Time travel with Jesus
One of the mind-blowing ideas I encountered through the Catholic church is the understanding that God – who is not bound by time or place – can remove those barriers for us.
This can be a hard teaching that I did not contemplate until I entered the church. While a new concept for me, it seems to have been a deeply understood notion by enslaved African Americans. Published in 1899 in a book of Old Plantation Hymns, the spiritual hymn Were You There? is attributed to those enslaved Christians.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord? (Were you there?)
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
O sometimes it causes me to tremble! tremble! tremble!
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Well, the obvious answer is, of course I was not there. I was born nearly two thousand years later. However, as Christians, we believe our sins were, in fact, there. That is how we obtained forgiveness for them. If Christ’s sacrifice was limited to time and place, we would need a new one in every generation, nation, and continent. This is something both Protestants and Catholics can believe.
If it is believable that my sin can pass back in time to the time of Christ’s suffering, so too it must be accepted that his suffering grace comes forward in time to offer me the purgation – cleansing, refining – I need at the time and place where I reside.
Being there at Mass
Catholics see this in action through the sacrament of the Eucharist, a word for communion based on a Greek word for thanksgiving. In this sacrament, Christ’s sacrifice – the crucifixion – comes forward to our time and place. It is as real and unbound by time as the sacrifice on that skull-shaped hill in Jerusalem two thousand years ago. Like Thomas, we come face-to-face with Christ and are compelled to cry out, “My Lord and my God!”
For me and those I worshipped with as an Evangelical, the memory of Christ’s sacrifice was a profoundly moving experience when we had communion. We accepted Jesus’ command to “do this in remembrance of me.” But, we rejected the real presence Jesus claimed when stating, “This is my body.” Sadly, I didn’t believe communion could literally place me “there when they crucified my Lord.”
If, however, we believe that we were indeed there, then we must acknowledge the grieving individuals standing with us before the cross. This includes Jesus’ mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, Mary Magdalene, and “the disciple whom he loved.” (John 19:25-27)
In our modern age, with graphic movies of Christ’s suffering, it is easy to visualize the crucifixion as if cameras recorded it live and in HD. His suffering moves our hearts, and we weep in empathy for his mother’s pain at witnessing her child’s agony. Previous generations did not have Mel Gibson, $30 million, and 127 minutes to bring The Passion of the Christ into their homes. But they did have Bibles, art, and crucifixes with which to contemplate “being there.”
Do time and place prevent our dead from caring for us?
To contemplate Christ’s sacrifice is to confront the unimaginable: Timelessness. My father and I did not cease to be family upon his death. If Jesus’ words are to be a guide, then I should not be surprised to learn my father, who died in 2016, remains concerned for my wellbeing.
In Luke 16:19-31, Jesus tells the story of the rich man and Lazarus. In the story, poor, afflicted Lazarus died and went to be with Abraham. The merciless rich man, however, died and went to Hades, “where he was being tormented.” He begged Abraham to send Lazarus to “my father’s house — for I have five brothers — that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.”
If we believe Jesus that an evil man in hell can continue to care deeply for his brothers on Earth, is it not reasonable to accept that those residing with Abraham also continue to love, care for, and pray for their families?
The truth is, we know they do. In Revelation 5:8, we learn, “four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints.” We’re told that the saints – in Heaven – pray for us. And how beautiful those prayers must be if they are as incense in golden bowls.
Communion of the Saints: More time travel
More than a decade ago, I was diagnosed with cancer: the same type that killed my father, his father, and my mother’s father. I became the fourth with the diagnosis. I was frightened and shed a few tears.
The good news is that I come from a big family of praying Christians. I spent a few days calling my siblings and parents, sharing the news. But, I called for a purpose: Not to lament, but to ask each for prayer. I also approached my Christian friends to ask for their prayers. I did not do this in place of praying to God myself. I did it because I believe “The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective.” (James 5:16)
It was beautiful and moving that I could ask for prayers from any friends or family, whether in my time and place or in the timelessness of Heaven, where the saints offer prayers in golden bowls full of incense. As a Catholic, I know this as the Communion of the Saints. It’s something I’m part of. It includes those in Purgatory, no matter how briefly, and the saints in Heaven with prayers as incense.
From The Catholic Encyclopedia, we learn, “The communion of saints is the spiritual solidarity which binds together the faithful on Earth, the souls in purgatory, and the saints in Heaven in the organic unity of the same mystical body under Christ its head, and in a constant interchange of supernatural offices. The participants in that solidarity are called saints by reason of their destination and of their partaking of the fruits of the Redemption.” 1
From the earliest days of the ancient church, it just made good sense to ask for the prayers of the righteous, whether on Earth or in Heaven. John Chrysostom, a fourth-century archbishop of Constantinople, encouraged, “When you perceive that God is chastening you, fly not to his enemies . . . but to his friends, the martyrs, the saints, and those who were pleasing to him, and who have great power [in God]” (Orations 8:6 [A.D. 396]). 2
Therefore, the church is more than the bricks and mortar of the parish where I worship or the people there with whom I pray. It is not hard for me to see myself as a small part of something vastly greater than me, my time, or my place. In that vastness, I still feel companionship with my father, Gene, who played back-alley basketball on Pearl Harbor Day in 1941.
Necromancy and The Witch of Endor
Summoning the dead is a sin abhorred by God. In his Instructions to the Israelites, necromancy – conjuring the dead – is as roundly condemned as burning children in human sacrifice. (Deuteronomy 18:9-14) “For whoever does these things is an abomination to the LORD; and because of these abominable practices the LORD your God is driving them out before you.”
