Recently in Lent 2009 Category

1 Samuel 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a
Psalm 22: 1-3a, 3b-4, 5, 6
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

I preached this homily last year in Tulsa, Oklahoma's Cathedral of the Holy Family, and thought that some readers of Vultus Christi might find it helpful again this year.

Laetare

"Be glad, Jerusalem! Hold an assembly, all you that love her: rejoice and be glad, you that were in sadness: that you may exult and be suckled plentifully with the breasts of her consolations" (Is 66:10-11). This morning the Church opens the celebration of Holy Mass with a chant of rapturous joy. The dark violet of her Lenten array has become a gentle rose, the colour of the sky at dawn. The rigorous Lenten prohibition of flowers in church is lifted for this one day. And the first few notes of today's Introit in Gregorian Chant are a like a breath of spring. The text cannot find words enough for its joy, and the melody is even deeper in its rejoicing.

Once heard, today's Introit is unforgettable, and anyone who knows the music of the liturgy knows why. It rings with the sound of Easter! Its first few notes are identical with the last few notes of the great first Alleluia of the Paschal Vigil. This no mere coincidence; it reveals the underlying unity of the mystery. The Church cannot wait until the Paschal Vigil, so great is her joy already.

Today, through the wide-open eyes of the man born blind, the Church looks into the dazzling Face of Christ, "the light of the world" (Jn 9:5), and cannot contain her gladness. She already sings the paschal alleluia but, for the moment, disguises it, wraps it in another word, a single jubilant cry: Laetare! Joy, then, is the first distinctive note of today's Mass.

Jerusalem

The second word of the Entrance Antiphon is Jerusalem, and this is the second distinctive note of today's Mass. Jerusalem is, according to the psalmist, "the dwelling of all joy" (cf. Ps 86:7). Why? Because the temple is there: God's dwelling in the midst of His people, the one place on earth where the God of Israel promised the abiding presence of His Name, and of His Eyes and of His Heart. He says to David's son Solomon: "I have sanctified this house, which thou hast built to put My Name there for ever, and my Eyes and My Heart shall be there always" (1 K 9:3).

Today's Mass is a way of going "up to Jerusalem" without leaving Tulsa. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is, in a very real sense, a going up to the joys of heaven, a foretaste of the joy that lies beyond the gates of heaven thrown open by Christ the Prince of Life. The psalm that accompanies the Introit sings just that: "O my joy when they said to me: Let us go up to the house of the Lord" (Ps 121:1). David, anointed king in the First Reading, prizes Jerusalem "above all his joys" (cf. Ps 136:6). To go up to Jerusalem is to go up to the highest joy.

Light

The third distinctive note of today's Mass is Light. I mentioned that the liturgical colour today is rose like morning's first glimmers on the eastern horizon. At Easter the sun will rise over us in all its brightness, but for the moment, we are content to rejoice in the rosy radiance of the dawn.

The heavenly Jerusalem is inseparable from today's Gospel in which Our Lord says, "I am the light of the world" (Jn 9:5). The New Jerusalem that comes down out of heaven from God (cf. Apoc 21:2) "has no need of sun or moon to shine upon it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light shall the nations walk" (Apoc 21:22-24). The same light that illumines the Jerusalem above shines for us here and now in Mother Church, in the proclamation of the Word, and in the sacraments given by her Bridegroom. "Enter His presence," she says, and be illumined" (Ps 33:6).

Week after week, we come to Holy Mass, limited by our human blindness, sometimes stumbling along in the blindness of sin. Those who think they see clearly are the blindest people of all, and those who admit their blindness, or at least their very clouded vision, are those to whom Our Lord promises light and sight. What takes place in Baptism? The victory of light over darkness. What happens when a priest pronounces the words of absolution in confession? The renewal of that victory of light over darkness. What changes when we approach the altar to receive the Body and Blood of the Light of the World? Darkness is put to flight.

Today's Communion Antiphon reveals what Our Lord would do for each one of us: "The Lord made clay of spittle, and spread it on my eyes: and I went, and washed, and recovered my sight, and I found faith in God" (Jn 9:11). What the antiphon describes in the words of the man born blind, Holy Communion makes happen, here and now. The chalice, with its water and blood from the wound in the side of the Crucified, is infinitely more than the mysterious pool of Siloe. None other than Saint Thomas Aquinas saw Holy Communion as healing from blindness. "I come to it," he says, "a blind man to the radiance of eternal light" (Prayer Before Mass, Roman Missal).

