FROM THE HERMITAGE
By Sister alies therese

If you are awaiting a new adventure, then now is just the time to explore. Often, we get stuck in our routines and simple paths, ministries and works of hope – things we are sure we have to do. Advent, however, is a time of awaiting something new…something that will prick our hearts and open us up for a new and deepening relationship.

Perhaps it was during advent that Grandma Moses began painting? “If I didn’t start painting, I would have raised chickens!” (My Life’s Story) She began painting at an elderly age (like 91 or so) … and painted until she passed on. What did that adventure afford her? Notoriety of course, perhaps a bit of money but likely it opened her heart to beauty, to color, to a new kind of freedom.

Gwendolyn Brooks, an American poet wrote her song “In The Front Yard”: “I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. I want to peek at the back where it’s rough and untended and hungry weeds grow. A girl gets sick of a rose.” How can anyone get sick of a rose you might ask? Well, despite its beauty, there may be something in the back yard that takes us to the next level.

The coming of Jesus was like that I suspect. Jewish life was such a rose. And then an adventure Mary could not have imagined, Joseph wondered about, and the rest of us have to explore in faith, perhaps a new faith. Who knew? Did every young woman dream of bearing the Messiah? Did Mary? What she was offered in the back yard was well beyond what she imagined. Yet her response to the adventurous offer was … ”I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be done to me as you say.” (Luke 1:38) Her understanding that “nothing is impossible for God” (Luke 1:37) launched her forth … seeking out Elizabeth and being a woman of God through whom God might show Divine favor to others.

Advent can also be a time of disgust, distress and discouragement. Why? Because it is in the darkness for us … a night of inconvenience. A night where there can be a lack of comfort, causing bother. (Webster’s New World Dictionary, 2003) We can be filled with illness, or financial stress or even a lack of faith. How will you replace these “D” words with some “R” words?

Advent causes us to stretch to revival, replenishment and renewal. We are called beyond to relinquish, repurpose and to receive. I’m particularly fond of the call to reconciliation and restoration. The coming of the Infant in the cold night in the cave was proceeded by and advent of centuries, not just four weeks. What was this introduction to the restoration of humanity to look like? Who was it for? Who brought it to the crowds, where would they go to understand?

Not only does the rose take time to flourish, but it is also bounded with thorns and often rather than appreciating it’s beauty, we are pricked and bleed. Those drops of blood disgust us and can cause distress and discouragement. However, if we are willing to learn to live in a more positive way we look to be revived and get on with it!

Advent brings us back to our senses if we let it. Advent brings us back to faith, hope, peace and love … as we walk those weeks of introduction.

Maybe we discover in English poet, Brian Patten’s poem “Interruption at the Opera House” (Selected Poems, page 20, 2007), just how inconvenient things can be if we are not attuned to the ‘rightful owner of the song.’

“At the very beginning of an important symphony, while the rich and famous were settling into their quietly expensive boxes, a man came crashing though the crowds, carrying in his hand a cage in which the rightful owner of the music sat, yellow and tiny and very poor; and taking onto the rostrum this rather timid bird he turned up the microphones, and it sang. ‘A very original beginning to the evening’ said the crowds, quietly glancing at the programs to find the significance of the intrusion …’”

Later in the poem he will express who the song is for and who leaves the hall disinterested and disgusted.
Advent can be a bit like this … inconvenient indeed to my desires to have things, and order my own life, and to listen to the songs that tickle my ears.

Let’s let this Advent be one of “R” words and in a new discovery of the true song in the back yard, the one asking us to take care of each other, to invite the outcast and to allow our own lives to be furnished with a deeper union of joy.

BLESSINGS.

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)

THINGS OLD AND NEW
By Ruth Powers

This year marks a very special anniversary. At Christmas of 1223, eight hundred years ago, the tradition of the free-standing nativity scene was born in the little hillside town of Greccio, Italy, thanks to St. Francis of Assisi.

