Recently my seven year old daughter showed me a picture she had drawn at school just before Easter. Jesus was on the cross, but was holding out an Easter egg. That’s a wonderful image of what we celebrate during Easter: That thanks to Jesus’ death on the cross and resurrection, we live in hope of everlasting life- a life symbolized by the Easter egg.
Eternal life is our hope. And we hope also that everyone will come to enjoy this hope, because there are those who don’t. I think of the final Harry Potter book in which Harry finds his parents’ graves in a church cemetery and is stunned when he reads the words on the tombstone. It read: “The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” Harry didn’t know that those words came from the Bible, or that they referred to Jesus’ victory. In his confusion, he thought they sounded rather sinister. His friend Hermione had to set him straight: “It means…you know...living beyond death. Living after death.”
On this score, Harry Potter represents many people in our society today: those who don’t really know of the Christian hope in eternal life, and those who simply dismiss it altogether. They just can’t buy into the thought that Jesus really rose from the dead and lives even now. They think that surely something else must have happened on that first Easter morning other than the resurrection of a man once dead.
And so they propose all sorts of other explanations: Maybe the disciples were hallucinating or, because of their grief, somehow convinced themselves that Jesus had returned to be with them. Or it could be that Jesus didn’t really die but only entered a coma and snapped out of it three days later. Perhaps the story of the resurrection was a lie the disciples made up because they were too ashamed to admit that the person they had followed for three years died a failure. Or possibly Jesus’ teaching had made such a powerful impact on his followers that they felt that Jesus was still with them, even when he really was dead.
Claims like these are nothing new. They began when the first reports of the resurrection circulated amongst Jesus’ followers. Even some of them feared that they were being fooled, or that maybe some of their friends had gone off their rockers. Recall Jesus’ words to his startled disciples in today’s gospel: “Why do questions arise in your hearts?” he asked. Then Jesus invited them to touch him, so they would know that they weren’t seeing things or having a dream. He made a point of saying that he had really died. And the disciples, were told, were utterly overjoyed.
“You are witnesses of these things,” Jesus assured them. And that was Peter’s claim when he preached, as we heard in our first reading from Acts: “God raised him from the dead;” he insisted, “of this we are witnesses.” It’s as if Peter were saying: “Jesus doesn’t simply live on in our hearts or through his teaching. We’re not making this up! Many of us have seen him, spoken with him, touched him. Why else would we be filled with such zeal? Why else would we be so overcome with joy? Why else would we put our lives and reputations on the line?”
Peter, the very first pope, was trying to convince a crowd of people that Jesus’ resurrection was real. The 246th pope, Benedict XVI, is still doing the very same thing. On Easter day, before a crowd of 200,000, the Holy Father insisted that the resurrection “is neither a myth nor a dream, it is not a vision or a utopia, it is not a fairy tale, but it is a singular and unrepeatable event: Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary, who at dusk on Friday was taken down and buried, has victoriously left the tomb.”
The historical event of Jesus’ resurrection is the source of our Easter hope and joy, and we pray that more and more will come to share this with us. But do we fully understand it ourselves? Think back to today’s gospel. It was written, not just for those who doubted the resurrection, but also for those who may not appreciate its full significance. That’s why we’re specifically told that the risen Jesus ate a broiled fish in full view of everyone.
The point of this is to show that not only did Jesus rise from the dead, but that he did so in his body, and that it is our belief that the eternal life Jesus’ resurrection won for us will involve our bodies too. The same bodies we have now- only glorified and perfect. After all, God made us both body and soul, and that’s how he wants us to enjoy eternity with him.
Sometimes we dismiss this as unimportant: We say we believe in the “resurrection of the body,” but don’t give it much thought. We think: As long as my soul “goes to heaven,” who cares about my body? Or maybe we don’t like the idea at all. Perhaps our body has been a source of frustration and pain for us, and we don’t want to bother with it after this life.
If you feel this way, consider some of the things you may enjoy about Easter: The fresh scent of lilies; springtime warmth replacing winter chill; the song of birds, the strains of favorite hymns, or the shouts of children as they discover hidden eggs; the sight of the first rays of dawn or the glory of flowers in bloom; the taste of chocolate or jellybeans, or ham or lamb; the embrace of friends and family when we gather; how we look in that new hat or dress.
These are all good things, and we can only experience them with the bodies God has given us. They’re a big part of our Easter celebration today. And just a small hint of good things still to come.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Second Sunday of Easter
Two weeks ago, my son’s Little League coach e-mailed the team, announcing that there would be a practice on Easter Day itself. Not surprisingly, few players showed up. I don’t know the faith, if any, of my son’s coach. He seems like a nice guy. But I wonder if, based on his Easter Day plans, if he’s one of a growing number of people in our country who have no religious faith at all. As you may have seen on a recent cover of Newsweek magazine, atheism in the United States appears to be on the rise.
