As I pondered this question, I found myself turning to my patron saint, St. Joseph, and His Chaplet for guidance in prayer, which involves two Hail Mary’s and three recitations of “Pray for Us, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph” for each Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious mystery of the Rosary. As I pondered the central mysteries of each set (Joyful: Incarnation; Sorrowful: Crucifixion; Glorious: Resurrection), I thought more and more how these mysteries offered an excellent framework for understanding one’s vocation ultimately as someone who “puts on Christ” and embodies him in their own preaching of the Gospel.
It is through this framework, that I would like to share with you my own vocational journey thus far.
Incarnation
What makes the Mystery of the Incarnation truly unique is that it expresses the Holy Spirit’s working in and through contextual realities. What is particularly interesting is that it is the only “central” mystery which is smack-dab in the middle of its set. It’s almost as if the prayer in itself says “This story needs some further explanation” - a prequel and a sequel.
This means that God is limited, which is an uncomfortable reality for both ancient and modern thought. Indeed, how can an omnipotent and omniscient God be limited to the realm of physics, be limited to a single entity, be limited to the human body and of all the messiness that comes with it? In light of such a reflection, a friend of mine has coined the phrase “the God who poops”- its one of my favorites.
However, a God who is not limited by a contextual reality cannot breathe, cannot move, cannot think, and ultimately cannot live. When we reflect on God as someone (or perhaps more accurate to the idea, something) which transcends a contextual reality, we ironically end up with a God more like the pagan idols in their incompetence. Rather, the God who speaks to His people must speak through a context. Even the writers of the Old Testament, despite the aniconic tradition throughout, understood this. God’s message to Abraham comes through three messengers: he speaks to Moses in the Burning Bush, cleanses the earth with a flood, and anoints his king with oil. God acts in very real, very physical, and very contextual ways.
For Christians, we find the fulfillment of this divine insistence on contextualization in the Incarnation. The Infinite God becomes finite. The omnipotent God becomes limited. But it is in His finitude, in His limitations, that God lives in time and in space. It is by His life that we know Him, and it is through context - through bodily, incarnational, context - which he acts.
One aspect of my own context which I have done a great deal of reflection on is my identity as a convert to the Catholic Faith. This indeed has its problems, but there are many joys to the unique circumstance of being a convert. Like Christ at his birth, there were many gifts brought to my baptism. These were often seemingly long lost heirlooms of the Catholic faith in my family which were handed down to me as the “newly minted” Catholic and have been a cherished part of my faith.
Incarnation
What makes the Mystery of the Incarnation truly unique is that it expresses the Holy Spirit’s working in and through contextual realities. What is particularly interesting is that it is the only “central” mystery which is smack-dab in the middle of its set. It’s almost as if the prayer in itself says “This story needs some further explanation” - a prequel and a sequel.
This means that God is limited, which is an uncomfortable reality for both ancient and modern thought. Indeed, how can an omnipotent and omniscient God be limited to the realm of physics, be limited to a single entity, be limited to the human body and of all the messiness that comes with it? In light of such a reflection, a friend of mine has coined the phrase “the God who poops”- its one of my favorites.
However, a God who is not limited by a contextual reality cannot breathe, cannot move, cannot think, and ultimately cannot live. When we reflect on God as someone (or perhaps more accurate to the idea, something) which transcends a contextual reality, we ironically end up with a God more like the pagan idols in their incompetence. Rather, the God who speaks to His people must speak through a context. Even the writers of the Old Testament, despite the aniconic tradition throughout, understood this. God’s message to Abraham comes through three messengers: he speaks to Moses in the Burning Bush, cleanses the earth with a flood, and anoints his king with oil. God acts in very real, very physical, and very contextual ways.
For Christians, we find the fulfillment of this divine insistence on contextualization in the Incarnation. The Infinite God becomes finite. The omnipotent God becomes limited. But it is in His finitude, in His limitations, that God lives in time and in space. It is by His life that we know Him, and it is through context - through bodily, incarnational, context - which he acts.
One aspect of my own context which I have done a great deal of reflection on is my identity as a convert to the Catholic Faith. This indeed has its problems, but there are many joys to the unique circumstance of being a convert. Like Christ at his birth, there were many gifts brought to my baptism. These were often seemingly long lost heirlooms of the Catholic faith in my family which were handed down to me as the “newly minted” Catholic and have been a cherished part of my faith.
More to this point, as Christ descended from a long past line of Kings, so, too, I am a descendent of men and women of extraordinary fidelity to the life of faith. In studying our family’s ancestry, the consistent aspect of life which my father noted was piety and fidelity. To be able to share with my ancestors - alive and dead - in this great wealth of faith has truly been a blessing.
