Joseph Stoutzenberger

The Belsnickel

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

In the Pennsylvania Dutch communities of Berks and Lancaster counties where I grew up, there is an interesting character who emerges every Christmas time. The Belsnickel (I always hear it pronounced Belschnickel) is a mischievous, crochety old man dressed in rags carrying a hefty bag over his shoulder. He visits families to check on the children, promising treats for those who have been good and nasty tricks on those who haven’t. My understanding is that this character emerged in Germany during the time of the Protestant Reformation. Protestants downplayed saints and viewed Catholic attitudes toward them as bordering on superstition. For that reason, St. Nicholas, later Santa Claus, was sidelined as the patron saint of children who checked to see if they have been naughty or nice. Protestants came up with the Belsnickel to represent that mysterious, “better watch out,” figure, and seems to be more ambiguous than Santa even though he too has a bag of treats to hand out.

Recently, some commercial genius came up with the idea of Elf on the Shelf. Here again, the point is that someone—a higher power—is watching and can be appealed to in order to keep children behaving leading up to Christmas. Of course, the presumption for children is that they are being good and deserving of gifts. Not to make too much of these additions to Christmas traditions, they both cling to a notion that God is always watching so we better avoid wrongdoing. That theme resonates with the emphasis on sin and guilt that was commonplace in Catholicism before the mid-1960s. There was even a term, “Catholic guilt,” that many people associated with their experience of the faith at the time. Especially during Lent and Advent, Catholics flocked to confession so that they could be forgiven their sins in order to receive Communion at Easter and Christmas. Aside from these two holydays, few Catholics received Communion at Mass, despite Pope Pius X in 1905 exhorting them to go to confession and receive Communion more than the requirement of once a year for both. Vatican Council II, held from 1962-65, ushered in a great backlash against the emphasis on sin and guilt. Confessions went down; receiving Communion went up in numbers. God wasn’t a Belsnickel or an Elf on the Shelf but a compassionate God modeled in the image of Jesus in the gospels and made visual in the manger scene introduced by St. Francis of Assisi in the thirteenth century.

An old bearded man, the Belsnickel, standing in a snowy forest with a lantern.

Our local church always put up a Christmas creche, and a statue of baby Jesus was placed there on Christmas eve. He is laying in his bed of straw with his arms outstretched as if in a gesture of welcome, reaching out for a loving embrace. We would take a piece of straw from this Christmas display and bring it home as a reminder that the Christ child, the symbol of God’s love and not judgment, is with us always.

Does there remain a place for Santa and the Belsnickel, who call us to pay attention to our actions? Rightly understood, they are calling us not just to think about receiving gifts but to consider how we are and can be gifts for others. Children, how are you contributing to the betterment of your family, your school mates, and the people you meet? Questions of self-examination need not be guilt producing but rather can be energizing for young and old. They engender being attentive to our moral health and provide grounds for hope—we can make a difference! These playful, mischievous characters can add to the magic of Christmas, especially if they link us back to what Christians understand to be the true meaning of Christmas.

Jews have Yom Kippur and Muslims have Ramadan as times for self-assessment. Just as Lent is designed to be, Advent, the time leading up to Christmas, can serve the same purpose for Christians, including Christian children. There was never a question but that Santa had only toys and treats in his bag, despite the threat of receiving only bricks of coal in one’s stocking. The Belsnickel’s bag is more ominous: What’s in that old sack he is carrying? The few times I have seen a Belsnickel character show up at events, it struck me that he has a message worth pondering. He reminds us that our actions have consequences. What he has in his bag will come out as welcome or unwelcome gifts, not because some higher power is out to punish us but because we make a difference in all that we do. We are all called to be a force for good. It’s a message children can understand and appreciate, even while knowing that the Christ child embraces them and invites them to join him in making our world a little better.

Are Saints Human?

Saint Francis of Assisi with crossed hands in prayer

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I have written a number of textbooks for use in Catholic high school religion courses. Some years ago, my brother Jim, a math teacher at York Catholic High School, saw a student carrying a book I had written. He told the student, “My brother wrote that book.” The student shrugged him off and said, “No, he didn’t.” My brother pointed out that the author’s last name and his were the same, but the student still didn’t believe him. It struck me that for many people books are not written by real people but by some creator who doesn’t exist in the real world. This past year, American Catholics have had an eye-opening and totally unexpected experience. An American was elected pope. Here was someone who grew up in a real place, Chicago, went to White Sox games, and attended Villanova University, where there are students today just like him walking the halls.

