Our Worth is in Him Alone

“Am I now currying favor with human beings or God?
Or am I seeking to please people?
If I were still trying to please people,
I would not be a slave of Christ” (Galatians 1:10).

This verse from St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians stopped me in my tracks as I went through the readings for today. I wish I could say I only ever seek affirmation from God, but it’s a point of struggle for me. I am a people-pleaser, and sometimes I fall into the temptation to worry too much about what other people think of me. Thoughts of inadequacy, comparison, and isolation can plague us. How many of us wonder, “Am I good enough?”, “Do I have what it takes?”, “Can I do this?”, “What’s wrong with me?” Or we jump straight to the self-hatred: “I can’t do this,” “I’m not capable,” “I’m not good enough,” “I’m a burden,” “He/She is so much better than I am,” “I’m a mess.”

It is tempting to measure our worth by “standards” of appearance, friend circles, vocational status, career advancements, having that perfect Catholic Instagram photo with a Bible and coffee, feedback from a boss, or the people that seem to have it all together (they don’t). This will only make our aching hearts sick, and the whispered lies about our identity from the evil one will become the deafening norm. It all ultimately boils down to pride and not trusting in God enough—not trusting fully in how much He loves us.

The more we know our belovedness as God’s sons and daughters, the easier it is to let go and live totally for Him. When we dive into God’s heart, we find love and mercy itself. We find that He is always working for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). We find that He has never abandoned us and never will (Matthew 28:20). We find solace, protection, safety, and peace (Psalm 91, John 14:27). We find the One who calls us His (John 10:14). We find forgiveness (1 John 1:9). We find the One who gives us everything just because we belong to Him (2 Peter 1:3). Faced with this reality, it can become easier and easier to totally trust our Lord. Like St. Paul said, “On this account I am suffering these things; but I am not ashamed, for I know Him in whom I have believed” (2 Timothy 1:12). God is trustworthy. Even with our darkest sins and secret shame, He is trustworthy; especially in that, He is trustworthy.

What things are holding you back from relying fully on God? Maybe it’s fear, suffering, shame, or lies on your heart about your identity. Maybe it’s a sin you keep falling into. Maybe it’s an addiction. Maybe it’s someone who hurt you deeply that you’re struggling to forgive. We all have stuff. Whatever it is, let’s start entrusting these things to the Sacred Heart of Jesus today. You are not alone.

A few years ago, I was a counselor for a Catholic camp for teens called Camp Veritas. One thing that is often heard yelled back and forth as the anthem of the camp is:

“What’s the objective of your life?”

“HEAVEN!”

“And if it’s not?”

“We’re wasting our time!”

Amen, amen. Let’s live this way—really live this way, seeking after Heaven rather than the approval of others.

Our worth lies in God alone. His opinion of you is all that matters. And He’s crazy about you. He will never forsake you.

“In Bitterness Is My Joy”

Today’s readings may seem a little harsh: God putting Job in his place, Jesus proclaiming woe to those who reject Him. Why would God point out Job’s insignificance and insufficiencies when he is already experiencing so much suffering?

Becoming aware of our own weaknesses is, in fact, a grace. It can be a struggle, too, for it requires us to learn humility, but it also brings freedom. Being aware of our weaknesses frees us from any pretense of perfection, from feeling as though we have to carry the world on our shoulders, and from a false perception of reality, of the world and our place in it.

It is through these weak points that the enemy will try to break in, through our bad habits and less noble inclinations. As the Church Militant, we are continually fighting the good fight, storming the forces of evil and protecting what is sacred—including, first and foremost, our own souls—from being corrupted. If we are aware of the weaknesses within ourselves, we can mount a defense to enemy attacks. In order to do so, we must put aside our pride and call in reinforcements. The battle is bigger than any fantasies we may have for ourselves of glory and heroics. If we want to win the fight, we have to be willing to take orders from our Master, who is infinitely stronger and wiser than we are.

When we understand this greater reality, we will be able to proclaim our weaknesses without shame. We are mere soldiers in a spiritual battle that is far beyond our depth, but we will receive unyielding support to bolster every weakness, if only we ask it of God.

