Christ on Campus: the Feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas

Time sure seems to be passing quickly lately. Can you believe we have already finished two weeks of the university’s spring semester? One more week, and we will already be about 20% to its conclusion. Not that I'm keeping track! No doubt our students and our teachers are now getting down to the important work of the semester, especially as that first exam is scheduled and that first paper looms on the horizon.

Studying is hard work. The great Southern writer and historian Shelby Foote once said, “A university is just a group of buildings gathered around a library.” As much as we might like to think about life at the U of A as defined by what happens in the sports arenas, or in the dorms or the dining halls, or on Dickson Street, it is what happens in the library that is most important for our time here. After all, the purpose of a university after all is to learn. Sure, you can look at it as just a place to go and get a degree, a piece of paper that allows you to move on into the working world. But as an entity, as a community, a university is a place where you come to gain that which you do not have: to be instructed in what is real and useful and good, so that when you leave here you are able to better yourself and the world around you. To do that, you have to put in the work, the hours of study to master what you seek to know. The great English cardinal and academic John Henry Newman once wrote that the goal of every university course should be to train good members of society, to help them to understand what is true and what is not true so that they can use that to better the world.

Of course, there is also a kind of knowledge that comes not from studying but from direct, personal experience. In the Gospel today, Jesus enters the synagogue in Capernaum and begins to teach. There were no universities in Jesus’s day; but there were schools, associations of masters and students, of those who had studied and learned and those who wanted to be taught. What amazes the people in Capernaum is that the force of Jesus’s teaching is unlike any they had ever known. He was, as far as they were aware, the unschooled son of a carpenter, and yet he taught with power and authority. Of course, as we know, Jesus was unschooled; he spoke with a knowledge that had not come from study or from reflection, but from the intimate personal knowledge that came from being the Son of his heavenly Father.

As we heard, what the people hear astonishes them. They are more than impressed; the Greek word used could be translated something like “dumbfounded”. Is Jesus just showing off? Certainly not. Rather, he is demonstrating that the kingdom of God is at hand; he is the “the Holy One of God,” the one who can speak with knowledge about God because he is himself God, the one who can interpret the meaning of the Scriptures because he is their true author. As if to confirm who he is and what he speaks of, Jesus casts out the unclean spirit present in their midst, befuddling the people all the more.

Francisco de Zurbarán, The Apotheosis of St. Thomas Aquinas (1631) [detail]

There is a great truth about our Christian life, one that we have to remind ourselves about again and again: it is possible to know much about Jesus without truly knowing him. The people in the synagogue at Capernaum knew much about Jesus – where he came from, what line of work he was in, who his relatives were – but when they were confronted with who he was in himself, they were astounded. For us today, this is perhaps even more of a danger. One can study all of the works of theology and understand their meaning, one can associate with Christians and come to church, one can live a life that seems on the outside completely directed toward God – but yet still lack interiorly that relationship with Christ that should enliven and animate us each day.

Today we celebrate the feast of our parish’s patron saint, St. Thomas Aquinas. In the mind of the Church, it is an opportunity for us to celebrate our faith community, and to be grateful for how God has acted and is still acting in our midst, among us and in us. It is also a chance to ask for the intercession of our patron, and to understand something of his life that perhaps might be influential for our own. Admittedly, a Dominican friar of the 13th century might seem a little difficult to relate to. Thomas Aquinas was a man of great intellect, a man of great learning, a man who wrote deep works of theology and explanation for the Christian faith. He was without a doubt one of the greatest thinkers in the history of our faith, and it is thus appropriate that the works of Thomas Aquinas are recommended by the Church to those who wish to understand better the mysteries of our faith.

But Thomas was not just a brainiac. He was also a man of deep faith, a man who knew Jesus personally and who loved and worshipped him as his Lord, especially in the Holy Eucharist. Those who have passed down to us details of his life all agree that he began and ended his studies each day by praying before a crucifix, asking for wisdom and insight and to glorify God in his work. His study aided his prayer, and his prayer aided his study. In that way, he came to understand the person of Jesus, the Holy One of God, not in an abstract, theoretical sense, but as a friend and a Master.

