1. Rector's Conference
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB
    February 23, 2016


    I was speaking with one our erudite seminarians the other day and I received a very nice compliment about conferences and so was grateful for that. I also received from the same seminarian a sideways critique, and I always take even sideways critiques as a challenge. This seminarian said that while I often offer a critique of the various aspects of our contemporary culture, I seldom often concrete ideas as to how these aspects of culture might be readily addressed. It is a fair critique and one that I might take shelter is in that I am a theologian by vocation and in general do not offer concrete answers to anything. That, however, would be a bit of a copout as the youth of bygone days used to say. So there is the challenge.

    So now, turning to the task at hand, we are examining during this time of Lent, the book of John Allen, The Global War on Christians. While John Allen is discussing the situation of the Church in other parts of the world, nevertheless, the analysis takes root in any number of issues that affect us here and now.

    Life, it would seem, is filled with contradiction. Perhaps it is especially the case with what we egregiously call modernity. This is what we are told, so it must be true. We are told to expect one thing and that is chaos. How could it not be so? If we subscribe, as we are told we must subscribe to the ideal that each person has a right (a seemingly natural right) to form their own opinions, create their own values and enlighten themselves (or leave themselves dim as the case may be) in their own way, how can it be that life is not filled with contradictions. There is no goal given in our culture for which we are to strive save those of individuality and vague ideas of happiness. The key to understanding this is that we accepted this ideal unconditionally. We believe the myth of contradiction. We accept that it is the order of the day and yet it never fails to catch us off guard, to surprise us when it rears its head in our midst like the many headed hydra that it is. In other words we are given the cards of contradiction to play and then are surprised when the deck makes no sense to us.

    We are told that our various systems of communication have made us better connected. We get tweeted a hundred times a day. We spend a lot of time on facebook and other social media sites. Our phones are constantly moaning with updates. But I ask you again: Are we really better connected? Are we feeling more a part of something or is this hyperbole of media merely the illusion of connection?

    Now, back to my friendly interlocutor, we might ask the question: How can we change? One of our tasks as Church leaders, no matter where we are in that matrix of leadership is to demonstrate that the ideal of connection is true, but it is equally true that we are not achieving it in our cultural matrix as it currently is conformed. In this context, the task of the Church is to build and maintain authentic community, communities that might readily begin with the domestic Church. Ask yourselves this question: In the parishes you know, how many of them are focusing in a very concrete way on building the domestic Church? As community in the authentic sense, our parishes, our dioceses, our seminaries cannot and should not depend upon the established cultural means of communicating, namely media and the internet. Let’s show a different side of connection by establishing practices that are personal and interactional. Here are some examples: Home visits are a great way to reach out not only to those who are shut in and in need of care but to reach out to all of our families and parishioners. Here in the seminary that means creating authentic social experiences that are interactive. We need to show in our parish and seminary structures how essential skin and talk and eye contact are in authentic human connection. Nothing, absolutely nothing can take the place of personal presence. A well-sent text or an email, or a tweet can never take the place of handholding in a hospital or funeral home. Knowing that the priest has roused himself from a wonderful slumber in the middle of a cold night to make his way to the hospital emergency room touches at the heart, literally at the heart, of human longing. His remaining with folks, sitting with folks, just being with folks in a personal way, getting coffee, fretting, becoming anxious, mirroring anxiety is a blessing no artificial means of connection can replace. That is why I think CPE is an essential component to our formation. If we are forced to meet people in need, or to confront our own demons in interpersonal groups with (gasp) women and (double gasp) Protestants, it gives us stamina on our feet and relief (though we may not yet realize it) from the thought bubbles we create by only immersing ourselves in the blogs and websites of those who think like us. The hallway becomes the way of being connected. Throwing shoes in the air is a means of building community. The rough and tumble of human engagement is the way in which God insinuates himself into our lives in a concrete way as he so earnestly desires to do in the Eucharist.

    Second, we are told that we live in a globalized community. We are told that technology and other means have provided us with the ability to understand and connect with those around the world, in other cultures and in other social climates. Advanced means of travel have allowed us to go to places that would only have been dreams for the very few in the past. We have the ability to know things and experience things that our ancestors literally only dreamed about, and yet we have to ask ourselves this question: In light of the cultural ideal and in light of technology, are we better off?

