Easier for a camel

There is nothing like growing up in a super power to teach you what wealth is. The experience of unprecedented material comfort swiftly instructs man in the goodness of all the lower things. Unfortunately, such wealth and prosperity tend to be terrible teachers of the virtue of poverty. And without the virtue of poverty, we really lose all the wealth of the soul.

As modern day Americans, we face the daunting challenge of trying to get to heaven while living in an incredibly rich society. Indeed, this is a specific struggle Jesus warned us about when he said, "Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God" (Mt. 19:24). Even if we believe that by "eye of a needle" Jesus meant a small gate in the walls of Jerusalem, His basic point remains the same: it is very hard for rich people to get to heaven.

However, in many sermons that I have heard about this passage, I seem to have always heard the same watered down theme: don't worry, you can still be rich and get to heaven; Jesus was just talking about "poverty of spirit." The current understanding of the virtue of poverty seems to be that you can have all the material goods you want as long as you aren't attached to them. Don't worry if you have a large number of cars, or if you have a massive house. As long as you aren't attached to these things, everything's fine.

But I wonder if that is totally true. For, it seems to me, that when we have a large number of things we necessarily tend to grow attached to them. We begin by saying of this or that thing, "wouldn't it be nice if we had this?" Wouldn't it be nice if we had a second car? Wouldn't it be nice if we had a third? Wouldn't it be nice if we had an espresso maker? Wouldn't it be nice if we had a bigger TV? When it comes to material goods, especially in America, the desire for them always begins in the desire for a luxury, but then it ends in a longing for a need. "How would we ever do without our second or third car? I don't know how I could get through the day without my morning espresso. If we go back to a smaller TV, how would we be able to see anything?" What started out as a luxury becomes a necessity, and we become attached.

This tendency to make luxuries into necessities, to value comfort often at the cost of sensibility, is what Our Lord was really talking about when He spoke of the eye of the needle. The possession of large amounts of material wealth makes it very difficult to be detached from material wealth. Whenever somebody possesses material wealth, which in America is almost everybody, myself included, we tend to become attached to it. We tend to think that this wealth, this luxury is something we really need.

The root cause of this tendency to become attached to wealth lies in the fact that man is incarnate and fallen. When I say he is incarnate, I mean that all of man's knowledge, all of his experience, begins with the senses. Sensible things are the first things that are available to us, and thus it is easier for us to know them. And, because we are fallen, we tend to stay in the realm of the senses. Our tendency away from God becomes a tendency towards lower things. For instance, we can see, hear, and smell all the things in nature around us, but we can't see, hear, and smell the virtues of charity or hope. It's so easy for us to enjoy the taste of a good cup of coffee, but it's so hard for us to enjoy the virtue of prudence. Thus, we tend towards pleasure, towards gratifying sensual desires at the expense of the higher, intellectual things.

Because of this, material wealth presents a temptation for us. Even though it is rightly said not to be evil in and of itself, wealth is a great temptation because it provides us with the means to satiate our earthly desires. It makes it possible to distract ourselves to death, literally. It makes it possible to never think about the higher things, because we are always made fat and content.

If we're to live a true union with God, then, one of the first places we might want to start is in embracing poverty. While true poverty, the poverty that denies the necessities of life to some, is an evil that needs to be eliminated, we can live out a type of "not having" that is good. We can embrace not having all the luxuries of our contemporaries. We can choose to live simpler, with less entertainment and some more suffering. We do this to teach ourselves what's most important in life, to reorder all of our desires so that we don't favor what is lower, but instead favor God above all else. If we're serious about the spiritual life, than I wonder how we can possibly choose to become rich when Jesus warns us that wealth makes it so much harder to come into His kingdom.

