Pentecost and the Human Person

I had nearly completed a reflection for you on this Pentecost Sunday. I really did; with accompanying artwork and everything. And then I read something…

In a recent issue of a particular religious periodical, to which I know at least a few believing and practicing Catholics still contribute, Dr. Peter Steinfels has an article entitled “Contraception and Honesty.” Amid all of the discussion surrounding the recent synod on the family, one issue – he insists – is being noticeably omitted by the synod Fathers. This issue, of course, is the Church’s magisterial teaching on the inherent illicitness of the use of artificial contraception. Without delving into the specifics of this article, it should be acknowledged that Dr. Steinfels rightly puts his finger on a topic which everyone is dancing around, i.e., that the vast majority of people who self-identify as Catholic in Europe and North America reject the Church’s teaching on artificial contraception. Further, he is also correct to point out that this is a problem.

Rather than embark on a full-blown crusade against the remainder of Dr. Steinfel’s piece, which would no doubt be seen as just another salvo lobbed by a soldier in the myopic and unproductive “culture war,” I would prefer to go even deeper into the issue which he raises. At the risk of belaboring the obvious, there has been a dramatic shift in the mores and morals of Western culture in the past seventy years or so; although this transition began long prior and was witnessed, inter alia, by Pope Pius XI in Casti connubi (1930). To my mind, at the root of these concerns about marriage, re-marriage, “same-sex marriage,” artificial contraception, etc. is not sex, but anthropology. The real question is: Who do we, as Christians, understand the human person to be?

If we consult the current cultural code in search for an answer to this question then our response will be simple: The human person is whomever I want him to be. In a piece written in 2011, Fr. Robert Imbelli – drawing upon the language of Robert Jay Lifton – described the contemporary image of the human person as “the protean self.” This phrase communicates an understanding of the human person as a “self without a center, blending effortlessly into the most disparate situations and bound by no ultimate and lasting commitments.” In short, the “protean self” possesses no real and concrete substance – to use an Aristotelean phrase. He simply exists. He is “free” to become whomever circumstances dictate him to be, whomever he conceives himself to be, whomever he wills himself to be.

The Christian response to the question of human identity ought to be very different.

Today’s Gospel reading is commonly referred to as “John’s Pentecost” (Jn 20:19-23). Most of us are probably more familiar with the Lucan account of Pentecost (Acts 2:1-13), but John too describes the coming of the Spirit upon the disciples of Jesus. Rather than have the disciples gathered in an upper room in Jerusalem after Christ has ascended, John has the resurrected Jesus personally communicate the gift of the Spirit to his followers. “[Jesus] said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ And when he had said this, he breathed [enephusesen] on them and said to them, ‘Receive the holy Spirit [pneuma]’” (Jn 20:21-22). What makes this Pentecost account unique is St. John’s stress on the intimate connection between the Father, the Son, the Spirit, and the Church. We are called by the Son, in the name of the Father and by the working of the Spirit, into communion with our Triune God; and to share this communion with others (mission). The Son has “infused us with the Spirit” for this end. The connection is so intimate, so personal, that the disciple of Christ inhales the very “breath of God.” For the Christian, this is who the human person is: the one capable of participating in the divine life of God. And since this is the identity of the human person, our fundamental ethical question should always be: Does a particular action or disposition draw me closer or move me farther away from this divine communion for which I was made?

Anthony Coleman teaches theology for Saint Joseph’s College Online.

The Cross We Choose, The Cross We Get

The stats are in for my Easter!

Stomach viruses: 1

Family members who succumbed: 7

Percentage of Triduum liturgies missed by me: 75%

Episodes of vomiting: about 20 (sorry, I lost count)

Episodes of vomiting that missed the toilet or any other receptacle: about 16

Risen Saviors: 1

I’m a terrific martyr for Christ, in my mind. It all seems so abstract and manageable. The crosses in my imagination are ever so tidy, full of PR potential, and most definitely lacking the acrid odor of vomit. And then there’s reality, as in the Paschal Plague of 2015.

Franks BlogWhatever the memes say, the crosses of the real world are often sadly unworthy of epic treatment. Mothers know this all too well: after surviving a day of mopping up and washing up from all the spitting up, we kinda want a medal. OK, I’ll speak for myself: where’s my medal?

But that’s not how it works. Kids, for one, are notoriously insensible to the sacrifices of their elders, and, frankly, that’s fine. If they were otherwise, they would be conscientious adults already. The problem isn’t with them but with us elders. Crosses are simply more satisfying when we get some kind of positive feedback loop from them. We, you know, suffer less from them. But then they are, ahem, less like crosses. And while my Facebook friends gave me lots of sympathy for my colorful Easter—thanks, guys!—I sort of doubt that anyone will be singing of my maternal exploits a few centuries from now. After all, what’s so heroic about doing your duty?

And there’s the rub. While the cheerful daily accomplishment of one’s duty is indeed a quiet kind of heroism, it’s not the kind that gets you written up in history books, which also makes it one of the more unpalatable kind of cross to carry. For this reason, it’s often the small, unspectacular crosses that are really hard to carry.

Peter had to learn this lesson. He was going to die for Christ! Yet, as Cardinal Sean O’Malley put it, Peter couldn’t even endure a waitress with an attitude.

Peter had to come to terms with the fact that God has this tremendous ability to provide us not with the crosses we want but the crosses we need. It appears as though our heavenly Father is not all that interested in making us look good. He is, however, passionately interested in making us holy. And that might just mean allowing us a lot of tedious, unspectacular, un-epic sufferings, in the service of a life of quiet holiness.

So, while “the strife is o’er, the battle won” in the Paschal Plague of 2015, tomorrow will bring new and no doubt equally uninteresting crosses. No one will pen a screenplay about them. But perhaps, if I manage them with a modicum of cheerful and generous love, I might see them transfigured into Easter life by my Savior. So, “praise God from whom all blessings flow,” even the ones that involve gross bodily fluids and lots of laundry.

Angela Franks teaches theology for Saint Joseph’s College Online.