The other day I was flipping through books in a bookstore, and I came across an essay by an American author who had stumbled across a secluded Buddhist monastery while traveling through Asia. The writer, who was not religious, eloquently expressed the sense of reverence and awe that filled him upon witnessing one of the monks' blessing rituals. The scene he encountered struck him as being so beautiful, the words filled with such wisdom, that the man was filled with the awareness that he was beholding something special.
It reminded me of the way my friends and I used to view some foreign belief systems when I was younger. Even though I was an atheist, I had a kind of respect for certain Eastern religions, especially Buddhism. If I had ended up in a remote candlelit monastery with Buddhist monks back then, I'm sure I too would have been astonished by it all. In fact, once I thought about it, I realized that I probably would have been even more amazed in such a situation back then than I am with my own Christian faith on any given day right now.
This remained in my mind as Advent approached and I found myself surrounded by Christmas music and Christmas trees and colorful Christmas lights on all the neighborhood houses. I was surrounded by reminders of the birth of Christ, the coming of the Messiah who saved the world...and yet I approached it with only a fraction of the awe of the agnostic writer who visited a Buddhist temple. How could this be? I wondered as I went through my days, too often thinking of Christmas as the cause of a long to-do list that I needed to work through. Why is it that that author could conjure up more amazement for what he saw among the monks in Asia? Why on earth would I myself have felt more astonishment at something like that back when I was an atheist than I do when considering the birth of Christ now that I actually believe that he is God incarnate?
I think the problem is this: When you've only ever encountered a spiritual ritual as practiced by a devout few, it's easy to stand in awe; you're seeing it in its purest form. When you've never seen it as lived by the masses, been exposed to all the bad things that come with human frailty, it's easy to imagine that this faith contains a power strong enough to trump even human free will, that all who practice it automatically become devout and possessed by unearthly wisdom. When you yourself have only participated in the ritual once or twice, you haven't had a chance to get bored.
If that author had stayed near that temple for the rest of his life, and participated in the rituals once a week, my guess is that his awe would fade. He'd find that the monks are normal humans, that they have their good qualities, but can also be plenty annoying too. The rituals would become less exotic and more routine. He might catch himself looking at his watch half way through the hundredth incense-filled ceremony, wondering if this Sanskrit chant would go on forever.
What he sensed when he first arrived -- that there are real powers outside of the material world, and that these monks sought to get in touch with them -- would become buried under the blasé attitude that we all too easily adopt when we're surrounded by the familiar. He'd lose that gut reaction of reverence he'd felt the first time he encountered this faith, that untainted appreciation of the new you feel when you haven't had the opportunity to become cynical.
And so it is with us. I've written before about my first Christmas after my conversion, how I would pause in awe upon hearing lyrics to age-old Christmas tunes, how it felt like I was a child who had discovered Narnia. So how do you get that back?
It's probably impossible to replicate perfectly the experience of encountering something for the first time, but sometimes you're given an opportunity to see the Faith through fresh eyes, to look at truths you already know and have them penetrate your soul like they did when you first heard them. For me, that happened when I read Pope Benedict's new book, Jesus of Nazareth: The Infancy Narratives.
Like the Holy Father's other books in this series, each page, each paragraph is packed with insights about a specific time in the life of Christ. To give just one example, here is Pope Benedict unpacking what we can learn from comparing the way the birth of John the Baptist was announced to Zechariah to the way the birth of Christ was announced to Mary:
Zechariah, father of the Baptist, is a priest and he receives the message in the Temple, during its liturgy. Mary's lineage is not mentioned. The angel Gabriel is sent to her by God. He enters her house in Nazareth -- a town unknown to the sacred Scriptures, a house that we must surely picture to ourselves as very humble and very simple. The contrast between the two scenes could not be greater: priest -- Temple -- liturgy on the one hand, an unknown young woman -- an unknown small town -- an unknown private dwelling on the other. The sign of the new Covenant is humility, hiddenness -- the sign of the mustard-seed. The Son of God comes in lowliness. Both these elements belong together: the profound continuity in the history of God's action and the radical newness of the hidden mustard-seed.
All throughout the book are examples like this one: Insights about individual events we may have heard before, yet woven together to form profound truths that we might not have considered, that awaken the soul to see the story of the birth of Christ anew.
Immersing myself in this book has been a chance to let go of the defensiveness and cynicism and distractedness and ungratefulness that is ultimately at the root of my nonchalant feelings toward the Christmas story. Reading of the birth of the Savior on cold nights, the house dark except for the wan light of my bedside lamp, silent except for the swish of the turning of pages, the Holy Father's words rescue me from my bog of frantic thoughts about Christmas lists and unopened boxes of decorations (and the maddening fact that I still have no idea where our nice Advent wreath is). Like that writer stumbling upon the hidden temple in Asia, I am able to behold what is in front of me without my lens being smudged by the cares of everyday life. And for the first time in a few years, I'm finally rediscovering that sense of awe that we should have whenever we contemplate the greatest story ever told.