Mother Church

The fourth and last distinctive note of today's Mass is that the Church is our Mother. She is our Mother because we were born of her womb in Baptism. She is our Mother because, as the Entrance Antiphon sings, she "suckles us abundantly with the breasts of her consolations" (Is 66:11). She is our Mother because she cares for us in our weaknesses, welcomes us home after every journey, and never fails to provide for us a table laden with good things. She is the merciful Mother of children who do not always see clearly. She is the Mother of children whose vision is impaired by sin. She is the Mother of those who stumble in the darkness. She is the Mother of those who "sit in the shadowlands" (Lk 1:79), waiting for the first glimmers of the rising sun. She is the Mother of those who say with John Henry Newman, "The night is dark and I am far from home."

There are in every life moments, hours, and even long seasons, when we cannot trust our own seeing, when obscurity surrounds us on all sides. Who has not said with the psalmist at one time or another, "Friends and neighbours gone, a world of shadows is all my company" (Ps 87:19)? In a world of shadows a Mother waits for all who would come home to the light. There are candles shining in all her windows. There is a fire in her hearth, and a blaze of light shining through her open door. "She has sent out her maids to call from the highest places in the town, 'Whosoever is a little one, let him come to me'" (Pr 9:3-4).

Plenteous Grace

For some, Laetare Sunday, instead of being a day of rejoicing in the light, may be one of weeping quietly in some dark corner, of not seeing, not understanding, and not knowing why. If your soul is not attuned to the jubilant notes of the Introit today, cling to the experience of the man born blind related in the Gospel. There is plenteous grace for all in the one as in the other.

Joy in the Heart of the Church

Laetare Sunday: the Sunday of Joy, the Sunday of the New Jerusalem, the Sunday of Light, the Sunday of Mother Church. Holy Week will soon be upon us. The mysteries of the Lord's Passion and Resurrection are fast approaching, the mysteries of our joy, the end of every sadness, the victory of light over every darkness. It is time to go up to Jerusalem, time for Jerusalem to descend out of heaven to us. The Mass is just that: the assumption of the Church into heaven's joy, the descent of heaven's joy into the heart of the Church. Laetare!

Saturday in Passiontide

Ezekiel 37:21-28
Jeremiah 31
John 11:45-56

Mother of Sorrows, Keeper of the Door

There is on Mount Athos a greatly venerated icon of the Blessed Virgin named "The Holy Mother of God, Keeper of the Door." The Virgin Mary is indeed the Keeper of the Door. She is the guardian of the threshold, the portress of "the inner sanctuary behind the veil" (Heb 6:19). We prepare today to cross the threshold of Holy Week. Seek our Lady's company, then, and entrust to her Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart our "passing over," our "entering into" the mysteries of the Great Week.

In what ways is the Mother of Sorrows the Keeper of the Door? Mary waits for us at the foot of the Cross, pointing to the open door of her Son's pierced Heart. "Enter there," she says, "hide like the dove in the cleft of the rock" (cf. Ct 2:14). She waits for us at the foot of the Cross, the body of her Son resting in death against her breast. "Enter my sorrow," she says, "and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow" (Lam 1:12). She waits for us before the sealed tomb. "Cross the threshold of hope," she says, "for hope does not disappoint us" (Rom 5:5). She waits for us before the empty tomb. "Pass over into my joy," she says, "and no one will take your joy from you" (Jn 16:22). With Mary, then, let us be attentive today to the doors set before us, those through which we have already passed, and those that lie ahead.

After the Resurrection of Lazarus

The traditional baptismal Gospels of the third, fourth, and fifth Sundays of Lent -- the Gospels of water, light, and life -- are a succession of thresholds marking our passage into the heart of the liturgy: the Paschal Mystery. There is continuity between last Sunday's Gospel and today's. The Gospel of the resurrection of Lazarus ended with verse 44 of the eleventh chapter of Saint John. Today's Gospel begins with verse 45 of the same chapter. This is a device of liturgical inclusion. It situates the entire week within the mystery of the resurrection of Lazarus: a crossing of the threshold, a passage out of death into life, out of darkness into light, out of the stench of corruption into the sweet fragrance of grace.