Francis came to Greccio that year with the idea of celebrating Christmas in an entirely new way: Midnight Mass in a cave with a manger filled with hay, a real ox and donkey, and the townspeople gathered around. Francis wished to celebrate the love Jesus has for us by becoming one of us, and his humility in choosing to be born as a helpless baby, just as we are. He hoped the townspeople would see the themselves as part of the Christmas story.

A wealthy supporter of Francis and the Friars agreed to let him use a cave about a mile above the town and placed a manger and the animals in it. An altar was constructed above the manger for the Mass. Thomas of Celano, Francis’ biographer, gives this description of Christmas Eve as the townspeople carrying torches and lanterns approach the cave:

Francis was a deacon, not a priest, so he did not celebrate the Mass himself but rather read the gospel and preached. One of the bystanders, a knight of Greccio named John of Velita, told of a vision of the infant Jesus in the manger as Francis preached. Once again, Thomas of Celano writes:

The people attending took away pieces of the hay. Soon there were reports of animals cured of various illnesses when they ate the hay. In addition, many sick people were cured when pieces of the hay were placed on or near them. A small chapel was built on the site of the cave, which has expanded over the centuries into a large sanctuary with an attached Franciscan Friary.

For Francis, the Incarnation at Christmas was inextricably tied to the Passion, as both were the signs of God’s outpouring of love for his creations. In Jesus, God reveals his willingness to empty himself (Philippians 2:5-11) in order to take on our humanity and all that entails, even including suffering and death. Through the grace of the Incarnation, God shows us how precious our humanity is. He delights in us so much that he chose to become one of us so that we might be drawn to Him. As we contemplate the nativity scenes set up in our homes and churches during this season, let us also consider the great love of God manifested in the tiny, helpless baby in the straw of the manger and remind ourselves of the command that Jesus gave us later on in His life to “love one another as I have loved you.” (John 13:34)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI

Sometimes we are the most helpful and life-giving at the very times when we are most helpless. We’ve all been there. We’re at a funeral and there’s nothing to say that will ease the heartache of someone who has lost a loved one. We feel awkward and helpless. We’d like to say or do something, but there’s nothing to be said or done, other than to be there, embrace the one nursing the grief and share our helplessness. Passing strange, but it is our very helplessness that’s most helpful and generative in that situation. Our passivity is more fruitful and generative than if we were doing something.

We see an example of this in Jesus. He gave both his life and his death for us – but in separate moments. He gave his life for us through his activity and his death for us through his passivity, that is, through what he absorbed in helplessness. Indeed, we can divide each of the Gospels into two clear parts. Up until his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus is the active one: he teaches, he heals, he performs miracles, he feeds people. Then, after he is arrested, he doesn’t do anything: he is handcuffed, led away, put on trial, scourged and crucified. Yet, and this is the mystery, we believe that he gave us more during that time when he couldn’t do anything than during all those times he was active. We are saved more through his passivity and helplessness than through his powerful actions during his ministry. How does this work? How can helplessness and passivity be so generative?

Partly this is mystery, though partly we grasp some of it through experience. For example, a loving mother dying in hospice, in a coma, unable to speak, can sometimes in that condition change the hearts of her children more powerfully than she ever could during all the years when she did so much for them. What’s the logic here? By what metaphysics does this work?

Let me begin abstractly and circle this question before venturing to an answer. The atheistic thinkers of the Enlightenment (Nietzsche, Feuerbach, Marx and others) offer a very powerful critique of religion and of religious experience. In their view, all religious experience is simply subjective projection, nothing more. For them, in our faith and religious practices, we are forever creating a god in our own image and likeness, to serve our self-interest. (The very antithesis of what Christians believe.) For Nietzsche, for instance, there is no divine revelation coming from outside us, no God in heaven revealing divine truth to us. Everything is us, projecting our needs and creating a god to serve those needs. All religion is self-serving, human projection.

