On the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, Pope Benedict XVI inaugurated a "Year of St Paul," encouraging prayerful study of the Pauline Epistles as well as pilgrimages to various sites along his missionary journeys. In keeping with the spirit of the Pauline Year, I thought I'd attempt a few reflections here on the great Apostle to the Gentiles.

St Paul has become something of a controversial figure these days (though as you'll see in my other article in this issue, I don't want to get into controversies!). He has been revered highly throughout the history of the Church as one of the greatest theologians, mystics, and expositors of the Christian faith. Yet there are many today who don't like the man at all, mainly because of what he stands for. Among these we would have to count "the immoral, idolaters, adulterers, catamites, sodomites, thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, and extortioners," for he declares that none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God (1Cor. 6:9-10; see also Gal. 5:19-21 for another list of those unlikely to be friends of Paul). We might add "radical feminists" to the list, for they rage and splutter over the Apostle's teaching that the husband be head of the family and that women ought not to have leadership roles in the liturgy of the Church but ought to be modestly veiled and quietly devout.

It is true that St Paul could at times be something of a spiritual pugilist, and his in-your-face intensity and trademark ironies are perceived as off-putting by some. But if the man was intense, it was primarily because he was intensely devoted to the Lord Jesus. Christ is the one, the Apostle proclaimed, "who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal. 2:20). Paul is who he is because of his profound faith in Christ, for his life was changed radically and permanently by the grace of the One who called him by name on the road to Damascus.

Paul's energy and intensity were part of his temperament even before he came to know the Lord Jesus. He was naturally gifted with a sharp intellect and a strong will. Being brought up in a devout family, he used his gifts to study the Law and to uphold and practice it zealously. Quite the precocious lad, he could boast of privileges that made him the ideal Israelite. So zealous was he that when the messianic pretender Y'shua bar Yehosef started attracting numerous disciples in the wake of those wild tales of his resurrection from the dead, this fervent Hebrew leapt into instant action, rounding up and jailing all those apostates from the true faith of the Chosen People.

On a certain mission to perform a cleansing of Damascus, however, he was blinded by the brilliance of the Uncreated Light of the Son of God. He was made to realize just Who it was he was persecuting, and was straightway enlightened through Christian baptism and the word of truth concerning Jesus. Writing later of his about-face from Law to Grace, he exclaimed, in his characteristic all-or-nothing style: "But whatever gain I had [as a righteous and well-respected Pharisee] I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things [his reputation, status, comfortable lifestyle] and count them as dung, in order that I may gain Christ… that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings…" (Phil. 3:7-10). Paul, unlike most of us who go out of our way to avoid anything that smacks of pain, wanted to share the sufferings of Christ!

You see, to Paul Christ had become everything: "For me, to live is Christ…" (Phil. 1:21). He had discovered the true meaning of life and the blessed destiny of mankind, which is available to all, both Jew and Gentile, if only all would repent of sin and receive "the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness" (Rom. 5:17) unto everlasting life and joy in Heaven, which is available only through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Paul's joy over his newfound and "undisappointable" hope of eternal salvation knew no bounds, and we can thank him for some of the most lyrically exuberant expressions of the abundance of blessing that is found in Christ, in whom we discover all that God has prepared for those who love Him. Like this passage: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. He destined us in love to be his sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace which he freely bestowed upon us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace which he lavished upon us" (Eph. 1:3-8). And on and on and on!

This is what Paul was trying to communicate to all, what he wanted us to know and to experience: "…a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of [God], having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power in us who believe, according to the working of his great might which he accomplished in Christ when he raised him from the dead…" (Eph. 1:17-20). Those last 77 words are just the mid-section of one of St Paul's notoriously long sentences. Mostly he simply dictated his letters in the presence of a faithful amanuensis, so that he wasn't encumbered by pen and ink but could freely soar in his lofty reflections as the Spirit of God gave him utterance.

