Afraid of the Dark

Fourth Sunday of Lent

Part of moving into a new house, as I did last July, is getting used to it.  A foreign house, especially if you live in it alone, can be a little scary.  Probably a few of those first weeks, as I went to bed, my heart started to beat a little faster as I heard creaks and different noises in my house.  Of course, there was nothing there, but because it was a new house, I wasn’t used to the different noises it would make at night.  What didn’t help was that Flint does not have the reputation of being the safest place in Michigan (though I have to say I have not had any problems here).  The other big issue was that, especially immediately after going to bed, the house was dark, and the fact that I couldn’t see and wasn’t familiar with the different parts of the house and how the shadows fall probably kept me alert without any real cause for concern.

Not being able to see can often change the way we approach things.  To a child, those clothes hanging in the closet or the stuff underneath the bed can seem like monsters.  But even adults, in an unknown area might try to be more attentive as they walk to their car from a restaurant.  Law enforcement is always trying to keep their eyes open, especially these days, so that they are not taken by surprise by someone trying to harm them.

Our readings today remind us of the importance of seeing correctly.  In our first reading, even one of the great prophets, Samuel, does not see as God sees when trying to find the next king of Israel among the sons of Jesse.  Samuel was looking at outward appearances; God was looking at the heart.  

And St. Paul in the second reading reminded us to take advantage of the light of Christ, since we are children of the light, not of darkness.  We do not belong to the night or the darkness, no matter what Pat Benatar sings.  In baptism, we were given the light of Christ, and Christ always gives us the light of His grace to help us know right from wrong.  He does that through our conscience, but even our conscience has to be formed by the light that the Church gives us.  Especially living in an age which, in many ways, are contrary to the teachings of Jesus, our conscience is not always a sure guide for the choices we should make.  

The Gospel we heard, about the man born blind, is one we hear maybe every year, but definitely every three years.  Ironically, in this passage, the person who sees the best (besides Jesus) is the Blind Man.  Neither the Pharisees, nor even the disciples, see as Christ sees.  The disciples think the man is blind because of some sin.  Christ corrects them and says that it’s so that God may be glorified and His works be more visible.  The Pharisees cannot see that Jesus is displaying His divinity in healing the man.  They do not accept Jesus’ miracles, and therefore do not accept Jesus Himself.  Even the man, now formerly blind, exclaims, “‘This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes.  […] It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind.  If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.”

But, if we are honest, sometimes we do not see as God sees.  We do not let the light of Christ illumine our lives.  We have a type of spiritual glaucoma, and no marijuana, medical or not, will cure our spiritual glaucoma.  Only Christ can heal us; only he can restore our sight.

Throughout the history of the Church we have examples of people who saw with the light of Christ.  They had 20/20 spiritual vision.  We call them saints, and we should strive to follow their example in our own lives.  I’ll mention just a few.

St. Martin of Tours, who lived in the fourth century, was a soldier, and later became a bishop.  But one of the stories about him mentions that, as a soldier, he was riding a horse in the cold.  He saw a poor man on the side of the road, with very little clothing.  St. Martin cut his cloak in half, and gave half to the man.  That night, Martin had a dream where Jesus was wearing his cloak.  St. Martin did not simply see a poor man, but saw Jesus, and tried to help him.

St. Francis of Assisi needs almost no introduction.  But how many of you have heard the story of how St. Francis, who had started to give up his father’s wealth, saw a leper, whose skin was rotting away from his body, but dismounted from his horse, gave him money to help, and even kissed his hand.  As hard as it was, Francis saw past his fear of contracting leprosy, and dared to touch, and even kiss, the lepers as a sign of his love for Jesus.

In our own more recent times, St. Teresa of Calcutta is someone who saw with the eyes of Jesus.  In the streets of Calcutta, Mother Teresa would see the “untouchables,” those whom society had rejected, literally rotting away in the streets as they died, flies likely laying their eggs in the putrid flesh, and Mother would care for them and show them the respect and love that she had for Jesus.  I worked in Rome with the Missionaries of Charity, Mother Teresa’s order, not so much with the dying, but with the poor and neglected of the Eternal City.  I will admit: I struggled to see Jesus.  But for me I knew that my sight was not quite right, and that I need the healing of Jesus not to be blind to Him in the least of His brothers and sisters.  I’m sure I’m not there yet.  I still pray that I can see.  How is your spiritual sight?

"Little Baby Jesus" ~Ricky Bobby

Epiphany of the Lord

            Just a few weeks ago the trailer for “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey” was released.  As a big “Lord of the Rings” fan, both the books and the movies, I was pretty excited.  It looks to be a good movie telling the first half of the tale of Bilbo Baggins’ adventure.  Still, there’s always a little awkwardness that can come when, if you’ve read the books, you picture characters looking a certain way, and then on the screen the actors with all their makeup look different than you pictured.

