Tag: Faith

Persevering

It’s thing you ought to do! It’s a thing that’s hard to do! It’s a thing you have to do! It’s a thing that you’re sometimes criticized for doing! What is it, really?
   Let’s start with some dictionary definitions:
   Persevere – to continue in some effort, course of action, etc. in spite of difficulty, opposition, etc.; to be steadfast in purpose; to persist.
   Does this mean to be stubborn?
   Stubborn – 1. refusing to yield, obey, or comply; resisting doggedly or unreasonably; resolute or obstinate.  2. done or carried out in an obstinate or doggedly persistent manner.  3. hard to handle, treat, or deal with; intractable.
   But, in a good sense it could almost mean:
   Heroic – 1. of or characterized by persons of godlike strength and courage.  2. like or characteristic of a hero/heroine or his/her deeds; strong, brave, noble, powerful, etc.  3. of or about a hero/heroine and his/her deeds; epic.  4. Exalted, eloquent; high-flown.  5. daring and risky, but used as a last resort.
   Okay, it’s clear that perseverance is a more or less neutral word; it can refer to behaviors, right or wrong, ranging on a scale from stubborn to heroic.
   Perseverance can be a matter of:
   – Persistence – in a favorable sense, implying steadfast perseverance; in an unfavorable sense, annoyingly stubborn continuance.
   – Tenacity and Pertinacity – imply firm adherence to some purpose, action, belief, etc., tenacity in a favorable sense, and pertinacity, with the unfavorable connotation of annoying obstinacy.
   (There is a related Latin root word, severus, that also has a range of meanings, favorable and unfavorable:
   Grave, serious, strict, rigid, stern, austere.)

   Persevering requires knowledge, determination, courage, strength, endurance, and sacrifice.
   Persevering in a good sense also involves maturity, life experience, generosity, insight, humility, and faith!
   One way of describing a saint is a person who perseveres in doing the will of God until life’s end.
   The will of God includes things like:
   – “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”
   – I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.
   – Do to others as you would have them do to you.
   – Then Peter approaching asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times.
   – Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it.
   This kind of perseverance is paradoxical.
   From one point of view, it describes a loser, someone stubborn, inflexible, imprudent, spineless, and naïve.
   From another, more meaningful, point of view, it describes a winner, someone courageous, generous, strong, and loving.
   The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
   Persevere!


9 October 2022

Surrender to God . . .

Committe Domino viam tuam, et ipse faciet.” (Ant. 1, Office of Readings, Tuesday, Week II, of The Liturgy of the Hours according to the Roman Rite).
    In the approved English edition, it’s translated as, Surrender to God, and he will do everything for you.

    Surrender.  1. to yield (something) to the possession or power of another; deliver up possession of on demand or under duress.  2. to give (oneself) up, as to the police.  3. to give (oneself) up to some influence, course, emotion, etc.  4. to give up, abandon, or relinquish.  5. to yield or resign (an office, privilege, etc.) in favor of another.  6. to give oneself up, as into the power of another; submit or yield.

    I like the translation of the antiphon. It could have been something more literal like, Commit your way to the Lord . . ., but Surrender to God . . . (The Grail translation) is much more evocative and emotional.
    The antiphon introduces the first part of Psalm 37, which is filled with great advice relating to this total surrender:

    – Do not fret because of the wicked; do not envy those who do evil . . .
    – If you trust in the Lord and do good, then you will be secure . . .
    – If you find your delight in the Lord, he will grant your heart’s desire.
    – Commit your life to the Lord, trust in him and he will act . . .
    – Be still before the Lord and wait in patience . . .
    – Calm your anger and forget your rage; do not fret, it only leads to evil.

    We’re usually continually caught up in a myriad of distractions, concerns, worries, plans, frustrations, regrets, disappointments responsibilities, and other such like.