St Paul is at his best, I think, when he is free to reflect solely upon the wonders of God and the blessings of divine grace, in a more or less irenic style. But when he puts on his boxing gloves to deal with threats to the faith coming from those who would make the rituals of Judaism a necessary element of Christianity, his polemics almost reach the point of an exaggerated dichotomy between faith and works (which other biblical authors such as St James sought to balance). In fact, however, even here St Paul was largely misunderstood by readers of recent centuries, who seem to think that he was opposing faith to doing good works, which is not at all the case. When Paul writes of "works" as being useless toward salvation, he is generally referring to "works of the law" (see e.g. Rom. 3:20), which expression does not refer to good works, but to those ritual prescriptions that make one Jewish, e.g. circumcision and Sabbath observance. He makes this crystal clear when he writes: "For we hold that a man is justified by faith apart from works of law. Or is God the God of Jews only?" (Rom. 3:28-29). That last sentence makes it obvious that "works of the law" are those things that define one as being an observant Jew.

I have wondered at times, and still do, what more we might have heard from St Paul if he wasn't so embroiled in controversies with those who would either exclude Gentiles from the Christian Church or would force them to perform the works of the Mosaic Law in order to be Christians. Perhaps we would have heard additional eloquent and poetic expressions of the fathomless mystery of God and his loving compassion toward us sinners. But maybe that is asking too much, if one considers that the entire history of the Church has been one of controversy and polemics. If God hadn't given us a few mystics who had withdrawn (at least to some extent) from the heat of the battle, and who were thus free to write poetry and meditations purely on loving union with God—without a polemical "edge"—our Christian literature would have been somewhat impoverished. Yet it remains true that the fight against heresies has been the grinding stone that has sharpened Christian doctrine and forced the Church to reflect upon and clarify her understanding of divine revelation. This has benefited the Church and will continue to do so for future generations.

St Paul will always be an attractive, mysterious, and admirable figure, if at times a rather perplexing (or even occasionally exasperating) one. It must have been difficult for him to try to express in human language the mysteries of God, after he himself had been taken—"in or out of the body, I do not know"—to Paradise, where he "heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter" (2Cor. 12:3-4). Yet he assures his readers that he writes them "nothing but what you can read and understand" (2Cor. 1:13). We might beg to differ on this point at times, as even another great Apostle did: "Our beloved brother Paul wrote to you according to the wisdom given him… there are some things in his letters that are hard to understand…" (2Peter 3:15-16). But in any case, the Pauline Epistles are well worth careful, prayerful, and repeated readings, since the Holy Spirit has made them an important part of the written word of God, "profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work" (2Tim. 3:16-17).

We have much to learn (or re-learn) from the Apostle to the Gentiles, and I daresay that many people in modern "developed" societies like our own would do well to return to the ancient yet timeless wisdom of the Scriptures. Much havoc is being wrought within (and outside of) the churches these days because of the ignorance, rejection, or disingenuous distortion of the word of God. St Paul's uncompromising injunctions are especially targeted as being inimical to the present-day moral laxity and doctrinal indifference, which are erroneously heralded as expressions of evolved spirituality.

While it is necessary to employ Scripture, as mentioned above, for reproof and correction, I would prefer rather to meditate on the mystery of the union with our Lord Jesus Christ that his death and resurrection—and the whole ascetical, mystical, and sacramental life of the Church—effects in us. Once again, St Paul comes to our aid: "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. The life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal. 2:20).

Profound and inspired reflections upon the "surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord": for this we can thank God and his faithful Apostle Paul.

—Abbot Joseph

Since this issue is being mailed about the time of the Feast of the Dormition (Assumption) of the Mother of God (supposed to be, anyway; you never know), I thought I might write something about her, though this tends to be something of a daunting proposition. Mary of Nazareth, Mother of the Savior, is one of the most attractive (for some), puzzling (for others), and venerable (for still others) figure in human history. Her mystery is not yet spent; the controversies and disagreements have not yet subsided; and her veneration continues among the faithful without missing a heartbeat.

I think I'll not deal much with controversies here, but rather, as the title suggests, I'll continue the basic Christian quest for understanding and deeper devotion to the Mother of God. Perhaps this will be little more than an exercise in "thinking out loud" about Our Lady, but hopefully it will bring a bit of light where it may be needed or desired.

