If you'll indulge me...

Indulgences. 

Sweet, sweet indulgences. 

The very word feels like sin to the well trained Evangelical tongue - though not the delightful kind. 

I entered full communion over 20 years ago, and it's only maybe a year ago that I started to feel okay with the idea of that which shall not be named. Not that I doubted the Church's authority, but rather upon reading the Terms & Conditions, this particular business about detaching yourself from any sin seemed to to be an immediate disqualifier. 

When you're in a place where confessing grave sin is a routine matter, like Forrest Gump meeting the President, why bother with these extra bells and whistles? 

Before you read on, know that I encourage conferring with a trusted pastor, spiritual director, or otherwise seek wise counsel on sensitive matters. Don't take my word for it. But this much was an encouragement to me and it could be for you:

The Church is not asking you to actually be detached from all sin. 

From the Decree of the Apostolic Penitentiary which proclaimed a jubilee year for the 800th anniversary of St. Francis' death, her first condition upon the faithful is "a heart detached from sin." 

My mistake was interpreting "heart" to mean my entire self. 

This is where self-knowledge and sound formation are truly helpful. 

Your soul may be attached to sin. So may your strength - that is, your body. And if you've read anything about neurochemistry (an excellent starter is "The Power of Habit" by Charles Duhigg) then you know how our minds are attached, and how your mind can be freed. 

All that to say: Your heart is where freedom begins. 

You can choose detachment in your heart, even when the rest of you feels like a lost cause. It may feel like your heart is attached to sin or worldly things. Only God can truly judge that, but I'll hazard to encourage you that it's more likely the rest of you which is more attached while your heart is yearning for God. 

Our recent Sunday readings speak to this. Tax collectors and prostitutes entering the kingdom of God ahead of chief priests and elders. Laborers hired at five o'clock who receive a full day's wage. How the Father deals harshly "unless each of you forgives your brother from your heart." 

If you'll indulge me with a quick tangent, hear me out. When you think about the spiritual reality of what happens at Baptism, it is a sacrilege to justice. In a sense, it should make you angry. Think about someone whom you find repulsive. You might think of a political leader, a rapist, serial killer, or child abuser. Think about what it's like to be a helpless victim of a horrendous, heartbreaking crime. 

Now think about wiping clean the slate of that offender for no better reason that he or she asked forgiveness. 

You see, if anything should make you angry, it is Baptism. The despicable notion that the worst human could enter heaven only because of God's grace. (To be clear, this deal doesn't work if the offender's heart remains closed to grace.)

That righteous anger you're feeling is exactly where the Angel of Light stood. Now turn. "It is in forgiving that we are forgiven."

Therefore, make your amendment, seek grace, and keep growing. 

P.S. I know this post might be a hot take. My intent is definitely to recognize the beauty and simplicity of sincere repentance and reconciliation. Baptism is a beautifully scandalous thing. 

Flea Market Bibles

One of my guilty pleasures in life is snatching up two arms full of interesting books at flea markets. I try to be discerning, but when they're practically free, who can you resist these poor books when their eyes beg for a loving home?  

Thrift stores and church flea markets are especially great hunting grounds. That's where I recently landed upon a Douay-Rheims Bible. I didn't even get to this flea market early, and it was hosted at the kind of church where people love tradition and old books, so it surprised me a bit somebody else didn't beat me to this treasure. I've had this on my list for many years. Still can't spell it right on the first try, but to paraphase Red in The Natural, "Can't spell it, but it reads pretty good, don't it?"

Here's a picture. I paid all of one dollar for this Bible:

It could use a cover... the ugly duckling of Bibles here.

Appreciate the personal touch in Archbishop Cardinal Gibbons' Imprimatur, "The sacred volume is printed in an attractive style." 

Unfortunately, this is a fragile book. It's paperback, and I've already slightly torn one page. I probably need a sturdy cover for it if I'm going to, you know, actually use it. 

Why do I like this old text so much when capitalism has delivered to our poor souls a plethora of translations in modern English to save thee from thy trials of thinking while reading?   

One, Bishop Challoner's revision is relatively recent, completed in the mid-18th century. Yes, there thee's and thou's and wilt's, but by this era English was largely modernized (at least what we call modern, I don't know what they will call future versions of our language). So the vast majority of the vocabulary is familiar and current. 

Second, I enjoy the sprinkling of thee's and thou's. It's just the right mix to make for a poetic reading of Scripture, without detracting from understanding the message. 

Third, the entire Scripture (for Catholics, anyway) is published in this volume without apology, explanation, or pandering to our separated brethren. 

Boom. Take it or leave it. 

I also find compelling the arguments which support the scholarship behind this translation. Below is the Preface from Tan Books. Specifically the second paragraph mentions how St. Jerome read many Hebrew and Greek manuscripts are lost to time and not available to scholars today. This ties into the argument at the bottom of the first page into the top of second page about how the Latin Vulgate and Douay-Rheims are potentially the most "original" versions of the Scriptures. Another factor specific to the Latin is that being a dead language, scholars who read the Vulgate have the benefit of engaging with a langauge that hasn't changed since St. Jerome penned the words. 

In other words, it's fascinating to hold in your hands 1,392 pages of text that carry with them a direct tie to our history and countless clues that are otherwise lost to time. 

Think about St. Jerome becoming fluent in Hebrew and Greek. Maybe he learned these languages as. child during his education? (I honestly don't know much about his life, which would be interesting to dive into.) How many hours and years did he expend into detailed reading and comparison of Scriptures? Just the physical act of writing his translation by hand must have required a few years. 

And then Bishop Challoner's project to provide a much-needed update from the Shakespearean Era. 

Years of scholarship, painstaking labor, and preservation work over 1,500 years for the grand sum of $1.00. 

That's why books are amazing things. We live in a time of stupid wealth when you think about all the knowledge and wisdom that is practically free. 

The one knock on this version is the limited commentary. There are great study Bibles with extensive commentaries and teaching. This is not a study Bible, in that sense. Maybe the perfect Bible would be the Douay-Rheims translation with extensive commentary by someone like John Bergsma. Maybe capitalism shall bless us yet with such manna from heaven. In the meantime, I guess we shall make do with using two separate books.