Weep like Jesus; Live with Jesus

Many of you will recall the horrible bombing of the Oklahoma City federal building back in 1995. Until 9/11, this bombing was deadliest act of terrorism ever on US soil. Not far from where that building stood is St. Joseph’s Catholic Church. In its garden now stands a tall, white-robed Jesus. His back is turned to the bombing site, and his shoulder is slumped in grief. With tears streaming down his cheeks, Jesus faces a brick wall with 168 empty spaces- one space for each person who died that terrible day. Inscribed at the base of the statue are two short words: “Jesus weeps.”

This statue, and its inscription, were inspired by today’s gospel. While walking to the tomb of his dear friend Lazarus, Jesus is filled with grief, and he burst into tears. John 11:37 says, very simply, “Jesus wept.” It’s the shortest verse in the Bible, but it’s also one of the most beautiful, because in it, Jesus’ humanity and compassion so clearly shine forth.

Jesus’ tears assure us that it’s okay to be sorrowful when we lose someone we love. Sometimes, well-intentioned people may react to our grief by trying to cheer us up. They’ll say things like, “We’ll, he’s in a much better place now” or “She’s gone to be with the Lord.” We certainly hope and pray that that’s the case. But nevertheless it’s acceptable- indeed, it’s normal and even necessary!- to be sad when a loved one dies. Just think of Jesus. He can appreciate our grief because he’s experienced it himself. When we cry, Jesus cries right alongside us.

In addition to sadness, however, Jesus also experienced anger at the death of his friend. Twice, in the passage we just heard, Jesus was “perturbed and deeply troubled.” A better translation might say that he “shuddered with anger.” Jesus did this first when he saw Mary and her friends weeping. He did it again when he stood before Lazarus’ tomb. Significantly, Jesus reacts the same way on two other occasions in this gospel: Shortly after he entered Jerusalem and knew that the “hour” of his passion was now at hand; and again at the Last Supper, as he foretold Judas’ betrayal. In each of these episodes, Jesus is confronted with death- either his own, or that of Lazarus. Death, evidently, makes Jesus angry.

Jesus’ anger is not uncontrolled rage or self-pity. Instead, it’s righteous indignation against death itself. Jesus is angry because death can take people well before their time, and it leaves an aching void in the lives of those left behind.  But most especially, Jesus is angry at death because it’s a consequence of sin, his greatest enemy of all.

All of this begs a question, however: If Jesus loved Lazarus so much that his death filled him with sorrow and anger, and if death is an enemy to be vanquished, why did Jesus linger for two days when he learned that Lazarus was on the verge of death? At first glace, it might appear that Jesus is heartless or cruel.

In reality, Jesus did what he did to demonstrate a point. As Jesus said to Mary, Lazarus’ sister, “I am glad for you that I was not there, so that you may believe.” Jesus knew that for Mary, and for all of us, death is a great test of faith. Whenever we face our own death or that of a loved one, we come to the realization that when we enter the grave, we do so alone. Anything we may have depended on before- friends, family, finances, reputation, accomplishments, hopes and dreams- are of no use to us when we pass through death’s door. When facing this prospect, even firm believers can be plagued with doubt and fears. It’s then we need to trust that death doesn’t have the final word, and that there truly is a God, who in his love offers us an eternal, heavenly existence beyond our wildest expectations.

However, this is precisely what Jesus wanted to demonstrate by raising Lazarus from the dead. This miracle is a sign anticipating Jesus’ resurrection, but it’s an intentional contrast, too. Lazarus was restored to a normal, earthly existence. He was resuscitated, not resurrected. Jesus brought him back to life only to die again another day. When Lazarus came shambling from his tomb, he was still wrapped in his burial cloths, reminding us that one day he’d have to be wrapped in those cloths again. But when Jesus emerged from his tomb on Easter morning, his burial shroud was left neatly in a corner- a sign that his body had been liberated forever from the bonds of death and corruption. Jesus didn’t die and rise again so that we could live forever in our present state. He came that we might enjoy a new life- a resurrection life!- a life of union with God which begins at baptism, but is perfected only after we have died. “I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus said. “Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live. And everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

Death brings with it sorrow and anger. Jesus shows us that. But for Christians, death can also bring our faith life to completion, and Jesus shows us that too. During his final days of battling pancreatic cancer, a Cardinal wrote of receiving a hospital visit from an old friend, who was a priest. Seeing the Cardinal in extreme pain and exhausted from radiation therapy, the priest offered words of comfort about his friend’s approaching death. “It’s very simple,” he said. “People of faith, who believe that death is the transition from this life to life eternal, should see it as a friend.”

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/041011.shtml

Photo credits (top to bottom): Termin8er via Creative Commons

Elephant in a Mouse’s Swimsuit

It’s easier for an elephant to fit into a mouse’s swimsuit, a Benedictine abbot once explained, than it is for God to fit into our ideas about him. This is an intentionally funny observation, but it’s certainly true, especially in light of today’s gospel.

The people of Jerusalem thought that they has Jesus all figured out. They were convinced that he wasn’t the Christ, because they were sure they knew where he came from! But Jesus simply shook his head and told them otherwise.

