IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Growing up in a Roman Catholic home, devotions were always a vital part of our religious diet. While our family saw the Eucharist as more important than devotions, we nourished our spiritual lives a lot on devotions, as did many Roman Catholics back then.

Among other things, we prayed the rosary every day, prayed the Angelus daily, prayed special litanies (St. Joseph in March, Mary in May and October, and the Sacred Heart of Jesus in June), prayed the Stations of the Cross each Friday in Lent, were anxious to attend Eucharist on First Fridays and First Saturdays to obtain special promises from God, and said special prayers to obtain indulgences.

As well, there were pilgrimages to Marian shrines for those who could afford them and most everyone wore medals from Lourdes or Fatima and had a special devotion to those shrines (with a special devotion in my own family and parish to Our Lady of the Cape, at Cap De Madeleine, Quebec). Devotions were a big part of our spiritual lives.

What’s to be said about devotions from a theological view and from the view of a culture that mostly distrusts them?

We might begin with the reaction of Martin Luther and the great Protestant reformers. They were fearful of two things in devotions. First, at that time, some devotions were too unbridled and were simply bad theology (famously, selling indulgences). Second, they saw devotions, not as necessarily bad in themselves, but as often displacing Jesus and God’s Word as our center and main focus. And so, they distanced themselves from basically all Roman Catholic devotions, the unbridled as well as the healthy.

For the most part that Protestant and Evangelical distrust of Roman Catholic devotions has come down right to our own day. While that distrust is breaking down today in some non-Roman churches today, it is still the prevalent attitude inside most Protestant and Evangelical circles. In brief, they distrust most devotions because they are seen not just as deflecting our focus from the centrality of Jesus and the Word, but also as potentially unhealthy contaminates, as junk food in our spiritual diet.

What’s to be said about that?

It’s a fair and needed warning to Roman Catholics (and others) who nourish their spiritual lives with devotions. Bottom line, devotions can easily ground themselves on shaky theology and can be a junk food contaminating our spiritual diet: where devotions replace scripture, Mary replaces Jesus as center, and certain ritual practices make God seem like a puppet on a string.

However, that being admitted, as Goethe once said, the dangers of life are many and safety is one of those dangers. Yes, devotions can be a danger, but they can also be a rich healthy supplement in our essential diet of Word and Eucharist.

Here’s how Eric Mascall (the renowned Anglican theologian at Oxford with C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers, and Austin Ferrar) spells out both the danger of devotions and the danger of not having devotions as part of your spiritual life: The protestant reformers (Luther, Calvin, Zwingli) were so afraid of contamination by Roman Catholic devotions, that they put us on a diet of antiseptics. When you’re on a diet of antiseptics, you won’t suffer from food poisoning, but you can suffer from malnutrition.

That’s an equal challenge to both those who practice devotions and those who fear them. The theology undergirding certain devotions admittedly can be sloppy (for example, Mary is not a co-redeemer with Jesus). However, inside many devotions (to Mary, to the saints, to Eucharist adoration, to the Sacred Heart) there can be a rich nutrition which helps nourish the center, namely, God’s Word and the Eucharist.

The late Wendy Wright in her book “Sacred Heart: Gateway to God” makes a wonderful apologia for Catholic devotional practices, particularly devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. For her, Catholic devotional practices are a tradition of the heart. While Jesus remains central and his resurrection remains the real anchor for our faith, devotions can give us something beyond just this raw essential.

Using devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus as an example, she writes: “In this devotion, we, and Jesus and the saints, exist in some essential way outside the chronology of historical time. The tradition of the heart makes this vividly, even grotesquely, clear. The divine–human correspondence is intimate. It is discovered in the flesh. Our fleshy hearts are fitted for all that is beyond flesh by conforming to the heart of Jesus. That divine–human heart is the passageway between earth and heaven. That heart is the tactile tracings of divine love on the created order. That heart is the widest, wildest longing of humankind’s own love.”

The dangers of life are many and safety is one of those dangers. Devotions can deflect us from what’s more central and can take their root in some questionable theology, but they can also, in Wendy Wright’s words, be a blessed passageway for the heart between heaven and earth.