Lazare, Veni Foras

The cry of Our Lord before the tomb of Lazarus echoes still in our hearts. "Lazare, veni foras" (Jn 11:43). Hear the immensity of this cry. It is addressed to each of us. Who among us is not Lazarus, called out of the shadow of death into the light of day, out of the bands of death's confining shroud into the freedom of movement in the Holy Spirit? For Saint Bernard, if you are called to a life of penance, you are Lazarus. Nothing better expresses the intensity and power of Jesus' call to life than the melody of the Communion Antiphon over the words, "Lazare, veni foras." The great cry itself is fittingly sung by a single voice, allowing all to pause and hear it before continuing with the rest of the antiphon.

My Sanctuary in the Midst of Them

Why does the sacred liturgy set this "icon" of the resurrection of Lazarus before us? First of all because the resurrection of Lazarus announces the resurrection of Christ. The glorious body of the risen Christ fulfills the prophecy of Ezekiel in today's First Reading: "I will set My sanctuary in the midst of them for evermore. My dwelling place shall be with them; and I will be their God and they will be My people. Then the nations will know that I the Lord sanctify Israel, when My sanctuary is in the midst of them for evermore" (Ez 37:26-28).

The sanctuary of the living God in the midst of us is the Body of Christ, both mystical and Eucharistic. "Now you are the Body of Christ and individually members of it" (1 Cor 12:27). All prayer to the Father originates in the Body of Christ. The Body of Christ is the sanctuary from which the cry of our prayer ascends to the Father in the Holy Spirit. The resurrection of Christ confirms forever God's covenant of peace with us, the everlasting covenant announced by the prophet Ezekiel (Ez 27:36). The risen Christ Himself is the sanctuary of God into which, as we heard in the Gospel, "the children of God who are scattered abroad are gathered into one" (Jn 11:52).

Altar, Priest, and Victim

In one of the Prefaces of Paschaltide the Church sings that Christ himself is at once,"altar, priest, and victim." Without these there can be no sanctuary. As our altar, Christ is the source of our unity. As our priest, He gathers into unity the scattered children of God. As our victim, He gives the sacrifice of His Body and Blood in communion.

Tomb and Womb

Secondly, the resurrection of Lazarus must be seen in the baptismal context of the paschal liturgy. Lazarus emerging from the tomb images the mystery of baptism. Christ's mighty "Veni foras! -- Come forth!" is addressed to those who will descend into the watery tomb of baptism in the holy night of Pascha.

Penitents All

Thirdly, the resurrection of Lazarus is the image of our penitence. We are catechumens but once in life; we are baptized but once. In antiquity Lent was a whole program of restoration, rehabilitation,instruction, healing, and finally, of spiritual resurrection. The rite of Reconciliation of Penitents took place on Maundy Thursday; the penitents, grasping the hand of the bishop, reintegrated the Eucharistic communion of the Church, re-entered the sanctuary of the Body of Christ. When, on Ash Wednesday, we received ashes on our heads, we publicly declared ourselves penitents. Since last Sunday, the voice of Christ has cried out to us, saying, "Veni foras! -- Come forth!" Christ will not leave us to rot in the obscurity of our tombs. He extends his hand. He calls us to newness of life on his side of the threshold.

In the Communion of the Church

There is, for all of that, a detail not to be overlooked. Christ leaves us free to respond or not to his cry, "Veni foras! -- Come forth!" Is it possible to prefer the stench and darkness of the tomb -- isolation and death -- to life, to light, to communion with Christ and with one another? You have not forgotten, I am sure, that Lazarus came forth from the tomb "his hands and feet bound with bandages" (Jn 11:44). He emerged from the darkness into the light of day having need of others to "unbind him and let him go" (Jn 11:44). The new life, the risen life cannot be lived outside the community of the Church, nor apart from the fraternal communion of the monastery. When we withdraw, preferring the isolation of the bands that bind us, to the ministrations of fraternal charity, we refuse life. We have need of the communion of the Church, need of the hands and feet of others, need of the compassionate unbinding of the Mother of God. We find all of this -- communion with whole Body of Christ -- in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

The Aroma of Christ to God

Holy Mass is, at one and the same time, both covenant and communion. The Eucharist establishes us in the sanctuary of Christ's Body, knits us into the Body of Christ by feeding us with the Body of Christ. And this why today we cross again the threshold into the Great Thanksgiving. We cross it like Lazarus stepping into the light, inhaling "the aroma of Christ to God" (2 Cor 2:15). And the Mother of Christ, the Portress of the Mysteries, is there to welcome us.

