IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Courage isn’t one of my strong points, at least not one particular kind of courage.
Scripture tells us that as John the Baptist grew up he became strong in spirit. My growing up was somewhat different. Unlike John the Baptist, as I grew up I became accommodating in spirit. This had its reasons. I was born with what Ruth Burrows would describe as a “tortured sensitivity,” an over-sensitive personality, and have never been able to develop a tough skin.

That’s not the stuff of which prophets are made. When you’re a child on the playground you better have the raw physical strength to challenge a situation that’s unfair or you better let things alone so as not to get hurt. You also better develop razor-sharp skills at avoiding confrontation and in the art of peacemaking. As well, when you aren’t gifted with superior physical strength and challenging situations arise on the playground, you quickly learn to walk away from confrontation. On the playground the lamb knows better than to lie down with the lion or to confront the lion, irrespective of the prophet Isaiah’s eschatological visions.
And that’s not all bad. Growing up as I did didn’t make for the tough skin and raw courage it takes to be a prophet, but it did give me an acute radar screen, namely, a sensitivity which at its best is a genuine empathy (though at its worst has me avoiding situations of conflict). Either way, it’s hasn’t particularly gifted me with the qualities that make for prophetic courage. I want, habitually, not to upset people. I dislike confrontation and want peacefulness at almost any cost, though I do draw some lines in the sand. But I’m no John the Baptist and it’s taken me many years to learn that, admit it, and understand why – and also to understand that my temperament and history are only an explanation and not an excuse for my cowardice at times.
In the end, the virtue of courage is not contingent upon birth, temperament, or mental toughness, though these can be helpful. Courage is a gift from the Holy Spirit and that’s why one’s temperament and background may only serve as an explanation and not as an excuse for a lack of courage.
I highlight this because our situation today demands courage from us, the courage for prophecy. We desperately need prophets today, but they are in short supply and too many of us are not particularly eager to volunteer for the task. Why not?
A recent issue of Commonweal magazine featured an article by Bryan Massingale, a strong prophetic voice on the issue of racism. Massingale submits that the reason we see so little real progress in dealing with racial injustice is the absence of prophetic voices where they are most needed, in this case, among the many good white people who see racial injustice, sympathize with those suffering from it, but don’t do anything about it. Massingale, who lectures widely across the country, shares how again and again in his lectures and in his classes people ask him: But how do I address this without upsetting people? This question aptly expresses our reticence and, I believe, names both the issue and the challenge.
As Shakespeare would say, “Ah, there’s the rub!” For me, this question touches a sensitive moral nerve. Had I been in one of his classes I would no doubt have been one of those to ask that question: but how do I challenge racism without upsetting people? Here’s my problem: I want to speak out prophetically, but I don’t want to upset others; I want to challenge the white privilege which we’re so congenitally blind to, but I don’t want to alienate the generous, good-hearted people who support our school; I want to speak out more strongly against injustice in my writing, but I don’t want multiple newspapers drop my column as a result; I want to be courageous and confront others, but don’t want to live with the hatred that ensues; and I want to publicly name injustices and name names, but don’t want to alienate myself from those very people. So this leaves me still praying for the courage needed for prophecy.
Several years ago, a visiting professor at our school, an Afro-American man, was sharing with our faculty some of the near daily injustices he experiences simply because of the color of his skin. At one point I asked him: “If I, as a white man, came to you like Nicodemus came to Jesus at night and asked you what I should do, what would you tell me?” His answer: Jesus didn’t let Nicodemus off easily just because he confessed his fears. Nicodemus had to do a public act to bring his faith into the light, he had to claim Jesus’ dead body. Hence, his challenge to me: you need to do a public act.
He’s right; but I’m still praying for the prophetic courage to do that. And aren’t we all?

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher and award-winning author, is President of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

Reflections on Life
By Melvin Arrington
Have you noticed that kindness seems to be absent from our world today? It hasn’t always been like this. When I was growing up the world moved at a slower pace. We didn’t have computers or smartphones but we knew all the neighbors on our street. TVs were small, black and white models with no remote control, no cable, no dish. We wrote letters instead of texts. Most out-of-town trips were made by car.

