigor it seems to have recently lost.

One way to think about this would be to postulate that Catholicism is always vigorous and it’s just our taking it—in its many parishes, schools, hospitals, missions and ministries—for granted that makes it seem so fragile.  Another way to look at this would be to think that all Catholics need is an extraordinary opportunity to show their identity, and then they come out in droves.

So what happens now, after the glow of the visit?  Perhaps this is an opportunity to realize just how vibrant our faith can be. . . and just how much we tend to keep our heads in the sand.  Perhaps a more vigorous showing of Catholicism in America—a faith of strength and service—might get some folks who seem to have checked out to take a peek once again.  Who knows?  If they see a more resilient and expressive Church, they may even want to stay.

We are hearing the word “change” quite a bit from politicians and public speakers of every stripe, proving that this is the current principle bandwagon for everyone to jump on.  The discontents pile up around us, whether it’s the war, the economy, the pace of modern life, the place of America in the world, the absence of health care or the blandness of TV in spite of its many cable channels.

This raises the question of whether things really change in a fundamental way.  There is a ton of evidence for the proposition that, as the French say, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”  Everyday American life might have better appliances or better communications through computers or cell phones.  But the underlying issues of human meaning, value and actions have not moved very much at all.  We still wonder why we exist, why human being are disvalued by other human beings, and why we are as selfish and ornery as we are.

Over 180 years ago, young Isaac Hecker, one-day founder of the Paulists, was all abuzz with change, committing his time and some of his family’s money to improving the state of workers in immigrant New York through political movements.  He soon burned out, convinced that true change could only happen by the transformation of human beings spiritually.

This led Hecker on a spiritual odyssey which traversed most of the social and spiritual options for renewal in the first part of 19th Century America.  Having researched the religious movements of his day, Hecker settled on the Catholic Church because of its combination of spiritual authority, holiness, and its ability to join all social classes together in a world-wide community of faith.

As Easter dawns again, with its unique message of transformation by the power of God in the Holy Spirit – a transformation that shines upon everything and changes even death itself – it provides a time for us to reflect on the human desires widespread in society and the deepest human desires of our own hearts.  While we struggle for improvements in human society through politics, we seek transformation only from the Risen Christ.  With Fr. Hecker, we dare to say that religious transformation, in the pattern of the Spirit of Christ, would advance the human situation more than any specific set of policies.  Human political hopes are but signs of the deepest hopes of the human spirit.

Brothers and Paulist Associates,

Today we were at the Papal Audience. We had received three first row seats, Prima Fila, and also seats for the rest of the group in about the tenth row.

I asked John Kenny, who is celebrating his golden jubilee, and Paul Robichaud, the postulator for the cause of the Servant of God Isaac Hecker to join me. At the end of the audience the Holy Father walked along the first row. As I took his hand after reverencing his ring, I told him who I was and asked his special blessing upon us tomorrow which is Nuper Non Nulli. He responded, Paulist Fathers with a knowing smile. I then presented John Kenny and told him about his anniversary and finally that Paul was our Postulator.

Twice I had the honor at being at the mass of Pope John Paul II in his private chapel and meeting him afterwards.
This occasion for me was more moving as I was able to ask in behalf of all of your his blessing and prayers for our life and mission as Paulists and for others who share this with us so closely as our Associates.

This has been a week filled with ever so many blessings.

Fraternally and in Christ,
Father John F. Duffy
President, Paulist Fathers

(This reflection refers to the readings for the 4th Tuesday of Lent:  Ezekiel 47:1-9, 12 and John 5:1-16.)

In Jesus’ time, there was a belief that angels occasionally stirred up the water of the pool at the Sheep Gate.  People believed that they could be healed if they stepped into the pool while the waters were stirred up.

“Do you want to be made well?”

When Jesus asks this, we expect the paralytic to answer “yes,” but instead, he offers an explanation for why he hasn’t been able to reach the living waters in 38 years.  I don’t know about you, but after missing a few chances to be healed, I think I’d find a way to the water.  Smelly sheep and bad weather be darned, I’d cajole someone into laying me on the ledge of the pool, so I’d be ready to roll in at the first hint of bubbles.

That said, I must admit that there have been times in my life when I’ve complained about a bothersome situation, illness, or person, but when someone offered a solution to my problem, I discovered that I’d rather complain.  I guess I took comfort in the familiarity of my circumstances.  “Doing something” would require effort, risk, and facing the unknown.

“Do you want to be made well?”

We’re more than halfway through Lent.  Have we identified any shadows that we want to lighten, any contaminants that we want to purify, any wounds that we want to heal?  Are we willing to take risks, or do we derive some sort of perverse pleasure out of wallowing in our suffering?

“Do you want to be made well?”