    What is our experience? This I know, that in the current election climate there is a great deal of talk about isolation, about cutting ourselves off from what is happening in other parts of the world. There is the talk of building walls to “protect” ourselves from those we consider too foreign  for our tastes. By strategizing the best ways to maximize the challenges we face locally, we are giving ourselves an out to consider the needs of those in other places around the world. In our book by John Allen, I would be willing to bet that in our community there are two basic reactions: The first is, I never knew this. How can these important ideas have been positioned in such a receded places in our imagination that we do not know? A second reaction is this: I really don’t care about any of this. This is not about us and our situation. I am not surprised by this reaction because I think if they perused John Allen’s book, many of our fellow citizens would share this opinion. Polls in our current election bear this out. We don’t really care about what is happening in other places. Unfortunately that often trickles down into Church life. Do we really understand the Church as Catholic as well as apostolic? Do we connect somehow, not only theoretically but concretely with the needs of our suffering brothers and sisters around the world?  Are we sensitive to the needs of say our Hispanic brothers and sisters or those in our parishes who comes from other cultures and who may in fact make up the bulk of any parish’s population, but whose existence is still confined to Sunday afternoons, whose influences are hidden from parish life and leadership. It is interesting that we continue to wonder why Hispanic Catholics are leaving the Church of their ancestors in droves. Could it be that their needs are not being met and they do not feel welcome in older, traditionally Irish or Italian parishes? We all came from somewhere at sometime. I wonder if American are not only losing sight of their heritage, but losing our reputation of a culture of hospitality and welcome for vulnerable people.

    What about the situation in our seminary. Are we a welcoming community? We certainly represent a wonderful mix of folks. We are a global community and I like to think, although I may be wrong, that we do a good job of respecting and honoring cultural variations in our community. Do all of our brothers feel welcomed here? Are we still sneering and perhaps even absenting ourselves when Mass is in Spanish? Do we have a particular cultural idea about how Mass should be celebrated and is that truly a Catholic ideal? We are offered in this community the perfect testing grounds for an understanding of a truly global Church, a Church both militant and suffering. Will we take advantage of it and also transport and translate what we may learn here about acceptance to the broader Church we are called to serve?

    Third we are told individualism is the order of the day. We are told to stand by our hard one independence and to understand that the personal assertion of values is the order of the day. Is it true? I wonder. Are we authentically gaining access in our opinion to the very forge and working house of thought, or are we merely lazy in our intellectual, cultural and personal development taking on the opinions of others that we have deemed more qualified when in point of fact many of these so called experts are just pundits putting forth their own agendas in a will to power. If we are told that our culture gives us the option to think for ourselves, then I challenge you to think for yourself and to move away from placing your faith in misplaced magisteria. The epistemological ideal of individualism found for example in the thought of cultural pundit, John Locke, holds that we all create our own truths via particular means. Well and good, but the same epistemological ideal also carries no goal as its natural telos. In other words we might all come individually to truth but the Truth to which we aspire is an authentic objective good, not a subjective mishmash of opinions and throw-away ideals. We claim that individualism and a lack of objectivity is a kind of freedom, but I choose the Gospel message. If we know the Truth then the Truth will set us free. Only the Truth will set us free. Only the truth will allow us to become our authentic selves and we are fortunate for that Truth has a name and His name is Jesus.

    What about practicalities? Well I say, what about evangelization? Our coming to accept the Truth of Jesus Christ comes directly from our ability to tell that Truth to others thus creating a bond with others that leads us out of the forest of individualism and into the bright field of authentic humanity. We are told to be bold and not to depend on other people. Yet that lonely island we create for ourselves does not fulfill the inner drive we have to be a part of something, something larger and something real. The Church is where, innately people want to go. Are we making our Churches, our community a welcoming place? This is the virtue of hospitality. In other words, what every single person in the world longs to hear is: Come and be a part of this community, come and be a part of the Body of Christ. Do we welcome others in our parishes? Do we welcome strangers here? I think we do a good job and I hear from former strangers that we do a good job. Let’s think of ways of doing a better job. Do we authentically build hope for one another in insisting on showing forth the values of community life or do we groan at the prospect of another meeting, another social, another forced recreation? Do we only put up with social life in order to get back to the screens? Let’s think of ways of doing a better job.

