February 24, 2010

Titus 3

Paul certainly gives everyone a lot to do before signing off on this letter. A lot of it is specifics that really mean just about nothing to us now - although I've very happy for Zenas and Nicopolis for being sent out into the world, or at least worried for them. Does it do any good to put people in your prayers who have died two thousand years ago? I have, personally, always felt that prayer transcends such things. Of course, it's not like I'd know how it turned out, but I pray for a lot of things I probably wouldn't know worked out one way or another.

The admonition not to get bogged down in "stupid controversies" of every sort ("geneaology, discensions, and quarrels about the law") really hammers home the message about getting to work taking care of people and doing good works - addressing the most urgent needs in the community rather than sitting idle arguing about circumcision. If that isn't something that needs to be said to every modern politician, I don't know what does.

But we also do it all the time. How many people let themselves be driven from the Church because of the people in it? A friend of mine turned his back on Mass because of the negative energy in much of the congregation at St. Francis. Luckily, we found a church in Waynesboro with a healthy spirit, but it really puts perspective on the harsh-sounding command to "have nothing more to do with anyone who causes divisions" after a first and second warning, of course, because "you know that such a person is perverted and sinful, being self-condemned."

It's so harsh. Shouldn't we be loving them back across the line? How can we abandon people to their own negativity?

But I think we've all come up against people who weren't so much angry or bitter or sad or confused or anything you can fix. There are people who project negativity. I've had several discussions lately about whether or not one person has such an aura. I don't know, really, since she's always been nice to me, but at what point do you decide that you have to let a person go? For your own spiritual health and that of your community?

Would St. Francis be a different place if we still did this? If we cast out the usher who crosses himself whenever someone doesn't after they receive communion or the people who refuse to move over to admit you into their pew? It'd be awful, but I can't help thinking about how St. Anne's back home would be if they had gotten rid of their youth minister years ago. Before the retreat movement and the youth group went to war and the parish split its teens into those who joined what felt increasingly like a cult and those who thought it was all crazy and awkward.

Do you have to cut some people off? Is that better for the whole? Is it better for them to be in a situation where they can't cause more trouble?

It's such a harsh thing to even think of, and we'd never do it nowadays really, but how many people have been driven away by those people in the midst of the Church? How many have turned their backs from its graces and blessings? Can we let that stand? Is that on our conscience for letting the divisions spread and crack at our very foundations? Is there a way to keep them from being able to divide the congregation instead?

If so, Paul doesn't seem to have been able to find it. I hope we can.