Deus Caritas Est

 

Introduction

 God is love

In today’s second reading St. John writes, “Whoever loves is a child of God and knows God. But whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love” (I Jn 4:8).  A few verses later John repeats himself, “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God and God in him” (I Jn 4:17). Our monastic tradition raised us Capuchins on that verse: daily at meal prayers the hebdomader would chant “Deus caritas est. (God is love.) Qui manet in caritate manet in Deo. (He who abides in love abides in God.)”

 

No he isn’t (Islamists)

Over and over again our Christian scriptures proclaim, Deus caritas est. God is love.  No he isn’t, says Islam. On EWTN, which I try hard not to watch, a Muslim convert to Catholicism made an interesting observation. He said Islamic theology never says God is love.  It will say that Allah is most gracious and merciful but never Allah is love. That’s considered too weak and unworthy of Allah, the Almighty One. 

 

Usama bin Laden is an Islamic theologian at heart.  His theology proclaims that Saudi Arabia is the Holy Land because it bears the two sacred cities of Mecca and Medina, and it must not be desecrated by infidel feet. His theology proclaims Jihad. That’s holy war. Jihad can have a spiritual meaning like making war with one’s self in order to totally surrender to God. (Remember in Arabic “Islam” means “to surrender.”) Or Jihad can mean an outright declaration of war against infidels who will not surrender themselves to the one right answer about God--the Islamic answer. That one right answer is contained in the Shahada (one of Islam’s five pillars). Shahada is a one-line personal profession of faith that “there is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.” This Allah-God is most gracious and merciful, but he is not love That’s too weak and too unworthy a designation for the Almighty One.

 

That, of course, paves the way for Usama bin Laden and Islamic terrorists. If Allah is not love, then it’s not too difficult for Usama and his disciples to turn Allah into a terrorist who sends suicide bombers slamming into the Twin Towers at Ground Zero, murdering three thousand innocent human beings with one grand slam in the name of Allah.  If Allah were love, you would never be permitted to do something so horrendous in the name of Allah.

 

The same, of course, applies to Christians. If God is love, how could the crusaders of the 12th and 13th centuries have gone forth in nomine Domini, in the name of the Lord, to terrorize the countryside as they made their way to the Holy Land to wrest the holy sepulcher of Jesus from the Muslims? If God is love how could the Holy Inquisition of the 13th and 14th centuries have gone forth in nomine Domini, in the name of the Lord, to terrorize heretics and burn St. Joan of Arc at the stake?  God is not terror. God is love. Deus caritas est.

 

As I look back now on a good half century of ministry I see how much time and energy I spent on people whose Catholic God was not love but terror. Of course, I first had to get rid of my own terrorist God before I could be of any good to others. Back in those days Catholics were terrified of God because they were in “bad marriages.” Terrified of God because of all their “dirty thoughts.” Terrified of God because they hadn’t gone to confession for ages or had hidden something in confession. Terrified of God because they were practicing birth control. Terrified of God because they were gay or lesbian. Some were even terrified because they had swallowed a few snowflakes on the way to Mass, back in the days when a drop of water or a speck of food was strictly forbidden before Communion. Then the Pentecostal winds of Vatican II blew away much of the terror of the good old days. In its place a Holy Spirit proclaiming God is love came rushing in.

 

The god of terror dies slowly

But the god of terror dies slowly. In his delightful little volume Travels with Charley (his dog), John Steinbeck tells how he bought himself a huge RV equipped with all the necessities for housekeeping and then went on a long exploration of the good old USA.  He relates how, one Sunday morning in a Vermont town, he got himself shaved and his shoes polished, and off he went in search of a church.  He spied a John Knox church and there he stopped.  It was blindingly white on the outside and immaculately clean within. He took a seat in the rear of the church far away from the pulpit and preacher, as congregants do the world over, even though the preacher takes a weekly bath.

 

“The prayers were to the point,” he writes. “They directed the attention of the Almighty to certain weaknesses and un-divine tendencies which I know to be mine and could only suppose were shared by others gathered there. The service did my heart some good. It had been a long time since I heard such an approach. The minister, a man of iron with tool-steel eyes and a delivery like a pneumatic drill, opened up with prayer and reassured us that we were a pretty sorry lot. Then he went into a glorious fire-and-brimstone sermon. Having proved that we, or perhaps only I, were no damn good, he painted with cool certainty what was likely to happen to us if we didn’t make some basic reorganizations of our lives, for which he didn’t hold out much hope. He spoke of hell as an expert would—not as a watered-down version but as a good hard coal fire with plenty of draft to it and a squad of devils putting their hearts into their work, and their work was me. I began to feel good all over.”

 

With the same tongue-in-cheek or cynicism, I’m not sure which, he continues, “This Vermont God cares enough about me to go to the trouble of kicking the hell out of me. He put my sins in new perspective. Whereas they had been small and mean and nasty and best forgotten, this minister gave them some size and bloom and dignity. I hadn’t been thinking very well of myself for some years, but if my sins had this dimension to them, there was still some pride left. I wasn’t just a naughty child but a first rate sinner, and I was going to catch it.   I felt so revived in spirit that I put five dollars into the plate, and afterward, in front of the church, shook hands warmly with the minister.” The god of terror dies slowly. 