St. Therese of Lisieux, known as the “Little Flower,” died at age 24 just over 125 years ago, but she quickly became one of the most popular saints among Catholics. Depictions of her in statues and “holy cards” portray her as generically beautiful and saintly even though she is the first saint ever to have had photographs taken of her. Those photos show that she was physically attractive, but no more so than many other young French girls of her time. She apparently was a spoiled, at times even bratty, child who clung to her father and was overly sensitive to how she was treated, especially by him. She was an attention seeker. She entered a local Carmelite monastery at the age of fifteen, a place where women separated themselves from the outside world and dedicated themselves to constant prayer. Therese discovered that the way to holiness that suited her was the way of littleness. She was content to be like an overlooked plaything in God’s closet, not engaged in great works but in simply doing little things for others. That message caught on among Catholics in the early 1900s and continues to this day. Most of us live our life of holiness around the kitchen table, food shopping, going to work or school, and interacting with the people we meet daily. Therese’s “little way” of holiness happens in such places, and it’s easy to see why it has been appealing to so many Catholics.

Unlike other Christian groups, Catholics have devotion to saints. If there are statues of saints in a church, they are typically portrayed as anything but human. They may have a halo around their head, their face is without blemish, and they wear clothes that regular folks simply don’t wear. They are other-worldly. They didn’t have struggles and questions or traits that were off-putting to many people who actually knew them. Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement who is being considered for sainthood today, famously said: “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.” She knew that she was a flawed person, and she didn’t want to be relegated to some exclusive club of otherworldly figures. She felt that everyone is called to holiness, not just a select few who lived among us wearing a halo and with angelic music trailing them wherever they went. Saints are not comic book superheroes. They faced the conflicts and troubles of their time and tried to address them in the spirit of Jesus, as we are all called to do.

However, it’s important to remember the human side to this popular saint. Since she was so young—she entered the convent at age fifteen, and was exemplary in her piety, she was admired by the other sisters as their little saint. Her mother superior, in charge of the monastery, recognized that she had a talent for writing, so she was encouraged to keep a journal. She contracted tuberculosis in her early twenties, from which she suffered greatly and which took her life. When she became sick, she was encouraged to put up with her suffering and “offer it up” as a good little saint would do. She, however, asked to have her uncle, a doctor, visit her and prescribe medicine to help with the pain, a very human request but not at the time considered a “saintly” one. The sister nursing her even kept the pain pills away from her for fear that she would take too many. In other words, Therese Martin, the Little Flower, was addressing her illness in a very human way. That human response enhances her message of following the little way. Masochism is not saintliness. In hospitals today, doctors and nurses seek to make their patients as comfortable as possible. Such commonplace acts of kindness are saintly, even more so for being so humane. As we go through life, suffering happens and can even lead to valuable spiritual insights. However, masochism is not saintliness. Even Jesus said, “Let this cup pass from me” when faced with the physical and emotional pain about to be inflicted on him.

Where are the holy ones today? They are retrieving shopping carts in grocery store parking lots, watching over children in pre-school programs, even trying their best to navigate being homeless on city streets. Don’t look for halos or listen for angelic music. Instead, be attentive to how goodness is lived out in very human ways by very human people. With every simple act of kindness, count yourself among the holy ones.

Holiday Cheer

A man kneeling in a church with stain glass windows.

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I grew up Christian and specifically Catholic, so my experience of Christmas is filtered through that lens. For me, the Christmas season always brings back memories of the Christmases of my childhood. Overall, those memories are warm and cozy, and now they exist in a timelessness that belies the reality of any unpleasantness that was also part of the holiday experience over the years. Holidays of all religions and cultures are an important break from the dailiness of our lives, and that is certainly true of Christmas if entered into as it is carved out in the Christian calendar. Even God took a break from the work of creation to rest on the Sabbath. If we give ourselves over to them, holidays can serve as a time of meditation, a breaking free from the weight of working, analytical thinking, and doing. Granted, distractions are everywhere, even more so at this time of year. Would that even shopping, decorating, baking, and meal preparation could be done in a spirit of festive joy. Christmastime works best if it is entered into with a meditative mindset. Of course, there is the hustle and bustle in holiday preparations and gatherings; but if it works its magic, there is also that spirit of connection to the infinite underlying holiday traditions and greetings. So much is lost if we don’t set aside some time to enter into this spirit of Christmas with the joy and reverence it deserves. It is appropriate, perhaps even necessary, to connect Christmastime with the sense of openness, wonder, and joyful expectation we associate with childhood.