    What a relief it can be to just surrender. No, that’s not a copout nor a failure nor an irresponsibility. Surrendering to God is an honest admission that we are but limited creatures who inevitably are inadequate without divine help.
    Not surrendering to God is
delusional, foolish, and self-destructive. God is not an enemy, but a friend. All that is good and meaningful and satisfying about our lives is rooted in our conformity with the designs of our maker.
    Surrendering to God, to the one whose love created and sustains us, is not a relinquishing of our life and liberty but a fulfillment.
    What an illogical, if not insane, course of action it is to try to live our lives ignoring our creator’s will.
    Surrendering to God is not a negative act but a positive one. It enhances and expands our lives. It requires courage, strength, generosity, and wisdom. It’s not for the weak, fearful, foolish, for the spiritually deaf, dumb, and blind.
    The Latin verb, committo, committere, also lies behind our English word, commitment, meaning an act of pledging or engaging oneself; dedication or allegiance; consignment or confinement.
    Somehow or other, commitment has a sort of legal flavor, somewhat abstract, associated with obligations and responsibilities.
    On the other hand, surrender sounds more like an act of heart than just of head, a total giving of all that one is, not just an acceptance of one more duty or responsibility.
    Lord, give me the wisdom, strength, and courage to surrender to you!


4 September 2022

Orphaned

I was sixty years old when I became an orphan! That’s the year my mother died, my father having died the year before.
   I know, I know—it sounds ridiculous. I wasn’t a relatively helpless small child, but a grown man and a middle-aged one to boot.
   Yet there was a certain truth to it. Those who gave me life, whose love and care nurtured and guided my life, whose presence anchored my life, were gone, leaving me behind.
   It marked a fundamental change in my life. It’s hard to explain, but it made me more aware of the reality of my own limitations, of the prospect of my own death someday, sooner or later.
   Not having my parents alive anymore, that final separation, seemed to be a last step in in the gradual process of becoming a fully independent adult.
   Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to sound morbid, nor am I. But, it definitely marked a significant change in my self-identity and life.
   As adults, we may at times disagree with our parents, make life decisions against their counsel and concerns, but somehow, in some way, we still remain anchored in them and, hopefully, receive support and guidance from them as best they can, no matter the consequences of our sometimes stubborn and ill-advised choices.
   It was through them that we first learned to trust and love God. God seemed to be the ideal fullness and perfection of the love and acceptance that, hopefully, we experienced from our parents, no matter their limitations.
   When Jesus’ disciples asked him to teach them how best to pray, ignoring the so many formal and traditional titles of God treasured and counseled over the centuries, he told them to think of their relation to God as a child to parents and say:
   “Our Father, who art in heaven . . .”

   Ha!, the unbeliever might mockingly say, clearly a case of substituting for a lost parental relationship by imagining an all-knowing, all-powerful father figure.
   Yes, that is a possibility; it could be true—but just because something could be true doesn’t mean that it has to be true.
   It doesn’t require experiencing the death of both parents—or others who have affectionately and perseveringly loved us, almost as a parent—to think of God in those terms.
   God is the model, the epitome for all parents and parental relationships. As creator, God is the ultimate source and sustainer of all life and living things.
   Total separation from and the loss of parents is imaginable and also inevitable. Total separation from and the loss of our creator is unimaginable and illogical, a contradiction in terms.
   It’s not so much that we’re projecting parenthood onto God; it’s the other way around. Parenting and parental care and love are a participation, a collaboration in the life-giving and sustaining love of our creator.
   “I will not leave you orphans,” Jesus assured his disciples the night before he died, “I will come to you.
   “In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me, because I live and you will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.
   “Whoever has my commandments and observes them is the one who loves me. And whoever loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and reveal myself to him.”       (Jn 14:18-21)


5 June 2022

Zeroing in on the Unknowable

In a way, this describes what, over the centuries, theologians often have been doing—and even scientists, too! But, remember, getting more and more insight and information doesn’t mean we fully understand what ultimately remains a mystery and unknowable.
   This is not a critique of faith. Believing and knowing are two different things. Knowledge is more a matter of exploring, learning, testing, and gaining understanding. On the other hand, belief is more a matter of confidence, trusting, and daring.
   You may be my friend and I love and trust you, but that doesn’t mean that I had thoroughly investigated everything you thought, said, and did over the whole course of your life to reach this conclusion.
   A classic example: the Bible. We often say that it is the revealed word of God. Does that mean, can that mean, that every single word of the Bible was said by, was communicated by God?
   The Bible is not one unified book, but a collection of various kinds of writings and reflections by many different people over a span of many centuries—and translated by a variety of different translators.
   You’re not meant to take every single sentence or statement in the Bible and trust that it is exactly what God said—but you can trust that what you read is somebody’s interpretation in good faith of what God inspired and how it is to be understood.
   Another example: the Sacraments. We often presume that if the right person says the right words in the right language and performs the right actions certain spiritual things necessarily will happen.
   But, that’s almost a definition of magic. These may be regulations for celebrating the particular sacrament, but the sacramental action remains mysterious and also requires prayer and acts of faith and trust in God and his revelations and his love.

