My seven year-old daughter Winnie learned to ride a two-wheeler a few weeks ago. Now that she’s up and going, she couldn’t be happier or more proud, but she understandably had her fears when she started. We’d run down the playground together, one of my hands on her back seat and another on her handlebar. When we got enough speed I’d let her go, but after just a few feet she’d hit the brakes and stop. She wasn’t confident; she was afraid of falling. At the same time, she knew that she couldn’t continue to ride with training wheels forever. At some point, they had to come off, and she had to ride by herself. And she did.
Jesus, in today’s gospel, took the training wheels off for his twelve apostles, in a manner of speaking. Up until this point, they had been travelling alongside Jesus. He was visible to them, present with them. They ate, drank, prayed, travelled, talked, and ministered with him. Jesus had been teaching them about faith, as we’ve heard at Mass over the past few weeks. But now it was time for them to put these faith lessons into practice for themselves. Jesus was sending them off in pairs. They would have to ride on their own, without Jesus at their side, holding their handlebar and their seat. It was time for the training wheels to come off.
Sooner or later, the apostles would have to learn to do this, because Jesus wasn’t going to be with them forever. But it’s a lesson we have to learn too. Like the apostles, we have to make our journey of faith without Jesus visibly at our side. We need to ride without training wheels.
Jesus never said it was going to be easy, but it has to be done. When learning to ride her bike, Winnie told me: “Daddy, I’m only going to brake when I’m scared, I’m itchy, or hair gets in my face.” In our faith journeys, we contend with the very same things. We can become afraid; we can get distracted or uncomfortable; we become anxious when we can’t see where we’re going. We want to hit the brakes; we want the training wheels back on; we want to see Jesus right at our side, holding our seat and our handlebar.
But we can’t. So sometimes we’re tempted to find “Jesus substitutes.” You know: crutches that we think will help us make it. Things we hope will numb our pain; fill the void; distract us from our boredom; provide us with a sense of security; give our lives meaning and direction. It might be a relationship, a job, money, status or achievement, a hobby, the promotion of some “righteous cause,” a bottle of wine, or hours wasted with the computer or TV. These things may not necessarily be bad, in and of themselves. But they become bad when they substitute for Jesus. When they keep us from putting all our trust in him.
Jesus calls us to look for meaning or security not in the things of this world, but only in him. Consider his instructions to the disciples in today’s gospel. They were to travel without food, money, luggage, or extra clothes. Just shoes, one cloak, and a stick. Nothing that would keep them from relying completely on Jesus. We should take this to heart as we continue on our own faith journeys.
But again, that’s not easy. We want training wheels. We want to see the one we’re called to trust. Very rarely, maybe we can. But more often than not, all we can do is catch glimpses of him, or hear rumors about him. Our God isn’t normally a shouter; he’s a whisperer. He brushes past us, instead of crashing into us. He taps our shoulder from behind, instead of getting in our face. God does answer prayers, but not always in an obvious way. We wonder: Did I get an answer, or am I just imagining things? Is it providence, or coincidence? I work with lots of people who are trying to figure out if God is calling them to be ordained a deacon. One fellow said to me: “I wish God would put up a big banner! I wish he’d send me an e-mail!” But that’s not the way God operates.
Consider this: We attend Mass every week. We receive the Body and Blood of Christ. But on Monday morning, are we dramatically different people? When we walk into work, do people say to us, “Wow! What happened to you?” as if we’d had come sort of “Extreme Makeover-Grace Edition” experience? Probably not. Yes, we did receive God’s grace. But grace is, well, graceful. It doesn’t typically overpower us, but gently strengthens and heals us. Grace is the work of the Holy Spirit. Rarely does the Spirit operate like at Pentecost- with mighty rushing winds and balls of fire. More often, as the Bible describes it, the Spirit’s work is like a breath, or a still, small voice.
If God didn’t act this way, our faith journey would be like riding a bike with training wheels. Which at times, may not seem like such a bad thing. But training wheels are for children. What God wants for us is to have a strong, mature, healthy faith with which we can withstand the realities of life. And for us to have that, God needs to take off the training wheels, and let go of our seat.
We may need to let go of some things as well: the things we cling to for support when Jesus can’t be seen. The one thing we must hold on to, however, is our faith. Faith that while Jesus may not always be visible, he’s still by our side; faith that while Jesus may not be holding our seat, he’ll still support us and keep us steady; and faith that we never really travel alone, and that Jesus waits for us at the end.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Thirteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time
Big crowds gathered around Jesus in today’s gospel. As it always was with our Lord, admission was free. Anyone and everyone could come! And apparently they did. The two people in that crowd whom we specifically meet could not have been more different, given the time and place in which they lived.
On the one hand there was the ruler of a local synagogue. In most people’s eyes, he would have been considered to be one of the most important people in town. You’ll note that he’s mentioned in the gospel by name: Jairus. People knew exactly who he was and what he did.
On the other hand, there was the woman with the hemorrhage. We’re not told her name. Nobody knew it; she simply wasn’t important enough. For starters, she was a woman, which in that culture didn’t count for too much. Second, no husband of hers is mentioned. She must have been either single or a widow, which meant that she would have counted even less! And then there was her flow of blood. Surely it must have been a painful condition. But her pain was doubled by the fact that according to Jewish law, she was considered “ritually unclean.” People, including family and friends, would have had to keep her at arm’s length.
These two people were at opposite ends of the cultural spectrum: One was king of the hill; the other was at the bottom of the totem pole. One felt bold enough to approach Jesus directly; the other felt she had to sneak up behind him in secret. For Jairus, people would have stepped aside; for the woman, people would have turned away.
Yet these two did have something very important in common: they were desperate, and they turned to Jesus for help. Both recognized a need for something they came to appreciate only Jesus could give. The synagogue ruler came because he was scared- scared that his daughter would die. The woman came because she was broke; she had no other options left.
Two very different people. But Jesus treated them in exactly the same way: with respect, kindness, and generosity. Consider the words that Jesus spoke to them: “Go in peace.” “Be cured.” “Do not be afraid.” And he spoke to both of them about faith. He informed the woman that it was her faith that had saved her; he encouraged Jairus by saying “Just have faith.” Evidently he did, and his daughter was healed.
This raises a very important point. Twice in this gospel a connection is made between faith and healing. Sometimes, however, we can misunderstand this. We conclude that if we believe something deeply enough- if our faith is strong enough- then Jesus will give us what we want or what we’re asking for. Seen this way, faith is nothing more than a tool to manipulate God: If I can muster up sufficient faith, then God has to grant my wish.
This is not how Jesus wants us to understand faith. Imagine you’re like Jairus, and have a sick child. You have faith, or at least you’re trying your best to hold on to faith during a very difficult and scary time. You pray for a miraculous healing. But then, tragically, your child dies. What conclusion do you make then? That you didn’t have enough faith? How terrible! Not only do you now need to mourn your child’s death; you also have no one else to blame for it but yourself. On top of this, you imagine that God is disappointed in you. Which leaves you feeling depressed, angry, and afraid.