    Fourth, we are told that we have a very advanced education system here, that we are the most educated people in world. That brothers and sisters is just an outright lie. Here I will state my bias, although many of you already know my bias. When we look at the ideals of education established by John Henry Newman in The Idea of a University, we might be stunned how the Catholic vision of education has devolved. I was recently speaking with a group in which I stated, as I say almost everywhere, that the primary concern for us is that Catholic adults are almost completely ignorant of their faith. In turn, their children are having a harder time, not only assimilating the teachings of the Church but also seeing the importance of that teaching when it is seemingly so insignificant to their parents. In other words, as a child, why should I take the time to learn something that “grownups” do not seem to know nor want to know. There is a problem here however. Catechetical programs in parishes are essential. Adult education programs are essential and I truly believe that most adults and children in our Church want to know about their faith. The problem is that quality theological teaching, at a level folks can take in is difficult to attain when the matrix for holding that theological teaching is not present in the larger sphere of learning. Newman purports in The Idea of a University that all knowledge is held in tension by the presence of other knowledge. In other words, to fully understand theology and philosophy, other intellectual ideals, such as history, language, literature, politics, sciences, all must also be present. We only really understand things intellectually within the matrix of what we call the liberal arts. Liberal arts are dead. Every morning I receive an email from a website called University Business. I read it faithfully. Almost every day there is the story of some university that is discontinuing its liberal arts programming, history, philosophy, art, etc. How can it be that in less than a century the cornerstone of authentic learning has been so disgraced?

    In our culture we have lost the ideal of an educated person, replacing them with persons of high skill. We know our field, a field increasingly narrowed by the evil archangel of specialization. If we are ignorant of larger spheres of knowledge, or even the questions that those larger spheres create, how can we be a part of say a political system that must ask questions which are far removed from the laws of this or that science narrowly applied? Is it any wonder that our political attitudes are turning increasingly to the visceral with appeals to the rank elements of our character now at the forefront?

    What can we do here? We must create here a new cultural ideal. It will be, it is, resisted by some of you and some of us. It must move forward. It is the ideal that Catholic priests and other ministers of the Gospel must be well-educated and well-rounded people. Again we resist this and there is still something of  the cultural attitude here of: Just tell me what I need to know. I might memorize it or at least record it in my tablet, but not much else. Do not tell me crap I don’t need to know to make me an authentic human person. Do not give me stuff to read that will not advance my “skills” at priestcraft. That attitude must change and it might change over my dead body but at least we will be moving in the right direction. Second, you must be an instrument of reform for Catholic education in your future parishes. We have to move toward a higher understanding of education in Catholic schools and religious education programs. We have to get more highly qualified teachers. We have to have excellent facilities. We have to have a curriculum that focuses on the development of the whole person, always within the context of faith. Finally, we have to encourage our teachers to be well-developed disciples with disciplined minds and we have to pay them a living wage. The reform of Catholic education in our country must stand at the forefront of our priorities but first we must be fully aware of what education is. 

    Finally we are told that the political system in which we invest so much money and energy is working. Think of how much money is flowing into the current circus we call the presidential campaign. How much energy is the media giving to following this circus? I was thinking the other day about what we are not getting in our news because all eyes and cameras are focused upon Donald, Bernie, Hillary and the others. When I reflect upon the condition of our election process, I have to admit that I am somewhat at a loss as to how, concretely, we can make it better. I would offer these reflections however. I believe that Catholics need to be very well-informed about the various issues that relate to our future in this country. I believe Catholics need to understand their own positions very well and I believe we have the responsibility to bring Catholic ideals and Catholic values to bear upon the election process. I also acknowledge that is a tall order and we are not receiving very good direction at this point. Perhaps some of these issues may unfold in the months to come. I do know this, whether we are talking about the Saint Meinrad community or the larger electoral picture, we must become deeply informed. Regardless of my critiques, I can tell you that I am not willing to write off our social order, our culture. I believe in this country and I know that this country can and should be great. It will only achieve its potential however when it thinks profoundly about itself and what it represents. This is a tall order, but we as leaders of the Church have to show our nation how great then can be. We have to set the example in our seminary and in our parishes and dioceses. We can change this country if we authentically represent the teachings of the Church without apology and without compromise. We can change the global condition of the Church if we learn to speak eloquently about the situation of our fellow Christians around the world.

    Increasing awareness

    Increasing communications

    Better eduction

    Better reflection on the political order.

    All of these concretely realized in the processes of formation both inside and outside the seminary


    I hope this little manifesto is at least a start in offering some concrete reflections to my friendly little critic. Perhaps all of this is best summarized by the quote of Mother Teresa which I offer all of the time: You change the world by changing yourself. In other words we cannot lament and moan as long as we remain unconverted.