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

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
Imagine, if you can, a huge pot of bright red paint – another of yellow. Now picture a pot entirely of orange made by mixing the two. A third space – the coming together of two separate things to make something brand new.

Or see a neighborhood full of people from Peru. Nearby is a neighborhood of people from Appalachia. Two miles away is a neighborhood full of folks from Appalachia and Peru, living side by side, sharing in most things. That becomes a third space – overlapping into a completely new neighborhood.

Some of the characteristics of a third space are people coming together for social connection, creativity and belonging. The concept of “third space” is attributed to sociolinguist Homi K. Bhabha, expressing a theory of identity and community realized through language, though its application has expanded over the years. Sociologist Ray Oldenburg popularized the phrase in 1989 in his book “The Great Good Place,” where he emphasized “their crucial role in civic engagement and social interaction.” In an article for the UNESCO Courier, he defined them as “informal public places where people can gather, socialize and maintain a democracy.”

We can look back in history and discover these spaces, such as trading posts, Greek agoras, Roman forums, medieval taverns or your favorite pub.

What is first or second space, you might ask? First is home; second, work or school. These are the spaces in which you live the most and hopefully find comfort, have your responsibilities and success. But a third space is critical for your well-being, especially your mental health.

These are the overlapping places where what you come from – your routines and practices – lessen, and you enter into another world, so to speak. Here, you socialize with folks unknown to you, who you would consider different from yourself. Alternative spaces are explicitly created to address unmet needs, so local community engagement at a coffee shop (often regularly) or a library lessens loneliness and encourages all people to experience a new sort of connectedness.

There are opportunities to grow in any number of ways, to experience laughter, as well as to listen to others. Community gardens or river walks – all third spaces. Parks, support groups or hairdressers are among the many different types of third places. There are running groups (or walking), book clubs, or my favorites – my place of worship, Sacred Heart Catholic Church; Koty Earl’s, where I frequently eat breakfast; and GIRLFRIENDS, where I engage in art and devotion with other women weekly.

There is, I think, yet another sort of third place, and we see it expressed in the Scriptures. It is not a physical place but a turning of the heart. Consider the stories of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:25ff) and the tender moment where Jesus from the cross invites John to take Mary into his home (Jn 19:26ff). Both of these bring us into a world of compassion from a world of hurt and challenge us to live differently.

We know both these stories and the worlds of anguish they represent; do we hear the unmet cry for compassion where all is new? Marcel Proust said, “Love is space and time measured by the heart.”

Compassion is a third place we all need to travel to, to learn to live in. We can look about in the other worlds we inhabit, those of social media and political chatter. We can become as brittle as the priest or Levite and pass by the opportunity to grow or be of service, or we can bend down like the Samaritan and discover a neighbor in distress. We can open our homes like John and at the same time receive the gift Mary has to bring.

So, what’s your favorite third space? Is it physical, digital or like compassion, from the heart? Maybe you need to create one. Where will you help connect folks so that compassion might be lived out? What are your unmet needs? What is unmet when you carefully look around?

“Compassion is another name for community. It is the mirror of relatedness that accepts the pain and weakness of another as one’s own. It is an expression of love that says, ‘You belong to me,’” wrote Sister Ilia Delio, OSF, in her book “Compassion.”

Blessings.

REFLECTIONS ON LIFE
By Melvin Arrington

Our world today seems overpopulated with fictional superheroes of all sorts. Humans, animals, aliens, robots – even something that looks like a monster may, in fact, be a superhero. They appear not only in comics, but also on TV shows, and on the big screen. The various media are saturated with them. What is it about these strange characters that has so captured the public imagination?

When I was a kid growing up in the 1950s, only one superhero captured my imagination, and that was Superman. In addition to being a devoted reader of comic books about the Man of Steel, I was also a huge fan of the popular TV show “The Adventures of Superman,” starring George Reeves. Whenever that program came on, you could always find me glued to the TV set. I was simply enchanted with that “strange visitor from another planet with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men.”

Like many boys my age, I wanted to be like Superman; actually, to be honest, I wanted to be Superman because he could do all kinds of amazing things: he was “faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.” He could also “change the course of mighty rivers” and “bend steel in his bare hands.” But most importantly, he could fly!

