IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Raissa Maritain, the philosopher and spiritual writer, died some months after suffering a stroke. During those months she lay in a hospital bed, unable to speak. After her death, her husband, the renowned philosopher, Jacques Maritain, in preparing her journals for publication, wrote these words:
“At a moment when everything collapsed for both of us, followed by four agonizing months, Raissa was walled in herself by a sudden attack of aphasia. Whatever progress she made during several weeks by sheer force of intelligence and will, all deep communication remained cut off. And subsequently, after a relapse, she could barely articulate words. In the supreme battle in which she was engaged, no one on earth could help her, myself no more than anyone else. She preserved the peace of her soul, her full lucidity, her humor, her concern for her friends, the fear of being a trouble to others, and her marvelous smile and the extraordinary light of her wonderful eyes. To everyone who came near her, she invariably gave (and with what astonishing silent generosity during her last two days, when she could only breathe out her love) some sort of impalpable gift which emanated from the mystery in which she was enclosed.”
The emphasis on the last sentence is my own and I highlight it because, I believe, it has something important to say in an age where, more and more, we are coming to believe that euthanasia and various forms of physician-assisted suicide are the humane and compassionate answer to terminal illness.
The case for euthanasia generally revolves around these premises: Suffering devalues human life and euthanasia alleviates that suffering and the ravages of the body and mind that come with that suffering so as to provide a terminally ill person “death with dignity” and death with less suffering. As well, it is argued, that once an illness has so debilitated a person so as to leave him or her in a virtual vegetative state, what is the logic for keeping such a person alive? Once dignity and usefulness are gone, why continue to live?
What’s to be said in response to this? The logic for euthanasia, compassionate in so far as it goes, doesn’t go far enough to consider a number of deeper issues. Dignity and usefulness are huge terms with more dimensions than first meet the eye. In a recent article in America magazine, Jessica Keating highlights some of those deeper issues as she argues against the logic of those who have lauded Brittany Maynard’s (the young woman who captured national attention last year by choosing assisted suicide in the face of a terminal illness) decision to take her own life as “courageous,” “sensible,” and “admirable.”
Keating concedes that, had she not made that decision, Maynard would no doubt have suffered greatly and would in all likelihood eventually been rendered unproductive and unattractive.  But, Keating argues, “she would have been present in a web of relationships. Even if she had fallen unconscious, she likely would have been read to, washed, dressed and kissed. She would have been gently caressed, held and wept over. She would simply have been loved to the end.”
That’s half the argument against euthanasia. The other half reads this way: Not only would she have been loved to the end, but, perhaps more importantly, she would have been actively emitting love until the end. From her ravaged, silent, mostly-unconscious body would have emanated an intangible, but particularly powerful, nurture and love, akin to the powerful life-giving grace that emanated from Jesus broken, naked body on the cross.
We too seldom make this important distinction: We believe that Jesus saved us through his life and through his death, as if these were the same thing. But they are very different: Jesus gave his life for us through his activity, his usefulness, through what he could actively do for us. But he gave his death for us through his passivity, through his helplessness, through the humiliation of his body in death. Jesus gave us his greatest gift precisely during those hours when he couldn’t do anything active for us.
And this isn’t something simply metaphorical and intangible.  Anyone of us who have sat at the bedside of a dying loved one have experienced that in that person’s helplessness and pain he or she is giving us something that he or she couldn’t give us during his or her active life. From that person’s helplessness and pain emanates a power to draw us together as family, a power to intuit and understand deeper things, a deeper appreciation of life, and especially a much deeper recognition of that person’s life and spirit. And this, impalpable gift, as Maritain says, emanates from the mystery of pain, non-utility, and dying in which he or she is enclosed.
In our dying bodies we can give our loved ones something we cannot fully give them when we are healthy and active. Euthanasia is partially blind to the mystery of how love is given.
(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, TX.)