Jesus sometimes has to do the same thing with us. We create idols- caricatures of Jesus- and he has to come along and smash them. Usually, like the mouse’s swimsuit, our image of Jesus is just too small. We tend to emphasize one aspect of his person and minimize the others. For instance, we might count upon his mercy, but forget about his justice. We focus on his power, but overlook his humility. We highlight his humanity, but neglect his divinity. And vice versa.

However, whenever we think we have him in a nutshell, the real Jesus eludes us, just as he slipped away from the angry Jerusalem mob. He knows that we’re always tempted to refashion him in our own image. Thankfully, he never stops trying to re-create us in his.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/040811.shtml

Photo credit: Averain via Creative Commons

When We Just Don’t "Get It"

One evening, Stephanie my wife prayed for guidance as to whether or not she should return to work part time. The very next morning, an absolutely perfect job practically fell into her lap. To us, this was an obvious sign from God. Yet that night, as we adjusted our family budget to reflect Stephanie’s new income, we started to worry about money. God had just answered our prayer and shown us how much he cares for us. But still we didn’t “get it;” still we didn’t trust.

Sadly, that’s all too common, as reflected in today’s Scripture readings. In the first, God’s people rejected him for an idol, even after he had freed them from slavery in Egypt. And in the gospel, there were those who refused to believe in Jesus, even though they were surrounded by evidence that he was the one sent by the Father. In both cases, people just didn’t “get it.” God had done so many good things for them. But still they doubted him, rejected him, and forgot about him.

Sometimes we’re guilty of the same things. When times are hard, we can doubt God’s love and care for us. And when times are good, we can forget about God altogether, and replace him with the idols of success, beauty, security, and wealth. We do this even after God has done so many good things for us. Things that should make us “get it,” and call forth our obedience, our trust, and most of all, our love.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/040711.shtml

Photo credit: spaceodissey via Creative Commons

Walking in the Footsteps: In honor of Catechumens

The Patriarchal Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls is the largest church in Rome after Saint Peter’s Basilica and is sometimes referred to as the “Ostian Basilica” because of its location along the Ostian Way. The Apostle Paul was brought to Rome as a prisoner and martyred between the years 64 and 67 during the persecution of Nero. Aquae Salviae, today’s Tre Fontana, about two miles from the basilica, is the traditional site of Paul’s martyrdom. Since he was a Roman citizen, his execution was probably by beheading rather than public torture. The body was claimed by the Roman matron Lucina, who buried it in her family tomb near a vineyard on the road to Ostia. An oratory was soon erected over it.

This basilica was the traditional site of the First Scrutiny of the Catechumenate. This is the reason why a major basilica was erected by Gregory the Great as a station church in mid-week. The tomb of the Apostles, called so specially by Christ, reminds one of the Lenten theme of conversion.

Today,  let us take some time to pray for the more than 1,100 men, women and children(catechumens and elect) coming into the church in the Archdiocese of Washington at Easter.

Adapted from the Pontifical North American College Guide to the Station Churches

Photos by Fr. Justin Huber

So Far, and Yet So Near

Certain husbands are quite comfortable calling their fathers-in-law “Dad.” Other husbands, however, find that to be awkward or inappropriate. The prospect makes them uneasy.

Sometimes we can be uneasy about calling God our “Father,” or even “Dad,” as Jesus always did. In fact, this so outraged our Lord’s critics in today’s gospel that they wanted to kill him! Calling God our “Father” hopefully doesn’t infuriate us like that, but it sure can make us feel uncomfortable.

We can be fine praying to “Almighty God,” as that title reflects God’s distance from us. But “Father” speaks of God’s nearness; it implies love, family, and intimacy. And that can scare us, because we worry about getting too close to God. After all, who knows what that might lead to? We wonder: “What will God ask of me? What demands could he make? How might my life have to change?” It can seem easier, and a whole lot safer, to keep God at arm’s length.

Jesus challenges us to move beyond our fears. As our brother, he wants us to know the Father, not only as one who dwells above us, but also as one who abides within us. The same life and love the Father gives to Jesus, is also offered to us. Our Father doesn’t want to be kept at arm’s length. Instead, he wants to hold us in his arms.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/040611.shtml

Photo credit: Mike Babcock via Creative Commons

Walking in the Footsteps: Learning to Trust

That Which Remains

Today’s Church, San Lorenzo in Damaso (St. Lawrence in Damaso) once recalls the memory of St. Lawrence, the great deacon-martyr or Rome whom we celebrated earlier this Lent.  Pope Damasus I (366-384) built one of the original twenty-five parishes of Rome nearby, not long after Emperor Constantine had legalized Christianity in 313.  The Basilica then went through various phases: in 1484 it was demolished to make room for a new Palace, which later became the papal chancellery but included a newly designed Renaissance church within.  The present basilica is the result of this Renaissance church, renovated after damages from the Napoleonic occupation of Rome at the turn of the 18th century and a fire in 1939.  Of note are the remains of Pope St. Damasus, and Sts. Eutychius, John Calybites, and Hippolytus, as well as a beautiful Byzantine icon of Our Lady and a miraculous crucifix before which St. Bridget of Sweden often prayed.