How true is this? One of the most influential professors I’ve studied under, Jesuit Michael Buckley, says this in face of that criticism: These thinkers are 90% correct. But they’re 10% wrong – and that 10% makes all the difference.

Buckley made this comment while teaching what John of the Cross calls a dark night of the soul. What is a dark night of the soul? It’s an experience where we can no longer sense God imaginatively or feel God affectively, when the very sense of God’s existence dries up inside us and we are left in an agnostic darkness, helpless (in head, heart and gut) to conjure up any sense of God.

However, (and this is the point, precisely because we are helpless and unable to conjure up any imaginative concepts or affective feelings about God) God can now flow into us purely, without us being able to color or contaminate that experience. When all our efforts are useless, grace can finally take over and flow into us in purity. Indeed, that’s how all authentic revelation enters our world. When human helplessness renders us incapable of making God serve our self-interest, God can then flow into our lives without contamination.

Now, this is also true for human love. So much of our love for each other, no matter our sincerity, is colored by self-interest and is at some point self-serving. In some fashion, we inevitably form those we love into our own image and likeness. However, as is the case with Buckley’s critique of the atheistic thinkers of the Enlightenment, this isn’t always the case. There are certain situations when we can’t in any way taint love and make it self-serving. What are those situations? Precisely those in which find we ourselves completely helpless, mute, stammering, unable to say or do anything that’s helpful. In these particular “dark nights of the soul,” when we are completely helpless to shape the experience, love and grace can flow in purely and powerfully.

In his classic work The Divine Milieu, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin challenges us to help others both through our activity and through our passivity. He’s right. We can be generative through what we actively do for others, and we can be particularly generative when we stand passively with them in helplessness.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Senior Standing
By Lisa M. Hendey

“Waiting has never been my strong suit. I tend to associate long waits with a childhood tradition that I’m certain my mother invented. Each Christmas when I was young, Leroy and Bessie, Mom’s parents, would make the annual drive from their home in Fort Wayne, Indiana to ours in Westminster, California. We always knew the day of their scheduled arrival. But in those pre-GPS, non-cell-phone-toting days, we had no idea of the exact hour.

Sometime after breakfast, Mom would send my younger siblings and me to the front yard where we would dutifully “wait for Grandma and Grandpa” on the street curb. In retrospect, I realize it’s likely that Mom knew better, and that we were only out there for a matter of minutes, but to me, the wait felt endless.

But that first sight of my grandparents as they stepped out of their car was well worth the wait on that hard curb. Perhaps the unknown of their arrival time, those hours of anticipation, made the payoff all the greater when we wrapped them in hugs and kisses. Now, as a grandmother myself, I can relate to how they must have felt.

“Are we almost there?” Grandma Bessie must certainly have asked Leroy. For she was waiting too.
I experience a similar impatience each year when the violet, rose and green hues of our family’s Advent wreath emerge from my Christmas bins. Those wreaths and their candles, and our daily devotionals, help us to mark the days until the Nativity of Our Lord. But it seems the more I age, the more childlike and impatient I become for the “big day” to be upon us.

Catholics celebrate liturgical seasons rather than singular days for a reason, though, and so this year, I have decided to focus on lingering in the waiting – sacrificing my own excitement as I try to make my anticipation something holy.

If we are living Advent mindfully, we are preparing our hearts and minds for something even more remarkable than Christ’s birth: his second coming in salvation. Advent, at its best, can be for us a time of intense spiritual training – to make straight our paths toward our ultimate goal: an eternity in God’s presence.

I realize that sanctifying the waiting does not simply happen as I slide open the doors on my glitter-gilded calendar. This year, I hope to be doing all of my usual Advent-y things. I’ll light the candles and send out the cards. I’ll seek the perfect gifts and ponder over the O Antiphons. I’ll bake the cookies and will probably burn a few of them.