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

John 8:1-11

Excessive Mercy

Today's Gospel almost did not make it into the canon of the Scriptures; it was a cause of consternation to certain Christians of the early Church. The gentle compassion of Jesus seemed excessive to them. His merciful attitude towards the woman caught in adultery seemed too liberal, too easy. In several early manuscripts, the passage was simply deleted from the text. But the mercy of the Lord Jesus is indeed excessive! "His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning" (Lam 3:22-23).

The painting is from Capodimonte, Naples. Saint Mary of Egypt is on the left, and Saint Margaret of Cortona is on the right.

A Night Spent in Prayer

Our Lord has spent the night in prayer on the Mount of Olives (Jn 8:53). At daybreak, He descends from the Mount of Olives to the Temple precincts. The people come to Him, ordinary people, sinners of all sorts. In contrast to those who come to Jesus in order to hear his word, we see the scribes and Pharisees -- the professionals of religion, the rigorists -- who seek to entrap him. Their ears are open to catch Him in some theological inaccuracy or in some political faux-pas, but their hearts are closed to His excessive mercy.

The Sinner and the Saviour

They bring to Jesus a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. In spite of their deceptive and twisted motives, in bringing the woman to our Lord, the scribes and pharisees do a good thing. A sinner is brought to the Saviour, a lamb to the Shepherd, one bruised and ailing to the Physician. Out of the evil designs of the scribes and Pharisees, our Lord will bring a great good.

A Captive of Divine Mercy

There are diverse ways of being brought to Christ. The woman caught in adultery is the captive of the scribes and Pharisees; she will become the captive of Divine Mercy. Accustomed to being used by men, she will be used by them in their experiment with Jesus. She is the bait with which they will attempt to catch Jesus, and she is a well-chosen bait, because the mercy of Jesus is irresistibly attracted to the misery of sinners. She is humiliated. She is fearful. She is ashamed. She is forced to come into the presence of Jesus; she is pushed into His presence.

The Presence of Jesus

At times something very similar may happen in our own lives. We are dragged into the presence of Jesus as a result of circumstances that humiliate and terrify us: disappointment, betrayal, illness, failure, the loss of a loved one, or the jealousy, the rigorism, or the lust for power of another.

At other times, it is Jesus himself who seeks us out. He comes to us, like the shepherd in the wilderness. He comes in search of the lost sheep. "And when He has found it, He lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing" (Lk 15:4-5).

Saint Mary of Egypt

At still other moments in our lives, the decision to seek out the Lord Jesus Christ is our own. Wounded by the Word of God, pierced through by repentance, the Holy Spirit sets our feet on the path of return to Christ, that through Christ we may return to the loving embrace of the Father. This is the case of Saint Mary of Egypt, the notorious prostitute of Alexandria, celebrated in the Eastern Churches as the supreme model of Lenten repentance and of resurrection. So impressed was Abbot de Rancé by Saint Mary of Egypt, that he had her feastday inscribed in the calendar of La Grande Trappe.

Intervention of the Mother of God

You know her story. She was a glamorous harlot, a spectacularly public sinner, practising her profession in the great city of Alexandria. Hearing of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the feast of the Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross, she boarded ship with the pilgrims, seducing them at sea, indulging in shameless debauchery, partying long and hard all the way to Jerusalem.

In Jerusalem, an invisible force keeps her from entering the church in which the Holy Cross was being shown to the people. From above the church door, the Mother of God gazes upon her from her holy icon, filling her with confidence in God's mercy. From on high, Mary hears a voice saying, "If you cross the Jordan you will find glorious rest." "Hearing this voice," she says, "and having faith that it was for me, I cried to the Mother of God, 'O Lady, O Lady, do not forsake me.'" Mary crossed the Jordan, went into the desert where she lived in constant prayer and repentance, "clinging to God who saves all who turn to Him from faintheartedness and storms."

The Joy of Repentance

Years later, Mary was discovered by Father Zosimas, a monk of Palestine who had gone into the desert for the forty-day fast, according to the custom of his monastery. Her story has been told again and again, giving hope to all who are weak, to all who struggle, to all who seek to cross over -- out of sin -- into the pure joy of the Holy and Life-Giving Cross. The life of Saint Mary of Egypt is, in its own way, a homily on today's Gospel.

