Archive for July, 2009

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When Jesus Spoke of Justice

July 2, 2009

Fr. Guardini examines the theme of Justice as presented in two popular Biblical parables. The first comes from the Prodigal Son, the second from the Parable of the Day Laborers.

 

Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son

Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son

Then Jesus said, “There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate. “Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”
Luke 15:11-32

Justice And The Elder Son In The Return Of The Prodigal Son
It was the elder son who had to bear responsibility and the main burden of the estate. The father had probably never thought of pleasing this undemonstrative, sober offspring who seemed so entirely absorbed by his work, and he never would have asked for favors, whereas the younger one took everything that came his way as light-heartedly as he scattered gifts. How otherwise are we to explain the bitterness of the complaint that not even the smallest animal was ever slaughtered for his pleasure or that of his friends? When his younger brother set out into the world with half of their heritage, he left behind him one heart filled with rancor and disdain. Now the spoiled profligate is back, penniless only to be received like a prince! The father’s reply to his eldest objections fails to impress.

But what if the father had agreed with him? If he had said to the home comer: Go your way! You’ve had what you wanted! Then justice would have been restored. The older brother would have been satisfied. Or would he? Completely? If he was a good man, certainly not. The sight of his brother would have robbed his peace. Contrary to all feeling of “justice” a not to be stifled small voice would have insisted that somehow he had missed a sacred opportunity.

Justice is good. It is the foundation of existence. But there is something higher than justice, the bountiful widening of the heart to mercy.  Justice is clear, but one step further and it becomes cold. Mercy is genuine, heartfelt; when backed by character, it warms and redeems. Justice regulates, orders existence; mercy creates. Justice satisfies the mind that all is as it should be, but from mercy leaps the joy of creative life. That is why it is written that heaven rejoices more over one sinner who does penance than over a hundred who have no need of it. High above all the stupidity and evil mankind arches the spacious dome of mercy. When justice enters here insisting on its narrow rights it becomes repugnant. We catch the undertone in the gently disdainful words about the ninety-nine “just”; that heap of righteousness so excellent and respectable, is incomparably less than one penitent over whom the angels can rejoice (Luke 15:7).

If we look closely we begin to wonder whether perhaps justice’s protest isn’t in reality directed against penance. Does the person stiff with justice really want the sinner converted? Doesn’t he somehow feel that he is thus escaping his just deserts, endangering the existent order? Wouldn’t he prefer to see him remain locked in sin and forced bear the consequences? Perhaps he considers the return to grace a more or less underhanded trick played at the expense of justice. What would things come to if everyone like that scamp there, after wasting half a fortune, extricated himself from the affair by turning virtuous! And actually, the true conversion does break the bounds of mere justice. It is a creative new beginning—in God, as theology teaches us, since the sinner alone and unaided is incapable of true repentance. According to the logic of evil, sin produces blindness, which leads to fresh sin, which in turn leads to deeper blindness, ultimately ending in complete darkness and death. Conversion breaks this vicious circle of cause and effect, and is thus already grace. If there is seraphic joy in heaven over the conversion of a single sinner, it is because that conversion is a victory of grace. To the so-called pure sense of justice, conversion is a scandal. For justice runs the risk not being able to see beyond its borders to the realm of love and creative liberty where the renascent forces of the human heart and divine grace are at home. Woe to him who insists on living in mere justice. Woe to the world in which justice alone reigned!

 

Jacob Willemszoon de Wet's The Parable of the Workers in the Vinyard

Jacob Willemszoon de Wet's The Parable of the Workers in the Vinyard

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o”clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o”clock, he did the same. And about five o”clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o”clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’
Matthew 20:1-15 

Justice And The Parable Of The Day Laborers
For if those who have worked but a few hours receive the same as those who have toiled all day, their wage is devaluated. And the landowner’s answer is anything but placating: Can’t I do with my money as I please? No, you cannot! There is a law concerning your money and your power, the law of justice. You and your property are subject to this higher law and we accuse you before it!

Nevertheless, the proprietor’s unwelcome reply hits the nail on head. We begin to understand when we realize that he represents God. The parable means simply this: He who distributes work and wage and the various destinies of men is the Lord of all existence, God. He is the Creator, the Omnipotent, the Primal One.