The Catechism of the Catholic Church echoes Deuteronomy’s condemnations:
All forms of divination are to be rejected: recourse to Satan or demons, conjuring up the dead or other practices falsely supposed to “unveil” the future. Consulting horoscopes, astrology, palm reading, interpretation of omens and lots, the phenomena of clairvoyance, and recourse to mediums all conceal a desire for power over time, history, and, in the last analysis, other human beings, as well as a wish to conciliate hidden powers. They contradict the honor, respect, and loving fear that we owe to God alone. (2116)
Saul, the first king of Israel, had vigorously driven from the land those described in Deuteronomy 18. Through the years, he relied closely on the advice of the prophet Samuel who had anointed him king. In time, the aged Samuel died, and on the eve of a battle with the Philistines, Saul found himself afraid, hearing only silence from God in his prayers. He decided to go around God’s silence and seek advice from the dead Samuel. Saul ordered his servants to “Seek out for me a woman who is a medium, that I may go to her and inquire of her.” Saul secretly met with her, and she conjured Samuel, who condemned the act and told Saul that he and his sons would die in the battle. The sons were killed, and Saul committed suicide.
I had These Bible stories in mind as I came from the Evangelical world into the Catholic church. I believed Catholics conjured up the dead, prayed to the dead, and worshipped statues of the dead. And, I was in for a surprise.
In 1989, I was given Medjugorje: The Message, a book based on reports that the Virgin Mary appeared on a hill near Medjugorje, a town then in Yugoslavia, now within Bosnia and Herzegovina. I didn’t finish it. When my mother asked me why, I said I had no use for it. If I needed to pray, I’d rather go straight to God than someone who had been dead for centuries.
Today that attitude makes me cringe. While I have no opinion on apparitions in Medjugorje, the concept that Jesus’ mother has been dead for centuries is just plain wrong. I find it difficult to believe any Christian – Protestant, Orthodox, or Catholic – could conceive that Mary and Jesus’ loyal disciples are dead, gone, and no longer care about the fate of God’s people on Earth. They are undoubtedly among the righteous, with their powerful and effective prayers as incense filling the golden bowls described in Revelation.
Do Catholics worship dead saints?
As I explored the Catholic church, I learned Catholics do not worship the saints but simply ask them for prayer. This was no different than me – years later – asking the most righteous people I knew for prayer when I had cancer.
Part of the challenge for me was semantics and the word “pray.” As a young Evangelical, the word “pray” was in my mind synonymous with “worship.” However, when I began to see myself as a small part of the Communion of Saints, I saw a difference between prayer and worship. If I lived when Mary walked the Earth, she would be a highly honored guest at my dinner table. We would begin such an occasion by praying thanks to God for the food we were about to eat. However, I would never worship Mary over a pot roast and dare not worship her in Heaven. Yet, it would seem odd to believe that the Mary who interceded with Jesus at the Cana wedding does not continue to hold a special place in his heart today. (John 2:1-10)
Whose power is it?
An essential part of asking the saints in Heaven for prayer is understanding that we are not reaching out as if to Greek demigods with a power of their own. We ask the righteous to intercede with the one almighty God, just as we would seek the prayers of those with whom we attend church or Bible studies.
In 1 Timothy 2, Paul urges Timothy in Ephesus to pray for everyone. Yet he notes the power is not with Timothy, but God: “For there is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself a ransom for all.”
Timothy is no demigod. Neither is Mary, Joseph, Peter, Paul, or any other saint. We worship the one God. And we pray while understanding there is but one mediator between God and humankind, just as Paul encouraged Timothy centuries ago.
Catholics often have what are called “devotions” to saints. Again, this is no different than asking for prayer from someone on Earth with a unique ministry. For instance, I led a bereavement group at my church for several years. The group included those grieving the loss of loved ones, often under tragic circumstances. These are the first people I asked for prayer following the death of my family members.
When I am plagued with doubt, I’ll pray to God, but also ask Thomas to join in praying for me. I figure he gets it because he’s been there. When I struggle with temptation, I pray to God, but also ask Antony, a third century “desert father,” to pray for me. Again, it is because I know he understands the challenges of temptation. In all cases, I pray to God for help and figure if the phone line to Thomas and Antony is down, I’ve lost nothing by asking for their righteous prayers. And I know I can also count on my brothers and sisters in this time and place to pray for me, without anyone accusing me of worshipping them.
Re-embracing the miraculous
Just as I learned from Anselm that belief is a choice, I’ve discovered that, once believing, I’m forced to embrace the mystical, the supernatural, and the miraculous. This includes the Communion of the Saints. To my Pentecostal and Charismatic friends, embracing the miraculous and unseen is not so hard. For me, this can be a struggle. However, I’ve learned that limiting myself to stark rationality manufactured in my time and place can put me in a cold and distant prison. Thomas seemed to struggle with this. And, while the rational Thomas in me often wrestles with these concepts, there are times when I encounter fleeting glimpses of Jesus and am compelled to cry out with Thomas, “My Lord and my God!”
- See: The Edge of atheism
1 Sollier, Joseph. “The Communion of Saints.” The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 20 Oct. 2019 <http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/04171a.htm>
2 Catholic Answers, The Intercession of the Saints, Retrieved 3/3/2019: https://www.catholic.com/tract/the-intercession-of-the-saints
Image Credit: Benvenuto Tisi, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Scripture quotations are from New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Note: Bible Gateway is a useful tool for comparing various translations of the Bible.