Lessons from Lenten Penances

During the past few weeks, I have found myself wondering what late February, March, and early April are like to non-Catholics, and I imagine that this time of the year must be rather boring. We are far enough away from Christmas and New Years that the excitement of the holidays has thoroughly faded (especially since modern man celebrates the holidays during November and December), and we are still far enough away from summer that they cannot yet get excited about all that that season brings with it (though this year, the weather has allowed for some excitement far earlier than normal). So, when I imagine going through these forty days of the year as a non-Catholic, I must say it seems rather boring; so much so that I do believe I would rather go through Lent than have to live through the doldrums of February and March twiddling my thumbs.

In particular, my preference for Lent would mainly be due to one reason: a time of penance is a great teacher of the soul, and times of quiet in life and nature ultimately cannot be appreciated without the lessens that penance teaches us. In other words, I would be able to enjoy the grayness of February and March if I had already been through Lent, but not without it. If there is one thing that penance particularly teaches the souls, it is exactly the lesson that is necessary to enjoy February or March; namely, joy is possible no matter what circumstances surround you.

The reason penance is so adept at teaching this lesson of unalterable joy is because it curbs our wills. Many in the word today view penance simply as a type of Christian masochism. Indeed, they're only real encounter with penance comes from the likes of The Davinci Code and its self-flagellating albino monk. They see it as something extreme, something that only the fanatics do. And, in their mind, it is a fanaticism that is akin to masochism. For them, penance must be a sort of enjoyment of pain. It is a perversion of the natural order caused by what they view as a similar perversion - dogma. For modern man, there is no way that penance can be good unless you are twisted enough to enjoy pain, and there is no way you can be this twisted unless you also enjoy faith.

However, like many other good things, the modern world totally misses the point of what it criticizes when it attacks penance. It sets up a straw man in front of a strong man and then mocks the scarecrow for its lack of strength. What I mean is this: the modern world says the point of penance is to enjoy pain, when in fact it is quite the opposite. The point of penance is to not enjoy something, and by not enjoying it, curb one's own will. It's particularly the unenjoyable part of penance that makes it worthwhile. By denying ourselves goods of pleasure or comfort, we deny our own will. We learn how to live when things are not going our way, when circumstances in or out of our control are not favorable to us. Most of all, we learn how to be joyful in all of these circumstances.

I was reminded of this important point when reading a passage from St. Therese of Liseiux last night regarding her vocation. For those who might not know the story of St. Therese, she was a young woman in France who fell deeply in love with Our Lord. From her earliest years she wished to give her whole life to Jesus by living a life of prayer in a Carmelite convent. So strong was her desire, that she actually sought to enter the convent at the tender age of 15, instead of the customary age of 21. However, in order to do so, she had to get her bishop's permission. During this process, she was asked by Our Lord to wait. Particularly hard for her was the fact that she wished to enter on Christmas Day, but was asked to wait several more months until after Lent. Here is how she responded to that:

"How did these three months pass? They were fruitful in sufferings and still more so in other graces. At first the thought came into my mind that I would not put any extra restraint on myself, I would lead a life somewhat less strictly ordered than was my custom. But Our Lord made me understand the benefit I might derive from this time He had granted me, and I then resolved to give myself up to a more serious and mortified life. When I say mortified, I do not mean that I imitated the penances of the Saints; far from resembling those beautiful souls who have practised all sorts of mortifications from their infancy, I made mine consist in simply checking my inclinations, keeping back an impatient answer, doing little services to those around me without setting store thereby, and a hundred other things of the kind. By practising these trifles I prepared myself to become the Spouse of Jesus, and I can never tell you, Mother, how much the added delay helped me to grow in abandonment, in humility, and in other virtues." (Story of a Soul, end of Chapter 6, emphasis added)

As she so often does, St. Therese gets right to the heart of the matter. She identifies the very essence of what mortification and penances are all about: "checking my inclinations." And this is what Lent is all about. Lent and its penances are meant to teach us disciples of Christ how to check our own wills, our own inclinations. This time in our liturgical calendar is meant to help us give up our own will and by doing so find true joy in doing God's will. If we continually are trying to impose our will on creation, we will be miserable. We will find that no matter how hard we wish it, we will not simply become rich, or be treated with admiration by all, or even make it any less gray outside. But if we do give up our will, if we do curb our inclinations and in turn join our will to God's, we will find that all these things bring joy to us.

