Connection Through the Cross

The gospels show us that most of Jesus’ disciples really didn’t understand what he was trying to teach them about the kingdom of God and his methods (love, forgiveness, service, humility) for bringing it about on earth. However, we also can see that Jesus’ core message did sink in, for what did the disciples do after Jesus died? They gathered together. They maintained their connection to Jesus through each other. Although they didn’t understand the implications of what they were doing, they broke bread and shared it because Jesus told them to do that in memory of him.

The world has myriad ways to try to keep us from staying connected, be it a pandemic, a culture of busyness, institutional and societal policies that sow division among races and religions and support unfair labor practices, or the promotion of competition in every aspect of life. And yet the death of Jesus on a cross shows us that, as Tracey Horan says, “hate and division will not have the last word.” It is not just Jesus’ resurrection that assures us of that; we have it in our power to overcome hate and division through acts of love, forgiveness, and service, as Jesus did. Jimi Hendrix put it this way: “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”

Jesus may have seemed passive during his betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution, but that is far from the case. He could have stopped Judas from going to meet with the Temple authorities; he could have evaded arrest; he could have defended himself during his trial and during his interrogation by Pilate. Choosing not to act is not passive and takes a great deal of strength. Jesus actively made the choice to suffer to teach us how to implement God’s kingdom of love and mercy. We honor his sacrifice when we stay connected to God through prayer and when we stay connected to each other through presence and service.

Encountering Jesus on the Cross

The other day Sr. Dolores Dolezal was speaking to an oblate candidate who bemoaned all the deprivations of the pandemic and told her, “I wish I could learn patience!” She pointed out to him, “It’s through suffering that we learn patience.”

Do you ever wonder how God came to be so infinitely patient with humans and the unfolding of creation? I believe it is because throughout eternity God has endlessly suffered with all beings who have experienced loss, helplessness, abandonment, pain, destruction, and death and has endlessly witnessed the transformation and new life that inevitably follows such suffering. God trusts the process, and Jesus trusted God, so Jesus submitted to his passion and death.

It is painful to recall Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, trial, torture and death at the Triduum every year. However, as Richard Gaillardetz points out in Give Us This Day, “To grasp who Jesus was, what his life was really about, one had to encounter him on the Cross. There, the unfathomable love of God was revealed in suffering, vulnerable, forgiving love.” Jesus came to show us that God loves us and suffers with us, and Jesus’ resurrection shows that, as Gaillardetz continues, “This Cross was not the final word, for … out of suffering and death comes resurrection.”

To resist suffering is to resist a more expansive life that awaits us. To resist suffering also prevents us from being midwives of the suffering of other people — from being instruments that lead them through pain to the deliverance of new life.

When we pray for patience, God provides us with opportunities to learn it. Ultimately, however, it is to our benefit, because suffering cracks open the shell of the self that prevents new life from emerging.

The Light of Christ Surrounds Us

The stained glass windows in the Choir Chapel at Mount St. Scholastica depict scenes from the life and teachings of St. Benedict, and it’s been instructive to watch the rising sun gradually illuminate the images at morning prayer the past several days. I’ve noticed that the yellow and gold of the halo around the head of St. Benedict is the first thing in the windows to catch the light, which isn’t really surprising, because holiness/wholeness is illuminating.

In the window across from my choir stall, three lambs rest upon on the shoulder of St. Benedict, and the face of one of them is contained within St. Benedict’s halo. The artist who created this window seems to be saying that wholeness and holiness is contagious—we can bring the light of Christ to others when we amplify it in ourselves through our faithfulness to prayer, service, and love of God.

Throughout his life, people were drawn to Jesus because of his compassion, single-hearted love of God and neighbor, and wisdom. His goodness and holiness could not be dimmed, even when he was nailed to a tree; even then he forgave his executioners and comforted the thief hanging next to him. The tomb could not contain his spirit either, as his disciples discovered on the day of his resurrection.

At the Easter vigil, as our dark chapel is filled with the light of candles, we sing The Light of Christ by Marty Haugen, which includes these lyrics: “The light of Christ surrounds us / The love of Christ enfolds us / The power of Christ protects us / The presence of Christ watches over us.” The light of Christ forever surrounds us, and like St. Benedict, our desire to reflect that light can illumine God’s love for others.

 

Promises to Keep

March 26 is the birthday of the poet Robert Frost. His most famous poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, ends with these lines: “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep / But I have promises to keep / And miles to go before I sleep / And miles to go before I sleep.”

