Who can live with the consuming fire? (3rd week of Advent)

“On Zion sinners are in dread,

trembling grips the impious;

Who of us can live with the consuming fire?

Who of us can live with the everlasting flames?

The one who practices virtue and speaks honestly,

who spurns what is gained by oppression,

who brush their hands free of contact with a bribe,

who stop their ears from hearing of bloodshed,

and shut their eyes to avoid looking on evil...”

--Isaiah 33:13-16

This reading from morning prayer touched me today.  And oddly enough, I read it by accident.  It wasn’t the reading for this morning –I was on the wrong page.  And yet... isn't that often how God works.

Anyway, the reading merged nicely with a short conversation I had last night. Shortly before bed, I was talking to a friend who has just decided to read Dante.  She bought her husband a beautifully illustrated copy of the Commedia and as she looked at the pictures, she became interested in the poem.  And so, I woke this morning still thinking about our conversation.  One thing that troubled her was the question of whether the poem were true.  Had Dante actually “died” and travelled through Hell and Purgatory and Heaven, then returned to life to write his poem.  Well, first, in the poem he isn’t dead. He makes his journey through the realms of the afterlife while still alive but guided by the spirit of the dead poet Vergil. And, second, I explained to her that as far as I know, the poem had never seriously been treated as a diary of an actual event.  However, I added, that didn’t make it any the less true. 

A mystical vision is another kind of truth –and I compared Dante’s poem to the visions of Teresa of Avila and Catherine of Siena. Though Dante is no doctor of the church, it seems to me that the vision contained in his Commedia is as profound and possibly as theologically valuable as what we find in the works of many saints and mystics.  And surely that element of the poem must have come from God.  But it was getting late and we both needed to attend to other issues, so we made vague plans to get together someday soon and continue our discussion of truth and poetry and mystics. Yet, something must have been left unsettled in my soul; because I woke still thinking about our discussion.

And then there was this reading: 

Who of us can live with the consuming fire?

Who of us can live with the everlasting flames?

Indeed, who of us can?  The consuming fire; the everlasting flame; what a devastating and yet perfect vision of Hell.  Who can live with that?  In Dante we see the suffering of the damned and often readers are struck by the horror of such punishments; it is what attracts many new readers to the poem.  I know from teaching the poem that often students are intrigued by the question of justice when discussing the punishments (Dante’s contrapassos).  But then they almost as quickly turn to the subject of mercy (and loopholes).  But what about... what if... What if someone couldn’t control himself? What about people with psychological problems? What if someone didn’t know something was wrong?... what about...what if...

But the poem isn’t about punishment (or justice) in a legalistic way.  It’s about freedom and choices and love.  What I read in Dante is that Hell isn’t a geographic place (on an actual or imaginary map) but a state of mind, of souls, of heart; it’s a commitment of sorts.  Take for instance Canto XXX of the Inferno.  This is a scene of devastating destruction and the souls within that vision of a kind of “everlasting flame” dwell not just in dread, but in misery and discord; beating each other, heckling each other, angering and frustrating one another through and by their every act, every word, every choice—because they seek not compassion or love, but only superiority and self-justification.  And yet, what would happen if Mother Teresa were to suddenly find herself walking amongst these souls?  Would she find herself in the same Hell?  Or would she immediately set about caring for the sick and the helpless; would she not comfort their pain and distress?  Ease their suffering with her gentle touch.  And in her compassion and love, Filled with love and compassion, she would see not evil but only souls in need.  And, filled with love, she would be filled with God; she would be dwelling fully in His presence and is that not the very meaning of Heaven? To be fully in the presence of God... So, even as she walked among those who made themselves damned she –through her love-- would be in a kind of Heaven.  

“Who of us can live with the consuming fire?”

The one who loves. The one who practices virtue.  The one who speaks not bitterness and cruelty; who utters no lie of self-deception and justification but speaks only truth in utter humility.  The one who stops her ears at words of anger and hatred, who closes his eyes to evil.  The one who walks in love...

Heaven is where we make it...

And so is Hell.