  2. Homily
    Second Sunday of Lent
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB
    February 21, 2016

    There is a decided change of pace from what we had last week in the Gospel. In the first Sunday of Lent Jesus goes out into the desert

    He was in need

    He heard voices speaking to him

    He was tempted by strange visions

    And yet, Jesus survived.

    How are things going for us in Lent?

    Are we surviving?

    Are we hearing voices yet?

    Now, ten days in we come to the Second Sunday and in our Gospel reading today, there is a decided change of pace. Jesus goes up to the mountain.

    He is shining

    He hears testimony

    He is glorified

    The desert to the mountaintop in one week. A decided change of pace, but isn’t that really the essence of discipleship?

    In the desert we find a good representation of the condition of humanity. The sour taste of that dried out apple continues to afflict our spiritual palates. The desert is the landscape of disobedience. The desert is the place where people go when they want to give up. The desert is the natural habitat of the scapegoat of death. The desert is our home.

    And yet, God has another vision.

    Like the eschatological real estate agent, God wants to show us something else. He wants to show us our dream. The mountain shows us the dream. The mountain shows us how God intends in Christ to make an oasis out of our desert. The mountain shows us what can be, how the lost legacy of the law and prophets might be transformed.

    What do you think God is up to?

    Listen again to Saint Paul’s words to the Philippians:
    Our citizenship is in heaven,
    and from it we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body
    by the power that enables him also
    to bring all things into subjection to himself.
    In other words, God has a vision.

    In God there is a new vision, a vision wrought in the furnace of change, a vision conceived from the moment that dried up old apple core hit the desert floor, a vision culminating in Christ and fulfilled in our own day. It is nothing less than a shining forth on the mountain, not the shining forth of Jesus, but our shining forth.

    In the Gospel, God is asking us to pack up our desert duds and shine up those tarnished haloes.

    God is asking us to experience a transcendental transmogrification, a shining forth,

    A shining forth that comes to us in the great instinct we have to change the world

    A shining forth that we experience in our desire to make a difference in the lives of those we serve

    A shining forth that we experience in our desire to make the deserted places of our lives spring up again with the hope and promise of the Spirit.

    A shining forth that we can experience in our celebration of the sacred liturgy, a bright rising of the morning star in our midst as we turn to the Lord in prayer.

    It is a reconciliation between the old and the new, between Christ and Moses and Elijah

    A reconciliation that we can acknowledge as well in our daily life in this community, in our interaction with our brothers and sisters here.

    It is a glorification of the person of Jesus

    A glorification that we can recognize as well in the gradual coming to be in this place of faith, of our leaning into the priesthood of Christ, a priesthood whose grandeur is seen on the 
    mountain but whose reality is lived on the road.

    It is the transformation of Jesus and the apostles

    A transformation that we can understand as well in ourselves, in our daily conversion, our overcoming of obstacles, our momentary transfiguration from glory to glory

    Needless to say, Peter, James and John are awed. Who wouldn’t be? We can hardly fault Peter for wanting to build some tents to hold fast to the glory.

    We can hardly fault them for wanted to grasp their destinies in a single shot.

    And yet, Jesus has another plan. Just as we cannot hold onto the glory of this liturgy, as much as it gives meaning to our day, so the disciples cannot hold onto Jesus on the mountain, they and we have places to go.

    The transfiguration gave them strength, this Mass gives us strength and the realization that…

    We have to walk the road

    And we know it

    The road worn down by the passing feet of men and women separated from home and people.

    The road of transience in a life that seeks nothing more than repose, rest in the face of inscrutable obstacles

    The road made smooth by the ageless traversal of wisdom wrought by the engagement with the minute aspects of life, a smile here, a pun, getting plated, throwing our shoes onto the rafters.

    It is a road of twists and turns in which we are often tempted to turn in on ourselves, to plate ourselves, to throw ourselves onto the rafters of everlasting forgetfulness.

    The road conflicted and confused but upon which we are never alone because the triumph of Christ is there.

    The glory of Christ is there.

    The wonder of Christ is there.

    In the small places, in the rafters, in the joy that comes from being together in the living hell we refer to as the seminary.  

    And it seems to me, that is Lent. Brothers and sisters in this Lent, God is calling us from the inherited misery of the desert.

    A desert of sin

    A desert of neglect

    A desert of pain

    He is calling us to come out of the desert and rise with Christ in the glory of the mystery of the Easter, the inheritance into which we are coming, rather than the inheritance we abandon in the shifting sands of human folly.

