It is no small reason

There is one thing we can put our hope in, and that is no small reason for rejoicing.

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As they say in the traffic report, this post is thanks to “tipster” Lupe.  Lupe grabbed me after Mass yesterday and asked me if I had read the Office of Readings for the day–which I hadn’t yet.  (The Office of Readings is part of the Liturgy of the Hours.)  So, of course, I did as soon as I got home.  The readings this time of year, as we close the liturgical year, are mostly about the Lord coming again or about our going to meet Him in death.  The second reading for yesterday, Wednesday of the thirty-third week of Ordinary Time, is from a sermon by St. Augustine.  He preaches about the sure promise we have of seeing the Lord, but now we walk by faith, not by sight. 

We walk by faith, and not by sight.  When will it be by sight? Beloved, says John, we are now the sons of God; what we shall be has not yet been revealed, but we know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.  When this prophecy is fulfilled, then it will be by sight.

Then Augustine goes on to point out that we have great reason for rejoicing–and the reason for our rejoicing is that this promise will be fulfilled:

Nevertheless, even now, before that vision comes to us, or before we come to that vision, let us rejoice in the Lord; for it is no small reason for rejoicing to have a hope that will some day be fulfilled.

This got me thinking about the many things we put our hope in, and how often we are then disappointed when they are not fulfilled.  That can lead us to discouragement and to an attitude of “Why hope?”  It is true that we will face many disappointments in life–but this one thing we can–and must–put our hope in: that we shall see Him as He is.  This is a hope that will one day be fullfilled.  We–you–will see Him as He is.  And that is no small reason for rejoicing.

The Reality of Hope

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I would like to refer you to an excellent article I read yesterday at First Things, entitled “The Reality of Hope.”  It’s written by Amy Julia Becker who lost her mother-in-law to cancer six years ago.  She writes about what the word “hope” really means as you live through the experience of losing someone you dearly love. 

After she died, it was as if I had broken my arm. A part of me ached all the time, and something that had been functional was now useless, and everything about my daily routine needed to be navigated differently. It was difficult, for instance, to stand in line at the post office or buy groceries or make dinner. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

I had spent much of the final six months of her life with her, my mother-in-law, my friend: Penny. And once she was gone, I missed her. I missed the Penny I knew when she was healthy—the woman who had enjoyed kick-boxing, who loved ice cream and didn’t like cilantro, who had hand-addressed our wedding invitations. I missed the Penny I came to know in the midst of her battle against cancer, who, after surgery, laughed so hard in response to a get-well card that staples holding her wound together were dislodged, who walked around the block in sneakers and a nightgown just to get outside, who held my hand as she slept, who said, “thank you” even at the very end.

You can read the rest here.

Another “defect” of Jesus

“Jesus always acts out of love.”

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Following up on my November 14 post, another of Jesus’ “defects” that Cardinal van Thuan mentioned in his spiritual exercises to the papal household was: Jesus doesn’t understand finances or economics.  He started his reflection by recalling the parable of the workers in the vineyard (Mt 20:1-16)–remember? Those who get hired at the last hour get paid the same as those who worked all day.  Cardinal van Thuan continued:

If Jesus were named the administrator of a community or the director of a business, the institution would surely fail and go bankrupt.  How can anyone pay someone who began working at 5:00 PM the very same wage paid to the person who has been working since early morning?  Is this merely an oversight?  Is Jesus’ accounting wrong?  No!  He does it on purpose, as he explains, “Can I not do what I want with what is mine?  Or are you jealous because I am generous?” (Mt 20.15) (Testimony of Hope, p. 18)

And then he goes on to answer an important question.

Perhaps we can ask ourselves why Jesus has these defects.  Because he is love (cf. 1 John 4.16).  Real love does not reason, does not measure, does not create barriers, does not calculate, does not remember offenses, and does not impose conditions.
     Jesus always acts out of love.  From the home of the Trinity he brought us a great love, infinite, divine, a love that reaches–as the Fathers of the Church used to say–even to the point of folly, throwing our human measurements into crisis. (Testimony of Hope, p. 18)

And this is the same Jesus who has to do with you.  “Jesus always acts out of love.”

God’s choice of building materials

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Saturday I posted about the “defects of Jesus”.  Here’s another example, posed by G.K. Chesterton, of God doing something exactly the opposite of how you would expect–that is, until you really get to know Him. 

When Christ at a symbolic moment was establishing His great society, He chose for its cornerstone neither the brilliant Paul nor the mystic John, but a stutterer, a snob, a coward–in a word, a man.  And upon this rock He has built His Church, and the gates of Hell have not prevailed against it.  All the empires and the kingdoms have failed, because of this inherent and continual weakness, that they were founded by strong men and upon strong men.  But this one thing, the historic Christian Church, was founded on a weak man, and for that reason it is indestructible.  For no chain is stronger than its weakest link.  (Heretics, Collected Works 1:70)

God desires to build something beautiful on your weakness, if you’ll just give it to him today.

I have more than I prayed for

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The poem I chose for this Sunday could more accurately be termed “poetic prose.”  It’s a piece by Catherine Doherty, and I’m not sure of its source.  Her perspective on God’s work in our souls during dark times gives great food for thought.  It is obvious, at least to me, that the place at which she arrives is absolutely a work of grace–but one which God can do for each of us.  It is one of the great paradoxes of the spiritual life, one which Luci Shaw addressed in her poem, “Of Consolation” which starts: “It is down/makes/up seem/taller . . .” 

