Having recently finished reading Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, my mind is still full of images from that epic tale of the inexorable conflict between good and evil. The mission of the Fellowship of the Ring was one that required extraordinary and heroic sacrifice, and in the end the evil kingdom was destroyed. In order for that to happen, the One Ring had to be cast into the molten abyss of Mount Doom.

Without trying to force analogies here (since, for example, the Ring was endued with evil power and not good), we can reflect on the mystery of Christ's death and resurrection. Ever since sin entered the world and the gates of Paradise were shut, evil had the upper hand in the world, and there was no hope for return to Paradise. But hope appeared when Christ appeared, who alone could wrest the world from the control of the evil one and re-open those locked gates, commanding the flaming angel-guards to step aside and let his redeemed people pass. (It was a nice touch in the book that the date of the fall of the Dark Lord was given: March 25. That is the Feast of the Annunciation, the day of the Incarnation of the Son of God, which spelled the doom of the devil.)

But this victory of his was won at the price of the ultimate sacrifice. Christ Himself had to descend into the abyss of the netherworld, having first ascended the Place of the Skull, and having given his life to take away the sin of the world and to destroy death's all-consuming reign of terror. Thus the power of the Dark Lord of this world was broken, and his captives were set free. At Vespers for Pascha, the routing of the underworld is dramatized: "Today hell groans and cries aloud: 'It had been better for me had I not accepted Mary's Son, for He has come to me and destroyed my power… He has shattered the gates… I accepted a mortal man as one of the dead, yet I cannot keep Him prisoner… my dominion has been swallowed up; the Shepherd has been crucified and He has raised Adam…'"

Now that the way has been made clear for us to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, is there peace on all our borders? Has Paradise been re-established on Earth? A quick look around will have to bring an answer in the negative. Even in The Lord of the Rings, after the dramatic destruction of the foul and terrifying kingdom of Mordor, where the Dark Lord lived, and after Gandalf's declaration that a great Shadow had finally left the land, there were still battles to be fought. An evil wizard had escaped the doom of his master and went to a different place, attempting to turn the once prosperous and pleasant Shire into a place of dark ugliness, oppression, and fear (though one of his evil disciples eventually did away with him out of sheer vindictive hatred, and he in turn was rewarded with a body full of arrows—the end of evil is always death, even if it contributes to its own destruction, but it can do a whole lot of damage to the good in the meantime).

So we see today that even though Christ, through his death and resurrection, won the definitive victory over death, hell, and the devil, there are still skirmishes going on all over the world. The proud former master of the world refuses to admit defeat, and he still has some wretched slaves left who do his bidding, unaware that only torment awaits them after death. And he knows that it is still possible to entice souls endowed with free will to choose the darkness and flee from the Light.

Now that the battle between good and evil has been won on the cosmic, eternal, and universal level—which means that Christ never has to die and rise again, that his victory can never be overturned, and that the gates of Paradise will never be barred again—we have to receive and embrace it on the personal and individual level. Christ broke the devil's power over the human race as such, but individual members of that race are still engaged in a severe struggle, which can be won or lost depending on whether or not they cling in faith to the Victor and do his will while still on this side of Paradise.

Now I don't want this paschal reflection to be all about struggle and warfare, so I'm going to get right to the heart of the matter, the basis for our personal victory, which is our insertion into Christ's own definitive and eternal victory: We have to meet the crucified and risen Jesus and embrace Him.

For this, I would like to look at one of the resurrection accounts, the meeting of Jesus with Mary Magdalen (Jn. 20:11-18). What did she first do? She sought Him. She went to his tomb in tears, seeking Him whom her heart loved. This is where we must begin. If we don't seek Him we won't find Him. I mean seek Him explicitly, consciously, deliberately, fervently, lovingly. Just showing up for church and checking your watch several times during the service is not seeking Jesus. We are called to love the Lord our God with our whole mind, heart, soul, and strength.

Heaven will bless us for our wholehearted search for the presence of the risen Lord, even if Jesus plays a little game with us to draw out the fullness of our faith and loving devotion. Both the angels at the tomb and Jesus Himself asked Mary why she was weeping, knowing darn well why she was weeping! She answered the angels, "Because they have taken away my Lord…" Here is her profession of faith, the basic one St Paul recommends: "Jesus is Lord." She came to believe that He was the promised Messiah and Son of God, and she placed all her hope in Him. Yet she was grieving, for all her hopes were dashed on the rocks of his tomb.