    He is calling us each in his own way.

    Turn your life over today to God, the Father who is seeking for you in the desert and on the road

    Expect your life to gain its true momentum in the shadow of the one who shines forth from the mountain

    Remove from your life the obstacles that we place there. Brothers and sisters there are more sorrows in this world than we can create, let us resolve not to create sorrows for ourselves but use our lives as avenues to open for ourselves the bright promise of God’s glory

    Reach for the sky and the sun, that glowing oracle of promise which shines forth from the mountain of hopefulness

    Add to your life the joy by which God renews and ennobles all things in himself, by which he provides for us that citizenship of the lost Eden, the desert. Put your faith in the transfigured God and let that faith be credited to us as righteousness.

    This Lent is offering us a decided change of pace,  it shakes us up, un-nerves us with this abrupt change of scenery and then, it ultimately soothes us, it soothes us with the joy of calls realized and with the food we receive in this Eucharist, from this altar, food for the journey, the Body and Blood of that same Jesus who came forth from the desert, who was transfigured on the mountain and comforts us with his abiding presence, day by day in this season of Lent … and beyond.



  3. Ash Wednesday Homily
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB
    February 10, 2016


    Brothers and sisters, in this year of mercy we come today to the very threshold of the Church’s long self-understanding of mercy. We come to the season of Lent. What does that mean? 

    The liturgy of Ash Wednesday can be deceiving, perhaps at times attracting our attention to the need for penance at the expense of understanding our true nature. 

    Momentarily we will hear these words:
    Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.  
    The words are true but Pope Francis offered a slight adjustment to them in his homily this morning: Man is precious dust in God's eyes because God created man, destining him to immortality.

    How do we see this Ash Wednesday, as the onset of a time for penance that may be useful but may be mere tokenism or as a time for understanding deeply who we are and living that reality? In other words: Do we understand what we are doing here?

    Today we begin another Lent, a season that we need if we are to make any sense at all of what we are doing here, of the trajectory that our lives are taking. 

    What we experience today is a call that is deep and pervasive. It is a militant call, a clarion call.
    And we need that, we need that today and every day.
    We need the militancy of vocation because we can be very complacent
    We need the militancy of purpose because we can be lulled into the false reality that this faith experience doesn’t really reflect our wholeness as human beings.
    We need a far reaching, perhaps even a fanatical militancy because the world is going to continually tell us that our faith is only something quaint and accessorizing even as it slides into perdition. 
    God knew that people were sliding away
    Listen again to the words of the prophet:
    Even now, says the LORD,return to me with your whole heart,with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;Rend your hearts, not your garments,and return to the LORD, your God.
    Can we take seriously the words of the prophet? 

    We get the lecture from Jesus in St. Matthew's Gospel:
    Pray, give alms, fast.Do not let you left hand know what your right is doing.
    But, we have heard all of this before. We have been here before. We have experienced this before and like a spiritual nagging we shake it off, deciding instead to pursue the ease of a culture situated in the latest this or that.   
    Here is the television
    Here is the Netflix
    Here is the bottle of Jack Daniels
    So let’s give it up for Lent. Right?

    Today we rest in the quiet, the stillness of resolution and we say:
    This Lent is going to be different
    I am going to be different
    My sacrifice is going to be authentic
    My conversion is going to be permanent 

    Trumpets are blown, faces are besmirched with the dirt of anticipation, room doors are flung open to display the flagrant acts of extreme asceticism taking place within. 
    Look I covered my television with a towel
    Look, the Jack Daniels bottle is empty. Thank you Fat Tuesday
    Look how gaunt I am surely there must be some extra ashes here for me to throw around.
    But then it falls apart, it always seems to fall apart.

    We commit ourselves to our works of charity and fail
    The rice bowl is a dusty shell. 
    Better luck next year faceless poor people

    We submit our overly robust flesh to the relentlessness of exercise programs and fail
    Better luck next year love handles 

    We strive to be the most abstemious and we fail
    Better luck next year but after all my health is precarious and I need an extra donut or a morning in bed or some time off from all this wretched chapel time

    And in all of this unheard of sacrifice and heroic neglect of self, what happens?
    Nothing of course and I can assure you it is the same with me as it is with you. 

    I have a lent app and I am keeping track of all of my heroic resolutions. 
    I finished all of my Oreos with double stuff last night watching the Middle.
    I have no more diet cherry coke
    My cheese puff bag is empty.
    The staircases are getting to know me better.
    I found my Newman prayer book in the seat cushion on the sofa.

