People of Constant Sorrow and Joy

Third Sunday after Easter
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I first heard the song, “Man of Constant Sorrow” while watching the 2000 Cohen brothers movie, “O Brother Where Art Thou?”  And while it didn’t strike me as religious, the lyrics mirror what the Lord says in today’s Gospel: that we will have sorrow here, but joy after.  
    The song talks about the sorrow of leaving Kentucky (a sorrow I can relate to, though I was neither born nor raised there), the sorrow of rambling through the world without any friends, of leaving a true love, and that true love loving another after the singer is dead and buried.  “But,” as the song continues, “there is one promise that is given / I’ll meet you on God’s golden shore.”  
    While, in my own experience, leaving Kentucky is truly sorrowful, the sorrow our Lord talks about in the Gospel consists in the reality that the world does not conform to God’s plan.  Our Lord shares these words in the context of the Last Supper, as He prepares to be judged in a sham trial and be put to death by a strange alliance of Pharisees and Pontius Pilate and Roman soldiers.  We can think of no greater sorrow, no greater demonstration that the world is not as it should be, than putting God’s own Son to death in such a gruesome way.
    But the messed-up state of the world did not end there.  It continues because of sin: our own personal sins, and the sins of cultures, societies, and governments.  Even we, who have received the saving washing of Holy Baptism, still suffer under concupiscence, the inordinate desires of our lives not in accord with the will of God, and fall short of the august call that God has given us to be His adopted children in Christ.  Our sins, and the sins that we experience, should cause us sorrow.  Wars, even if necessary, should cause us sorrow at the destruction of life and property.  Illness and disease, things that are not necessarily due to anyone’s choices, should cause us sorrow because God has made us for health and integrity.  
    But, even as we pass through this vale of tears, in hac lacrimarum valle, as we say in the Salve Regina, we should also have joy.  Our joy comes not from a human solution to wars, illness, and personal evil, but from Christ who has conquered sin and all its effects, death, and even natural evils.  Our joy comes from the knowledge that we threw everything evil at Christ that we could think of, all our hate, all our dysfunction, all our sin and death, and while it looked for a while like He had been conquered, He rose victorious on the third day and proved that nothing has more power than God, and that God can turn into life and light even the worst death and darkness that we give Him.

    Our joy should come from the understanding that God did not simply raise our Lord for His own benefit, but also for ours, and that God has given us a way to be joined to the Risen Christ through Holy Baptism, a once-for-all event in our life that we have to choose to ratify each day if we wish to share in its full benefits.  Our joy comes from knowing that, if we cling to Christ, turn away from our sins, and do all that we can to reject Satan and sin, then we, too, will find victory over death and darkness.  And that can keep us going.
    It is the joy that mothers keep in mind as they suffer through pregnancy.  All the morning sickness, all the stretch marks, all the back pain, all the swollen feet and ankles, all the pain of delivery (which, all joking aside, I do believe exceeds even a man-cold), is worth it because of a new child and the joy that comes from holding that child in her arms, a result of the love shared between her and her husband.  
    But we have to keep that in mind, otherwise it just seems like trials.  And when we only consider our trials, they can wear us down, depress us, lead us into despair.  When we forget about heaven and the perfect happiness that comes from union with Christ, the sufferings we endure and the sufferings we choose to endure in order to follow Christ don’t seem to make any sense.  If heaven doesn’t exist, then why would I curtail the desires of my body?  If heaven doesn’t exist, then when would I give up meat on Fridays?  If heaven doesn’t exist, then why wouldn’t I do whatever I needed to be the most powerful, the most famous, the most rich?  If Christ is not raised from the dead, as St. Paul says, then we are the most pitiable of people because all the ways we die to ourselves seem foolish.  But if there is life after death, a life that can be filled with happiness if we live like Christ (or a life that can be filled with suffering if we only seek out pleasure on earth), then no matter what pain or sorrow we go through on our way, the destination is worth it.  To use an analogy, driving through Ohio is worth it only if Kentucky is on the other side of Cincinnati.  
    We are, in some sense, men and women of constant sorrow, because Christ has not yet returned to usher in the fullness of His Kingdom.  We leave Kentucky, we ramble through life, we lose friends and loved ones, we go each day towards the grave.  “But there is one promise that is given”: that through living the life of Christ, the life of the Easter, the life of resurrection, we can meet Him and all the saints on God’s golden shore, where He reigns–the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit–for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Praying Like Veruka Salt

 Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
    It seems to me that recently, Hollywood in general does not know how to make good movies anymore.  They simply rehash old ones that were popular.  A case in point in the newer version of “Willy Wonka” released in 2005, called “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” which re-told the story of the movie released in 1971.  For me, Willy Wonka is always Gene Wilder, not Johnny Depp, even though the 1971 has some pretty scary scenes in it.