More than many sparrows: a lesson in humor and humility

“…do not be afraid.  You are worth more than many sparrows.”
--Matthew 10:31

How reassuring it is to know that we are worth more than many sparrows. Sparrows, two of which could be purchased for a small coin (a penny); and yet Jesus assures us that we are worth more than many of these and so we don’t need to be afraid.  Is that an example of divine humor? Heavenly irony?  Or was that meant to be seriously reassuring to the apostles.  One has to wonder.

                What I hear in these words is, first: a comic reassurance, and second: a lesson in humility.  Hearing this, can’t you imagine Jesus nodding His head reassuringly, the turn of a sly grin curling the edges of His lips?  “You are worth more than many sparrows…” Yes, we are important to God, and yes God knows every hair on your head; and so, by golly, when things get rough, whether my world seems to be falling apart, or all my magnificent plans and efforts are crashing down around me, I just need to remember: Don’t be afraid. You’re worth more than many sparrows!!  

Of course, that begs the question: Oh, yeah!  How many? At 2 for a penny, we’d have to get up to fifty-one sparrows just to be worth more than a quarter! A hundred-and-one, to be worth more than a half dollar.  You can’t even ride Metro for a half dollar any more.  How is that for a lesson in humility?

Of course, I’m being silly here.  I think it would take at least 250 sparrows just to get from my house to I-10.  And if I needed a transfer –say to get downtown-- that would be another 200 sparrows.  Minimum. And that doesn’t cover return fare.  Plus, at this point, (450 sparrows; questions of aerodynamics arise…) with a harness and some twine you might be able to… never mind. 

Thinking about this passage, and the idea that Jesus might be employing a little humor, I began to realize another lesson we learn from Dante’s Divine Comedy.  The utter absence of humor among the damned.  It isn’t that the souls in Dante’s Hell have no time for humor, but that they make no place for it. The souls in The Inferno take their sin very seriously.  Dante never talks about this; he simply shows it.  As we read the poem and meet the different souls in Hell, what we meet are souls who have lost the ability to laugh at anything.  This is a situation I find myself in on occasion. I am dead set on some plan, some activity or some respite that I am claiming for my own. It is something I deserve. Or it is –for instance, becoming a deacon—my right. My vocation. God’s will for me! I want it and I deserve it.  When I am in that mindset, there is little chance of me laughing at anything that goes even slightly amiss. You might not hear me yell or see me punch the wall, but if my plans go awry, inside I will begin to stew and seethe. And I will be unable to laugh –not just at the situation, but at anything. I will refuse to.  And you know, having been in that situation before, I can tell you –it is Hell.  I grow hard and bitter inside and lose my way.  Because –and I think this is key—I am not important enough!  I want to be not just more important than… anything… at times like that, I want to be MOST important.  And that is exactly what we see lived out in Dante’s Hell.  The souls are all stuck wanting to be MOST important. And none of them can let go of their sin (their ego) long enough to laugh at themselves and their situation.  Sadly I have found myself living that Hell, too many times.  In fact, just now.  I am trying to write this. I want to write this. But, I am the only one awake and our two new kittens are begging for food. So, I stop and give them food. As I am setting it out for them our older cat comes looking for food, too. So, I put food out for him. Thinking, I will get right back to my writing.  But then I notice the kittens have knocked a tote bag on the flood and so I stoop to pick it up. Still thinking I am going right back to writing. But… as I pick it up I discover something is on the bag. One of these critters has peed on the bag and now cat pee is spilling everywhere.  And when I try to pour it into the trash the trash is overflowing and the pee spills down the side of the kitchen trash bin and now it is spread across the floor and over the side of the bin and maybe on the refrigerator and the tile floor to the washing machine and… and instead of getting bck to writing I am mopping the floor with paper towels and Windex.  And when my wonderful kind and always sweet daughter asks me what happened, instead of laughing at it all, I snap and murmur something bitter about cats and pee and tote bags and trash cans and laundry and...  So, yes! For me, this isn’t always easy.  Even when I am meditating on the Heavenly qualities of humility and humor, I can so quickly stumble and slip in the cat pee of my pridefulness, my need to feel MOST IMPORTANT.  And I think that is a very real kind of Hell.   