            Today, as we celebrate the Epiphany of the Lord, we celebrate Jesus showing Himself forth to the nations, the Gentiles, the non-Jews, represented in the three magi who came from the east.  The very word epiphany could be translated as “showing forth.”  And, in fact, the Solemnity of the Epiphany has, historically, celebrated the three manifestations of Jesus: to the magi, at His baptism, and at the wedding of Cana, where Jesus, in three different ways at different times, made Himself known to others. 

            But, sticking with the Gospel passage we have today, I wonder if the magi saw what they expected.  They told King Herod that they were traveling to see the “newborn king of the Jews.”  So when they showed up at the home of Joseph and Mary, and saw a little boy, living in humble circumstances, I wonder if they were taken aback.  As they were offering their precious gifts: gold for a king, frankincense for a deity, and myrrh for a rich burial, I wonder what they thought of this little boy.

            We, of course, have ways that we like to think of Jesus.  Maybe we’re like Ricky Bobby from “Talladega Nights,” and we like to think of our Lord as “little baby Jesus.”  Or maybe when we picture Jesus we think of a king in royal robes and a crown.  Perhaps we think of Jesus as a poor, itinerant preacher, a radical of His own day.  Or maybe we see Jesus as a strong carpenter.  Or when we think of Jesus, maybe we always see Him on the cross.  In whatever way we like to think of Jesus, it is still the case that Jesus continues to surprise us by his presence.

            For some, Jesus surprises them by being present today in his brothers and sisters: in the poor begging on the corner; in our family members, especially the ones that we want to avoid; in the terminally ill; in the elderly; in those with a same-sex attraction, or in broken marriages.  And yet, Jesus still makes Himself present in these people, who have inherent goodness because they are human persons, created in the image and likeness of God, who, no matter what good or bad choices they have made, still deserve our love and can still manifest Christ, even if it’s harder to see at times.  In these manifestations, Jesus continues to make Himself known, and we still are called to care for Him who lays hidden beneath those human frailties. 

The life of St. Martin of Tours, whom the Church celebrates on November 11^th, bares this out in a very clear way.  St. Martin was a soldier, and he was riding his horse in the cold winter.  Along the road was a poor man who barely had any clothes on and was freezing.  Martin cut his cloak in two with his sword, and gave half to that poor man so that he could warm, even if just a little.  That night, St. Martin had a vision of Jesus wearing that cloak, and realized what Jesus meant when, in Matthew 25, He said, “What you did for the least of my brothers and sisters you did for me.”

In our own times, there are a number of people, maybe right here in our own parish, who struggle to see Jesus manifest Himself through His Mystical Body, the Church.  And certainly, some members of the Church don’t always make it easy to see Christ in the Church.  We certainly are a corpus permixtum, as St. Augustine of Hippo calls us, a group made up of both sinners and saints.  And yet, in a mysterious way, the Church is the mystical and immaculate Body of Christ, without sin, and communicating the fruits of Christ’s own redeeming life to those who cling to it.  As Timothy Cardinal Dolan has said on many occasions, “Christ and his Church are one.”  You cannot have one without the other, period.  Or, to quote the Catechism, which quotes St. Cyprian of Carthage, “No one can have God as Father who does not have the Church as Mother.”

How often do we hear the phrase, again, sometimes from Catholics, “I’m spiritual, but not religious”?  Or, “I have a great relationship with Jesus, but I don’t want to mess it up by getting other people involved.”  When Jesus manifests Himself, even today, He does so always with His Mystical Body, the Church, and never apart from her.  To quote the great Vatican II theologian, Henri de Lubac, “For what would I ever know of him, without her?” 

Does this mean that everyone who represents the Church is always perfect and always right?  Certainly not.  Does this mean that we should never struggle with some of the teachings of the Church on matters of faith and morals?  Some people do struggle with what the Church teaches, seeking to understand what the Church has defined as belonging to the deposit of faith.  But, when it comes to matters of faith and morals, we can know that when the Church acts, it is Jesus acting through her, whether it’s on the Church’s teaching on abortion, contraception, the preferential option for the poor, marriage, who Christ is, who the Church is, and down the line.  We may not have been expecting to see Christ in that way, but just because we do not expect Christ to be shown forth in that way does not mean it is not Christ.  Maybe instead of wanting the Church to change to fit our desires, we need to change our desires to fit with the Church.

Jesus continues to manifest Himself to us, as He did to the magi 2,000 years ago.  As He likely shocked the magi then, sometimes He may shock us in His manifestation.  The question for us is whether, like the magi, we will choose to lay down what is precious for us: our time, our treasure, and our assent of the will in faith.  I would suggest that, for many of us, money and an independent will are the two things which are most precious to us.  Will we lay them down at the feet of Jesus Christ as He manifests Himself to us in the marginalized and in His Mystical Body, the Church?