Guest Column
Sister Margie Lavonis, CSC
We have a loving and compassionate God and Jesus calls us to practice these virtues in our lives. This is our mission as Christians.  Here are some practical ways to be more holy and compassionate so as to fulfill Christ’s command.
When I was growing up we learned about the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.  They were tools for living a good Christian life. They show us how to be loving and compassionate.
Jesus tells us about the corporal works of mercy in chapter 25 of the Gospel of Matthew.  He challenges us to feed the hungry; to give drink to the thirsty; to clothe the naked; to visit the imprisoned; to shelter the homeless; to visit the sick and to bury the dead. We will be judged by how we do these things.
At first glance we might think that we are rarely presented with opportunities to exercise these many of these good works. But, if we look a little closer, we might be surprised how often we are presented with ways to do some of these actions.  For instance, feeding the hungry and the thirsty does not have to be limited to literal food and water. People have all kinds of hungers and often thirst for many things. A common hunger that we all share is the hunger for love. We can help satisfy that hunger by reaching out to people, especially the lonely and being kind and generous to others when it would be easier not to be involved. Maybe there is someone at work or at a place I volunteer who needs my time and/or friendship. It could even be a family member who I tend to neglect or overlook.
Another hunger that we all share is the hunger to be listened to and have people really care about what we say. This hunger is often so great that some people resort to paying for this service in therapy when all they might really need is a listening ear. Begin by giving your whole attention to people who are speaking to you.
There are also people who thirst for affirmation.  How many times are you presented with opportunities to affirm the gifts of others, to let them know that you notice the good that they do, but never get around to it?
We can also clothe the naked. It might be as easy as opening my closet and deciding I don’t need 20 pairs of slacks and several dresses that I haven’t worn for years. A priest told me that he has a ritual he does every Good Friday. He goes through his clothes and gives away everything he hasn’t worn for the past two years.
The next question is how do we visit the imprisoned?  We don’t have to literally go to prisons or jails. That is good, if the opportunity arises, but there are other ways people can be imprisoned. Maybe I could confront those who are imprisoned by drugs or alcohol or other addictions and encourage them to get help. Another group of “imprisoned” persons are the elderly or disabled who could use a visit, call, or e-mail.
To shelter the homeless might mean volunteering at a shelter. Sometimes you may have opportunities to visit the sick but something holds you back. I may not like hospitals and funeral homes? If so, maybe we can at least send get well or sympathy cards.
Even more challenging are the spiritual works of mercy. They call us to admonish the sinner; to instruct the ignorant; to counsel the doubtful; to comfort the sorrowful; to bear wrongs patiently; to forgive all injuries and to pray for the living and the dead!
At first glance these seem very overwhelming. You may feel hypocritical admonishing a person when I do many things that are not great. One way might be to point out another’s destructive behavior — not in a righteous way but out of true care or by saying something or at least changing the subject when we find ourselves in a negative conversation. To instruct the ignorant might mean sharing my beliefs with people who have little or no knowledge of Christianity. And one way to comfort the sorrowful is to acknowledge their pain and to be there for them.
To bear wrongs patiently is not easy. It takes much strength not to lash out against those who treat us unjustly. Jesus’ command to turn the other cheek is down right hard and takes a lot of practice. A suggestion is to pray for them.
A related spiritual work of mercy is to forgive all injuries, even if we have been hurt deeply. There are times when I have felt this to be impossible. I try to remember what one of my spiritual directors said. Sometimes we are so hurt that we have to pray for the desire to forgive.
Finally, compassionate people express their concern for others in prayer. During these days of Lent it might be helpful to focus on one or two of these works that needs to be strengthened in our lives.
(Sister Lavonis is a freelance writer for the Sisters of the Holy Cross.)