Atheists are very visible these days in society and popular culture. They write best selling books, appear in the media, and host billboard campaigns that say: “God probably doesn’t exist anyway. So stop worrying and enjoy your life.” But I wonder how many people who claim to be atheists are really convinced that there is no God.
I suspect that most of them are like Dr. House in the TV medical drama “House.” House is a brilliant doctor who specializes in diagnosing mysterious ailments. He’s also a strident atheist. He puts down religious colleagues for their faith. He mocks patients when they pray. But deep down, he’s not entirely sure that God doesn’t exist. In one episode, a religious teenager is brought to the hospital, and House sets up a scoreboard for House and God to win points. By the end of the show, the score is even. Another time, a priest is admitted to the hospital. The priest alleged that he had a vision of Jesus, which House initially dismissed as a symptom of his illness. However, when he considered that the vision might not be a hallucination, House was able to make a correct diagnosis of the priest’s condition. That night, House wouldn’t attend a Jewish ceremony for a colleague’s baby, as he thought it would be hypocritical. But the episode ended with him playing a religious song on his piano. It seems that House is really an agnostic, not an atheist. He doesn’t disbelieve; he just has strong doubts.
Just about everyone contends with doubts about faith and matters concerning God. We’re tempted to think: Is God really there? With the world the way it is, does God truly exist? One startling revelation of Mother Teresa’s letters, published after her death, was that she herself was tempted by doubts when, for so many years, God seemed to be entirely absent from her life.
It’s common to contend with doubt. People like Doctor House can’t get rid of the suspicion that maybe there is a God; people in pews like us are tempted to doubt that maybe there isn’t a God. That’s why the message of today’s gospel is so important. Thomas hadn’t had an opportunity to encounter the risen Jesus like his friends did, and so he doubted. He insisted that he would refuse to believe unless he saw Jesus himself! But Jesus did appear, and Thomas did then believe. Jesus’ words on that occasion, directed to “doubting Thomas,” are directed to you and me as well. “Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe.” If, like Thomas, we demand hard proof before we have faith, we’re most probably going to be disappointed. According to the Bible, all the people who saw the resurrected Jesus before his ascension could probably fit into this church. All the rest of us have to take it on faith. But as Jesus said, we are richly blessed if we do.
If you doubt that (pun intended), think about what type of person you might be without faith; what would you be like without your belief? I’d venture to say that we’d be different people, and most probably worse off. Sure, we get discouraged by our failings, shortcomings, and sins. But we’d be in poorer shape without faith. You know the old saying when talking about someone in a sorry moral condition: “There go I, but for the grace of God?” There’s much truth in that. As St. Vincent de Paul once confessed, “But for divine grace I would be in temper hard and repellant, rough and crabbed.” Contrast the character of Dr. House with Mother Teresa. House is arrogant, egotistical, unable to maintain a meaningful relationship, unhappy, and addicted to pain killers. But whenever he concedes the possibility of a God, he softens just a bit. Mother Teresa was a tough, strong-willed person. Without faith, she might have been a tyrant. But with faith, she became a saint.
Faith is indeed a blessing. It transforms us; it also transforms our view of the world. Remember: our faith is not only that God exists. That could be a good or a bad thing, depending on what we think God is like. We believe in a loving God who died and rose from the dead that we might eternally live with him in perfect happiness. Think about the hope that this belief gives to us; consider the joy it brings to our hearts. This wonderful faith is a gift from God. Recall this morning’s reading from the First Letter of John. “Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ,” it said, “is begotten by God.” Our belief, our faith in Jesus comes not from us. It comes from God; it’s the work of the Holy Spirit. God offered us this gift; we accepted it; we’ve said yes, and we have been blessed in many, many ways.
We celebrate our resurrection faith, not just on Easter Sunday itself, but throughout the entire fifty days of the Easter season, because what we celebrate is so wonderful and precious that to celebrate it on only one day would be an injustice. Today, then, is a day for us to praise God for his gift of faith, and express our thanks for it. In the words of both today’s psalm and the Alleluia verse: “This is the day the Lord has made! Let us rejoice and be glad.”
Atheists are very visible these days in society and popular culture. They write best selling books, appear in the media, and host billboard campaigns that say: “God probably doesn’t exist anyway. So stop worrying and enjoy your life.” But I wonder how many people who claim to be atheists are really convinced that there is no God.
I suspect that most of them are like Dr. House in the TV medical drama “House.” House is a brilliant doctor who specializes in diagnosing mysterious ailments. He’s also a strident atheist. He puts down religious colleagues for their faith. He mocks patients when they pray. But deep down, he’s not entirely sure that God doesn’t exist. In one episode, a religious teenager is brought to the hospital, and House sets up a scoreboard for House and God to win points. By the end of the show, the score is even. Another time, a priest is admitted to the hospital. The priest alleged that he had a vision of Jesus, which House initially dismissed as a symptom of his illness. However, when he considered that the vision might not be a hallucination, House was able to make a correct diagnosis of the priest’s condition. That night, House wouldn’t attend a Jewish ceremony for a colleague’s baby, as he thought it would be hypocritical. But the episode ended with him playing a religious song on his piano. It seems that House is really an agnostic, not an atheist. He doesn’t disbelieve; he just has strong doubts.
