Behold the Wood of the Cross

Good Friday

Behold the Wood of the Cross, On Which is Hung our Salvation

Every Good Friday we practice a peculiar form of devotion. We venerate the cross, usually with a kiss. This practice goes back to the 5^th century in Jerusalem, after St. Helen is said to have discovered the true cross of Christ and brought it back to Rome. Since that time Christians have venerated probably the most heinous torture device ever devised by man. It must seem strange to non-Catholics to see us bend down and kiss a piece of wood. We ourselves may feel awkward doing it. It doesn’t seem natural. We’d rather pray before a beautiful statue or painting, not a symbol of death.

We don’t like the cross. We don’t like to confront our own suffering and death. We don’t like to be reminded of the example Jesus set for us on Calvary. Jesus didn’t like the cross, either. He asked his Father to take that particular cup from him. It is the only time in scripture where Jesus asked his Father to not do something. But he embraced the cross when it became clear that it was the Father’s will that he do so.

We don’t understand the cross, but Jesus did. He didn’t see it as an instrument of humiliation. He saw it as the path to his ultimate glorification. He didn’t think of it as a method of torture. He saw it as a way to draw our own sufferings into his and so give them great meaning and purpose. He didn’t see a means of execution. He knew that through his death he would destroy death forever. He did not see it as the end of life, but the beginning of eternal life. Without his death there could be no resurrection.

Jesus said that if we are to be his followers we are to pick up our crosses and follow him. He never said we had to die with him, only treat our daily crosses as he treated his. Once Jesus accepted the will of his Father to pick up that cross, he used it as a tool for conversion and ultimately the salvation of the world. We are called to do the same.

Consider the people who were affected by Jesus’ Way of the Cross. There was Pilate’s wife. The women of Jerusalem. Veronica. Simon of Cyrene. The Roman Centurian. The Good Thief. The Beloved Disciple. Mary and the women at the foot of the cross. It wasn’t Jesus’ words that necessarily changed their lives, it was the action of the cross.

If we are to be his disciples we must pick up our cross daily and follow him. It is through our individual crosses that we can change the world. Our example in how we handle the suffering in our lives can be the most powerful conversion tool in the world, far stronger than our words of testimony. Jesus’ detractors wanted to see him humbled in the dust. They did not want him to get up and continue on. They wanted to see him defeated. They were watching to see how he would react.

People are watching us, just as the crowds watched Jesus. People who are hostile to our faith watch most closely of all. They are waiting for us to stumble and fall, and they want us to stay on the ground. How will we react?

Who are the people in our own Vias Delorosas? Can our own submission to the will of our Father cause someone to be so disturbed that they choose to believe? Can those who pray for us find strength in our weakness? Can the stranger who helps us when no one else will be left with an indelible mark of our humility on their hearts? Will the reluctant unbeliever be inspired by our cross to go out and help others? Will the incorrigible sinner come to the Lord for mercy for the first time in his life? Will those who persecute us ultimately come to believe that Jesus truly is the Son of God? Will our own families and those closest to us draw strength from our strength?

Suffering is a part of life. We will all be touched by it in some way or another. How we deal with our suffering will determine its ultimate value. Will we allow it to wear us down and destroy us, or will we see it as Jesus saw his, as a tool to bring souls to salvation?

It all comes down to the cross. Will we embrace it or reject it? Behold the wood of the cross. Without it there can be no salvation. O come, let us adore.

Messy Business

Holy Thursday Homily

Ex 12:1-8,11-14

Ps 116:12-13,15-16,17-18

1 Cor 11:23-26

Jn 13:1-15

Washing someone’s feet was not a pretty job. Remember that in Jesus’ time there were no paved roads and no dedicated sewage systems. The dirt roads served as sewers. And if you were wearing open-toed sandals it was inevitable that you¹d get gunk on your feet. Nobody wanted to track that stuff inside. As we travel along the road of life we pick up a lot of gunk, too. We encounter discrimination, prejudice, hatred, misunderstanding, and outright hostility when we journey as Christians. No matter what we wear on our feet we get dirty. It’s hard to wash off, especially by yourself.

Luckily, we don’t journey along the road alone. We meet others along the way who are going the same way. Some are going elsewhere. But we all get our feet dirty, and we all need our feet washed. It’s hard to wash your own feet. It’s easier if someone else does it for you. Even in the shower it takes a bit of balancing to get between your toes. But having your feet washed is really a rather intimate experience. Our feet are sensitive and ticklish. They bear the weight of our bodies day after day, often becoming scarred and blemished over time. Our feet are often ugly. We tend to cover them up.

Foot washing is a sign of humility. The foot washer was the lowliest servant in the household. That’s why Jesus’ use of this symbolic action was so powerful. He really illustrated just how much we need to humble ourselves and serve others. But having your feet washed is also a humbling experience. It requires that we drop our defenses and put ourselves into the hands of another. Someone who will see just how scarred we are.

The Hebrews in the first reading today were going on a journey to God-knows-where. All they knew was that they were leaving. Anywhere would have been better than where they were, but they left the journey up to God. Their journey was one of complete faith; yet mixed with their joy was a level of fear of the unknown. Jesus knew that his journey would soon be over. He knew where he was going and that foreknowledge was agonizing. He left the upper room and went out into the darkness. Into the fear and anxiety and pain of the garden. Into total abandonment by his friends and perhaps even by his Father. His journey had nothing left to sustain it but faith.

That night Jesus chose to leave his friends two things for their journey: the nourishment they needed to travel it, and the support they needed to complete it. The bread he broke was just a hint of the body that would be broken on the cross. The wine he poured was just a shadow of the blood he would shed on Calvary. He himself was the lamb that was slaughtered, and his suffering the bitter herbs.