But is this what today’s gospel is teaching us? Is this what our Lord wants us to take away from Mass today? No. Jesus does want us to have faith; the words he spoke to Jairus and the woman he also speaks to us! But not simply: have faith and you’ll always be healed. Instead, when Jesus says for us to have faith, he means for us to have faith in him. Not in a particular outcome; not that he’ll make happen what we want to happen. But faith in him. His love. His presence. His goodness. That he keeps his promises. That he wants us to be with him forever.
But who is this Jesus in whom we’re to have faith? If you’re not sure, look closely at the portrait today’s gospel paints for us. It’s a Jesus who cares for everyone. Who doesn’t make a distinction between rich and poor, men and women, those with power and those without. We don’t need money or influence or good health to gain his access. This Jesus is one who speaks with kindness to those who are scared or hurting; who makes sure a little girl gets a snack after she recovers from her illness.
Is this the kind of person- the kind of God- we can put our trust in? It’s tempting to imagine that God is one who looks down on us all the time. It’s hard to trust God when we think of him that way. Obedience, yes; respect, yes; but trust, maybe not. It’s true that God is God and we are not. But does that mean God looks down on us? Consider today’s second reading carefully. As Paul takes care to explain, it’s not so much that God looks down on us. It’s more that God comes down to us. He came down to us as Jesus, which Paul describes beautifully as a “gracious act.” Jesus comes to be with us. To be one of us. To share our joys. To share our pain. To give us hope. Jesus was rich but became poor so we might be rich- not rich in terms of worldy wealth, but rich in the good things of God.
There’s no need for us to approach Jesus like the woman did, with “fear and trembling.” As Jesus said to Jairus, he says also to us: “Do not be afraid; just have faith.”
On the one hand there was the ruler of a local synagogue. In most people’s eyes, he would have been considered to be one of the most important people in town. You’ll note that he’s mentioned in the gospel by name: Jairus. People knew exactly who he was and what he did.
On the other hand, there was the woman with the hemorrhage. We’re not told her name. Nobody knew it; she simply wasn’t important enough. For starters, she was a woman, which in that culture didn’t count for too much. Second, no husband of hers is mentioned. She must have been either single or a widow, which meant that she would have counted even less! And then there was her flow of blood. Surely it must have been a painful condition. But her pain was doubled by the fact that according to Jewish law, she was considered “ritually unclean.” People, including family and friends, would have had to keep her at arm’s length.
These two people were at opposite ends of the cultural spectrum: One was king of the hill; the other was at the bottom of the totem pole. One felt bold enough to approach Jesus directly; the other felt she had to sneak up behind him in secret. For Jairus, people would have stepped aside; for the woman, people would have turned away.
Yet these two did have something very important in common: they were desperate, and they turned to Jesus for help. Both recognized a need for something they came to appreciate only Jesus could give. The synagogue ruler came because he was scared- scared that his daughter would die. The woman came because she was broke; she had no other options left.
Two very different people. But Jesus treated them in exactly the same way: with respect, kindness, and generosity. Consider the words that Jesus spoke to them: “Go in peace.” “Be cured.” “Do not be afraid.” And he spoke to both of them about faith. He informed the woman that it was her faith that had saved her; he encouraged Jairus by saying “Just have faith.” Evidently he did, and his daughter was healed.
This raises a very important point. Twice in this gospel a connection is made between faith and healing. Sometimes, however, we can misunderstand this. We conclude that if we believe something deeply enough- if our faith is strong enough- then Jesus will give us what we want or what we’re asking for. Seen this way, faith is nothing more than a tool to manipulate God: If I can muster up sufficient faith, then God has to grant my wish.
This is not how Jesus wants us to understand faith. Imagine you’re like Jairus, and have a sick child. You have faith, or at least you’re trying your best to hold on to faith during a very difficult and scary time. You pray for a miraculous healing. But then, tragically, your child dies. What conclusion do you make then? That you didn’t have enough faith? How terrible! Not only do you now need to mourn your child’s death; you also have no one else to blame for it but yourself. On top of this, you imagine that God is disappointed in you. Which leaves you feeling depressed, angry, and afraid.
But is this what today’s gospel is teaching us? Is this what our Lord wants us to take away from Mass today? No. Jesus does want us to have faith; the words he spoke to Jairus and the woman he also speaks to us! But not simply: have faith and you’ll always be healed. Instead, when Jesus says for us to have faith, he means for us to have faith in him. Not in a particular outcome; not that he’ll make happen what we want to happen. But faith in him. His love. His presence. His goodness. That he keeps his promises. That he wants us to be with him forever.
But who is this Jesus in whom we’re to have faith? If you’re not sure, look closely at the portrait today’s gospel paints for us. It’s a Jesus who cares for everyone. Who doesn’t make a distinction between rich and poor, men and women, those with power and those without. We don’t need money or influence or good health to gain his access. This Jesus is one who speaks with kindness to those who are scared or hurting; who makes sure a little girl gets a snack after she recovers from her illness.
Is this the kind of person- the kind of God- we can put our trust in? It’s tempting to imagine that God is one who looks down on us all the time. It’s hard to trust God when we think of him that way. Obedience, yes; respect, yes; but trust, maybe not. It’s true that God is God and we are not. But does that mean God looks down on us? Consider today’s second reading carefully. As Paul takes care to explain, it’s not so much that God looks down on us. It’s more that God comes down to us. He came down to us as Jesus, which Paul describes beautifully as a “gracious act.” Jesus comes to be with us. To be one of us. To share our joys. To share our pain. To give us hope. Jesus was rich but became poor so we might be rich- not rich in terms of worldy wealth, but rich in the good things of God.
There’s no need for us to approach Jesus like the woman did, with “fear and trembling.” As Jesus said to Jairus, he says also to us: “Do not be afraid; just have faith.”
Friday, June 19, 2009
Ordinary 12
For years, I’ve wondered how Jesus could have remained asleep on a cushion in the back of the boat while a violent storm raged all around him, the air filled with the sounds of howling wind, crashing waves, and screaming disciples. I knew that Jesus was tired, but c’mon- there’s no way anyone could sleep through all that!
Perhaps, however, Jesus’ having slept through the storm is rather significant. Jesus’ resting is a contrast to everyone else’s panic, and is meant to be an example for us. Today’s gospel story is often interpreted as meaning, “If you have faith, Jesus will calm the storms in your life.” Which in itself is a true statement. But in this story, the disciples did not have faith. They freaked out, were convinced that Jesus didn’t care, and annoyed that he was sleeping while they thought they were going to die. Archbishop Anthony Bloom sums up the disciples’ attitude very well when he writes, “And then they turn to Christ and do what we very often do with God: We look at God in time of stress and tragedy, and we are indignant that he is so peaceful.”