I don't know where to begin, really, though perhaps it would be good to say a few words about what she is not before I reflect on what she is. That's how St John the Forerunner started out, anyway. When he was asked, "Who are you?" his immediate response was: "I am not the Christ" (Jn. 1:19-20). Before he said who he was, he said who he was not. That approach can be helpful. What if we asked Our Lady: "Who are you?" She might first say: "I am not God. I am not the Savior. I am and can do nothing but what my God and Savior has granted me." This is clearly borne out in Catholic and Orthodox theology, and generally in practice, though one might choose to question this upon reading some Byzantine liturgical texts. It seems as though the ancient hymnographers were cutting a few corners on lex orandi, lex credendi ("the law of prayer is the law of faith," i.e., the words of our prayer manifest what we believe). Those pious but exaggerated liturgical expressions are usually attributed to something like "the devout effusions of sacred eloquence" (Edmund Burke), though one might wonder if one could still be devoutly effusive while maintaining a somewhat firmer grip on proper biblical and dogmatic theology. But I said I wasn't going to be controversial.

There has been another quest going on for some decades now (and probably off and on, here and there, for millennia), which has been often termed "the quest for the divine feminine." I confess I was somewhat intrigued by this for a time and even did a little research in the Bible (mostly the Wisdom Books) and some patristic writings. This quest is for a feminine "principle" in God, which usually ends up being identified with the Divine Person of the Holy Spirit. That conclusion cannot be unambiguously asserted, however, and even though there is some data to recommend it, it has proven to be a point of departure for further (and usually bizarre) conclusions that orthodox theology cannot accept.

Yet it can't be denied that "God created man in his own image… male and female he created them" (Gen. 1:27). Therefore there is that in God of which the masculine is an image, and that in God of which the feminine is an image. But it seems to be too simplistic to assign these characteristics directly to specific Divine Persons. Are the Father and the Son masculine while the Holy Spirit is feminine? Does that make God two-thirds male and one-third female? God qua God is without gender, so the answer to the question of the divine image in male and female human persons is more mysterious and profound than we can readily conceive.

It will be wise to leave that controversy behind as well, but I think that Fr George Montague was on to something when he said that even though there are indications in the Bible that within God there is that which is imaged in man as both masculine and feminine, God has simply chosen to reveal Himself as Father as not as Mother. Jesus always and only spoke of God as his Father and invited us to do the same. So Fr Montague concludes that God chose a human mother to be an icon, as it were, of the "maternal" care and love that God bestows upon us. (If we find maternal love among humans, it must also be in God, for we are made in his image.) But Mary is not therefore—let me hasten to add!—an incarnation of God, for she, unlike her Son, is not divine and hence cannot express the nature of God in her very being. But it's easier for us to see in a woman the image of maternal love than it is to see it in a man. Are things getting too complicated here? To know the Father we must look to the Son of God, and to behold an image of heavenly and maternal love, we must look to the Mother of God.

Oh, did I just open up another controversy? To say that Jesus is the Son of God means that He is the Son of the Father. What, then, do we mean when we say that Mary is the Mother of God? Let's go back to the Forerunner's via negativa: let's first say what "Mother of God" does not mean. She's not the mother of the Father. She's not the mother of the Holy Spirit. She's not the mother of the Holy Trinity. She is the mother of the incarnate Son of God. She is not merely the mother of Jesus' human nature, which would be impossible. One cannot give birth to an abstraction, only to a person. Human nature does not exist except in real human beings. Jesus is a Divine Person (the eternal Son of God), who assumed, i.e., united inseparably to Himself, a human nature and thus became man. He is still God. Mary is the mother of the Son of God made flesh, the mother of a Divine Person, incarnate. Thus she is rightly invoked and venerated as the Mother of God (Greek Theotokos, literally, "she who gave birth to God"). It might be more precise to call her the "Mother of God the Son incarnate," but "Mother of God" is a lot easier to say, and we're all supposed to know what that means.