Complete the Circle
By George Evans
A funny thing happened as I started Lent. I was geared to lose substantial weight and started my diet on Monday before Ash Wednesday. Daily Mass after exercise was on the program. Ash Wednesday and Thursday went fine until about 7:30 p.m. when I was overwhelmed with severe stomach pains and related gastro-intestinal problems. I had never had anything like this before. My wife, Carol, called an ambulance and I finally got to the ER at St. Dominic where I lay in the hallway for a while until a treatment room became available.
An IV was finally started (two paramedics had given up because veins seemed to have disappeared due to severe dehydration), merciful morphine was given and finally I went for a CT scan around midnight and they thought I had diverticulitis. By 3 a.m. I reached a room for the rest of a sleepless night. I saw a wonderful hospitalist the next morning and he wasn’t sure of the diagnoses and wanted to watch things. Toward the end of the day he still wasn’t sure and I was still sick and not sure the Lord wasn’t calling me home. He ordered an abdominal sonogram for Saturday morning. That was the trick.
He immediately diagnosed badly infected gall bladder with sepsis and e-coli in the blood stream. I selected a general surgeon from the three on weekend call. He came and agreed wholeheartedly with the internist and got my attention by scheduling surgery for 7:30 a.m. Sunday. I knew they saw something that needed immediate attention. I felt so bad I was pleased with the urgency. I think prayer and desperately clutching the Lord had gotten me to that point.
The surgery went well except the trip to surgery on Sunday morning at 7:30 almost scared me to death because everything was so dark and utterly quiet. I felt like I was going to the morgue and never was so happy to see a surgical nurse and the bright surgical lights on arrival.
The surgical pain upon awakening was very tolerable (laproscopic) and I thanked God again for medical advances and a great surgeon. I still felt terrible otherwise. Sepsis will knock you for a loop. It took another three days in the hospital before I began to feel like a human again. I had eaten nothing but ice chips and a little juice and liquids for six days. After two days I improved enough to go home after a week of hospitalization.
I have now been home a week. I have thought and prayed a lot. I have thanked God, the doctors, health care folks, Father Dan Gallagher and Father Mike O’Brien and other visitors. Even though I hope I am never that sick again, I can honestly say I have had  a positive experience. To be knocked low and down with time to pray and read good commentaries and God stuff is not all bad. To be utterly dependent on God and others brings the Lenten message home with force and reality. To experience the care and concern of health providers and spouse and children is nothing to belittle and helps frame suffering as God may see it. I have never invited suffering and never will but what I experienced I believe will help me in the future to face it again if come it will.
If you have to get sick, Lent is not a bad time for it to happen. The daily scriptures and the wonderful reflections available help improve the closeness with God which the sickness and pain initiate. I share just one example. The Lazarus story is one of my favorites.  The rich man, dressed in purple, and Lazarus, who had lain at his door with his sores, both died.  Lazarus went to the bosom of Abraham and the rich man was in torment begging for help. But what had the rich man done for his punishment.
He had not been mean to Lazarus. He had not kicked him or abused him. He knew who he was. He had simply ignored him. He had not been generous as the biblical tradition that Abraham had exemplified and taught and as Lent brings home to us every year.
Does not this parable challenge us directly to respond to the enormous need we see locally and world wide. In his commentary on this gospel in “This Day,” John Klassen, OSB, abbot of Saint John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota reflects:
One of the scourges of globalization is the maldistribution of wealth. In 2014 the relief agency Oxfam reported that just one percent of the world’s population now controls nearly half of the planet’s wealth. The study says this tiny slice of humanity controls $110 trillion, or 65  times the total wealth of the poorest 3.5 billion people. In the U.S., the gap between rich and poor has grown at a faster rate than any other developed country: the top one percent captured 95 percent of post-recession  growth (since 2009), while 90 percent of Americans became poorer.
The numbers are staggering. Abbott Klassen  suggests that sometimes we don’t see the needy people in front of us. Sometimes our mental constructs impair our vision, and we don’t help. Is this not reminiscent of the rich man? Maybe if we all first see the needy person in front of us and start by helping him/her then we begin to address the global situation. Back on my feet and close to God by suffering and prayer, and even having lost a few pounds, I hope to start anew.