During my youth, Christmas was viewed as such a solemn occasion that wars stopped. The idea of one nation killing people of another nation on this holiest of days was unthinkable in light of the meaning of Christmas, even if it lasted only a day. A Christmas ceasefire symbolized peace on earth, in aspiration if not in reality. The great powers of the earth had the sense to bow down before the seemingly powerless babe in the manger. Perhaps they realized that their power would end, no matter how righteous they considered their cause; but the love embodied at Christmas transcends time. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, last Christmas sermon before his untimely death was all about nonviolence. He knew that a central tenet of Jesus’ message was a rejection of violence and a call for peace. Up to the very end of his life, King held onto his dream of a peaceful world community expressed in his famous 1963 speech; and he lived out his message in countless nonviolent campaigns.

Although it is in danger of getting lost, the central image for Christmas, the reason for the season, is the birth of Jesus. You can watch endless so-called Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel, and Jesus is never mentioned, although love always is. (I leave it to someone else to watch these movies to verify whether or not that statement is valid.) I find the manger scene richer, more compelling, than Elf on the Shelf, outlandish Christmas sweaters, and syrupy sweet movies. There is the Christ child, exposed to the elements in the humblest of settings. His parents, of peasant stock, hover over him, with shepherds peering in to attest to the wonder of the event. Animals aren’t mentioned in the two gospel stories about Christ’s birth; but, thanks to St. Francis of Assisi, they are a welcome addition to the earthiness of the scene. This child is Emmanuel, God-with-us! Quite a cause for celebration. Hopefully, that realization underlies every greeting, every gathering, every carol sung, every tree trimmed, and every tradition observed. When we sing “we need a little Christmas,” we mean that we need a reminder that the loving God has broken into our finitude, shares our home, and invites us to spread that message. Even a child can appreciate and wonder at that gift, and what better image of God-with-us than a newborn wrapped in swaddling clothes?

They Have Forgotten How to Blush

Image of a man kneeling in prayer within a room with stain glass windows.

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

My paternal grandfather Jeremiah died two months before I was born, so I was going to be named after him until at the last minute my mother decided it was too long a name to go with my 14-letter last name. I ended up Joseph. Nonetheless, I was drawn to the book of Jeremiah and felt some connection to the troubled prophet who has a book named after him in the bible. Twice Jeremiah says about the rulers of his country: This people has forgotten how to blush. A few people were accumulating great wealth and power while many others were starving to death or barely getting by. Jeremiah tries to warn everyone that such inequalities are an abomination in the eyes of God; but the rich and powerful, who lived in ornate palaces while just outside their walls children were hungry and homeless, didn’t even blush. Does this apply at all to today?

It’s human to blush when we feel embarrassed or ashamed. Granted, it’s not life-giving to let such feelings linger and hinder our entering fully into life. Blushing works best when it leads to action. Mistakes are inevitably made; that’s part of being human. If we have no capacity for introspection and don’t feel the pain of others, especially when we have been complicit in inflicting that pain, we won’t take action to help others. Jeremiah reminds us that blushing is part of that process. Not to blush ever is to lack conscience. Catholics have a sacrament designed to help people be honest with themselves, admit to mistakes, and then to “do penance,” which means to make amends however possible. Without doing penance of some kind, the confessional process is hollow. Alcoholics Anonymous is also built upon the premise that the starting point for overcoming the problem is to admit that there is a problem: “My name is Sarah, and I’m an alcoholic.” To blush is to admit to a problem. Part of AA’s program is eventually to seek out people who were hurt when the person was drinking, to ask forgiveness and, if possible, to make amends.