And here is where another aspect of St. Therese's words come in. Note how, in this paragraph from her autobiography, she specifically mentions that she doesn't perform great acts of penance like the saints did. Her mortifications are small, and they are the stuff of every day life. Serving those around her. Keeping back an impatient answer. These are situations that arise each day, and yet they often become moments of asserting our own will. The penitential season of Lent provides us with an opportunity to take advantage of disagreeable daily circumstances. It should teach us that every day we are given chances to give up what we want and accept the gift of life as it comes to us from God. Ordinary life ought to teach us humility, and in turn humility ought to teach us gratitude, and in the end gratitude towards God will make us more in Love with Him.

This is why February and March cannot be enjoyable without Lent, and why I would never give up a Lenten February and March for non-Lenten ones. Through Lent, we learn that our own wills are often out of control. We try to force our desires on the world, and through penance we curb these desires. When we curb these desires, we begin to accept things as they are given to us instead of wishing things were different. And when we begin to accept things as they come, we can truly be thankful for them, praising God for the blessings He grants us in life. Lent, then, is truly an opportunity to learn how to live as God meant us to live, accepting everything from Him in a spirit of joy and love, and sharing this joy and love with those around us. No wonder the Eastern Church calls this time "Great Lent."

Grumble grumble grumble ...

There are many sins that man has gotten proficient at since the fall, but there seems to be none he performs with more ease than grumbling. Indeed, it may very well have been the first response to the Fall. It is very easy to imagine Adam saying, "The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree" in a half mumbled grumble sort of tone. Ever since then, man has continued grumbling. Whether it be Israel in the desert longing for the fleshpots of Egypt, or the apostles in the storm complaining that Our Lord was asleep, it seems that man is truly adept at being miserable in whatever circumstances he finds himself in.

Anybody with a brief knowledge of Facebook would see that this trend from biblical times has indeed continued today. Status updates our often filled with expressions of "bleh" or "ugh", followed by some sort of complaint. But don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing everyone else of this while exempting myself. The last thing I mean to do is grumble about everybody else grumbling. I, too, am more than adept at the art, and I find that I often grumble so much that in order for reality to match up to perception, I would indeed need to be the Cartesian "ego" with the universe revolving around me.

And that really does get to the heart of grumbling: the ego. If grumbling is anything, it really is a matter of pride. It is a reaction to circumstances that we dislike based on the idea "I am owed this" or "My life should be like this." Indeed, a grumble almost always has to do with someone being unjustly injured, whether it be by nature, another person, or the world. However, it's not grumbling simply to point out a wrong. There is great value in saying, "This situation we find ourselves in is wrong," like African American's did during segregation. However, these statements of "I've been wronged" can often become grumbling when we are not actually owed the thing we've been denied. African American's are owed equal treatment; I am not owed praise and adulation from everybody at work when I do my job.

This is why I say that grumbling is most of all a matter of pride; it is based on the assumption than I am more than I am. Statements like "Ugh, my wife is going out tonight, so I have to do the dishes" are based upon the false assumption that I should never have to do dishes (the falseness of this assumption will be readily verified by my wife.) Even grumblings such as "bleh... I am so tired today" are based upon false assumptions - in this case a false belief that I am owed sleep. In fact, though, I am not owed sleep. Sleep is a gift, it is a blessing which I should be thankful for, and when I don't get sleep I should not grumble about it, but instead I should thank God for the other blessings He has given me and move on with my life.