(George Evans is a pastoral minister at Jackson St. Richard Parish.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Going to Heaven – By Good Luck or by God’s Grace? This is a thought inside the head of Marilynne Robinson’s fictional character, Lila, in Robinson’s recent novel. Lila has reason to think that way, that is, to think outside the box of conventional religious piety because her story is not one that fits piety of any kind.
Lila had been an unwanted orphan, dying from malnutrition and neglect, when at a young age she was taken up by a woman named Dolly, herself a social outcast. Lila spends all the years of her youth with Dolly, traveling with her as the two of them live on the edges of society and hunger, working as agricultural laborers with others like themselves, more slaves than paid workers.  Living this way, Lila never learns the social skills needed to function normally in society. Everything in her background, from her abandonment as a child to her life-long marginalization, sets her up to be a loner, someone condemned by circumstance to never find normal companionship, family, intimacy or grace.
Moreover, Dolly, her surrogate mother, has her own problems, beyond her struggles to feed Lila and herself. When she took up Lila and fled from their hometown, she was fleeing domestic violence. Eventually, years later, the man from whom she was fleeing finds her; but Dolly is no passive victim. She knifes the man to death. Sometime later, she dies, orphaning Lila a second time.
But, by now, Lila is old enough to take care of herself, except, lacking social skills, she still finds herself at the margins of society, ever the loner. Luck, though, is on her side and she is eventually befriended by a Christian minister who takes care of her and eventually marries her. This new world of acceptance, love, family and religion is radically new to Lila and she struggles mightily to sort it out, especially regarding how love and grace work.
One of the problems that bother her, as she listens to her husband’s Christian sermons, is what happens to someone like Dolly, who did so much for her, and yet was a murderer. Is she forgiven? Could she have gone to heaven, even after committing murder? Lila struggles to believe in faith, love, family life, forgiveness and heaven.
Her thoughts on this, especially on how Dolly might have met her Maker, contain their own important insights into love and grace: “In eternity, people’s lives could be altogether what they were and had been, not just the worst things they ever did, or the best things either. So she decided that she should believe in it, or that she believed in it already.  How else could she imagine seeing Dolly again? Never once had she taken her to be dead, plain and simple.
If any scoundrel could be pulled into heaven just to make his mother happy, it couldn’t be fair to punish scoundrels who happened to be orphans, or whose mothers didn’t even like them, and who would probably have better excuses for the harm they did than the ones who had somebody caring about them. It couldn’t be fair to punish people for trying to get by, people who were good by their own lights, when it took all the courage they had to be good. … Eternity had more of every kind of room in it than this world did.”
As Christians, we believe that, as part of the Body of Christ, we have been given the power to forgive each other’s sins and that, because of that, indeed a mother’s love can pull her child into heaven. Our love for each other is a powerful vehicle of grace, powerful enough to actually open the gates of heaven. As Gabriel Marcel once put it: To love someone is to, in effect, say: You at least will never die! Human love, even this side of eternity, has that kind of power. That’s also why we pray for loved ones who have died. Our love has the power to reach them, even there.
But, and this was Lila’s quandary: What about those who, like Dolly and herself, are outsiders in this life and who die without anyone much caring about the fact that they’ve gone or where they’ve gone? How do grace and forgiveness work then? Is human love then purely out of the picture and we are left only with the hope that God’s love can fill in where human love is absent?
Yes, God’s love can and does fill in where human love is absent. In fact, scripture assures us that God has a special love, and tenderness, for those who find themselves outside of the circle of human love. So we need not worry about the salvation of those who, like Dolly, died in less-than-ideal circumstances, even as they “took all the courage they had to be good.” Human love, while generally directed towards very specific persons, is also a symphony whose music circles wide and ultimately embraces everyone.
(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, TX.)