    In both movies, though, we see all sorts of bad character in children.  One in particular, Veruka Salt, is very demanding and self-centered.  She wants what she wants and she wants it now.  She often wants it without any personal labor.  Indeed, to find the golden ticket, her dad forces his workers to open thousands of bars of candy, until it’s found.  And then, when she’s on the tour with Willy Wonka, she wants a goose that lays a golden egg (in the 1971 version), demonstrated by her song, “I Want It Now," which ends with her standing on a scale, that determines that she’s a bad egg, and sends her to garbage chute.  
    While we don’t prefer to think of ourselves this way, this approach, that we want what we want and we want it now, can creep into our faith life.  We heard in the first reading from the Prophet Habakkuk, who probably wrote this book in the 7th century (600s) BC.  Perhaps, in our prayers, we have even used words like his: “How long, O Lord?  I cry for help but you do not listen!”  God, I’m praying to you!  You’re supposed to give me what I want as soon as I ask for it!!  Habakkuk, expressing that cry of his people, was not asking for anything bad.  The Babylonians are about to capture Jerusalem, God’s Holy Dwelling.  So they’re asking for His protection.  This is not a bad thing.  But remember, God had previously sent prophets to instruct the people to turn away from their evil, and they had not listened.  The consequences of their rebellion against God are about to fall on their own heads.
    Sometimes, we, too, ask for things that are not bad.  We seek some good that God can give us.  We feel that something should be in accord with God’s will.  And so we want it now.  Of course, we know that God allowed the Babylonians to sack Jerusalem, and the Jews went into exile from 587-539 BC.  But, God conveys through Habakkuk, that “the vision still has its time, pressed on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come.”  God will answer the cries of the people, but it will be on His schedule, not on theirs.  
    God invites us to be patient, and to trust that He will give us what we need, even if it’s after when we think we need it.  That takes faith, which Jesus encourages in the Gospel.  But there’s the curious follow-up to Jesus’ invitation to us to have faith, where He talks about us as servants, who need to wait for the Master’s schedule of dining.  Still, with ears to hear, we can see how often our prayers requests can come from an attitude where we are in charge, and we are the ones around whom God should make His plans.  But we are not the Master, but the unprofitable servants, whose job it is to serve the Master.  God’s will doesn’t have to conform to ours; quite the opposite: our will needs to conform to God’s.  
    I admit, I do not always exemplify that trust in God’s timing and the priority of God’s will over mine.  Because of my strong will (which can help me cling to God even in difficult times), I struggle saying “Thy will be done” and acknowledging that if it didn’t happen, then it’s not for the best.  When I want something, I automatically presume it’s for the best.  But, compared to God’s omniscience, we are like children who want dessert all the time, rather than eating our peas and carrots first.
    I think this struggle to accept God’s will and timing is most evident when someone we love is struggling with poor health and is approaching death.  There’s nothing wrong with seeking alternative treatments and second opinions, to make sure that we have explored every option.  But sometimes there is no other outcome than death.  Still I have seen adult children struggle greatly with accepting that reality, and wanting to keep trying every new medicine and prolong life, even when doctors are clear that there is no cure, beyond a miracle, and death is the only end to a disease or condition.  It’s not wrong to pray for miracles and have faith that God can accomplish mighty deeds, but are we willing to accept when God’s plan is different than ours, no matter how hard that is to accept?  
    And it is hard, especially when the answer we want in prayer deals with someone we love.  Love, we so often think, is doing everything we possibly can for the beloved.  But sometimes love is also accepting that God’s will is not ours, that what we love will not continue in the same way as before, and that love will simply treasure the days, weeks, or maybe months that we have left.  
    Faith is hard; faith requires us to battle our own desires and wills.  If it were easy, everyone would have faith, and it wouldn’t be so important for us in our relationship with God.  But today God invites us to make that move from “I want it now!” to “the just one, because of his faith, shall live.”