Nevertheless, Jesus stilled the storm. He did so for three reasons. First, to show that he did indeed care. Second, to teach the disciples that there was no need for them to panic. And third, to convince the disciples of their need of faith. Today’s gospel challenges us to embrace these same three lessons. Jesus always loves us, we need to have faith in him, and there are many things we just shouldn’t panic about.
So often we get frustrated with our circumstances or particular situations and then get angry with the Lord. Like the disciples, we say things to him like: “How come you aren’t paying attention? Are you sleeping? Don’t you see how important this is? Aren’t you concerned about my well-being and happiness?” Yet if we listen for his response, we might just hear Jesus say: “I know you’re scared. I know you’re frustrated. I know you’re angry. But there’s no need to be terrified. There’s no point to your worry and your anger. Have faith, and be at peace.”
What things do we worry about? What makes us panic? What do we fear losing? I encourage you to spend some time this week trying to answer those questions. It’s a good exercise, because it will identify our addictions and unmask our idols. And once we’ve done that, God can help us break the addictions, and smash the idols by giving us the faith we need.
Faith helps us to have a proper perspective on things. It helps us to see the world as God wants us to see the world. With faith, we come to realize that things we used to worry about, or get upset over, or were afraid of, weren’t worth all the effort and energy we wasted on them. Let me give you one example. People sometimes share with me that they’ve been impatient- be it with their spouse, their children, their relatives, their coworkers, or even themselves. They’ve blown their tops, lost their cool, and had knots in their stomach. After I listen to them I’ll ask, “Would you call yourself a perfectionist?” And often, with a sigh and a note of resignation in their voice, they’ll admit that they are. I’ll point out to them that perfectionists place unrealistic expectations upon themselves and others. And when imperfect people in their lives fail to be perfect, they get angry and frustrated. Both of which is unfair and unnecessary.
With faith, however, we can come to treat the people in our lives as God wants them to be treated: With respect, patience, empathy, and the understanding that we’re all a “work in progress,” this side of heaven. This doesn’t mean that we can’t challenge them to become all God made them to be. Love demands that we do this! But love also demands that we do it without unnecessary frustration and anger.
We can get frustrated and angry about all sorts of things we don’t need to. For instance, in our superficial, impatient, and materialistic culture, we want the things we want, and we want them now. It might be a getting certain job, achieving a higher standard of living, acquiring an improved body image, finding a new relationship, starting a family, or getting into what we think is the “right” college. We convince ourselves that we won’t be happy unless we have these things. And if we don’t get them, we feel panicked, mad, or both. We think we’re being cheated. We even get angry with God. Like the disciples in the gospel, we can conclude that he just doesn’t care.
But God does care. It’s just that he doesn’t always see things the way we do. That’s why we need faith. With faith, we can purify our perspectives, priorities, and expectations. With faith, we remember that while God always gives us what we need, he doesn’t always give us what we want. With faith, we can be grateful for what we have instead of frustrated over what we don’t. With faith, we can be happy in the present instead of thinking that we’ll only be happy in a future that may never come. With faith, we understand that everything happens for a reason. With faith, we’re assured that God is always with us, surrounding us with love, giving us the grace to do what he wants us to do. With faith, we’ll know the peace that only Jesus can give.
Like he was with the disciples, Jesus is always in the same boat with us. He wants us to share his peace when storms rage around us, especially if we’re created the storm ourselves. Jesus’ words to the wind and the rain: “Quiet! Be still!” are also words he speaks to us. And as he does, he invites us to replace our self-wounding frustration, with life-giving faith.
Perhaps, however, Jesus’ having slept through the storm is rather significant. Jesus’ resting is a contrast to everyone else’s panic, and is meant to be an example for us. Today’s gospel story is often interpreted as meaning, “If you have faith, Jesus will calm the storms in your life.” Which in itself is a true statement. But in this story, the disciples did not have faith. They freaked out, were convinced that Jesus didn’t care, and annoyed that he was sleeping while they thought they were going to die. Archbishop Anthony Bloom sums up the disciples’ attitude very well when he writes, “And then they turn to Christ and do what we very often do with God: We look at God in time of stress and tragedy, and we are indignant that he is so peaceful.”
Nevertheless, Jesus stilled the storm. He did so for three reasons. First, to show that he did indeed care. Second, to teach the disciples that there was no need for them to panic. And third, to convince the disciples of their need of faith. Today’s gospel challenges us to embrace these same three lessons. Jesus always loves us, we need to have faith in him, and there are many things we just shouldn’t panic about.
So often we get frustrated with our circumstances or particular situations and then get angry with the Lord. Like the disciples, we say things to him like: “How come you aren’t paying attention? Are you sleeping? Don’t you see how important this is? Aren’t you concerned about my well-being and happiness?” Yet if we listen for his response, we might just hear Jesus say: “I know you’re scared. I know you’re frustrated. I know you’re angry. But there’s no need to be terrified. There’s no point to your worry and your anger. Have faith, and be at peace.”
What things do we worry about? What makes us panic? What do we fear losing? I encourage you to spend some time this week trying to answer those questions. It’s a good exercise, because it will identify our addictions and unmask our idols. And once we’ve done that, God can help us break the addictions, and smash the idols by giving us the faith we need.
Faith helps us to have a proper perspective on things. It helps us to see the world as God wants us to see the world. With faith, we come to realize that things we used to worry about, or get upset over, or were afraid of, weren’t worth all the effort and energy we wasted on them. Let me give you one example. People sometimes share with me that they’ve been impatient- be it with their spouse, their children, their relatives, their coworkers, or even themselves. They’ve blown their tops, lost their cool, and had knots in their stomach. After I listen to them I’ll ask, “Would you call yourself a perfectionist?” And often, with a sigh and a note of resignation in their voice, they’ll admit that they are. I’ll point out to them that perfectionists place unrealistic expectations upon themselves and others. And when imperfect people in their lives fail to be perfect, they get angry and frustrated. Both of which is unfair and unnecessary.
With faith, however, we can come to treat the people in our lives as God wants them to be treated: With respect, patience, empathy, and the understanding that we’re all a “work in progress,” this side of heaven. This doesn’t mean that we can’t challenge them to become all God made them to be. Love demands that we do this! But love also demands that we do it without unnecessary frustration and anger.
We can get frustrated and angry about all sorts of things we don’t need to. For instance, in our superficial, impatient, and materialistic culture, we want the things we want, and we want them now. It might be a getting certain job, achieving a higher standard of living, acquiring an improved body image, finding a new relationship, starting a family, or getting into what we think is the “right” college. We convince ourselves that we won’t be happy unless we have these things. And if we don’t get them, we feel panicked, mad, or both. We think we’re being cheated. We even get angry with God. Like the disciples in the gospel, we can conclude that he just doesn’t care.