    And all of this is accompanied by the rhetoric and cadences of a spiritual athleticism.
    We moan
    We wail
    We weep

    Here is the question I ask this community of faith every year …

    Where is Lent leading us?
    Who do we want to BE on the other side of Lent?
    What destination are we aiming for in this annual pilgrimage of discipleship?
    How might this Lent be truly a time of conversion, of new faith, of commitment to something other than my mirror, my image in which is becoming increasingly wide?

    What if we could give something back to the world and feel the pinch a little rather than giving from our excess a few measly cents to offer with great charity to the unseen poor? 
    What if I could give myself to you?

    What if we gave the alms of concern and time to help a brother in need, or attend to his pain?
    Then we might gain alms for ourselves, the alms of a life lived in sacrificial service, the alms of charity, the alms of fulfilled love.

    What if I could give myself to you?

    What if we could pray without constantly worrying about getting things done? What if we could learn to adore Christ in the Blessed Sacrament without continual recourse to our desperately needed extra hour of sleep?

    What if I could give myself to you?

    What if we gave God the time he really deserves? What if the chambers of our hearts could be opened and the doors of our mouths could be closed? What if we talked more to our neighbors about the joy of prayer and less about the misery of seminary life?

    What if I could give myself to you?

    Then I might find myself, we might find ourselves gaining softness in those open hearts. Then we might find ourselves able to nakedly reveal our struggles and pains. Then we might learn to love with an unfeigned love. 

    What if we could fast without flash, deny ourselves a little, purify ourselves a little, learn to control our desires a little more? What if we fasted from something meaningful and by our fasting created new habits and eradicated that which is useless from our lives? 
    What if I could do it?
    What if you could do it?

    Then we might find the purity of mind to discover what Lent truly is: a season of hope, a season of expectation, a season of pure joy for the grace that God has given us to really look at ourselves and find there precious dust.

    Brothers and sisters, I propose that Lent is a militant season. A season in which everything must change, everything must grow, everything must be rethought. It is a season of expectation in which the promise of resurrection really exists.

    Do we expect to rise on Easter as transformed, militantly transformed people or do we expect to just go back to the damnable lie of a conventional, useless faith?  

    We cannot do it without some fortification, the very thing we receive here: Precious dust for precious dust, Body for bodies militantly moving forward to that place where all is in all, where we will finally recognize ourselves, the seat of God’s mercy.

    Image Source


  4. Ash Wednesday Rector's Conference
    Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB
    February 10, 2016



    In recent weeks I have been un-naturally indulging my sitcom gene by watching endless episodes of “The Middle”. For those who don’t know it, it is a show set in southern Indiana, perhaps Jasper and is about an average couple and their three children. In truth nothing ever happens on the show but the comic genius is in finding humor in nothing. For me, the show brings back the understanding that the most humorous thing of all is the banal, the commonplace that we often find so filled with drama that is, in fact, not very important at all. 

    Seminaries are a great ingathering of the middle mentality. We create proverbial mountains out of molehills. We strive to find ultimate meaning in the ultimately meaningless and often fail to miss what is truly important both in ourselves and in our community. The heat, the cold, the food, the homework, all of these become so central to our self-perception that we can easily fall into the chasm that the middle often creates. We lose sight of what is truly important. We might ask a similar question of our Church at large.

    What are the issues with which our local Churches are inundated with today? What concerns us?

    These days, we are caught up in the politics of parish boundaries and the consolidation of closing. We are forever, renaming, re-examining, combining parish councils and finance councils. And yet the number of masses remains fixed, the disconnect between Catholics of different ethnicity remains fixed, the divide between the rich and the poor remains fixed. 

    These days, in our Church we find ourselves in ever increasing arguments about liturgical propriety. We engage in wars over the contents of chalices and homilies. We look for the middle and find in the middle the mundane and so we decide to make it dramatic. We are lost in conversations about the generational shift in the Catholic Church while our young people walk away, partly amused and partly disgusted by what they see. We continue to lament the shortage of priests in a country where there is in fact a glut of priests and an even bigger glut of masses of convenience. We witness daily the dropping numbers in our parishes and think that these declining demographics can be remedied by coffee bars and parking attendants in our parish spaces. 

    We witness the increasing depression in parish populations and we wonder why we no longer have active and excited Catholics in so many places. 

