Author name: Molly Hostetler

A great part of our problem today—for both the Left and the Right—is that we are in a strange condition of being abstracted from nature (including human nature itself) by science and technology. Generally speaking, the Left is abstracted from human nature, and the Right is abstracted from nature. As a result, we have created a culture that keeps us from discovering nature, a culture that deforms human nature from its very earliest stages.

I will leave to the statisticians an exact inventory, but by my reckoning there are ninety-two references to creation in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), only six of which are less than glowing. And these few, testifying as they do to the disorders into which we have fallen, remind us of a good thing gone bad, that the evil we do is not the fault of anything God made, rather our willful and perverse misuse of it.

The first two chapters of Luke’s Gospel are widely cherished among Bible readers. They narrate the stories of John the Baptist’s conception and birth, the Annunciation to Mary and, of course, the Nativity and early childhood of Jesus. Situated in the midst of these profound events, however, is the humble occasion of Mary’s Visitation to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39–56).

Forty days after the Resurrection, the Apostles witnessed the entry of Jesus’ humanity into divine glory as he ascended into the heavens and disappeared into a cloud—a symbol of God’s presence and glory.

The extraordinary images that fill the story world of the Apocalypse of John sparkle, simmer, and seethe with an electric, otherworldly glow that has helped to account for its perennial allure since it first appeared toward the end of the first century. The Apocalypse certainly contains many haunting images of death and destruction on a cosmic scale, as the images of locusts, frogs, hail, earthquakes, and falling stars recall the plagues described in the Book of Exodus (and those reprised by the sage in the Wisdom of Solomon 11:2–19:22).

Beyond images of fire and falling stars, the Book of Revelation develops an elaborate portrait of a Christ with many Faces who stands at the center of life—on earth and in heaven—alongside God the Father Almighty in the power of the Holy Spirit. When taken together, John’s visions convey to the Churches of Asia Minor a remarkable preview of God’s world, where the heavenly throne of God and the Lamb stands at its very center.

The words of the Gospel are so laden with meaning that they invite continual reflection on what we have heard and read. We must dive beneath their surface significance to discover what is applicable to the unfolding of our own call, vocation, and avocation. These sacred utterances are carriers of hidden wisdom. They stir the heart of every receptive listener. They point to the impenetrable depths of divine transformation. They remind us that no amount of faith formation can bring our search to closure. We pass through pockets of light between long stretches of darkness.