A Precious Treasure

Fourth Sunday of Lent

            Every once in a while when I’m having lunch at the rectory, I flip to the History Channel and watch the show “Pawnstars” about a pawn shop in Las Vegas.  Most of the times people think they have something of extraordinary value, when what they have is not worth quite as much as they hope or want.  Occasionally, though, people come in and think they have something that might be worth a few hundred dollars, only to find that it’s worth tens of thousands of dollars.  That must be a crazy feeling when you realize that something you never valued that much turns out to be a precious treasure!

            This evening the question I believe the Lord is posing to us, especially through our Gospel, is how much we value suffering.  Now, suffering is not a good thing.  It was never part of God’s original plan.  And yet, as we said no to God, we brought suffering in: suffering that comes from saying no to loving God and each other, and suffering that comes from illness and disease that entered into the world through original sin.  But I don’t think I need to convince anyone that suffering is not good.  It’s more of a task to say that it’s a precious treasure.

            In our Gospel today, Jesus’ disciples ask Him why the man was born blind.  They want to know why he suffers.  And they have some idea that suffering is due to sin.  But they equate it to the man’s personal sins, or his parents’ personal sins.  Instead, Jesus tells them, “‘Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.’”  The disciples fall into the trap that so many of us do all the time: if something’s going wrong, God must be punishing me.  But Jesus says the blind man’s suffering is not because he or his parents did anything wrong.  He suffers so that God’s works might become known, and people might believe in Jesus, the Son of God.  As we follow the story, it’s easy to see that reasoning, as the blind man is led to faith and worships Jesus.  But do we see that reasoning in our own life?

            When there’s a tough exam that we have to take; when a loved one passes away; when a friendship or romantic relationship we want never gets off the ground, or when a friendship or a romantic relationship that we’re in falls apart; when we’re sick; whenever something negative happens to us, like MSU losing in the Elite Eight, it’s easy to get down in the dumps and say, “Why me?”  It’s easy to wish away the suffering and try to avoid it as much as possible.  We see it as simply a negative.  But when we do that, we are blind.

           

As we approach Good Friday, I bet that all of us here have thought or said that we would be there with Jesus through it all.  We would stand with Him and accompany Him as He went through His passion.  I think that’s why so many people show up for the Good Friday liturgy.  But then, when we find ourselves at the foot of the cross of school; at the foot of the cross of the death of a loved one; at the foot of the cross of relationships that never were or that failed, we, like most of the apostles, want to get as far away as possible.  We want the resurrection, but we don’t want the pain and suffering that lead to it.

            Suffering is a treasure, something beyond the price of gold, because Jesus has made it precious.  By His innocent suffering, He has made all the pain and suffering of life mean something because it can be united to His redemptive suffering.  No longer does suffering have to be meaningless.  It can be directed toward salvation, just as Good Friday was directed toward Easter Sunday.  God loved us so much that He took on our suffering, so that we would know that we do not suffer alone, but that we suffer with God.  And when we do suffer with God, we also know that we will later rejoice with God.

            The exams, family deaths, relationship issues, and sickness all become a treasure.  When we embrace them and offer up to Jesus the very real pain that comes with them, we have new ways to show forth the work of God.  We have new ways to show forth the power of the resurrection that comes after the passion.  When we unite our sufferings with Jesus on the cross, then we find ourselves on Calvary, but instead of running away, we stay there with the Blessed Mother, St. John the Evangelist, and the few other disciples, not enjoying the suffering (God doesn’t ask us to be masochists), but finding peace and joy because we know we are becoming more like Jesus and our sorrow will be turned into laughter, and our pain into peace. 

            Today we ask God to heal our blindness, and let us see the true value of suffering.  We ask God to help us to unite our suffering to the suffering of Jesus on the cross and show forth the work of God, which changes suffering to joy.  We don’t look for suffering, but as it comes our way, and we all know that it does every day, we ask God to help us treasure our suffering, so that we can stand with Jesus at the foot of the cross as He suffered, and so share the joy of the resurrection that comes after suffering is complete.

Who is your Lover?

Third Sunday of Lent

            “Jesus said to her, ‘Go call your husband and come back.’  The woman answered and said to him, ‘I do not have a husband.’  Jesus answered her, ‘You are right in saying, “I do not have a husband.”  For you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband.’”  This whole situation of having five husbands and a lover probably strikes us as odd (I hope it strikes us as odd).  Now, to be fair, we don’t know what happened to the Samaritan woman’s previous five husbands.  Our first guess is probably that she was the Elizabeth Taylor of her day.  But perhaps they just died, and she was just trying to see if her current lover could survive.  I guess we’ll never know.