An early Ecumenical Council of the undivided Church declared and defined Mary as Theotokos at Ephesus in Anno Domini 431. This was to quash the heresy that Christ was somehow two separate persons, a divine and a human one, somehow stuck together in Mary's womb, and that Mary was only the mother of the human one. (But didn't the Archangel Gabriel say that she would give birth to the Son of the Most High? Lk. 1:31-32.) That's what you end up with if you deny that Mary is the Mother of God. Seems a little silly, doesn't it? So relax, it's OK. You can call Mary the Mother of God and be a true-believing Christian. In fact, the Council declared that that's how you should refer to her if you want to be a true-believing Christian. I'm not trying to be controversial, though I fear I may have struck a nerve in a few readers.

If we're seeking to know and understand Our Lady, I think the fundamental ways to approach her are those which acknowledge her as Virgin and Mother, for she is the Virgin Mother, and this is at the heart of her "claim to fame." (She would never try to "claim fame" for herself, and she barely tolerates me for using that expression, but you know what I mean, and she does too.) The most common invocation of Our Lady in the Byzantine Liturgy is "Mother of God and Ever-virgin Mary," because these are the two earliest dogmatic definitions concerning her. I'm afraid that "ever-virgin" is another controversial term—and I didn't want to get into controversies here—so I won't spend too much time on it. Even aside from the antiquity and consistency of the Church's teaching on Mary's perpetual virginity, I find it completely incomprehensible (forgive me, but I think you should, too), that after having singled out Mary for the utterly unique and thoroughly mind-shattering miracle of virginally conceiving God in her womb—never before and never again to be accomplished in anyone else, ever—God would then simply say to her: "OK, I'm finished with the miracles now. So you gave birth to the Son of God. Just move on, willya? Go back and have other children and live a normal life." Other children? After giving birth to God incarnate? Other children? You mean, like Billy and Suzie? You've got to be kidding! Why then did God bother to keep her virginal for her First-born—just to show that He had the power to do it? That's not his style.

God didn't work such an astounding miracle in Mary only to undo it a little later. If He kept her virginal for the conception and birth of his Son, it is not only because the Son was all-deserving of a uniquely miraculous conception and birth, but also that God was defining Mary's identity, in his eyes and ours. She is the Virgin Mother. She is always the Virgin Mother. She will never be other than the Virgin Mother, for all eternity. We can't (and shouldn't dare) say of her: "She was once a Virgin Mother, the only one in the history of the universe, but then she lost her virginity…"

Christ did not shed his wounds after his mission was complete, but bore them even after his resurrection, for they testified to his identity, which is love, and to his mission as the sacrificed Savior. He is always the Crucified One as well as the Risen One, and his wounds didn't disappear once their "usefulness" was exhausted. Similarly, once Mary's mission to bear the Son of God in a miraculous manner was complete, she didn't decide (nor did God) that she had no use for virginity any longer and so started having children in the usual way. Her virginity testifies to her unique election and holiness, so her virginity was not, and never will be, discarded.

But to be virginal is not only to maintain a certain type of bodily integrity, and here is where we can have a more spiritual connection to the Blessed Virgin. Most people in this world are not called to be virginal or celibate, so most people cannot identify with a purely physical virginity, which is too often defined in negative terms: a virgin is someone who does not have sexual intercourse. Spiritually seen, Mary's virginity (and hence our attempted imitation of it) is an expression of undivided devotion to God, complete availability for the carrying out of his will, a personal consecration to God that excludes everything that is not of Him or not pleasing to Him. We honor Mary as Virgin not only because of the miracle God worked in her, but because she belonged to Him, body and soul, and that is our desire and goal, the Christian raison d'être as well. "I am the handmaid of the Lord"—this defines Mary as virginal in the spiritual sense.