I have many wonderful childhood memories of playing with friends on swings. We would all try to see how high we could go. At the highest point I would bail out and, at least for a moment, fly through the air like my hero. Somehow I survived all those “flights” without any broken bones.

Back in those days the City of Jackson also afforded me an opportunity to pretend that I could fly. Do they still send trucks into neighborhoods to spray for mosquitoes? In the 1950s, it was a regular summertime occurrence. Some would ride their bicycles behind the truck, but whenever I saw it coming down our street, I would go get a towel (my makeshift cape), tie it around my neck, dash outside, and run through all that fog with my arms extended in front of me, like I was Superman flying through the clouds. Cumulatively, over several summers, I must have breathed in a truckload of that toxic spray (it was DDT back then). It’s surely a miracle that I made it to adulthood!

So why all this fascination with flying like Superman? Perhaps it’s because that famous superhero fulfills a desire in all of us for the supernatural, a longing to reach for something beyond our grasp. We yearn to escape our earthly limitations and soar upward to God, to the Source of our being. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we all have a hunger for the spiritual, for the infinite, for God; that’s the way the Creator made us. As St. Augustine said, “Our hearts were made for Thee, O Lord, and they are restless until they rest in Thee.” It’s not difficult to see how Superman can serve as a remedy for some of this restlessness. He can satisfy these cravings because he’s a kind of messianic figure, a Christ-like figure.

Superman was created by two 18-year-old Jewish boys in Cleveland, Ohio, in the late 1930s. During that decade Hitler would come to power, establish the Third Reich, and attempt to exterminate the Jews from the face of the earth. At the same time, our country (and the rest of the world) found itself mired in the depths of the Great Depression. The Jews needed a messiah, a savior, to rescue them from annihilation, and Americans needed a heroic figure, if only a fictional one, to lift our spirits. Superman satisfied both needs.

Let’s take a closer look at some of the parallels between Jesus and Superman. We know that the divine Son of God, is omnipotent; there are no limits to what He can do. We also know that the Man of Steel is a “strange visitor from another planet who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men.” Also, Jesus has a human nature and a divine nature, while Superman likewise has two identities: he is Clark Kent, “mild-mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper,” as well as a superhero.

Jor-El is Superman’s father (“El” in Hebrew means “God”). Superman’s real name is Kal-El, and since he is Jor-El’s son, he serves as a type of the Son of God, Jesus, who is also God, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. Moments before the planet Krypton is destroyed, Jor-El places his only son, baby Kal-El, in a small capsule and sends it out into space headed for the planet Earth. The space ship crashes in farmland in the state of Kansas. Jonathan Kent and his wife, Martha, discover the strange little boy in the wreckage, become his adoptive parents, name him Clark, and raise him in the American heartland.

In the 1978 film “Superman,” Clark is tempted to show off in front of a few kids from his high school by demonstrating some of the marvelous things he can do, but Mr. Kent advises caution, explaining to Clark that there’s a reason he has amazing powers. Clark eventually rises above these temptations, and when he becomes an adult, he leaves the farm, discovers why he was sent to Earth, and goes off to the crime-ridden city of Metropolis to fulfill his purpose: to save people everywhere from the forces of evil.

Similarly, God the Father sent His only Son, Jesus, from heaven to earth to be our redeemer. Our Lord grew up with Mary and his foster father, Joseph, in the backwater town of Nazareth.When it was time to begin His ministry, Jesus left home and went into the wilderness to fast and pray. There, Satan came and offered Him three temptations, but Our Lord refused each one because He had to accomplish the purpose for which He was sent. In Jerusalem, after overcoming another great temptation in the Garden of Gethsemane, He went to Calvary and carried out His mission: to save us from our sins by dying on the Cross, and to defeat death by rising again on the third day.

We, too, should be on a mission. But what is our task? The 4th-century theologian St. Athanasius of Alexandria said, “the Son of God became man so that we might become God.” At first glance that sounds impossible, even though we know that we came from God, and one day we hope to return to Him. Perhaps our mission has something to do with Superman. If children can pretend to be the Man of Steel, why can’t we as adults try to be more like the Son of God?

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