What we think is the right road
My life is very busy and I don't have time for "spiritual reading." Even the Bible warns us that "there is no end to the writing of books, and too much study will wear you out" (Ecclesiastes 12:12).
But it's the wrong road
Some wag once said, "When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading." Reading of itself thus guarantees neither success nor salvation, for we can abandon or ignore reading when it challenges us, or we can read worthless or trashy material. Reading widely and well offers, we realize, no certainty of personal character and courage. Being well versed in the classics – in what is called the "great books" – cannot ensure that readers will be wise and noble and kind. Great readers can be fools and knaves.
One may resolve to read the Bible from front to back and then back to front; one may read all the books recommended in Father John McCloskey's "Catholic Lifetime Reading Plan"; or tackle the list offered to priests and seminarians by Father Gary Coulter; or consult Bill Bennett's shorter list of "Books Everyone Should Read" – and still, after all that, remain a dolt.
One philosopher who used to teach at Notre Dame pointed out that many students in personal crisis (a death in the family, a shattered romance, etc.) turned for guidance to the janitor in the academic building housing the philosophy department. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains: "The Holy Spirit can use the humblest to enlighten the learned and those in the highest positions" (2038).
Wisdom is the ability to discern the timeless in the temporal and the changeless amid change. I think that remarkable quality – wisdom – is invariably accompanied by humility, which was a characteristic of the truly wise janitor at Notre Dame, and humility may not be a quality of academically accomplished people.
Sometimes the "sage on the stage" is, in fact, a person whose knowledge and discernment we should prize. Other times, those who speak and write (gently clearing my throat as I type these words!) can and should be safely ignored. That is true of all authors, teachers, coaches and homilists.
Consider that the lessons taught by Our Lord were, in fact, widely ignored. The arguments advanced by many demagogues, however, have often been embraced over the centuries. How do we ensure that we listen to God's Word and reject what is contrary to the Gospel?
The answer is simple: Find the right advisors; listen to the best lectures; read the right books; examine yourself in the light of what is good and true and beautiful (Ps 1:1, Prv 12:15).
But we know we are inclined to sin (CCC 407, 408, 409 and 418). Sometimes, we can't see the moral forest for the trees – and sometimes we don't want to. It is exactly here that good reading can help us, if we let it. Reading widely and well must be complemented by reading wisely, meaning that there are morally healthful books, for all ages, that may help us to see things, and to think thoughts, and to examine our actions in the light of virtue (defined by the Catechism as "a habitual and firm disposition to do the good" which we develop by our own effort "aided by God's grace.")
A vicious refusal to grow in virtue cannot be overcome by good plays and poems. God has given us a yearning, though, for what is right, and good reading nourishes that desire. Reading about faith, responsibility, friendship, courage, industry and compassion – especially accompanied by earnest discussion under the direction of serious and seasoned mentors – helps us to be worthy of our Christian calling (refer to Eph 4:1, Phil 1:27).
All that said, I can't agree with the idea that we do not have time for spiritual reading. All of us tend to make time for the things that are important to us. There are, to be sure, many pressures on today's families, but is there no way to obtain even 20 minutes a day for the kind of reading which helps us distinguish right from wrong and good from evil? More than 20 years ago, "The Book of Virtues" was published; it contained great moral stories, many of them short and many of them seminal, meaning influential and able to stimulate thought about what we should do and what we should aspire to.
I understand "spiritual reading" in a broad sense. Three men, for example, have inspired me over the years, although I have too often let them down: Atticus Finch ("To Kill a Mockingbird"), Philip Rhayader ("The Snow Goose"), and Frank Skeffington ("The Last Hurrah"). These fictional men are certainly not Jesus, Aristotle, St. Paul or G.K. Chesterton – but they are, and have been, important to me in many ways over the years. These characters are not my parents or my best teachers and priests; they share my mental "stage" with many others, including certain sports figures and even some movie heroes, but I repeatedly come back to Atticus, Philip and Frank.
If good reading is no insurance against failure (and it isn't), good reading – spiritual reading – always offers us at least the golden opportunity to nourish our moral lives. As Father Bede Jarrett once put it: "I cannot hope to keep my soul alive unless I continually give it the food that it needs": a comment he makes in an essay entitled "Make Time for Spiritual Reading." St. Augustine heard the words "Tolle lege!" ("Take up and read!"), inspiring his subsequent conversion. "Tolle lege!" is good advice for us, too.
Deacon James H. Toner is currently associated at Our Lady of Grace Church in Greensboro.
Tonight (Holy Thursday) we celebrate the Mass of the Lord's Supper, which celebrates the institution of the Most Holy Eucharist – Jesus present among us Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity, and the institution of the sacred priesthood, without which the Eucharist would not be possible.
When thinking about this particular celebration, I think the Lord has been asking me to reflect on priesthood and Eucharist and why these two realities are inseparable.