Abraham Lincoln was a president who recognized the importance of repentance. He declared April 30, 1863, as a “day of national humiliation, prayer, and fasting” to remind us, like Jeremiah, that at times we have cause to blush. Lincoln reminded us that our nation has been blessed abundantly, but that we also have strayed at times from the ways of God. We need to set aside an entire day to collectively examine the state of the nation and how God is calling us to mend our ways. He was asking us to think about how we are spending our wealth. How are the least among us being helped or hurt by our policies? Is the tone of our national discourse one of mutual respect for all parties, or is it demeaning to those who disagree with us? Are we caught up in retribution for perceived wrongs or open to forgiveness and reconciliation?

Lincoln carried the burden of a civil war in which so many people were slaughtered by, in his view, fellow citizens. He saw that at the time there was much to be embarrassed and ashamed about as a nation. A day of prayer might be a catalyst for reconciliation and healing. It seems we need a Jeremiah today to ask our leaders and all of us: “Have you forgotten how to blush?” We also need a Lincoln who can lead the way in a process of self-examination to ascertain whether words and actions deflect and blame others or seek common ground in the search for uplifting the wellbeing of all. Jeremiah doesn’t hold back in his criticism, and his words seem to be disturbingly applicable to some of our leaders: “You lie and cheat to make yourselves rich. You are powerful and prosperous, but you refuse to help the poor get the justice they deserve” (5:27-28). Learning how to blush is a necessary step in making America the great city on a hill of morality, justice, and shared prosperity where no one is left out.

America’s Changing Cultural Landscape

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I recently attended a gathering of Jews, Christians, and Muslims discussing the state of interreligious relations today. The Jewish speaker mentioned that Jews question whether or not it was a good thing that Christianity came into existence two thousand years ago. I had never thought to ask that question before. Jews can claim Jesus as one of their own. Certainly, neither he nor his earliest followers ever thought of themselves as anything other than Jewish, and other Jews accepted them as part of their community. A decade or so after Jesus, more and more non-Jews were drawn to his message. St. Paul, the most prolific preacher of the Jesus movement at the time, faced this dilemma head on and recommended that people drawn to Jesus not from a Jewish background did not have to convert to Judaism to be accepted into table fellowship with those from a Jewish background. That led to a hybrid entity, in time called Christianity, built upon but separate from Judaism. Perhaps the Jewish speaker at the conference was asking us to consider whether or not this emergence of Christianity separate from Judaism has been good news for Jews throughout history.

I realized that Christians can ask the same question of Islam. Would the world have been better off without the birth of that religion in Christian-dominated western Asia and northern Africa? At the time in that area, Christians were battling one other, sometimes even literally killing one other over differences of belief. Muhammad had no intention of starting a new religion. He saw himself as directly in line with prophets who came before him, from Abraham to Jesus. Fairly quickly, his message of law-regulated justice and peace resonated with more and more people who desired the heated disagreements among them to settle down. Alas, Islam did become a separate entity, just as Christianity had before it. History attests to the tensions and at times open warfare among some Jews, Christians, and Muslims. What about today?

Photo by Luis Quintero: https://www.pexels.com/photo/people-holding-hands-during-religious-gathering-16102709/

In America today, there are voices calling for the United States to be a Christian nation. Specifically, they propose that it was founded as a nation based on what are believed to be the values and ideals that emerged out of the Protestant movement in sixteenth-century western Europe. In this worldview, the diversity we find in our communities endangers those values. Another perspective is that America has always been a “nation of immigrants,” enriched by the contributions of people from many different backgrounds. The ideals enshrined in our founding documents and symbolized by the Statue of Liberty are actually a seedbed for welcoming differences and mutually enriching exchanges among people. “Liberty and justice for all” means freedom to be who you are if it contributes to the common good. The American melting pot is more a stew made up of different ingredients than a bowl of indistinguishable mush.

Allow me to mention how I have lately been enjoying one manifestation of the contributions of the variety of people recently come to our country. Within just a couple miles of my house in Erdenheim, I now have a delightful mix of restaurants to choose from. At the end of my street is a traditional American diner, which gets crowded at breakfast time. I also have six Mexican restaurants almost within walking distance. A Peruvian woman has opened a take-out, catering business that now employs four young women from the neighborhood to work the counter. I presume the owner is a legal resident of the country, but what a loss it would be if she were whisked away by ICE agents. Neighbors would miss her delicious food offerings, four women would be without work, and local farmers would go in search of other places to sell their produce. I am also grateful for the Thais, two Indian, three Chinese, one dim sum Japanese, and two Persian restaurants not far from my house. Add two Italian restaurants, a Jewish deli, and a Korean bubble tea shop that are also nearby.