Everything that is, is his. There is no law higher than he. His decision is always valid. Do we agree? Sincerely? No. Even from God we demand justice. We expect his omnipotence to be curbed by his justiceThis expectation is not irreligious. There is a whole book in Bible on the self-assertion of justice in the face of God: the Book of Job. Job knows he has not sinned, at least not so as to have deserved anything like the terrible afflictions that have been sent him. Therefore he sees himself a victim of injustice. Job’s friends appoint themselves his judges and declare that he must have sinned, for such misfortune can only be punishment.  However, the palaver comes to a sudden end; they are disdainfully silenced by God himself, who personally appears to Job, wrapped in the mantle of living mystery. Whereupon all discussion ceases. What does this mean?  That we attempt to call God to order in the name of justice only as long as we are intrinsicalliy ignorant of who he is.  As soon as the essence of his holy being even begins to dawn on us, our objections wither away. For everything comes from God, has its roots in God.  Justice is  not a law superior to everything, God included, God is Justice.  As soon as justice ceases to be considered a thing in itself, it becomes a crystallization of the living, divine essence. Never can it be an isolated platform from which man can confront his God; he who stands on its stands ‘within’ God, and must learn from him who is more than justice what living justice means….

The parable of the day laborers culminates in the words: “Or art thou envious  because I am generous?” Divine liberty surpassing all judgment, that there is no higher instance to invoke; the whole is the mysteryof God’s goodness, of his bounty and love. The New Testament another word for it: grace. Man is warned against locking himself in justice rather than opening his heart to the goodness of divine reason and action; he is told to surrender to grace, which is higher than justice, if he would be free.

A curious thing happens to the spokesman of justice in this parable. He is accused of envy. What a reply to one convinced that he has suffered an injustice! Instead of hearing as he expected, that untamperable right will be restored, he must learn that his real motive for intervening was inferior! Yet if we accept Scripture as holy word, we learn a strange rule about human nature: that when it becomes necessary to invoke justice, that irreproachable value and crystalline motive, almost always something is rotten in Denmark. Too often ‘justice’ is used as a mask for quite different things.

Human justice is highly problematical. It is something man should strive for but not lean upon. Perhaps we come closest to the true sense of the New Testament if we say that genuine justice is not the beginning but the end, and that the other justice so pompously displayed as the fundament of morality is a dubious thing. True justice is the fruit of bounty, and practicable by man only after he has been initiated into the school of divine love where he has learned to see people as they really are, himself included. Before one can be just, one must learn to love.

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Engaging Atheism

July 1, 2009
Atheism

Atheism

Michael Novak in his book No One Sees God reviews the works of the most prominent new atheists: Christopher Hitchens, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and Daniel Dennett. Following that he engages nonbelievers in a Socratic dialogue while describing the phenomenology of human life in general — for believers and non-believers. It is an interesting attempt to find common ground between the two camps based on mutual experience.

But in the end he has to recognize that there really are two camps in this life: atheists who interpret human experiences one way, and those who know God who interpret them in another. Still there is a sense of frustration (?) or disbelief that comes in his closing paragraphs:

“Sometimes I wonder what atheists are missing that everyone else gets. The atheist is inflamed with intelligence that runs right through the middle of his head and out to the farthest speck in the most distant curvature of the universe. What intelligence finds, within and without, mostly makes sense. Everything is potentially intelligible, law-like, rich with emerging probabilities that run their courses; full of contingencies, chance, improbabilities. All that we find explodes with exultation, with glory: It is, it exists. It is heavy not only with intelligence but with the force that drives it, pushes it, into existence — like daffodils and tulips and green grass pushed up through the moist spring soil.

Most of what we experience closest to us is composed of transient things — passing, here today but by no means forever, passing like sand through one’s fingers at the beach, or like pink sands through an hourglass. Passing like comets through the night sky, self-incinerating.

Why are atheists not grabbed by the fragility the passingness of all the bittersweet beauty around them? Why do they not grasp hold of the power and glory of the sheer insight and beauty in all that surrounds them, penetrates them, embraces them?