    All of these issues really consume our time. We write books, attend workshops, host seminars. What is the outcome?

    Why are we in a position in this country of plenty of bribing and begging our people to come to Church and experience the presence of the Living God? 

    Why is the formation staff and faculty in a position of constantly trying to convince some of you that it is a good idea to write your evaluation, turn in your work on time, and rise from bed in the morning to worship God with the community?

    We have freedom, but given that freedom, what kind of culture do we inhabit? What kind of culture of freedom do we create? 

    Is it a culture of prayer, a culture of sacrifice, a culture of work, a culture of intellectual pursuit, a culture of service, a culture of Christ?

    Or is it a gaming culture, a clerical-privilege culture, a cigar culture, a scotch culture, a coffee culture, a Netflicks culture, a convenience culture?

    Brothers and sisters, perhaps we are in need of some conversion and so we might ask a different question.

    What is the Catholic Church? Who is the Catholic Church?

    When I was considering the book we would read during the season of Lent, I was struck by the work of the Vatican journalist John Allen, The Global War on Christians. When I first heard about this book, I was a little taken aback. The book is exhausting and so sobering that at times you feel you just want to be away from it. That is a good book.

    It is filled with stories like these: 

    In the fall of 2012, a car bomb exploded in the streets of Damascus in Syria. Ten people were killed and others were seriously injured. The bomb as a response to the announcement that the Vatican would lead a peace mission of five bishops to discuss the ever-escalating civil war in Syria. The deaths occurred in the Christian area of the city. The displacement of Christians in Syria has been dramatic as has the equal displacement of those Islamic citizens that do not fit the radical profile of IS. Of the 4,000 inhabitant of once Christian town, only ten Christians remain today. The others have died or been displaced. We know that the Syrian migration has affected most of Europe and the controversy has even trickled down into our country. What kind of fear does a person have to possess to leave their home and homeland and take to the roads? What kind of fear does a parent have to have to send their small child into exile because their homeland has become too dangerous? 

    Let’s consider this story from China. For the past four years, Bishop Thaddeus Ma has been under house arrest in China. His crime is that he was ordained by a bishop approved by the Holy See without a government approved puppet bishop present. Bishop Ma’s story is very typical of the experience of many Chinese Christians. In 2012, he wrote: My father did not want me to become a priest because his father, his younger brother and he himself had been jailed because they were Christians. When Ma was determined to go to the seminary and then on to ordination, his father told him: Do not come back and do not quit halfway through. He did not quit halfway through. Thaddeus Ma’s father abandoned his son not because he didn’t love him but because of the danger such a love might be for him and his son. I wonder about the fears that parents in our context have for their children entering the seminary.

    Here is something else: As we know Saudi Arabia is a great ally of our country. It is illegal to practice Christianity in Saudi Arabia. Every few months stories surface of Christians who are persecuted for their faith in the Muslim country. A Filipino woman named Norma Caldera, when it was discovered she was a Christian, was forced to work for little pay, sleep on the floor of her workplace and be confined to the household in which she worked. In other words, she was enslaved. A nurse in a hospital was found to be a Catholic and was imprisoned and repeatedly raped, left to die in the desert because she refused to renounce her Catholic faith. A few months later, 12 Filipinos and a Catholic priest were arrested and charged with heresy after staging a Mass in a hotel. Where is the outrage over such events from one of our political allies? 

    Perhaps we think the situation is better in Catholic places like South America. Consider the case of Sr. Dorothy Stang a missionary from Ohio who worked to create a better life for farmers in Brazil. Here missionary efforts were successful, unfortunately. In 2005 she was gunned down by a group of local ranchers for her efforts to save the rainforest. Her last words were: Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God. She was one of 800 murdered in the Amazon almost none of which have been vindicated. Consider the situation in Columbia where since 2012 25 -30 Columbian pastors are murdered every year. Three hundred protestant ministers have been killed since 2000. Two hundred churches have been closed and entire Christian communities have been displaced. This is in a Christian country. Are we not disturbed?

    Africa is also a place where Christianity is under siege. In Nigeria in 2012, Boko Haram announced a plan to eradicate Christians and in April of that year forty people died and thirty were injured in a suicide bombing outside of a church. The radicals were barred from entering and blew themselves and the others up in retaliation. What is this fear? What is this horror? And yet, in spite of overwhelming odds, Christians remain. They die, they suffer and yet they remain. They do not give up their faith. They go to great lengths to maintain the right to worship God. They stand up in the face of hardships that in our context would be unheard of, un-thought of. 

