Making Meat from Divinity

I has become a custom of Rebecca and I to go to the Library for an hour or two before heading to mass so we can read a bit and hopefully broaden our horizons a little. We are not always able to go because of the busyness that the day of rest has become, being shoved at the end of the week as it has. Because of the position of this day, all the tasks that are trifling and distracting, and therefore left undone, are then in need of being done on the very day when nothing distracting is supposed to be done. So we try to take the time to slow things down a bit before we take the time to slow things down a bit on the day that serves as the simultaneous end and beginning of the week.

When we go Rebecca occupies herself with her interests and I occupy myself with mine. I have been absent of any kind of formal schooling for over two years now and am just becoming comfortable with reading for the sake of learning as I desire, and not as someone else desires me. I usually head to the journals and I walk past the rows and rows of multi-colored bound volumes stacked higher than I am tall. I know that I will pick one to read on itÕs own merit and I will know that for this I am about as lame as a quadriplegic at a break-dance party. When I sit with the book in hand I open it to the article I find most interesting. Then I read. I read slowly because there is no paper due. I pay attention to every line because no one idea, no one line is needed to support a thesis. I turn each page with deliberation. If I donÕt finish the article before our time is up there is no worry. The journal will be there in the same place when I get back next week, and if I leave a bookmark, the probability is great it will still be there too. No deadline prohibits me from skimming back over to remember what lead me to where I am the next time I pick up the book. For these few moments after the whole week of toiling for the efficiencies of business, the rigors of science, the virtues of a clean environment, for these few moments I am a man of leisure.

It was at the library not long ago that I was reading an article on the incarnation of the Christ. IÕll spare the intricate details of the article, but the question the author was trying to get at was ÒWhat kind of God would become incarnate?Ó She then drew up two understandings, which answer this question. One is the understanding of God as needed satisfaction. The other is the understanding of God as fulfilling humanity.

In the first type God is seen as angry because we humans keep screwing up and because of some law that is apparently even above divinity, God needs sacrifice to placate GodÕs supernatural honor. I thought this an immature view of sacrifice, especially in the Christian understanding, but since the days of Anselm the satisfaction theory has had place in Christian theology. Besides, from my days of reading for the thesis I empathetically remember the need to build a straw man.

The second view is that God has a plan for what humanity should be through its freewill and becomes incarnate in order to fulfill that plan and show humanity what it could be. This, obviously, is the favored approach of the author, who happens to be a Franciscan.

I left the library quite pleased. There was no content in the article that I hadnÕt heard before, but the way it was arranged put new light on some things and gave me some interesting insights. I felt ready to go to church now more knowledgeable than before.

When we got to church Rebecca grabbed one of the programs before we entered the nave to see which songs were to be sung. She dipped her index and middle fingers in the holy water and held them out to me. I slapped them with my two fingers and we crossed. We entered and sat down. I read the readings for mass in excited anticipation while she waited looking over the program at the songs. I heard a hum of delight come from my companion, and glanced over at her. She held up the paper and pointed to the song, ÒBe Not AfraidÓ clearly marked as the offertory song.

Now for those not familiar with Catholic liturgical trends, this song represents that genre I like to call Òguitar churchÓ songs. They were composed and sung during that time in the seventies and eighties when post conciliar hopes ran high, and the liturgy was undergoing a dynamic transformation. The songs are usually light; easy to sing, and best accompanied by an acoustic guitar. Each to his own, but I like my music more on the traditional side of things. Perhaps to my detriment I delight when the song is more of a dirge than a hymn. It is an aesthetic point that we have disagreed on more than a few times, but it looked like tonight the great music director in the sky granted Rebecca her way.