But I hope to approach my waiting – especially for those waits that challenge me so greatly – with greater intentionality, and here is how. Sometimes the waiting keeps us looking for resolution. We may have experienced the loss of a job, the further explanation of a pending diagnosis, or the outcome of a hoped-for plan or dream. When that happens, we understandably focus on the state of our incompleteness. In our crises of confidence, may we remember to pray for a greater acceptance of God’s perfect will for our lives.

Some of us await reconciliation. We may deeply feel the loss of relationships with loved ones that have dimmed or grown dark completely. As the world around us plays out various Hallmark moments of family gatherings, we lament the empty seat at our holiday table. In the absence of our loved one’s physical presence, may we remember to pray unceasingly for their well-being.

Some of us await peace. We may be overwhelmed by despair at the profound divides in our world that seem to further separate us with each passing day. Embroiled in our own traumas and those of nations around us, we may lose sight of hope. As we tune into the daily news (and the state of our own souls), may we remember in our waiting to invoke the lasting love of the Christ Child, our Prince of perfect peace.

(Lisa M. Hendey is the founder of CatholicMom.com, a bestselling author and an international speaker. “Senior Standing” appears monthly at OSV News)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By Sister alies therese

In the Texas death house, on Nov. 9. 2023, Brent Brewer uttered these last words, “tell the family of the victim I could never figure out the right words to fix what I have broken.” And with that he was executed and died, the seventh execution this year in Texas.

In this month of November, we celebrate the dead, Dia de los Muertos, those who have gone before us, but do we pay attention, however, to every day death-dealing … wars filling the globe, hunger, abortions for inconvenience, executions, euthanasia, or the dying of those in hospital or nursing homes, fading away, cast aside?

Scars are forever things; they ache. “I thought about what death is and what loss is – a sharp pain that lessens with time but can never quite heal. A scar.” So says Maya Lin, the Chinese American creator of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC where thousands of names are beautifully inscribed to serve as reminders. Maybe we have not figured out the words or the policies that will fix what is broken? Maybe they are scars that never heal?

Recently the President told us he took his grandchildren, one at a time, when they turned 15, to Dachau in Germany to see the concentration camp and to hear his instruction: never again. Never again seems a lot like here we go again when we view the world and the savage massacres of men, women and children. Having visited Dachau myself I can tell you that the chills that ran up and down my spine will never be forgotten nor the ache when visiting a friend on death row.

November is about remembrance, yes … and rightly so. About love and about loss. It is also about service and protection. Indeed. Perhaps, however, it might also be a month of renewal? A new commitment to peace, a month where like the suffering servant in Isaiah all people across the world are not murdered for who they are … Black, Native American, Asian, Hispanic, Jew, Palestinian, gay, women?

Gary Cummins in If Only We Could See (Cascade, 2015) writes, “like the suffering servant, ‘the crucified people have no form, no comeliness, no beauty, (Is 53:2) since to the ugliness of daily poverty is added that of disfiguring bloodshed, the terror of tortures and mutilations….’ As Rauschenbusch says, ‘religiosity sharpens the steel edge of intolerance.’ As Pascal says, ‘people never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.’”

What part of these are we ignoring?

Let’s use the rest of this month to discover what death and fear bring to the human spirit, to the soul. Of our many remembrances let’s honor those who told the truth, who did not lie to us; let’s honor those who struggled to help others, who went out of their way to sacrifice themselves, especially when it was unpopular. Consider your own scars received from abuse, or hatred, or hopelessness … and then ask the Good Jesus to wash your heart with His love so that you might not pass on any resentments or fears to others. In our tradition we remind one another that life has changed not ended and so does American teacher and writer Helen Coutant, in First Snow, who says: “At this moment, Lien thought she understood what dying meant. The drop of water had not really gone; it had only changed like the snowflake into something else.”