Finally, let us look to Mary as our Mother. Having arrived at this point, I would hope that we're done with controversies, but it seems that even this point is argued. Some people—this is incredible but unfortunately true—don't even want a Mother in Heaven. Why not? I can't think of a single good reason. (It may be, though, that some people's earthly mothers have been abusive or overbearing, and hence for them one mother already seems more than enough, but they shouldn't project those unfortunate experiences all over Heaven; it's much more rewarding to stick to the reality of God's gracious gifts.) Certainly no harm can come to anyone from Mary, who has loved and served God all her life and who loves each of us as her own dear children, for whom she desires nothing less than eternal joy in Paradise—only good can come from such love, such fervent and compassionate intercession on our behalf.

As to her spiritual maternity of all the Father's children, the Bible will help us out here. The Church has always accepted that Christ gave his Mother to be our Mother with his dying breath on the Cross. "Behold, your mother," said Jesus to the disciple whom He loved. And to Mary: "Behold, your son." And the disciple took her into his own home (literally, into "his own things," i.e., she became part of his life; Jn. 19:26-27). Now some commentators (without even a little embarrassment, incredibly) interpret this thus: "How thoughtful of Jesus to make housing arrangements for his mom at a moment most inconvenient to Himself." This is ridiculous. Jesus had more far-reaching things to do at that solemn and unrepeatable hour of the consummation of his life and mission than to deal with the logistics of providing accommodations for his about-to-be-bereaved mother. If that's all He was doing, then that bit of Scripture would be useless to us. Besides, Jesus knew well in advance when He was going to die; He predicted it several times. If He really wanted to consult with John and Mary about how to arrange things after He was gone, He would have done it beforehand. (Note also that if Mary had borne other children, Jesus wouldn't have had to bother about the issue at all. Mary would have simply moved in with one of her other kids.)

But, like everything else Jesus said and did, He spoke those words for our benefit. Mary didn't need a son to replace Jesus (who could, anyway?), and we can probably assume that John was content with the mother he already had. But the Church, which was being born as Jesus "handed over the spirit" (literal translation of the last phrase of Jn. 19:30), was granted at that moment the gift of a spiritual mother. St John is never named in this Gospel. He is only referred to as "the disciple whom Jesus loved" and hence known to later generations as the "Beloved Disciple." Something interesting happens in the Greek text of the Bible at the moment of this giving of mother to son and son to mother. They become universal figures, as it were. Mary is referred to only as "the mother," and John only as "the disciple." Thus in the person of St John, all beloved disciples of Jesus received Mary as their mother, a final gift from Jesus before He died. Far from tying up the loose ends of housekeeping, Jesus was giving the whole world a spiritual blessing. If they would be his disciples, He would give them his beloved mother as their own.

Additionally, in the Book of Revelation (12:1-5), there is the glorious Woman Clothed with the Sun. I know; the identity of this Woman is another controversial issue. But look, if this Woman gives birth to a Son who is to rule the nations and is taken up to the throne of God—and this Son can only be Jesus—at least one possible interpretation of her identity must be Mary. At the end of the chapter it speaks of her "offspring" (which would mean: her spiritual children), who are described as "those who keep the commandments of God and bear testimony to Jesus" (which would mean: Jesus' beloved disciples, i.e., the ones represented by the Beloved Disciple at the Cross, who was given Mary—whose identity is not controversial in that passage—as his mother).

So then, if Mary is our Mother, what does she do for us? She doesn't usurp the role or prerogatives of the Father, for she knows what she is not. It is for God to save souls and receive worship and to order the universe in general. Mary's role is more modest, yet still most welcome. She is the pray-er par excellence. She brings our needs to the Lord. "What?" you say. "Does the omniscient and all-seeing God need someone to bring our needs to his attention?" No, of course not. So stop praying for your own loved ones and for yourself. See? Something doesn't sound right about that. We bring our needs and those of others to the Lord, and we ask others to bring our needs to Him in prayer—even though He knows them already—so why not ask one who is very close to Him in Heaven? God is the Father of a huge family, and He likes his children to interact with Him, and prayerful intercession is one way of doing it. Was Jesus unaware of the crisis at Cana when the wine failed? Yet his mother came to Him, saying, "They have no wine," and He worked his first miracle at her request. She still comes to Him saying of us (perhaps), "They have no sense," or "They have no virtue" or "They need your help." And at her request He grants more gifts of grace.