Today is the feast of St. Faustina Kowalska, the Apostle of Divine Mercy. She beautifully illustrates this idea of confident humility, and her receptiveness to God’s message of Divine Mercy was cultivated by her great dependence on God and the knowledge of her own weaknesses.

We cannot receive God’s mercy if we are not aware of our need for it. St. Faustina shows us though the example of her own life that accepting humiliations leads not to despair but to great joy. When St. Faustina faced trials and injustices, she did not view them through the lens of her own ego but through God’s mysterious economy of grace. She knew she was playing a part in a larger story. When her things did not proceed according to her plans—when she was turned down from several convents, faced serious illnesses, or was misunderstood and ridiculed—she did not cease to trust in God, because her faith was not in her own wisdom but in God’s alone. When she was mistreated, she did not become indignant but instead thought of how Jesus was mistreated at Calvary, drawing close to Him. She was not ashamed of her shortcomings but humbly accepted them, knowing that God created her with those weaknesses for a reason. She used every struggle as a chance to learn to depend upon God all the more and to increase in joyful gratitude for His overflowing mercy.

And you, Faustina, a gift of God to our time, a gift from the land of Poland to the whole Church, obtain for us an awareness of the depth of Divine Mercy; help us to have a living experience of it and to bear witness to it among our brothers and sisters. May your message of light and hope spread throughout the world, spurring sinners to conversion, calming rivalries and hatred, and opening individuals and nations to the practice of brotherhood. Today, fixing our gaze with you on the Face of the Risen Christ, let us make our own your prayer of trusting abandonment and say with firm hope: “Jesus, I trust in You!”
(Prayer of St. John Paul II)

Suffering is the greatest treasure on earth; it purifies the soul. In suffering we learn who is our true friend.

True love is measured by the thermometer of suffering. Jesus, I thank you for the little daily crosses, for opposition to my endeavors, for the hardships of communal life, for the misinterpretation of my intentions, for humiliations at the hands of others, for the harsh way in which we are treated, for false suspicions, for poor health and loss of strength, for self-denial, for dying to myself, for lack of recognition in everything, for the upsetting of all my plans.

Thank you, Jesus, for interior sufferings, for dryness of spirit, for terrors, fears, and uncertainties, for the darkness and the deep interior night, for temptations and various ordeals, for torments too difficult to describe, especially for those which no one will understand, for the hour of death with its fierce struggle and all its bitterness.

I thank you, Jesus, who first drank the cup of bitterness before you gave it to me, in a much milder form. I put my lips to this cup of your holy will. Let all be done according to your good pleasure; let that which your wisdom ordained before the ages be done to me. I want to drink the cup to its last drop, and not seek to know the reason why. In bitterness is my joy, in hopelessness is my trust. In you, O Lord, all is good, all is a gift of your paternal Heart. I do not prefer consolations over bitterness or bitterness over consolations, but thank you, O Jesus, for everything! It is my delight to fix my gaze upon you, O incomprehensible God!

—St. Faustina Kowalska

Rubbish and Righteousness

—[But] whatever gains I had, these I have come to consider a loss because of Christ.
More than that, I even consider everything as a loss because of the supreme good of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ
and be found in him, not having any righteousness of my own based on the law but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God, depending on faith
to know him and the power of his resurrection and [the] sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death,
if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
—Philippians 3:7-11, from today’s Gospel acclamation

Again we find ourselves confronted by Scripture with questions of value.

Last week I wrote about how a life in Christ changes our definitions of “rich” and “poor”. Yesterday, Grace likened accusatory thoughts or invitations to self-pity to junk mail. The day before, Lauren referenced St. Therese’s “little way,” which is a summation of her belief that her little actions, imbued with the power of the Holy Spirit, were a valuable contribution to her world.

Here again today, we are called to contemplate how much value we ascribe to Christ. Job eloquently describes his fear of the LORD in the first reading; he clearly places a high importance of God’s movements in his life, but his fear is incomplete: Job loathed his life, blaming God, “because in his own eyes he was in the right.” (Job 32:1).