Let’s pray for a change of spirit, one of the beatitudes and especially draw to our hearts the tiny children who suffer so and if living with scars of anguish might just take that other path. May our prayer join those of St. Francis as Thomas Celano (St. Francis of Assisi, 1988) writes “The common view of Francis forgets that after his vision of Christ crucified, ‘he could never keep himself from weeping, even bewailing in a loud voice the passion of Christ. For this he allowed himself no consolation and filled his days with ‘sighs.’ “Let us weep as we work for justice, let us cry out to an awesome God who promises to hear us.
Blessings.

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)

By Gretchen R. Crowe

It’s been almost a year and a half since Corpus Christi Sunday 2022 — June 19 — the launch date of the ongoing National Eucharistic Revival.

At the time of the revival’s start, Bishop Andrew Cozzens of Crookston, who is leading the efforts, said the following: “It’s our mission to renew the church by enkindling in God’s people a living relationship with Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. We want everyone to encounter the love of Jesus Christ truly present in the Eucharist and to experience the life-changing effects of that love. We want to see a movement of Catholics across the United States that are healed, converted, formed and unified by an encounter with Jesus Christ in the Eucharist and sent out on mission for the life of the world.”

I’m not sure there’s a better mission than that. I’m also not sure there’s a bigger one. Following the timeline of the revival, we are currently in its second year — what is called a time for “fostering Eucharistic devotion at the parish level, strengthening our liturgical life through the faithful celebration of the Mass, Eucharistic adoration, missions, resources, preaching, and organic movements of the Holy Spirit.”

At my parish, we are having a 40 Hours Devotion at the start of Advent, where parishioners can come and spend time intimately with the Lord. I’d imagine most parishes around the country are doing something similar to foster devotion to Our Lord in the Eucharist.

Then, of course, in just eight short months, there will be the National Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis. “Every movement needs a moment,” the website says. “This is ours.” A lot of time and money and planning is going into this national event, and it’s exciting. We’re going, and I hope you go, too.

But it’s also one event. What about the in-between times? What about the times when our parishes are not bringing in a speaker, or facilitating small group discussions, or coordinating special devotions? What about the times when we will not be gathered together by the thousands, being affirmed in our faith and encountering the Lord together? It’s in these in-between times that the habits of daily life are formed, and where virtue is born.

Four Eucharistic tips
This time of year offers us a prime opportunity for getting serious about our own personal revival in the Eucharist. With the start of Advent in a few weeks, we will begin preparations to welcome the Prince of Peace into our homes. Here are a few things we could do to draw closer to him in the Eucharist:

1) Make time for some spiritual reading on the Eucharist. In particular, sit and pray with the treasure that is St. John Paul II’s encyclical on the Eucharist, “Ecclesia de Eucharistia,” available from OSV for purchase or on the Vatican’s website for free. If you’ve never read it, or read it 100 times, there’s always more to glean from it, if we make the time.

2) Speaking of making time, any personal Eucharistic revival has to start with our own commitment of time spent in the presence of the Eucharist. Maybe we’re being called to attend daily Mass for Advent, or perhaps make a weekly holy hour. Or maybe you do both of those things, and the Lord is asking you to up the ante and make a daily holy hour! Pick something and commit to it.

3) Try really paying attention to the words of the Eucharistic prayer during Mass. I’ll be the first to admit, it can be easy or tempting to lose focus during this part of the liturgy. But try to really focus. Read along if it helps. Ask Jesus to quiet your mind and center your heart on him.

4) Once we learn more about Christ, spend more time with him, and seek to better understand his saving love for us in the Mass, the natural next step is to resolve to bring Christ to others. Perhaps there’s an opportunity to bring your kids to adoration – or your parents, a friend, or a sibling. Maybe, once you’ve read and enjoyed a book on the Eucharist, you could share it with others. Most importantly, we bring our Eucharistic Lord to the world through our love of and sacrifice for others.

We’re just about halfway through with the revival, which wraps up on Pentecost 2025. Let’s embrace the opportunity for renewal this Advent.

(Gretchen R. Crowe is the editor-in-chief of OSV News.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI

There are different ways of being excluded in life.