Why do they not see reflectively that the insight and intelligence that runs through their heads and races through the universe is the first sign of what most common people mean by God? In the wonder that comes over them when they contemplate the turbulent, explosive order of the world In the sheer mathematics of the thing. Even within chance, mere probability schemes, and what physicists call “chaos:’ intelligence seeks light, pursues inquiry, draws inferences. Chance is not necessarily proof of the absence of intelligence, but is a pointer to a more sophisticated kind of intelligence: that of an Artist.

Alter a long and fascinating conversation, Professor Dawkins once asked Michael Heller, the physicist-priest from Poland, who has done brilliant work on the necessary separations and yet connections between science and religion, “What divides us?” Professor Heller answered: “A single letter. You write ‘mathematics’ with a small ‘m’ I write it with a capital ‘M’

The beautiful intelligence that runs through everything.

In all your life, you see no evidence for the existing God? My God, man, what, more do you want?”

In the United States nowadays, atheism is out in the open: like gays and lesbians, it has come “out of the closet.” It used to be, in the good old days, that the only open enemy of their religion that American Catholics had to worry about was Protestantism. But the old dispute between Catholicism and Protestantism was small potatoes in comparison to the new dispute between Catholicism and atheism. Protestantism objected to certain particulars of Catholicism; atheism objects to the whole root-and-branch of Christianity.

All this being the case, American Catholics would be wise to give serious attention to atheism. Atheism has been in the world for many centuries, it has many varieties, it has offered many defenses of itself and it arises from many different motives. I’ve uploaded an excellent article on the motives of atheism by Dr David R. Carlin, a professor of sociology and philosophy at the Community College of Rhode Island, and the author of The Decline and Fall of Catholicism in America (Sophia Institute Press, 2003). His most recent book is Can a Catholic Be a Democrat? (Sophia Institute Press, 2006). There is also a previous series of posts that encapsulate the views of Dr. Steven M. Barr as he engaged the scientific materialism that is at the root of the atheist conceit or worldview.

Here my object is a little bit different. Most readers of these posts are Catholic and as such accept St Paul’s teaching that we must evangelize our faith, that the way that God’s Revelation in the Gospels is achieved is by someone having heard about it.

Fr. John Cihak sums up the challenge fairly neatly: “The greatest challenge I find in bringing someone to Christ and his Church is finding ways to engage him in meaningful conversation.

Talk of truth is often met with a yawn, and an assertion about what is good is met with a stare of incomprehension. In the malaise of contemporary American life, people do not seem to be moved much by claims of truth or goodness. Relativism has made truth to be whatever one desires, thereby turning the good into whatever makes one “feel” good. With access to these roads of Truth and Goodness into the human heart darkened by relativism, how can one engage the average non-believer? How can one place him on the road that would ultimately lead him back to the Truth and the Good?

Though people may glaze over when one makes claims of truth and goodness, their ears seem to perk up at the mention of beauty: the flash of lightening across the sky, the dramatic auburn colors of a late summer sunset, a sublime snatch of music whether it be Mozart’s Requiem or a David Gilmour guitar solo.

An even more intense encounter is with the beauty that expresses human love: the exhilaration when love is extended and the other’s eyes sparkle, trembling lips break into a smile and say “Yes.” The heart soars, and one may even weep for joy. Often the encounter is described as being swept off one’s feet. Though perhaps darkened to what is true and good, the post-modern heart is still captivated by beauty revealing love, and this may be the road to Christ for many citizens of the post-modern world.”

Hans Urs von Balthazar
There is a Catholic Theologian whose work captures this central apologetic theme of beauty revealing love. His name is Hans Urs von Balthazar. Born in 1905, he lived through the horror and devastation of both World Wars, writing his doctoral thesis, The Apocalypse of the German Soul, during Hitler’s rise to power. He was immersed in literature, music, and philosophy. In 1929, after a retreat where he felt a powerful call to the priesthood, he entered the Society of Jesus and was educated by some of the best of his time including the Polish philosopher, Erich Przywara, and French Jesuit and patristic scholar, Henri de Lubac.

Balthasar is becoming recognized as perhaps the greatest theologian of the 20th century — yet he never held an academic position in theology. Far from being an ivory tower academic, he was involved with the pastoral duties as a student chaplain at the University of Basel, Switzerland. It was there that he came to know Adrienne von Spyer, who converted to the Catholic Church and became the recipient of what seems to have been intense mystical graces.