In today’s Gospel, however, Jesus offers another way to look at God’s importance in your life: Bringing about the Kingdom of God is more important than any worldly matter, even those we hold most dear, like our families or grief. St. Paul, in today’s Gospel acclamation quoted above, offers his own version of “Christ above all”.

I am a cradle Catholic, and have been largely spared from crises of faith in my life. Simply put, God has always held a place of prominence. I have always valued my faith.

How does my faith hold up when scrutinized in the light of today’s readings?

How often have I blamed God, or maybe the Church, for making my life miserable? How many times have I longed to live free of consequence and responsibility, knowing in my heart that it’s impossible and harmful? How have negative circumstances in life pushed me away from my faith, turning to other, unsatisfying coping mechanisms. Do I turn to the Lord in times of trouble, truly believing that He can hear my voice, or is He too far away, a distant, conceptual God that probably can’t or won’t work real miracles in my life.

Looking to St. Paul and Jesus’ words: How much have I given up for Christ? Going further, how much have I given up happily, knowing that the righteousness of Jesus far outshines any worldly matter I might hold dear? Are there areas in my life today that I could step out more radically in faith?

How far are we willing to go? What are we holding on to? What little sins, little vices, little omissions, little habits (little little little little… so we don’t notice them piling up) are holding us back from a heart that burns radically for Jesus?

Pray with this question:  Are there areas in my life today that I could step out more radically in faith?

Then pray again.

Then do it.

Invitation to Festivus

Job opened his mouth and cursed his day.
Job spoke out and said:
“Perish the day on which I was born,
the night when they said, ‘The child is a boy!’
Why did I not perish at birth,
come forth from the womb and expire?”—Job 3:1-3

*            *            *

One of the prime tactics of the Opposition Voice is what I call an “Invitation to Festivus.”  Festivus was initially a holiday invented by a character on the comedy sitcom Seinfeld to celebrate the “airing of grievances.”  The idea became so popular that it was taken on in real life and now has formal recognition and its own date, December 23rd, where it is billed as an “anti-Christmas.”  While it is celebrated for the most part as a joke, and to be enjoyed as such, actual Opposition Voice invitations are another matter. It is particularly fitting that these invitations be recognized as in opposition to the gifts and joy that Christ brings.

These invitations have a way of arriving when I am about to begin a worthwhile activity, or even more frequently, when I sit down to pray.  As I try to quiet myself, provocations for anger rise to the surface.  Wrongs in the world, wrongs in my life, people that have failed me or failed at what I think they should be.  “Someone is wrong on the internet” and so my mind starts composing a long letter-to-the-editor rebuttal.  “Someone did me wrong” and my mind conjures up vivid, detailed video footage of the event and every word that was said, or that should have been.

Recently it was a woman who rather outrageously and falsely accused me of doing something wrong.  I was in this particular case quite innocent, and while the matter itself was paltry and insignificant, her words continued to smolder in my mind.  I do not always receive just criticism with grace, but false accusations, even minor ones, invite my ego to a duel onto death.  My face grows hot as the resentment burns to a dangerous level.  Instead of defending myself at the time however, I simply said, rather too quietly “That’s not true” and we awkwardly ended the conversation.

But the furnace has been stoked and the fire continues to rage, as my mind thinks of all the things I could and should have said.  Some eloquent if lengthy depositions in my defense; some could be summed up in four letters.

We’ve all been there.  And that’s the problem—I was there—more than twenty-eight years ago.  This is not a new or recent grievance; it is one conjured up from a stash of hoarded unpleasant memories that were never properly put in the trash.

The self-pity party, with help from my imagination, has been upgraded to a gala.  And then a new guest of honor comes crashing in: Shame.  What is wrong with you?  Why are you so insecure that you are bothered by decades-old criticism?  Why couldn’t you have spoken up for yourself—why are you always such a coward?  Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

How to respond?

The first line of defense is to recognize that most of these invitations are junk mail and require no response at all.  Simply tear them up and put them in the paper trash.  Many of these grievances disappear as soon as they are acknowledged as temptations or distractions.