Sacramental Details

Let us return that Gospel: in it the details of Jesus' behaviour are of the greatest importance. They are sacramental details; they reveal the thoughts of Jesus' Heart. First, Jesus refuses to look at the woman caught in adultery. He deliberately remains bent down, crouched close to the ground, tracing letters in the dust. Jesus has no need of seeing the woman’s face in order to probe the depths of her soul.

With the Despised

By bending down, close to the ground, Jesus identifies Himself with her and with all who are downtrodden and despised. The words of the psalmist come to mind: "My soul lies in the dust; by your word revive me" (Ps 118:25). Jesus refuses to look at the woman, lest he add in any way to the crushing weight of her shame and guilt. Without fixing his gaze upon her, He is with her in her humiliation and anguish.

God Arose to Judge

When Jesus addresses himself to the scribes and Pharisees, however, the Gospel account makes a point of noting that He stood up. "And as they continued to ask him, he stood up" (Jn 8:7). Jesus stands to pronounce judgment. He stands to speak with authority. He stands to defend the sinner against the accusations of the self-righteous. The psalm says: "Thou, Thou alone strikest terror. Who shall stand when Thy anger is roused? Thou didst utter Thy sentence from the heavens; the earth in terror was still when God arose to judge, to save the humble of the earth" (Ps 75:8 10).

Indictment of the Accusers

Looking at the woman's accusers, Jesus says to them, "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her" (Jn 8:7). These words are the echo of his teaching in the Sermon on the Mount: "Why do you see the speck in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye when there is a log in your own eye?" (Mt 7:3-4).

Great Misery and Great Mercy

Having spoken to the accusers, Jesus again bends down and continues to trace letters in the sand. He has nothing further to say to them. One by one, they go away, leaving Jesus alone with the woman. Saint Augustine says that, "great misery is left in the presence of great mercy." The Gospel makes a point of noting that now Jesus is bent down while the woman is standing. A resurrection has taken place! By lowering himself, Jesus "raises up those who are bowed down" (Ps 145:8). According to the Gospel, the woman has said nothing to Jesus up to this point. Nonetheless, the cry of her heart reached the Heart of Jesus. His mercy was moved by her misery.

O Wonderful Condescension

Then he looks up to speak to her. Jesus here is kneeling; the woman is standing. The humility of the Divine Mercy kneeling before sinners, pleading to be accepted! He who gives mercy and forgives sin makes Himself lower than the one who stands in need of mercy and forgiveness. O wonderful condescension! "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned thee? No one, sir, she replied. Neither do I condemn thee, said Jesus, go, and do not sin again" (Jn 8:10-11). This is the Communion Antiphon of today's Mass. Is there any harshness in the words of Jesus, any condemnation? Is there anything cutting, humiliating or belittling? There is nothing but gentleness --gentleness, and an excessive mercy.

Purification of the Memory

There is no need for us to live with the ghosts of the past, with the memory of past sins and troubles weighing heavily upon our hearts and preventing us from moving forward. If we have been brought to Jesus Christ by the circumstances of life; if, by God's grace, we have come to Jesus Christ; if Jesus Christ Himself has sought us out, placed us upon His shoulders and carried us home, then "there is no need to recall the past, no need to think about what was done before" (Is 43:18). The excessive mercy of the Lord has swallowed up all our sins, leaving no trace of what was, and filling the present with the sound of his praise. "The people I have formed for myself will sing my praises" (Is 43:21.

Praise and Adoration

Praise is the characteristic mark of one who has tasted the sweetness of the Lord and known his excessive mercy. Adoration is fruit of every encounter with the Holy Face of Christ. The Church is an assembly of sinners who have read the excessive mercy of the Heart of Christ on His Holy Face and, as a result, cannot stop singing, and cannot cease from adoring! "Forget the past, then, and strain ahead for what is still to come" (Phil 3:13), the great and glorious Pasch of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Jeremiah 11:18-20
Psalm 7:2-3, 9bc-10, 11-12
John 7:40-53

Passiontide

Everything in today's Mass indicates that Passiontide is upon us. Our Lord, most especially in the liturgy of this fortnight preceding Pascha, teaches us the mystery of the Cross. Our part is to listen well with the ear of the heart, so as to understand. We are already on the threshold of the great fortnight leading up to Easter.

