“We need to overcome the fear of joy; we need to think of the many times that we are not joyful because we are afraid. In my homeland there is a saying that goes like this: when someone gets burned by boiling milk, he cries when he sees the cow. The disciples, who were burned by the drama of the cross, said: no, let’s stop here! He is in heaven, that’s excellent, he is risen, but may he not come back again because we can’t handle it!” —Pope Francis
On the surface, we might be tempted to scoff at the pope’s claim that we’re afraid of joy. But how often have we become so used to crisis and dread in our lives that we can’t relax and enjoy a moment of peace, a time of no stress? How often do we manufacture a crisis just because we know how to solve a problem or fix something that’s broken? Easter joy takes some getting used to. We love the rigors and the austerities of Lent. We’re not as familiar or comfortable with the joy of Easter. One reason for this is that the kind of joy Jesus brings comes from living fully in the present. We are so much better at looking back to past pain or dreading the uncertainty of the future. Living in the present, the eternal now, requires both gratitude and grace.
The temptation of the devil is fear. Pontius Pilate was afraid. Really? A Roman governor with a Roman army that had no objections to killing people? That was their job. There were no cameras, no Miranda rights, and no defense attorneys. He could have swept everything up, and nobody would have said anything, anytime. He was afraid, although he didn’t realize why he was afraid. He asked our Lord, “What is truth?” while he was looking at truth in the face. The truth is a person – not an “it” but a “Who.” Remember Philosophy 101: there is only one truth – not your truth – but THE truth. Pilate said, “Ecce homo” – “Behold the man.” In contrast, what did John the Baptist say when he saw Christ? “Ecce Agnus Dei” – “Behold the lamb of God.” John was not afraid.
During His Passion, our Lord was scourged and was in absolute agony. The Romans were very good at their job. They had done this for centuries and knew how to prolong suffering. So, no one can hear, no one can look at the crucifix, and no one can read accounts about the Passion and still say, “My sin doesn’t affect anyone. It only hurts me. It’s a personal sin.” In one sense yes, but in another sense no. “It’s just a small sin. It’s just a white sin kinda like a white lie.” I studied theology, and I actually have the degree. The paperwork is somewhere. When you look at the crucifix, you see the effects of sin. But, you also see how much Christ loves us. This is the face of love. He suffered all of this just for you. Not “you” in the general sense, but “you” in the particular sense. “I suffered this just for you; that’s how much I love you. My act of love is always before the Father for you.” This act of love never ends. This act of love is perfect, but can be even more perfect if we respond to it. Follow Him and one day you will enjoy happiness in Heaven.
“Fear of the Lord does not mean to be afraid of God. St. John tells us that where there is love, there is no fear. Rather, fear of the Lord is to stand in awe and wonder before the greatness of the Lord. It is to recognize that God is the creator and we are the creatures. Fear of the Lord should lead us to praise and worship.”— Rev. Jude Winkler, OFM, p.95
“ O almighty and merciful God, Lord of the universe and of history. All that You have created is good and your compassion for the mistakes of mankind knows no limits. We come to You today to ask You to keep in peace the world and its people, to keep far away from it the devastating wave of terrorism, to restore friendship and instill in the hearts of your creatures the gift of trust and of readiness to forgive.”—Pope Francis
Pope Francis never hesitates to turn the light of truth inward as well as outward. The Gospel, especially as John tells it, reminds us that Jesus suffered as much at the hands of those who shared his religious faith as he did at the hands of outsiders. Persecution happens because of misguided power, anger at perceived injustice, fear of those who are not like us, who don’t share our beliefs and sometimes even our opinions. What begins as a disagreement over ideas can be magnified and escalated into rejection, ostracism, violence, and even death. And it can—and does—happen among Catholics of different philosophies, between Catholics and other Christians, between Christians and those of other faiths. In today’s Gospel the Pharisees sneer at Nicodemus when they ask if he, too, is from Galilee, a rural region that the residents of Jerusalem considered backward and inferior. We do this even today. We think we know how people will behave based on what part of the country they’re from. We divide our own cities and towns into good areas and bad areas. We absorb the prejudices of lifelong citizens even when we’re new to an area. Often we wouldn’t think of going to another part of town because of what we think we know about it, often based only on what we hear from others. Spend some time today learning about another faith, another culture, another set of beliefs. Set aside as much as is humanly possible the division of us and them, me and other. Look at the world from someone else’s perspective.