    Returning momentarily to the Middle East, in Iraq churches are being bombed on a regular basis. In Kirkuk and Bagdad, Orthodox, Catholic and Anglican churches have been targeted. Priests have been kidnapped and murdered. In 2006, Fr. Boulas Benham was kidnapped and beheaded apparently in retaliation for some words of then Pope Benedict. In 2007, a Catholic priest and three deacons were murdered after Mass in Mosul. This is almost daily. This is the way of life for these people. For many of our co-religionists martyrdom has become a daily occurrence. 

    Of course martyrdom is nothing new. From our origins until the present day there have been men and women and children who have been willing to die to preserve the purity of our faith. They have been victims of lions, of the pyre, of crucifixion, of the gas chamber, of firing squads. They continue to stand in our own time in places like Auschwitz, Aleppo, the Nuba Mountains, Bangalore. They are priests, religious, lay folks, Catholics and Protestants whose faith refuses to waver. Sometimes they are refugees, wanderers, the lost of the earth. And yet they are evangelists for a faith that requires from us something that seems at times alien, a total commitment. We are called by the Son of God to dedicate every aspect, every ounce of our energy, every talent, every ideal, all of our capital to the purpose of building up the Kingdom of God in every land, in every place. We are called to do this tirelessly, until we fall down into the dust. Where do we stand?

    What is our threshold?

    What are we willing to give?

    We have come once again to the door of this season of conversion. What will conversion look like for us during this time of change?

    Many of you are familiar with the monastic practice of the bona opera, choosing the Good Work that will not only make you a better person on the other side of Lent, but choosing also that practice, that, when realized will make the community a better place to live. It seems to me that this is the real purpose of Lent, to change ourselves, certainly, but in doing so to change the world and we know the world needs changing. 

    The world needs changing and we need changing, deeply, internally, every day of our lives. We have heard already several times this week about the pope’s call to fasting from indifference. Of course, Pope Francis means that we must care more deeply about the world in which we live. We know that.

    But I also believe that the pope intends a fasting from indifference to also apply to ourselves. So often we mistake self-loathing for asceticism. Brothers and sisters, we do not need a season to learn the subtle art of self-loathing. In spite of our endless cultural harangue about self-care and self-preservation, these things really translate into letting ourselves become something we are not at our core. How often do we let ourselves go? How often do we become entrenched in repetitive sin? How often do we find ourselves mired in our own self-pity? Have we given up on ourselves? Is there still hope for me? I think back to the words of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta: How do I change the world? I begin by changing myself. Here is my charge to all of us as we begin this season: Don’t give up on the one thing you can most earnestly control. Don’t give up on yourself. Become what you are called to be by the deep sensibility within you. Become holy and make the world around you holy. Perhaps in this year of mercy, the one most in need of God’s mercy is myself, the very one I persecute the most. 

    Understand that God has made you infinitely loveable for himself and for others. Fasting from indifference may mean learning to really accept how significant I am. And in that realization we become truly what we are called to be, men and women for others. We become truly who we are by giving ourselves away and allowing the person of Christ to so penetrate our existence that we are united one to another in that body which is his.

    In conclusion, I would like to remember briefly the Martyrs of Tibhirine, a group of Cistercian monks who were executed by radical Islamic forces in Algeria in 1996. Their story has been told repeatedly in recent years, but it is a story repeated equally across times and places. The prior of the monastery wrote the following words on Pentecost Sunday, 1996. 

    I would like the community to be able to associate my death with so many other equally violent ones allowed to fall into the indifference of anonymity. My life has no more value than any other. Nor any less. 

    Perhaps it is a message for us as we struggle along here … in the middle. 

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Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB
Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB
Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB

Fr. Denis Robinson, OSB, is president-rector of Saint Meinrad School of Theology in St. Meinrad, IN. A Benedictine monk, he is also an assistant professor of systematic theology. A Mississippi native, Fr. Denis attended Saint Meinrad College and School of Theology, earning a bachelor's degree in philosophy in 1989 and a Master of Divinity in 1993. From 1993-97, he was parochial vicar for the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Memphis, TN. He joined the Saint Meinrad monastery in August 1997. Fr. Denis also attended the Catholic University of Louvain, Belgium, where he received a master’s degree in theology in 2002, a licentiate in sacred theology in 2003, and doctorates in sacred theology and philosophy in 2007.

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