   I prayed to God for songs and laughter.  He gave me tears instead.  I prayed for life in valleys green, full of harvest rich.  He led me through deserts arid and heights where snow alone could feel at home.

   I prayed for sun, lots of dancing, and sparkling rivers to sail upon.  He gave me night, quite dark, starless, and thirst to guide me through its waste.

   But now I know that I was foolish, for I have more than I prayed for.

   I have the Son for bridegroom.  The music of his voice is a valley green, and river sparkling on which I sail.  My soul is dancing, dancing with endless joy in the dark night he shares with me.

An unknown Puritan many years before had written something similar in a poem entitled, “The Valley of Vision”, which includes this line: “Let me learn by paradox/that the way down/is the way up . . .”  The poem ends:

Lord, in the daytime stars can
     be seen from deepest wells,
          and the deeper the wells
               the brighter thy stars shine;
Let me find thy light in my darkness,
               thy life in my death,
               thy joy in my sorrow,
               thy grace in my sin,
               thy riches in my poverty,
               thy glory in my valley.

May you find His light in your darkness. . .

The defects of Jesus

Jesus has a terrible memory. . .

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I know that sounds heretical, but I’m just quoting a cardinal, Cardinal Francis Xavier Nguyen Van Thuan to be exact.  If you have never heard of him, go here to find out more about his astounding life.  He wrote about the “defects of Jesus” in his book, Testimony of Hope, which is a compilation of the spiritual exercises he gave to John Paul II and the papal household in the year 2o00.  The first “defect” he mentions is “Jesus has a terrible memory.

     On the cross, during his agony, Jesus heard the voice of the thief crucified on his right, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Lk 23.42).  If I had been Jesus, I would have told him, “I certainly will not forget you, but your crimes have to be expiated with at least twenty years of purgatory.”  Instead, Jesus tells him, ” Today you will be with me in paradise” (Lk 23:43).  He forgets all the man’s sins.
     He does exactly the same thing with the sinful woman who has anointed his feet with perfume.  Jesus does not ask her anything about her scandalous past.  He simply says “her many sins have been forgiven because she loved much” (cf. Lk 7.47).
     . . . Jesus does not have a memory like mine.  He not only pardons, and pardons every person, he even forgets that he has pardoned.  (Testimony of Hope,  pp. 14-15)

A God who cannot see clearly

“You have a Father in heaven who can no longer tell you from His Son!” (Paul Claudel)

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Some beautiful passages from Paul Claudel about the love of God for us.  (Take time to meditate on them and drink them in.)

You have a Father in heaven who can no longer tell you from His Son!  (Seigneur apprenez-nous a prier, 72) 

Take courage, then, presumptuous soul, in the thought that you have to do with a God whose mercy prevents him from seeing clearly.  The Bible teems with blind patriarchs, and doubtless it was the news of his father’s dimmed vision that hastened the return of the prodigal son.  For we know too well that when we rush into his arms, his eyes will be good for nothing but weeping. . .  It is not by sight that the Father knows his son, but by touch. ‘The Lord looks on the heart’ (1 Sam 16.7).  It is of the heart alone that he demands the secret of our love.  He inhales us that he may know our scent.  (Presence et Prophetie, 41)

Trusting His mercy

Humility is the gateway to the mercy of God.

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Pondering today how hard we try so often to live lives without sin, but usually because we just don’t want to humble ourselves before others and especially before God. We don’t want to take the risk.  We don’t want to admit that we are imperfect human beings.  But humility is the gateway, the door to His mercy. We don’t really trust His love and mercy.  We should be running to Him with our faults, our sins, asking Him to “punish us with a kiss.”

Let us never assume that if we live good lives we will be without sin; our lives should be praised only when we continue to beg for pardon.  (St. Augustine)

[Let] the greatest sinners [place] their trust in My mercy.  They have the right before others to trust in My bottomless mercy.  My daughter, write about My mercy toward tormented souls.  Souls that make an appeal to My mercy delight Me.  To such souls I grant even more graces than they ask.  I cannot punish even the greatest sinner if He makes an appeal to My compassion, but on the contrary, I justify him in My unfathomable and inscrutable mercy.  Write: before I come as a just Judge, I first open wide the door of My mercy.  He who refuses to pass through the door of My mercy must pass through the door of My Justice . . . .   (St. Faustina, Diary 1146)

I start again

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Periodically I feel a need to post something I posted back in June, a quote from St. Andrew of Crete: “Every day I start again.”  What a great grace from God that He gives us a new day every 24 hours.  He gives us a new start every time we go to Confession.  A song I sing frequently is:  “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is thy faithfulness” (Lam 3.22)  Today I start again.  And I feel I should add–the starting again isn’t so much what we do, or what we strive for . . . the starting again should be starting again to abandon ourselves to the mercies of God that never come to an end, starting again to surrender our lives to His love and mercy for us, starting again to lower our hands that would push Him away because we’ve failed once again.  Today I start again to let Him love me.

Another little prayer

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Continuing on from yesterday:

Ps 119.173: Let Your hand help me.

This little prayer has often been mine.  These short Bible prayers are just what we want in days when we are tired or hard-pressed, so I pass this one on for those who need it.  You will find it enough.  It is like the touch on the electric light switch–just a touch, and the power comes flowing from the power-house–the power that turns to light.   (Amy Carmichael, Edges of His Ways, p. 149)