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For me, having a child helps to rekindle the awe in many areas, including this one. I try to take the time to pause and see things through his eyes, and it makes a huge difference.
A long time ago, it was midnight mass on Christmas Eve that brought me back to the Church. Unfortunately, I have a way of coming and going. The true Christmas spirit is in the Advent preparation.
That’s one of the reasons I love the Advent wreath so much. You turn out all the lights and sing “O Come O Come Emmanuel” in a chant-y tone. It’s just cool and you can see the awe in the kids’ faces.
This just supports the importance of constantly learning about the faith in new ways. Reading, trying a new ritual, learning a new prayer, taking a pilgrimage… these are all so important to retaining that awe. If you can do something big, take a trip to Jerusalem, Mt Sinai, Rome, or another holy pilgrimage. (My biggest moment of awe was sunrise atop Mt Sinai, and staying behind to be the last person on the mountain that morning and soaking in the silence.) But you don’t have to travel far. Sometimes just visiting a different parish and taking the time to study the art and statuary can do it, or attending adoration one evening instead of going home to watch TV. Our mother church provides us with SO MUCH, that if we look for it we will always find something “new” and awe-inspiring.
Claire and Eileen - that is just as I suspected.
One year, as I was decorating my tree, and setting up my nativity, it was obvious that I was missing something. As I pondered on it…. I finally realized it was children!
Being able to watch the wonder and awe on a child’s face as you prepare for Christmas - and to teach them about the faith, helps to strengthen your own faith.
I’m going to have to borrow some children this year to help me decorate my tree. Sadly, I don’t think anyone is going to just agree to that!!!
It reminds me of a Chesterton quote…
“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
- G. K. Chesterton
Given what we know about the sun, the moon and daisies and assuming that Chesterton knew the same, what is the purpose of his use of metaphors? Was he just being poetic? Can knowing too much about science and nature actually be detrimental to one’s faith? I can’t see crediting God for natural phenomena. I must be missing his intent. To me it sounds like some kind of misapplied sentimentality. There must be something wrong with me to get it.
Bill S.: I think that we can assume that Chesterton knew as much as we know about the ordinary, every-day-ness of the rising of the sun, the setting of the moon, and the procreation of daisies. What I think Chesterton was including was his knowledge that God every moment continues to breathe existence into the world. Although He (God) has set things in motion so that they follow patterns which we call “laws” at the most basic level the continuation of the world depends on God’s continuous mindfulness. It took me several years to understand this Chesterton quote. Chesterton was amazingly good at childlike awe. When I first started reading Chesterton I was too old to understand him. Now I am older, but my mind is younger. If at first you don’t get him, keep trying.
I am reading “How Christ Said The First Mass” by Fr. James Meagher Copyright 1906 published by Tan Books. It is giving me a new awe for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. It shows all the forshadowing of Christ and the Mass in the Solomon Temple worship.
“Although He (God) has set things in motion so that they follow patterns which we call “laws” at the most basic level the continuation of the world depends on God’s continuous mindfulness.”
I’m pretty sure that is a nice sentiment but not true. Metaphorically, it was God who created the laws of nature and the rest, following the Big Bang, has all happened according to those laws. God’s intervention is not necessary.
Rebecca: When I said that God’s intervention was not necessary, I didn’t mean to imply that God doesn’t intervene in other ways. I just meant in terms of keeping things in motion according to the laws of nature. I don’t mean to take anything away from writers like Chesterton and CS Lewis. I hope you don’t take what I said the wrong way.
Jennifer, once again you’ve written a thought provoking piece. Thank you for your words at this time of Advent. They help put it in perspective for me as one waiting anxiously for a time when I can be confirmed into the Church. You’ve also exposed me to the Holy Father’s new book. Thank you!
How you converting from agnosticism? From another religion? From another denomination?
My iPhone took are as how. Are you converting…
You could say all of the above, Bill. I grew up with a non-denominational/fundamental background, then became agnostic and studied a few non-Christian faiths as an adult before finding my way to Catholicism.
That’s interesting, because I was born and immediately baptized as a Catholic and have never known any other way of life. When I lost my faith in God, I stood the risk of losing everything. So I’ve decided to keep this change of beliefs to myself. For example, tonight I am going to a Christmas party put on by the social club of my parish. I don’t think anyone there really cares what I believe. So why bring it up? I also belong to the Knights of Columbus and every fall I stand out at traffic lights with an apron that says “For God’s Children” collecting donations and giving out Tootsie Roll’s. At every Easter vigil, I enjoy seeing people who have completed the training baptized and are confirmed. I always wonder what it is about this faith that has been part of my life from the very beginning that attracts them so much.