 

Religion without terror

At this point a question looms its head. If we take the terror out of religion, what in the world will keep religion in business? More importantly, if we take the terror out of religion what in the world will keep us religious? Let’s say you’re on the road to Jericho, and you come upon a poor man who is waylaid by robbers and left half dead. And let’s say you’ve managed to deprive your religion of its power to terrify you. What’s left to make you religious on the road to Jericho? What’s left to make you stop your very busy life or stop your very selfish life to pour the oil of compassion into the poor man’s wounds and hurry him off to the nearest inn for care and cure.

 

What’s left?  My gosh, the best is left. Your humanity is left. That’s a voice down deep within yourself crying out for you to be what you were created to be: a human being. Not a selfish self-centered passer-by but a  human being—compassionate, caring and serving. The poor man waylaid by robbers certainly needs your humanity. Even God  in some sense needs your humanity if he is to reward you. But at the end of the day, you need your humanity even more than they do. That’s what makes you a human being. That’s what fulfills you.

 

Yes, he is (Benedict)

Deus caritas est. God is love, says  John in his first letter. No he isn’t, says Islam. Yes he is,  says Pope Benedict XVI. On Christmas Day 2005, he put his signature upon his very first encyclical. An encyclical is a teaching letter of highest papal authority. The first half is said to have been written by the pope in German, his mother tongue. The encyclical was promulgated on January 25, 200,6 in Latin and officially translated into seven other languages (English, French, German, Italian, Polish, Portuguese and Spanish).

 

Encyclicals get their names from their opening Latin words. And guess what the opening words of Benedict’s very first encyclical are? They are “Deus caritas est”from John’s first letter. That’s the name with which this encyclical will always be referred to in the future. The talk now will be about Benedict’s encyclical  Deus caritas est. The opening line of his encyclical is “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him” (1 Jn 4:16).

 

Speaking of his very first encyclical Benedict said, "Since God has first loved us love is no longer a mere command; it is the response to the gift of love with which God draws near to us.” Then the pope made a veiled reference to Islamic terrorism when he said, “In a world where the name of God is sometimes associated with vengeance or even a duty of hatred and violence (Jihad), this message is both timely and significant. For this reason, I wish in my first encyclical to speak of the love which God lavishes upon us and which we in turn must share with others." In previewing his encyclical in Rome Benedict said, “The word love is so tarnished, so spoiled and so abused, that one is almost afraid to pronounce it. But we cannot simply abandon it. We must take it up again, purify it and give back to it its original splendor.” That, he said, was the purpose of this first teaching letter.

 

A surprise

A pope’s first encyclical is a reliable indicator of the tone and direction his pontificate will take. Benedict’s choice of love as the topic for his very first important statement to the universal church befuddled those of us who try to pigeonhole him as a doctrinal hardliner and disciplinarian. He surprised a number of people when he rejects the polarization of Eros and Agape. (Eros is desiring love or sexual love, and Agape is self-giving and ministering love.) Benedict rejects polarizing the two because it makes Eros pagan and Agape Christian.  He argues, instead, that both intermingle. But at the same time, he wants to rescue love from cheap counterfeits. Love can simply be another name for selfishness and desire, or a fleeting sentiment of attraction.  To become fully human, Benedict says Eros must mature into Agape.

The pope’s affirmation of Eros, indeed, surprised one person who wrote, “I started reading Deus caritas est expecting to be disappointed, chastised and generally laid low. An encyclical on love from a right-wing pope could only contain more damning condemnations of our materialistic, westernized society, more evocations of the `intrinsic evil’ of contraception, married priests, and homosexuality. It would surely continue the Church’s grand tradition of contempt for the erotic, a tradition that ensures a guilty hangover in any Roman Catholic who dares to indulge in lovemaking for any reason other than the primary one of reproduction. How wonderful it is to be proven wrong.”

Conclusion.

Despite himself

Benedict’s  first  encyclical is very profound. Benedict is a profound man. It’s probably too profound for many of us except, perhaps, seminary professors, preachers and picky theologians. His encyclical is very long. It contains almost 16,000 words in 42 paragraphs over 70 pages. It’s probably too long for many of us who are too busy for anything longer than a sound byte.

At the end of the day, what are we to say about this man who at one time as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was called “Top Cop” for John Paul II, or “God’s Rottwieiler,” or even “Cardinal Ratz”? What are we to say about this man who at one time was called “Cardinal No”--- no to divorce, no to birth control, no to homosexuality, no to women priests, no to married priests, and even no to rock and roll? What are we to say about this man who at one time, as dean of the College of Cardinals, was celebrant for the opening Mass for the conclave (which, to the utter consternation of many, elected him as pope) and in his homily berated the “dictatorship of relativism” -- berated the idea that anything goes?

Today we praise him because in his first letter to the universal church he did not draw clear-cut lines in the sands or take to task wayward theologians or launch off into the “dictatorship of relativism.” We praise him because, at the end of the day and perhaps despite himself, he has it down right: God is not orthodoxy. God is not law. God is not terror. God is love. Deus caritas est.