If one goes to church often, one will often hear the lament that no one desires to participate in the community. The complaint runs that people only desire to show up once weekly, and be dished out, cafeteria style, their allotment of religious obligation. Then, in this diatribe, there is a long sidebar about how people should serve out of love, and use their God given talents in service of the divine. If, however, one should actually volunteer and try to serve using their God given talents in the church, a different philosophy emerges very quickly from the institutional bureaucracy. It turns from, Òuse you talents,Ó to, ÒThis person volunteered before, ask them.Ó And that goes whether the task exploits a God given talent, or is a mundane activity that takes no talent at all. Thus once one volunteers for anything, one is volunteered for everything.

I had finished reading the readings and Rebecca had had her turn. We now, according to our practice, were sitting in the meditative quiet of church. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there stood a gnomish man about my age. He leaned in and said, ÒWould yall mind taking up the collection, weÕre short a few people today.Ó Once again my former generosities were abused. My God given talent for being able to read theological journals and relate them to others in ways they can understand did not seem best served by this activity. If I had a great desire to get up in front of people and be seen in public, maybe that ÒgiftÓ would be useful here. But, I really did not want to stand up in front of everyone with a basket and take their money from them. I quickly took the easiest and most cowardly way out possible. I turned to Rebecca and said, ÒWhat do you think?Ó I was hoping her backbone was stronger than mine was. Her face fell. ÒI guess soÓ She muttered knowing full well it meant that she would be working through her precious guitar church hymn, a variety sung so rarely in our classically styled church.

Thus it was, in the middle of the creed, that we saw the face of our doom wagging his finger to us to come to the back of the church with him and do this quick, small service. I was quite annoyed. I disapprove when the flow of the mass experience is disrupted for such purposes. It is so much nicer to see the whole thing be performed in front of you, and so much less impressive when you are a performer. To be interrupted in the middle of the creed and have to walk to the back of the church introduces chaos and intense anxiety into the middle of my most peaceful time of the week. I did it though, and it was not as bad once it was over as it could have been.

I learned two lessons from the experience. The first was realized as I was leaving the church. It was realizing how stupid it was for me to be angry over having to do something to help the mass go smoother after having read the paper on the incarnation. If we are all called to be Christ incarnate, and not just the bodiless Logos, preexistent in the prologue of Johns Gospel, then we are to make meat of God, as the man Jesus did. Sitting in a Library and learning about it is extremely helpful. Actually using you God given talents to do good on the earth is what makes the meat. I really was being foolish by being upset for having to make a small sacrifice in a religious service so that others could enjoy it more fully. It was not like I was having to care for the sick in a plague like St. Aloysius Gonzaga and die prematurely because of it. Or as if I was serving the greater good by picking up the dying off the street and helping them die with dignity like Mother Theresa. All I had to do was take five minutes and help out in my community for a change.

The second realization was that making meat from the divine would seem like a glorious task, as the two former examples illustrate. But often does not appear so is the eyes of the world, or even to those who are doing it. Brought to the level of saints, the former two examples were doing great things but in retrospect, at the time, not one probably took much note. But caring for the sick and dying is at least admirable in some grand way to most people. ThatÕs why even secular society gives a privileged place to doctors.

More lucid example of what I mean can be found in the gospels. To give water to one who is thirsty, as mandated by the gospels, hardly seems earth shaking, it hardly seems like something that would make meat from the divine. To visit a prisoner, as mandated by the gospel, might be quite annoying when you realized that the person behind the glass is probably slightly mentally ill, and doesnÕt have the best communication skills. Clothing the naked might seem mundane, when all you are doing is donating your old cloths to charity instead of throwing them away. But that is a conscious decision one makes. Though the institutional aspect of it greatly dilutes any personal impact of Òdoing a good deedÓ in our individualistic culture, the true impact is on the person who gets the cloths. And small actions sometimes have large consequences, even beyond the actorÕs conceivability.

When in the midst of such actions one might not feel like one is bringing about something great, especially as great as making meat from divinity. But in this world truly great things usually go unnoticed. As I often like to say, no one in the city of Rome was discussing his execution the day Jesus died.

Phillip G.

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