   The Summa Theologica of Thomas Aquinas is an outstanding example of the successes and the limitations of an in-depth investigation into the nature of the mysteries of our faith.
   Using the intellectual concepts and tools of Aristotle, Thomas explored the meaning of the core expressions of our Christian beliefs, especially and notably the Eucharist.
   He increased our understanding of what is ultimately not completely knowable. With the distinctions of matter and form, substance and accident, and other Aristotelian concepts, Thomas profoundly advanced our understanding of our faith.
   But no matter how deeply he explored the mystery and how effectively he articulated his findings, he still did not have all the answers.
   His concept of transubstantiation is brilliant, but it’s not a complete answer or a solution, in spite of its well-honed and respected deep insights, to this mystery of the Eucharist.
   We know that Jesus broke and distributed bread and poured and shared wine at his last supper with his disciples, usually considered a Seder, a meal where the salvific acts of God were symbolically remembered.
   Was he adding to the traditional symbols of salvific acts of God to be ever remembered and celebrated by his followers? Or, even more, was he saying that the partakers were somehow mystically sharing his very life, body and blood?
   If you can’t quite fully understand, you’re in good company. Thomas didn’t either, although he did a great job of zeroing in on the unknowable. Ultimately it’s not a matter of knowledge, but of belief.


24 April 2022

Discovering England

I always associate Gilbert K. Chesterton’s great book, “Orthodoxy” with the odd but provocative sort of metaphor he used in its introductory chapter about the “English yachtsman who slightly miscalculated his course and discovered England under the impression that it was a new island in the South Seas.”
   It set the tone for the whole, following work. As Chesterton went on to say about his voyager who sailed and searched all around the world and then discovered the riches of what was right under his nose at home, “How can we contrive to be at once astonished at the world and yet at home in it?”
   The challenge of each of our lives is not really about our being at home in the world, but about our being astonished at it—or, rather, our failure to be astonished at it!
   It’s not that “familiarity breeds contempt” (Chaucer), but more that familiarity breeds indifference, taking things for granted, not marveling at the wonder, greatness, and gift of the world and our lives in it.
   If you’re tempted to puzzle over why the world situation is what it is, why there are so many problems unsolved, why things seem to be going from better to worse, try turning off the (bad) news programs and really looking at yourself in the mirror.
   Why me? What’s the expectation for me? How come there is a me? Where is my life going? How much more of it will I have? How can I pick up the broken pieces of it and continue?
   The challenge for us bedazzled viewers, listeners, readers, travelers is to stop! to stop and think! to stop and thank!
   We don’t want to be remembered as “much ado about nothing”.
   For starters, how come you exist, really? Why were you born? Where is your life going? Are you asleep at the wheel? How much longer and more will it take?

   We all need to remember to look at life, and the course of our own lives, with astonishment—with wonder, gladness, gratitude, and thankfulness.
   How can you look forward to an unknown tomorrow with enthusiasm and joy, if you are blind to what is right under your nose, so to speak, right now?
   That we exist at all is a wonder—and wonderful. That each time we awake to a new day is a gift—and we give thanks to God who created us and ever guides our lives.
   What do we use to measure and evaluate our lives? Possessions? Reputation? Power? Privilege? Beauty? Attractiveness? Health? Care? Concern? Generosity? Sacrifice? Humility? Sincerity? Love?
   The human condition and everlasting temptation is that no matter what we’ve done it’s never enough. Of course! We are not totally self-sufficient. We are creatures, and we must to look to our Creator for understanding, guidance, courage, and strength.
   The man who discovered England really is a good metaphor for all of us.
   All that we ever really need to know is right under our noses. What we seem to be yearning, searching, and journeying to find we’ve always had, even though we forget.
   It’s challenging enough to understand anything well, and our lives have a long history of incomplete understandings and misunderstandings. It’s normal enough, although it’s regrettable.
   Anyway, St. Augustine got it right when he said, “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.”


27 March 2022

Don’t Be Shellish!