But God does care. It’s just that he doesn’t always see things the way we do. That’s why we need faith. With faith, we can purify our perspectives, priorities, and expectations. With faith, we remember that while God always gives us what we need, he doesn’t always give us what we want. With faith, we can be grateful for what we have instead of frustrated over what we don’t. With faith, we can be happy in the present instead of thinking that we’ll only be happy in a future that may never come. With faith, we understand that everything happens for a reason. With faith, we’re assured that God is always with us, surrounding us with love, giving us the grace to do what he wants us to do. With faith, we’ll know the peace that only Jesus can give.
Like he was with the disciples, Jesus is always in the same boat with us. He wants us to share his peace when storms rage around us, especially if we’re created the storm ourselves. Jesus’ words to the wind and the rain: “Quiet! Be still!” are also words he speaks to us. And as he does, he invites us to replace our self-wounding frustration, with life-giving faith.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Corpus Christi
Do you have tokens which remind you of the love that others have for you? Family pictures in your workplace? A box of old letters? Maybe a picture one of your children made for you, or a home-made gift? Or what about a souvenir from a special day with a special someone?
I’ll let you in on a professional secret: I know of more than one priest who keeps “thank you” notes that have been sent to him over the years, and pulls them out to read after a rough day, when he could use a little affirmation- a reminder that he’s loved and appreciated.
We all like to be reminded that we’re loved. Loved by other people. Loved by God. Jesus knows that. That’s one reason why he instituted the Holy Eucharist, the sacrament we give thanks for in a special way today, the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, traditionally known as “Corpus Christi.”
The Eucharist is many things, and has layers of meaning. But at a very basic, fundamental level, the Eucharist is a reminder- perhaps the supreme reminder- of the love that Jesus has for us. At the Last Supper, Jesus took bread, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said, “Do this in memory of me.” He said the very same words again over the cup of wine. Evidently, he wants us to remember.
Radio personality Garrison Keillor, in his “Prairie Home Companion,” tells a joke about a stereotypically reserved Norwegian farmer who loved his wife so much that he almost told her once. The truth is that people need to tell those they love how much they love them. Recently I attended the Funeral Mass for a deacon. A fellow deacon gave the eulogy, and he shared how he and the departed had developed a deep friendship over the years, starting when he was a teenager, when the deceased deacon, who had been older, served as a mentor in a youth club. Both of these individuals were masculine, married, full-blooded, even tough, African-American men. Which is why it came as something of a shock when the deacon giving the eulogy shared that, near the end of the deceased deacon’s life, they would end their conversations by saying to each other, “I love you, man.” I could sense that this touched many people in the congregation. It touched me.
Saying “I love you” can be so important in a relationship. That’s why marriage experts encourage spouses to tell each other “I love you” every day. That’s why parenting experts advise parents to tell their kids “I love you” every day. And that’s why Jesus, through the Eucharist, says “I love you” to us, at every Mass.
Sometimes, when I’m standing at the altar celebrating Mass, and I’m holding the Body of Christ in my hands, or am gazing into the chalice filled with the Precious Blood, and I speak those words of Jesus- “This is my body, given up for you; this is my blood, shed for you”- I can be overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Jesus did for me, and I’m reminded of how much he loves me. I’m also reminded of how much I need to be reminded!
Each one of us needs to be reminded of Jesus' love, because we can so easily forget, for so many reasons. Sometimes it’s because of the busyness of life. We’ve got too many things going on. We get distracted. We can get stressed out, and it seems like we have to use all our energy just to keep our heads above water. Jesus fades into the background. Out of sight, out of mind.
At other times it’s the pleasures of life that lead us to forget. Our pleasures make us content and comfortable. Life is smooth sailing, the world is our oyster. Because we seem to be in control, we forget about our need for God. And, we forget about his love.
The pains of life can also make us forget. The pain can become all we think about; the world looks bleak indeed. God may not be forgotten at times like this, as we may be wondering why God’s not taking away our pain! But we can certainly doubt his love. We forget that it’s always there.
But then we come to the Eucharist. We recall Jesus’ sacrifice for our forgiveness. We recall his resurrection which gives us hope. And we receive Jesus himself. “This is my body, this is my blood.” Those aren’t empty words. We truly receive Jesus by grace. We’re filled, in a very real way, with his love. And we remember. Once again.
Yet the Eucharist doesn’t simply remind us of God love for us. It also reminds us of God’s love for others, and how God wants us to love them too. Remember Jesus words in the gospel? “This is my blood shed for the many.” Not just for me. Not just for you. For the many. Jesus’ love is boundless! He loves everyone. As should we! But how easily we can forget that.
Think of it this way: At Communion, the host is presented to us with the words: “The Body of Christ.” We say “Amen” and receive Jesus into ourselves. But what is that Body? It most certainly is Jesus. But are not we also the Body of Christ, the Church? That means that when we receive Holy Communion, we don’t just receive Jesus. In a certain sense, we also receive each other.
We receive those in our families, those in the pew next to us, pews across town, and pews halfway around the world. People who may be hungry. People who may be afraid. People we may disagree with. People we may have hurt. People who, in some way or another, may need a reminder of our love for them.
Jesus, in this Eucharist, reminds us of his love for us. Let’s not forget, that we’re to share that love, with everyone.
I’ll let you in on a professional secret: I know of more than one priest who keeps “thank you” notes that have been sent to him over the years, and pulls them out to read after a rough day, when he could use a little affirmation- a reminder that he’s loved and appreciated.
We all like to be reminded that we’re loved. Loved by other people. Loved by God. Jesus knows that. That’s one reason why he instituted the Holy Eucharist, the sacrament we give thanks for in a special way today, the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, traditionally known as “Corpus Christi.”
The Eucharist is many things, and has layers of meaning. But at a very basic, fundamental level, the Eucharist is a reminder- perhaps the supreme reminder- of the love that Jesus has for us. At the Last Supper, Jesus took bread, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said, “Do this in memory of me.” He said the very same words again over the cup of wine. Evidently, he wants us to remember.
Radio personality Garrison Keillor, in his “Prairie Home Companion,” tells a joke about a stereotypically reserved Norwegian farmer who loved his wife so much that he almost told her once. The truth is that people need to tell those they love how much they love them. Recently I attended the Funeral Mass for a deacon. A fellow deacon gave the eulogy, and he shared how he and the departed had developed a deep friendship over the years, starting when he was a teenager, when the deceased deacon, who had been older, served as a mentor in a youth club. Both of these individuals were masculine, married, full-blooded, even tough, African-American men. Which is why it came as something of a shock when the deacon giving the eulogy shared that, near the end of the deceased deacon’s life, they would end their conversations by saying to each other, “I love you, man.” I could sense that this touched many people in the congregation. It touched me.