Clearly, this is a lesson Jesus is still trying to teach me: learn to laugh at yourself. A little humor and humility will go a long way in bringing about the Kingdom of God.  P.S. And –when you do the laundry, make sure to balance your load. Uh, oh. Time to check on that loud knocking coming from the washroom.      

Condemned already: Making our own Hell

“Whoever believes in Him is not condemned,

but whoever does not believe is condemned already …”

--John 3: 16-18

I’ve been think about Dante again.  The Divine Comedy is always on my mind, it seems. The wisdom and the beauty of that great poem do feel truly “divine” sometimes, and the lessons I have learned by reading and rereading it have scarred my life. I say that only half-jokingly, because my experience of Dante now colors almost everything I read or do or learn. His poem seems to be (for me) a kind of guide or spiritual master that teaches me not only about the beauty of language and poetry and reason, but also how to read and finally how to live.

In the poem, Dante travels through the three zones or stages of the afterlife: Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise.  Guided for most of his journey by the poet Virgil, Dante is given the chance to see the eternal state of souls (damned and blessed) as a way of saving his own. While he is travelling through Hell, one of the many souls Dante meets is Bertran de Born, a man who carries his own head before him as if it were a lantern.  Like many of the souls Dante meets, Bertran de Born is based on an actual person; in life he was a warrior and poet who advised the son of a king to go to war against his father. For that reason (dividing things that should be united) the poet depicts him walking through Hell with his head divided from his body.  This sounds like “poetic justice,” and in Dante it receives the name “contrapasso.”  But the key to Dante isn’t found in the words of a damned soul.  It isn’t even found coming from the mouth of Virgil, the poem’s seemingly timeless voice of reason who guides Dante down through the levels of Hell and then up the mountain of Purgatory. Virgil is the voice of God's justice. He explains to Dante the legalese of eternal damnation. And for so many readers of Dante there is a willingness to trust Virgil's explanation of everything. Because Virgil makes Hell seem so reasonable.  However, the problem with Virgil as Dante's guide to God's eternal judgment is that Virgil doesn't understand God's love, God's grace.  Because God's grace is beyond reason.  So, we look again at this passage from John's Gospel and we pay careful attention to not just what it seems to say, but what it actually says:

“…whoever does not believe is condemned already …”

Whoever does not believe is already condemned already.  Harsh words, it seems.  We don’t like to hear of condemnation –it sounds judgmental and merciless to our modern ear.  But, consider for a moment what it might mean that the non believer might be condemned already.  What could that mean? Does that mean they are beyond God's mercy? But what if that person started believing next month or next week or tomorrow morning? Would they still be condemned?  That doesn't make sense? And it doesn't fit with what we see of Jesus in the gospels. Jesus calls people to conversion and change and redemption.  And no one seems beyond His mercy and love. Think about the tax collectors and sinners Jesus has dinner with, or the centurion with the sick slave, or the woman caught in adultery... Jesus tells us Himself that He didn't come to call the righteous, but the sinners (Mark 2: 17).  So what does He mean when He says those who don't believe are condemned already?

I think we can see a powerful depiction of this condemnation in Dante's vision of Hell.  The souls in Dante’s Hell (his Inferno) are not depicted as simply suffering some horrible --yet poetically apt-- punishment for their sins, but as still (and eternally) pursuing them.  The lustful are seen eternally caught in the wild winds of desire, the gluttons are eternally wallowing in the excess of their appetite, the wrathful eternally enraged, the thieves continue to steal, gossips to gossip, traitors to betray, etc etc.  I think what Dante is depicting for us is the fact that sin is Hell; sin doesn’t just bring condemnation, it is its own condemnation. Looking at Dante in this light, I begin to understand that quite possibly Hell isn’t a place; it is a state of being.  It is a choice we make.  It is found in who we become. When we choose selfishness over generosity, when we choose cruelty over kindness, when we choose coldness and isolation over vulnerability and a willingness to reach out to others we choose sin; and when we choose sin we choose unbelief; and when we do that we condemn ourselves to a Hell of our own making. Because despite what Mr. Sartre said, Hell isn’t found in "other people," it’s found in how we respond to them. Every time we turn away from someone who needs us, our hearts grow a little bit harder, a little bit colder.  And if you happen to read Dante, you will understand that a cold cold hard heart corresponds exactly with what the poet finds at the very core of Hell.  Despite what reason might tell us, our condemnation isn’t a punishment imposed upon us to satisfy some eternal justice; our condemnation (or not) is a choice we make every day. We can open our hearts, go forth, share the gifts God has given us and become a blessing, or we can... cling to our safety and security and treasures and make our own private Hell.  That’s what I find depicted in that beautiful strange poem written by that oddly prescient Italian poet from the 13^th century.  And that’s what I hear Christ telling us today. 