But in our modern, fast-paced society speed is considered essential in practically every aspect of life. We demand instant communication, whether it’s with someone across town or on the other side of the world. And if you’re going somewhere, chances are you’re looking to get there in a hurry. All these technological advancements that we take for granted have made our lives easier. But in privileging speed and comfort we have sacrificed some of the basic elements of human interaction, one of which is kindness (goodness, in some translations of Scripture), the fifth Fruit of the Spirit.
When I think of this virtue, I’m reminded of one of my cousins, a multi-talented artist who passed away a couple of months ago after struggling for many years with a debilitating disease. He was a wise and compassionate soul who inspired family and friends with his art and the way he lived his life. The phrase “be kind” was sort of a motto of his.
We ought to be kind to everyone, including those unable to do anything for us and especially to those we view as unworthy of our benevolence. Why? Because that’s the way God treats us. He looks on us and sees our unworthiness and showers us with all sorts of blessings and favors anyway. That’s the pattern we’re supposed to follow. It’s easy to say, “Yes, that’s right. I believe that.” The difficulty comes in putting it into practice.
Harold S. Kushner, best known for his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, speaks succinctly to this point: “Do things for people not because of who they are or what they do in return, but because of who you are.” This means I should treat others with kindness for the sake of kindness, not in order to call attention to my good deed. We’ve all been beneficiaries of someone’s charity, and even if we’re unable to pay it back we can always pay it forward. If those we help pass it on, then goodness will never go away. As Sirach 40:17 tells us, “Kindness is like a garden of blessings and charity endures forever.”
The word “kindness” comes from a Middle English word meaning “noble deeds” or “courtesy.” My wife once told me one reason she married me was because she thought I was courteous and a gentleman. If I am those things, it’s because of my mother, who taught me good manners when I was young.
One particular lesson stands out in my mind. I was about five. I was playing outside with one of the neighborhood kids, a little girl. When we got thirsty, she and I dashed up the steps to my house to get some water. I remember forging ahead, but when I got to the door my mother blocked the entrance, telling me I should let the girl go first. That made no sense to me because I got there first. So, I plowed ahead, but my mother pushed back, and when she did, my friend slipped inside ahead of me. That little incident may have been my initial exposure to the commandment “love thy neighbor as thyself.” As a side note, I think I actually crossed the threshold first by “breaking the plane” of the doorway, to use the football term, but what I learned that day was much more important than football.
In our culture of expediency, fueled by self-interest, love of neighbor often gets shoved out of the way, like when I tried to push past my friend to get inside the house. According to the prevailing philosophy of our time, we should simply “let everyone fend for himself.” But what we need instead is a culture in which we prioritize the needs of others rather than just taking care of ourselves. In that ideal society everybody looks out for his neighbor, especially the poor, the sick, and the lonely. That’s what good neighbors do. That’s what Christians do.
Do I exhibit kindness in the way I conduct my life? I hope so. I hope goodness and common courtesy have been instilled in me to the extent that they’ve become second nature, like saying “hello” or some other simple greeting in passing another person on the street.
Several years ago, I was in the Newark, New Jersey airport waiting to catch another flight. As I was walking along the sidewalk headed toward the next terminal, I passed a police officer and, without thinking, nodded my head and said “Hello.” I’ll never forget his reaction. His facial expression darkened, and he gave me a look that said, “What do you want?” He obviously was not used to having kind words spoken to him. In Learning the Virtues that Lead You to God Romano Guardini wrote that kindness requires patience and a sense of humor. That’s something I discovered on my own that day in Newark.
Do we really want to recapture the mutual understanding, cooperation, love, and goodwill that have all but disappeared from modern society? If so, we’re going to have to slow down, be considerate and attend to the needs of the other person, and perform “noble deeds,” all in a spirit of self-sacrifice. We’ve all got a role to play in building the Kingdom of Heaven, and it really doesn’t matter who goes first.