To me, there is way to much to believe. I disregard just about every story I hear about any kind of miracle. I focus on the teachings especially things like the sermon on the mount and the parables. I don’t let the bishops tell me how I should vote. And I take the word of scientists over the word of theologians.
So will you be entering the church at Easter or before? Or are you already a member of the church and just waiting to receive confirmation?
Buy a new, not quite so nice, wreath and give away the other when you find it!
You ask regarding awe, “...how do you get that back?” By way of innocent, childlike, humble faith.
Dear Bill S, I am also a life long Catholic, for the first 50 years I attended Mass weekly and was active in church. I am a nurse and on my 50th birthday I was at work and faced an ethical choice. The repercussions of standing up for life, changed my life. I started a journey in pro-life activism and began to Adore in our chapel. It caused a reawakening of my faith and I began to listen to Catholic Radio and become more informed, reading the Catechism. I hope you have a reawakening without the pain I suffered through. I will pray for you.
Peggy: I am going on 61 on the 18th. I’ve been a closet atheist for the past year based on what I have read about the true story of creation. I can see flaws in some arguments made by both sides and will likely come up with a middle of the road outlook in the end. When I was 20, my 18-year-old girlfriend had an abortion. At the time it was only legal in New York. A lot has changed in the past 40 years and I’m sure some people see it as good and some people see it as bad. I respect your pro-life stand although I do not entirely share it. I continue to practice the Catholic faith for the sake of the people around me and also for the social aspects. I sort of credit God for the creation of the universe although I don’t specifically believe any longer in the God that was presented to me as a child. I’m sure a lot of believers feel the same way and maybe I shouldn’t just call myself an atheist. But that would be the Reader’s Digest version.
Bill S, You may want to search for Peter Kreeft on you tube or on his own sight. He is an awesome philosopher.
I’ve heard of him. I think he is at Boston College. I will check him out.
I recently watched a YouTube clip of a scientist who said that the universe called him to be an astrophysicist. He lives in constant awe of everything that he learns. To him, there is no God as would be defined by any of the major religions. What we call God, he calls the universe. There are many fascinating things in this universe of which I am in awe. One thing I find intriguing is the chain of events that led to the existence of the human race. Atheists like Richard Dawkins insist that this chain of events was just a random occurrence among many in one universe of many universes. Proponents of intelligent design disagree with Mr. Dawkins. From Greek philosophy, John wrote that in the beginning there was the Word. Although I don’t believe everything that the Catholic Church teaches, I do believe in that ancient concept.
Too many things had to go just right in order for us to be who we are today. I would be an atheist if not for the fact that the order we find in life had to come from something beyond what we are able to observe. To me that is God. The Word was with God. And the Word was God.
That is beautiful, Bill.
It’s just a phase I’m going through. I’ll get over it.
Now don’t take that seriously.
I have discovered a word to go along with atheism: nihilism.
“the fact that the order we find in life had to come from something beyond what we are able to observe”
You have no evidence for this “fact”.
Copied from WEIT:
“What we need is not dialogue, but a monologue, one in which religion remains silent while science tells it that there’s no evidence for its claims.”
I would be an atheist if not for my belief that the order we find in life had to come from something beyond what we are able to observe.
Good to see you back, Earl.
Earl, you are making an assumption that science can prove every thing that exists. Just because science does is not able to prove it does not mean that the spirit world and the soul of humans do not exist. It is beyond the reach of any science.
I don’t know how much information could be gathered by scientists about the soul and the spirit world if they existed, but you would think that they could come up with at least some evidence.
“does not mean that the spirit world and the soul of humans do not exist.”
The absence of evidence is often evidence of absence.
There are thousands of eyewitness accounts of “UFOs”. But there is no evidence. In this case, it is clear that absence of evidence is very good evidence of absence.
There are thousands of claims of a “spirit world”. But no evidence. Why is it not clear that the absence of evidence really is evidence of absence?
There are lots of claims of “miracles”. But no evidence. Why is it not clear that the absence of evidence is really good evidence of absence?
“It is beyond the reach of any science.”
Does that mean that the “spirit world” does not affect reality?
Does that mean that a “soul” is not “real”?
How would you determine who or what does or does not have a “soul”?
Why should anyone accept your opinions as “true”?
Because your book of fiction says so?
If humans evolved over millions of years from apes, why do you get to claim that “one day” one of more apes are now humans and have a “soul”? That is simply contrary to science.
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