Like the students and faculty here at the U of A, St. Thomas spent much of his time in and around universities; he studied first at the University of Naples and later was on the faculty at the University of Paris. There is no doubt that those medieval places of learning were in many ways vastly different from the university setting of today. Yet, at their heart, they share the same purpose: to be a place of study, to be a community of learning, to probe the depths of reality to learn what is real and useful and good, to better ourselves and the world around us. St. Thomas ceaselessly asked the “What” of the realities of the universe in order to better understand the “Who” is their source of them all.

Friends, St. Thomas once wrote: “If you are looking for a goal, hold fast to Christ, because he himself is the truth… If you are looking for a resting place, hold fast to Christ, because he himself is the life…” Perhaps the best way we can honor our patron today is for each of us to remember what he knew above all: that knowledge is useless without understanding, that learning is nothing without love. We do well to study hard, to labor vigorously at our various endeavors, whether here on campus or whatever we do once we leave here; but we must also always keep before our eyes the one who is Truth himself. All of the books of Mullins Library cannot lead you to a personal relationship with Jesus. They can teach you about Jesus, but to truly know him, you have to encounter him for yourself. May our patron St. Thomas Aquinas help us to meet Jesus anew, the Holy One of God, the One “to whom and for whom and through whom all things are,” so that by his gifts and for his glory we may achieve what he wills.

Whose Kingdom?

A few months ago, a study was released that compared the general views of Americans on a range of social and political issues. It concluded that Americans today are more polarized than at any time since the Civil War. Even if you think that is a bit too sweeping of a conclusion, it is hard to argue that recently it seems our social and cultural discussions have risen to a fever pitch. Just this past week, we’ve seen a government shutdown, a debate about immigration and the future of DACA, three different marches in Washington, and continued disappointing and even discouraging words and actions from our elected leaders. We have seen new movements like #MeToo and #TimesUp sweeping the country. We still hear about the usual contentious issues, like abortion and gun rights and climate change, and we hear about growing concerns like the opioid crisis and renewed fears over nuclear conflict. In short, it seems as if there is no shortage of things about which to be alarmed, be afraid, or be angry.

Maybe these issues are ones that speak to you, or maybe not. But all of us see things in the world that we think are wrong or broken or harmful, and for the sake of ourselves, the sake of our children, the sake of society, we want to make them right. As Christians, this takes on a special significance: seeking to make our world more a reflection of the kingdom of God. We’re not just altruistic we see striving for peace and justice as what Jesus commanded us to do.

Edward Armitage, Christ Calling the Apostles James and John (1869) 

In light of all of this, what we hear St. Paul say in our second reading likely strikes us as very strange: “I tell you, brothers and sisters, the time is running out… The world in its present form is passing away.” Paul’s words are in response to a letter the Christian community in Corinth had sent to him. Living in a major cosmopolitan city, surrounded no doubt by all kinds of immorality and social injustices, they wrote to Paul to ask him how they should live as disciples of Jesus. Paul answers many of their questions: how to remain united as a community, how to resolve internal disputes, whether to marry or to remain single, etc. But he also reveals for them this amazing, startling conclusion: that this reality is passing away.

Nowadays, if you start talking as Paul did – about a world to come, a life beyond this one, a reality that is not yet fully present – people tend to have one of two reactions: either their eyes glaze over and they tune you out, or they think immediately about heaven. Paul, however, wasn’t talking about heaven, at least not as we typically think of it. For a person steeped in the Jewish tradition, as Paul was, the kingdom of God was not something that was going to happen someday, in another dimension; rather it would be ushered in here, on this earth, when God would reveal to the whole world his saving power and remake it in his image. For Paul, everything that he understands about God and the world flows from his experience of encountering the Risen Christ, of seeing the man Jesus, who had been tortured and crucified as a criminal, visibly alive again, risen in power and glory.

For two thousand years, our Christian tradition has always held in tension two ideas that seem contradictory: we must work urgently for justice and peace, and yet we await a kingdom not of this world. You can gain a lot of traction by being a Christian these days who talks about the need for more justice, a better peace, a deeper regard for human dignity, and a more meaningful, purpose-filled life for all. Those words will get you somewhere because anyone can appreciate them; they have a built-in rationale that doe not challenge us beyond the here and now. The problem is that we can sometimes lose sight of the second idea, which is really the more important one: that the Risen Jesus will return to establish his reign over all things, vanquishing every foe and judging each of us by what we have done in his name.