Maybe we’ll find, as Ezekiel did, that if we’re willing to get our feet wet, the water that trickles from the sanctuary produces a river of purification, healing, and sustenance for every living creature.

When I was a kid we would compare what we were doing for Lent.  “I gave up candy” one would say; another: “I gave up candy and gum.”  We were in competition with one another.  The one who did the most, was the most faithful follower of Lent.  The competition we had with one another was bad enough, but not at the heart of the matter.  What we were really doing, without fully realizing it, was we were putting the center of attention upon ourselves, the “I”.  What “I’ was doing was the important thing.  We forgot that the center is not on ourselves and what we were doing, but rather the center is always on God, and what God is doing with and for us.

Lent is the opportunity that we have to center ourselves more on the presence of God in our lives and make God more the focus of our lives.  I and my actions come into play because it is my responsibility to remove whatever it is that is keeping me from a deeper relationship with my God.  The acts of penance, the prayer, the sacrifice and sharing I choose for Lent is not a value in themselves, but rather a means to an end – a deeper relationship with my God.  This is what we did not realize as kids and sometimes we forget as adults.

The Church gives us the traditional Lenten practices: prayer, fasting, almsgiving.  These are not ends in themselves but are meant to help us refocus our attention on God and open ourselves to his presence.  St. Augustine writes: “It is not through feet or wings but by desire that we come to God.”  Prayer helps us to focus on God; talking and above all, listening to God.  We realize the Lord is always with us, but how often do we focus on this presence?  How often do we rest and just be in the presence of God?  Fasting reminds us that we are in need of God in our lives.  Society so often tells us that we are to be self sufficient.  This is good when it gives us a healthy self image, but not if it leads to the belief that we do not need anyone, even God, in our lives.  By denying ourselves of something that leaves a void, such as hunger, reminds us that there are areas in our lives that only God can fill.  Almsgiving reminds us that all that we have is a gift of God, and that we are called to share.  Sharing with others also reminds us that there are those who are without, and we are called to look on them as brothers and sisters.  Our relationship with God is not merely God and me, but rather it is God and us.

It is not important what we do for Lent, or how often, or now much.  The essential element is quite different.  The important questions we are to ask ourselves are:  What do I need to do in my life to allow God to be more the center and focus of all that I do?  What do I need to do to rid myself of whatever it is that is keeping God from entering and remaining in my life?  How we answer these questions will determine the kind of Lent we will have this year.  Again to quote St. Augustine:  “God comes to our hearts like a farmer seeking land to possess.  If he finds it covered with woods, he roots out all the trees.  Once he has a clean field, he plants it with the trees of divine love.”  What are the trees in my life that need to be uprooted in order for the divine love of God to be planted?

Hardly a week goes by without a significant story being published concerning the mass killing of some group, whether it’s at a public building, or a job location, or a school. One wonders how many times we have to listen to the same story without the point coming through to us – there’s something the matter with the place and use of guns in American society.

I know this is an “American heresy,” with the likelihood that being against guns will be declared anathema by the Supreme Court when it rules on the issue this year. One lower court has already determined that the right of individual to bear arms – as distinct from the right of state militias – is the meaning of the Second Amendment. Experts say that the Supreme Court will likely endorse this idea.

So, I am a heretic, and, like a good heretic, will nail my one thesis to the door of modern blogospheres: whatever was meant by the Second Amendment back in the Eighteenth Century when it was adopted, it makes absolutely no sense now to support the widespread carrying of arms. In fact, the prevalence of guns in American society, as it exists now, can only be a recipe for continued tragedy. Pretending this is not the case simply shows how doctrinaire modern society can be.

What is different between today and the late Eighteenth Century? Quite simply, the density of people and the number of guns. It is one thing to have firearms in a mostly rural countryside, where shooting quail or scaring off vagrants can make a lot of sense. It is another thing to have firearms when people live and work as close to each other as we do, and where, for that reason, people can be the victims of other peoples’ neuroses much more readily.

I can in no way buy the argument that, if we ALL had guns, then everyone would be perfectly safe. Just look at those who do these shootings – isolated, angry, socially awkward people for whom the prospect of being shot themselves would seem more like a relief than a threat. No deterrence there. Rather than universal gun ownership, society should strive for a full range of reasonable restrictions, with a complete database of both weapons and gun shops, much as we regulate cars.

Fundamentalism in reading the Constitution is no more a virtue than fundamentalism in reading the Bible. If one cannot read what kind of world one is living in, one can hardly make a claim to be able to read, and apply, an ancient text.

Let’s abolish the Second Amendment! Or amend it to make sense for today.