            But having five husbands shouldn’t seem odd to us, no matter how the situation unfolded.  It shouldn’t seem odd to us because all of us here have, maybe not five husbands, but five lovers.  Now, before you prepare to check your husband’s email account or browsing history of your wife on the internet, I don’t mean that kind of lover.  I mean someone or something that we give our love to, in place of God, just like the Samaritan woman.

           

The Prophet Ezekiel

God, throughout the Old Testament, used the metaphor of a marital relationship for the relationship between Himself and Israel.  The whole Book of Hosea follows that metaphor.  Perhaps my favorite use of this metaphor, though, is from the Book of Ezekiel, chapter 16.  It’s a long chapter, so I won’t quote it all, but just the first few verses will suffice:

on the day you were born your navel cord was not cut; you were not washed with water or anointed; you were not rubbed with salt or wrapped in swaddling clothes.  No eye looked on you with pity or compassion to do any of these things for you.  Rather, on the day you were born you were left out in the field, rejected.  Then I passed by and saw you struggling in your blood, and I said to you in your blood, “Live!”  I helped you grow up like a field plant, so that you grew, maturing into a woman…but still you were stark naked.  I passed by you again and saw that you were now old enough for love.  So I spread the corner of my cloak over you to cover your nakedness; I swore an oath to you and entered into covenant with you…and you became mine.  Then I bathed you with water, washed away your blood, and anointed you with oil.  I clothed you with an embroidered gown, put leather sandals on your feet; I gave you a fine linen sash and silk robes to wear.  I adorned you with jewelry, putting bracelets on your arms, a necklace about your neck…earrings in your ears, and a beautiful crown on your head.  Thus you were adorned with gold and silver; your garments made of fine linen, silk, and embroidered cloth.  Fine flour, honey, and olive oil were your food.  You were very, very beautiful, fit for royalty…But you trusted in your own beauty and used your renown to serve as a prostitute.  You poured out your prostitution on every passerby.

God says how he loved Israel and cared for her, then wooed her, and married her, but then, after all that care, she went after other lovers.  God uses this image of an unfaithful spouse to describe Israel in their unfaithfulness.

            We see that unfaithfulness in the first reading.  God had freed the People of Israel from slavery in Egypt.  He had demolished Pharaoh’s army in the Red Sea, as Israel passed through dry-shod.  And yet, Israel longed for life back in Egypt.  She longed for her foreign lover, in whom she put her trust, rather than on God, her spouse.  And so they complained that they were dying of thirst.  They didn’t trust in God to provide them with water, even though He had saved them from their enemies. 

            So we can read the Samaritan woman’s five former husbands and one lover in an analogical sense.  They are the things in which we put our trust.  But, eventually, our lovers abandon us, just as they abandoned the Samaritan woman.  You see, she was drawing water at the hottest time of the day.  Likely, she was doing this to avoid the dirty looks from the other villagers, who looked down on her for having five husbands and a lover.  She had to draw water at the worst time of the day because her five husbands and lover would not draw water for her.

            But, as she meets Jesus, she finds someone who says He will be able to giver her living water, so she does not have to draw water again.  He promises her more.  She is skeptical.  And she becomes quite dodgy as he presses her on her life, and invites her to abandon her other lovers for Him, the Divine Bridegroom, who truly loves her, because He created her in love.

            What are the lovers in our life?  What do we value more than God?  What has promised to quench our thirst, yet leaves us drawing water at the hottest time of the day?  Maybe it’s financial security that we feel will take care of us.  Maybe it’s health.  Maybe it’s a job.  Maybe it’s sports.  But if it’s not Jesus, then it won’t really be there for us.  In the end, everything else fades away.  All our other lovers will abandon us, and will not take care of us right when we feel like we need them the most.  But Jesus, our Divine Bridegroom, will always be there for us, giving us living water, the gift of the Holy Spirit, so that we are never thirsty again.  As we hear God speak from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, chapter 55, verses 1-2: “All you who are thirsty, come to the water!  You who have no money, come, buy grain and eat; Come, buy grain without money, wine and milk without cost!  Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what does not satisfy?  Only listen to me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare.”  Jesus is the living water.  Receive from Him, trust in Him alone, and thirst no more!!