Just about everyone contends with doubts about faith and matters concerning God. We’re tempted to think: Is God really there? With the world the way it is, does God truly exist? One startling revelation of Mother Teresa’s letters, published after her death, was that she herself was tempted by doubts when, for so many years, God seemed to be entirely absent from her life.
It’s common to contend with doubt. People like Doctor House can’t get rid of the suspicion that maybe there is a God; people in pews like us are tempted to doubt that maybe there isn’t a God. That’s why the message of today’s gospel is so important. Thomas hadn’t had an opportunity to encounter the risen Jesus like his friends did, and so he doubted. He insisted that he would refuse to believe unless he saw Jesus himself! But Jesus did appear, and Thomas did then believe. Jesus’ words on that occasion, directed to “doubting Thomas,” are directed to you and me as well. “Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe.” If, like Thomas, we demand hard proof before we have faith, we’re most probably going to be disappointed. According to the Bible, all the people who saw the resurrected Jesus before his ascension could probably fit into this church. All the rest of us have to take it on faith. But as Jesus said, we are richly blessed if we do.
If you doubt that (pun intended), think about what type of person you might be without faith; what would you be like without your belief? I’d venture to say that we’d be different people, and most probably worse off. Sure, we get discouraged by our failings, shortcomings, and sins. But we’d be in poorer shape without faith. You know the old saying when talking about someone in a sorry moral condition: “There go I, but for the grace of God?” There’s much truth in that. As St. Vincent de Paul once confessed, “But for divine grace I would be in temper hard and repellant, rough and crabbed.” Contrast the character of Dr. House with Mother Teresa. House is arrogant, egotistical, unable to maintain a meaningful relationship, unhappy, and addicted to pain killers. But whenever he concedes the possibility of a God, he softens just a bit. Mother Teresa was a tough, strong-willed person. Without faith, she might have been a tyrant. But with faith, she became a saint.
Faith is indeed a blessing. It transforms us; it also transforms our view of the world. Remember: our faith is not only that God exists. That could be a good or a bad thing, depending on what we think God is like. We believe in a loving God who died and rose from the dead that we might eternally live with him in perfect happiness. Think about the hope that this belief gives to us; consider the joy it brings to our hearts. This wonderful faith is a gift from God. Recall this morning’s reading from the First Letter of John. “Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ,” it said, “is begotten by God.” Our belief, our faith in Jesus comes not from us. It comes from God; it’s the work of the Holy Spirit. God offered us this gift; we accepted it; we’ve said yes, and we have been blessed in many, many ways.
We celebrate our resurrection faith, not just on Easter Sunday itself, but throughout the entire fifty days of the Easter season, because what we celebrate is so wonderful and precious that to celebrate it on only one day would be an injustice. Today, then, is a day for us to praise God for his gift of faith, and express our thanks for it. In the words of both today’s psalm and the Alleluia verse: “This is the day the Lord has made! Let us rejoice and be glad.”
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Easter Sunday
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” We’re all familiar with that expression, and it’s generally good advice. But of course things do break, and that presents us with a choice: We can either throw the broken thing away, or we can fix it.
When making our decision, we usually ask ourselves: “Is it worth fixing?” We have to do a “cost-benefit” analysis. If it’s not worth fixing, we toss it. But if it is, usually the best we can hope for is that after it’s fixed, it will be pretty much like it used to be. But that’s often not possible. Usually, when we fix something, we have to accept that it’s never going to be quite the same. It’s going to be a little bit weaker; a little less attractive; a little less valuable.
Think about a car that’s been in an accident. We call the insurance company, and a claims adjustor looks it over. He or she will either declare it “totaled”- a complete loss not worth fixing. Or, the decision will be made to repair it. But after the work’s done, the car’s value will be less. Anyone who would buy it would see that accident on the Carfax report, and lower their best offer by hundreds or thousands.
Be it a car or whatever, we never expect that something that’s been fixed is going to better than it was before it was broken. Yet that is exactly what has happened for us, thanks to what God has done in the death and resurrection of his Son- what we are celebrating on this Easter morning.
Our Easter celebration actually began last night, at the Easter Vigil. In darkness broken only by the dim glow of the newly-lit Easter Candle, a beautiful and ancient hymn called the Exsultet was sung. This hymn includes one rather curious line which exclaims: “O happy fault! O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a Redeemer!”