Together they discerned a call to found a secular institute (a community whose members take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience but live in the world engaged in secular professions), the Community of St. John. To continue his work as leader of the community, Balthasar eventually had to make one of the most painful decisions of his life: to leave the Jesuit Order and become a diocesan priest. In the 1950s, this simply was not done.

This irregular ecclesial situation led to his being not invited to Vatican II as an “expert theologian,” yet in the wake of the Council he served on the Vatican’s International Theological Commission. Toward the end of his life he was named to the College of Cardinals by Pope John Paul II, but died on June 28, 1988, two days before receiving his red hat. During his life he authored thousands of works in theology and literature. His aim was always two fold: to help the believer understand his faith more deeply, and to draw others into the saving relationship with Jesus Christ and his Church.

Through his studies and life in German culture, he realized the direction Western civilization was heading. He knew the dizzying heights to which Western culture could soar in music, art, literature, and philosophy, but that it also chose ugly depths: war, oppression, abortion, and exploitation. As a Catholic priest, he knew he had to help Western civilization open itself again to God’s revelation of absolute love in the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, and be saved. Balthasar seized upon love revealed in beauty as the path to bring the non-believer to faith. Western culture, having grown tired of seeking truth and goodness, and largely despairing of finding them, could be brought back to the One who is both Truth and Goodness through Beauty. His arguments are found in two foundational works:, Love Alone is Credible (abbreviated LA) and The Glory of the Lord (abbreviated GL).

Balthasar argues that the encounter with beauty in the world is analogous to the encounter with the Triune God. What happens in the “aesthetic encounter”? He sees that beauty is an indissolvable union of two things: species and lumen. Beauty consists of a specific, tangible form (species) accessible to human senses with a splendor emanating from the form (lumen). Beauty has a particular form, is concretely situated in the coordinates of time and space, and thus has proportion so that it can be perceived. The splendor is the attractive charm of the Beautiful, the gravitational pull, the tractor beam pulling the beholder into it. When confronted with the Beautiful, one encounters “the real presence of the depths, of the whole reality, and . . . a real pointing beyond itself to those depths” (GL).

In the perception of beauty, two moments occur: first vision and then rapture, the result of which is the impression of the form on the beholder. The splendor moves out from within the form, enraptures the person and transports him into its depths. Thus the visible form “not only ‘points’ to an invisible, unfathomable mystery; form is the apparition of this mystery, and reveals it while, naturally, at the same time protecting and veiling it” (GL). In beauty, the beholder is drawn out of himself and pulled into the form by the attractive force of the beautiful thing, thereby encountering the beautiful thing in itself.

The Aesthetical Encounter
A simple example to illustrate the aesthetical encounter can be found in looking up into a clear night sky at the stars. One is struck by the immensity and order of the universe, by the arrangement of the constellations. On an especially clear night, one seems engulfed by the sheer number of stars. Presented with this beautiful form, a sensitive viewer is drawn in by light breaking forth from the form. This light is not simply the light emanating from each star, the result of burning gases. It is the light of Being. Transported into the depths of the form, the viewer ponders foundational questions such as: How did this happen? Where did these things come from? Why is this form so beautiful? Why am I so moved by it?

The result of the aesthetical encounter is an encounter with the mystery of Being-in-itself. One has been shown the form and through the form been brought into an encounter with the depth of Being. Wondering at the mystery of a particular being, one is drawn into that beautiful form, and touches the mystery of absolute Being. The form and the depths of its being are indissoluble. In beauty one doesn’t “get behind” the form. Rather one touches the depths of Being in the form itself.

For Balthasar, things that exist don’t just lay there in existence; they glow from their participation in absolute Being. In Beauty, one is taken in and grasped by Being. In order to perceive a particular being as it is, one must surrender, be receptive, and be willing to be taken in by the form. Control or manipulation on the part of the beholder derails the aesthetical encounter. To share in the beauty, the viewer must renounce himself. The result of the encounter with beauty is the impressing of the form on the person leaving him breathless, exhilarated, full of awe and infused with joy. He is “seduced” by the beautiful form whether it is a stunning landscape or one’s beloved.