Second—if that doesn’t work, and it seems to come with a message that requires something more, speak God’s love into it.  In the scenario above, this would take the form of forgiveness:  forgiving the woman who judged me unfairly, and then forgiving myself for a) my weakness at the time and b) my weaknesses now, in the recalling.  Maybe even going a step further and saying “I love you!” by name to BOTH parties.  I realize this sounds remarkably cheesy, but the fact that in practice it is so difficult to do suggests it may be more helpful than we realize.

Third—sometimes God lets us know that this has come to signal something a little more serious, and we are invited to look at what the invitation is really about.  Why does it bother me?  Is there an underlying wound that God wants to heal?

If this wound is not apparent, we should not worry about digging it up.  Sometimes, however, God is allowing it to rise to the surface because it is time to bring it to light and to heal it.  If that is the case, let this be a subject for your prayer time!

It is never helpful to attend a party hosted by the Opposition.  But God Himself loves to hear whatever is on our mind, and He is happy to let us air our grievances to Him in all of their rancor and bitterness.  Let Him be the host.  When He does, there is always a gift exchange, with God being the more generous giver!

Small Things, Great Love

“An argument arose among the disciples
about which of them was the greatest.
Jesus realized the intention of their hearts and took a child
and placed it by his side and said to them,
“Whoever receives this child in my name receives me,
and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me.
For the one who is least among all of you
is the one who is the greatest.”  (Luke 9:46-48)

Confession: I’m one of those people who is prone to getting easily distracted by cute little kids during Mass. Who doesn’t love adorable children, right? But there was one particular Sunday that a little boy displayed profound wisdom. I was kneeling in my pew after receiving the Eucharist. A worn-out looking mom moved forward in the aisle beside me to receive, holding her wriggly son who looked about two years old. As the priest said, “The Body of Christ,” the boy pointed to the Eucharist and said, “Jesus!”

I immediately smiled, and tears sprang to my eyes. “Jesus!” The little boy said it so matter-of-factly, the same as if he were to point to a picture of an apple and say, “apple!”

How quick are we to recognize Jesus around us? Can we, like the little boy, recognize the graces and goodness in our lives and immediately say, “Jesus,” knowing that He is the source? God is always up to more than we can see, and we are constantly surrounded by His goodness, mercy, protection, and attentive care. Are we also living in such a way that others could see the joy and love of the Lord in us and say, “Jesus”?

Today is the feast of one of my favorite saints and one of the doctors of our Church, St. Therese of Lisieux. St. Therese truly exemplified the childlike faith Jesus refers to in today’s Gospel. She freely gave Him everything, saying she “didn’t want to be a saint by halves.” She wrote of being a “little flower,” humble before the Lord:

“[Jesus] opened the book of nature before me, and I saw that every flower He has created has a beauty of its own; that the splendor of the rose and the lily’s whiteness do not deprive the violet of its scent, nor make less ravishing the daisy’s charm…So it is in the world of souls, the living garden of the Lord….He has also created little ones, who must be content to be daisies or violets nestling at His feet to delight His eyes when He should choose to look at them. The happier they are to be as He wills, the more perfect they are…What delights Him is the simplicity of these flowers of the field, and by stooping so low to them, He shows how infinitely great He is” (Story of a Soul, I).

Everything St. Therese did was intentionally rooted in love, even the small things. Her childlike faith was the fruit of selflessness and complete surrender to God. God can work wonders through what we may see as simple or even insignificant acts of love. May we be childlike before Him—quick to run to His arms with confidence, quick to love, quick to acknowledge His grace. Today let us be attune to all the ways Jesus is present in our day, giving Him praise by declaring His name over all the graces He gives us. And let’s do the same for others—loving greatly in small things.

Who Is Like God?

Once when Jesus was praying in solitude,
and the disciples were with him,
he asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?”
They said in reply, “John the Baptist; others, Elijah;
still others, ‘One of the ancient prophets has arisen.'”
Then he said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Peter said in reply, “The Christ of God.”
He rebuked them and directed them not to tell this to anyone.

He said, “The Son of Man must suffer greatly
and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes,
and be killed and on the third day be raised.”