The reformed liturgy conserves the substance of these fifteen days. Even a cursory study of the texts reveals that, beginning this evening, we will be plunged into the mystery of Jesus suffering and of His sorrowful Mother. The hymns at the Hours sing of the Passion, the readings speak of it, and the responsories meditate it. At Mass during the Fifth Week of Lent, the Preface presents the Passion of Christ as the healing of the world, and his Cross as the sign of victory:

Through the saving passion of your Son
the whole world has been called
to acknowledge and to praise your majesty;
for in the ineffable power of the Cross
the judgment of the world
and the power of the Crucified shines forth.

A Prayer Not Without Tears

Already today, the Entrance Antiphon was the cry of the suffering Christ to the Father: "Groanings of death surrounded me, hell's sorrows compassed me about. In my distress I called upon the Lord, and He heard my voice out of His holy temple" (Ps 17:5-7). What is this antiphon if not the prayer described in the Letter to the Hebrews? "Christ, during his earthly life, offered prayer and entreaty to the God who could save Him from death, not without a piercing cry, not without tears; yet with such piety as won him a hearing" (Heb 5:7). In the First Reading from Jeremiah, we are given, already, the image of the "gentle lamb led to the slaughter" (Jer 11:19), and in the Responsorial Psalm, we hear the voice of Christ raised to the Father in a prayer of anguish and, at the same time, of utter trust: "O Lord, my God, my confidence is in thee" (Ps 7:2).

The Blood of the Lamb

Yesterday and today, there is a marked change in the tenor of the Communion Antiphon. The focus is on the precious Blood of the Lamb. In yesterday's Communion Antiphon, we heard, "In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our sins" (Eph 1:7), and in today's we will hear, "We are redeemed with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 P 1:19). Hear the resonance with the "gentle lamb led to the slaughter" (Jer 11:9) in the First Reading. The "Lamb of God" during the rite of the Fraction takes on a richer tone today. So too will the invitation to Holy Communion: "Behold the Lamb of God." The moment of Holy Communion will be yet another voice in the symphony: "The Body and Blood of Christ." The liturgy is all of a piece. We grasp its meaning only in the relationship of each part with the whole.

Vexilla Regis Prodeunt

By means of an ensemble of allusions and resonances, the liturgy directs our steps to the threshold of Passiontide. This evening the Church returns to the ancient hymn in praise of the Cross: Vexilla regis prodeunt: Fulget crucis mysterium; "The royal banners forward go: The Cross shines forth its mystery." The reading at Vespers will repeat this morning's Communion Antiphon: "The ransom that freed you . . . was paid in the precious blood of Christ; no lamb was ever so pure, so spotless a victim" (1 P 1:19). Our gaze, directed by the liturgy, goes to the radiant mystery of the Cross and to the Blood of the Lamb, and remains there.

The Silence of the Word

Just a word on today's gospel. It is extraordinary in that it contains not a single word spoken by the Lord Jesus himself. The Word is silent while all around him others speak. Those who were listening to him speak. The police speak. The Pharisees speak. Nicodemus speaks. But the Word is silent, for "He came to what was his own, and they who were his own gave him no welcome" (Jn 1:11).

The Fall and Rise of Many in Israel

There is no agreement about Jesus and his mission; there is nothing but dissension, discussion and wrangling. "Do you think that I have come to bring peace on earth? No, believe me, I have come to bring dissension. Henceforward five in the same house will be found at variance, three against two and two against three" (Lk 12:51-52). Thus is the prophecy of Simeon to the Virgin Mary fulfilled: "Behold, this child is destined to bring about the fall of many and the rise of many in Israel; to be a sign which men will refuse to recognize; and so the thoughts of many hearts shall be made manifest; as for thy own soul, it shall have a sword to pierce it" (Lk 2:34-35).

Jesus is the sign of contradiction. He unsettles the established order. He disturbs the tranquil. He causes the complacent to ask questions. "Do not imagine that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have come to bring a sword, not peace" (Mt 10:34).