From now I announce new things to you,
   hidden events you never knew.
Now, not from old, they are created,
   Before today you did not hear of them,
   so that you cannot claim, “I have known them.”
You never heard, you never knew,
   they never reached your ears beforehand.
                    (Isaiah 48:6b-8a)

   Jeweled eggs created by the firm of Fabergé from the days of the Russian Empire are sold today for tens of thousands of dollars. They’re not real eggs, of course, merely egg shaped.
   Real eggs are fragile, and their shells are meant to be breakable (though they sometimes are hardboiled and decorated for Easter). It’s amazing how long something as fragile as an egg shell remains intact.
   Shells are simply the first stage in the development of a new little bird (or platypus!)—and they have to be broken if new life is to emerge.
   Figuratively speaking, growth and development always involve a sort of breaking and loss of what once was—and even very necessary in its time—so that life may go on and flourish.
   We may love and cherish a particular stage of our life, but inevitably we need to move on—even though the change may involve a shattering and leaving behind of what was  loved and prized.
   The joy—and pain—of living involves change, gradual or sudden, minor or major, and particular stages of our lives and of the world we live in can’t be frozen or preserved permanently. (Embalming is only for the dead!)
   Sometimes we yearn for an imagined past, imagined, because often memories tend to be somewhat selective and edited; we may emphasize the pleasurable and satisfying parts of the past, overlooking or minimizing what was unpleasant or painful.

   The few verses from Isaiah (quoted initially) allude to the wonderful, unfamiliar, novel things that God has in store for us.
   When we appeal to God, ask for help, pray, we are inviting divine intervention—change! And, often God’s responses regarding our personal or family lives or the whole world are initially disturbing to us and even upsetting—because of their newness.
   For the little bird or platypus to live, to grow and develop, they must break through the fragile shell that encases them. And, this is a metaphor for each of us and for all the world we live in.
   It’s hard to yearn for the unknown, since what we do not know and have not experienced can be frightening prospects—but that’s life!
   Some changes in our lives are desired and yet, even so, disturbing. like graduations, marriage, and moving to a new place or getting a new job.
   Some events in our lives come upon us gradually and subtly; other can be so sudden and unforeseen that our instinctive reaction is to reject them and recoil—even though, later, we may come to appreciate, celebrate, and thank God for them.
   Beware of a life of faith, for it invites and welcomes divine intervention. And when God acts in our lives and in our world, our first reaction often is to try to avoid the changes God’s intervention demands.
   A life of faith requires strength and courage, a willingness to let go even of our favorite things, a repeated plunging into the unknown or even undesired.
   Life and faith involve constantly breaking out of shells, letting go, and entrusting ourselves to God whose love ever guides us.


16 January 2022

Sing Alleluia!

Let us sing alleluia here on earth, while we still live in anxiety, so that we may sing it one day in heaven in full security…
   Even here amidst trials and tribulations let us, let all, sing alleluia. “God is faithful”, says holy Scripture, “and he will not allow you to be tried beyond your strength”, So let us sing alleluia, even here on earth…
   O the happiness of the heavenly alleluia, sung in security, in fear of no adversity! We shall have no enemies in heaven, we shall never lose a friend. God’s praises are sung both there and here, but here they are sung in anxiety, there, in security; here they are sung by those destined to die, there, by those destined to live for ever; here they are sung in hope, there, in hope’s fulfillment; here they are sung by wayfarers, there, by those living in their own country…
   You should sing as wayfarers do—sing, but continue your journey. Do not be lazy, but sing to make your journey more enjoyable. Sing, but keep going. What do I mean by keep going? Keep on making progress. This progress, however, must be in virtue,…true faith and right living…
(Saint Augustine)

   (“Alleluia” or “hallelujah” comes from the same Hebrew word meaning literally “Praise Yahweh”—i.e., “Praise God” or “Praise the Lord.”)
   Maybe here and now is not entirely a matter of anxiety, trials, and tribulations. but it may not be much to sing about! But, that’s the whole point. What is difficult to bear, to endure, is helped by the prospects of things getting better, of great expectations.
   We’re not stuck in the mud, imprisoned in in helplessness, doomed to a life of emptiness, meaninglessness, hopelessness, grief, and pain.