Saying “I love you” can be so important in a relationship. That’s why marriage experts encourage spouses to tell each other “I love you” every day. That’s why parenting experts advise parents to tell their kids “I love you” every day. And that’s why Jesus, through the Eucharist, says “I love you” to us, at every Mass.
Sometimes, when I’m standing at the altar celebrating Mass, and I’m holding the Body of Christ in my hands, or am gazing into the chalice filled with the Precious Blood, and I speak those words of Jesus- “This is my body, given up for you; this is my blood, shed for you”- I can be overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Jesus did for me, and I’m reminded of how much he loves me. I’m also reminded of how much I need to be reminded!
Each one of us needs to be reminded of Jesus' love, because we can so easily forget, for so many reasons. Sometimes it’s because of the busyness of life. We’ve got too many things going on. We get distracted. We can get stressed out, and it seems like we have to use all our energy just to keep our heads above water. Jesus fades into the background. Out of sight, out of mind.
At other times it’s the pleasures of life that lead us to forget. Our pleasures make us content and comfortable. Life is smooth sailing, the world is our oyster. Because we seem to be in control, we forget about our need for God. And, we forget about his love.
The pains of life can also make us forget. The pain can become all we think about; the world looks bleak indeed. God may not be forgotten at times like this, as we may be wondering why God’s not taking away our pain! But we can certainly doubt his love. We forget that it’s always there.
But then we come to the Eucharist. We recall Jesus’ sacrifice for our forgiveness. We recall his resurrection which gives us hope. And we receive Jesus himself. “This is my body, this is my blood.” Those aren’t empty words. We truly receive Jesus by grace. We’re filled, in a very real way, with his love. And we remember. Once again.
Yet the Eucharist doesn’t simply remind us of God love for us. It also reminds us of God’s love for others, and how God wants us to love them too. Remember Jesus words in the gospel? “This is my blood shed for the many.” Not just for me. Not just for you. For the many. Jesus’ love is boundless! He loves everyone. As should we! But how easily we can forget that.
Think of it this way: At Communion, the host is presented to us with the words: “The Body of Christ.” We say “Amen” and receive Jesus into ourselves. But what is that Body? It most certainly is Jesus. But are not we also the Body of Christ, the Church? That means that when we receive Holy Communion, we don’t just receive Jesus. In a certain sense, we also receive each other.
We receive those in our families, those in the pew next to us, pews across town, and pews halfway around the world. People who may be hungry. People who may be afraid. People we may disagree with. People we may have hurt. People who, in some way or another, may need a reminder of our love for them.
Jesus, in this Eucharist, reminds us of his love for us. Let’s not forget, that we’re to share that love, with everyone.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Trinity Sunday
Have you ever wondered what heaven will be like? People sometimes ask if there are dogs in heaven, and I happen to think there will be. Sometimes people wonder what we’ll do in heaven. As one bumper sticker proclaims: “If there’s no golf in heaven, I’m not going!” And it’s not unheard of for parents to assure their children that thunder is simply the sound of God bowling in heaven. I can’t say for sure if there is golf or bowling in heaven. But if there is, I promise you that there will be no golf widows, and nobody will bowl alone.
I say this because “Bowling Alone” is the title of a recent book from a Harvard professor which speaks about our society’s increasing fragmentation, and how we’ve become more and more disconnected from each other. Over the past 25 years we’ve experienced a huge drop in the number of people participating in clubs and other organizations, having friends over, and attending family dinners. We have seen an increase in the number of people who bowl. But they don’t bowl in leagues. Increasingly, we bowl alone.
But in heaven, nobody will have to bowl alone. Why? Because God is a Trinity. Now, if I lost you just there, bear with me. Understanding the Trinity is critically important. It’s easy for us to dismiss the Trinity as a mystery of faith we accept simply because we’re Catholics. But it’s essential that we understand the Trinity, because it will help us understand ourselves, and appreciate why there is no solitary bowling in heaven.
We became Christians when we were baptized- as Jesus’ instructed in today’s gospel- “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Because of this, as St. Paul explained in our second reading, we received the Holy Spirit into our hearts, making us children of God with Jesus our brother, who call upon God the Father as Abba, or “Dad.” Through baptism, we are united with all three persons of the Trinity in such a way that we share in the very life of God. And God’s life is a sharing of love between three Persons: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. You and I have been created in the image of the Trinity. This means that you and I were made to share love. And this can only be done in community. With others. Never alone.
It’s true that as Christians we believe in one God, not three. But we believe in one God in three Persons, so perfectly united by love that they are indeed one. This is important. Because if God were ONLY one, then we might understand God as being lonely. Which could mean that you and I, as God creation, might simply be an expression of God’s neediness, God’s boredom, God’s loneliness. We might be nothing more than God’s distraction, or God’s hobby. If God is alone, it would mean that you and I would have been created to be alone too. To be lonely as God is lonely. To bowl alone.
But God is not simply one. He is three-in-one. A community of persons united in love. Therefore, there’s no chance that we’re merely expressions of God’s neediness. Instead, we’re an expression of God’s love. Perfect love, which God is, is giving, generous, overflowing. It can’t contain itself. You and I might understand ourselves, then, as an overflowing of God’s love. And since we’re made in God’s image, we can say that we’re both created by overflowing love, and created for overflowing love. Which makes our existence both a gift, and a possibility- a possibility to give and receive love the way God does: a perfect love without conditions, without limits.
Sometimes, however, encountering such love in this life can remain only a possibility. We may experience love, but it is far from perfect. What we thought was love ends up not really being love at all. We’ve wound up being hurt, abandoned, used, left behind. We’ve confused physical intimacy with love. Friends and family may have turned their backs on us when the going got rough, or because they were looking for greener pastures. We may not have wanted to bowl alone. But we wound up doing so anyway.
When this happens, we can be understandably angry. It’s as if we’re being cheated out of something we were meant to have. We say: “This isn’t fair! This isn’t the way it should be!” And we’d be absolutely right. Because we’ve been made for something much better than this.
Now, it may be that we are deeply blessed by the love of others in this life; hopefully others are blessed by our love too. But any and all human love, this side of the veil, is always imperfect, however good it may be. It’s only in heaven that we will experience love in all its fullness, in all its perfection. The brokenness we experience here, will be healed and restored there. In heaven, we will finally be able to love, and be loved, the way God intended us to. The way he created us to do. The way God the Holy Trinity does. In this life we often say, “You always hurt the ones you love.” But in heaven, we’ll finally be able to say, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
While we wait and hope and pray for such love, it’s important that we keep trying to love as best we can, and be grateful for the love we receive. We can’t give up, retreat into ourselves, or get stuck in cynicism. We need to keep reaching out, keep trying, keep forgiving. We need to have realistic expectations about our relationships with others, all the while trying to grow in our relationship with God, as we set our sights on heaven.