Listen

Often we experience dissension and wrangling within our own hearts! Often we hear within ourselves the voices of the many: voices of the faithless crowd, of the police, of the Pharisees, and of Nicodemus, voices of doubt, of accusation, of bewilderment, of contradiction, of inconsistency, of cautious acceptance and of refusal. And in the midst of all this speaking, the one voice of the Word falls silent, or rather, becomes inaudible except to the ear of the heart, for the silence of the Word speaks always to anyone who will be silent long enough to listen. Listen then, during this "great fortnight" to the silence of the Word.

Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Wisdom 2:1a, 12-22
Psalm 33: 16-17, 18-19, 20 and 22 (R. 18a)
John 7: 1-2, 10, 25-30

Collegerunt

There is a Caravaggian darkness about today's liturgy. One senses that the plots of the wicked are closing in around Our Lord. You may recall the long, dramatic responsory from the Holy Week liturgy that begins, Collegerunt, "The priests and pharisees assembled in council and said, 'What shall we do?'"

Reason Veering Into Darkness

The First Reading exposes their secret thoughts and, in some way, presents us with the psychology of sin. "Ungodly men reasoned unsoundly, saying to themselves, 'Let us lie in wait for the righteous man, because he is inconvenient to us, and opposes our actions'" (Wis 2: 1a, 12). Look closely at the text. The ungodly, that is, those who do not "meditate the law of the Lord day and night" (Ps 1:2), those who make themselves the measure of all things, those who are their own reference, necessarily reason unsoundly. Left to itself, without the light of divine grace, human reason veers into the darkness.

The Perversion of Conscience

The conscience itself can be perverted by repeated compromises with sin. There are those who would extinguish the light of Natural Law; there are those who would contest the revealed Law of God. The result is a sick conscience. Unsound reasoning means unhealthy reasoning or, put more bluntly, sick reasoning. "Thus they reasoned, but they were led astray, for their wickedness blinded them, and they did not know the secret purposes of God, nor hope for the wages of holiness, nor discern the prize for blameless souls" (Wis 2:21-22).

The Light of the Word

Sick reasoning is the consequence of pride and disobedience. One can recover from sick reasoning by exposing oneself to the light of the Word of God in the communion of the Church, and by following Christ along the path of humble obedience, along the way of the Cross. Saint Paul, in First Corinthians, addresses this very thing. "We impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glorification. None of the rulers of this age understood this; for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory" (1 Cor 2:7-8).

That Those Who Do Not See May See

In the Gospel, Our Lord openly professes his identity and mission: "You know Me, and you know where I come from? But I have not come of my own accord; He who sent Me is true, and Him you do not know. I know Him, for I come from Him, and He sent Me" (Jn 7:28-29). A blinding light flashes in the words of Jesus; the light of His divinity, the brightness of His life with the Father. It is this light that makes the gathering shadows appear all the darker. "For judgment I came into this world," he says, "that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind" (Jn 9:30).

The Radiance of His Face

Year after year at this time, the liturgy situates us in the same web of shadows and light, and compels us to take our stand with Christ, guided only by the radiance of His Face. To do this, we have all the remedies prepared by God for our frail nature, and adapted to it. The Collect calls them subsidia: subsidies, supports, reinforcements, strong helps. These are the Sacred Scriptures, the sacraments, the Lenten observances of fasting, almsgiving, and silence.

O God, who have prepared fitting supports for our frailty,
grant, we beseech you,
that we may receive their healing effect with joy,
and show it forth in a holy manner of life.

"Once you were in darkness," says Saint Paul, "but now you are light in the Lord; walk as children of light, for the fruit of light is found in all that is good, true, and right" (Eph 5:8-9). The fruits of light, fostered by the subsidia given us by God during Lent, are a serene obedience and a joyful humility.

The shadows that threaten will not prevail. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (Jn 1:5). The Postcommunion will sum up today's Mass:

Grant, we beseech you, Lord,
that as we pass over from bygone things to what is new,
we may also put aside our old ways and,
with minds made holy, be renewed.

The Secret and Hidden Wisdom of God

God waits for the "Yes" of a few frail but trusting souls, determined to go forward in obedience and littleness, determined, as the Postcommunion says, "to put aside our old ways and with minds made holy, be renewed." It is, after all, only with "minds made holy" that we can penetrate "the secret and hidden wisdom of God" (1 Cor 2:7), the wisdom of the poor and naked Christ, exposed for all to see on the tree of Calvary.