“I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked man, says the Lord, but rather in his conversion, that he may live.” When we ponder our relationship with God, two elements are emphasized more than any other: God’s love for us and our wickedness towards Him. Salvation History is ultimately a love story, one in which God consistently expresses just how much He loves us and how much He wants to be in union with us. The drama of the story, though, is unfortunately the consistent rejection of this love on our part through sin. In any other case, a relationship such as the one between us and God would indicate that God has every right to seek out our destruction; this was the basis of the Genesis flood narrative, when He was so heartbroken over the behavior of humanity that He felt it necessary to almost “start again”. Had it not been for the righteousness of Noah, humanity would be beyond worth saving. But God does not see it this way.

During the season of Lent, we must reflect on our own sinfulness. We must make it a priority of ours during those 40 days to be particularly vigilant in safeguarding ourselves against those things that lead us into temptation. Reflecting on our wickedness, though, is naturally going to make us feel very insecure and inadequate. Every single one of us has been a participant in the unfortunate drama of our relationship with God. But we cannot let this drive us to a point where we consider ourselves beyond redemption. The problem with humanity in the Genesis flood narrative was their pride in their wickedness - a complete disregard for how they hurt God and each other. Even if we may see this type of prideful sin more often in our day and age, we are still susceptible to falling into the trap of the opposite risk, which we call scrupulosity. To be scrupulous or to consider yourself so wicked that you are not worth God’s love is still very much an expression of pride, though much more subtle than that of someone who doesn't care about their wickedness. Scrupulosity makes us consider ourselves so unique, so different from everyone else, and so flawed among God’s creation that we begin to isolate ourselves from God’s greatest love: humanity. The truth is that none of us are so unique or different that we are beyond forgiveness for our past offenses. In the love story of Salvation, God still reaches out to the most marginalized and pitiful among us, because every single person within His creation is a reflection of the pinnacle of the creative power of love. 

God does not want to punish. When He punishes, He does not do so with vengeance or a cold impersonal form of justice. Rather, His punishments are for our own sake; He does not destroy because He knows that His creation contains a reflection of the goodness of Himself. When we are punished for our past transgressions, we are being purified so that we may be more perfect for Him with the hope of fully uniting to Him one day. This requires our consent. Just as we must consent to giving into temptation and sinning, we must also consent to God’s offer of forgiveness and repentance. When we choose with our own free will to accept God’s love, there is nothing that delights Him and His choir of angels in Heaven more. For example, the call of a single man to follow Christ is accepted, despite his past. In Levi, we see someone who puts aside pride in his sins AND puts aside scrupulosity: Christ offers him a way out, and he simply takes it. This is exactly what we are called to do. The past is the past. God is offering us salvation through repentance now. All we have to do is gratefully accept it.

In this passage, we hear one of the most frightening scenes in all of Scripture. The events sound like something out of a horror film: Ezekiel is brought out to a vast plain by God that is covered with human bones. He makes sure to include the detail that these bones are dry; they have been there for a long time, as the flesh has broken down into nothingness. These are the bones of men who have long been dead. Upon God’s command, Ezekiel prophesies to the bones that they will be brought back up. Immediately the bones move and rattle against each other to form into standing, moving skeletons. Slowly after this, sinew and flesh begin to develop over the bones.

This frightening story is also incredibly important to how we understand the essence of what constitutes life. Dry bones laid out on a vast plain are hardly anything more than the natural inanimate objects around it. There is barely any difference between a dry bone and a rock. The movement of the bones into the shape of skeletons is also fairly frightening, but there is no indication that you are encountering a person yet. It is the development of sinew and flesh upon the bones that begin to show us that these belong to a human person. The flesh animates because the body is complete; true life consists of a functioning body that becomes animated. Such a scary experience ultimately builds up to a point of familiarity: Ezekiel is surrounded by human persons just like him. God uses this scene as an analogy for the desolation of the nation of Israel, that He alone will bring it back from its ruins to restore it to its original state. But the vision of the valley of dry bones speaks to us as individuals, especially when we conform it to the message of Christ in the Gospel. At one point, Christ is asked by the Pharisees what the greatest commandment is; in other words, they are asking Christ what ultimately gives life its meaning. Christ’s answer is simply love, but in two forms: loving God with your entire being and loving your neighbor as yourself. The part of the person that needs to be oriented to love God, though, is not necessarily the physical, but the incorporeal: heart, soul, and mind. Human beings are composed of bodies and souls; we are incomplete without either. A body with no soul is like the plain of dry bones, pointless and lifeless. A soul without the body, though, has no way to allow love to be expressed towards our neighbors. 

This separation of body and soul - death - is a consequence of sin. Mary, who was free from all sin, including the stain of Original Sin, retained her body and soul together as she was assumed into Heaven. It is within God’s power to reunite our bodies and souls, just as he promises in the vision of the valley of dry bones. But we must first understand that our sin is the reason why our bodies and souls separate in the first place. However, in our current state of existence, our bodies and souls remain united. Orienting our souls towards total love and devotion of God will allow us to express, through our bodies, love of neighbor. We have the power and capacity to maximize the fullness of the gifts of our creation. Don’t be afraid; in God, all things are made new. In your actions in this life, look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri is one of the greatest literary achievements in human history. In the form of an epic poem, Dante recounts a fictitious tour of hell, purgatory, and heaven, in which all of existence is revealed to him. Many people mistake the epic poem to be an actual experience or vision that Dante had, even though the story came simply out of his imagination; this is always an indication of a masterpiece. But the true mastery of the Divine Comedy is how deeply human it is. Dante is able to recognize the divine attributes present in Heaven and that he is not worthy of it as a mere human. To him, the torment of hell is simply the natural punishment of separation from God, and the experience of purgatory is a painful process that is actually desired in order to get to God. However, as Dante ascends into the very heart of Heaven, the celestial rose, his perfect poetry is brought to an end; he is at a loss of words at the sheer beauty, unable to convey the total glory of God.