Now, it may seem extreme to say that statements like "I am so tired today" are grumbling and should be avoided, but can we imagine our Lord ever saying this? In fact, I would challenge anybody to find a passage in the Gospels that begins with, "And Jesus grumbled, saying..." Jesus did not grumble. He would speak in love, in joy, in surprise, in exasperation, but not in grumbling. Rather, "like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, he opened not his mouth" (Isa. 53:7). Even in his most intense suffering, Christ would not complain.

The saints, too, are examples of not grumbling. For instance, when Blessed John Paul II first received the pope-mobile with the glass covering, it is said that as he entered it the door slammed on his finger. Without missing a beat, the pope whispered under his breath, "Thank you God for loving me so much." In the Rule, St. Benedict directly addressed grumbling when talking about obedience saying, "If a disciple obeys grudgingly and grumbles, not only aloud but also in his heart, then even though he carries out the order, his action will not be accepted with favor by God, who sees that he is grumbling in his heart." To be a saint is not to grumble, it is to quickly and speedily do the will of God and accept the blessings and tribulations he give us.

Most importantly, though, grumbling is a deadly hindrance to a life of charity. How are we to greet each person as Christ if we grumble about them to ourselves when they're not around? How are we to perform every work out of love when we are so quick to grumble in our hearts if the task is not to our liking? Simply put, love is stifled by grumbling, because love is stifled by pride. If we are going to progress on the way of holiness, then, we must rip out grumbling from our hearts. We have to cease overestimating what is due to us and begin to rejoice in the blessings we do have. In short, we must learn the truth of what St. Paul says: "God loves a cheerful giver" (2 Cor 9:7).

Benedictine Humility: The Opposite of Modernity

One of the true joys of being out of college is that I am now able to go back and really read the books I was assigned in college. For some reason, the busyness and workload of college (and my own poor habits, if we're to be honest) often resulted in texts either being only partially read or too hastily read as to full appreciate them. However, these readings did serve as an introduction to these texts, and when it comes to the good texts of Christendom, all you need is an introduction to fall in love at first sight.

So, it has been a pleasure for me recently to revisit one such text: The Rule of St. Benedict. It's been nearly 6 and 1/2 years since I have had to read the Rule, and sitting down as a father and listening to St. Benedict speak to his sons is both very beautiful and truly peaceful. In particular, I was recently struck by a section in the Rule on Humility. It comes very early on in the work and is only the seventh chapter in the Rule.

While I was reading this section, there were two specific thoughts that struck me about it. First, the idea of humility that he espouses is something totally antithetical to modernity. Where he advocates for lowliness from his monks, many today spend enormous amounts of time exalting themselves on Twitter, Facebook and the like. His encouragement to climb the ladder of humility and abandon self exaltation is something not often heard in status updates. Second, the true simplicity of his writing is astounding. Unlike most of us today, he does not offer many reasons for what he says (outside of citing Scripture, which is the main source for any of his teaching.) Rather than trying to justify everything he says with rational argument, he simply instructs based on the certainty he has regarding these truths, a certainty gained through holy living. His simple "we must do this" or "we are forbidden that" is truly refreshing in a world of a thousand clashing ideas.

But, don't take my word for it. As St. Benedict himself says, "Speaking and teaching are the master's task; the disciple is to be silent and listen." So, here are the words of a true master, one who reflected the love and gentleness of the One True Master.

Chapter 7: On Humility

Holy Scripture, brethren, cries out to us, saying,"Everyone who exalts himself shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself shall be exalted" (Luke 14:11). In saying this it shows us that all exaltation is a kind of pride,against which the Prophet proves himself to be on guard when he says, "Lord, my heart is not exalted nor are mine eyes lifted up neither have I walked in great matters, nor in wonders above me" (Ps. 130[131]:1). But how has he acted? "Rather have I been of humble mind& than exalting myself; as a weaned child on its mother's breast, so You solace my soul" (Ps. 130[131]:2).