Earlier this year, one of my older brothers died. By every indication he had lived an exemplary life, one lived mainly for others. He died much loved by everyone who knew him. His was a life lived for family, church, community, and friends.

Giving the homily at his funeral, I shared that, while he almost always brought a smile, a graciousness, and some wit to every situation, underneath he sometimes had to swallow hard to always do that. Why? Because, even though through his entire adult life he gave himself to serving others, for much of his life he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Here’s his story.

He was one of the older children in our family, a large second-generation immigrant family, struggling with poverty in an isolated rural area of the Canadian prairies where educational facilities weren’t easily available at that time. So, for him, as for many of his contemporaries, both men and women, the normal expectation was that after elementary school (an eighth-grade education) you were expected to end your school days and begin to work to support your family. Indeed, when he graduated from elementary school, there was no local high school for him to go to. Making this more unfortunate, he was perhaps the brightest, most gifted mind in our family. It’s not that he didn’t want to continue his formal education. But, he had to do what most others of his age did at that time, leave school and begin working, giving your entire salary over every month to support your family. He did this with good cheer, knowing this was expected of him.

Through the years, from age sixteen when he first entered the work force until he took over the family farm in his mid-thirties, he worked for farmers, worked in construction and did everything from operating a backhoe to driving a truck. Moreover, when our parents died and he took over our farm, there were a number of years when he was still pressured to use the farm to support the family. By the time he was finally freed of this responsibility, it was too late (not radically, but existentially) for him to restart his formal education. He lived out his final years before retirement as a farmer, though as one who found his energy elsewhere, in involvement in ongoing education and lay ministries programs where he thrived emotionally and intellectually. Part of his sacrifice too was that he never married, not because he was a temperamental bachelor, but because the same things that bound him to duty also, existentially, never afforded him the opportunity to marry.

After I shared his story at his funeral, I was approached by several people who said: That’s also my brother! That’s also my sister! That was my dad! That was my mother.

Having grown up where this was true of a number of my older siblings, today, whenever I see people working in service jobs such as cooking in cafeterias, cleaning houses, mowing lawns, working in construction, doing janitorial work and other work of this kind, I am often left to wonder, are they like my brother? Did they get to choose this work or are they doing it because of circumstances? Did this person want to be a doctor, or writer, a teacher, an entrepreneur, or a CEO of some company, and end up having to take this job because of an economic or other circumstance? Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing demeaning or less-than-noble in these jobs. Indeed, working with your hands is perhaps the most honest work of all – unlike my own work within the academic community where it can be easy to be self-serving and mostly irrelevant. There’s a wonderful dignity in working with your hands, as there was for my brother. However, the importance and dignity of that work notwithstanding, the happiness of the person doing it is sometimes predicated on whether or not he or she had a choice, that is, whether or not he or she is there by choice or because factors ranging from the economic situation of their family, to their immigrant status, to lack of opportunity, have forced them there.

As I walk past these folks in my day-to-day life and work, I try to notice them and appreciate the service they are rendering for the rest of us. And sometimes I say to myself: This could be my brother. This could be my sister. This could be the brightest mind of all who was not given the opportunity to become a doctor, a writer, nurse, a teacher or a social worker.

If in the next life, as Jesus promised, there’s to be a reversal where the last shall be first, I hope these people, like my brother, who were deprived of some of the opportunities that the rest of us enjoyed, will read my heart with an empathy that surpasses my understanding of them during their lifetime.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington

We all know what the commandment says: “You shall have no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20:3) The text goes on to state in a straightforward manner: “You shall not make for yourself an idol … You shall not bow down to them or worship them.” (verses 4a and 5a) Unfortunately, the Israelites did just that. They built altars to pagan idols and worshipped them rather than the one true God.