We look to the Mother of God as one who prays for us, who looks out for us, who protects us, who leads us along the narrow path to the Kingdom of Heaven. It ought to be a natural thing, a comfortable thing, something that is simply "right" in the basic structure of things—not something we have to arrive at through tortuous theological reasoning, or something that feels contrived or irksome because obligatory. She'll be patient while you get to know her. And she'll be with you in the meantime, doing all she can to nudge you quietly Godward. Mary is not a doctrine; she's a person, and she's profoundly interested in your salvation.

There's a whole lot more that could be said as we continue our quest for the Virgin Mother. There are other mysteries related to her that I haven't mentioned at all—and inevitably there are, I'm afraid, more controversies. Yet I've written what I have as a kind of reflection on a couple of the most fundamental mysteries, and I hope that something in there has been helpful to you. If anything I've said helps you reconsider any reservations you may have had or has encouraged you to approach her with a bit more love and confidence, then I've succeeded in my task.

In the final analysis, I don't find Mary controversial at all. I'm just glad she said "yes" to the Lord for his incarnation and hence our salvation. I'm glad she's there for me. I love her. After all, she's my Mother!

—Abbot Joseph

The disciples asked Jesus, "...why do the scribes say that first Elijah must come?" and there were only three doing the asking—Peter, James, and John, who had just witnessed our Savior's Holy Transfiguration on the Mountain. They had just seen Elijah, as well as Moses, conversing with Jesus about His coming Passion. They'd just heard the voice of God, declaring from on high: "this is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased: hear Him!" Jesus Himself had just told them, afterward, "Tell no one the vision, until the Son of man is raised from the dead." It's odd that He called it a "vision"; it's odd that they didn't question Him about rising from the dead, but were keener learn about Elijah coming first.

St. John Chrysostom wrote a homily about this passage; I see nothing to indicate that the "vision" was a dream, trance, or any such thing; it seems common knowledge that it was a "vision" in the sense of being a "sight": something important that was seen. If perhaps "vision" was a translation close to original words, in modern English it hints of a thing not physically there but seen mystically, mentally, imaginarily—and that's not the case.

They weren't keen to question Him about being raised from the dead: 'twould be very odd, unless they were convinced that He would indeed rise from the dead; perhaps the actual crucifixion drove this from their minds, or made them think it was only another allegory—or perhaps the three disciples felt still bound not to reveal the vision, and blended in with the other disciples.

Keen they were, however, to learn of Elijah to come: this was taught by Scribes, though not rightly understood by them, as Chrysostom said. The prophets had foretold both Advents of Christ; the disciples had experienced the first. Christ says Elijah is indeed come, referring to John the Baptizer, the forerunner of Christ's first coming—not that John was Elijah actually, but that John was Elijah in fulfilling Elijah's ministry. St. John Chrysostom understood the original Elijah will indeed be the forerunner of our Lord's future, second coming!

That's very interesting: maybe we should consider adopting an old, Jewish custom (or, maybe not: let's respect right relationships, and ecumenical dialogues). Scriptures never said Elijah died: he was taken up to Heaven in a fiery chariot. He may still be roaming about, disguised as a poor beggar, spreading hope in the coming Messiah. Traditionally, Elijah visits every Passover Seder meal, and a place is prepared for Elijah (if there's room among so many people): a whole place with comfortable chair, polished silverware, and a special Elijah's Cup or goblet, ready with good kosher wine poured out full and ready for him. At the right moment in the meal, the door of the home is opened to invite him in, and an appeal is made to the Lord to protect the faithful from evil and from persecution, and it is wished that Elijah the Prophet shall enter the hearts of all people, inspiring them to build a good world where all may inherit justice and freedom; and the song "Eliyahu, Ha-navi" ("Elijah, the prophet") is sung ("May he soon come to us, bringing the Messiah"), and everyone looks to see if there's a sign that he's present.