Freedom without Consequence

First Sunday of Lent

            This weekend is not just the first weekend of Lent, but also is the opening weekend for the movie “300: Rise of an Empire.”  I had seen the last “300” movie, and given it’s importance at Michigan State University (if I yelled out, “Spartans, what is your profession?” I know I would get a particular response), I thought I would see the sequel which deals with the battle between the rest of the Greeks and the Persians.  It was very bloody, and earned the R rating that it received.  However, at one point, and I don’t think this gives anything away, the Greek general is speaking with the leader of the Persian navy, who says to the Greek: “I can offer you freedom without consequence, without responsibility.”

           

That is the seductive lie that our first parents were told, and which they swallowed hook, line, and sinker.  Adam and Eve had paradise in the Garden of Eden.  They were truly free.  They wanted for nothing, and everything responded to their will, because they responded to the will of God.  Their only responsibility was to not eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  But the serpent, the Devil, the Father of Lies, seduced Adam and Eve into believing that they could be God’s equal.  Satan convinced them that they could have freedom without responsibility or consequence, that they would be answerable to no one.  And so they ate.  And by Adam’s act of disobedience, death entered the world as the order that God planned for the world was disrupted.  Because Adam had disobeyed God, the plants and animals would no longer obey Adam and Eve; Adam and Eve’s body would no longer be subject to their mind and soul; and Adam and Eve would both work to dominate each other, rather than work in a loving partnership.  Adam and Even thought that they could have freedom without responsibility or consequence, and so sin and death entered the world.

            This is what St. Paul reminds us in our first reading when he says, “Through one man sin entered the world, and through sin, death.”  One man represented all of humanity.  And in his exercise of freedom, we all received the consequences.  This is what the church calls original sin: not that we are born with a personal sin, but we receive the consequences of the disobedience of our first parents with the perpetual desire on earth to misuse freedom; to pretend that we can have freedom without responsibility, without consequence.  Who here has not experienced that desire, that temptation?  Who here has never wanted to do whatever he or she wanted and not have to worry about what would happen later?  We are born under the illusion that such a reality is possible, that there are actions that never affect anyone else.

            And because Jesus shared our human nature in all things but sin, Satan wanted to try to get the Son of God to fall.  Satan wanted to seduce Jesus into believing that He could use His power any way He wanted to, without any responsibility or consequence.  “Command that these stones becomes loaves of bread”; “throw yourself down”; “prostrate yourself and worship me”; in other words: “do whatever you want to do.”  But Jesus, as the new head of the human race, the new Adam, succeeds where Adam failed.  Because He is the author of freedom, He knows that freedom always has responsibility, always has consequences, and that freedom truly comes not from doing whatever we want, but from doing what is right.  He knows that to do whatever we want only makes us slaves to our passions and to the Evil One, whereas controlling our passions and resisting sin allows us to have true freedom by living according to the order God originally created for us. 

And so He rebukes Satan and the temptations he offers, and not only begins to undue the shackles of slavery which had formerly bound us (the shackles which will be definitively broken by Jesus freely submitting to the consequence of sin, though He did not know sin, and dying on the cross), but also, as our preface will say, “by overturning the snares of the ancient serpent, taught us to cast out the leaven of malice, so that, celebrating worthily the Paschal Mystery, we might pass over at last to the eternal paschal feast.”   He teaches us that we can use our freedom well and not be seduced by a false view of freedom.

Each day we are faced with countless opportunities to use our freedom that God has given to us.  We can use our freedom poorly, thinking that freedom does not involve responsibility or consequences and means that we can do whatever we want.  And when we do that, we lock the shackles of slavery around our necks, wrists, and ankles, and hand the key over to the ancient serpent.  Or we can use our freedom well, and claim “the abundance of grace and…the gift of justification,” so that we are not slaves to our passions and sins, but can “reign in life through…Jesus Christ.”  May our penitential practices this Lent purify our understanding of freedom so that we may share in the eternal freedom of the children of God in heaven.

***************DURING THE RITE OF SENDING ONLY***************

My dear Catechumens, I want to address you now, in a specific way.  You have been preparing, coming to know Jesus and accept the invitation that He extends to all people: to receive the benefits of His freedom and be cleansed from original sin through baptism; to be strengthened to profess His Name to all people through confirmation; and to come into full union with Him through the reception of His Body and Blood in the Eucharist.

My dear candidates, I also want to address you.  You are already one with us in baptism, which is no small thing, because you have been claimed for Christ already and washed clean of the stain of original sin.  You have also been preparing to know Jesus more deeply, and have been preparing to join the one Church of Christ, to receive that gift of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation by which you can spread the faith, and to come into full union with Jesus through the reception of His Body and Blood.

