"The inmost significance of the exaggerated value which is set upon hard work appears to be this: man seems to mistrust everything that is effortless; he can only enjoy, with a good conscience, what he has acquired with toil and trouble; he refuses to have anything as a gift."

— Josef Pieper, Leisure: The Basis of Culture

"The Sabbath was the end of the first creation, the Lord's day was the beginning of the second, in which he renewed and restored the old... we honor the Lord's day as being the memorial of the new creation".

- St. Athanasius

 

In a materialistic age that treats Sunday like any other workday, or squanders it on endless distractions, this blog seeks to recover a sense of the old days when men did not regard time as entirely their own.

In His infinite wisdom, God set aside one day each week for mankind to enjoy the fruits of its labor. Six days were appointed for work, and one for commemorating His rest. 

By reflecting upon the Lord's Day, the "Eighth Day" of Creation, we encounter the vital union of divinity and leisure that served as the rhythmic pulse of Christian civilization until comparatively recent times.  Such judgement is not unique to those we call "religious" for it was the opinion of even secular minds, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, who would note that "Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated to thought and reverence."

This notion of "holy leisure," or otium sanctum, is itself ancient. The term originates with St. Augustine in The City of God and inspired a long tradition of monastic reflection that, in turn, has shaped much of the inspiration behind this blog.

Yet while holy leisure remains necessary and beneficial for the soul, its importance takes on a particular urgency in an age burdened by relentless work and saturated with distraction. One might even say that our ability to receive and enjoy life rightly bears upon our salvation.  For at the end of our lives, we will be judged by the One who came "that they may have life, and have it more abundantly" (John 10:10).

Ingratitude be (literally) damned.  For, as the Gentiles knew before the advent of Christ, the company of the ravenous Antinous is never well-kept.  Homer spoke specifically against the impieties of a bad guest on this life (for hospitality was a divine institution among the Achaeans and their descendants).  But what Homer perceived dimly through natural virtue, Christians recognize more fully in the inexhaustible charity of Jesus Christ.

By contrast, when we step back from the noise of modern life and center our Sundays upon liturgical worship and the Eucharist, we begin to remember what it means to live well.

Such a claim may sound striking to modern ears, particularly in an age suspicious of "value judgments" or prescriptions for each and all.  Yet it should not surprise the baptized, for the Eucharist is rightly called "the source and summit of the Christian life."

Before attempting to persuade others of this truth, however, we should first understand it ourselves. What do we mean when we call the Eucharist the source and summit of Christian life? And what relation does it bear to all the other goods that mankind enjoys and dares to call good?

Exploring that question is the lifelong work of thanksgiving, which is, after all, the literal meaning of the word Eucharist.  It is also the spiritual center of this blog.

Rather than attempting to march through the great tomes of systematic theology, I have chosen a more scenic route: a consideration of otium sanctum and the life that flows from it:

"Leisure is a form of that stillness that is the necessary preparation for accepting reality; only the person who is still can hear, and whoever is not still, cannot hear.... Leisure is the disposition of receptive understanding, of contemplative beholding, and immersion in the real."

— Josef Pieper

What is ultimately at stake, then, is our capacity to encounter reality itself. Through the disciplined pursuit of stillness, our senses, appetites, and thoughts become ordered toward gratitude.  To give thanks requires more than enjoying a gift; it requires turning from the gift toward the giver.

Building upon Pieper's insight, I approach the particular goods of life not as ends in themselves, but as signposts pointing toward the ultimate goodness of God. In doing so, we approach the prospect of a genuinely Christian culture, whether past, present, or future, one rooted in gratitude and ordered toward divine worship as the ultimate act of a grateful spirit.

But, dear reader, let us walk before we run.  As Pieper writes, culture is "the quintessence of all the natural goods of the world and of those gifts and qualities which, while belonging to man, lie beyond the immediate sphere of his needs and wants." Culture concerns itself not merely with utility, but with those goods worth pursuing for their own sake.  Without an understanding of the goods of this life--- and the proper approach to them--- how are we to know how to approach the greatest of goods of this world and beyond?

What follows, then, is an exercise in gratitude, or eucharistia, through the consideration of those particular goods that enrich human life. It is also an exercise in criticism, understood in the classical sense as the effort to distinguish, evaluate, and rightly order our experiences to both our flourishing most immediately and, eventually, in accord with God's will.

Such a task is not without its dangers. Arrogance and condescension are ever-present temptations for a cultured mind.  Yet the cultivation of a distinctly Christian form of cultural criticism remains a worthwhile endeavor. At its best, it helps us discern which goods illuminate the path toward God and which may hinder us along the way.

In lieu of an art of criticism, the alternatives of an unreflective Christian life are less attractive. One may possess refinement without soul, or truth that leaves one unconvinced.  Just as a traveler lost in the wilderness may perish from either starvation or exposure, so too many men suffer from different forms of spiritual deprivation. Worldliness and hypocrisy are distinct errors of shallowness, but both ultimately impair the soul.

This blog is offered modestly, first as an aid to my own conversion (always an ongoing affair), then as an act of reparation for sins born of both my own worldliness and hypocrisy at various turns of my wayward life, and finally in the hope of softening hearts toward the "Lord of the Sabbath," the title Christ claims for Himself in Mark 2:27-28.

 

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." — Matthew 11:28–30

Be well, dear reader!