Hence, brethren,if we wish to reach the very highest point of humility and to arrive speedily at that heavenly exaltation to which ascent is made through the humility of this present life, we must by our ascending actions erect the ladder Jacob saw in his dream, on which Angels appeared to him descending and ascending. By that descent and ascent we must surely understand nothing else than this, that we descend by self-exaltation and ascend by humility. And the ladder thus set up is our life in the world, which the Lord raises up to heaven if our heart is humbled. For we call our body and soul the sides of the ladder, and into these sides our divine vocation has inserted the different steps of humility and discipline we must climb.

The first degree of humility, then, is that a person keep the fear of God before his eyes and beware of ever forgetting it. Let him be ever mindful of all that God has commanded; let his thoughts constantly recur to the hell-fire which will burn for their sins those who despise God, and to the life everlasting which is prepared for those who fear Him. Let him keep himself at every moment from sins and vices, whether of the mind, the tongue, the hands, the feet, or the self-will, and check also the desires of the flesh.  Let a man consider that God is always looking at him from heaven, that his actions are everywhere visible to the divine eyes and are constantly being reported to God by the Angels.

This is what the Prophet shows us when he represents God as ever present within our thoughts, in the words "Searcher of minds and hearts is God" (Ps. 7:10) and again in the words "The Lord knows the thoughts of men" (Ps. 93[94]:11). Again he says, "You have read my thoughts from afar" (Ps. 13[14]9:3) and "The thoughts of people will confess to You" (Ps. 75[76]:11). In order that he may be careful about his wrongful thoughts, therefore, let the faithful brother say constantly in his heart, "Then shall I be spotless before Him, if I have kept myself from my iniquity" (Ps. 17[18]:24).

As for self-will, we are forbidden to do our own will by the Scripture, which says to us, "Turn away from your own will" (Eccles. 18:30), and likewise by the prayer in which we ask God that His will be done in us. And rightly are we taught not to do our own will when we take heed to the warning of Scripture: "There are ways which seem right, but the ends of them plunge into the depths of hell" (Prov. 16:25); and also when we tremble at what is said of the careless: "They are corrupt and have become abominable in their will."

And as for the desires of the flesh, let us believe with the Prophet that God is ever present to us, when he says to the Lord, "Every desire of mine is before You" (Ps. 37[38]:10). We must be on our guard, therefore, against evil desires, for death lies close by the gate of pleasure. Hence the Scripture gives this command: "Go not after your concupiscences" (Eccles. 18:30).

So therefore, since the eyes of the Lord observe the good and the evil (Prov. 15:3) and the Lord is always looking down from heaven on the children of earth "to see if there be anyone who understands and seeks God" (Ps. 13[14]:2), and since our deeds are daily, day and night, reported to the Lord by the Angels assigned to us, we must constantly beware, brethren, as the Prophet says in the Psalm, lest at any time God see us falling into evil ways and becoming unprofitable (Ps. 13[14]:3); and lest, having spared us for the present because in His kindness He awaits our reformation, He say to us in the future, "These things you did, and I held My peace" (Ps. 49[50]:21).

The second degree of humility is that a person love not his own will nor take pleasure in satisfying his desires, but model his actions on the saying of the Lord, "I have come not to do My own will, but the will of Him who sent Me" (John 6:38). It is written also, "Self-will has its punishment, but constraint wins a crown."

The third degree of humility is that a person for love of God submit himself to his Superior in all obedience, imitating the Lord, of whom the Apostle says, "He became obedient even unto death."