—Luke 9:18–22

Jesus’s two questions to his disciples—“Who do the crowds say that I am? …But who do you say that I am?”—highlight the fact that He wants us to come to know Him personally, not merely through what we hear from others. He knows that a flurry of rumors and opinions surround Him, but He doesn’t want His disciples to be distracted by them. Rather, He wants them to form their knowledge from their own direct encounters with Him.

Peter’s response—“The Christ of God”—cuts straight to the heart of the matter. Is Jesus a prophet or the Messiah? A conduit of God’s message, or the Source? Peter answers firmly that Jesus is not merely a human leader but is the Divine Redeemer.

However, declaring Jesus to be the Messiah has some troubling implications. If He is the Redeemer, then He is also the Lamb, destined to be sacrificed for our salvation. The disciples do not realize this; they do not yet know the necessity of the Cross, but Jesus immediately and directly speaks to them of the great suffering He must endure.

The truth of Jesus’s divinity was much harder to process than the other narratives floating among the crowds. To be a follower of a prophet required much less than to be the follower of the Lamb. Jesus was asking His disciples to follow Him in the way of sacrifice, to take up their own crosses. It would have been much easier for them to accept an alternate explanation for Jesus’s teachings and rationalize that He didn’t really mean that He would suffer. But it wouldn’t have been the truth.

We are living in turbulent times, where the truth is twisted in a thousand different directions every day. As we try to come to know Jesus, it can be very easy to become distracted by the noise that surrounds us, the many alternative explanations and lies that try to steal our attention and confuse us. But Jesus Himself is the Truth—and the Way, and the Life—and if we focus ourselves on Him, we will find the truth illuminated for us everywhere.

We are called to earnestly seek truth in every situation, not to accept incomplete accounts or one-sided descriptions that may be easier to digest but ultimately keep us in the darkness. The truth is difficult and often uncomfortable, but only the truth will set us free.

Tomorrow is the Feast of St. Michael and the Archangels, who were the forerunners for us in this decision between truth and comfort. For the angels, the revelation that they would be called to serve fallen humanity and bow before Mary as their Queen was difficult to receive. In response, Satan rebelled against God and refused to serve. Michael could have made that choice, too, but he didn’t. Instead he responded, “Mîkhā’ēl,” or “Who is like God?” He knew that even though the path ahead would involve suffering, he could trust God to lead him through it. And honestly, who was Satan kidding? Did he really think he could defeat God? He can whine and scheme and throw tantrums; he can wreak havoc throughout the world; but in the end, he cannot win. He is not like God. Unlike Michael, he refused to acknowledge this truth.

Michael’s words, “Who is like God?”, are very similar to Peter’s: “Lord, to whom else would we go? You alone have the words of everlasting life.” They are kindred spirits in their clear-eyed understanding of their own dependence upon God. They know that God’s teachings are difficult, but that doesn’t change the fact that He is trustworthy. They look to God Himself and find Truth within the Mystery.

In response to the current abuse crisis in the Church, many parishes (including St. Patrick’s Cathedral!) have brought back the tradition of saying the St. Michael Prayer together at the end of each Mass. As we look toward his feast tomorrow, let us keep this prayer on our lips as a guard against the lies of Satan and a declaration of trust in God. May truth prevail, in our own hearts and in the whole world.

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

To what end?