What Paul encouraged the Christians in Corinth to understand – and what I think we are called to understand in this moment as well – is that our efforts for peace and justice, as critically important as they are, must be rooted in a more foundational reality: that our hope lies not ultimately in our own efforts but in what the Lord is doing and will do at his return. This is especially important to remember when our efforts seem to be futile, when progress seems to stall, when we are tempted to become discouraged or anxious or afraid. It is precisely then that we should remember that this world is passing away, and while we struggle to do good here and now, our efforts will remain incomplete. Some might call this romanticism or idealism: that by placing our hopes in a reality beyond this one, we are not as committed to working hard to make this world better. But the Christian understanding of the world has always been that what we labor for is not a perfect world as we would make it but the kingdom of God.

So what does that mean, in the here and now? First, we as Christians must always be asking ourselves, “By what lens am I viewing the world? Whose kingdom am I striving for?” We naturally feel attraction to certain causes and commitment to certain issues, but we need to always see if these are in accord with our Christian faith. There are a lot of voices out there that are seeking to shape our worldview but whose social and cultural and political platforms are not always consistent with our Christian identity. We have to look to what our Church teaches and to our own conscience to examine whom we are allowing to truly influence our worldview.

Second, we can’t grow complacent, by thinking that either the world is too broken to struggle for, or that we are too helpless to make a difference. We are called to work for peace and justice, but always bearing in mind what is most important. Recently, I read an article that analyzed the connections between an individual’s social consciousness and happiness. What it found was that, in general, the more committed and invested an individual was in a particular social cause, the more likely they were to identify with feelings of isolation, alienation, frustration, anxiety, even despair. Honestly, I can’t help but think that those feelings are the result of us rooting our hopes in the wrong thing: the idea that justice comes from our own efforts. When our efforts then are unsuccessful, the bottom falls out, and we lose all hope. Such should never be the case for a Christian. As daunted as we might feel at times, we never lose hope, because the Resurrection is our fundamental reality that undergirds everything we strive for. Jesus has already won the definitive battle over evil, and thus we await with joy and hope the full manifestation of his victory. In the meantime, no discouragement or defeat will change the end result. 

In the Gospel today, Jesus calls his first disciples and announces the kingdom of God is at hand. There’s no doubt that we are in "a moment," as some have phrased it, in our country. But whether it’s in Hollywood, or Wall Street, or Washington, we are not going to solve all of our problems by slogans and marches, as important as those might be. We will not be able to create a better world because we strive hard enough; this world is passing away. Instead, as St. Paul encourages us, we must look at every moment, every occasion, every relationship as one defined by our discipleship. The disciples could have said, “Let me go fix this problem first, Jesus, and then I will be your disciple.” But ultimately, Jesus calls them to give it all up, as he does us – to leave behind what is familiar and comfortable, and even to let go of things that are important and part of our identity, in order to discover a new and truer identity in him. God does not ask us to right every wrong. He doesn’t measure us by our accomplishments, but rather by our faithfulness, our hope, our conversion.

As we prepare to celebrate to share in the Eucharistic sacrifice, let us remember that the work of praise we render to God in this Mass is more powerful and effective than anything else we do in the name of what is good. Strengthened by the One whom we receive, the Risen Christ, the One who has vanquished darkness and death, may we be renewed in faith and hope, to keep following him faithfully each day and to await with hope and joy his return.

The Epiphany: God's Breakthrough

One of the great things about being a priest associated with a university is learning about, even in cursory ways, some of the great research being done here. Whenever I talk with our students or professors, I always find it fascinating to hear about what new studies, experiments, and projects they are undertaking. I like to imagine that each of them is perhaps on the brink of making a great discovery, some breakthrough that would greatly advance our knowledge of the world around us. Not every researcher, of course, is blessed to experience a true breakthrough; they are pretty rare. But when they do happen, their impact can be profound. 

Recently, I was reading about some of the advancements in physics that happened over the past 100 years. You might recall many of them, as I did: Einstein’s theory of relativity; the discovery of atomic fission; the discovery of dark matter. One breakthrough that I was less familiar with was the advancements made by Edwin Hubble, who in the early 1920s settled a debate among astronomers and physicist about the size of the universe. The details perhaps aren’t worth getting into. Suffice to say though that, using a telescope to gaze at the stars of the sky, Hubble was able to determine that our galaxy is not the only one visible in the night sky and that our universe is vastly greater than anyone before had previously known. Thanks to Edwin Hubble, we are able to peer into the depths of time and space to a much greater degree than before.

