Hunger: Pleasures of the Heart

"They all ate and were satisfied" (Luke 11:17).

This one sentence is recorded at the end of today's gospel miracle of the feeding of five thousand. It contains within itself many of the longings aroused by and also satsified through the gift of the Holy Eucharist. Truly, it is the bread of heaven, containing within itself all sweetness.

I've been continuing to read Michael Casey's book Toward God: the Ancient Wisdom of Western Prayer. In it, he quotes Gregory the Great (Gospel Homily 36.1) in reference to the dynamic hunger-satiety which is both the catalyst and result of prayer. The same can be said of the Great Prayer, the Eucharist.

Gregory the Great, ever the master of the human spirit's psychology, hits the nail on the head of my own experience.

"There is a great difference, dear brothers, between the pleasures of the body and those of the heart. Bodily pleasures set alight a strong desire when they are not possessed, but one who has them and partakes of them, becomes satiated and tires of them.

On the other hand, spiritual pleasures are tiresome when they are not possessed, when they are possessed they cause even greater desire. The one who partakes of them hungers for more, and the more one eats the hungrier one becomes.

In carnal pleasures the appetite causes satiety and satiety generates dissatisfaction. In spiritual pleasures, on the other hand, when the appetite gives birth to satiety, satiety then gives birth to even greater appetite.

Spiritual delights increase the extent of the desire in the mind, even while they satisfy the appetite for them. The more one recognizes the taste of such things, the more one recognizes what it is that one loves so strongly.

We cannot love what we do not have because this would involve not having experienced the taste... you cannot love God's sweetness if you have never tasted it. Rather, embrace the food of life with the palate of the heart so that, having made trial of his sweetness, you may be empowered to love."

Big Death, little deaths

Tomorrow, March 21st is the Commemoration of the Death of St Benedict of Nursia. Since he is one of my patrons, I hold this day close to heart. It reminds me in the middle of Lent that we all prepare for death, each in his or her own way.

One of the better preparations we can all make is to suffer little deaths gladly.

These little deaths can be self imposed mortifications, such as denying oneself some small pleasure or activity as a discipline and a reminder. Skip the second cup of coffee. Go out of your way to encounter and be nice to someone you normally avoid. Sometimes these little deaths come to us unbidden, through circumstances forced upon us from outside.

In either case, we ought to welcome the opportunity to crucify our old self and allow the new being of Christ to rise within us. This is what Benedict was headed for. It is the only way his preoccupation with and foreknowledge of his own death makes sense. St. Gregory the Great records it as follows:

"The same year in which he departed this life, Benedict told the day of his holy death to his monks, some of which lived daily with him, and some dwelt far off. He urged those that were present to keep it secret, and revealed to them that were absent by what token they should know that he was dead.

Six days before he left this world, he gave order to have his tomb opened, and forthwith falling into an ague, he began with burning heat to wax faint, and when as the sickness daily increased, on the sixth day he commanded his monks to carry him into the oratory, where he armed himself with receiving the body and blood of our Savior Christ; and having his weak body held up by the hands of his disciples, he stood with his own arms lifted to heaven. As he was praying in that manner, he gave up the ghost.

On that same day two monks, one being in his cell, and the other far distant, had one and the same vision concerning him: they saw all the way from the holy man's cell, towards the east even up to heaven, hung and adorned with tapestry and shining with an infinite number of lamps. At the top a man, reverently attired, stood and demanded if they knew who passed that way, to whom they answered saying, that they knew not. Then he spoke to them: "This is the way by which the beloved servant of God, Benedict, ascended up to heaven."

By this means, as his monks that were present knew of the death of the holy man, so likewise those who were absent, by the token which he foretold them, had intelligence of the same thing. He was buried in the oratory of St. John Baptist which he himself had built when he overthrew the altar of Apollo. That cave in which he first dwelled [at Subiaco], even to this very time, works miracles, if the faith of those that pray there requires the same."

We may not be able to visit the holy man's cave or gravesite today in the flesh. Still, we can honor the memory of Benedict's presence among us and his passing, especially by practicing the little death.

Lent: A Symphony in Two Movements

He is no perfect preacher, who either, from devotion to contemplation, neglects works that ought to be done, or, from urgency in business, puts aside the duties of contemplation.

Gregory the Great,
Moralia Book VI, 56.

As I approach this Ash Wednesday I ask myself, how will I observe this Lent? Part of me wants to add something to my daily regimen, ... some devotion, practice of mercy, or activity. My Archbishop Harry Flynn recently recommended this in his column in the local diocesan newspaper, The Catholic Spirit. Very good advice.

But there is another part of me, the contemplative part, which struggles in another direction, toward simplification, ....quiet, .... stillness. That part of me cringes at adding yet another activity to the day. In fact, the overall tendenz of my life recently indicates that taking an activity away would probably be more in order. This is not "giving up something for Lent," although that could be a part of it. The core issue is creating a space in life for God to be active and present to and through me.


The interim solution (a Type A one!) is to recognize that a true Lent involves both an addition and a subtraction, ....a descent into the earthiness of existence and also an ascent to heavenly contemplation. And this action parallels the great kenotic, down and up and dizzying "swoop" of Christology, hymned so well in Philippians 2:5-11 (NAB):


Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus,
Who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name
that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend,
of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.


As so often happens in Catholic faith, the true way is not "either/or," it's "both/and." It's about quiet and activity, humble service and lofty contemplation, descending and being raised with our Lord.

I also like what St Leo the Great wrote about Lent ( Sermo 6,1-2):


"During these days which remind us more vividly of the mystery of humanity's salvation and of the paschal celebration soon to come, we are bidden to purify ourselves more carefully by way of preparation.


In the paschal celebration the whole Church experiences the forgiveness of sins. For, though baptism is the chief instrument in humanity's renewal, there is also a daily renewal from the corruption inherent in mortality, and everyone, however advanced, is called to be a better person.


All of us must strive for ever greater purity against the day of our salvation. To this end we follow with care and devotion the apostolic custom of a forty-day fast in which we abstain not simply from bodily food but primarily from all evildoing.

For such a holy fast there can be no better companion than almsgiving. But we must note that "almsgiving" or "mercy" here includes the many pious actions which make possible a familial equality among the faithful, whatever be the disparities between them in worldly wealth. For in the love of God and humanity one is always free to will the good."