On gambling

My dad loves the casino. He loves the slot machines, which I simply do not understand. For myself, I prefer something more active, something that involves skill and tactics. So, many gambling games just are not interesting to me. Among card games, Pinochle is my favorite.

I do, however, enjoy the occasional game of poker. I like the bluffing aspect. I like the choices involved in building a hand. My favorite poker game, which you'll never find in a casino, is called Chicago: it's basic seven-card stud, but the high spade in the hold splits the pot. It encourages more players to stay in, and throws a wrench in the works of reading other players' bets. Good clean fun -- as long as it's penny-nickel poker among friends.

Some of my friends oppose gambling on principle. And I'll admit that it's an easily addictive activity. I've been in games where I caught myself thinking, If only I put a little more money on the table, I could make back what I lost. But I've also been in control enough to recognize that impulse as a danger sign, a temptation. And I've been able to walk away. Most of the time.

My dad's philosophy, and it's a good one as far as it goes, is to consider gambling an entertainment activity on which you spend some money. First, determine how much you're going to spend on entertainment at the game. That becomes the only money available. You consider the money you bet to belong to the house already; it's spent money. If you win anything at all, that's gravy. If you break even, that's as good as a win.

If someone doesn't bring in more money than they can afford, and doesn't bet more than they bring in, then this system works to make an enjoyable time at betting games. If not, then gambling becomes a real problem and, at that point according to Catholic tradition, a sin.

The truth is, this kind of rule applies to any kind of entertainment activity. Sometimes it's money you're spending, sometimes it's time, sometimes it's physical energy -- usually it's some combination of the three, as for those who love to ski. If you don't overspend to begin with, and you don't let the entertainment overrun its limits, it makes for a good time. If the entertainment gets in the way of the rest of life, then it's a problem, and probably a sin.

For myself, I find the temptation strongest when there's some part of reality that I want to escape from. I use anything from TV to eating to hanging out with friends as ways to escape from difficult tasks or situations. That's a bad habit. That's a vice.

The only way to overcome it is to face reality. Do my duty. Get the job done. And, when it's time to play, play deliberately in a truly enjoyable way.

In other words, let work be work. And when I play poker, play with friends rather than to try to make money; play for the joy of the game, and joy will come whether the money stays or goes.

Rabbert blathers on....

Thinking about evangelization

I'm reading a book that's sort of a "how to" on sharing the Gospel in a postmodern cultural setting. Something was bugging me about it, but I couldn't put my finger on it till I talked with my dad about it over some ice cream. (He had chocolate, I had rainbow sherbet.)

Now, my dad has been a salesman for most of his life. He sees everything through the lens of sales. And, as we were talking, he pointed out that the book was describing sales techniques for selling Jesus.

"That's it! You nailed it!" I said. See, people are not objects of sales. Relationships are not commodities that can be exchanged. So, the attitude of sales is just plain wrong for drawing people to a deeper relationship with God.

But then, what exactly is evangelization about? What does Christ mean when he commands his followers to "make disciples of all nations"?

My current thought, well open to revision, is that a "matchmaker" analogy is much more appropriate than a "salesman" analogy. Our task as Christians is to bear witness to Jesus Christ, both who he was historically and who he is now in our individual lives, and to introduce people to him.

This analogy fits very well with our individual-freedom-oriented culture today, but it seems passive compared to the command to "make disciples." Unless it is like saying that a matchmaker has a mandate to "make spouses of all peoples." Still thinking thoughts about it.
Rabbert blathers on....

A God, by any other name, would be as divine?

This may only be of interest to Christians, but I'm very interested also in how non-Christians would respond.

My friend Sherry posts some thoughts about how American Catholics (and maybe others, but she's speaking from her direct experience) seem reluctant to use the name Jesus in their prayer or in speaking about their faith. Here's a quick quote:

We talk incessantly about the Church. But not about the Lord, Savior, Redeemer, and Head of the Church. Not Jesus. Not by name. Not spontaneously without the liturgy to give us "cover". To do so, seems so naked, so unsophisticated, so pietistic, so what - Protestant??

I am not the only one who has noticed this aspect of American Catholic culture. A Catholic scholar friend of mine has mischievously coined a memorable phrase to describe it: Jesus is "He who must not be named".

Meanwhile, in my own spiritual journey, I've noticed a tendency toward using what I think of as God's "full name": Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And the Vatican Congregation for Divine Worship has asked that the name given in the Old Testament, usually Englished into "Yahweh" (or "Jehovah"), not be used in music during mass.

My first observation is that this emphasis on the importance of names, whether to be used or to be avoided, seems to be a feature of Abrahamic religion. Observant Jews do not pronounce the name of God, and some even avoid the common (though capitalized) noun, spelling it G-d. Muslims have a meditation on the ninety-nine names of Allah, which they recite in a manner similar to the Catholic rosary. Christians have the famous passage from St. Paul (Philippians 2.9-11):

Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

But I'm not aware of any such devotion to the Buddha, or to any Hindu or Celtic or Germanic or Native American deities. I don't know of any particular attention among the Romans or the Greeks to the name of Jupiter or Zeus. My neo-pagan friends are fond of using various and multiple names for their ideas of the divine or supernatural, but seem to have at most a personal devotion to one name or another. (I'd welcome correction if I'm missing something here.)

I don't know what conclusion to draw from this observation, except the obvious one that names are very important for Christians and for the Abrahamic religious tradition.

Next, I suppose I want to admit that I found Sherry's post quite challenging. Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest, where any religion is preemptively suspect, I have a gut-level reluctance even to mention that I am Catholic, to say nothing of bearing witness to the name of Jesus, my Lord and my God. I've noticed the name of Jesus appearing in my prayers more at some times and less at others. My current meditative practice (when I take the time to meditate) usually involves a simple repetition of his name. But I almost never say the name of Jesus aloud, or in the presence of others.