So what will heaven be like? Will there be dogs? I wouldn’t be surprised. Golf and bowling? Perhaps. But bowling alone? Not a chance.
I say this because “Bowling Alone” is the title of a recent book from a Harvard professor which speaks about our society’s increasing fragmentation, and how we’ve become more and more disconnected from each other. Over the past 25 years we’ve experienced a huge drop in the number of people participating in clubs and other organizations, having friends over, and attending family dinners. We have seen an increase in the number of people who bowl. But they don’t bowl in leagues. Increasingly, we bowl alone.
But in heaven, nobody will have to bowl alone. Why? Because God is a Trinity. Now, if I lost you just there, bear with me. Understanding the Trinity is critically important. It’s easy for us to dismiss the Trinity as a mystery of faith we accept simply because we’re Catholics. But it’s essential that we understand the Trinity, because it will help us understand ourselves, and appreciate why there is no solitary bowling in heaven.
We became Christians when we were baptized- as Jesus’ instructed in today’s gospel- “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Because of this, as St. Paul explained in our second reading, we received the Holy Spirit into our hearts, making us children of God with Jesus our brother, who call upon God the Father as Abba, or “Dad.” Through baptism, we are united with all three persons of the Trinity in such a way that we share in the very life of God. And God’s life is a sharing of love between three Persons: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. You and I have been created in the image of the Trinity. This means that you and I were made to share love. And this can only be done in community. With others. Never alone.
It’s true that as Christians we believe in one God, not three. But we believe in one God in three Persons, so perfectly united by love that they are indeed one. This is important. Because if God were ONLY one, then we might understand God as being lonely. Which could mean that you and I, as God creation, might simply be an expression of God’s neediness, God’s boredom, God’s loneliness. We might be nothing more than God’s distraction, or God’s hobby. If God is alone, it would mean that you and I would have been created to be alone too. To be lonely as God is lonely. To bowl alone.
But God is not simply one. He is three-in-one. A community of persons united in love. Therefore, there’s no chance that we’re merely expressions of God’s neediness. Instead, we’re an expression of God’s love. Perfect love, which God is, is giving, generous, overflowing. It can’t contain itself. You and I might understand ourselves, then, as an overflowing of God’s love. And since we’re made in God’s image, we can say that we’re both created by overflowing love, and created for overflowing love. Which makes our existence both a gift, and a possibility- a possibility to give and receive love the way God does: a perfect love without conditions, without limits.
Sometimes, however, encountering such love in this life can remain only a possibility. We may experience love, but it is far from perfect. What we thought was love ends up not really being love at all. We’ve wound up being hurt, abandoned, used, left behind. We’ve confused physical intimacy with love. Friends and family may have turned their backs on us when the going got rough, or because they were looking for greener pastures. We may not have wanted to bowl alone. But we wound up doing so anyway.
When this happens, we can be understandably angry. It’s as if we’re being cheated out of something we were meant to have. We say: “This isn’t fair! This isn’t the way it should be!” And we’d be absolutely right. Because we’ve been made for something much better than this.
Now, it may be that we are deeply blessed by the love of others in this life; hopefully others are blessed by our love too. But any and all human love, this side of the veil, is always imperfect, however good it may be. It’s only in heaven that we will experience love in all its fullness, in all its perfection. The brokenness we experience here, will be healed and restored there. In heaven, we will finally be able to love, and be loved, the way God intended us to. The way he created us to do. The way God the Holy Trinity does. In this life we often say, “You always hurt the ones you love.” But in heaven, we’ll finally be able to say, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
While we wait and hope and pray for such love, it’s important that we keep trying to love as best we can, and be grateful for the love we receive. We can’t give up, retreat into ourselves, or get stuck in cynicism. We need to keep reaching out, keep trying, keep forgiving. We need to have realistic expectations about our relationships with others, all the while trying to grow in our relationship with God, as we set our sights on heaven.
So what will heaven be like? Will there be dogs? I wouldn’t be surprised. Golf and bowling? Perhaps. But bowling alone? Not a chance.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Pentecost
“Smile, and the whole world smiles with you. Frown, and you frown alone.” Or so the old saying goes. Misery may indeed love company. But nobody wants to keep company with miserable people.
This is true of the Church. If the face you and I present of the Church is positive, hopeful, and joyful- a smile, if you will- many people will want to join us. But if we put on a sour face- if the face of the Church we present is unhappy, cynical, and negative, why should we expect anyone to want to be with us?
For instance, if we as parents gripe about the Church in front of our kids all the time, we shouldn’t be surprised when they leave the Church behind them, when they leave home. The same principle applies if we’re always complaining about the Church with neighbors, at work, or with whomever.
Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that the church doesn’t have problems. It does. They’re very real. We need to address them. We do need to talk about them. We need to propose solutions. But we need to be careful not to air our dirty laundry in public, so that the Church is hurt instead of helped. There’s a difference between self-criticism, and self-destruction. As the people of God, we need to publicly present the face of God in a positive, appealing way.
I say this because today is Pentecost: the day the Church was first manifested to the world. Traditionally, it’s called the “birthday” of the Church. At the first Christian Pentecost, the Holy Spirit fell upon the gathered apostles, and they rushed out into the city and proclaimed the good news for everyone to hear. They did so with joy, enthusiasm and courage- with a positive face!- and we’re told that 5,000 became Christians that day. And it wasn’t just that day either. The Acts of the Apostles, in which we read about Pentecost- says over and over again that, because of what those early believers did, “the Church continued to spread.”
This can, and still does, happen today. I can understand if you doubt that, because we hear a lost of negative things about the Church these days in the media: scandals, conflicts, controversies. And we Catholics sometimes don’t help things either when we publicly wring our hands about the Church: It’s not the way it should be. It’s not the way it could be. It’s not the way it used to be. It’s not the way I’d like it to be.
Sad to say, this isn’t something new. The Church has always had its issues and problems- even in the early Church. The Acts of Apostles speaks of controversies, divisions, and false teachers, just a few years after Jesus’ ascension. But always within a context of hope. Always with a positive face. And that’s the difference.
This isn’t denial or a deliberate ignoring of reality. Instead, it’s an acknowledgement of what the Church is. Or more specifically, who the Church is. As St. Paul reminded us in our second reading today, the Church is Jesus’ body, in which we have all been joined to Jesus and each other through the Holy Spirit. The Church isn’t a human institution about Jesus. It’s a divine institution made of human beings. That’s a big distinction, and one that gives us hope. We have hope, because of what the church is. We’re given this hope by the Holy Spirit, who guides the Church, and constantly purifies it, renews it, cleanses it. We can relax: God is in control.
An old Chinese proverb says: “When a tree falls it makes a big noise. When a forest grows nobody hears anything.” We can apply this to the Church. The falling trees are the scandals and issues that grab the headlines and make the big noise. But as Catholics we can’t ignore the silence of the growing forest.