I mention these restaurants as a representation of the contributions to the common good, and my enjoyment, brought about by recent immigrants. The burger and fries eating places of the 1950s gave way to pizza joints a decade later. Now young people know and enjoy Mexican foods, hummus and veggies, and even Chinese dumplings. Is it too far a stretch to say that such variety also represents the value of an exchange of multiple perspectives on more profound matters? America is enriched when different people bring to the table distinctive foods as well as different thought-provoking points of view. It’s a learning experience and an exercise in peace building when Jews, Christians, and Muslims talk openly together, and I’m developing a taste even for that spicy Indian food.

Simple Gifts

A person's hands holding out a small pumpkin.

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

When the hospice nurse met with us about our brother, we mentioned that there were moments when he was alert and coherent and aware that we were there with him. She said, “Yes, such moments are common, even when people are dying. We call them gifts.” Later, I reminded myself that there have been moments in my own life when I felt more attentive and more connected to the people and the world around me. They were gifts, moments of feeling more alive. More often than not, I was not aware of them at the time. It’s good practice to think back on a day when my little life has been enriched with the simple gifts of connection and grace. And if at any time I have been the catalyst for enhancing the life of others in some simple way—sharing gifts—all the better.

Coming home from Lancaster to Philadelphia this October, we stopped at a little community park to change drivers. We walked a bit before resuming our trip, and a man came up to us and said, “I’m chief of police here, and we have a whole bin of pumpkins left over from our trunk or treat event last night. Won’t you take some home with you?” We had passed many stands selling pumpkins, and I thought we should stop and buy one. Now, instead, we were offered free pumpkins by a kindly chief of police in a township I couldn’t even name. Our stash of fresh pumpkins now line our front steps. It was a brief, unanticipated encounter, but the kind of little treat that makes life more pleasant.

Photo by Joshua Slate: https://www.pexels.com/photo/selective-focus-photography-of-pumpkins-594584/

Many books have been written lately about entering into the present moment and delighting in it. Richard Rohr’s Center for Action and Contemplation has a treasure trove of resources to help people cultivate being attentive to the divine presence in the simple ordinariness of our daily lives. Walt Whitman was an American pioneer in celebrating the beauty of the present. For him, “every moment of the light and dark is a miracle.” Jesus had a way of drawing our attention to the simple gifts that surround us. Just as he saw them, we also see birds flying overhead if we pause to look. By drawing our attention to birds above, he enkindles in us a sense of comfort and reassurance, that their untroubled existence can inspire us to hand over our own cares into the hands of a loving God. We enjoy bread without contemplating what Jesus reminded us about, that simple yeast, invisible though it is, makes it rise to our delight. Who can’t imagine what it must feel like to be a lost sheep or beaten and robbed while traveling? In so many of his stories and examples, Jesus was attempting to spark deeper awareness in us of what we often overlook. Even when not facing imminent death, we can appreciate such experiences as gifts.

There’s no guidebook for slipping into unconsciousness and out of consciousness as we face death. For those holding vigil, it is a gift when lucidity shines through the twilight sleep of the dying. Holding onto life comes naturally. The central Christian message, celebrated at Easter and at every Mass, is that a lifetime of moments of awareness and connection go with us beyond death. The Catholic funeral liturgy offers the following words of hope for grieving loved ones: “My brothers and sisters, we believe that all the ties of friendship and affection which knit us as one throughout our lives do not unravel with death.” Savor those moments of feeling alive, even simple pleasures. They stay with us, even as we enter the timelessness of eternity and our consciousness slips away.

Sympathy for the Devil

A young man in quiet reflection, bathed in soft divine light, symbolizing spiritual awakening and the universal power of love and forgiveness.