It’s not typical for us to use the word “happy” in reference to sin, because there’s nothing happy about it. Sin hurts: It hurts us, it hurts others, and it strains, and sometimes even breaks, our relationship with God. There’s was especially nothing happy about Adam’s original sin. It led to the fall. It led to death. Original innocence was lost. Human nature was broken.
What’s “happy” about Adam’s sin was not the unhappy event itself, but what God did in response to it. He saw that his children, created in his image and likeness, were broken. And in his love for us, he didn’t throw us away. We’re much too precious to him. Instead, God decided to “fix” us; or to use the language of our faith, he decided to “save” us.
That, in and of itself, should be enough to make us overflow with joy and gratitude on this day; it’s more than enough justification for all the Easter “Alleluias” we shout and sing. But what’s even more remarkable, it that when God acted to fix us, he made it possible for us to be even better than before we were broken in the first place.
The Bible’s stories of creation speak of Adam and Eve as sharing a wonderful friendship with God. They enjoyed harmony with Him, with each other, and indeed with all of creation. Theologically speaking, this was a state of “original holiness and justice.” Sometimes we refer to it as “paradise.”
Sin, of course, ruined all this. It made us a broken people; it soured our friendship with God. But Jesus’ death and resurrection fixed it. It makes possible the forgiveness of our sins and offers the hope of eternal life. Traditional Christian language refers to this as the “Atonement.” If we break this word into thirds, we get “At-One-Ment.” Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, it’s possible for us to be “one” with God.
But what does it mean to be “one” with God? It does mean that the brokenness caused by sin has been fixed, to be sure. But being “one” with God means more than that. It means that you and I can be like God. What we were created for is great indeed; what we have been saved for is even better. According to the Catechism, our first ancestors were created “in a state that would be surpassed only by the glory of the new creation in Christ.” And that glory is that we can share God’s very nature; through the sacraments, especially Baptism and Eucharist, we participate in God’s own life and love, and hope to share it perfectly for all eternity. God in Christ assumed our humanity so we could share his divinity. Or as St. Irenaeus wrote some eighteen centuries ago, “The Son of God became man so that we might become God.” We have been fixed all right; but now we can hope to be far better than we ever were before.
Sound like a fluffy, pious dream? Think of relationships you’ve been in or known of that have been broken somehow, perhaps because of a hurt or misunderstanding, or through a crisis or a betrayal. For some people, such challenges might be a “deal-breaker.” But in others, they can actually lead to an improved, more intimate relationship. The “elephant in the room” finally gets discussed and resolved; sorrow is expressed and forgiveness is shared; shattered trust is rebuilt and strengthened. There’s pain and heartbreak, to be sure. But it’s followed by relief, healing, and hope. It’s almost like the relationship had to die so it could rise up to a new, better life.
The new, better life Jesus won for us is what we celebrate today. Think of it with every new flower or blossom you see; be reminded of it with every egg and fuzzy yellow chick; taste it when you receive the Body and Blood of Christ on your lips. And let the thought of it fill your heart with joy, this day, and always.
When making our decision, we usually ask ourselves: “Is it worth fixing?” We have to do a “cost-benefit” analysis. If it’s not worth fixing, we toss it. But if it is, usually the best we can hope for is that after it’s fixed, it will be pretty much like it used to be. But that’s often not possible. Usually, when we fix something, we have to accept that it’s never going to be quite the same. It’s going to be a little bit weaker; a little less attractive; a little less valuable.
Think about a car that’s been in an accident. We call the insurance company, and a claims adjustor looks it over. He or she will either declare it “totaled”- a complete loss not worth fixing. Or, the decision will be made to repair it. But after the work’s done, the car’s value will be less. Anyone who would buy it would see that accident on the Carfax report, and lower their best offer by hundreds or thousands.
Be it a car or whatever, we never expect that something that’s been fixed is going to better than it was before it was broken. Yet that is exactly what has happened for us, thanks to what God has done in the death and resurrection of his Son- what we are celebrating on this Easter morning.
Our Easter celebration actually began last night, at the Easter Vigil. In darkness broken only by the dim glow of the newly-lit Easter Candle, a beautiful and ancient hymn called the Exsultet was sung. This hymn includes one rather curious line which exclaims: “O happy fault! O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a Redeemer!”
It’s not typical for us to use the word “happy” in reference to sin, because there’s nothing happy about it. Sin hurts: It hurts us, it hurts others, and it strains, and sometimes even breaks, our relationship with God. There’s was especially nothing happy about Adam’s original sin. It led to the fall. It led to death. Original innocence was lost. Human nature was broken.
What’s “happy” about Adam’s sin was not the unhappy event itself, but what God did in response to it. He saw that his children, created in his image and likeness, were broken. And in his love for us, he didn’t throw us away. We’re much too precious to him. Instead, God decided to “fix” us; or to use the language of our faith, he decided to “save” us.