Reflections on Life
By Father Jerome LeDoux, SVD
A 20-something lady was helping me transfer things from one car to another. Perhaps noticing that her lively pace outstepped me at every turn, she volunteered pointedly with a satisfied smile, “I am enjoying my youth!” Translated, that almost seemed to be saying, “How on earth do you old coots tolerate creeping old age?”
“You’ll enjoy your old age too, God willing,” I returned so low that she might have missed completely my hesitant effort to respond to such a pointed remark.
To get her attention, I could have said that at her age I could whistle a baseball toward the catcher well into the nineties, could break off a mean curve, could drive the ball 400-plus feet, run with the best, could snare a football pass nine feet in the air on a dead run-and-leap, could jump under a basketball rim and pop it.
“That was yesterday,” I mused, and as the song continues, “but yesterday’s gone.” One distant day a weightlifting high school seminarian at St. Augustine Seminary in Bay Saint Louis  was pressing 100 pounds. To his utter surprise, I reached down with my right hand and snatched it over my head. When he winced, for seconds I reached down again and snatched it over my head once more.
Needless to say, if I tried anything close to that now, I would need both an osteopath and a chiropractor. “Flights of fancy,” we call such memories we all have. Such was the case as I topped the hill of four score and five on February 26. And how is life in the mid-eighties? So far, I can hardly tell the difference from one year ago.
Nevertheless, there are some pointed items of interest. Never too cool to school, I notice that the tendency to shuffle is trying to grow stronger. This means that, unless he exerts extra caution, an older person compensates for a decrease in physical strength by dragging his feet instead of lifting them, especially on turns.
When one drags his feet in making a sudden turn to the left or right, the sole of the sandal/shoe grabs the rug or uneven surface, setting up a serious stumble or trip. In this maneuver, the body turns before the feet do, causing an entanglement of the feet that can easily trigger a painful fall that may result in some kind of injury.
A hazardous carryover from dragging one’s feet can happen when one moves to go around a chair, table or other object. The slouchiness resulting from weakened muscles inclines one to take shortcuts, and that causes one to clip the edges of objects instead of moving cleanly around them. That in turn can end in a crash. In spite of this ever-looming threat, I must continually remind myself to move wide.
This same awareness and caution of movement holds doubly strong for vertical travel up and down steps or hills. Weakening muscles also try to avoid the labor of lifting one’s feet high enough above a stair step to avoid tripping. More and more, a conscious effort must be made to assure one of stepping high enough.
For decades, all the way into my late forties, I literally streaked up and down flights of stairs, often mounting the flight in two bounds. In all those years I had one harmless slip on a flight of stairs, one slip on a landing and one interesting stumble halfway down a 22-step staircase. Flying through the air with the greatest of ease, I hit the deck with a crash and roll, no worse for the wear. So hard is a young body.
Nowadays, the very thought of such a stumble and rough landing steadies my every move around stairs, high precipices and uneven surfaces. For the young, the key to sureness and safety of movement is the combination of power, balance and dexterity of motion. Eventually eroded by time and usage, that great combination can be salvaged only partially by meticulous attention to one’s environs.
In a blast from the past, every now and then, I catch myself striding with near abandon, although running with abandon is out of the picture. I invariably smile as I walk that special walk, remembering the way it was so many summers ago.
It still startles me that I live free of any dependence on reading or magnifying glasses, reading a computer screen for many hours with no signs of strain, reading books or annoyingly-small texts of food ingredients or signs in the ambient world.
Since April 30, 1996, forgoing all meats, seafood, dairy, salt, sugar and caffeine has served me well, normalizing all my body organs and fluids to the point where I live free of pain and medications, except for the baby aspirin daily regimen.
No day is a work day, because every day is a bonus, a vacation, a special gift of God that brings with it more joy, more rewards, more thanks for all the relatives, friends and others in my life. How long will I live? Till I die. That’s enough for me.
