Review: that man is you

 

The price of this book ($2.95) gives you an idea of how old it is.  I’m just surprised I never read it before.  Louis Evely, a Belgian priest, puts a new import to things I thought I knew.  I can’t do justice in a review or summary of his words, so I will just repeat a few here, self-reminders to read this book again.  (The title has no caps, which says something.)

           

Christianity’s a play we’ve been conning for a long time; All the stars know it by heart.  We think we comprehend the Gospels.  “We’ve had enough of these courses,” we moan, “enough catechism lessons and sermons and enough rehearsals.  We know our parts.  We’re ready.  On with the play!”  So, we strut out to the stage.  But, once there, we’re blinded by the foot lights, distracted by the audience and worried about our costume; instead of playing our part, we busy ourselves with trifles, smoke a cigarette, chat with bit players, strike glamorous poses or count the money in our wallet.  Suddenly, we hear a deafening roar.  The curtain falls, the director runs onto the stage and shouts, “What’s the matter with you, anyway?  Why didn’t you act?”  Taken aback, we mutter, “We didn’t know the play’d started.  We were waiting.  It wasn’t the way we thought it’d be.”  The fact is that the play did begin --- and end, but we weren’t aware of it.  You see, it’s never quite what we imagine it’ll be.  Despite a thousand years of prophecy, even the original actors missed their cues.  They kept thinking it should all be different somehow.  Despite our Lord’s warnings and intimations, the very Apostles didn’t know what was happening.

 

We treat Jesus like those old friends we dearly loved in years past but have gradually lost track of, though we had nothing against them and didn’t mean to break off, we let circumstances drive us apart.  The first thing we knew, we stopped writing and no longer reread their letters or paged through our picture album.  Then we even let slip a chance to meet them again.  The reason?  We’d become too busy with something else, even though it was far less agreeable, far less captivating.  Most likely, we’ll never love anyone else as we loved them.  Still, we never think of them and, if we paused for a minute, we’d be shocked to realize that we don’t even care to see them now.  Renewing our old friendships and loving once more would entail too many changes, too much trouble and exertion, and we’ve lost our taste for that.  This is what threatens our relationship with God and sterilizes our spiritual life: we don’t focus our attention on Him, we don’t look forward to meeting Him or long to see Him.  Yet we can’t see God and can’t meet Jesus unless we constantly yearn to behold Him. 

 

Seeing that God’s Son was sent into the world, shouldn’t we be delighted to set out each morning to be sent into the world?  Shouldn’t we be overjoyed to hear Him say “You’re truly My sons and daughters and I’m so pleased with you that I’m sending you forth to save the world”?  That’s our job, our mission --- in the world, “Father don’t take them out of the world.”  “It’s impossible,” we maintain.  “Since I have to believe God loves me, I can’t think He put me here deliberately --- here, in this barren desert, in this hopeless situation, amid failure and incomprehensible, exhausting, needless suffering.”  And what about the One in whom He was perfectly pleased?  Where did the Father let Him go?  To Gethsemane, to the Praetorium, to the Cross, where He was nailed in anguish, dereliction, and infamy.  “God didn’t spare His own Son.”  And it’s because He loves us that He doesn’t spare us either.  We should shout for joy at being so honored, for we could never’ve dared hope for such close brotherhood with Christ.

 

After Jesus’d turned twelve, as the Gospels relate, He very tersely told His parents He had to tend to His Father’s business.  They didn’t understand what He meant, but Mary understood that she didn’t understand and she was willing to have it that way.  When it comes to faith, hope and trust, God makes appalling demands, and His saints are people who’ve made up their mind to believe without understanding.

 

Christ hasn’t retired: He’s with us, day in and day out.  At the Ascension, He didn’t go away:  He disappeared.  We can’t logically make a festival out of the Ascension unless we appreciate the distinction between departure and disappearance.  Departure causes an absence, but disappearance inaugurates a hidden presence.

 

Instead of running away from this world to reach heaven at length, we have to make it our business that God’s will be done here on earth as it is in heaven.  Way down deep, we think, “That’ll never happen.”  Well, then, why bother praying?  So God’ll do it?  He wants it with all His might.  The only obstacle is ourselves!  Because the victory depends partly on us, it isn’t absolutely certain.  The world could end with something less than total redemption, but only because Gods’ Redemption’s been blocked --- blocked by our refusal to believe in His power, serve and redouble it.

 

Thank you, Fr. Riccardo, for the gift of this book.

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A friend bought me a subscription to In Touch magazine, daily meditations by Charles Stanley.  Many really make my day, and this one (for October 2^nd) seemed timely.

The Abundance in Being Different

The poet John Donne wrote, “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of a continent, a part of the main.”  In other words, each of us is an individual, but we weren’t meant to be alone (Gen 2:18).  What’s more, we aren’t all meant to be carbon copies of one another.

When we try to make community according to our own preferences and perspectives, we inadvertently diminish the rich blessings God intends for us.  Like a vine with meager fruit, we miss out on the full beauty and abundance of being in Christ.

Consider the apostle John’s vision of God’s kingdom: “Behold, a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation and all the tribes, people, and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Rev 7:9).

As believers, we live in that reality even now.  Knowing that should affect the way we think about who belongs in our pews and around our kitchen tables.  By demonstrating Jesus’ love to one another, especially when our differences collide, we become like Him, and more authentically ourselves.