Mystery

The concept of mystery strikes fear into many people these days. Science wants to answer every question. People ask for proof of God’s existence constantly. Something about the unknown unnerves us as human beings. We want reassurance of what is real, what can be proven, what is scientifically verifiable. Mystery? There’s no room for it. Not today. Not in our advancing world.

I want to bring mystery back. Rather than fear it, we need to embrace some level of mystery in our lives. Without mystery, the human experience would be maddeningly boring.

Imagine you are standing before your spouse on the altar ready to exchange vows and enter into matrimony. By this moment, you will hopefully know your spouse very well—preferences and personality, plans for the future and peculiarities. You have been on countless dates, shared conversation constantly, confirmed your hopes and ambitions. You must know enough to know you want to share your lives for eternity.

But some mystery remains.

You don’t know how this person will react to every situation. You can speculate, but you can never be sure. You don’t know what life will bring, and where it will take you and your spouse. You don’t know how your spouse’s appearance, cognition, and personality will change over time. Some mystery remains. Even for a couple with white hair and 50 years of marriage, some mystery remains. If there were no mystery, there would be no need for commitment. The mystery makes the investment worthwhile.

That same sense of mystery applies to our faith and our world. As much as our human curiosity creates the need to answer all questions, our human limits inevitably leave us disappointed in that quest. Some mystery remains. We should not shut down the sciences or diminish their value. Science is wonderful as a tool to understand and utilize the world, but all things cannot be known. At some point, we must be OK with that reality. Some mystery will always remain.

Have you ever noticed how often the priest refers to the “sacred mysteries” or “the mystery of our faith” in the text of the Mass? This is vital. When we encounter the Eucharist, it is a profound mystery we should constantly ponder. Why would God become incarnate and come to us in such simple elements as bread and wine? How can these things contain quite literally the King of the Universe? In his song “Remembrance,” Matt Maher poses the question: “Oh how could it be / that my God would welcome me / into this mystery? Say take this bread / take this wine / now the simple made divine. / For any to receive.”

Mystery need not be feared. We encounter it ceaselessly throughout our day, in the people we meet and the world in which we live. Yet the unknown still creates angst because our human inclination is to know and to control. God longs for us to lose control. “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?” (Matthew 6:26).

One of my classes this autumn explained the difference between the Life World—the experience we use our senses to take in—and the sciences, which seek to explain how the Life World functions. A problem comes about when some claim the theories of science supersede the realities of the Life World. The Life World is the experience upon which everything else is built. It is the foundation without which nothing else can be understood. Mathematics and science work in perfect shapes, intricately exact details, single rays of light. These fields posit theories that help explain realities, but the theories aren’t reality itself. There are no perfectly square tables whose dimensions we can find. There are no single rays of light we can separate from everything else we optically interpret. Reality is messier, more mysterious, less exact, and harder to explain.

We can explain things about the Eucharist—substance and accident layers, transubstantiation, theology of the sacrifice, the Old Testament foreshadowing—but in truth, the Pascal Mystery will always elude our human capacities, as it should. That’s what makes it divine. Similarly we should encounter the Incarnation of God as profoundly mysterious and life-giving, particularly in this Christmas Season.

This is the Year of Faith, and our faith asks us to ponder the sacred mysteries. Just as spouses spend their entire lives coming to know one another, so must we be drawn into deeper relationship with the Lord through the Church. Some mystery remains. Let us explore it.

Normalcy

Normalcy: At times I crave it as as seminarian. I live this rather set-apart life on a rural hilltop with an almost all-male population and days filled with prayer, Mass, classes, and discernment. It's not a normal life, and it shouldn't be. Preparing for the priesthood should demand a great deal from the candidate because the priesthood demands a great deal from the priest. Yet a drop of normalcy feeds the soul. As funny as it sounds, finals week felt oddly normal to me.

Perhaps because I have been a student the better part of my life, testing and writing synthesis papers seems second nature even though college is four-and-a-half years behind me. The crunch of fitting it in, the pressure of showing your work throughout the semester, the cramming of facts and ideas into my head -- all of it reminded me that in all I am doing, I am simply a student.

Other moments during finals week brought out normalcy too. My seminarian brothers excitedly departed to families and Christmas breaks, though not all of us were privileged to journey home. Some seminarians come from Africa and will celebrate Christmas with second families in the United States. Some could not afford airfare. Some had no home or were unable to return to it because of instability in their countries. My sacrifice seems so minimal compared to the Vietnamese, Columbian, Nigerian, or Ivory Coast seminarians who do not have return plans in their future. I simply hopped in the car after completing my last final on Friday, drove eight hours, and found a light on, a bed ready, and a family eager to welcome me. The biggest obstacle I faced was light snow in the Blues Mountains. I am immeasurably blessed in the normalcy of my life. Perhaps my most significant obstacle is letting go of the creature comforts that come with a blessed American life.

Normalcy appeared in odd places during finals week. I bought a rug and coat rack for my room, and it felt much cozier and personal. Normalcy. I went on a run around the hilltop on Wednesday as the clouds broke, allowing streams of sunlight through the dusk sky. Normalcy. I spoke with the choir director about the variety of things one can purchase on Amazon.com these days. Normalcy. I tried to help someone jumpstart their vehicle. Normalcy, all of it.

In a place like Mount Angel where so much is asked of us each day, moments of normalcy allow for my defenses to fall and life to feel real and authentic. Pray, if you would, that normalcy greets me and the other seminarians regularly. If we are to be excellent priests, we must understand the world and live in it even while we train for something otherworldly.

I have long neglected to post much the last few weeks, but I promise more frequent updates during this Christmas break as I have time and space to contemplate my first semester. Thanks for reading, for praying, and for walking with me in this journey. Let us rejoice in this week of preparation for Christ's coming! The incarnation is near!