The fourth degree of humility is that he hold fast to patience with a silent mind when in this obedience he meets with difficulties and contradictions and even any kind of injustice, enduring all without growing weary or running away. For the Scripture says, "The one who perseveres to the end, is the one who shall be saved" (Matt. 10:22); and again "Let your heart take courage, and wait for the Lord" (Ps. 26[27]:14)! And to show how those who are faithful  ought to endure all things, however contrary, for the Lord,  the Scripture says in the person of the suffering, "For Your sake we are put to death all the day long; we are considered as sheep marked for slaughter" (Ps. 43[44]:22; Rom. 8:36). Then, secure in their hope of a divine recompense,  they go on with joy to declare,  "But in all these trials we conquer, through Him who has granted us His love" (Rom. 8:37).  Again, in another place the Scripture says, "You have tested us, O God; You have tried us as silver is tried, by fire; You have brought us into a snare; You have laid afflictions on our back" (Ps. 65[66]:10-11).  And to show that we ought to be under a Superior, it goes on to say, "You have set men over our heads" (Ps. 65[66]:12).

Moreover, by their patience those faithful ones fulfill the Lord's command in adversities and injuries: when struck on one cheek, they offer the other; when deprived of their tunic, they surrender also their cloak; when forced to go a mile, they go two; with the Apostle Paul they bear with false brethren (2 Cor. 11:26) and bless those who curse them (1 Cor. 4:12).

The fifth degree of humility is that he hide from his Abbot none of the evil thoughts that enter his heart or the sins committed in secret, but that he humbly confess them. The Scripture urges us to this when it says, "Reveal your way to the Lord and hope in Him" (Ps. 36[37]:5) and again, "Confess to the Lord, for He is good, for His mercy endures forever" (Ps. 105[106]:1). And the Prophet likewise says, "My offense I have made known to You, and my iniquities I have not covered up. I said: 'I will declare against myself my iniquities to the Lord;' and 'You forgave the wickedness of my heart'" (Ps. 31[32]:5).

The sixth degree of humility is that a monk be content with the poorest and worst of everything, and that in every occupation assigned him he consider himself a bad and worthless workman, saying with the Prophet, "I am brought to nothing and I am without understanding; I have become as a beast of burden before You, and I am always with You" (Ps. 72[73]:22-23).

The seventh degree of humility is that he consider himself lower and of less account than anyone else, and this not only in verbal protestation but also with the most heartfelt inner conviction, humbling himself and saying with the Prophet, "But I am a worm and no man,
the scorn of men and the outcast of the people" (Ps. 21[22]:7). "After being exalted, I have been humbled and covered with confusion" (Pa. 87:16). And again, "It is good for me that You have humbled me, that I may learn Your commandments" (Ps. 118[119]:71,73).

The eighth degree of humility is that a monk do nothing except what is commended by the common Rule of the monastery and the example of the elders.

The ninth degree of humility is that a monk restrain his tongue and keep silence, not speaking until he is questioned. For the Scripture shows that "in much speaking there is no escape from sin" (Prov. 10:19) and that "the talkative man is not stable on the earth" (Ps. 139[140]:12[11]).

The tenth degree of humility is that he be not ready and quick to laugh, for it is written, "The fool lifts up his voice in laughter" (Eccles. 21:23).

The eleventh degree of humility is that when a monk speaks he do so gently and without laughter, humbly and seriously, in few and sensible words, and that he be not noisy in his speech. It is written, "A wise man is known by the fewness of his words" (Sextus, Enchidirion, 134 or 145).

The twelfth degree of humility  is that a monk not only have humility in his heart but also by his very appearance make it always manifest to those who see him. That is to say that whether he is at the Work of God, in the oratory, in the monastery, in the garden, on the road, in the fields or anywhere else, and whether sitting, walking or standing, he should always have his head bowed and his eyes toward the ground. Feeling the guilt of his sins at every moment, he should consider himself already present at the dread Judgment and constantly say in his heart what the publican in the Gospel said with his eyes fixed on the earth: "Lord, I am a sinner and not worthy to lift up my eyes to heaven" (Luke 18:13; Matt. 8:8);and again with the Prophet: "I am bowed down and humbled everywhere" (Ps. 37[38]:7,9; 118[119]:107).