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

In my freshman year in college, I had what felt like a sudden flash of insight. It happened as I was alone in my dorm room listening to the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil,” the song with the lyrics “Every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners saints.” My insight actually had nothing to do with the song, but I started to think back on my life, wondering if all my wrongdoing would condemn me to hell. I experienced this strong sense that I was not slated for hell, and neither was anyone else. To believe otherwise would be prideful on my part since it would mean that my fate was in my own hands and not that of a loving God. Who was I to believe that my behaviors were ultimately more impactful than the all-powerful, all-loving God?

I later discovered that I was in good company about this insight into eternal life. Shinran, a founder of Shin (“Pure Land”) Buddhism in the early thirteenth century, had been trying to attain enlightenment through his own rigorous efforts. He realized how arrogant he was in believing he could rely on his own power to reach nirvana. In that moment, he envisioned rays of light and comforting warmth emanating from the Buddha of Divine Light; and he realized the wisdom in the words, “I take refuge in the Buddha.” He later wrote, “For those who entrust themselves to this Primal Vow, no good acts are required, because no good surpasses it. Nor need they despair of the evil they commit, for no evil can obstruct the working of Amida’s Primal Vow.” In short, place your trust in “other-power,” that of the compassionate Buddha, rather than in “self-power.”

Shinran kneeling in radiant golden light, symbolizing his realization of trusting in the compassionate power of Amida Buddha.

The early Muslim Sufi saint, Rabia, often gave voice to this insight in words such as: “I want to put out the fires of Hell, and burn down the rewards of Paradise. They block the way to Allah. I do not want to worship from fear of punishment or for the promise of reward, but simply for the love of Allah.” Ultimately, love conquers all, so let go of delusions of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders or of your eternal fate being in the hands of your actions, good or bad.

Perhaps Evangelical Christians are talking about a similar experience when they speak about being “saved” by Jesus. Often it follows a recognition of their own sinfulness and inadequacy but are deeply moved to find salvation in their heart. Martin Luther spoke of justification by faith alone, not good works. He transformed from being pathologically scrupulous to placing his trust in Jesus, the embodiment of a loving God whose sacrifice relieved Luther of the burden of needing to earn his way to heaven.

You may be feeling uneasy at this point. Doesn’t such an attitude lead to passivity in the face of evil? “What about Hitler and the Nazis?” you might ask. We could list plenty of other examples of what rightly appears to be evil personified. Saying “God loves everyone” sounds painfully hollow when we confront the evils we know existed and continue to exist in our world. It’s a challenge to believe in a God of unconditional love. It seems more natural to place restrictions on that love. One action that sheds some light on the dilemma is when people victimized by another find it in their heart to forgive their wrongdoer. Forgiveness on the human level is a glimmer of divine light in the world. Pope John Paul II forgave the man who shot him, visiting him in prison to tell him so face to face. More recently, Amish parents notably forgave the man who murdered their children at their school. At the man’s funeral, more people in attendance were Amish than not, and some of the money donated to the Amish families they gave to the man’s grieving widow. Even more recently, Erika Kirk found in her Christian faith the strength to say she forgave her husband’s killer. Surely that message was more healing and more an affront to evil than if she had not done so. Reject evil, fight it tirelessly; but forgiveness, not vengeance and retribution, is from God. Evil is troubling, as the Stones’ song says; but if we give into it, we chip away at the message so many mystics from many traditions have told us: God is love. As Romans, chapter 8, reminds us: nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

God Paints the Leaves

Sunlit autumn forest with vivid red and gold leaves, evoking the image of God painting the treetops.

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I picked up my four-year-old grandson Brendan from daycare one day, when autumn was in full bloom, and he remarked as we drove down a tree-lined street: “Grandpa, God paints the leaves, and God is very tall so that he can paint the leaves on the tippy-tops of the trees.” At first, I found his comments amusing. Then, giving it more thought, I realized that he was making a simple but profound theological statement. At the time, I was briefly tempted to use Brendan’s musings to lead in to giving him a scientific explanation about why leaves change color, but then I realized that I didn’t understand it either! Brendan was making a theological observation, emerging from his poetic imagination rather than science. Hopefully, religions don’t reject science, but their mode of expression and language is based on shared stories and poetry.