Crucifixion
Yet, not everything about the life of Christ is as wonderful as the Incarnation. Indeed, his scourging at the pillar, his crowning of thorns, and ultimately his Crucifixion, speak to the very real reality of human suffering. Furthermore, what is incredible about the mystery of the Crucifixion is that it is present throughout the teachings of Christ; indeed, it is the key through which Christ’s teachings can be understood. “Blessed are the Persecuted,” “Whatever you have done to the least of these,” “take up your cross,” et cetera et cetera.
Not unlike Christ, my identity as a convert to the faith has led to certain sufferings as well. Foremost in my heart is the inability to share the joy of the Gospel handed on to me through the Church to the ones I love. At first, I approached this problem with a great zeal and vigor that I would convert my family to the wisdom and beauty contained in the teachings of the Church (perhaps other converts can witness to how unsuccessful such an approach is). Although I still hope and pray for this to come to pass, I have to come to realize that my duty is not in solving the problem, but rather to cope with it. To put it in Biblical terms, I’m not called to be a Zealot, but rather to take up my cross, and follow Him.
However, the ultimate consolation in the mystery of the Crucifixion is that God is not closest to us on the mountain top, in our moments of rejoicing and gladness, but he is with us most in our lowest of moments, in our sufferings. Indeed, the measuring stick of our faith is not our triumphs, but our persecutions. When God Himself came to earth, he was persecuted and suffered much.
Furthermore, all who have followed him, all who have been guided by the Holy Spirit, have endured some form of suffering, whether it be internal (illness or despair) or external (violence and persecution). As St. Paul says “we rejoice in our suffering” because it is a demarcation of the right path we have taken. The reminder that God is with me is oftentimes what keeps me moving forward in my faith in Christ and his Church.
Redemption
The choice of the word “Redemption” as opposed to “Resurrection” is not unintentional. When Jesus appears to his Disciples in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 24:39), he says, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see.” Furthermore, when Jesus encounters Thomas in the Gospel of John (John 20:27), He says, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side, do not doubt but believe.”
Too often we hear “Resurrection” and we think that the sufferings on the cross (and by association, our sufferings with them) are simply washed away. However, the significance of the Resurrection is not the removal of suffering, but the redemption of suffering. God does not predestine suffering, nor does He simply wipe it away as if it never happened, as if to say it was all irrelevant. Rather, He Redeems through suffering, taking our hurts and our pains and transfiguring them so that they may be a medium for His glory in us and our glory in him. Our wounds are healed, but not removed.
One way in which my wounds have been healed, though not removed has been a deep interest for ecumenical discussion. Indeed, the dialogue between the communities of Christ drives most of my theological interest. My choice of Biblical Studies (to be able to better understand the common book of all Christians) and my choice of Loyola University Chicago (a community largely governed by encounters of different perspectives and opinions) are largely rooted in seeking redemption, not removal, of the wounds which I bear.
Crucifixion
Yet, not everything about the life of Christ is as wonderful as the Incarnation. Indeed, his scourging at the pillar, his crowning of thorns, and ultimately his Crucifixion, speak to the very real reality of human suffering. Furthermore, what is incredible about the mystery of the Crucifixion is that it is present throughout the teachings of Christ; indeed, it is the key through which Christ’s teachings can be understood. “Blessed are the Persecuted,” “Whatever you have done to the least of these,” “take up your cross,” et cetera et cetera.
Not unlike Christ, my identity as a convert to the faith has led to certain sufferings as well. Foremost in my heart is the inability to share the joy of the Gospel handed on to me through the Church to the ones I love. At first, I approached this problem with a great zeal and vigor that I would convert my family to the wisdom and beauty contained in the teachings of the Church (perhaps other converts can witness to how unsuccessful such an approach is). Although I still hope and pray for this to come to pass, I have to come to realize that my duty is not in solving the problem, but rather to cope with it. To put it in Biblical terms, I’m not called to be a Zealot, but rather to take up my cross, and follow Him.
However, the ultimate consolation in the mystery of the Crucifixion is that God is not closest to us on the mountain top, in our moments of rejoicing and gladness, but he is with us most in our lowest of moments, in our sufferings. Indeed, the measuring stick of our faith is not our triumphs, but our persecutions. When God Himself came to earth, he was persecuted and suffered much.
Furthermore, all who have followed him, all who have been guided by the Holy Spirit, have endured some form of suffering, whether it be internal (illness or despair) or external (violence and persecution). As St. Paul says “we rejoice in our suffering” because it is a demarcation of the right path we have taken. The reminder that God is with me is oftentimes what keeps me moving forward in my faith in Christ and his Church.