Some thoughts on Hell & Heaven & the Final Judgment

“In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up

and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side.” 

--Luke 16:23

In Luke’s parable, the rich man, in Hades looks up and sees Abraham and Lazarus “far away.”  And when the rich man asks for some comfort from Abraham, he is told to remember that, “between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us” (Luke 16:26).  Though these images may never have been meant to express an actual geographical space, the literal Inferno of Dante, for instance, that image of an unpassable chasm certainly speaks to a kind of metaphysical or theological understanding of the distance between Heaven and Hell.   And it makes me wonder, if not where, then what is Hell, and perhaps even why?

           

            Some thoughts:

            What is it we mean when we speak of Hell? –Traditionally when we speak of Hell, we speak of a place of torment and punishment --not unlike Dante’s depiction in his famous Inferno.  Popularly, we think of Hell as expressing the negative component of God’s judgment.  If God is pleased with us He sends us to Heaven, if God isn’t happy with our behavior here on earth we are sent to Hell. 

But, as I was reading Dante the other day, I began wondering if perhaps the unpassable gap between Lazarus and the Rich Man is found not in God’s wrath or pleasure, but in what they (the souls, the people, the sinners) themselves desire—what they seek (even in the after-life).  This certainly seems to be the lesson of Dante.  Hell isn’t imposed upon us; it is given to us.  A gift.  It is found not necessarily in what we deserve, but in what we desire at the Final Judgment.  The sheep (cf. Mt 25: 31-46) want sheepness –they want to rest in God, they want the peace of God, the joy of being comforted in Him.  The goats want something else: goatness; they still hunger to rut, hunger to acquire more stuff, perhaps to taste one more victory, one more flavor, one more sensation –security? satiation? revenge? They long to satisfy one more longing. One more desire. They still long for something so much that they can’t let go of the longing itself.

The more I think about it, the more it seems to me that Hell is a hunger within that won’t die. Hell is a longing we won’t ever satisfy –that won’t be satisfied, for something that –in actuality-- cannot satisfy.

For a little insight into this, I would again turn to Dante. In his Inferno, twice we catch a glimpse of the sinners heading toward Hell revealing their eagerness to get there.  In Canto III and in Canto V we see the souls eagerly approaching their eternity.  In Canto III it is Virgil who says of the souls:

“…they are eager to cross the river.

For the justice of God so spurs them on

their fear is turned to longing.” (III.124-126)

And then in Canto V, Dante writes:

“Always there is a crowd that stands before him: 
each soul in turn advances toward that judgment…”

                                                (V:13-14)

 What Dante dramatizes so clearly here is the drama of the soul in search of itself. This picture of the “damned” eager to reach their “damnation” is really a picture of the soul seeking its own fulfillment.

            I think what we learn from Dante’s contemplation of the question of eternity and final judgment, is that those who look at God and say –this isn’t fair. Hell isn’t fair! God is just being a judgmental old oppressive patriarchal fuddy dud!... are missing the point.  God truly is Love. And God loves us so much that He sacrificed His own son for our salvation; that we might spend eternity with Him.  But, God will not impose Himself upon us. He lets us choose. He allows us to make that Final Judgment. And the great distance we see between –for instance—Lazarus and the rich man is simply one of choice.  If I’m right, if Dante is right… Sartre got it wrong.  Hell isn’t other people; it’s just us. 

This day God sets before you two choices… Fire and water, Heaven and Hell, Life and Death… --Who will you choose to be?