(Father Jerome LeDoux, SVD, is pastor of Our Mother of Mercy Parish in Fort Worth, Texas. He has written “Reflections on Life since 1969.)

Forming our future
By Jennifer Henry
While I was having lunch with my daughter, Mary, a couple came up to our table and said to me, “ I just want to thank you for taking such good care of my granddaughter at the daycare.” The grandmother went on to say that she had met me when her daughter came to take a tour of our early learning center.  I remembered her and could see in her eyes the resemblance to her granddaughter, Lilly Claire.  An overwhelming feeling of gratitude came over me! What a gift I have been given!  The opportunity to love and watch the 107 young children at St. Paul Early Learning Center grow and learn is a blessing and a privilege.
I said to my daughter what I had said when she and her siblings were growing up – “it takes a village to raise a child.”  You need lots of people to love your children!  We fondly  remembered  “Ms. Faye,” “Ms. Carolyn,” “Mrs. Lamar,” “Mrs. Wilcox” and how much a part of our lives these wonderful teachers and caregivers were.
I have been a principal leader at the elementary and high school level but now, as director of an early learning center, I feel even more passionate that our students’ first experience in education be rich in language and reading, music and song, play and fun, delivered by teachers sharing God’s love through their care.  As expert in Catholic education, Thomas Groome, says, “It is a sacred privilege and an awesome responsibility to be an educator.”
What do children need most though in those early years to succeed? Is it learning through play, or learning the ABC’s, colors, pushing forward and preparing them to pass the tests that lie ahead?  Have we forgotten what Friedrich Froebel, the German educator, who coined the name “kindergarten” originally meant – “a garden of children” – a place where each child is nurtured with the same love and care given to a seedling. Our modern day expert Mister Rogers might have said it best about early childhood learning, “Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning.  But for children, play is serious learning.”
At a recent workshop presented by Christ United Methodist Preschool Program Director, Terre Harris, my staff and I were introduced to a book called, “Their Name is Today – Reclaiming Childhood in a Hostile World” by Johann Christoph Arnold.  The title of the book comes from Nobel Laureate, Gabriela Mistral:
“We are guilty of many errors and many faults, but our worst crime is abandoning the children, neglecting the fountain of life. Many things can wait. Children cannot. Right now their bones are being formed, their blood is being made, and their senses are being developed.  To them we cannot answer, “Tomorrow.” Their name is today.”
Terre talked about the importance of play, how tired parents are, how distracting cell phones are in raising children, the importance of reading and talking to young children, affirming the role of the teacher/caregiver and how it is critical to seize the time we have with our children. Terre’s presentation confirmed and energized the St. Paul’s staff’s focus on play, and learning through doing.
At St. Paul Early Learning Center we have enrolled in Quality Stars – Mississippi’s Quality Rating and Improvement System (QRIS). The QRIS is a tiered block system. Programs must meet all criteria at one level before advancing to the next level. The program is administered by the Mississippi State University Early Childhood Institute through a competitive grant process from the Mississippi Department of Human Services Division of Early Childhood Care and Development. The requirements go above and beyond basic licensure requirements. Participating centers must meet all licensure requirements to participate.
My staff and I have found the Quality Stars program to be quite challenging. We are a 1 STAR but have great aspirations to improve and progress to at least a 3 or 4 STAR in the next year.  I believe the program provides an outstanding framework to achieve the important things in early childhood education: protection of health and safety, building relationships with children, family and community and opportunities for learning by doing.  Using this framework with our own Catholic school mission to teach the whole child – mind, body and spirit, brings a rich curriculum to our early learners.
We have great hope in successfully meeting our goal. We ask the readers of Mississippi Catholic to keep all Catholic educators and our programs in your prayers. Children are fragile like young seedlings and “their name is today.”
Carl Jung said it well, “One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feelings. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child.”
