WE have to be reminded of this virtue, indispensable not only to achieve
personal integrity but also to attain a certain level of social harmony.
Now that we are growing into more complex socio-political life, we all the
more need to be sincere—with God, with others, with our own selves—to achieve authentic personal and social development.
At the moment, we seem to be drowned by an ocean of data and opinions, while truth is actually left out in the cold. This situation has been with us for so long that we already consider it normal.
Everyone is claiming he is sincere in his views, then cites all sorts of
info and other pieces of evidence to support what he says.
While these claims are good, sincerity actually goes far beyond these purely subjective affirmations. It goes far beyond simply reporting what took place or what we see, feel or know. True sincerity is never cold and callous.
Sincerity is love for the truth. It presumes a certain living as contrasted to a formalistic relationship with how one understands truth to be.
This is the source of the problem. Truth to many is just what we see, feel or know. Or it’s what we studied, researched on, what we learn from other sources. Truth is seldom considered to have anything to do with God, who is Truth himself and the source of all truths.
When sincerity is not actively linked to God, then what we have is a very precarious, even dangerous kind of sincerity.
It would be a sincerity prone to pride, arrogance, pursuit of self-interest. It would be a sincerity devoid of charity, compassion and mercy. It would be a divisive sincerity, susceptible to be easily manipulated and to lead to self-righteousness.
It would be a sincerity that serves the tricks and wiles of human malice, sowing intrigues, creating contentions, fuelling loquacity and rash judgments.
We have been amply warned about these caricatures of sincerity in the gospel, but sadly these are what we are seeing around us these days! And in abundance.
Authentic sincerity is always a function of a living relationship with God. It is a sincerity that always upholds the truth in charity. Humility, simplicity and refinement always accompany it. Prudence and discretion temper it.
A truly sincere person considers his statements as a living part of his continuing dialogue not only with men but mainly with God. He lives a sincerity that makes him realize he has to make changes and conversions in his own self first before he can expect these in others.
It is a sincerity that is patient, willing to make sacrifices and to suffer for the truth. It is always accompanied by some kind of interior struggle against the constant enemies of the soul that also are the enemies of truth—pride, selfishness, vanity, etc.
These vices distort truth and reality. And when left uncorrected, they can
build a culture that actually harms and demeans humanity.
To be sincere, it is indispensable to be prayerful. Truth cannot be handled
simply relying on our good senses. It can only be handled properly with God, and prayer is our constant contact with God.
There are other requirements of sincerity. But I think that the most basic, the most indispensable, is to pray. Everything else has to flow from it. Otherwise, we would just be tossed and fro in an ocean of so-called “truths” that are none other than self-affirmations detached from the source of Truth.
This is something we have to understand well.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Heroism in the ordinary
LAST October 6 was the fourth anniversary of the canonization of a holy priest who made a quiet but effective revolution in the world of spirituality. His name—St. Josemaria Escriva, founder of Opus Dei.
The first time I read his books many years ago, what immediately struck me
was the forcefulness and practical sense his words possessed. While always educated and refined, they transmitted a lot of common sense, of affection and of being street-smart.
He seemed able to open people’s consciences, to read and understand them with what later on I learned to be Christian compassion and charity. He did not present theories. He just talked in a language the heart could easily assimilate.
Right now, theologians are studying his thoughts and arguments, and are drawing precious lessons, indicating the richness of his spiritual and pastoral legacy.
As far as I was concerned, it did not take long for me to realize that he was talking about a sanctity that was not lost in sophisticated theories and elaborate practices.
There was the quality of immediacy, of the here and now, about the kind of
holiness he was preaching about. I understood that holiness cannot and should not be some remote ideal to pursue. It has to be lived now, no matter how imperfectly.
I understood from him that the drama of sanctification takes place in one’s heart, and is played out mainly in the small, ordinary things of our life, and seldom, if ever, in the public stages of extraordinary events.
It’s the drama of to whom you give your heart—to God or to oneself. And this choice is always at the center of our life, our thoughts, words and actions. It’s the choice that we always have to make and that ultimately defines us.
The drama can have its difficult moments, but St. Josemaria practically screamed his reassurance that God is our Father who loves us even to the point of sending the Son to us, and the Son finally offering his life for us.
When I started the practice of reading the gospels, I then met divine words that explain these convictions St. Josemaria was so full of. “Where sin abounded, grace abounded even more,” St. Paul said (Rom 5,20). And in another letter, “For this is God’s will, your sanctification.” (1 Thes 4,3)
For most of us, our sanctity is in the heroism of our self-giving to God and to others in the ordinary circumstances of our life. It’s in the effort to try to understand an annoying companion, or in putting the finishing touches to one’s household chores.
It’s in the smile we try to evoke in spite of contrary feelings, or in the hidden and persevering effort to study and work. It can be in the faithful and generous living out of one’s commitments, big and small, public and private.
It can also be in maintaining both human and Christian integrity in one’s business and politics, even if the environment is filled with structures of sin.