   We’re en route, we’re on our way to a promised land. We’re strengthened by our anticipations. We struggle on in hope.
   No matter what, we sing in our hearts—we sing alleluia! We thank and praise God because we trust that he will not let us be tried beyond our strength, we trust that God has a destination for us to hope for, we endure as we journey to the promised land.
   How can I sing with so many anxieties, trials, adversities, insecurities, difficulties, and even enemies? That’s the whole point!
   You may sing, praise God, with thanksgiving for life and so many present good things—but the greatest joy and gladness lies in the trust that you have a wonderful future and that, slowly but surely, no matter what, you are on your way there.
   The great temptation of hopelessness is well described by Shakespeare in Hamlet’s famous soliloquy:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;…
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;…

   Alas, poor Hamlet—you never learned to sing alleluia.


2 January 2022

God and Me? Me and God?

   O God, you are my God—
       it is you I seek!
   For you my body yearns;
      for you my soul thirsts.

   This verse (Psalm 63:2) is an evocative description of the human condition—a restless thirsting, hungering, searching for meaning, purpose, and fulfillment.
   Please notice, though, that the starting point is God. We’re not journeying through life like an explorer in a wilderness. Life is not a long-term, trying expedition to satisfy our wander/wonder lust. We’re not discoverers stumbling upon, unearthing a great trove of beautiful ideas or artifacts, evidence of some past glory.
   Remember the Baltimore Catechism question, “Why Did God Make You? The answer was, “God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him for ever in heaven.”
   There, also, the starting point is God, but the focus seems to be more on us than on God—at least in the sense that it gives a short list of our obligations to God, the things that we have to do to achieve being “happy with him for ever in heaven.”
   What do we do when we go to confession? We don’t “confess” (in the sense of proclaim) the mercy and wonder of God’s love and providence, We “confess” in some detail our failings, inadequacies, misdeeds, and sins. Sure, it’s primarily about offending God, but the focus is still mostly on ourselves!
   Is our story more about God and Me or about Me and God? It seems like the main focus is Me.
   To quote again (Psalm 63:9):

   My soul clings fast to you;
       your right hand upholds me.

   My clinging is feeble. God holds me fast.

   St. Therese of the Child Jesus recalled that once a priest told her that her falling asleep during prayer was due to a want of fervor and fidelity and that she should be desolate over it. She had replied, “I am not desolate. I remember that little children are just as pleasing to their parents when they are asleep as when they are awake.”
   Often children think that they somehow earn their parents love and care by their good behavior, although they are loved and cared for long before they’ve matured enough to wrestle with disobedience.
   For St. Therese, clearly the starting point in her life story was God. It was about God and Me, not Me and God! It’s about the wonder of his making of each of us, of the many gifts he has given each of us, about his guiding of each of our lives, about the beauty and marvel of the world in which God has placed each of us to live.
   Okay, we can’t overlook all our blindness, indifference, selfishness, and stupidity over the years. We can’t pretend that all our inappropriate acts never happened, that all our offenses did no harm.
   But, we can’t wallow in their remembrance forever. For God’s sake, why should we be more fascinated with our failings then with God’s continuing mercy, love, forgiveness, and new empowerments. Our life story is not about Me and God, but God and Me.

For your love is better than life;
   my lips shall ever praise you!
I will bless you as long as I live;
   I will lift up my hands, calling on your name.
You indeed are my savior,
   and in the shadow of your wings I shout for joy. (Psalm 63:4-5,8)

  

21 November 2021

Levi Alphaeusson

As Jesus passed on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. (Matthew 9:9)
   As he passed by, he saw Levi, son of Alphaeus, sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him. (Mark 2:14)
   After this he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi sitting at the customs post. He said to him, “Follow me.” And leaving everything behind, he got up and followed him. (Luke 5:27-28)

   Either he must have been such an important person or his being selected by Jesus must have been so surprising, if not shocking, that this event is mentioned in three of the Gospels.
   Of course one of the Gospels is according to Matthew (Levi’s Christian name), so it’s understandable that he would have alluded to his first encounter with Jesus.
   But the fact that he was working as a tax collector for either the local Jewish ruler (Herod Antipas) who was a Roman collaborator or for the Roman conquerors themselves made him an outcast, if not a traitor, in his own, Jewish community.
   One thing that stands out about the story of Jesus’ calling him was the immediate nature of Levi’s response. No thinking it over, no preliminary visit to learn more about Jesus and his teaching, no submission of a resignation to his boss nor waiting for a replacement.
   The next thing that stands out and is reported in all three Gospels is that Levi organizes a dinner at his house for a lot of his fellow workers and friends—by Jewish standards, sinners all—and Jesus comes!
   The Pharisees, righteous, orthodox Jews, are shocked and horrified that a religious teacher like Jesus should be there.