(Jennifer Henry is the director of  Flowood St. Paul Early Learning Center)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Numerous groups and individuals today are challenging us in regards to our relationship to mother-earth. From Green Peace, various environmental groups, various Christian and other religious groups and various individual voices, comes the challenge to be less-blind, less-unthinking and less-reckless in terms of how we relate to the earth.
Every day our newscasts point out how, without much in the way of serious reflection, we are polluting the planet, strip-mining its resources, creating mega-landfills, pouring carbon dangerously into the atmosphere, causing the disappearance of thousands of species, creating bad air and bad water and thinning the ozone layer.
And so the cry goes out: live more simply, use fewer resources, lessen your carbon footprint, and try to recycle whatever you’ve used as much as you can.
That challenge, of course, is very good and very important. The air we breathe out is the air we will eventually inhale and so we need to be very careful about what we exhale. This planet is our home and we need to ensure that, long-term, it can provide us with the sustenance and comfort of a home.
But, true as this is, there’s still another very important reason why we need to treat mother-earth with more caution and respect, namely, Christ himself is vitally bound-up with nature and his reasons for coming to earth also include the intention of redeeming the physical universe. What’s implied here?
Let me begin with an anecdote which captures, in essence, what’s at stake: The scientist-theologian, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, in conversation with a Vatican official who was confused by his writings and doctrinally-suspicious of them, was once asked “What are you trying to do in your writings?”
Teilhard’s response, “I am trying to write a Christology that is wide enough to incorporate the full Christ because Christ is not just an anthropological event but he is also a cosmic phenomenon.”  Simply translated, he is saying that Christ didn’t just come to save people. He came for that yes, but he also came to save the planet, of which people are only one part.
In saying that, Teilhard has solid scriptural backing. Looking at the scriptures we find that they affirm that Christ didn’t just come to save people, he came to save the world. For example, the Epistle to the Colossians (1, 15-20) records an ancient Christian hymn which affirms both that Christ was already a vital force inside the original creation (“that all things were made through him”) and that Christ is also the end point to of all history, human and cosmic.
The Epistle to the Ephesians, also recording an ancient Christian hymn, (1, 3-10) makes the same point; while the Epistle to the Romans (8,19-22) is even more explicit in affirming that physical creation, mother-earth and our physical universe, are “groaning” as they too wait for redemption by Christ. Among other things, these texts affirm that the physical world is part of God’s plan for eventual heavenly life.
What’s contained in that, if we tease out its implications? A number of very clear principles:  First, nature, not just humanity, is being redeemed by Christ. The world is not just a stage upon which human history plays out; it has intrinsic meaning and value beyond what it means for us as humans. Physical nature is, in effect, brother and sister with us in the journey towards the divinely-intended end of history. Christ also came to redeem the earth, not just those of us who are living on it. Physical creation too will enter in the final synthesis of history, that is, heaven.
Second, this means that nature has intrinsic rights, not just the rights we find convenient to accord it. What this means is that defacing or abusing nature is not just a legal and environmental issue, it’s a moral issue. We are violating someone’s (something’s) intrinsic rights.
Thus when we, mindlessly, throw a coke-can into a ditch we are not just breaking a law we are also, at some deep level, defacing Christ. We need to respect nature, not, first of all, so that it doesn’t recoil on us and give us back our own asphyxiating pollution, but because it, akin to humanity, has its own rights. A teaching too rarely affirmed.
Finally, not least, what is implied in understanding the cosmic dimension of Christ and what that means in terms of our relationship to mother-earth and the universe is the non-negotiable fact that the quest for community and consummation within God’s Kingdom (our journey towards heaven) is a quest that calls us not just to a proper relationship with God and with each other, but also to a proper relationship with physical creation.
We are humans with bodies living on the earth, not disembodied angels living in heaven, and Christ came to save our bodies along with our souls; and he came, as well, to save the physical ground upon which we walk since he was the very pattern upon which and through which the physical world was created.
(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, TX.)