It was then Jesus' turn to ask her why she was weeping. She did not recognize Him. Was it because He had appeared "in another form" (Mk. 16:12), or were her "eyes kept from recognizing him" (Lk. 24:16), as were those of the disciples on the way to Emmaus? Or were her eyes simply blinded by tears, so that the whole world seemed unrecognizable, shrouded over with the mist of mourning? Here Mary expresses her love and devotion to Him, still not recognizing Him: "If you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." When all have deserted Him, she alone will come for Him and carry his body away, and lovingly bury it elsewhere. She wasn't concerned about Roman soldiers or her own life. Love is stronger than fear; love is stronger than death.

Satisfied with her expressions of faith and love, Jesus opened her eyes with a word: "Mary." He called her by name and suddenly the sun broke through the clouds. The stone was rolled away from her heart. Joy and new life immediately welled up within her. It is the Lord! She spontaneously flung herself at Him and embraced Him. He had to restrain her ardor, however, explaining that He still had to ascend to his Father, for his glorification was not complete, and access to Him henceforth would be on a new level. It is as St Paul wrote: "If we have known Christ according to the flesh, we know him thus no longer" (2Cor. 5:16). A new relationship, a new embrace was made possible by his resurrection, one that can permeate our whole being, and make us "one spirit with him" (1Cor. 6:17).

Then Mary returned to the other disciples and exclaimed, "I have seen the Lord!" And she told them everything that had happened.

This drama has to be played out in each of our lives, uniquely, personally, in our own circumstances and state in life. We have to seek the Lord ardently and consistently. We can't give up as soon as we meet an obstacle, or if Heaven is testing us to see how much we really want Him. What if Mary, finding the tomb empty, simply walked away sadly, saying: "Well, that's the end of that. Even his body is gone. I may as well get on with my life." No, she demanded of anyone who would listen: "Where is He? Give Him to me!" We have to persevere in our search for the presence of the risen Lord, allowing Him, if He wishes, to test our faith and love, to disguise Himself, as it were, and even restrain us from recognizing Him—until He takes the initiative.

He will call us by name and our eyes will be opened. Our mournful search will be transformed into a joyous discovery. Hope will return and we will know that his mission was a success, that the dark powers have been overthrown and He has emerged victorious, inviting us to share in his everlasting triumph in glory.

Then go ahead, throw yourself at Jesus and embrace Him. This time He won't say, "Do not hold onto me." He has already taken his seat at the right hand of the Father, and He is already present to us through the grace of the Holy Spirit. He wants us to cling to Him now, for that is our only hope. He alone can lead us to and through the blessed heavenly gates. And in the meantime He wants us to tell others what we have seen and heard in his presence.

We can't afford to get complacent, thinking the war is over so now we can take our ease. The enemy still has spies and snipers who are skilled in ambush and guerilla warfare. If we think there's nothing more for us to do, we will get waylaid, and the Promised Land will seem far away indeed, and even inaccessible. So we must always call upon Jesus' name, walk closely with Him, affirm and apply the merits of his victory every day.

Referring back to the Lord of the Rings, we must also partake of our own divine lembas (the mysterious elf-bread that miraculously gave strength, vitality, and endurance to those who ate it)—the Holy Eucharist, which gives strength and grace for the journey, and renews Jesus' secret presence within us. For though we've received the good news of the ultimate victory, and though we seek and find the King who now reigns over heaven and earth, we're still in exile, still on our way home.

But there will come a day when even the least shadow of evil will be forever destroyed, when all the scattered evil insurgents will be rounded up and cast into Hell, when all those who have sought the Lord Jesus with faith and love will rejoice with exceeding joy, and forever. He is coming again in glory, to bring to glory all those who stood weeping by his tomb, enduring the sorrows and sufferings of this life with faith and hope, never giving up, awaiting the return of the King. All heaven and earth will praise Him with high praises.

Let us begin the celebration now in spirit, in prayer, in liturgical anticipation. The Lamb has conquered evil by his own blood. He is risen from the dead. And He is coming back for his beloved, for He wants us to live happily ever after!

—Abbot Joseph

Monks are supposed to live lives of prayer and sacrifice. Christians in general are expected to offer "spiritual sacrifices" of various kinds (see 1Peter 2:5 and Hebrews 13:15-16). This is primarily because love cannot be genuine without a sacrificial dimension, and Christians are supposed to be known by their love. Here we are in the time of Lent, a season set aside for penitential practices, for the recovery of the sacrificial dimension of life. But what, really, is sacrifice, and how should it be an integral part of Christian life?