And perhaps one of the children will see the level of the cup go down a sip. (Maybe one of the grownups will tease, jiggling the table a little). Elijah, it is hoped, really will come, marking the imminent coming of the Messiah to set everything in the world right, God's wrath sweeping away injustice, and making a world of compassion, peace, and good-will. If both Jewish Tradition and St. John Chrysostom are right on this point, maybe we should all have such a custom: for Elijah, as well as Christ, is still to come!

In any case, we should always keep ourselves ready for the Christ's second coming. It is written that He is coming soon, and I suppose we must take the word "soon" to mean something like "implacably" or "surely" or "without doubt." He's warned us several times in Scriptures to keep ourselves always ready: "Watch!" "Be vigilant!" "Be watchful!" "Stay awake!" Think of the householder keeping watch against the thief in the night; of the King preparing for war whose patrols spotted the enemy afar, giving the King time to decide whether to resist or to seek terms; or of the traditional nightly vigils of the monks who, in our tradition, sing (with a three-fold "Alleluia!" as refrain) the familiar verses:

In the midst of the night,
my heart keeps watch for You, O God,
for your commands are a light
that shines upon the earth.
Learn righteousness,
and you will dwell in the land.

Behold, the Bridegroom is coming
in the middle of the night:
blessed is the servant He shall find awake.
But the one He shall find neglectful
will not be worthy of Him.

Beware, therefore, O my soul!
Do not fall into deep slumber,
lest you be handed over to death,
and the door of the Kingdom be closed on you!
Watch instead, and cry out:
"Holy, holy, holy are You, O God!"…

…before going on to glorify the Most Holy Trinity, asking the intercession of the angels and saints, and invoking Our Lady, Mary, the Mother of God. Those verses clarify what we can only infer from our Savior's language: that the "slumber" and "death" are those of sin and eternity, and that any night watching we keep must make us sober, both night and day, that we may be always alert and on our guard in the moral and spiritual sense.

"Why do the scribes say that first Elijah must come?" Because he really must come—but not first, before the Passion and Resurrection of our Lord Jesus. John was the likeness of Elijah, and already had come, to "prepare the way of the Lord" Jesus Christ; of this Paul wrote: "The grace of God, that brings salvation, has appeared, teaching us that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, and righteously, and godly." But Elijah himself will come before the second coming in glory, of which Paul also wrote, saying: "Looking for the blessed hope and appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ."

A number of signs and wonders will occur before the second coming, as Jesus said, but they'll occur without our knowing the day or the hour; evidently this will remain true when Elijah comes. For Our Lord said that Elijah had already come—meaning John the Baptist—and also that Elijah "comes, and will restore all things"—meaning the Tishbite. According to the prophet Malachi [4:5-6], the Lord God said: "Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes, and He will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the land with a curse." That's like turning hearts of fathers to their children as the angel said of John the Baptist, for the first advent of the Christ [Luke 1:17]; it's also decisively different, concerning the "terrible day of the Lord"—His second coming—and hints to us as to why the original Elijah is associated with John the Baptizer.

Chrysostom noted (as we should) that the disciples didn't ask when Elijah will come; we may agree with Chrysostom that perhaps they were held back by fear, or by the strong impression of knowing the Passion was soon. That makes sense: nobody wants to seem eager to know how soon his leader is going to die.

A little later, and Jesus, with the same three disciples—the strong "pillars," as Chrysostom calls them—are at the scene of the failure, by the other disciples, to heal a man's lunatic son. The man appeals to Jesus on behalf of his son. Chrysostom points out the man's lack of consideration, the man's blaming the disciples who couldn't work the cure, and Chrysostom says that Jesus' words, "faithless and perverse generation…," dismiss the charge against the disciples (though they share some blame, not being as strong as the pillars in faith) but blames the man himself, chiefly, and all the people in the crowds 'round about—the healing wasn't accomplished, because the people didn't have enough faith.