That, in and of itself, should be enough to make us overflow with joy and gratitude on this day; it’s more than enough justification for all the Easter “Alleluias” we shout and sing. But what’s even more remarkable, it that when God acted to fix us, he made it possible for us to be even better than before we were broken in the first place.
The Bible’s stories of creation speak of Adam and Eve as sharing a wonderful friendship with God. They enjoyed harmony with Him, with each other, and indeed with all of creation. Theologically speaking, this was a state of “original holiness and justice.” Sometimes we refer to it as “paradise.”
Sin, of course, ruined all this. It made us a broken people; it soured our friendship with God. But Jesus’ death and resurrection fixed it. It makes possible the forgiveness of our sins and offers the hope of eternal life. Traditional Christian language refers to this as the “Atonement.” If we break this word into thirds, we get “At-One-Ment.” Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, it’s possible for us to be “one” with God.
But what does it mean to be “one” with God? It does mean that the brokenness caused by sin has been fixed, to be sure. But being “one” with God means more than that. It means that you and I can be like God. What we were created for is great indeed; what we have been saved for is even better. According to the Catechism, our first ancestors were created “in a state that would be surpassed only by the glory of the new creation in Christ.” And that glory is that we can share God’s very nature; through the sacraments, especially Baptism and Eucharist, we participate in God’s own life and love, and hope to share it perfectly for all eternity. God in Christ assumed our humanity so we could share his divinity. Or as St. Irenaeus wrote some eighteen centuries ago, “The Son of God became man so that we might become God.” We have been fixed all right; but now we can hope to be far better than we ever were before.
Sound like a fluffy, pious dream? Think of relationships you’ve been in or known of that have been broken somehow, perhaps because of a hurt or misunderstanding, or through a crisis or a betrayal. For some people, such challenges might be a “deal-breaker.” But in others, they can actually lead to an improved, more intimate relationship. The “elephant in the room” finally gets discussed and resolved; sorrow is expressed and forgiveness is shared; shattered trust is rebuilt and strengthened. There’s pain and heartbreak, to be sure. But it’s followed by relief, healing, and hope. It’s almost like the relationship had to die so it could rise up to a new, better life.
The new, better life Jesus won for us is what we celebrate today. Think of it with every new flower or blossom you see; be reminded of it with every egg and fuzzy yellow chick; taste it when you receive the Body and Blood of Christ on your lips. And let the thought of it fill your heart with joy, this day, and always.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Good Friday
Recently I met a woman with a remarkable story and a remarkable faith. She was in a wheelchair when we met, but it wasn’t always this way. Once she was a healthy young Jewish woman preparing to become a Catholic on Easter. She had been asking Jesus to teach her to know him and love him, when her health began to suffer. One evening she drove by a church and saw an illuminated crucifix through a window. “True love and the pain of suffering,” she thought. “I don’t understand, but I know that they go hand-in-hand.” She did know, however, that this would be a lesson Jesus would teach her over time.
Ten years passed. She married and had four children. But at age 32, her body began to fall apart. She was filled with pain, and begged God to heal her. She reminded God of all the good things she could do for him if she were healthy. But the answer she received was that God wanted instead to work through her weakness.
Her pain became unbearable, and she was unable to care for her family. Doctors diagnosed her with a rare condition that ripped muscle away from her bones. She began to despair. But in the midst of her despair, she encountered God. “God allowed me to see despair through the eyes of a person with faith,” she would write. She learned then the difference faith makes in a person’s life. God flooded her with grace- grace to believe in him love, grace to trust him. And she was filled with peace.
She accepted her deteriorating health, and came to understand that God could use her pain for his purposes. She had heard that old Catholic expression “offer it up,” and she learned to do just that. As she explains it, she learned to pray with her body- offering up her pain, her fear, her entire self, asking God to turn her pain into graces for others.
She’d always told God that she would rather suffer herself than have her children suffer. While praying one night, she learned that this is exactly what God did for his children. In Jesus, God suffered for our sins so we could be free from suffering the pains of eternal separation from him- pain we call “hell.” That night Jesus taught her the meaning of the cross. At the same time, he taught her the meaning of true love.
We may not have experienced extreme physical suffering like this faithful woman has. But all of us suffer- it’s an unavoidable part of life. We should always attempt to alleviate suffering, whether it is we or others who are suffering, and regardless of whether the suffering is physical, emotional, or psychological. But we can’t avoid suffering in a world in which brokenness and sin exist. It’s part of the human condition. That why when God became human in Jesus, he suffered too. God in Jesus has suffered with us, and that very fact can give meaning to our suffering.