Consider this: There are now almost as many Catholics as citizens of China. The Church is the largest supplier of health care and education on the planet. It’s the principal glue of civil society in Africa. It’s the strongest bulwark of opposition to the caste system in India. It’s a leading player in global campaigns to end poverty. And it provides the only charitable presence in places like Chechnya, and other forgotten corners of the world.
Because we don’t always hear about this, these realities might surprise us. But they shouldn’t. After all, the Church is God’s family. It’s filled with the Spirit, who showers it with gifts. The Catholic Church alone possesses the fullness of truth. It offers us and the world meaning, love, hope, joy, forgiveness, healing, eternal life. It is One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic. No wonder Church members do the wonderful things they do. No wonder that 150,000 adults in the Unites States alone became Catholic, or became Catholic again, this past Easter.
But what about us? What kind of face of the Church do we present? Smile or frown? Does what we do or say attract or repel? Divide or unite? Do we week to build the Church up, or do our efforts really tear the Church down? When others try to tear it down, do we defend it? Based on us, is the Church something others would want to join, or walk away from? Are we proud to be Catholic? Whether we want to be or not, we’re all walking billboards for the Church. If the Church were a box of Wheaties, we’d be on the cover. All of us are the face of Catholicism- which is both an honor, and a responsibility.
We can never lose sight of who we are, and who it is we represent. In today’s gospel, our Lord explains that the Spirit testifies to him, and that we are to testify to him as well. Something we’re to do, not with a frown, but with a smile, that the world may smile with us.
This is true of the Church. If the face you and I present of the Church is positive, hopeful, and joyful- a smile, if you will- many people will want to join us. But if we put on a sour face- if the face of the Church we present is unhappy, cynical, and negative, why should we expect anyone to want to be with us?
For instance, if we as parents gripe about the Church in front of our kids all the time, we shouldn’t be surprised when they leave the Church behind them, when they leave home. The same principle applies if we’re always complaining about the Church with neighbors, at work, or with whomever.
Now don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that the church doesn’t have problems. It does. They’re very real. We need to address them. We do need to talk about them. We need to propose solutions. But we need to be careful not to air our dirty laundry in public, so that the Church is hurt instead of helped. There’s a difference between self-criticism, and self-destruction. As the people of God, we need to publicly present the face of God in a positive, appealing way.
I say this because today is Pentecost: the day the Church was first manifested to the world. Traditionally, it’s called the “birthday” of the Church. At the first Christian Pentecost, the Holy Spirit fell upon the gathered apostles, and they rushed out into the city and proclaimed the good news for everyone to hear. They did so with joy, enthusiasm and courage- with a positive face!- and we’re told that 5,000 became Christians that day. And it wasn’t just that day either. The Acts of the Apostles, in which we read about Pentecost- says over and over again that, because of what those early believers did, “the Church continued to spread.”
This can, and still does, happen today. I can understand if you doubt that, because we hear a lost of negative things about the Church these days in the media: scandals, conflicts, controversies. And we Catholics sometimes don’t help things either when we publicly wring our hands about the Church: It’s not the way it should be. It’s not the way it could be. It’s not the way it used to be. It’s not the way I’d like it to be.
Sad to say, this isn’t something new. The Church has always had its issues and problems- even in the early Church. The Acts of Apostles speaks of controversies, divisions, and false teachers, just a few years after Jesus’ ascension. But always within a context of hope. Always with a positive face. And that’s the difference.
This isn’t denial or a deliberate ignoring of reality. Instead, it’s an acknowledgement of what the Church is. Or more specifically, who the Church is. As St. Paul reminded us in our second reading today, the Church is Jesus’ body, in which we have all been joined to Jesus and each other through the Holy Spirit. The Church isn’t a human institution about Jesus. It’s a divine institution made of human beings. That’s a big distinction, and one that gives us hope. We have hope, because of what the church is. We’re given this hope by the Holy Spirit, who guides the Church, and constantly purifies it, renews it, cleanses it. We can relax: God is in control.
An old Chinese proverb says: “When a tree falls it makes a big noise. When a forest grows nobody hears anything.” We can apply this to the Church. The falling trees are the scandals and issues that grab the headlines and make the big noise. But as Catholics we can’t ignore the silence of the growing forest.
Consider this: There are now almost as many Catholics as citizens of China. The Church is the largest supplier of health care and education on the planet. It’s the principal glue of civil society in Africa. It’s the strongest bulwark of opposition to the caste system in India. It’s a leading player in global campaigns to end poverty. And it provides the only charitable presence in places like Chechnya, and other forgotten corners of the world.
Because we don’t always hear about this, these realities might surprise us. But they shouldn’t. After all, the Church is God’s family. It’s filled with the Spirit, who showers it with gifts. The Catholic Church alone possesses the fullness of truth. It offers us and the world meaning, love, hope, joy, forgiveness, healing, eternal life. It is One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic. No wonder Church members do the wonderful things they do. No wonder that 150,000 adults in the Unites States alone became Catholic, or became Catholic again, this past Easter.
But what about us? What kind of face of the Church do we present? Smile or frown? Does what we do or say attract or repel? Divide or unite? Do we week to build the Church up, or do our efforts really tear the Church down? When others try to tear it down, do we defend it? Based on us, is the Church something others would want to join, or walk away from? Are we proud to be Catholic? Whether we want to be or not, we’re all walking billboards for the Church. If the Church were a box of Wheaties, we’d be on the cover. All of us are the face of Catholicism- which is both an honor, and a responsibility.
We can never lose sight of who we are, and who it is we represent. In today’s gospel, our Lord explains that the Spirit testifies to him, and that we are to testify to him as well. Something we’re to do, not with a frown, but with a smile, that the world may smile with us.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Sixth Sunday of Easter
A famous Christian once said that preachers should preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. In preparation for this homily, I made it a point to pay careful attention to the headlines in last Thursday’s newspapers. As always, there were the inevitable stories of sadness. I read of people who engaged in terrorist bombings, racism, gross sexual misconduct, bribery and corruption, human rights violations, ID theft, murder, violent crime, and war. There was also the tragic story of a police officer who had been shot to death by a troubled young man.
As I read these things, I recalled today’s gospel reading and thought: “No wonder Jesus had to command us to love!” There’s so much hate and sin in our broken world that there’d be no other way we could begin to love some of these people! In fact, we might even conclude that by commanding us to love people such as these, Jesus is asking us to do the impossible.
However, we need to pay careful attention to what Jesus actually says to us. Before he commands us to love others, he first tells us to “remain” in his love. This is important to remember. Jesus is telling us that it’s in our loving relationship with him that we’ll find the strength to love others- especially those we find most difficult to love. Pope Benedict makes this very point wrote in his recent encyclical letter, called “God is Love.” He said, “No longer is it a question of a ‘commandment’ imposed from without and calling for the impossible, but rather of a freely-bestowed experience from within, a love which by it’s very nature then must be shared with others.”
