REFLECTIONS ON LIFE
By Melvin Arrington
Our modern culture tells us beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that it’s subjective, something each person can determine for himself. But in the Catholic tradition that which is genuinely beautiful can be verified objectively because it has been so imbued with harmony, order and splendor, that personal preference no longer has any bearing on the matter. Simply put, the eye and the ear have to be trained to recognize and appreciate the beautiful.

One of my first discoveries of the beauty of classical (actually baroque) music occurred during my sophomore year of college, long before I became Catholic. One afternoon while passing through the auditorium to get to a class, I happened upon the college choir and orchestra rehearsing for a concert. As I entered the auditorium and made my way down the side aisle, I was so moved by the majestic harmony of sounds and words that I quietly eased into a seat and sat there captivated by the heavenly music. Later, I learned that what had caused me to be late to class was a portion of Handel’s Messiah, specifically the part taken from the ninth chapter of Isaiah that deals with the birth of Christ: “For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon His shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” Every time I hear that selection it brings up memories of that day when I stumbled upon something truly beautiful.

On the other hand, my enjoyment of Gregorian chant and the use of Latin during Mass developed over a period of time. Neither chant nor the Latin language appealed to me at all when I was a Protestant, but after being received into the Catholic Church I slowly gained an appreciation for that ancient musical form and idiom. Although I have no technical knowledge of music theory, I’m fascinated by the way the voices of the chanters resonate as they blend together in offering up prayers to God. During reconciliation services at my church, recordings of Gregorian chant play softly over the speaker system, providing a soothing backdrop that aids prayer and reflection and enhances the overall experience of those in attendance.

Because Latin is the official language of the Church, most of our traditional prayers are translations from the Latin original. Despite my low-level proficiency in the language, I’ve found abundant joy in learning to sing various parts of the Mass – the Gloria, the Sanctus, the Agnus Dei, and the Marian antiphons – in that age-old tongue. When we pray and sing these prayers in that so-called dead language, we unite our voices to those of the great saints across the centuries. But in the final analysis, the beauty of the liturgy comes across no matter what language is spoken. I discovered this to be true several years ago when I visited a foreign country and found out how relatively easy it was to follow along during the Mass, even though I didn’t know the language.

St. Augustine wrote, in his Confessions: “Late have I loved Thee, o Beauty, ever ancient, ever new; late have I loved Thee.” He was speaking about God in the context of his conversion experience when he was in his 30s, but a beauty “ever ancient, ever new” might also apply to our Catholic faith and to the Church itself.
Everything about the Catholic Church draws me in, beginning with its history that stretches all the way back to antiquity. I find satisfaction in knowing that I belong to the one and only Church Jesus founded back in the first half of the first century rather than to a religious congregation established in the sixteenth century or later by a Protestant reformer. As St. John Henry Newman said: “To be deep in history is to cease to be Protestant.”

When you enter a Catholic Church you leave behind all the noise and ugliness of the outer world – the hatred, violence, greed, political shenanigans – and enter into a sacred precinct, a place where heaven and earth meet. Look around inside and you’ll find yourself surrounded by beauty in its many forms, shapes, colors, and sounds.

It’s impossible to catalog everything about Catholicism that exerts a pull on me, but any listing must include Catholic art, architecture, music, literature, the tandem of Scripture and Tradition, the concept of the Church as Christ’s Bride (all brides are beautiful!), the communion of saints, the treasury of Catholic prayers and devotions, the Sacraments, statues, icons, stained glass windows, relics, incense, holy water, candles, vestments, and the in cense, holy water, candles, vestments, and the symbolism that can be found in practically everything in the Catholic Church (although, as we know, everything is not just a symbol). All these things are beautiful in themselves, but they are also reflections of the perfect and eternal Beauty of God.

Inside the Church the most beautiful element of all is, of course, the Blessed Sacrament, whether exposed in the monstrance on the altar or reposed in the tabernacle. During Adoration, one can experience the full range of a church’s beauty – including the splendor of silence.