Through suffering, God can teach us things we could not learn in any other way. A Washington priest, Msgr. Charles Pope, identifies what he calls the “Five Hard Truths that Will Set Your Free.” They are: 1) Life is hard; 2) Your life is not about you; 3) You are not in control; 4) You are not that important; and 5) You are going to die. Acceptance of these truths liberates us from a lot of false expectations, unrealistic goals, and unnecessary pride. If we’re filled with self-importance, and assume that life should be easy or that we’re entitled to certain things, we’re setting ourselves up for a lot of worry and heartbreak. This is a lesson that God wishes to teach us, if we’ve yet to learn it. But oftentimes the only way we can learn it, is through suffering. Through suffering, we can learn to trust in God, not in ourselves. Through suffering, we can learn to surrender to God’s plans instead of being attached to our own. Through suffering, our pride can “take a hit,” and we can learn humility. And suffering reminds us that this life isn’t meant to go on forever, but that God has something much better planned for us.
Of course, the ultimate lesson God wishes to teach us is how to love. We might say that suffering is the “core curriculum” in the school of love. Pope Benedict said as much in his encyclical letter on hope. “(We) suffer,” he explained, “in order to become a person who truly loves.” In fact, to love is to suffer, the Holy Father explained, because love involves sacrifice, patience, forgiveness, and the risk of opening up and sharing ourselves with others, who may reject us or hurt us.
As God did with the woman I met, God can use our suffering to help others. Suffering can so easily breed fear and despair. But when others see us suffering with faith, in union with Jesus, they can be inspired. They can find courage and hope. They can discover meaning and purpose and their suffering. And if they’ve yet to meet him before, they might truly be introduced to Jesus for the first time.
And then there’s the question of “offering up” our sufferings. We don’t hear about this as much as we used to. But perhaps we should. In our common humanity, and through the Spirit, we can suffer on behalf of, and for the benefit of others. “Our sufferings,” according to Pope Benedict, “somehow become part of the treasury of compassion so greatly needed by the human race.”
Of course, what the human race needed most of all is what Jesus did on the cross. He suffered for us, that we might live forever in a place where suffering is no more. This is what we remember and celebrate tonight. “We adore you O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
Ten years passed. She married and had four children. But at age 32, her body began to fall apart. She was filled with pain, and begged God to heal her. She reminded God of all the good things she could do for him if she were healthy. But the answer she received was that God wanted instead to work through her weakness.
Her pain became unbearable, and she was unable to care for her family. Doctors diagnosed her with a rare condition that ripped muscle away from her bones. She began to despair. But in the midst of her despair, she encountered God. “God allowed me to see despair through the eyes of a person with faith,” she would write. She learned then the difference faith makes in a person’s life. God flooded her with grace- grace to believe in him love, grace to trust him. And she was filled with peace.
She accepted her deteriorating health, and came to understand that God could use her pain for his purposes. She had heard that old Catholic expression “offer it up,” and she learned to do just that. As she explains it, she learned to pray with her body- offering up her pain, her fear, her entire self, asking God to turn her pain into graces for others.
She’d always told God that she would rather suffer herself than have her children suffer. While praying one night, she learned that this is exactly what God did for his children. In Jesus, God suffered for our sins so we could be free from suffering the pains of eternal separation from him- pain we call “hell.” That night Jesus taught her the meaning of the cross. At the same time, he taught her the meaning of true love.
We may not have experienced extreme physical suffering like this faithful woman has. But all of us suffer- it’s an unavoidable part of life. We should always attempt to alleviate suffering, whether it is we or others who are suffering, and regardless of whether the suffering is physical, emotional, or psychological. But we can’t avoid suffering in a world in which brokenness and sin exist. It’s part of the human condition. That why when God became human in Jesus, he suffered too. God in Jesus has suffered with us, and that very fact can give meaning to our suffering.
Through suffering, God can teach us things we could not learn in any other way. A Washington priest, Msgr. Charles Pope, identifies what he calls the “Five Hard Truths that Will Set Your Free.” They are: 1) Life is hard; 2) Your life is not about you; 3) You are not in control; 4) You are not that important; and 5) You are going to die. Acceptance of these truths liberates us from a lot of false expectations, unrealistic goals, and unnecessary pride. If we’re filled with self-importance, and assume that life should be easy or that we’re entitled to certain things, we’re setting ourselves up for a lot of worry and heartbreak. This is a lesson that God wishes to teach us, if we’ve yet to learn it. But oftentimes the only way we can learn it, is through suffering. Through suffering, we can learn to trust in God, not in ourselves. Through suffering, we can learn to surrender to God’s plans instead of being attached to our own. Through suffering, our pride can “take a hit,” and we can learn humility. And suffering reminds us that this life isn’t meant to go on forever, but that God has something much better planned for us.
Of course, the ultimate lesson God wishes to teach us is how to love. We might say that suffering is the “core curriculum” in the school of love. Pope Benedict said as much in his encyclical letter on hope. “(We) suffer,” he explained, “in order to become a person who truly loves.” In fact, to love is to suffer, the Holy Father explained, because love involves sacrifice, patience, forgiveness, and the risk of opening up and sharing ourselves with others, who may reject us or hurt us.