Why, even in ordinary actions, it's common to find things left undone, for want of faith: if you don't believe a thing can be done, or don't want it enough, you just might not do it, or might leave it half-done, poorly done, only half-heartedly done. Putting our hearts into a thing with real faith, that's how we generally do our best. So it is with faith and healing, as well. And so it is with our vigilant watching for the Savior's second coming, keeping ourselves always ready: moral and holy! If we let our faith grow slack, or never got up much faith in the second coming, or in the need to keep constantly prepared, then perhaps we won't be ready but will keep company outside of the eternal, mystical banquet, along with the five foolish virgins, or have plenty purging to endure in Purgatory. If we keep our faith strong and always renewed, believe in keeping ready as our Lord told us to, and put our hearts into it, then perhaps we really will be very ready, and able to be taken immediately right into our Savior's company at his second coming (and contribute to that just, compassionate, and no longer persecuting world, along the way).

The disciples saw the Transfiguration as a vision of something actually present before their physical eyes; we see it as a vision only in our imaginations, or perhaps mystically if we're granted such a thing. Either way, 'tis a true vision, of the Son of Man, the Son of God, whom we are to heed with all our hearts, for his glory and for our salvation. Let's go ahead and do it!

—Br Seraphim

"…the time has come for all men of good will and of good faith to become conscious of the part they can play and must play in life, if our present Christian civilization is to endure. Everyone shares a responsibility in the future."

Thus did the world-famous biologist Lecombe du Noüy open his best-selling book Human Destiny. He opened it with a challenging statement in hopes that the reader would examine his relationships with other people.

Praying with Scripture helps us understand how ardently God desires an intimate friendship with us. He Who took on our human nature also wants to share in our struggles. Listen to His compassionate invitation: "Come to Me. I will give you rest" (Matt. 11:27-28). He wants a deep relationship with us in the here and now because He wants to spend eternity with us. Psalm 85 reminds us with, "But You, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. Turn to me and take pity on me" (vv. 14-15)—as we ponder Our Lord's use of gracious invitations and not crushing coercion with His children.

As our relationship with Christ intensifies, through prayer and a rich sacramental life, we appreciate the friendships with which God blesses our lives. The Book of Sirach calls friendship a treasure: "A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure. A faithful friend is beyond all price; hold him as priceless" (vv. 14-15).

Take a moment to reflect on your closest friends. You'll probably see that you manifest your affection for each other because of a mutual trust and openness with each other. Real love demands a response and you preach that with your actions and words. Self-involvement only succeeds in sustaining shallowness and the eventual demise within a friendship. Over time, true friendships get stronger because of the mutual giving and receiving. Yes, I include receiving because there are people who mistakenly feel guilt over receiving a friend's kind gestures. If you feel that way, talk to the Lord about this struggle. Pray for healing in this area of your life and discover the joy of receiving the Lord's blessings in your life. Mr. Du Noüy expresses a similar attitude in closing his above-mentioned book with: "…let every man above all never forget that the divine spark is in him… and that he is free to disregard it, to kill it, or to come closer to God by showing his eagerness to work with Him and for Him."

Through His Mystical Body, Our Lord has richly blessed my life. Through these devout souls, I can see an abundance of spiritual fruit in their lives because they give their best to God in whatever they do for Him. They hear Our Lord's words from the wedding at Cana, "Fill the jars with water" (Jn. 2:7), and they imitate the servants at the wedding feast and fill the jars in their life to the brim. These people don't embrace the mentality of "absolute minimal participation"; they know their lives are a gift from God and they give the Lord the best they can. God is glorified and the world becomes a little more beautiful because of these people's understanding of the word "charity." Even without words, they zealously preach the Gospel without compromise.

Christ-centered friendships elevate and strengthen others to grow in holiness. If trust, wisdom, and integrity are nurtured within your friendships, you will see the inevitable gift of joy blossoming around you. The pleasing aroma will attract others to Christ. They will want what you have, and that is an intimate relationship with Christ and His Mystical Body, the Church.

Think of your friends who bring Christian joy and integrity into your life. Today make a point to thank them for what they bring into your life. Don't delay. Life is too short. God has richly blessed your life; remember to thank Him for these earthly blessings. In the beautiful words of Charlotte Bronte, from her nineteenth century classic, Jane Eyre: "There is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow creatures, and feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort."

—Br James

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