The expressions of sanctity can be endless because the love that propels it never says enough. They remain constant whatever the circumstances, converting ordinary circumstances into paths to love God and others.
There is nothing mushy nor showy in his idea of sanctification, but it can generate tons of tender feelings, of exuberance, and of apostolic zeal. It finds thrill in the routine of every day, joy and peace in every moment.
And the more I got to know about St. Josemaria, the more I got convinced of the consistency between his words and his deeds. And yes, he can easily throw a spell on you, the kind that leads you to conversion and self-giving.
When I read St. Paul’s “We speak not in the learned words of human wisdom, but in the doctrine of the Spirit, comparing spiritual things with spiritual.” (1 Cor 2,12), I think of how St. Josemaria entered my life and affected it.
The greatest lesson I learned from him is that loving and achieving sanctity is just a matter of decision of the heart that can and should be made at any time and in any place. On the part of God, his grace never lacks. It’s our call.
The first time I read his books many years ago, what immediately struck me
was the forcefulness and practical sense his words possessed. While always educated and refined, they transmitted a lot of common sense, of affection and of being street-smart.
He seemed able to open people’s consciences, to read and understand them with what later on I learned to be Christian compassion and charity. He did not present theories. He just talked in a language the heart could easily assimilate.
Right now, theologians are studying his thoughts and arguments, and are drawing precious lessons, indicating the richness of his spiritual and pastoral legacy.
As far as I was concerned, it did not take long for me to realize that he was talking about a sanctity that was not lost in sophisticated theories and elaborate practices.
There was the quality of immediacy, of the here and now, about the kind of
holiness he was preaching about. I understood that holiness cannot and should not be some remote ideal to pursue. It has to be lived now, no matter how imperfectly.
I understood from him that the drama of sanctification takes place in one’s heart, and is played out mainly in the small, ordinary things of our life, and seldom, if ever, in the public stages of extraordinary events.
It’s the drama of to whom you give your heart—to God or to oneself. And this choice is always at the center of our life, our thoughts, words and actions. It’s the choice that we always have to make and that ultimately defines us.
The drama can have its difficult moments, but St. Josemaria practically screamed his reassurance that God is our Father who loves us even to the point of sending the Son to us, and the Son finally offering his life for us.
When I started the practice of reading the gospels, I then met divine words that explain these convictions St. Josemaria was so full of. “Where sin abounded, grace abounded even more,” St. Paul said (Rom 5,20). And in another letter, “For this is God’s will, your sanctification.” (1 Thes 4,3)
For most of us, our sanctity is in the heroism of our self-giving to God and to others in the ordinary circumstances of our life. It’s in the effort to try to understand an annoying companion, or in putting the finishing touches to one’s household chores.
It’s in the smile we try to evoke in spite of contrary feelings, or in the hidden and persevering effort to study and work. It can be in the faithful and generous living out of one’s commitments, big and small, public and private.
It can also be in maintaining both human and Christian integrity in one’s business and politics, even if the environment is filled with structures of sin.
The expressions of sanctity can be endless because the love that propels it never says enough. They remain constant whatever the circumstances, converting ordinary circumstances into paths to love God and others.
There is nothing mushy nor showy in his idea of sanctification, but it can generate tons of tender feelings, of exuberance, and of apostolic zeal. It finds thrill in the routine of every day, joy and peace in every moment.
And the more I got to know about St. Josemaria, the more I got convinced of the consistency between his words and his deeds. And yes, he can easily throw a spell on you, the kind that leads you to conversion and self-giving.
When I read St. Paul’s “We speak not in the learned words of human wisdom, but in the doctrine of the Spirit, comparing spiritual things with spiritual.” (1 Cor 2,12), I think of how St. Josemaria entered my life and affected it.
The greatest lesson I learned from him is that loving and achieving sanctity is just a matter of decision of the heart that can and should be made at any time and in any place. On the part of God, his grace never lacks. It’s our call.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006
Beware of Reason
Reactions were varied and often amusing to Pope Benedict’s supposed Faux pas of quoting an old Byzantine emperor’s offensive view about Islam recently.
One said that the Pope’s language, in the first place, is abstract and high-falutin. It somehow provokes bewilderment, even unease, among his listeners and readers. In other words, his language alone courts
controversy.
Forgotten is the fact that the Pope can choose to speak in simple words and in simple ideas, as he did when he successfully engaged little children who recently received first communion in some informal conversation about the sacrament.
Pope Benedict is a very gifted and holy man. Aside from a peak intelligence, he has the gift of tongue that enables him to adapt his language to his audience. Thanks to God, he knows how to simplify very
complicated ideas.
And complicated issues are what he likes to grapple with head-on. He is not the type who just wants to say the final word, a common defect among leaders. He obviously wants to get there, but always through a process of a highly analytic reasoning.
We have to be warned that the thoughts and words of the Pope can at first spring in drips from different fields of human interest, then gather And gain strength and momentum like a river formed from different tributaries, until they end in an ocean of knowledge, both perceptible and hidden, both verifiable and mysterious.