Sacrifice, in a religious context, has a long history, and I don't intend to go into the details of it here. Suffice it to say that practically all religions throughout history utilized some form of sacrifice as part of their ritual worship. Usually these were animal sacrifices, and they were generally offered to honor, thank, appease, or seek help from God (or the gods). We may think today, and rightly so, that slaughtering animals on an altar is not a particularly fine way to honor God, but that assessment does not negate the value of sacrifice as such. Rather than focus on the various types of sacrifice which were historically offered to God, I will here simply try to get at the underlying meaning of it, so its application in our own lives may be clear, and that the value of it may be more easily grasped.

When used outside of a strictly ritual context, the idea of sacrifice usually tends to have negative connotations. A sacrifice is somehow painful; it represents a loss or deprivation of some kind; it means self-denial or the acceptance of some humanly undesirable circumstance or condition. There is some truth in all that, but that is not the essence of it, and that is not why sacrifices are offered.

The term "sacrifice" literally means "sacred action," so this should be our starting point for reflection. Such a sacred action originally had a ritual context, so let us begin with that and look for some organic development toward the sacred actions required of Christians today. When God asked the Israelites to offer animal sacrifices to Him, this doesn't mean that He was somehow pleased with bloody slaughters and dead animals. The livestock of the people were among their most valuable possessions, something they needed for food and clothing and trade.

Therefore a sacrifice is an offering of something valuable to God as a way of affirming that God Himself is more valuable than anything else. In order to make that a little more clear, God expected that the best of the flocks would be offered to Him. Here we begin to see how the term "sacrifice" (the sacred ritual action of offering) began to acquire the connotation of loss or self-denial. What is offered to God is lost to oneself, especially if the sacrifice is a holocaust, that is, a whole-burnt offering. There were some forms of sacrifice, however, in which the offering was not destroyed but given in part to the priest who offered it and then shared as a sacrificial meal among those who brought the gift for sacrifice.

As is clear from the Letter to the Hebrews, all Old Testament sacrifices were provisional. They were only foreshadowings or prophecies pointing to the one Sacrifice in which all the meaning and all the power of sacrifice were brought to perfection and eternal fulfillment—the Sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the Cross, by which the Lamb of God took away the sins of the world. Jesus offered to the Father in Himself the whole human race, and "He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live for righteousness" (1Peter 2:24). Every righteous sacrifice before this was fulfilled in it, and every sacrifice after it must draw its efficacy from it, if it is to be acceptable to God.

This same Sacrifice of Christ is perpetually present in the Church through the mystery of the Holy Eucharist, which is the source of our sanctification, to which we ought to have constant recourse. The Old Testament sacrifices to which this most closely corresponds are those in which a meal follows, in which the sacrifice is eaten by the priest and those who offered the gift. But the grace of the one Sacrifice of Christ which is substantially present in every Holy Eucharist is of a wholly different character and efficacy than anything ever offered in Old Testament times. Christ is now risen from the dead and can communicate the saving grace of his death and resurrection to all people of all times and places, especially if they would embrace the fullness of the Faith and come to share in the Eucharistic anticipation of the heavenly wedding feast of the Lamb.

My intention here, however, is not to reflect upon the Eucharistic sacrifice, but rather on the meaning of sacrifice as such in our daily lives, the "sacred actions" that should be an essential part of any Christian life. Sacrifices are offerings, and our lives are meant to be self-offerings to God—with our whole heart, mind, soul, and strength.

I came across an interesting remark in a collection of aphorisms by Hans Urs von Balthasar (The Grain of Wheat), which stimulated my reflection on this topic. He said: "Our existence, in its very foundations, is structured for sacrifice." He doesn't go into detail to explain what he means, except to say that despite all our ambitions and efforts, in the end life "takes from our hands everything we have snatched up." Then we have the possibility to offer our own death as a sacrifice to God, in union with the death of Jesus, instead of uselessly raging against our inevitable demise.

What can we learn from the fact that we are "structured for sacrifice"? Does this mean that we are not "built for comfort" after all, but are rather programmed for pain? Perhaps it may seem that way at times, but that is not the intention (at least the original one) of our God, who is Love. We are structured for sacrifice primarily because we are structured for love, for self-giving, but the further we are from a true understanding and practice of love (and hence the further we are from God), the more will sacrifice seem like suffering than like the most fruitful mode of being human.