Redemption
The choice of the word “Redemption” as opposed to “Resurrection” is not unintentional. When Jesus appears to his Disciples in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 24:39), he says, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see.” Furthermore, when Jesus encounters Thomas in the Gospel of John (John 20:27), He says, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side, do not doubt but believe.”
Too often we hear “Resurrection” and we think that the sufferings on the cross (and by association, our sufferings with them) are simply washed away. However, the significance of the Resurrection is not the removal of suffering, but the redemption of suffering. God does not predestine suffering, nor does He simply wipe it away as if it never happened, as if to say it was all irrelevant. Rather, He Redeems through suffering, taking our hurts and our pains and transfiguring them so that they may be a medium for His glory in us and our glory in him. Our wounds are healed, but not removed.
One way in which my wounds have been healed, though not removed has been a deep interest for ecumenical discussion. Indeed, the dialogue between the communities of Christ drives most of my theological interest. My choice of Biblical Studies (to be able to better understand the common book of all Christians) and my choice of Loyola University Chicago (a community largely governed by encounters of different perspectives and opinions) are largely rooted in seeking redemption, not removal, of the wounds which I bear.
In fact, I more often enjoy a theological discussion with someone I disagree with more than someone I agree with (if I shout at you, I assure you that it's probably more out of joy than frustration). Indeed, this desire to become more familiar, not just with my own faith, but my faith in engagement with the “other,” has come to fundamentally shape my theological perspective. It has become for me, partial evidence for the redemption which we hope fully participate in. As St. Paul says, “if we have died with Christ, we believe we also will live with him” (Romans 6:8).
There’s one last thing I’d like to say that will require a revisitation of the aforementioned Resurrection narratives. When Christ appears, and offers the wounds of his hands, feet and sides as witness to His resurrection, note how he does not also point out the scars from the scourging, or the indents of the thorns on his head, nor does he come in his burial cloths, all of which also witness to his suffering. Why not offer these as further evidence?
I think it is because, not all suffering is meant to be “redeemed” or “glorified.” Sometimes, our sufferings are meant to simply be wiped away, that we may be made as white as snow. These sufferings are often a result of our own iniquity, personal or systemic. Many times I myself have dealt with sufferings that are more a result of leaving the path of Christ, and of refusing my cross. While I may continue to bear those sufferings, I do not misunderstand them to be a vocation, nor do I misunderstand them to be sufferings endured for Christ. A healthy level of discernment is necessary in considering what sufferings we are called to bring to the Resurrection, and what we are called to leave behind.
I pray that this blog has been as helpful in your discernment, as reflecting upon it has been for mine. May God love you and keep you, and until we meet again- in person, in the Eucharist, or in the world to come- may God hold you in the palm of his hand. I cannot wait to see the wonderful ways in which God redeems the world in and through you. Thank you.
God Bless,
Samuel Carlson
There’s one last thing I’d like to say that will require a revisitation of the aforementioned Resurrection narratives. When Christ appears, and offers the wounds of his hands, feet and sides as witness to His resurrection, note how he does not also point out the scars from the scourging, or the indents of the thorns on his head, nor does he come in his burial cloths, all of which also witness to his suffering. Why not offer these as further evidence?
I think it is because, not all suffering is meant to be “redeemed” or “glorified.” Sometimes, our sufferings are meant to simply be wiped away, that we may be made as white as snow. These sufferings are often a result of our own iniquity, personal or systemic. Many times I myself have dealt with sufferings that are more a result of leaving the path of Christ, and of refusing my cross. While I may continue to bear those sufferings, I do not misunderstand them to be a vocation, nor do I misunderstand them to be sufferings endured for Christ. A healthy level of discernment is necessary in considering what sufferings we are called to bring to the Resurrection, and what we are called to leave behind.
I pray that this blog has been as helpful in your discernment, as reflecting upon it has been for mine. May God love you and keep you, and until we meet again- in person, in the Eucharist, or in the world to come- may God hold you in the palm of his hand. I cannot wait to see the wonderful ways in which God redeems the world in and through you. Thank you.
God Bless,
Samuel Carlson
Sam Carlson graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 2013 with a BA in Theology. While at Notre Dame, Sam was a summer volunteer at the Catholic Worker House in South Bend, a mentor-in-faith for Notre Dame Vision, an inaugural officer of the Theology Club, and a member of the Folk Choir. Originally from Palatine, IL, Sam now lives in Chicago, IL, where he is working toward an MA in Biblical Languages and Literature from Loyola University Chicago, which he will finish this year. Sam can be reached at scarlson8@luc.edu.
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