   Consorting with Gentiles is bad enough, but sitting and dining together with the likes of this group of collaborators, “sinners”, goes beyond the limits of acceptable behavior for the Pharisees.
   Worst of all, Jesus is unapologetic! Referencing what the prophet Hosea (6:6) said about God desiring mercy, not sacrifice, Jesus states that “I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.” (Matthew 9:13)
   Jesus’ behavior was so shocking for the Pharisees, who were the really devout Jews of Jesus’ day, that, to say the least, they were puzzled how such a person could be speaking the words of God.
   And, Levi’s behavior had been equally shocking for all parties concerned. Dropping all things, abandoning his post and position, asking no questions, responding on the spot to Jesus’ two-word summons, “Follow me”, seemed, to say the least, an impulsive and thoughtless act that risked his future if not his life itself.
   When I was young I was deeply inspired by all this to imitate Levi. Now, very much older, more experienced, more cautious about risky and sudden decisions, I hope I still have the capacity to unquestioningly leave everything behind to follow him.
   Looking back on the course of my life, yes, I know that I did once boldly choose to do it, but how dangerously slow and careful I have become.
   I also know that someday I’ll be definitively confronted by that same radical decision, that same challenging demand to leave everything behind, even life itself, to follow him.
   May the old song still be in my heart, “Oh, Lord, I’m ready, indeed I’m ready, Oh, good Lord, I’ll be ready when the great day comes!”


7 November 2021

R.I.P.

R.I.P. is the familiar abbreviation we use for the Latin expression, “Requiescat in pace” and, coincidentally, also for its English translation, “Rest in peace”.
   In Christian tradition, it is used in reference to someone who has died. Actually it is a radical affirmation—that death is not the end of a person’s existence.
   For some people, “rest” is just a softer word than “death”, a kind of consoling metaphor. However, in Scripture it is clear that it is much more than a mere metaphor.
   In Matthew 9:24 and Luke 6:52, regarding the dead daughter of an official of the synagogue, Jesus says she “. . . is not dead but sleeping”, and then restores her to life.
   In John 11:13 regarding his dead friend, Lazarus, Jesus says “Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him,” and then restores him to life.
   Both these stories are about a restoration to one’s previous life, but the story of Jesus’ resurrection is different. Although changed, he is restored to his previous life for a while, but then disappears, caught up into the glory of God, entering a new stage of life.
   This new stage of life is promised to others. In John 12:26, Jesus says “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be.”
   It is this promise that inspires believers to look at death almost like sleep, to trust that an awakening will come, somehow, someday, somewhere to a fulness of life beyond what we now experience.
   This trust and confidence was the inspiration of the first Christians and early martyrs and still inspires, encourages, and consoles believers even to our day.
   Our folk imaginations and religious customs notwithstanding, we know little more about this future than the certitude of Jesus’ example and promise.
   That’s what enables us to look at one who clearly has died and say, “Rest in peace.”

   All this is affirmed in the beautiful faith testimony of the Funeral Liturgy: “In him [Christ our Lord] the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven.”
   Although we often confidently speak of those who have died as already enjoying the fullness of the life of heaven, there is no clear timetable for this awakening.
   Is it right after death? At the last judgement? At some other time in between? Regarding this, too, we “know neither the day nor the hour.” (Matthew 25:13). But, then, for the sleeper, does the length of the time spent sleeping really matter?
   When it comes to details, no matter how we imagine life after death and no matter how commonly accepted certain traditions are, there is little that we know for certain beyond the Lord’s promise itself.
   And, that’s no small thing! In faith, we consider the departed as though asleep, not terminated. We believe that we will see them again—but exactly how, when, and where is beyond our present knowing.
   We are disciples of the risen Lord, and we trust in his word and his love.
   Sometimes we imaginatively embellish our faith convictions with too much speculation. This obscures the power and wonder of what we believe, and makes it easier for doubters to casually dismiss our certitude as childish fantasy and outdated superstition.
   We can confidently rest in peace, since we know for sure that our awakening will come.


31 October 2021