Because love and sacrifice are so intimately related, sacrifices are not really "losses" for Christians, even though they involve some sort of self-denial or "giving up". We open ourselves to grace and spiritual growth as we offer sacrifices for the good of others out of love. We may offer time, energy, money or other goods in order to serve the poor or others who are in some need. In sacrificing these things we receive even more in return. When the Philippians made a sacrificial gift to meet the needs of St Paul, he made the same point: "Not that I seek the gift; but I seek the fruit which increases to your credit" (Phil. 4:17). He even referred to the gift specifically as a sacrifice: "…the gifts you sent, a fragrant offering, a sacrifice acceptable and pleasing to God." And their reward? "My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus" (vv. 18-19). So there is a fruit which increases to our credit as we part with our possessions or offer our time and labors as a sacrifice for the good of others, out of love for God and neighbor. God in turn will grant us "riches in glory in Christ Jesus"—if not entirely in this age, then certainly in the age to come, when it really matters, for that age lasts forever.

Anyone who has performed demanding "labors of love" for spouses, children, parents, or friends, knows the meaning of sacrifice, knows what it costs. But love is willing to pay the price, knowing, however obscurely, that "our existence [as human beings created in the image of God], in its very foundations, is structured for sacrifice." Such a person also knows that to refuse to make such personal sacrifices is to make, unwittingly, quite a wretched sacrifice, that is, the sacrifice of one's human dignity and nobility, sacrificing the very image of God on the altar of selfishness and comfortable insulation from the demands of love.

There are many daily sacrifices that can be offered, which are not directed specifically toward the needs of a loved one. We are expected, for example, to sacrifice our own bad habits or attitudes, for the sake of our spiritual growth as well as for spreading blessings around us. There's a particular pinch to self-denial here, for we may not see much concrete result, as we might if we were serving others in a more explicit or material way. We only experience the unpleasantness of "going against the grain" of our habitual self-indulgence. Yet grace is at work here as well, and we must persevere in faith, not expecting immediate rewards for every sacrifice we offer. We don't want to find that we are "already repaid" (Mt. 6:2-6; 16-18), when it comes time to step up and receive eternal rewards!

It is a traditional Catholic spiritual practice to "offer up" the various and inevitable setbacks, disappointments, sufferings, sorrows, etc, of life as so many sacrifices to God, for our own spiritual benefit or as kind of intercessory offering for others. The Pope briefly mentions this in his latest encyclical Spe Salvi (Saved by Hope), and he encourages Catholics to renew the practice. It's not mere resignation to simply offer up our sufferings or penances, as if this were only a last resort to salvage something good from them. It is truly a positive and grace-bringing activity, uniting us to Jesus' great sacrifice and thus adding immense value to our little ones. In the end, we may discover that the real meaning and value in our lives was not the things we accomplished in our efforts to change the world or better the human condition, but simply in the faithful and trusting offering of the sacrifices that each day brought, for that is an ongoing act of fidelity to God's will, a "yes" that, once given, was never taken back.

We may still need some encouragement, however, some framework for a perspective that helps us to live a sacrificial life, so we don't end up just grudgingly offering occasional sacrifices out of a sense of duty or obligation. Perhaps, then, we should first realize that nothing in this world is "owed" to us, but all is a gift from God. If all has been first freely given to us, then it shouldn't be so hard to give some of it back, when that is required. "What do you have that you have not received? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?" (1Cor. 4:7). If we see all as gift, then not only is boasting excluded but also possessiveness, and if one is free from possessiveness, one is free to give, to offer a joyful sacrifice. In the long run, we can't hold on to anything anyway, so we might as well begin now to learn how to give and to share, how to let go. For in the end we have to let go of everything but our immortal souls and the relationship to God that we have cultivated—or not—in this life. And how shall we face God after spending a life of selfishly clinging to things we must leave behind? An attorney for a very wealthy man was once asked, after the man died, how much he had left behind. The attorney wisely answered: "All of it."

To live a sacrificial life is to acknowledge our fundamental poverty, our status as pilgrims. We can deny ourselves here—for the good of others and for our own spiritual progress—because we know that "here we have no lasting city, but we seek the City which is to come" (Heb. 13:14). Because this is so, we are exhorted: "Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God" (v. 16). Despite the disdain that is often expressed toward Christians who look to Heaven as their true and ultimate fulfillment—and who thus are willing to suffer patiently the hardships and even injustices of life in a sacrificial spirit—this is of the essence of Christianity. Christianity without the hope of Heaven is just a better way to live in a meaningless world, but the end result of our lives would be no different than that of any evildoer. "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are the most pitiable of men" (1Cor. 15:19).