For instance, Buddhism is based on the story of a prince who lowers himself to live as a wandering beggar. That story is an insightful commentary on the human quest for truth. When I was in Turkey, I visited a mosque complex where the entrance was so low that it required bending down to enter onto the grounds. The Muslim guide explained that it reminded everyone, even royalty, that they were to bow down before God, as all Muslims do when they prostrate themselves in prayer. The Christian story is somewhat different. It is based on the notion that it is God who bows down, becoming little by entering into humanity’s fragility in the person of the infant Jesus, as Christians celebrate each Christmas.

Stories such as these make a statement about the human condition that scientists can’t explain, even though I imagine they stand in awe at the vastness of the universe and the intricacies of life on earth. Religions depend on a leap of faith, taking one step beyond science to acknowledge the mystery that we find ourselves in. The medieval Christian mystic Meister Eckhart was looking at the same reality that scientists see and said: “If the only prayer you ever said was thank you, that would be enough.” That’s the simple leap of faith religions suggest as a response to gazing at the stars at night and the sight of leaves breaking forth in autumnal splendor each fall. Prayer is called for, not just scientific explanations; and silent prayer is usually more fitting than words.

Grandfather and young grandson walking under glowing autumn trees, the child marveling at the colorful leaves painted by nature.

That same Brendan, now in college, traveled to Japan this summer and brought me back a painting he said reminded him of the two of us when he was a child. The painting is a simple depiction of a tall older man and a small boy, both with hands behind their back and both looking up at a bird in a tree. I presume they were merely observing, not analyzing the bird or the tree or their existence. They were simply present. The present moment is indeed a present, a gift from God. Poetry seeks to express in words that gift, as do religious stories. They move us to humble gratitude for the littleness that reveals a vastness behind each moment, more hinted at than rationally explained. Many psalms express in poetry the insight about God’s connection to the beauty around us: “I see your handiwork in the heavens, the moon and stars you set in place…Lord our God, the whole world tells the greatness of your name” (Psalm 8).

Jesus told stories about tiny mustard seeds that work their magic to become fruitful bushes, and overlooked street people being invited to a luscious banquet. He was appealing to our poetic imagination. Life without poetry, without a sense of the grand story underlying the mundane, is mere survival. As Meister Eckhart reminds us: “We must learn an inner solitude wherever or with whomsoever we may be. We must learn to penetrate things and find God there.” God’s story cannot be separated from the earth’s story and our story, and the earth story cannot be separated from God’s. God paints the leaves.

A Disarming Presence

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

I recently read about a procession of Catholics in Chicago making their way to an ICE detention center where a number of people were being held (October, 2025). A priest carrying the Eucharist in a monstrance under a canopy led the procession. Another priest carried a ciborium with eucharistic hosts. The group approached the center where state police stopped them and went into the facility to ask ICE agents if the priest could come in to distribute communion and pray with those being held. He told the group that they were not allowed in, so they held a communion prayer service outside of the building.

The image of Catholics wanting to pray with frightened people held against their will and not knowing their fate was heartening and disheartening at the same time. Good for those Catholics who recognized these people as fellow human beings in need of the comfort of prayer. Sad that their overseers viewed prayer and communion as a threat undermining the power wielded over them. I know that prisons in the Philly area hold religious services for even the most hardened of inmates. Religious fervor is often commonplace in prisons among people who have little else to hope for. Pope Francis made it a point of visiting prisoners whenever he came to a country for an official visit. One of his first acts as pope was to wash the feet of some inmates in a Rome prison.

St. Francis and Sultan al-Kamil converse peacefully in a golden desert, with distant soldiers fading into the background

I recall a picture in my high-school church history course that depicts Pope Leo the Great meeting with the feared leader of the Huns, Attila, in the fifth century. The outcome was that Attila did not sack Rome, as he had been doing throughout much of Europe. Perhaps there was more myth than history portrayed in the telling of the story, but it suggested that the presence of the holy can be disarming whereas a militaristic stance would have only escalated into the devastation of Rome. We could use some disarming today. In Latin American countries, the military is designed not to fight wars against foreigners but to keep their own citizens in line. In the United States, the military has always been intended to serve as protection against external threats. That distinction is being blurred today, as very militaristic agents camp outside of schools, churches, and places of business seeking to arrest anyone who looks like they might be in the country without proper documentation. Showing up to share communion with detainees is an attempt to be a disarming presence. Those people swept off the streets while dropping off their children at school deserve humane treatment, at least if there is any truth to the Christian message.