We too are called to break ourselves for others. That same Eucharist sustains us. Jesus showed his friends how to be foot washers. Just before he made this gesture, John says that the apostles were arguing over who was the most important person in the group. Even at this late stage in the journey, they still didn’t get it. They were still judging by the world¹s standards. Jesus’ actions must have been like a slap in the face. But with compassion he then left them each other to be a community of servants. That same community guides us and supports us on our journey. Our road can be filled with danger, fear, and anxiety. Like Jesus, after we leave this supper we will go out into the night, into the darkness. Tonight there will be no words of dismissal. We will not be called to go forth in the peace of Christ to love and serve one another. We will just leave. Into the quiet of the night.

Transformation

Feast of the Transfiguration

Cycle B

It really depends upon your point of view, doesn’t it?

Have you ever had your life changed because you suddenly saw things a bit differently? Many times we get caught up in the ordinary of our everyday lives and miss the truth of what’s going on around us.

Steven Covey of Franklin Covey fame and author of The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People tells of an experience he had on a New York subway one Sunday morning. He says that people were sitting quietly. Some were reading newspapers, some were dozing, others were simply contemplating with their eyes closed. It was a rather peaceful, calm scene. At one stop a man and his children entered the car. The children were soon yelling back and forth, throwing things, even grabbing people’s newspapers. It was all very disturbing and yet the father just sat there next to him and did nothing. It was not difficult to feel irritated. Steve could not believe the man could be so insensitive as to let his children run wild and do nothing about it. It was easy to see that everyone else in the car was annoyed as well. So finally, with what he thought was admirable restraint and patience, Steve said to the man, “Sir, your children are really disturbing a lot of people. I wonder if you couldn’t control them a little bit more?” The man lifted his gaze as if coming out of a dream and said, “Oh, you’re right. I guess I should do something about it. We just came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago. I don’t know what to think and I guess they don’t know how to handle it either.”

Steve says, “Can you imagine what I felt at that moment? Suddenly I saw things differently. Because I saw differently, I felt differently. I behaved differently. My irritation vanished. I didn’t have to worry about controlling my attitude or my behavior. My heart was filled with this man’s pain. Feelings of compassion and sympathy flowed freely. ‘Your wife just died? Oh, I’m so sorry! Can you tell me about it? What can I do to help?’”

That was Steven Covey’s moment of transfiguration, a moment of revelation that sustained him in a difficult situation. Peter, James and John had the vision of Jesus’ transfiguration to sustain them during the difficult times to come. The next time Jesus took the three of them off with him by themselves was in the Garden of Gethsemanie. But what about us? After all, we could put up with an awful lot if we had a remembered moment of glory to sustain us, a clear indication of who Jesus really is, some sign that when it was all over, everything would be all right. What’s our transfiguration moment?

To be transformed is to be changed. To be transfigured is to see things differently, as they really are. Peter couldn’t see clearly up there on the mountain. But over time, with a lot of prayer, pondering, suffering and preaching the good news, he came to see Jesus for who he really is. Jesus didn’t change. Peter’s understanding did. Because he saw differently, he felt differently, and because he felt differently, he behaved differently.

And how Peter had changed from the time of this gospel account until he wrote his letters decades later! In the gospel, he’s really scared. He falls down to the ground in fear, and says some pretty silly things. He didn’t really know what to say, he didn’t understand what was happening before him.

The Peter we hear in his second letter is very different. Gone is the simple fisherman from Capernaum. Gone is the rough man unsure of himself. He is calm, confident, and collected. He is no longer the frightened disciple, he has become the leader. He has been bringing others to knowledge of Jesus, and he is reassuring them that his message is true. Something happened to him, and James and John as well, after they saw Jesus differently, after they saw him for who he truly is, that changed the very direction of their lives.

And if you thought it scared Peter to see Jesus as he really was, how do you think it made him feel as he himself was transfigured? It can be frightening to learn who you really are, who you are called to be for the world. Peter had come to know what it means to be truly human. To be truly human is to be like God. And Peter saw what that God was doing. He was teaching, preaching, working tirelessly to bring the gospel to the people. Desperate to have his children truly know him for who he was. He was putting his life on the line daily, and he finally lost that life in a horrible way.

Is that what was in store for Peter if he lived out his true humanity? Is that what’s in store for all of us? Peter didn’t know. But he, James and John had a decision to make. They could take their newfound knowledge of Jesus and continue to follow him, or they could go away, back to their livelihoods. Or worse yet, they could drift off to the fringes of his followers, simply tagging along without taking on any of the responsibilities of discipleship.

On a more ordinary note, Steven Covey also had a choice to make that Sunday morning. He could have hid in his embarrassment and just sat there and said nothing, done nothing. He could have gone on with his life without reaching out to a family in pain, but he chose to try to comfort them instead. We don’t know how the story ends, what happened to that man and his children, whether they were able to cope with their loss. But we do know that that incident changed Steve Covey so much so that he remembers it and recounts it over and over again. It transfigured him.

We all have the same decision to make. Sooner or later we’ll be hit with the realization of who Jesus really is in our lives, and we’ll have to decide what to do next. That realization might be found in a passage of scripture, it may be found here at Mass, or during a serious illness or family crisis. It may be a simple acceptance that grows out of many years of quietly walking with the Lord. But our lives will transfigured. And we can either continue in our old ways of living, we can drift off to the fringes of the community without taking on the added responsibilities that discipleship brings, or we can embrace those responsibilities and reach out to others as the Master did.