There are a few more things we can do in order to acquire the inner dispositions that will make offering sacrifices easier. The first (and negatively) is to deny lust in all its forms, particularly the lust for pleasure, possessions, power, or prestige. If we are ruled by desire for these things (and this is what most advertising intends to accomplish in us), then the notion of sacrifice will seem abhorrent, restricting, senseless. Let go of lust, and freedom returns—freedom to do good for others and to develop one's own capacity for generosity, charity, and service. If we try to draw all things to ourselves like some magnet or black hole we will be burdened with the dead weight of useless attachments, but if we sacrificially give ourselves for others, we will be like the sun, gradually spending ourselves while shedding light and warmth all around.

Positively seen, we should try to develop a sense of gratitude to God for all things, so that any sacrifice will seem to be a gift from our abundance, even if we do not really have much to give. We may be poor, but we will enrich many; we may have nothing, but we will possess everything (2Cor. 6:10). Gratitude, like the mortification of lust, gives us a sense of freedom, a sense of confidence in God, so that making sacrifices comes easier, and we're not too interested in tallying our losses. Grateful people are joyful people, and joyful people are more willing than others to make sacrifices. They will be the ones who bear the most spiritual fruit from them—thus further increasing their joy and gratitude!

Another virtue to develop is humility. This is part of what underlies the perspective that all is gift and nothing is owed to us. Pride makes us tight-fisted—not only in the material sense of refusing to give to the needy, but in the spiritual sense of refusing to let down our defenses, refusing to admit our need for repentance and self-denial. No one wants to sacrifice his own cherished vices, grudges, opinions, etc. "The line dividing good and evil runs through the human heart," wrote Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, "and who wants to cut out a piece of his own heart?" Yet the humble person knows his own weaknesses, knows what sacrifices need to be offered if he is to grow in the likeness of his Lord. It is to Jesus we must turn. "Learn from me," He said, "for I am meek and humble of heart" (Mt. 11:29). A humble person has no pretensions; he is willing to pay the cost of discipleship, to live a sacrificial life in imitation and in union with Him who loved us and gave Himself for us (Gal. 2:20).

Finally we return to love. Love and sacrifice are inseparable. Each is more pure and genuine in the presence of the other. Sacrifices are authentic and fruitful only when offered in love, and love is true only when it embraces the element of sacrifice. Even unbelievers may be able to make the sacrifices love requires on a human level. But our love and our sacrifice are infinitely enriched when we unite them to the ultimate sacrifice of love which was the crucifixion of Christ, which He voluntarily offered so that our sins might be forgiven and we might share with Him the everlasting joy of his heavenly Paradise. Let us learn from Him not only humility, but love and the meaning of sacrifice. Take it to prayer and contemplation. Sacrifice is something we ignore only at our peril, for to refuse to sacrifice is to refuse to love; it is to refuse to enter the divine mystery of Cross and Resurrection.

So let us not look at Lenten sacrifices piecemeal, forcing ourselves to give up this or that for 40 days. Let us make of our lives a sacrifice of praise to God, which includes all of our efforts at charity, self-denial, spiritual growth, and whatever it takes to be faithful to Him who loved us first and who did not hesitate to sacrifice his own life for us. We were made for this—we are structured for sacrifice—because we were made for eternal life.

—Abbot Joseph

One teaching of the Church, that has offended some people right out of the Church, was taken in stride by Mark P. Shea (former Evangelical, now Catholic), who wrote a fine article about it. He provides context and right understanding, and that's the sort of writing one greatly appreciates in the face of distortions of our Faith.

The teaching is well-known in this form: "There is no salvation outside the Church." Taken just like that—at face value, and out of context—this doctrine has a very nasty ring to anyone who, in good faith, is not a member of the visible, institutional Roman Catholic Church. "Roman"—because we find an even stricter form of it at the "shocking conclusion" (as Shea rightly terms it) of a papal bull by Pope Boniface VIII, which says:

"We declare, say, define and pronounce, that it is absolutely necessary for the salvation of every human creature to be subject to the Roman Pontiff" (from Unam Sanctam, 1302).

That could be mistaken to mean, at its worst, that you'll go to hell unless you become a personal slave of the Pope. That certainly is shocking. At the least, it seems to mean you have to be a member in good standing of the Roman Catholic Church, or go to hell. That's still shocking, at least to anyone who in good faith was raised in another church or religion, or who suspects the Church of abusing spiritual authority to blackmail people into joining. The only trouble is, it doesn't mean any such thing.

Shea approaches this first by rejecting any attempt to dismiss the teaching as Pope Boniface's personal opinion, for that Pope gave it with the formal "We declare, say, define and pronounce…": this formula means he presented it as the Church's dogmatic teaching, and nothing less. We can't wiggle out of this one, but have to grapple with it as a Church teaching.