As we approach the end of Lent, we may feel like we still have many miles to go as Holy Week beckons us to recall Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, his last supper with his disciples, his betrayal, arrest, trial, scourging, and crucifixion, and the placing of his body in a tomb. As followers of Jesus, we have promises to keep: to serve others as Jesus served his disciples, and to break bread together in remembrance of him.

Through his life and death, Jesus reminds us of what Robert Frost proclaimed in another poem, Birches: “Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.” Earth’s the right place for love because God came to live among us in the person of Jesus. Jesus’ resurrection as the Christ assures us that wherever we go after we die is also the right place for love, because Christ is there as well.

Blessings on your Holy Week as you remember, recommit to, and celebrate Christ’s eternal love and presence. If it weren’t still Lent, I would say, “Alleluia!”

The Paradox of Kindness

In speaking about almsgiving in his Message for Lent 2021, Pope Francis noted that “A small amount, if given with love, never ends, but becomes a source of life and happiness.” This statement applies not just to donations of money or goods but to our acts of kindness. As Pope Francis goes on to say, “In order to give hope to others, it is sometimes enough simply to be kind, to be willing to set everything else aside in order to show interest, to give the gift of a smile, to speak an word of encouragement, to listen amid general indifference.”

The paradox of kindness is that it grows the more we give it away. This may not be apparent because the seeds of self-worth we plant in struggling people through our interest and kindness often don’t sprout until years later. However, we need only reflect on our own experience to know how much the steadfast love of a grandparent, the encouragement of a favorite teacher or coach, or the support of colleagues when we begin a new job can influence the course of our life.

We may have begun Lent with ambitious plans to address our faults, deepen our prayer life, and better the lives of those in need. If, five weeks in, we find that the best we can do is “simply” to be kind and willingly set aside our own plans to listen to others, then that is enough. In God’s hands, these small acts of love will grow to become an abundant source of life and happiness.

We Want to Go Somewhere Together

Abbot John Klassen said that “Ultimately, we live the Benedictine community life together because we want to go somewhere together, to heaven, to be with Christ who has been with us for the whole journey.”

This statement very much reflects the life of St. Benedict, whose death we remember on March 21 (or on March 22 when, as in 2021, March 21 falls on a Sunday). St. Benedict established at least 12 monasteries in his lifetime, and after living in solitude for several years in young adulthood, he continually lived in community with other monks who were seeking God. He even died in the company of his brother monks, as reported in the Dialogues of St. Gregory: “…he had his disciples carry him into the chapel where he received the Body and Blood of our Lord to gain strength for his approaching end. Then, supporting his weakened body on the arms of his brethren, he stood with his hands raised to heaven and as he prayed breathed his last.”

For Christians, there is no such thing as crossing the finish line into eternal life alone. A beautiful image of this reality once unfolded during a Special Olympics race when, just as a runner was about to cross the finish line, the person behind him tripped and fell. The boy who was about to win turned around, helped his fellow runner to his feet, and arm in arm, they skipped across the finish line. We want to go somewhere together.

Christ is with us for the whole journey through each other, which is why participating in some form of community (be it a family, close-knit friends, a religious order, or workplace colleagues) is so important. St. Benedict closed Chapter 72 of the Rule he wrote for his monks with this line: “Let them prefer nothing whatever to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.” As Charles Péguy said, “We must save ourselves together. We must arrive all together in the heaven of our God. We must not come to look for our God without each other. What might God say, if we arrived without each other?” 

A Man of No Words

In his Loose-Leaf Lectionary, Fr. Daniel Durken points out something about St. Joseph that startled me: “St. Joseph is not just a man of few words. He is a man of no words. Neither Matthew nor Luke records a single spoken word of Joseph in their infancy narratives.” It is remarkable that a man who left behind no words has been the source of so much reflection on the characteristics of compassion, courage, faith, trust, obedience, and integrity. As the saying goes, “Actions speak louder than words.”

When God’s word lives in us, as it did in St. Joseph, it is not necessary for us to speak; as Thomas Keating said, “Silence is God’s first language,” and it can be ours, too. Our connection with God likely has more of an impact when it is expressed through what we do rather than what we say.

One of the characteristics of St. Joseph that often seems to be overlooked is his kindness. Even before he received a message from an angel that explained Mary’s pregnancy, he had chosen the kindest way to deal with the situation — to divorce Mary quietly rather than subject her to shame. Joseph’s instinct for kindness was likely one of the reasons God chose him to be the earthly father of Jesus. Jesus was a very kind man, and surely that characteristic was instilled in him by having a kind father.

In his message for Lent 2021, Pope Francis said, “In order to give hope to others, it is sometimes enough simply to be kind.” Perhaps the best way to honor St. Joseph on his Feast Day is to follow his example and extend kindness to those around us.