The challenge of today’s gospel, then, is for us to love those people we love to hate. And we all have them, don’t we? Maybe it’s an ex-spouse, a cruel boss, someone who really harmed or hurt us, an Islamist terrorist, a political figure, or somebody from another background or nationality. Or maybe it’s just that annoying person at the office we wish we could just blink and make them go away.
When considering the prospect of loving such people, we might say to Jesus: “Can’t you strike them with lightning first, and then we’ll talk? It’s just not fair! They don’t deserve it! It simply isn’t possible!” And then Jesus looks at us with eyes of love and says, “Yes, it is possible. Because I have first loved you.” He’d remind us that he gave his commandment to love the very night he was to be betrayed, and just hours before he was beaten and executed. And he’d ask us to remember that when he hung upon the cross and looked down upon people who hated him, abused him, mocked him, and rejected him, he looked down upon them with eyes of love.
At a retreat I attended years ago, the leader put on a pair of sunglasses that had white crosses painted on the lenses. He did this to demonstrate that as Christians, we needed to see the world just as Jesus did. It was a corny gesture, to be sure, but it has remained with me, because its lesson is so true. To love the people we love to hate, we need to see them through the eyes of Christ. As Pope Benedict wrote, “I need to look on this other person not simply with my eyes and my feelings, but from the perspective of Jesus Christ.” When we do that, he continues, we can see in them the image of God and “give them the look of love which they crave.”
Sometime this week, I encourage you to picture the faces of the people you love to hate in your imagination. Say to these people, “You are worthy of my love.” And then pray, “Jesus, help me to love them in the same way you love them.” How we do love them will depend upon the circumstances. Maybe we need to forgive them, be kind to them, help them in some way, stop slandering or gossiping about them, have a Mass said for them, or pray that they will be filled with joy and peace.
Think about it: If we loved each other as much as Jesus loves us, the world would be a wonderful, joyful place, wouldn’t it? It would truly be heaven on earth. By loving others as Jesus has commanded us to do, in the same way he loves us, and in the same way as he’s loved by God the Father, we can experience a little bit today what we have been promised to enjoy for all eternity.
A priest friend of mine says that how we live our life is greatly shaped by our vision of heaven, and I think he’s right. He speculates that when we meet Jesus face-to-face at the end of our lives, Jesus will look exactly like our worst enemy. His point is that unless we can love everyone, how can we be fit for heaven, which is a place of perfect love? That’s why we need to learn to love today, so we can be prepared to meet Jesus tomorrow.
Jesus’ words to us today are indeed hard. Yet we cannot ignore them or explain them away or try to look for loopholes, because we won’t find any. We need to try to love the people we love to hate. It will be a struggle. The Lord will use this struggle to remind us of our weakness, and our need for his mercy. And he’ll also use this struggle to remind us of how much he loves us- in spite of how hard to love we might sometimes be.
“Love one another as I have loved you.” This is Jesus’ challenge to us. But at the same time, it’s also his good news! It says that such a love is possible, when most of the world doesn’t really believe it is.
As I read these things, I recalled today’s gospel reading and thought: “No wonder Jesus had to command us to love!” There’s so much hate and sin in our broken world that there’d be no other way we could begin to love some of these people! In fact, we might even conclude that by commanding us to love people such as these, Jesus is asking us to do the impossible.
However, we need to pay careful attention to what Jesus actually says to us. Before he commands us to love others, he first tells us to “remain” in his love. This is important to remember. Jesus is telling us that it’s in our loving relationship with him that we’ll find the strength to love others- especially those we find most difficult to love. Pope Benedict makes this very point wrote in his recent encyclical letter, called “God is Love.” He said, “No longer is it a question of a ‘commandment’ imposed from without and calling for the impossible, but rather of a freely-bestowed experience from within, a love which by it’s very nature then must be shared with others.”
The challenge of today’s gospel, then, is for us to love those people we love to hate. And we all have them, don’t we? Maybe it’s an ex-spouse, a cruel boss, someone who really harmed or hurt us, an Islamist terrorist, a political figure, or somebody from another background or nationality. Or maybe it’s just that annoying person at the office we wish we could just blink and make them go away.
When considering the prospect of loving such people, we might say to Jesus: “Can’t you strike them with lightning first, and then we’ll talk? It’s just not fair! They don’t deserve it! It simply isn’t possible!” And then Jesus looks at us with eyes of love and says, “Yes, it is possible. Because I have first loved you.” He’d remind us that he gave his commandment to love the very night he was to be betrayed, and just hours before he was beaten and executed. And he’d ask us to remember that when he hung upon the cross and looked down upon people who hated him, abused him, mocked him, and rejected him, he looked down upon them with eyes of love.
At a retreat I attended years ago, the leader put on a pair of sunglasses that had white crosses painted on the lenses. He did this to demonstrate that as Christians, we needed to see the world just as Jesus did. It was a corny gesture, to be sure, but it has remained with me, because its lesson is so true. To love the people we love to hate, we need to see them through the eyes of Christ. As Pope Benedict wrote, “I need to look on this other person not simply with my eyes and my feelings, but from the perspective of Jesus Christ.” When we do that, he continues, we can see in them the image of God and “give them the look of love which they crave.”
Sometime this week, I encourage you to picture the faces of the people you love to hate in your imagination. Say to these people, “You are worthy of my love.” And then pray, “Jesus, help me to love them in the same way you love them.” How we do love them will depend upon the circumstances. Maybe we need to forgive them, be kind to them, help them in some way, stop slandering or gossiping about them, have a Mass said for them, or pray that they will be filled with joy and peace.
Think about it: If we loved each other as much as Jesus loves us, the world would be a wonderful, joyful place, wouldn’t it? It would truly be heaven on earth. By loving others as Jesus has commanded us to do, in the same way he loves us, and in the same way as he’s loved by God the Father, we can experience a little bit today what we have been promised to enjoy for all eternity.
A priest friend of mine says that how we live our life is greatly shaped by our vision of heaven, and I think he’s right. He speculates that when we meet Jesus face-to-face at the end of our lives, Jesus will look exactly like our worst enemy. His point is that unless we can love everyone, how can we be fit for heaven, which is a place of perfect love? That’s why we need to learn to love today, so we can be prepared to meet Jesus tomorrow.
Jesus’ words to us today are indeed hard. Yet we cannot ignore them or explain them away or try to look for loopholes, because we won’t find any. We need to try to love the people we love to hate. It will be a struggle. The Lord will use this struggle to remind us of our weakness, and our need for his mercy. And he’ll also use this struggle to remind us of how much he loves us- in spite of how hard to love we might sometimes be.
“Love one another as I have loved you.” This is Jesus’ challenge to us. But at the same time, it’s also his good news! It says that such a love is possible, when most of the world doesn’t really believe it is.
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