I haven’t always wanted to be a priest, but I have always wanted to be a filmmaker. I know, that does not make me a whole hell of a lot different than a lot of Gen Xers, but it’s something that’s never quite left me. In fact, before I decided to join the Paulists, I had been taking some classes in film… in fact, the very next morning that sleepless “Field of Dreams” night, I had a visit scheduled to American University to look at their documentary film program.

When I told people that I was going to be entering seminary, people were mostly supportive but one or two people asked me if I was still going to do film. The funny thing about entering religious life is that it has made me morespan> able to pursue film and multimedia work, especially with the Paulists because of their focus on communications. While it’s far from being the onlyspan> reason I am here, it is a big part of it, and opportunities to pursue that are coming sooner than expected.

This year we will be celebrating the 150th Anniversary of the Paulists. It will be a year long celebration, but the big events will be happening during the end of June. I was asked by our historian to put together a multimedia piece to be played as the opening of the Mass that will be said for the deceased Paulists. Most of the photos are kept in our Paulist archives, an extensive collection of books and photographs that chronicle the community’s entire history, including original letters from our founder Isaac Hecker and even some artifacts from the contemporaries of the day, such as a signed letter from Thomas Edison.

The presentation will feature head shots of all of the Paulists who have passed, so I have been spending the last four days (before classes begin) pouring through our archives looking for photos to include in the video, and it has been an incredible look through history. The first photos I started scanning in (see above) were from the late 1800s, head shots that are printed on credit card sized cardboard. When I first saw them I thought they were baseball cards… I can imagine various religious of the day making trades while chewing bubble gum. (”I’ll trade you three Adrian Rosencrans for one Walter Elliot!”)

Okay, the joke only works if you’re a Paulist… I’ll try to avoid “inside” humor from now on.

You know in Photoshop where you can make a picture look old by applying a sepia tone? These pictures don’t need them! It is very cool… but at the same time, it has been a great opportunity to get an intimate look at the history of my new community. In fact, going through these photos I am really going through the history of America. (That’s our house in San Francisco below)
Even after having lived this life for eighteen months already, I still have to remind myself that everyone who has walked through these doors are just regular people. That was brought home to me when I got to the folder labeled Henry Ignatius Stark, who was a former superior of the community during World War 2. When scanning in his photos, he looked like a great guy to be around, and from many of them you would never even know he was a priest much less a superior. It gave me some solace as I continue through this process while trying to simultaneously grow into a better person while keeping myself intact.

For the finale, I found an original picture of a sister bringing her class to see John F. Kennedy. She had sent it to a Paulist with a note on the back. It made me wonder if someday I’ll have a (non-Photoshoped) picture of me and Barack Obama in this collection.

I am nowhere close to finished scanning, but since classes start tomorrow I have to head to bed. But all and all it has been a fun Ken Burns weekend.

From several sectors of those reporting on the various presidential campaigns which are starting to sweep from state to state, we hear voices demanding a more unifying vision for American politics. The politics of division, of class against class, race against race, rural against urban, rich against the impoverished, has had its day. It is time for a more bi-partisan, more unified perspective. Independents argue that the politics of division has brought us to gridlock, both internally and in terms of how we Americans are viewed by the world. “Enough,” everyone appears to be saying.

American culture, however, seems to like divisions, whether it is our favorite sports teams or whether it is our political configurations. Built into democracy, in which the majority rules, seems to be the categories of “winner” and “loser.” One obviously wins by helping one’s opponents lose. Or at least by hoping they do.

This quality, along with the way democracy seems to meld uncritically (and perhaps immorally) with the excesses of capitalism, might explain why there might always be some quibbling with mere democracy, or bald democracy. Fr. Hecker, who saw democracy as a potential ally to religion (and its spread), knew of the objections of not only Pope Pius IX, but many kinds of more classical, monarchist observers from afar.

Just as we might decry an uninformed democracy, so also must we decry a morally limp democracy. That we have the option to choose our leaders every four years does not, in itself, justify whatever choice we might make. Democracy, after all, is context sensitive: it might play one way in a meeting of mobsters, say, and another way when people elect mayors or presidents.

Isaac Hecker, our Paulist founder, argued for Catholicism precisely for what it would bring to democracy – the moral vision and, dare we say it, the unifying vision. When we acknowledge we are all sisters and brothers – made so by one loving God and one redeeming Christ – we might think of ourselves, and the meaning of our vote, a little differently. If sometimes the moral choices might be painted too naively by religious thinkers, none of that amounts to the argument that faith should have nothing to do with the meaning of our civil society.

To the extent that faith might be able to overcome the divisiveness that seems to beset the American electorate (often by the deliberate purposes of pundits and party leaders), to that extent it might move all of us closer to those transcendent ideals on which Father Hecker believed America itself rested.