Two things I ask of you,
deny them not to me before I die:
Put falsehood and lying far from me,
give me neither poverty nor riches;
provide me only with the food I need;
Lest, being full, I deny you,
saying, “Who is the LORD?”
Or, being in want, I steal,
and profane the name of my God.
—Proverbs 30:7-9
There’s hardly a better argument for Aristotle’s “Golden Mean” than today’s first reading. (It’s even quite possible this verse was written first).
As Catholics, we often hear a lot about avoiding excess, but not quite so much about avoiding poverty. Don’t most priests and religious take an entire vow of poverty? Then how could sacred Scripture seemingly contradict this frequent idealization of poverty, of a general “lack” of possessions in the Catholic tradition?
 As is the case with so many matters of faith, these questions boil down to a simpler one: “What do we value in life? How does that change our definitions of poverty and riches?”
If we look to Pier Giorgio Frassati, the tension between rich and poor is at play throughout much of his life. In terms of finances, he was incredibly #blessed: he was well-to-do with plenty of opportunity afforded him due to his family’s political and economic status. This type of wealth,  however, was only of value to Pier Giorgio as far as it was able to provide for his mission and for others. His bus fare was more valuable as his starving brethren’s dinner. His health was more valuable as his capability to serve the sick. Likewise, those starving in the slums are not inherently better off in spirit than those whose table is always full.
The wealthy are not Good because of their wealth. The needy are not Good because of their need.
In every discussion about possessions, riches, or poverty, their is always an implied question: “To what end?” Money may be a facilitator or an obstacle. Starvation may be redemptive suffering or unwanted agony.
If the resources you and I possess are of any value to us, we must ask the question, “To what end?” Where does our heart’s contentment lie? With riches? Than we will inevitably find ourselves asking, “Who is the LORD” (i.e. What does He matter to me?). With poverty? Than we risk envy, cynicism, and being holier-than-thou. “Do not look gloomy like the hypocrites.”
Instead, we must pray and work to always desire relationship with the Lord. If we value the LORD above all, we can see times of feast as an opportunity to increase our gratitude and times of famine as opportunities for increased faith and prayer.
I ask that we pray tonight for a spirit akin the Psalmist in today’s responsorial:
Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.
Remove from me the way of falsehood,
and favor me with your law.
Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.
The law of your mouth is to me more precious
than thousands of gold and silver pieces.
Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.
Your word, O LORD, endures forever;
it is firm as the heavens.
Your word, O Lord, is a lamp for my feet.
From every evil way I withhold my feet,
that I may keep your words.
—Ps 119:29, 72, 89, 101

When God Goes Missing

“Your mother and your brothers are standing outside
and they wish to see you.”
[Jesus] said to them in reply, “My mother and my brothers
are those who hear the word of God and act on it.”—Luke 8:20-21

*            *            *

“Cie-cie, Santa’s dead!”  announced Little Nicholas solemnly.  I raised an eyebrow toward his mother, my friend Heidi.  “I was telling him about Saint Nicholas, and how he lived hundreds of years ago…” she explained with a sigh.  “Santa’s dead…” repeated Little Nicholas with a sigh of his own.

But the next day we went to the mall to ride the escalators and lo and behold, there was Santa Claus sitting by the Christmas tree.  “Look Mom!”  Little Nicholas exclaimed with great glee and equal volume.  “Santa is alive!  He’s risen from the dead and born again!”

I admit to a certain smug satisfaction: I am firmly in the pro-Santa camp, having fond memories of him and most of the other so-called “Fairy Tale Figures” of childhood.  I loved waking up on Christmas morning to find the surprises that Santa had left under the tree.  I loved waking up and searching for the chocolate eggs and jelly beans that the Easter Bunny had hidden for us around the house.  The Tooth Fairy was admittedly more forgetful and less reliable, but sooner or later I would awake with joy to find a quarter under the pillow—relative riches.

But there was one such figure from my childhood whose games of seek and find I did not enjoy: the Whisk-Away Where Witch.  I did not learn until later in life that the Whisk-Away Where Witch was selective in whose houses she visited, that in fact, I’ve yet to meet anyone else who even knew of her existence.  This did not stop her from having an active life here on Maple Avenue.

When something was left about (i.e. not “put away properly”) the witch would hide it.  The more one whined “Where is it?” (unless one was simultaneously cleaning up other things) the further away she would hide it.  Some things she would mysteriously return if and when a room was cleaned up.  Some never came back.  My china doll mysteriously showed up in my mother’s dresser years later…

I was grateful later in life to discover an ally in Saint Anthony.  But sometime when he seems to be slacking and my seeking fruitless, I am tempted to revert and blame darker forces.  But what of those times when it is God Himself who seems to go missing?

In today’s Gospel we see Mary and the brothers of Jesus are looking for Him, they want to speak with Him.  Instead Jesus says to the crowd “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of the Lord and act on it.”  We are quick as Catholics to rise to Mary’s defense against those who might suggest that Jesus was diminishing her—surely, nobody more perfectly heard and acted better than Mary, so we know that in fact He was not dissing her.