I was only 14 years old when I had my first contact with a Catholic priest or the Catholic Church. I was searching for a deeper relationship with the Lord, and I was looking all over for it. The first time I walked into a Catholic church, though, I sensed that something was clearly different. It was a completely different experience from any of the other churches I had visited or attended. Obviously there were the external things: the statues, the altar rail, the crucifix, the votive candles. But what struck me was a deep sense of Presence, emanating from the tabernacle. The red candle and the tabernacle exuded a Presence that shook me inside. Everything in me said, "God is here." That experience led to the beginning of my Catholic life.
The first priest I encountered was Monsignor Eugene Livelsberger. As his name indicates he was of German decent, and he could instill a healthy fear of God in just about anybody, but definitely a naïve Baptist boy from Hickory. There was something else about Monsignor, however, that I came to know. While the folks who didn't take the time to get to know him thought he was rough and autocratic, the priest I came to know and love had the heart of a true father. He loved his people, and he loved them so much that he would always tell them the truth – even when it hurt. For that he was often hurt by the people he loved, but he persevered and pressed on.
I still remember the day Monsignor Livelsberger announced his retirement. I don't know what the situation was, but there was a particularly unpleasant altercation between him and a new parishioner from somewhere up north who thought Monsignor should do things his way. Monsignor stood his ground, of course, and whatever followed must have been very painful because he broke down in tears during the celebration of Mass and announced that he was retiring. That experience taught me a lot about that particular priest and a lot about the priesthood.
You see, we priests are neither super-human nor inhuman. We are simply human. We laugh, we cry, we get angry, and we can be hurt. We can be stubborn, we can be humble, we can be loving, and we can be hateful. We can be all of the things everyone else can be, but in the midst of all that, we have to be something that not everyone can be. We have to be Christ for others. We have to be an "alter Christus," another Christ.
While with that call in this world comes many blessings too countless to number, it also brings with it the reality of the cross. A reality that the world does not understand and which many simply reject. Yet that cross has to be our greatest treasure as priests, because it is only through the crucifixion that we can experience the Eucharist and the resurrection.
Recently ISIS members in Yemen broke into a compound of the Missionaries of Charity where the sisters ran a home for the aged and infirm. The terrorists killed the guards, and they killed the sisters. But they kidnapped the priest. Rather than running to hide when he heard the commotion, Father Tom Uzhunnalil, the chaplain, ran to the chapel and consumed the reserved Blessed Sacrament so that the terrorists could not desecrate it.
What he did before being apprehended is really at the heart of what we celebrate tonight. Because we believe and know by faith that after they are consecrated at Mass at the hands of the priest, ordinary bread and wine become the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus. Father Tom knew that his first obligation was not to try to save himself, or anyone else for that matter, but to protect His Lord and God in the Eucharist, who makes Himself weak and humble so that we, undeserving as we are, can receive Him.
The Eucharist, at least in the Western or Latin Church, is entrusted to celibate priests not because we are perfect; we are certainly not. The Eucharist is entrusted to us because we can sacrifice everything for our Lord and our people, even to the point of shedding our blood.
A recently ordained priest was sharing with me recently something that one of his professors told him regarding Auschwitz. On a wall at the concentration camp, there is a hash mark record of people who died there, different nationalities, different groupings. The wall where the clergy are listed separates them by denomination, and under the section where the Catholic priests are numbered, the hash marks are quite numerous. Why? Because they were unencumbered by families or earthly concerns. They could give themselves so others might live, as St. Maximilian Kolbe did, and they could resist the Nazi propaganda because they could not be threatened with the death of their families if they failed to submit. They were celibates for the Kingdom.
Celibacy often gets a bad rap, but it is a gift that allows us to give ourselves completely – not in marriage, but in sacrifice. It's what allows us to take the sick call at two in the morning or drop everything to go and hear someone's confession. It is not always easy, and it is certainly not for every man. But for those who are called to make the sacrifice it is worth it, because in the mystery of it all, it is the gift that allows greater giving and greater sacrifice. And, most importantly, it is the gift that allows the one sacrifice of Christ to continue so that all might be nourished with His Body and Blood.
One of my favorite descriptions of the priesthood was written by a Dominican priest, Father Henri Lacordaire. I ask you to pray it for your priests. Pray for the priests you've known in the past, the priests you know now, and the priests the Lord will send you in the future. Our diocese is embarking on a wonderful adventure by beginning a college seminary this fall, and we need your prayers and your sacrifices so that we who are priests now and those who will be priests in the future will have the strength, the courage and the love to embrace the cross and follow Christ.
To live in the midst of the world
Without wishing its pleasures;
To be a member of each family,
Yet belonging to none;
To share all suffering;
To penetrate all secrets;
To heal all wounds;
To go from men to God and offer Him their prayers;
To return from God to men to bring pardon and hope;
To have a heart of fire for Charity,
And a heart of bronze for Chastity;
To teach and to pardon,
Console and bless always.
My God, what a life; and it is yours,
O priest of Jesus Christ.
Father John Putnam is the pastor of St. Mark Church in Huntersville. This is excerpted from a homily he delivered March 24 for the Mass of the Lord's Supper.