We can also find heroic beauty in the social teachings of the Church, especially those that remind us of our obligations to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and welcome the stranger. Consider how St. Teresa of Calcutta dedicated her life to care for the poorest of the poor, those Our Lord called “the least of these my brethren.” Her constant desire was, as she put it, to “do something beautiful for God.”

What things did I do today that could be called beautiful? That’s a question we all need to ask ourselves every evening before going to bed. Christ paid the ultimate price. I should at least be willing to make some small daily sacrifice in order to advance the Kingdom, something that would be pleasing to the One Who is the source of all beauty.

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

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
With the resurrection of Jesus, time started over. Simply put, up until Jesus rose from the dead all things that died stayed dead. After Jesus’ resurrection, nothing stays dead anymore. Time has begun anew.
Luke’s Gospel account of the resurrection begins with the words “on the morning of the first day.” This is a double reference. He is referring to Sunday, the first day of the week, but he is also referring to the first day of a new creation. With the resurrection, time has started over. In fact, the world measures time by that day. We are in the year 2026 since that morning when Jesus rose from the dead.

From the beginning of time until Jesus’ resurrection, everything mortal died and remained in death. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, in the story of Adam and Eve and their fall from grace, we are given to believe that originally humans were not intended to die. In this view, death entered the world through the sin of our first parents. Today, for sound theological and scientific reasons, the Adam and Eve story is considered, like the other “in the beginning” stories in Genesis, to be more metaphoric and archetypal than literal. To be human is to be mortal.

Irrespective as to whether you take the Adam and Eve story literally and see death because of their sin or not, the bottom line is the same: From our first parents onward, everything that died stayed dead.

That changed with the resurrection of Jesus. When God raised him from the dead, creation was changed at its very roots. Nature changed. A dead body was brought to new life. Impossible? Yes, except that time started over! There was a new first day, a new Genesis, a second time when we can say, “in the beginning.”

And nothing stays dead now because Jesus is the “first fruit” of this new creation. What happened to him now happens to us. We too will not stay dead but will rise to new life. Moreover, this isn’t just true for us as humans. It’s also true for the earth itself and everything on it. Jesus came to save the world, not just the people living in the world.

St. Paul makes this clear in his Epistle to the Romans when he writes that all creation, physical creation, has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth and – it itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. (Romans 8:21-23)

Our planet earth, like our human body, is also mortal. It is dying too. As we know, the sun will eventually burn out and that will spell the death of our planet. Our planet also needs to be resurrected, and scripture assures us that it will.

What all this means stretches our imagination beyond its limits. Does this mean that animals will also have eternal life? Will our beloved pets be with us in heaven? Will plants enter heaven? Will the whole cosmos and our planet earth be transformed and enter heaven?

The answer is yes, though how this will happen is beyond our imagination. Our human mind is too limited. This is impossible to imagine, except, except that God who is the Father of Jesus Christ is ineffable, beyond imagination, and can do the unimaginable, including transforming all things into new life.

The Gospel of John has a particularly poignant text which links the resurrection of Jesus to the original creation as described in Genesis. John tells us that in his first resurrection appearance to the apostles, Jesus finds them huddled in fear inside a room with the doors locked. The resurrected Jesus goes right through the locked doors, enters their midst, greets them, shows them his hands and his side, and then breathes on them. (John 20:21)

This breathing out by Jesus parallels what happened at the original creation when God breathed over the formless void, and light began to separate from darkness and creation began to take shape.

After the resurrection, Jesus breathes on his disciples and for the second time in history light begins to separate from darkness. The confusion, fear, timidity, and the weaknesses of the apostles, their “formless void,” their darkness, begins to separate from the new light brought by the resurrection, namely, the eternal light of charity, joy, peace, patience, goodness, the fruits of the Holy Spirit.

So, it’s appropriate to say that with the resurrection of Jesus, time started over. There was a new first day where light again separated from darkness. The resurrection of Jesus is the most radical thing that has occurred since God originally said – let there be light! – nearly fourteen billion years ago. The earth itself and everything on it, humans, animals, plants, and minerals, and the earth itself, are now given life beyond death.

Until the resurrection of Jesus, all things that died stayed dead. This is no longer true. Time has started over.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a professor of spirituality at Oblate School of Theology and award-winning author.)