The Word as an Instrument

In today’s Gospel (Jn 5:1-16) Jesus heals a crippled man.  “‘Do you want to be well?’  The sick man answered him, ‘Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Rise, take up your mat, and walk.’ Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.”  There’s something abrupt about this

miracle: the passage does not explicitly highlight the importance of faith in Jesus, or some great act of confidence on the crippled man’s part.  Instead, the man only implicitly answers “yes” to Jesus’ question, and it is Jesus’ command, “rise,” that heals the man.  The focus is on the power of Jesus’ word, and might remind us that listening to his word daily can be a powerful instrument of healing in our lives.

If Jesus’ word contains such power it must be taken seriously, and therefore we cannot dismiss Jesus’ somewhat off-putting command to the man later in the Gospel: “Look, you are well; do not sin any more, so that nothing worse may happen to you.”  What a paradox—just this past Sunday we heard Jesus say a man was born blind not because of sin, but, “so that the works of God might be made visible through him.” (Jn 9:2)  Has Jesus changed his mind?  Does illness come from sin, or not?  Following the Gospels closely and reflecting within the context of the whole Bible, we can affirm both answers.  Sin can lead to suffering, as told by the story of Adam and Eve in the Book of Genesis, Psalm 107:17, and affirmed by St. Paul in his letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 11:30).  But there is need to view suffering in the context of our relationship with the Father: although God does not want us to suffer, He may allow it, and always can bring forth a greater good.  It’s this truth that we will celebrate on Good Friday and Easter Sunday, when God allowed even his sinless Son to suffer, only to bring about our salvation; and it’s this truth that led St. Augustine to comment on Adam and Eve’s sin, “O happy fault that merited such and so great a Redeemer!”

Mother as Teacher

Whether our suffering is due to past sins that we’ve confessed, or is something we’ve received without personal fault, do we trust God can bring good out of either?  If not, there is a shortcut: let us begin by looking through the eyes of Mary, who trusted completely in the Father, but whose heart, as a loving mother, was “pierced” as she looked upon Her Son on the Cross.  Here, at the foot of the cross, Our Mother teaches us to trust in God especially when there is no human reason to do so.  Images of Mary remind us to trust as she did, but even better is to allow Mary to pray with and for us, especially with the time-and-saint-tested rosary.

Written by Tim Daniel

Photos by Fr. Justin Huber

Just Becasue We Can

“Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty,” a popular slogan a few years back, challenged our culture in which what we do, and how we do it, is carefully calculated to help us get ahead and get noticed. In our world, stopping to perform a small kindness can knock us off schedule; reputations and resumes aren’t enhanced by random, unrecognized deeds.

Consider, however, what Jesus did in today’s gospel. He saw a pool full of sick, needy, diseased people. As far as the world was concerned, they had nothing of much value to offer. Nevertheless, even though he was busy, Jesus stopped, healed a disabled person, then vanished into the crowd before others made a big deal about it.

Why did Jesus do this? First of all, because he could. Likewise, each and every one of us, with our time, talent, and treasure, is able to do a lot. Perhaps more than we often realize.

Second, Jesus did what he did because he is humble. It would have been easy for him to have drawn attention to himself by his miracle. Yet Jesus acted discretely, and without fanfare.

Third, Jesus did what he did purely out of love, because there was nothing to gain in return for healing this man. Jesus didn’t even receive a “Thank you” for his efforts; the man he healed didn’t even know Jesus’ name.

Our Lord invites us today to follow his example by making random acts of kindness with humility, and out of love, just because we can.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/040511.shtml

Photo credit: Ed Yourdon via Creative Commons

Following in the footsteps: Remembering a vow

If American expatriates in Rome have a “home”, it is Saturday’s station church, the church of Santa Susanna. This church is the American parish in Rome, entrusted to the Paulist Fathers in 1922 for their ministry to the American community in Rome. Today it is a thriving parish which serves Americans working at the embassy and other expats. The station church pilgrims received a warm welcome from the parish Saturday morning, and they even hosted us for coffee and croissants after Mass! (Doughnuts are hard to come by in Italy.)

The church has ancient roots, being built on the site of a Christian house used for worship starting in the fourth century. We are told that the house belonged to the family of St. Susanna, martyred in the persecutions of the late third century. Susanna’s adherence to the Christian faith came to light when she spurned an offer of marriage, having made a secret vow of virginity for the sake of the kingdom of God.

The story of Susanna reminds us how precious a gift the early Christian Church considered avowed virginity. Not only did such a vow contravene the Roman Empire’s interest in population increase, but it also was surprising in light of the many Old Testament references to a family as a blessing. (cf. Ps 128:3) But for the earliest Christians, the presence of virgins was a witness to their faith in Jesus the Messiah. Virgins not only served Christ (and him alone) as their living Lord, but they were also an eschatological sign of our life in heaven, where we “neither marry nor are given in marriage.” (Mt 22:30)  Let us pray that the charism of avowed virginity may flourish in our Church even today.

Written by Aaron Qureshi

Photos by Fr. Justin Huber