While acknowledging the joy of beauty in this world, and especially the beauty in human love, a terrible frustration accompanies, and threatens that joy. Human love is marked by three failures: limitation, selfishness and death. “Human love being finite seems to contradict itself,” (LA) writes Balthasar, because “what love means . . . is that the present should be eternal” (LA). Not only is human love limited, it’s also infected with selfishness. He reasons, “The ordinary level of human existence, where man meets man, is a sort of middle zone where love and self-interest, love and the absence of love, temper one another” (LA). Love’s limitation and brokenness are marked by the ultimate seal of death, which seems to rob human love of everything it strives for. He concludes, “Human love, regarded as created love only, is a strange hieroglyph” (LA). Man cannot find the resolution to his predicament in the world or in himself. Is there liberation from it?

Balthasar answers, “God’s love [is] a love which goes in search of man in order to lift him out of the pit, free him from his bonds and place him in the freedom of the divine love that is now human as well” (LA). How can man perceive God revealing himself, and give himself to God in the act of faith? God, who is love, has startled the world with his self-revelation as the Beautiful One.

Balthasar argues that the beautiful is the first point of insight by which one perceives God’s revelation. God’s appearance in the world is analogous to the aesthetical encounter. Analogy is the only possible means whereby man may speak about God without depriving him of his absolute mystery, or the believer the possibility of articulating an explanation of divine revelation. Analogy neither distances nor compromises God’s absolute transcendence and love. What corresponds to “beauty” on the natural plane is the Lord’s “glory” on the divine plane.

The Father, Son and Holy Spirit have revealed themselves as one God in order to liberate man and bring him to live within the divine life of the Trinity. Man could never anticipate God’s astounding initiative in reaching out to save him.

The Form of the Cross
The pinnacle of this revelation, which Balthasar calls the “Christform”, is Jesus nailed to the Cross. One may object, “How can the crucifixion of Jesus be the preeminent revelation of Beauty?” In the ugliest place of human existence (crucifixion and death) God reveals himself as absolute, total self-giving love. The Trinity is self-giving love. Being disguised under the disfigurement of an ugly crucifixion and death, the Christform is paradoxically the clearest revelation of who God is. This love can only be fully revealed in a world corrupted by sin through death, the ultimate expression of self-giving in this world.

And so this is the supreme moment of transcending beauty, a revelation of love visible in the world, yet pointing to a love beyond this world. As St. John so profoundly grasps in his Gospel, the concealment of the Son under the form of the Cross is his glory because it reveals a love to the absolute end. The glory of the Son does not come after the Cross. The Cross is his glory. Even in this ultimate form of beauty in self-giving love, God does not overwhelm human freedom. No one is forced to believe that this crucified man is the divine Son of God saving the world.

As in the aesthetical encounter, the form is Jesus nailed to the Cross. One must decipher the Christform which stands in history as a concrete sign (species). Anyone can stand before it and wonder, “Who is this?” God has disturbed history forever with his provocative sign of love. The perception of faith, however, is beyond the ability of man alone. What is required is a new light. Without this light man cannot see the depths of the form. In other words, the non-believer looks at the Cross and says, “I see just a man.” God must awaken in man the capacity to recognize him.

The splendor (lumen) emanating from the form is the glory of the Lord containing divine grace. This glory strikes the non-believer (vision) pulling him into the form and enabling him to believe (rapture). He is pulled into its depths, not simply for an encounter with absolute Being, but into a personal relationship with the tri-personal God (who is also absolute Being). The act of faith is to be swept up into the form of the Triune God’s self-revelation in Jesus of Nazareth through the splendor of divine grace. The non-believer is seduced by the form.

Divine grace, working in the interior of the person, allows him to see the form for what it is. Only grace enables him to organize the evidence for belief into a coherent whole and see what the sign reveals. As in beauty, to share in the revelation of divine love, one must renounce himself and surrender to the grace offered. Furthermore, one does not “get behind” the form of the Cross in order to then see God. Rather the Trinity is revealed in the Cross. Jesus said to Philip, “He who has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). When the non-believer encounters Christ crucified, an historical event situated in time and space, he can be pulled into that form, by assenting to the grace offered, for an encounter with the Triune God.