In our time we obviously don’t bow down to Baal or any of the other false gods mentioned in the Old Testament. Nevertheless, idolatry (worshipping some aspect of creation instead of the Creator) is pervasive in our contemporary culture. Our society considers practically everything more important than matters of faith. And anything we put before God becomes, in essence, an idol. Think about how our culture idolizes celebrities of all kinds. We put rock stars and sports heroes on a pedestal. The fact that we call certain movie actors matinee idols is especially telling.

What about family, friends, possessions, careers and leisure activities? Are we guilty at times of prioritizing any of these at the expense of Sunday worship? Instead of going to Mass, some choose to stay in bed a little longer on Sunday or perhaps play a round of golf or go to the lake. But because God is, in the words of St. Anselm, “that than which nothing greater can be thought,” we should always give Him precedence in our lives, especially on Sundays. In other words, we should make sure we get to Mass, and then we can do some of the other things, as long as we “keep the Sabbath day holy.” God wants first place in our lives. If we will make Him a priority, He will in turn supply our needs: “Strive first for the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:33)

When we pray the spiritual communion prayer, we say to Jesus: “I love you above all things.” Not some things, but all things. If I say I love God more than anything, I need to prove it; I need to live it. Others are watching, and the last thing I want to do is turn someone away from God and the church because they see that I’m not living out my faith.

Years ago, I met a man who belonged to a well-known civic organization that has clubs in practically every large city in the country. This man was heavily involved in the club’s service activities; it was his life. I know this because he told me one time that the club was his religion. Admirable as his commitment to service was, he clearly had his priorities mixed up.

Some people put flag and country first. It’s right and proper to love our country, but we should never privilege country over God. I belong to a local civic club (a different one from the club referred to above). Our meetings open with a prayer and the pledge of allegiance to the flag, in that order. But that wasn’t always the case. At one point, confusion arose among club members regarding how we should begin our meetings.

After some discussion, we finally resolved the issue by acknowledging that God is paramount. Prayer is always the first thing on our agenda. As is often the case, tradition helps us to get things right. As everyone knows, the phrase is “God and country,” not the other way around.

Daily scripture reading and prayer are other ways we can make the Lord preeminent in our lives. We offer up prayers of thanksgiving, praise, petition and intercession first thing in the morning, at various times during the day, including before meals and immediately before going to bed at night. Scripture study and prayer allow us to enter into intimate conversation with God. Do I sometimes forget one of my prayer times or fail to do the daily readings? Sure I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up my reading and prayer regimen altogether. The Christian life is a struggle in many ways, and one way this can manifest itself is in our study and prayer time.

If our modern society were to put things in their proper order, God, the source of all good things, would come first; others would be second, and we would place ourselves last. However, our culture usually gets that turned around. What we actually see is the self, the ego, first and foremost; and everything else far behind. Regrettably, the classic expression – looking out for number one – still holds sway. Advertising backs this up by encouraging consumers to pamper their ego, to “go for all the gusto.” So where does this leave God? It leaves Him out of the picture altogether.

How often do we put family, friends, sports and our own wishes before God? It’s difficult for me to reflect on this because I’ve been guilty of relegating God to second place or lower at various times in my life. But imagine what society would look like if we all gave God His rightful place. It would, in short, revolutionize our culture.

As in everything else in life, we have a choice. We must choose between the kingdom of God and the things this world has to offer. Choosing both is not an option because “no one can serve two masters.” (Matthew 6:24) As Christians, our desire should be to serve God first, always, and everywhere, because He is, was and always will be before all things. It’s His proper place.

Deuteronomy 6:4-5 contains the schema, the fundamental statement of the Jewish faith: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Practicing Jews still recite this passage twice a day. Jesus expands on these words by showing us how to apply them to our lives: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:39)

Keeping the commandment “You shall have no other gods before me” requires that we love God with all of our being and that we put our faith into practice by transforming our selfishness into selflessness. In short, we show our love for God by our love for others. When we give God first place in our lives, we put others before ourselves. That’s the correct order.

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)