Dante does not go on this trip alone; he is first guided through hell and purgatory by the famed Roman poet Virgil, a virtuous pagan, but a pagan nonetheless who is not permitted access to Paradise. Upon reaching Paradise, Dante is guided by Beatrice, the woman he was madly in love with in real life who had died before he wrote the poem. Dante almost idolized Beatrice; it comes as a surprise to the reader, then, that even Beatrice is not allowed to accompany Dante into the heart of Paradise where God resides. For this role, Dante is guided by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a medieval monk of the Cistercian order and a Doctor of the Church. What was it about Bernard that, according to Dante, gave him access to the innermost dwelling place of God in His full glory? Bernard’s own mastery of Theology was guided primarily by his devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, especially under the title “Star of the Sea.” Bernard preached that if you are tossed about by the violent waves of sin, direct your attention to the Star of the Sea and call upon Mary. The one who saw Mary as his guide to God now becomes the guide to a humble human man as he navigates the innermost being of God Himself. There is a crucial element to Dante’s journey, though: while hell is certainly frightful, the punishments and torment are exterior and expected. In Paradise, the presence of God penetrates internally. This is much more frightening. In essence, Dante’s understanding of his mortal state instills the fear of God within him.

We may be uncomfortable with the phrase “Fear of the Lord,” but there is hardly a more appropriate way to describe the glory of God. Evil and sin are not fear-inducing; they must be tempting and comfortable in order for you to fall into them. But God is so powerful, so beyond us, and so intense that He is the epitome of that which evokes fear. He is frightening, but He is good. Christ was an intimidating, frightening figure to those around him, but it was because of his goodness, not despite it. The Divine Comedy is ultimately a challenge to Dante (and the reader) to become better versions of ourselves. Assent to the capacity that God desires from you. Don't be afraid of what God has planned for you, but accept that it is in our nature to be humbly afraid of His power and overwhelmed by His beauty. Seek after Him, follow the guides He places within your life who can lead you to Him, like Bernard or Mary or even your own Beatrice, and come to cherish the frightening capacity of God’s love for you.

Catholicism seems to place a large amount of meaning on physical buildings, in their architecture, in their purposes, and even in their history. These are the works of human hands; buildings are functionally necessary for many aspects of our lives, so why would we add anything more to them than what is only necessary? All buildings serve a common purpose: they are meant to protect what is within from that which is outside. Usually, this simply means a protection from the elements. But for Catholicism, the elements are a necessary part of our sacramental life. This is particularly true for water. Whereas a building might protect us from rain, just as the ark was built to protect Noah and his family from the flood, we still need water for the most essential elements of life. Our very souls are marked by the use of water in baptism, which we receive within the walls of one of these meaningful buildings.

In every religion, there is bound to be a single building that holds the most significance. For most religions, the word that is used for this building is the same - a temple. In Judaism and in the faith of Christ, the Temple in Jerusalem was the holiest building on earth. It was built upon the location of Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac, and it contained within it the literal residing place of God on earth in the Holy of Holies. With this same mentality, we have “temples” in Catholicism, too. Wherever the body of Christ is kept, there is the literal presence of God. Every chapel, every church, every cathedral, and every basilica, is a temple. But even in Catholicism, there is a hierarchy of importance for our buildings. A cathedral is the most important type, not because God is particularly more present there, but because the seat of our human authority within the Church can be found there. There is also a single Cathedral in the world that is considered the “mother Church” for the entire world because it houses the seat of authority for the leader of the worldwide Church. This is not St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, but rather the Cathedral of St. John Lateran in Rome, where the chair of the Pope resides. God clearly wants us to emphasize the importance and meaning of our buildings, which is why beauty is such a necessary characteristic of our constructions. The Cathedral of St. John Lateran is meant to be a haven and a home for the faithful of the world, a place where all of us can go to protect ourselves from the threats of the outside world. When we are within her walls, we are comforted by the beauty of her sanctity, but guided by the human authority that gives it its significance.

The Cathedral of St. John Lateran should remind us of the prevalence of temples today. Temples used to be a single building in the world where others could exclusively find the presence of the divine. Now, we can be in the holy presence of God every time we walk into a church with a tabernacle. Even moreso, we ourselves become temples when we receive the body of Christ into us. We venerate the beauty and sanctity of our churches. We take great care in building the structure and safety features of our glorious cathedrals. We ought to approach our own bodies in the same way if we are to be temples of God. Just as a building protects us from the things of the outside world, we must protect the body of Christ from the things of this world through our bodies. We must wash ourselves spiritually in the waters of baptism, and keep ourselves clean as a residing place for God on earth.