Having climbed all these steps of humility, therefore, the monk will presently come to that perfect love of God which casts out fear. And all those precepts which formerly he had not observed without fear, he will now begin to keep by reason of that love, without any effort, as though naturally and by habit. No longer will his motive be the fear of hell, but rather the love of Christ, good habit and delight in the virtues which the Lord will deign to show forth by the Holy Spirit in His servant now cleansed from vice and sin.

Incarnate Man: Reflections on a Road Trip

Having grown up in Illinois, and now living in Virginia, I often have an opportunity to undergo long drives. And, having married a woman from Michigan, I find that at every major holiday, and at various other less notable times throughout the year, I am given the chance of spending 9-13 hours in a car traveling as fast as the fastest land mammal. Indeed, with such large amounts of time, I am often forced into amateur philosophy sessions that may or may not contribute to the common good. They at least contribute to my sanity, which in itself may or may not contribute to the common good.

Either way, on one such recent road trip, I found my attention captivated by the many signs of man's rational, and often irrational, nature. Passing mile after mile of fenced in fields, lamp posts, signs - it finally occurred to me that someone had to put them all there. For some reason, the mere permanence and repetition of a thing seems to make us think it to be like a tree: a rooted growing organism that at one point before we were born was given being by a natural process. Thus, I found it required a concerted and conscious effort to remember that all the small trappings found along the side of a modern interstate are indeed made by man, not by the hand of God.

However, once the concerted effort was made, I came to a startling realization: every interstate is a rapid succession of untold tales of glory or shame, heroism or villainy, virtue or vice, and we will only hear these tales at the end of time, when all is revealed. Indeed, this realization came to me from bits of St. Thomas that I still remember from a college ethics class. In that class, I read how St. Thomas determines that every action done by a man is either morally good or morally bad. Now, this is not to say that every human action in general is either morally good or bad. Indeed, such mundane actions as brushing one's teeth are neutral in and of themselves. But these neutral actions do take on a moral dimension when performed by an individual man. So, while brushing teeth may be generally neutral, when Mark brushes his teeth because he is excessively concerned with his appearance, his brushing takes on a moral dimension - namely a bad one.

Since each of these lamps along the side of the road are the results of an individual human action, then, it is implied that each lamp is the result of a morally good or morally bad action. Behind each lamp lies a human story as interesting and complex as our very own. Each lamp represents a moment in someone's life when they had the opportunity through their work to either come closer to, or move away from, God. Thus, each lamp, as I see them for just a fleeting second before they pass by, represents a human action that resounds throughout all eternity. Was the man who constructed this one a good or bad man? Did he work solely to indulge in pleasure, or was he laboring so as to raise his children? Even though I hardly notice them, each lamp is a hint at the eternal value of a human action.

Thus, I-70 is not simply a road, it is a theatrical cycle playing out the mysteries of humanity in a language I cannot understand. Unfortunately, being of an Augustinian bent, such reflections can sometimes be overwhelming. Since man has been tainted by original sin, many of his actions are sinful and, thus many of these lamps would have to be monuments to man's continuing rebellion against a God that loves him.

Passing through a city, though, I see two things along the side of the road that set my mind more at easy, and bring my reflections to an end. First, the road reveals neighborhoods with houses. Each neighborhood invokes images of communities based on charity. Perhaps these neighborhoods are not such communities, but good communities do exist, and they are images of the City of God that that same Augustine who wrote about original sin described so beautifully. Each house in these neighborhoods reminds me of the beauty of family life that those walls have seen. Yes, these homes and neighborhoods have seen sin, but they have also seen many Christmases and Easters. All of this reminds me that though man is capable of great evil in this life, he is also capable of great good.

Finally, the road reveals a graveyard, and I am reminded that this life will one day end for each man, and a new life will begin. His actions in this life will determine how that new life is spent, but in the midst of the graveyard there is a cross. Though man will die, though he is sinful, there is still mercy and love. And I pray for mercy for all those who rest in that graveyard along I-70. I wonder if any of them built the lamp posts along the road.