In that address in question, the Pope was talking to tough German theologians and philosophers. Being a theologian and philosopher himself, he talked in their language. He should not be faulted for that, should he? He certainly was not in an anti-Islam campaign.
Intellectual talk has its purpose. It may not be for everyone, but it serves to emit a very nuanced view of things, giving a wealth of texture and distinctions, especially needed by modern man now to have some substantive considerations.
This does not mean that the Pope cannot commit some error of judgment by citing in a speech a passage that can offend the sensibilities of some people. This happily is not included in the definition of papal infallibility.
In fact, some opinion-makers made a big issue out of that apparent slip of papal discretion. They offered reasons, and good, valid reasons they all had.
Thing is we always have reason to support what we want to claim. But we would have a very poor grasp of the situation if we choose to get stuck with this minor, and debatable papal lapse in judgment. And miss the bigger concerns.
This point was what the Pope also tried to articulate in that lecture In question. He wanted to warn us about reason, that is, reason alone, without any support from a higher authority and source of wisdom.
He lamented over what appears as a deep cultural defect in the Western Mind today. This cultural defect is the Western mind’s tendency to limit the scope of reason to what is simply empirical, practical, mathematical.
He said that if “only the kind of certainty resulting from the interplay of mathematical and empirical elements can be considered scientific” in the West today, then we understand where that “hardness of hearing” where God is concerned comes from.
It’s in this way, he said, that Western positivistic reason drastically curtails the range of our relationship with reality and is incapable of opening itself to the rationality of faith, which requires a metaphysical drive.
Simply put, our human reason, while it should always be used and not be suspended in any moment as much as possible, should allow itself to be open to and lifted up by a higher source than what it by itself can manage.
It’s in this refusal of reason to be lifted up by a higher source—by a supernatural faith—that it gets stuck with silly problems and petty conflicts and controversies.
This can explain why we get entangled with little things and miss out the more important things in our life. We can strain out the gnats, but swallow a whole camel.
Yes, in a way, we have to be careful with how we use our reason.
One said that the Pope’s language, in the first place, is abstract and high-falutin. It somehow provokes bewilderment, even unease, among his listeners and readers. In other words, his language alone courts
controversy.
Forgotten is the fact that the Pope can choose to speak in simple words and in simple ideas, as he did when he successfully engaged little children who recently received first communion in some informal conversation about the sacrament.
Pope Benedict is a very gifted and holy man. Aside from a peak intelligence, he has the gift of tongue that enables him to adapt his language to his audience. Thanks to God, he knows how to simplify very
complicated ideas.
And complicated issues are what he likes to grapple with head-on. He is not the type who just wants to say the final word, a common defect among leaders. He obviously wants to get there, but always through a process of a highly analytic reasoning.
We have to be warned that the thoughts and words of the Pope can at first spring in drips from different fields of human interest, then gather And gain strength and momentum like a river formed from different tributaries, until they end in an ocean of knowledge, both perceptible and hidden, both verifiable and mysterious.
In that address in question, the Pope was talking to tough German theologians and philosophers. Being a theologian and philosopher himself, he talked in their language. He should not be faulted for that, should he? He certainly was not in an anti-Islam campaign.
Intellectual talk has its purpose. It may not be for everyone, but it serves to emit a very nuanced view of things, giving a wealth of texture and distinctions, especially needed by modern man now to have some substantive considerations.
This does not mean that the Pope cannot commit some error of judgment by citing in a speech a passage that can offend the sensibilities of some people. This happily is not included in the definition of papal infallibility.
In fact, some opinion-makers made a big issue out of that apparent slip of papal discretion. They offered reasons, and good, valid reasons they all had.
Thing is we always have reason to support what we want to claim. But we would have a very poor grasp of the situation if we choose to get stuck with this minor, and debatable papal lapse in judgment. And miss the bigger concerns.
This point was what the Pope also tried to articulate in that lecture In question. He wanted to warn us about reason, that is, reason alone, without any support from a higher authority and source of wisdom.
He lamented over what appears as a deep cultural defect in the Western Mind today. This cultural defect is the Western mind’s tendency to limit the scope of reason to what is simply empirical, practical, mathematical.
He said that if “only the kind of certainty resulting from the interplay of mathematical and empirical elements can be considered scientific” in the West today, then we understand where that “hardness of hearing” where God is concerned comes from.
It’s in this way, he said, that Western positivistic reason drastically curtails the range of our relationship with reality and is incapable of opening itself to the rationality of faith, which requires a metaphysical drive.
Simply put, our human reason, while it should always be used and not be suspended in any moment as much as possible, should allow itself to be open to and lifted up by a higher source than what it by itself can manage.
It’s in this refusal of reason to be lifted up by a higher source—by a supernatural faith—that it gets stuck with silly problems and petty conflicts and controversies.
This can explain why we get entangled with little things and miss out the more important things in our life. We can strain out the gnats, but swallow a whole camel.
Yes, in a way, we have to be careful with how we use our reason.
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