During the Crusades, when Christian knights were poised to attack Muslims warriors in Egypt, St. Francis of Assisi walked with a companion into the no-man’s-land between the battle lines. He was quickly picked up by Muslim soldiers who recognized him as a holy man. (Muslims of the time had their own men and women who dressed in simple robes and dedicated their lives to spiritual pursuits.) Francis met with the Muslim leader in Egypt, who was more interested in philosophy and spirituality than in military conquest. Francis and al-Kamil spent a week in conversation and appear to have had mutual respect for each other. It was a disarming moment, when “power over” was set aside, replaced by openminded companionship. The Catholics hoping to share communion with detainees in Chicago reflected a basic Christian vision of how to look upon our neighbors. Jesus didn’t intend his message “Love your neighbor as yourself” to be restricted to only those who look like us or who have filled out proper papers in their escape from the life-threatening dangers of their home country. It doesn’t take much imagination for Catholics who receive communion to realize that the body of Christ they are part of includes those people who populate the detention centers in our country. It’s right there in the bible. “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (1 Corinthians).

When Bible Reading Becomes Toxic

by Joseph Stoutzenberger

A few thoughtful, zealous young men I know have taken up reading the bible regularly. They carry a copy of the book with them, attend Sunday services at a bible-centered church, and meet with other young people once a week to discuss bible passages. As a Christian myself, why am I uneasy with this preoccupation they have? Shouldn’t bible reading be encouraged in our youth? There can’t be too much of it, can there? At the risk of sounding like I’m dampening their enthusiasm, I offer some grandfatherly observations.

Historically, bible reading on a large scale was not even possible until printing presses started up in major European cities, at the end of the 1400s, and practically speaking not until a half century later, when translations in vernacular languages became available. One can only imagine how many German speakers enthusiastically welcomed the opportunity to read the bible on their own after Martin Luther translated it into highly readable German in 1534. Soon after, John Calvin used the bible as the basis of civil society in Geneva, Switzerland, and many others looked to the bible to justify any number of laws and practices. The Catholic Church of the time took a much more cautious approach to bible reading. When church leaders met at the Council of Trent, they admonished Catholics to read only approved translations of the bible and then only under the guidance of church leaders. Church leaders, supposedly with the guidance of learned theologians and the Holy Spirit, provided rightful interpretations of what bible passages mean.

My hesitation with my young friends reading the bible on their own comes from how some bible fundamentalists interpret what is written, often emphasizing passages that reflect their perspective rather than understanding historical contexts and scripture’s broader message. There is a passage (Ephesians 5:22-23) in one of the epistles that wives should be submissive to their husbands, who are the head of the family. The Catholic Church has discouraged using that passage in its liturgies, but I fear what an ardent young person might do with it. When doing his translation, Luther questioned whether the Book of Revelation should be included as part of the bible, but it’s there; and for years some fundamentalists have strained to figure out how it applies to conditions in the world today. Interpretation of scripture that lacks nuance and an understanding of biblical background can result in the bible being used to support an “us” versus “them” mentality, the few who are saved versus the multitude condemned to hell. I hope that young readers can step back and remember that the bible is meant to be good news for all.

Another caution I have about how the bible can be misused: religion and mental illness can be a toxic mix. Someone dealing with mental illness can believe that God is speaking directly to them and find all kinds of secret, dangerous messages in the bible. Hypersensitivity can at times lead someone to be absorbed in what they believe to be spiritual insights that no one else knows, sending them spiraling deeper into a mental state of isolation detached from reality.

So, young people, read the bible, search for meaning there, talk to others about its message. Your intensity and search for truth are admirable, but be humble when trying to make sense of it. Don’t neglect other pursuits and other outlets. The bible is a great drama with many twists and turns. At times, simply step back and say, “That’s interesting.” God speaks to you in this book, but conversation is a two-way street. Be careful not to equate what you think you hear with what God is actually saying. Don’t set aside common sense when trying to make sense of it. In the end, if reading the bible doesn’t enkindle in you an expansive love for yourself and others, you are misreading it. Keep the flame of the Christian message burning bright, but let it cast more light than destructive heat.