Catechumens and candidates, you are a witness to us of how Christ continues to call people into His Church, into the fullness of truth, and how to live freely.  You are a witness to the world that the lie that freedom is doing whatever you want is just that, a lie, and that true freedom only comes from life in Christ.  Thank you for your witness.  May you be upheld in that witness during this time of final preparation for the Easter mysteries and receive what Christ intends for each of you as you begin your new pilgrimage with us as full members of the Catholic Church. 

A Master better than Lord & Lady Grantham

Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

This past Monday was a sad day for me.  I was watching on DVR the latest episode of one of my favorite shows, “Downton Abbey.”  As I was watching it I was engrossed in the story.  But eventually I thought, ‘This episode seems longer.’  And as I looked at my watch, I noticed that the episode was already past its usual 57-minute airtime.  But then I found out why it was a longer episode: it was the season finale!  My joy quickly turned to sorrow as I realized I wouldn’t be able to watch new episodes for many months.

            I don’t know why I like Downton.  Maybe it’s the general American fascination with British royalty and nobility.  Maybe it’s just the charm of a British accent.  But I do enjoy it!  And while Downton surely paints a rather rosy picture of life in the early twentieth century, I can’t help but think that I would have been happy even just being a footman in a noble’s house, with all the order, the discipline, and the pomp and circumstance (probably not a surprise to anyone here).

            St. Paul says in our second reading that, “one should regard us…as servants of Christ.”  Now, St. Paul is not saying that we have to set out the silverware just right, or wear the right livery for a British noble family.  But he uses this term servant because, whether in first century Palestine or in the twentieth century England, the servant was always intent on fulfilling the master’s will and being about the master’s business.  Psalm 123 reveals what our approach is to be with Jesus: “Yes, like the eyes of servants/ on the hand of their masters, / Like the eyes of a maid/ on the hand of her mistress, / So our eyes are on the Lord our God, / till we are shown favor.” 

            That is the admonition that Jesus gives us in today’s Gospel: “‘seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things [food, drink, clothing] will be given you beside.’”  Christ tells us to work intently on finding the Kingdom of God and then living out the life of the Kingdom, which he had just outlined in chapter 5 of Matthew’s Gospel through the Sermon on the Mount.  Seeking the Kingdom of God means living the beatitudes, and living according to the new law of grace.  The new law of grace is to be salt and light, not to be angry, not to lust in our hearts, not to divorce and remarry (unless the marriage is unlawful), not to swear, not to seek vengeance, and to love our enemies.  As Jesus says, the new law of grace means being perfect “‘just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’”

            And when we are seeking to live that way, we know that our heavenly Father will take care of us.  Even if a mother could forget her child, God promises through the prophet Isaiah in our first reading, God will never forget us.  God will take care of His servants, even better than Lord and Lady Grantham at Downton Abbey. 

            Of course, the gut check for us is whether we are like a servant, intent on keeping our eyes on the Master and doing His will.  The Prayer over the Offerings today speaks of how the bread and wine are “signs of our desire to serve you with devotion.”  Are they really signs of our intention to serve Jesus?  Where do we spend our time?  How do we spend our time?  What consumes us?  If it’s not seeking the Kingdom of God in all we do, and that certainly includes our daily life, or work, or relaxation, our study, then we are not truly living like a servant.  And then we start to worry and become anxious, because if we have to be in charge of taking care of ourselves, there’s a lot to worry about.  When we have to be the Master, we worry a lot, because we try to go beyond our station.  We are not the Master, and when the servants try to be the Master, it always gets botched in some way.  But, when we are the servants, and content with being the servants, there is a peace and relaxation knowing and trusting that the Master will take care of us.

But as servants of Christ, it’s not just about doing the will of the Master (though that is very important).  It’s also about being with the Master.  As Psalm 62, our responsorial psalm, says, “Only in God be at rest, my soul.”  As servants of the Master who are also sons and daughters in the Son of God, we should also be intent on simply being with the Master, and letting our hearts relax in His presence.  There’s nothing wrong with being like Martha, serving the Lord and doing things for Him.  But Mary has the better part.  Just being with the Lord is also a treasure, and one that we should seek.  So many of us are busy with doing things for the Lord.  How much time do we take just to be with the Lord?

As much as I love “Downton Abbey,” it’s not real.  I’m sure the idyllic picture it paints does not accurately reflect the entire truth in what it was to be a servant in a noble house in the early twentieth century.  But the Kingdom of God is real.  And God’s care for us is real.  And any idyllic picture that we can paint is only a shadow of the peace and joy that awaits those who choose to be servants of our Divine Master.