COMMENT: Feast of Church "twentieth-century Father of the Church". Balthasar and Crusoe

Robinson Crusoe 

Feast of the Church Lateran Rome 9 November

Lk. 15: 1-10 Robinson Crusoe Joy Repentant Sinner

This morning, the commentary on the Mass from MAGNIFICAT was unusual,

  An excerptfrom Robinson Crusoe c. 6&7 by Daniel Defoe (+ 1731).   

Avid readers of Hans Urs von Balthasar often describe Heart of the World as a "surprise". The "pure serenity of a volcano under snow" readers usually find in Balthasar, as translator Erasmo Leiva puts it, gives way to "the poet-theologian" who dares to "bare his own heart". The result is what can only be described as lyrical, even intimate spiritual reflections.

"Heart of the World", the translator continues, "deserves a place next to the Imitation of Christ. Especially in the passages where Christ speaks to the soul, Father von Balthasar shows himself a worthy successor of Thomas :a’Kempis. Both works combine an intense personal piety with a precise awareness of the believer's position as child and servant of Christ's Church .... For Balthasar, as for Kempis and all genuine Christians, the saint is first and foremost the one who renders constant thanks for having been loved."

Heart of the World is a profound and theologically rich reflection on the Heart of God.

Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905-1988) was one of the greatest theologians of the twentieth century, perhaps of all time. He was a priest, a publisher, a translator, a prodigious author, and the spiritual leader of a religious community in Basel, Switzerland.

Henri Cardinal de Lubac called him a "twentieth-century Father of the Church, an embodiment of Catholic culture".

Heart of the World, Hans Urs von Balthaser , p 66 "Robinson Crusoe..."

“But who is this sun? Who has overburdened himself with the hard-labour of love? Who is the light which illumines every man who comes into this world? It is a Heart like ours, a human Heart, which itself thirsts for a return of love. A Heart like other hearts full of warm folly, full of imprudent hope, full of obstinacy. A Heart that pines away when it is not loved. Who can love his whole life among nothing but enemies? And if one of us should be cast like Robinson Crusoe on an empty island, we  would still have the memory of our youth and would nourish our solitude with images of long-past friendship. A human heart is not like God: it does not revolve upon itself; it is not without its needs. It beats, it pulses, it searches, it requires alien blood in order in order to live. . . .”