DIVINA IN CIRCUITU VESTRO SUNT

Oftentimes when we think of God, and ponder Him and His majesty, we find ourselves looking “up”—whether literally, or figuratively. The idea of God being “up” or on a “higher level” of our current reality is easily justifiable within the scriptures, where heaven, and therefore God, are frequently seen as being located in some area laterally higher than the earth. This idea is then reinforced at the ascension of the Lord, when Jesus was “lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight” (Acts 1:9). Holy Church has unwaveringly declared that in the event of the ascension of the Lord, Jesus did indeed “ascend” into heaven to the right hand of the Father, thus preceding us and giving us access to the Father’s house. This mystery further justifies the idea of searching for God in the “up”, and it is only through persevering faith that we will come to meet the incomprehensible reality of heaven, whether it is in fact somewhere “up there”, or someplace—or reality—entirely outside our scope of human understanding. With this in mind, I will provide a few primary ideas before we discuss further.

In his 1988 book, “Eschatology: Death and Eternal Life”, then Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger admonishes against glamorized depictions of heaven that portray the blessed as frolicking through gilded streets and enjoying eternal picnics. Practically speaking, a general awakening to the fact that lions, lambs, and eternal picnics get boring after a few hundred years can help to sober the mind and begin a more illuminated contemplation of the Kingdom of Heaven. While it is undeniable that “eye has not seen, and ear has not heard”, God has revealed many things about heaven through the scriptures in order to foster in us a true desire for the Kingdom, and establish in us a healthy fear of losing it. These revelations, although we only see them “in a mirror dimly”, are given to us scripturally and traditionally, and are essential to the further illumination of our hearts and minds towards heavenly things.

Holy Church teaches that “Those who die in God’s grace and friendship and are perfectly purified [whether in this life, or in the next life in Purgatory] live forever with Christ. They are like God forever, for they “see him as he is,” face to face” (CCC 1003). The catechism then reaffirms the infallible definition given by Pope Benedict XII in his 1336 Apostolic Constitution, Benedictus Deus:

“By virtue of our apostolic authority, we define the following: According to the general disposition of God, the souls of all the saints . . . and other faithful who died after receiving Christ’s holy Baptism (provided they were not in need of purification when they died, . . . or, if they then did need or will need some purification, when they have been purified after death, . . .) already before they take up their bodies again and before the general judgment – and this since the Ascension of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ into heaven – have been, are and will be in heaven, in the heavenly Kingdom and celestial paradise with Christ, joined to the company of the holy angels. Since the Passion and death of our Lord Jesus Christ, these souls have seen and do see the divine essence with an intuitive vision, and even face to face, without the mediation of any creature”.

This definition professes at its very heart the beatific vision, where we “see God face to face”. It is important to note that the beatific vision is not necessarily a vision that is seen with human eyeballs, but rather a radical ascent and comprehension to the presence of God. Tim Staples, in his 2015 article, “What is Heaven?”, beautifully explains this:

“This “vision” of God, again, is not to be understood as “seeing” God with human eyeballs. God is pure spirit and as such cannot be “seen.” This “vision of God” is a directly intuited and intellectual vision. Think about it this way: Matthew 18:10 tells us that the angels “behold the face of God,” yet they don’t have eyes at all. They are pure spirits. So how do they “see God?” They “see” him with an intellectual and directly intuited “vision.”

We use the verb “to see” like this in modern parlance. When someone comes to understand a physics problem he had been struggling with, for example, he may say, “Now I see it!” That doesn’t mean he “sees” it with his eyes; rather, it means he now understands it with his mind. This is analogous to the beatific vision. The faithful who endure to the end and so are saved will “see God,” but with an intellectual “vision” or comprehension of God. Each person will “see” or comprehend God in the beatific vision in accordance with his own capacity dictated to him by his state of grace at the moment of death. And this state of grace is determined by both the gift of God and the degree to which the blessed cooperated with that grace during his earthly sojourn.

The example par excellence of this truth is found in the Mother of God. No member of the body of Christ will “see” or “comprehend” God to the degree Mary does because she was given the greatest gift of grace among all of mankind; while, at the same time, no human person ever cooperated with the grace of God as perfectly as Mary did.”

With this in mind, we can begin to understand the Church’s teaching that heaven is not primarily a place, but rather a state of being. Furthermore, the concept of the beatific vision cannot be understood to correlate with human, physical vision, where if the eyeballs are pointed towards a tree, they will see a tree, and if they turn their eyes up, they will see the sky. The beatific vision corresponds with the understanding of heaven as a state of being—where “vision” refers to a constant and eternal understanding of God and heavenly things."

Although heaven is principally a state of being, we can also say—in a qualified sense—that heaven is a place, per se. The guiding ideology behind this extrapolation is the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead at the end of time. Bodies—even glorified ones—are held in a physical location. And so, we can say that, in a sense, heaven is a location, but we must understand it primarily, and in essence, as a state of being—that is, the state of supreme unification with God and utter fulfillment.

With this fundamental understanding of heaven in mind, let us once again turn to the scene of Jesus’ resurrection and examine the lines directly following His ascent into heaven. As the Apostles stood, staring into the heavens above, two men—who we understand to be angels—appeared and said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven?”. This line, though rather short, reveals to us a reality that we often forget—even though we are not in heaven, we can begin to taste it here and now on earth, that is, we must work to see God around us—not in the tomb, and not in the skies. After all, the Creator’s mark is indeed ingrained in His creation—we need only look for it.