But we must not rush too quickly past the thoughts and feelings of Mary that day, as she stood on the outside, unable to see and speak with her son.   What must this have been like for her?  This was not the first time she was asked to give her assent to the will of God, nor was it the first time that she sought her son and could not reach Him.

Caryll Houselander writes of Mary’s experience of losing Christ in the Temple:

The striking thing about it is that it was not really a loss.  Our Lady did not lose Christ; He deliberately went away…Nor was this an isolated incident.  When she had found Him, after three days of utter bereavement.  He returned with her to Nazareth; but after what must have seemed a very short time to her, He left her again, and from that time forward her life was a continued seeking for Him.

We hear of her standing outside the crowd during His public life; of her following Him to the Cross, where the very life she had been given to Him would be taken away from her.  For a brief moment He was put in her arms again, and then taken up quickly (for there was urgency over the burial) and put into the tomb.

Why did Christ treat our Lady this way?…

…It was because Our Lady lived the life of all humanity.  Concentrated into her tiny history is the life story of the whole human race, the whole relationship of the redeemed human race with God…Naturally, then, she experienced this loss of the Child because it is an experience which we all have to go through, that our love may be sifted and purified.1

The thoughts of Our Lady are not recorded; we know only her assent.  That she said Yes to all that was to be given to her, all that was asked of her.  Her assent was without hesitation, without reserve.  Just as Christ fully entered into the human experience, so too our Lady lives her perfect assent in solidarity with the human condition.  And it is the human experience to feel the absence of God, to seek Him—in order to find Him.

When we think of Mary’s fiat and maternity we think of her holding Jesus—as a tiny baby in Bethlehem, and then perhaps in the Pieta moment under the cross, when she holds Him again, this time lifeless.  We do not often picture her arms empty, reaching, on the outside of Christ’s life.  But this too is a key point of her fiat, of her maternity not just of Christ, but of us.

There would have been no doubt of Our Lady’s knowing her son’s face; but often, in the dusk, she must have searched for it in the face of another boy, and the boy would have wondered who this woman was and why she leaned down and searched his face; he could not have guessed that the day would come when the Mother of God would really find her son in every boy and every boy would be able to give Christ back to her….

…Later on, she was again seeking for Christ, this time among the crowd that thronged round Him in His public life.  She is among those who are trying to get close to Him; therefore, she is among the sick, the crippled, the blind, the poorest beggars—outcasts of every description.  For such are the people who follow Christ in every age. 2

If we can take comfort in Mary’s search for God, in feeling His absence, we can take it also in her faith, and in her finding.

Surely when on Holy Saturday He is again missing, her arms again empty, and she cannot find Him; surely in that missing and absence she recalls His words of long ago telling her that even then, He is about His Father’s business.

Notes:

1 Houselander, Caryll.  The Reed of God.  (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 2006), pp. 109-110.

2 Ibid, p. 140

 

Be Brave

“Jesus said to the crowd:
“No one who lights a lamp conceals it with a vessel
or sets it under a bed;
rather, he places it on a lampstand
so that those who enter may see the light.
For there is nothing hidden that will not become visible,
and nothing secret that will not be known and come to light” (Luke 8:16-18).

A constant theme of my prayer these last few weeks has been to not be discouraged. The weight of the darkness in our Church, our world, and some things for me personally sure has been heavy, sometimes seemingly too much to bear. Today’s Gospel is comforting in that all will be revealed by God. God sees. God knows. He has not abandoned us, nor will He ever. His truth reigns. God is always working for our good. Stop and let that sink in for a moment. Do you actually believe that? Do you trust God in that with all of your heart? I know I struggle sometimes to live in that truth. Some days, out of fear, I keep God at an arm’s length rather than fully letting Him in.

To the weary of heart, He sees you. He sees the efforts you are making for His Kingdom. We can trust that Jesus is who He says He is, and we are who He says we are, as well—God’s sons and daughters who have authority in His name.