I'm not sure how exactly to answer this challenge. On the one hand, I want to be unafraid and unashamed of Jesus and his name. On the other, I know that, when many people hear his name, it raises all sorts of false or distracting or painful associations. I've often described my sense of vocation as preparing the way for Jesus, so that when people hear of him they recognize him as they one they have long desired. But am I merely capitulating to the fear of offending someone?

In any case, your input is most welcome.
Rabbert blathers on....

Did I mention...?

... that I'm discerning a call to religious life?

Which is why a chum of mine forwarded a NY Times article on nuns in the U.S. to me. We've been having a fascinating email conversation about what's wrong with Catholic religious orders in the U.S., and then it occurred to me: isn't that why I have a blog? So that I can state my own half-crazed views on what's wrong with the world and how it should be fixed?

But of course! So, from my lofty perch upon my soapbox, I herewith begin my rant. (Warning: Churchspeak ahead!)

First off, as to why this scrutiny is directed at women religious rather than men: there are a number of reasons, some of which are historical and fairly arbitrary, and others of which are historical and theologically significant. But I think the main reason is historical and bluntly practical: most men's religious orders, whether they started this way or not, have become in the past couple centuries essentially communities of ordained priests. So, being in Holy Orders as well as in religious vows, they are under an additional structure of authority. They have to answer, not only to their religious superior and to the head of the congregation for religious, but also to their local bishop and to the head of the congregation for clergy. And let me tell you, the congregation for clergy gets involved at the local level a lot more than the congregation for religious. Anyway, this means that men religious, for the most part, have more checks to keep them in the straight and narrow, and also undergo this kind of scrutiny on a far more regular basis than the women religious. In short, it's just not news when it happens with the guys.

What makes this of personal interest to me is that, so far as I can tell, I'm not called to the priesthood. So I'm looking at religious life, but not at being ordained. And this is where my chum comes into the picture. He notes that the core of many religious communities was service to some part of the Church, such as serving priests or serving Church institutions. After the Second Vatican Council, the emphasis shifted to serving the world rather than serving the Church. But, as my friend notes, this came across as saying that serving the Church was somehow bad.

Along with the notion that service was somehow bad came the concomitant notion that those serving others had been oppressed [by those they served], and must rise up and throw off their oppressors.

So the Church herself began to be viewed as oppressive, and serving the Church appeared to be undignified, at best.

And yet, service is what we're all about as Catholics. Serving the world is the way we grow closer to God, whose Son came to serve us. So the question for any Catholic, lay or ordained or consecrated, ought not to be, "How can I avoid the indignity of serving?" but, "Whom am I called to serve, and how can I best serve them?"

My friend made five suggestions. I'll repeat them here, with my comments in red.

We need to re-establish a few things with modern religious communities [And, I would add, bishops and really all Catholics]:
1. It's OK to have a mission that doesn't involve service to the clergy. But every mission involves service to Christ and to his people.
2. It's also OK to have a mission of service -- yes, even to clergy. [After all, clergy are people too, and they need help as much as anyone else!]
3. Catholic religious orders [and all Catholics] need a Catholic identity. [Otherwise, why be Catholic? Why not just be a social service organization?]
4. Mission statements need to be simplified or thrown out on their ear. [And any mission statement must reflect the mission of Christ, else see #3.]
5. Religious orders offer a way of life that cannot be found in "the world." It's not to say they are better, but to point out that theirs is a different way of life. Put simply, quit throwing out the habits and pretending you're like everyone else, because you are not. If you are like everyone else, what's the point?

I have more to say about my own thoughts on the future of religious life, and on my own discernment, but they'll have to wait for another post. This one has grown too long already.
Rabbert blathers on....

Not Alone

One rather large aspect of my life at the moment is that I'm discerning a vocation to religious life. For anyone outside Catholic circles, and even many within Catholic circles, this translates to: I'm trying to sort out whether I ought to be a part of a community vowed to lifelong prayer and service in the Church. Even more explicitly, I'm trying to figure out if that's what God is asking me to do.

There are lots of issues and questions (and sub-issues and sub-questions) involved here, and I expect it will take at least a year to work through it all. I don't want to get too personal here -- I'm not blogging to bare my soul to the world or anything. But I do want to "share the fruit of my contemplation" in hopes that it might help others who are asking similar questions.

The first thing I want to note, though, is that most people I talk to about major life decisions tend to give advice like, "You have to follow your own heart," or, "Don't worry about what anyone else thinks." And there's a certain truth in that. But I've discovered that I don't have to stop there. My heart, my mind, my loves and desires -- all these are only one aspect of discovering where I belong in the world. I've also discovered, much to my joy and relief, that there are some ways my friends and family know me better than I know myself. When I'm utterly confused, at a loss for which way to go, I know I can turn to them and find answers.

Most of the time, they don't have explicit or direct answers waiting for me. Instead, they sort of hold up a mirror to me so that I can see myself more clearly, so that I can see my surroundings from a different perspective. They ask questions about my questions, and help me to understand exactly what it is I'm asking in the first place. And yes, once in a while, they give me some piece of actual advice, which I either take or reject. In all of this, they are helping me to become more myself. And that's what discernment is all about: becoming who God made me to be in the first place.

It's a huge relief to me, seeing that I don't have to navigate this foggy chaos alone. I may not always have guides, but I certainly have companions. These companions are gifts to me from God, and sometimes messengers of his voice.

Rabbert blathers on....