This “looking” can in a sense be said to be the work of contemplation, and, I would call it, the “eyes of the saints”. For this is what the saints saw—the traces of God threaded throughout creation. Think, for instance, of Saint Francis of Assisi, and his most famous sermon given not to his disciples, but to birds. When Francis came upon a large flock of birds of various kinds, he ran to them, greeted them “as if they were endowed with reason”, and began to preach to them—urging them to listen to the word of God, and saying, “[o]h birds, my brothers and sisters, you have a great obligation to praise your Creator, who clothed you in feathers and gave you wings to fly with, provided you with pure air and cares for you without any worry on your part.”. St. Francis undoubtedly saw God’s hand at work in creation, and I would propose that this sight that he, and virtually every other saint acquired—through trust, faith, and love—is the very reason they were so willing to live the lives they did—in complete poverty and complete love. For by this sight that they were graced with, the saints saw that the material things in this world possess no true value in themselves, and do not of themselves hold the reason for their own being. The saints saw that God and His holy will were the ultimate good. I’m reminded of a quote from the great Mother Angelica who said it this way: “The Spirit gave us His gifts so we would be clothed with the jewels of virtue, the gold of love, the emeralds of hope, and the great diamonds of faith. Let us not be content with the scotch tape and aluminum foil of this world.”.

We read time and time again of the incredible stories of the saints, and often we become overwhelmed by them, saying, “not me—I can’t do that. God isn’t going to do that in me”. Many of the saints do indeed present the extremes of sainthood—that is to say that they were given special graces by God in order to inspire the faithful, or serve God in some special way. However, the dramatic displays of the saints we read about are meant to inspire us, and open our hearts to trust God—not to be copied. You are called to be a saint—a saint of your own time and place. Great, dramatic presentations are not the hallmark of the sainthood—but rather, as Mother Theresa of Calcutta so often emphasized, we must put love into everything we do, even the smallest of things—that is what makes a saint. The world doesn’t need another St. Francis or Mother Theresa. They served God in their lifetime and did what they were called to do. Now, they intercede for us to God, and help us with heavenly aid. And so, this truth and reality of your calling says that what the world needs is YOU. When we come to realize this truth, that we are called to serve God in an entirely unique way, we must also begin to trust, love, and have faith. And what happens when we begin to live this way? St. Catherine of Sienna tells us, “[when you become] who God meant you to be, you will set the world on fire.”. Let us live as the saints we are meant to be—let us live in love, trust, and faith, and we might begin to see the hand of God at work in creation—that same hand that Theresa of Avila claimed she’d trade her very life to see again after having a vision of it.

And so, I’d like to offer another, sort of practical, approach to beginning to ponder God around you—not in the tomb, not in the heavens, but around you, here and now. Many of you will have heard of the great meditative practice, Lectio Divina, given to us by the great St. Benedict of Nursia. The practice consists of four parts: Lectio (reading), Meditatio (meditation), Oratio (Praying), and Contemplatio (contemplation). The practice is generally used to meditate and contemplate scripture, thus the name “Lectio Divina”, or “Divine Reading”. What I would like to propose is that we take this practice, and apply it to other things around us—experiences or feelings—anything at all really.

I am sure I am not overstepping when I suggest that we have all found ourselves utterly captivated by something entirely random at some point in our lives—be it a bird, a car, a building, a blade of grass, or anything that in an instant truly captivated us. I would propose that in these moments, the Holy Spirit has found us off guard—where our minds and hearts are quiet and open. In these moments, the Spirit takes the opportunity to strike us, and reveal to us the reality of God’s presence the permeates the whole world around and in us. In these moments, I invite you to engage in a sort of Lectio Divina with your experience, so that you might begin to see the Hand of God at work around you.

The practice consists of four “movements”, and with each movement, God’s voice grows louder and louder as we venture deeper and deeper into divine aspect of our meditation, until the fourth movement of the meditative symphony begins, and we contemplate God’s voice speaking to us in the depths of our hearts.

Proposed steps to the practice:

Lectio—Sit for a moment in quiet and think about what it is that captivated you. Try to engage each of your senses as you recall the experience.

Meditatio—think about the experience and how you feel, and what you think God might be trying to tell you through the experience.

Oratio—pray. Talk with God—tell Him about your experience and how you feel.

Contemplatio—listen. Something might “jump out at you” as very obvious that God is saying something definitive to you, but other times you may hear nothing at all. In these moments, take the experience for what it was—recall it, meditate on it, and take away what you think God might have said to you in that time.

Perhaps if we engage with these moments, we might be able to see the Hand of God as St. Francis did, recognize it, and act on it just as he did when he preached to the birds. The journey of a saint is about seeing heaven around you, even in suffering, and acting with love, trust, and faith.

It is my prayer that we all might begin to see God around us—not in the tomb, and not in the heavens—but around us, and in us. He is here and now, and He is speaking—let us listen, for the Divine is around us.

A special thanks to Tim Staples for writing such a marvelous article on “Catholic Answers” that greatly helped during the writing of this article.