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

THINGS OLD AND NEW
By Ruth Powers
Christ yesterday and today,
the Beginning and the End,
the Alpha and the Omega,
All time belongs to him and all the ages.
To him be glory and power through every age and forever. Amen.

This beautiful prayer is said each year on the Easter Vigil as the Easter candle is inscribed with the cross and the numerals of the current year.

It reminds us of something very important: time itself is part of God’s creation and, as such, is sacred. Modern people tend to view time as an arrow, always moving into the future. Pre-Industrial cultures, however, often viewed time as an ever-repeating cycle of seasons tied to the natural world.

The church combines these two ideas. The great wheel of our liturgical calendar retells the story of our salvation each year, while at the same time moving us forward towards the promised fulfillment of time that will happen when Christ returns. If we want to become more conscious in our own lives of the holiness of time, what better way to do it than through the church’s yearly cycle of feasts and fasts?

You are probably familiar with major seasons and feasts of the liturgical year — Advent, Lent, Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, etc., but there are other less well known feasts and fasts that are part of the traditions of the church. One such set of observances are the Ember Days. Four times a year, near each solar season, the church sets aside three days to ask for the blessings of nature, to thank God for the sacraments and to pray for priests. These days are times marked with prayer, fasting, and abstinence and are meant to serve as a kind of quarterly “spiritual check-up.” These days have been observed since the very early centuries of the church and remain part of her traditions, even though they were removed from the official liturgical calendar in the 1960s. The words “Ember Days” have nothing to do with embers or ashes but are thought to come from the Anglo-Saxon word ymbren, meaning circle or revolution, a reference to their ties to the cycle of the seasons.

Ember Days are observed on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday following certain liturgical celebrations that are near the change of seasons. The choice of these days of the week is meant to remind us of events leading to Christ’s death and resurrection: Wednesday for the day of his betrayal, Friday for his death and Saturday for his time in the tomb. Thursday is skipped because it should be a day of celebration for the gifts of the Eucharist and the priesthood. In fact, at one time the Ember Days were the favored days for celebrating ordinations of priests.

These days also have a specific tie to our liturgy, as they also correspond to the times of certain agricultural harvests in the Mediterranean world that are of importance to our liturgical celebrations. The Winter Ember days take place in December after the Feast of St. Lucy on Dec. 13. This is the time of the olive harvest and pressing, and reminds us of the holy oils used in the sacraments. The Spring Ember Days are observed the week after the First Sunday of Lent at the time that bees again become active and beeswax is harvested to make the candles used for the Mass and for the Easter Candle used at the Vigil. Summer Ember Days are the week following Pentecost, and they mark the beginning of the grain harvest, yielding the flour for the Eucharistic bread. Finally, the Autumn Ember Days are observed following the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross on Sept. 14, marking the grape harvest which yields the wine for Precious Blood.

So, the question arises, why revive the observance of these days? These days may seem to some to be a quaint relic of the “old” church, but I believe there are a number of reasons why the time may be right and beneficial to our spiritual growth.

First, many live lives that are disconnected from God’s creation in the natural world. We live in urban areas, tethered to technology almost 24/7. Most of our food arrives packaged in plastic, and we have no real idea of its origins. Our relationship to the weather revolves around how it affects our personal plans, not how it affects the farmers who provide our food. By pausing for a little while and acknowledging the change of seasons and the various harvests, we can refocus our thoughts on God and his Creation and our need to care for it.

In addition, the penitential focus of the 3-day observance can also serve as a mini-Lent: a time to step back from the concerns of our daily lives and turn our attention to our relationship with God.
Finally, our priests and religious need prayers to support them in their service of God and the church. We can use the Ember Days as special times to thank God for their devotion, pray for their continued strength, and pray for vocations.

(Ruth is the Program Coordinator for St. Mary Basilica Parish in Natchez. She has over 35 years experience as a catechist and theology teacher at all levels from preschool to graduate school.)