We must be unafraid to be the lights on the lampstand, as tempting as it may be to hide right now. Sometimes we may think, “This is too hard, painful, difficult…” or, “I’m not good enough…” or, “I can’t make a difference…” but those are just lies! While hard, painful, and difficult do not begin to describe the excruciating tumult that is rocking our Church, and whatever personal crosses we bear, we are still a resurrection people. And God will not let our story end with pain and betrayal. What would happen if we were brave in letting God work through us? What if we dared to be attentive to the promptings of the Holy Spirit in the everyday? What would happen if we radically love like Christ in everything we do? What is He calling you to?

Today’s first reading from Proverbs says, “Say not to your neighbor, ‘Go, and come again, tomorrow I will give,’ when you can give at once.” How we are needed to rise up, without fear or shame, and without delay, to authentically love one another! I have been convicted now more than ever to be a joyful witness of Christ’s love—knowing that Christ’s love takes on many forms: suffering, healing, forgiveness, boldly proclaiming truth, walking with, mourning with, and even a simple gaze of compassion. All can be an offering of love for Him; we can strive to have all we do worship our Lord. Let us go out and be vessels of hope, continually pointing others towards Christ.

Fruit of the Vine

As Jesus passed by,
he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post.
He said to him, “Follow me.”
And he got up and followed him.
While he was at table in his house,
many tax collectors and sinners came
and sat with Jesus and his disciples.
The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples,
“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
He heard this and said,
“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.
Go and learn the meaning of the words,
I desire mercy, not sacrifice.
I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

—Matthew 9:9–13

In the Confirmation class I taught, we covered the Gifts and Fruits of the Holy Spirit. During a review game, my class of seventh-grade boys was split into teams, and one team was asked to name a few Fruits of the Holy Spirit. After a few blank stares where it became clear they had no recollection whatsoever of our lesson discussing these Fruits, one smart-alecky student replied, “Apples, oranges, blueberries…” His partner soon chimed in with “Strawberries, mangoes, bananas…” I rolled my eyes and asked if they had a real answer. When the first student said no, I started listing off the actual Fruits of the Holy Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience…—only to be interrupted by the second student. “Wait a minute,” he said, “those aren’t fruits!”

So, in case you were not aware: no, the Fruits of the Holy Spirit are not literal fruits. The Holy Spirit does not, to my knowledge, operate a juice bar. But why is it that we refer to them as Fruits in the first place? In today’s first reading, St. Paul’s description of our relationship with the Holy Spirit gives us more insight into the metaphors of Fruits and Gifts.

I, a prisoner for the Lord,
urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received,
with all humility and gentleness, with patience,
bearing with one another through love,
striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit
through the bond of peace…
But grace was given to each of us
according to the measure of Christ’s gift.

And he gave some as Apostles, others as prophets,
others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers,
to equip the holy ones for the work of ministry,
for building up the Body of Christ.

—Ephesians 4:1–3, 7, 11–12

Paul tells us that as Christians, we are all called by God to live uprightly, actively cooperating with the Spirit and developing virtue. But he also speaks of graces that were given to us freely, without merit on our part; these graces vary based on the needs of the Body of Christ. In order to develop the virtues he describes, we must receive these graces with open arms and allow them to take root within us.

If Christ is the vine and we are the branches, the Gifts of the Holy Spirit are the nutrients that flow into us through Christ, giving us life and enabling us to grow. If we are connected to this nourishing Spirit, it will naturally follow that we will bear fruit. The Fruits of the Holy Spirit are evidence that God is working within us; they are the external virtues that flourish when we cooperate with God’s grace.

If we are truly living in the Spirit, the Fruits will manifest themselves in our lives. Unlike the Pharisees, who followed the law and yet lived in ways that were critical, impatient, harsh, and self-serving, we can become truly gentle, peaceful, and loving by softening our hearts and being open to receiving God’s grace. Just as He did with St. Matthew, He calls to us and asks us to follow Him; He seeks to heal us from our infirmities and pour His grace into us, that we might be grafted back onto the Vine and bear fruit. May we allow Him to reconnect us to the Source of all grace, that our souls might bloom ever stronger.