As God did with the woman I met, God can use our suffering to help others. Suffering can so easily breed fear and despair. But when others see us suffering with faith, in union with Jesus, they can be inspired. They can find courage and hope. They can discover meaning and purpose and their suffering. And if they’ve yet to meet him before, they might truly be introduced to Jesus for the first time.
And then there’s the question of “offering up” our sufferings. We don’t hear about this as much as we used to. But perhaps we should. In our common humanity, and through the Spirit, we can suffer on behalf of, and for the benefit of others. “Our sufferings,” according to Pope Benedict, “somehow become part of the treasury of compassion so greatly needed by the human race.”
Of course, what the human race needed most of all is what Jesus did on the cross. He suffered for us, that we might live forever in a place where suffering is no more. This is what we remember and celebrate tonight. “We adore you O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Passion Sunday
Carmelite Father Marc Foley tells the story of a king who had a nightmare. His wizard interpreted the dream to mean that the king would be murdered on his next birthday and all his wealth would be stolen.
Upon hearing this, the king was filled with fear. He gathered his riches into his throne room and surrounded it with armed guards. But as his birthday drew closer, the king only became more afraid. He moved his riches to a more secure room and doubled the number of guards. On the day before his birthday, he moved his treasures to a vault with only one entrance. The king himself entered the vault, ordered that the doorway be sealed up with a wall of bricks, and instructed his guards not to take the wall down until his birthday had come and gone.
At one minute past midnight, the day after the king’s birthday, the guards tore down the wall as they’d been instructed. The found the king. But he was dead- from suffocation. His nightmare had indeed come true- he was dead and his possessions had been taken from him. But the guilty party wasn’t an enemy. It was his own fear.
Our fears can consume us and paralyze us. Fear can lead us to act irrationally and make poor decisions. That’s why our faith tradition has always insisted that we “be not afraid.”
But what exactly does this mean? That we shouldn’t fear anything at all? That’s a pretty impossible standard, because fear is a natural response to scary situations. In fact, to not be afraid might sometimes be a bad thing, as it might lead us to do something reckless, or be a sign that something isn’t quite right with us. Actor Hugh Laurie, of the TV series “House,” began treatment for depression after driving in a charity demolition derby, and discovering that he was bored instead of frightened. “Boredom,” he reflected, “is not an appropriate response to exploding cars.” But fear is.
When he was in the Garden of Gethsemane, knowing that he faced an unimaginably painful and brutal death, Jesus experienced fear. Like any of us would be, he was afraid. We may find it hard to accept that Jesus would have had such feelings. But think of it this way: in Jesus, the Son of God became like us in every way except sin. Jesus had to experience fear, if he was to be truly human.
So what about “Be not afraid?” Does what happened to Jesus in Gethsemane turn that into nonsense? No. There’s a difference between “Be not afraid” and “Do not be afraid.” “Do not be afraid” means what it says, and it’s just not possible in certain circumstances. But “Be not afraid” means that we shouldn’t “be” our fear. In other words, we shouldn’t let fear define us or control us or overwhelm us or make us do things that we wouldn’t do if the fear wasn’t there. Fear happens. But there are ways we can respond to it that are better than others.
Think back to Gethsemane. Jesus was afraid, and the sleepy disciples with him were afraid too. But they reacted to the same frightening situation in very different ways. At least one of them lashed out in violence, and all of them ran away, leaving their friend to those who hated him. For his part, Jesus was probably angry, but certainly not violent; he was afraid, but he was courageous too. His fortitude was greater than his fear.
Why this difference? And how is it that you and I might be able to follow our Lord’s example and face our fears with courage? To begin with, Jesus trusted in God the Father. Through this trust, Jesus knew that evil and darkness would not have the final word, and that the Father would be always with him in his trials. Because he knew these things, Jesus could hope that beyond the sufferings he would endure, there was something better- something better for him, and something better for the rest of us, too.
This hope and trust of Jesus was fed by prayer. In Gethsemane, the disciples failed to pray, even after Jesus had basically ordered them to do so. That’s one reason why, when the test came, they failed and fled the scene. On the other hand, Jesus prayed through his fears. It was an honest prayer in which he shared his fear with God: “Let this cup pass from me!” At the same time, he surrendered himself into God’s hands, asking for help to do what the Father wanted him to do: “Nevertheless, not as I will, but what you will.”
Today’s Scripture readings share with us other prayers of faithful people who faced frightening challenges, but who nevertheless had hope in God. “Hasten to help me!” was the plea of the psalm. “My God, why have you forsaken me?” it asked, words Jesus himself cried from the cross. But it ended on a note of glory and praise to God. The first reading, from Isaiah, spoke of one who would face a cruel mocking and beating, but who still could insist: “The Lord God is my help.”