He then points to another teaching from the Ecumenical Council of Vatican II, in Lumen Gentium: "The Church knows that she is joined in many ways to the baptized who are honored by the name of Christian, but do not profess the Catholic faith in its entirely or have not preserved unity or communion under the successor of Peter." Doesn't that sound, at first blush, like a flat-out contradiction to Pope Boniface's words? But it's not.

Everyone knows (or should know) that the meaning of a statement depends heavily upon its context. Church teachings certainly do, and the balanced picture takes into account the likelihood of progression in Church teachings. Centuries before Vatican II, the Church regarded Orthodox sacraments as valid; the Church has always regarded as valid the baptism of non-Catholics; and recently, but still before the Vatican II Council, Rev. L. Feeney was excommunicated for insisting that only people in visible communion with the Catholic Church could be saved. With this historical background in mind by way of context, it's unfair to take Unam Sanctam as meaning "we're in; you're out"; it's also unfair to take it as being cancelled by the Vatican II teaching. Neither of these positions makes sense.

At this point, Shea is obliged to seek and present a meaning that does make sense.

Consider Jesus' saying, "Do not forbid him, for no one who does a mighty work in my name will be able soon after to speak evil of me. For he that is not against us is for us" (Mk 9:38-40). The apostles, obviously, were in union with Christ. Christ was saying that the man they'd found casting out demons in Jesus' name, was also in some kind of union with Christ, regardless whether the apostles or the man were conscious if it or not. To some degree, the man was following Christ by casting out demons in his name; to some degree, therefore, he was also in union with Christ, and with the apostles. As Shea puts it, "Their mutual obedience to Him put them in relationship to each other, just as the right alignment of spokes to a hub necessarily put the spokes in right alignment to one another. The fact is, it is His Spirit, not we, who is the principle of unity holding His Body together and drawing its members into ever more perfect union with each other." And so, Shea says, "…to be subject to the gospel to any degree is to be in union, to that degree, with the office of Peter, since the office of Peter was created by Christ…to help bring people into subjection to Christ." ["Subjection" sometimes causes a negative knee-jerk reaction; "subjection" in its full meaning is well worth pondering, along with the possibility of it having good and voluntary forms.]

Mark Shea himself experienced, in an imperfect and analogous way, something like that. He came to know a certain priest, and discovered that the priest loved and understood far more deeply than he did, the things he also sought: in other words, he found that they both were disciples of our Lord. Shea realized the man could disciple him, and that their lives were inextricably linked in Christ, and by Christ. Shea put it this way: "In short," he says, "I had been a disciple of [that priest] for years before I met him—because I was first a disciple of Jesus… I am, so to speak, subject to him in Christ precisely because I desire what he desires—union with Christ." Again, it is well worth pondering the notion and possibility of a "subjection" without one's necessarily being aware of it. [I would perhaps say he was potentially subject, because of their shared desire and the priest's greater love and understanding of the things they both sought. As Shea said, the analogy is imperfect—and yet, there's something to it—something good.]

"It therefore follows that to be subject to the gospel to any degree is to be in union, to that degree, with the office of Peter… It is therefore impossible to accept Christ without accepting the authority of Peter's office to some degree or other," Shea concludes. Do you tell Jesus, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God"? You are submitting to the judgment of Peter, who said it first (Mt 16:16). Do you declare salvation is by grace through Christ? Same thing (see Acts 15:11). There are other examples of how one might, to some degree, acknowledge the authority of Peter, or of the Church in council and in union with the office of Peter—perhaps ever so gently, perhaps without realizing it. "In short, it is not possible to be a Christian at all without already submitting (whether you realize it or not, and whether you like it or not) to Peter in precisely the sense that Unam Sanctam speaks of.

Mark Shea will go on to speak of imperfect union and communion, the distinction between office and person of the Pope, of the need for fuller union, the possibility of salvation outside the Church, and its relation to the Body of Christ… but I won't spoil the article for you. Even stopping short here, we see a way to open the possibility of better understanding and fuller communion, when we meet those who have rejected this teaching, and who have, perhaps, rejected the Church along with it. It is all too easy to find interpretations of this Church teaching that are objectionable—but why not take it as the Church intends it?

—Brother Seraphim

If you find his obscure monastery, you aren't likely to meet Br. Träumer, nor most of the cloistered hermit monks of the place; nevertheless, stories do manage to circulate. Though only in his later middle age, Br. Träumer has lived under three abbots, and it was the first who professed him and bestowed upon him his monastic name. In vain have we searched for a saint by that name; the good brother has no patron saint and it was a fluke, an accident, that his first abbot chose the name, which means "Dreamer" in German. Perhaps it was an insight, for a score or so years later, Br. Träumer has taken to having unusually vivid dreams that have certainly astonished and bothered his spiritual father: his third and present abbot, who strives mightily to restore the brother to peace and recollection whenever the dreams become too fierce.