Messier 66 galaxy, Leo triplet (image from the Hubble Telescope)

In the Gospel today, we hear about another discovery by men who study the stars, and one with an even more profound impact. The story of the Magi is something of a strange episode in the Bethlehem story. We don’t know who precisely the Magi were; only that they were wise men – scientists or philosophers – who come from the East, likely from Persia. We don’t know how long they have been journeying or how exactly they knew were to come; only that they have tracked a star. But they state clearly the purpose of their visit: they have come to pay homage to the newborn king of the Jews.

After the miraculous prophecy of the angel Gabriel, and the visit from an angel to Joseph in a dream, and the heavenly announcement of the birth by the angels to the shepherds in the fields – if after all of that, there were still any lingering doubt as to the identity of this newborn child in Bethlehem, this visit from the Magi is intended to settle the issue. When we might be tempted to see Jesus as merely a moralist, a prophet of social change, a man wiser than his day about how to live peaceably and altruistically, we can recall this scene – wise men visiting him in the manger, bearing gifts for a king. The Magi know the one to whom they have journeyed far to see: the heir of David, the true king of the Jews, and the one in whom all nations will see God’s favor for his people.

The irony of the story is that it is the Magi, the non-Jews, who are clued into what is happening rather than Jesus’s own people. The chief priests and the scribes know about the prophecy that the Messiah will be born in Bethlehem, but they don’t seem to realize that it is being fulfilled at that very moment. Herod, who claimed to be the king of the Jews and even made overtures about being the Messiah himself, doesn’t even know the prophecy. And all of them are disturbed by the Magi’s arrival – they are “greatly troubled,” the Gospel says. What should bring joy, praise, awe – the fulfillment of God’s promise to his people by the birth of their rightful king – instead causes dismay.

The Star of Bethlehem (1891), Edward Burne-Jones

As the Christmas season draws to a close this week, we have a chance to reflect upon some aspects of this story that have relevance for us today. First, we are reminded that our God is a God of surprises. Rarely does God act in just the way that we expect; even less often perhaps in the way we might want. But that doesn’t mean that he is against us; rather he is for us to such a degree we could not have imagined. The Magi came to worship the king of the Jews, and Herod feared the same, but surely neither of them anticipated that this child would be God himself, in the flesh. It can be disorienting when God upends what we had expected, but it is always for the better.

Second, when God does surprise us, when our worldviews are challenged in some way, we must remember the right way to respond. Herod and his counselors are filled with fear, and the rest of Jerusalem with them. Likely, they recognize that they are not ready for what God is doing; that they have been caught off guard. But the Magi respond correctly; they go humbly to give praise and worship to the Christ child. In the same way, we can be frustrated and even threatened if we find ourselves caught off guard for what God is doing. But if we are surprised, rather than respond with dismay, we should be reminded about who really is in charge, and respond with gratitude, with adoration, and with humility.

Finally, the Epiphany story reminds us of how God has shown his love for us in a definitive way. Jesus’s birth at Bethlehem is quiet and humble, but it is anything other than passive. Rather it is God’s definitive breakthrough into our world, the revelation of his true purpose and the manifestation of his power. In Christ, God has shown that the Lord of heaven and earth has made his home with us. With his coming, God has pronounced his desire to gather together all of the peoples of the world in praise and adoration of his Son. What he did for the Magi, and the people of their era, he can do for us, inviting us, leading us, drawing us to a new encounter with Jesus, the One for whom our hearts have been searching.

Friends, human beings have been gazing at the stars in the sky for eons. We have learned a lot about time and space thanks to men like Edwin Hubble, and no doubt we still have much to learn. But as Christians, we celebrate on this Epiphany Day that the greatest breakthrough in our understanding of the world is not the result of our searching, but one given by God himself. We don't have to peer into the depths of time and space to find God; he has come to us. In the Christ Child born in the manger, God has revealed himself, made himself manifest and visible, pronouncing his love and redemption for all peoples. Our God is a God of surprises and this is the best one of all. Jesus was born long ago in Bethlehem, but even today the Lord of heaven and earth wishes to come to us anew, to draw us to his Son in ways that we may not expect or even understand, but which are always for our good. May his coming never cause us dismay or fear but inspire us, like the Magi, to offer gifts of praise, trust, and humble service. May we look for the rising of his star, not in the heavens, but within our hearts, and journey anew to worship him.