All of us fear something: Terrorism, a struggling economy, a warming climate, a rapidly changing public morality. We may fear rejection, failure, violence, loss of a job, the death of a loved one, the prospect of an illness. Maybe we’re afraid of the consequences of doing the right thing, like what might happen if we blew the whistle in a corrupt workplace, kept the baby of the unplanned pregnancy, or challenged the negative behavior of a friend or relative.
To us, our fears might be nightmarish, like the king in our opening story. But unlike that king, we need not let our fears defeat us. We can take our cue from the King of Kings, and turn to our heavenly Father, and find in him all the hope and courage we need.
Upon hearing this, the king was filled with fear. He gathered his riches into his throne room and surrounded it with armed guards. But as his birthday drew closer, the king only became more afraid. He moved his riches to a more secure room and doubled the number of guards. On the day before his birthday, he moved his treasures to a vault with only one entrance. The king himself entered the vault, ordered that the doorway be sealed up with a wall of bricks, and instructed his guards not to take the wall down until his birthday had come and gone.
At one minute past midnight, the day after the king’s birthday, the guards tore down the wall as they’d been instructed. The found the king. But he was dead- from suffocation. His nightmare had indeed come true- he was dead and his possessions had been taken from him. But the guilty party wasn’t an enemy. It was his own fear.
Our fears can consume us and paralyze us. Fear can lead us to act irrationally and make poor decisions. That’s why our faith tradition has always insisted that we “be not afraid.”
But what exactly does this mean? That we shouldn’t fear anything at all? That’s a pretty impossible standard, because fear is a natural response to scary situations. In fact, to not be afraid might sometimes be a bad thing, as it might lead us to do something reckless, or be a sign that something isn’t quite right with us. Actor Hugh Laurie, of the TV series “House,” began treatment for depression after driving in a charity demolition derby, and discovering that he was bored instead of frightened. “Boredom,” he reflected, “is not an appropriate response to exploding cars.” But fear is.
When he was in the Garden of Gethsemane, knowing that he faced an unimaginably painful and brutal death, Jesus experienced fear. Like any of us would be, he was afraid. We may find it hard to accept that Jesus would have had such feelings. But think of it this way: in Jesus, the Son of God became like us in every way except sin. Jesus had to experience fear, if he was to be truly human.
So what about “Be not afraid?” Does what happened to Jesus in Gethsemane turn that into nonsense? No. There’s a difference between “Be not afraid” and “Do not be afraid.” “Do not be afraid” means what it says, and it’s just not possible in certain circumstances. But “Be not afraid” means that we shouldn’t “be” our fear. In other words, we shouldn’t let fear define us or control us or overwhelm us or make us do things that we wouldn’t do if the fear wasn’t there. Fear happens. But there are ways we can respond to it that are better than others.
Think back to Gethsemane. Jesus was afraid, and the sleepy disciples with him were afraid too. But they reacted to the same frightening situation in very different ways. At least one of them lashed out in violence, and all of them ran away, leaving their friend to those who hated him. For his part, Jesus was probably angry, but certainly not violent; he was afraid, but he was courageous too. His fortitude was greater than his fear.
Why this difference? And how is it that you and I might be able to follow our Lord’s example and face our fears with courage? To begin with, Jesus trusted in God the Father. Through this trust, Jesus knew that evil and darkness would not have the final word, and that the Father would be always with him in his trials. Because he knew these things, Jesus could hope that beyond the sufferings he would endure, there was something better- something better for him, and something better for the rest of us, too.
This hope and trust of Jesus was fed by prayer. In Gethsemane, the disciples failed to pray, even after Jesus had basically ordered them to do so. That’s one reason why, when the test came, they failed and fled the scene. On the other hand, Jesus prayed through his fears. It was an honest prayer in which he shared his fear with God: “Let this cup pass from me!” At the same time, he surrendered himself into God’s hands, asking for help to do what the Father wanted him to do: “Nevertheless, not as I will, but what you will.”
Today’s Scripture readings share with us other prayers of faithful people who faced frightening challenges, but who nevertheless had hope in God. “Hasten to help me!” was the plea of the psalm. “My God, why have you forsaken me?” it asked, words Jesus himself cried from the cross. But it ended on a note of glory and praise to God. The first reading, from Isaiah, spoke of one who would face a cruel mocking and beating, but who still could insist: “The Lord God is my help.”
All of us fear something: Terrorism, a struggling economy, a warming climate, a rapidly changing public morality. We may fear rejection, failure, violence, loss of a job, the death of a loved one, the prospect of an illness. Maybe we’re afraid of the consequences of doing the right thing, like what might happen if we blew the whistle in a corrupt workplace, kept the baby of the unplanned pregnancy, or challenged the negative behavior of a friend or relative.
To us, our fears might be nightmarish, like the king in our opening story. But unlike that king, we need not let our fears defeat us. We can take our cue from the King of Kings, and turn to our heavenly Father, and find in him all the hope and courage we need.
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