Let us beset the just one, because he is obnoxious to us, he sets himself against our doings…. To us he is the censure of our thoughts. Merely to see him is a hardship.”—Wisdom 2:12, 14
“[Jesus] had decided not to travel in Judea because some of the Jews were looking for a chance to kill him…. Some of the people of Jerusalem remarked ‘Is this not the one they want to kill?’”—John 7:1, 25
We have perhaps read the studies which show that once a group has decided to differentiate itself from another group, the rules of conversation change toward that group. We are inclined to believe the worst of them, paranoia and conspiracy theories soon abound, they are fair game for the commentators, and our chosen mistrust looks for any justification whatsoever to fear, hate, or even kill. Soon any defensive or even offensive attacks toward that person or group are fully rationalized and justified. It is a rare person who can stand uninfluenced by this field of gossip and innuendo. This is the sad pattern of human history. It is just such an atmosphere that is presented in both readings today, as we near the climactic events of Holy Week. The taunting verses from the book of Wisdom sound familiar to most Christians because they are the backdrop of the Crucifixion scene: “If he is the son of God, then God will defend him.” In the full text we read a kind of bravado and defiance, daring the “just person” to prove himself. It feels like the school bully mocking the classmate who might be smarter, more popular, or even more mature. For some strange reason, fearful humans are threatened by anyone outside of their frame of reference. They are always a threat and must be brought down. The same pattern is then found in the Gospel. So strange that even religious authorities can speak openly of wanting to kill Jesus, and the crowds even openly know about this. What has religion come to? Vengeance is often an open, but denied secret when fear and gossip reign in a society. Every attempt is being made to discredit Jesus, and even his family of origin, which is a very common pattern. (The whole of John 7 might give you even more of the feeling of malice and intrigue than the selected passage here in the Lectionary.) Jesus is slowly being isolated for the attack, he moves around “secretly.” You can feel his loneliness and anguish, and all he can do is claim his true origins—to deaf ears. In these days, we are being invited to share in the passion of Jesus, and in the aloneness and fear of all who have been hated and hunted down since the beginning of time.
“God of loving truth, keep me from the world of gossip and accusation. Do not let me ‘kill’ others, even in my mind or heart.”
What startled me over and over in so many of the psalms is the emotional contrast. First there’s often a lament, not sugar-coated or minimized, not swept away or judged. Instead, the suffering is eloquently described. For example, the early lines of Psalm 69: “I am wearied with crying out, my throat is sore.” Guilt, shame, reproach, and bitterness follow. Then, a but appears. “But I lift up this prayer to thee.” Over and over I found these sudden reversals. How did they make sense? After a few months of a daily morning practice, I understood the pattern. I would read many lines of anguish. Once the painful truths are expressed, in detail, not rushed, there’s a sense of being deeply heard and listened to—heard by God. Once that internal, intimate ache is honored, we find space in our heavy hearts to move around. We can take that leap of faith and trust, again and again. What the psalms began to teach me is to stay true to my human grief, to articulate it, to bring the fear and frustration straight to God. By doing that, faith will appear, often suddenly, always the balm we have been seeking.
In our reading of Numbers 14 today, Fr. Mike highlights how the rebellion of the Israelites which was marked by distrust and fear, will have consequences for their children. We also read today Deuteronomy 12, and Psalm 95.
Fr. Mike expands on the significance of establishing a covenant relationship, and how the trickery of the Gibeonites can represent the desire to enter into a relationship with God out of fear rather than out of love. Today’s readings are Joshua 8-9, and Psalm 126.