One evening, at recreation, the brethren fell to jesting about secularization, and one of them lightly said we were all fortunate that materialism wasn't really true—and this, sure enough, sparked one of good ol' Br. Träumer's dreams.

In the dream, a materialist was reminiscing, slowly listing and dismissing as unreal various immaterial beings. As he did so, each one of them vanished in reality! The Lord Most High was first to go, and Br. Träumer got very nervous in this dream, wondering how the entire created universe continued in existence without its Sustainer—but, in the manner of dreams, the impossible happened, and it did. Next to go were the angels and demons, and a great dearth of inspiration fell upon the world, and lo, the creativity of all manner of arts and crafts quietly disappeared, and all manner of architecture and other forms of design became unbearably insipid and bland.

Then it was souls. Again, in the manner of dreams, the impossible happened, and nobody actually died for lack of his soul, but as Br. Träumer looked into people's eyes, he noticed that everybody seemed very dead within, and he shuddered—but the materialist continued. Values went out the door, along with abstractions (in the venerable and traditional sense), and somehow everything started seeming very thinned out.

It was when the materialist got around to dismissing forms and shapes that all the energy in the universe also disappeared (depending, as it does, upon the form of waves), and all was reduced to an inchoate heap of undifferentiated and formless material that couldn't even be atoms or molecules, nor even whirl about, that Br. Träumer awoke with a start, perspiring, eyes bulging, and screaming in silence however long it was, till Br. Ding Dong, on his way to ring the early Vigil office, happened to find him, and gently led him to the abbot. It took hours before the poor man was restored and could feel sure that the world was still normal. Br. Träumer had been well named.

Christianity has been roundly attacked, at times, by materialists; I don't know much about it, but it got me wondering just what the materialists could mean by "material" and whether they could really mean that material is all that there is? Could they live it in practice? I don't know that, either.

I do suspect they will admit the existence of energy, as well as of matter, though—the more since Prof. Einstein found a formula relating the two, in case one gets transformed into the other, as happens, say, in nuclear explosions. All right, then: matter and energy. But matter behaves as particles or waves, and those most decidedly have shapes or form, sort of. And shapes and forms are surely not the same thing as the material that composes them, for that stuff makes a difference. All right then, matter, energy, and forms or shapes, sort of—all of these exist. Material seems have more than just matter in it, if material is all that exists.

How about living things? There's a most decided difference between a man, just the moment before death, and his corpse the very moment after, although both have the same matter, energy, and shape or form. The energy does indeed begin waning rather quickly, and the matter as well as the shape and form, sort of, do begin to decompose, rather—but still, it's mysterious, what happens at that very moment. Well then, perhaps the materialists will allow us to include in "material" the matter, energy, shape and form (sort of), and life as well—something like a "soul". I'm afraid if this keeps up, they'll end up with angels, demons, and God as various kinds of matter, too. Oh well; it just goes to show….

—Brother Seraphim

[The poem above is from p.108, Diogenes Allen's Spiritual Theology, citing "Hymn 115" in Richard Frederick's The Church Hymnary, 3^rd ed. (Littledale, trans.); Oxford U. Press, 1973.]

Two friends were having an argument about whether anger was ever justified. They could not agree and so they came to Mother Macrina and asked her what she thought.

"No, anger can never be justified," she replied.

"I told you so!" one of them said.

"But surely you do not mean to say that anger is always a sin?" asked the other. "Was Christ himself not often angry with the Pharisees, or with those whom he threw out of the temple and whose tables he overturned?"

"So he was," answered Mother Macrina, "but he also died for them. When you are willing to die for those who have hurt you, then you too may be as angry with them as you wish."

   (from God is not Reasonable, and Other Tales of Mother Macrina, by Irma Zaleski)

Note: this article is the web version of a pamphlet, inserted as a flyer in the printed version of our newsletter. Our web readers may request us to mail them a free copy of the pamphlet as soon as the printed version is ready; to do so, see the contact information at the end of the chaplet portion, below.

Do you know that you can do something that can be a direct and immediate contribution to the salvation of souls? Jesus told St Faustina something of great value in this regard. (Since she is a canonized saint and her writings have received Church approval, it is worthy of belief, even though this is not on the same level as Scripture and Tradition.) At a certain moment Jesus said this: “Pray as much as you can for the dying… Be assured that the grace of eternal salvation for certain souls in their final moment depends upon your prayer…” (Diary, #1777).