In the Cross man encounters a love not of this world. Man sees “that the love offered him is quite unlike anything he knows as love; and that the scandal [of God’s love] exists in order to make him see the uniqueness of this new love — and by its light to reveal and lay bare to him his own love for what it is, lack of love” (LA). The non-believer asks, “With my broken love, and my life hurtling toward death, is there anything worthy of my belief?” Jesus of Nazareth is the unique sign, expressive of a persuasive love which draws the beholder into the same dynamic of love. In the act of faith, as in the encounter with beauty, one is marked by the beautiful form. The Father impresses his form on the Son, and the Son, through the Holy Spirit, presses his form on the believer. The person’s own life is to take on the dimensions of the Christform. He is not to be a bystander but a participant in this dynamic of divine love.

The credibility of the revelation comes through the Christform, from which breaks forth the pulsating, burning furnace of Trinitarian love. This sign needs no other proofs. It is the proof of love. In the encounter of faith, the non-believer realizes that this revelation not only unites the fragments of truth in the world, not only gives meaning to mankind at its deepest level, but that it pulls him beyond into the very life of God encountering a love beyond his capacity to imagine. Finally, one finds a love worthy of his faith, of his very life. This is a love that is believable.

The Invitation to Eternal Life and Divine Love
Balthasar is not out to prove the revelation of God’s love through reason. Divine love is reasonable, but it transcends human reason. Rather, Balthasar provokes the non-believer with the historical sign of revelation in order that he may open his heart and so be drawn in by beauty.

The non-believer, with his fractured and ultimately failed love, by the inescapable reality of death, sees in the encounter with the Cross the reality of the Triune God shining in its depths. In this revelation of Glory, man is offered the possibility of sharing an eternal life of divine love. He realizes that his small, finite human love can be elevated to share in the inexhaustible, infinite love of God. But the encounter with divine love requires an open heart, a heart sensitive to beauty, a heart able to wonder, a heart that can surrender to the forms of beauty found in this world, a heart that is in anguish as it attempts to love in the face of death.

A consequence of Balthasar’s insight is that the divine love revealed on the Cross is meant to transform not just the non-believer but the apologist as well. He must also be marked by the Christform. As a believer, the apologist has been pulled by divine grace into the encounter of the form of Christ, and so his life must then take on the contours of the form. In this world, divine love is revealed in the suffering and death of the Son. For this reason the apologist can win a person to Christ and his Church only if he first loves that person and is willing to suffer, and even die, for him. The beauty of the apologist’s life will draw one to perceive God’s revelation. Listen to Penn talk about the gift of a book of Psalms.

Not only should parish churches be places of beauty and the celebration of Mass be beautiful and passionate, but most of all, the lives of believers must be beautiful. A believer’s life must radiate the beauty of divine love. The work of apologetics goes beyond winning arguments to being grasped by the Christform: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).

Balthasar’s approach is useful not only to provoke non-believers, but also to attract those who have fallen away, to reawaken lukewarm believers, and to help the apologist understand his faith more deeply. Those who wish to delve more deeply in Balthasar’s thought may begin with Love Alone and then turn to his treatment of the “Three Days” (Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday) in Mysterium Paschale (tr. Aidan Nichols [Ignatius, 2000]). He continues this apologetic line in In the Fullness of Faith: On the Centrality of the Distinctively Catholic (tr. Graham Harrison [Ignatius, 1988]). Those more ambitious may tackle volume one of The Glory of the Lord. For an introduction to his thought, I have found the study by Fr. Edward Oakes, S.J., The Pattern of Redemption (Continuum, 1994), to be very helpful. Also see Hans Urs von Balthasar: His Life and Work (Ignatius, 1991), edited by David L. Schindler.

In reflecting on his own work Balthasar wrote, in My Work…In Retrospect (Ignatius/Communio, 1993): “You do good apologetics if you do good, central theology; if you expound theology effectively, you have done the best kind of apologetics.” God’s self-revelation, the center of pulsating love revealed as beauty, is disguised under the disfigured, ugly crucifixion and death of Jesus the obedient Son. Through the encounter with divine love revealed as beauty, one is led back to truth and goodness because he is led into the encounter with the One who is True, Good and Communion.

Through the beauty of divine revelation, man can discover a love that is believable.

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