As members of the Body of Christ we are required to pray for each other, for this is an important means of bringing God’s grace to souls. The hour of death is the most critical time in anyone’s life, especially if they are in any way estranged from God. They need help now—and the only thing that will save them is the grace of God, which draws them to repentance, faith, and trust in Him. He expects us to pray for that grace for the dying. For, as God said to the prophet Ezekiel: “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live” (33:11).

But how do we do it? The Lord gave St Faustina a special prayer to be used for this purpose. It is called the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Here’s one thing the Lord said about it: “Whoever will recite [the chaplet] will receive great mercy at the hour of death… Even if there were a sinner most hardened, if he were to recite this chaplet only once, he would receive grace from My infinite mercy…” (#687).

That’s good news, but what if someone is unable to say it himself, for whatever reason? Not to worry: “At the hour of their death, I defend as My own glory every soul that will say this chaplet; or when others say it for a dying person, the indulgence is the same…” (#811). This is where you and I come in, where we pray for ailing members of the Body to be granted grace and mercy unto salvation.

Now is the time to start rescuing other souls from the jaws of Hell! So here’s what you can do: around 3:00 every afternoon (this is the “hour of mercy” since it is the hour of Jesus’ death on the Cross), pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Not for just any soul, however, but for whatever soul is in most danger of going to Hell—someone who is about to die in mortal sin, or perhaps a dying loved one—so that this soul may be granted, by the mercy of the Lord, the grace of final repentance unto salvation. If this prayer can help open the hearts of the dying just enough to say “yes” to Jesus as they are leaving this world, then it’s all worth it.

The chaplet is based on the power of prayer with faith, and on Jesus’ everlasting love and infinite mercy. “The prayer of a righteous man has great power in its effects” (James 5:16). To pray this chaplet is to help enable a sinner to repent at the last minute, like the Good Thief. Let us be instrumental in winning the grace of final repentance for sinners. “Whoever brings back a sinner from the error of his way will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins” (James 5:20).

Thousands of people die every day, and many of them may very well be in a state of sin. We can help at least some of them get to Heaven. What a great and glorious work this is! Imagine, at the end of your life, being greeted in Heaven by numerous souls, all thanking you because the Lord had mercy on them and saved them, since you prayed for them at the hour of their death! What a marvelously rewarding blessing to enjoy for all eternity!

It doesn’t matter that much if you can’t pray the prayer right at 3:00. Do it whenever you can; just do it! Let’s start harvesting souls for the Kingdom of God. He has given us a simple means for co-operating with his grace in this all-important work. Nothing is more important in the eyes of God than the salvation of the souls He created, the souls with whom He desires to share his Heaven. It’s high time we were about our Father’s business. Pray the chaplet every day, and may God reward you!

The Chaplet of Divine Mercy

(to be prayed using a rosary)


1. Begin with the Sign of the Cross, one Our Father, one Hail Mary and the Apostles’ Creed.

2. Then, on the Our Father beads, say the following:
Eternal Father, I offer You the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus
Christ, in atonement for our sins and the sins of the whole world.

3. On the ten Hail Mary beads say the following:
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
(Repeat steps 2 and 3 for all five decades)

4. Conclude with (three times):
Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.


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Mt Tabor Monastery
P.O. Box 217
Redwood Valley CA 95470
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A Note on the "Save a Soul" Flyer

You'll notice that the "Save a Soul" flyer (above) promotes a devotion that can be very fruitful for the salvation of souls—and we hope you'll take it to heart and begin praying it right away! You may have also noticed that this is not a specifically Eastern devotion but comes from the revelations given to a Polish saint. We've included it, though, simply because our main interest is the salvation of souls. There's nothing comparable in the Byzantine tradition, as far as we know, which offers a divine pledge of such an immediate and dramatic effect upon a soul about to leave this life.

Divine Mercy as such is certainly dear to Eastern Christians, since we pray for it unceasingly, both in our liturgical services and in the Jesus Prayer. So the spirit of it is compatible with our traditions. Yet this devotion applies it in a specific way for a specific purpose, in a last-ditch effort to rescue souls that would otherwise be lost. In any case, when it comes to the destiny of immortal souls, we don't quibble about East and West—we do whatever seems most helpful for their salvation. We would hate to have to face God on Judgment Day, having refused to do something so manifestly beneficial for souls because it was "not our tradition." Let us be clear: saving souls is our tradition!

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