Matthew Williams – Page 29 – Meditation on Daily Mass Readings

September 20, 2020September 7, 2020

Way Up There

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

In the first reading, we find the kind of subtle paradox that we may miss at first, and that may make us do a double-take. In the same paragraph: “He is near”; and, “As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways,” says the Lord.

So which is it? Is He near, or is He traversing ways that are as high above us as the heavens are above the earth?

Theologians call this the mystery of God’s immanence (im-manence, remaining within) and transcendence–the fact that He is within us or, poetically, just a breath away; and yet, his mode of being, His nature, is infinitely exalted above human nature.

In redeeming us, Jesus could have simply restored our nature to its former capability for friendship with God, as we see in Genesis. But He has taken redemption a mind-blowing step further: He allows us to share in this infinitely superior divine nature, just as He shares in our finite human nature. He bridges the divide, and gives us an opportunity to participate in the divine, in a manner not seen even before Adam’s fall. This is what it means when the priest quietly says, when mixing the wine with a drop of water at Mass, “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled Himself to share in our humanity.”

This is what awaits us, if we can–per Jesus’ invitation to the rich young man, and to us as well–detach ourselves from everything created, from all worry, and from all ambition, in the pursuit of holiness. This participation in the divine nature is the pearl of great price of which Jesus speaks, the pearl we attain when God and His Kingdom fully reign in us (cf. Mt. 13:45-46).

But knowing that we are not fully there yet, that we are still traveling on the journey toward this objective (though partially enjoying it already through the grace of God within), we may ask ourselves: In what sense are God’s ways above our ways?

Today’s Gospel passage answers that question clearly for us. God is not only willing to forgive. He is also willing to “compensate” those He forgives, albeit at the eleventh hour, with the same rewards given to those who have persevered faithfully always. Not only that, He goes out tirelessly and seeks out the new laborers. This is crucial. He doesn’t wait for them to come looking for a job. He seeks them out.

These days, the willingness to embrace and fully reward the sinner may not strike us as much as it would have ears of ages past, because often today’s Christian has no sense of the resounding cosmic gravity of sin, of offending Him who created each of us as well as the universe itself. Yet, God is willing to embrace the idle, late-coming sinner and forget his cataclysmic offenses in a matter of a moment, in the blink of an eye, and reward him boundlessly even for those last moments in the vineyard.

Perhaps what more clearly and readily see as something foreign to us, as something far above us, is the tirelessness with which He seeks out the idle sinner, not content to wait for him to discover and react to his own misery.

Because God respects human freedom, though, which becomes a limit He imposes upon Himself, He “needs” us to pray and sacrifice for others in order to bring them the grace He wishes for them. And we do well to trust in the power of this prayer. As Jesus said to St. Faustina: “A prayer for the conversion of sinners never goes unanswered.”

Based on Jesus’ teaching in the Gospel, if we tirelessly pursue the conversion of sinners with our prayer and sacrifice, not content to passively await their awakening, our ways start to look like God’s ways, which are so far above us. And, our hearts and behavior start to reflect the divine nature in which we already participate through grace her on earth.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Imagine you are looking back on your life after death, contemplating its eternal value. Contemplate in your heart a multitude of persons from all nations and walks of life who could have joined you in heaven, with a bit more prayer and offering of your sufferings for them. Ask Jesus to inflame in you the fire that burns in His Sacred Heart for the eternal happiness of souls.

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September 19, 2020September 3, 2020

Thorns Aren’t Very Much Fun

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

We may find some of Jesus’ teachings a bit difficult to understand. When this is the case, we may accept that, as He is God, there will always be some element of transcendence and mystery to His message that we will not grasp. For example, “Wherever the corpse is, there the vultures will gather.” (Mt. 24:28) Or, when He calls Peter “Satan” in Mt. 16. It seems harsh to our ears, but we trust Him as the Master that He holds all truth, and that He applies to each the teaching style most beneficial for each.

The Parable of the Sower in today’s Gospel seems to fall on the other side of the spectrum from those more mysterious utterances. Jesus actually explains this parable, in very direct language! We easily identify with one, two, or even all of the personas that Jesus describes.

Even so, perhaps we too easily place ourselves in the “fertile ground” category. After all, we take time to pray daily. We attend Mass. We give ourselves to others in our vocation.

Also, the fact that we’re even making an effort even somewhat consistently is evidence that the devil hasn’t thoroughly made off with us, like the seed that fell on the path, right? And we haven’t fallen completely away like the seed on rocky ground…?

Sure, we get caught up in the thorns–worries, worldly ambitions–from time to time, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

But if we’re honest, perhaps we spend a LOT of time in the land of thorns. Maybe the majority of our time.

What catches the eye in the statement about the thorny ground is a tragic assertion: “They fail to produce mature fruit.” It’s not that you’re kicked out of the garden. You’re not dying rootless in the sun or languishing in some robin’s digestive system. You’re there. You’re a plant. You’ve made it.

You’re just not bearing mature fruit. And if we wanted to be really cruel, we would say that mature–ripe–fruit is the only kind that is any good for anything.

The point isn’t to get discouraged. On the contrary, if we are as happy with Christ as we are now, and there is such a great difference between the preoccupied life we live and the life of those who bear mature fruit–the saints–then there is a great opportunity, a golden threshold that we have yet to cross. What if, as happy as we are as Christians, even with all our knowledge of Jesus’ teachings, we have barely scratched the surface? This is the case, if we live much of our days worried and preoccupied. There is a whole endlessly profound world yet to discover, which is the Heart of Christ, with all its unfathomable love and serene, eternal perspective on reality.

Then, the magic question: How do we get from here to there? The not-so-magic answer: Perseverance in prayer. The path to sainthood is often gradual because God does not want to overexert our fallen nature. But He is passionate about working on us. All we need to do is give ourselves to Him daily, spending real time in prayer, placing all our cares in His hands; receive His powerful grace in the sacraments; and strive to follow our conscience and the inspirations of the Holy Spirit. And trust that, as we hand over the reins to Him each day, He is taking them and shaping us as sure as the sun tans a body on the beach.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Consider the top three things that currently have you anxious. Explain to the Lord why you think they’re important and why they cause you anxiety. Then, ask Him to infuse into you His perspective, the eternal perspective, on those things, and to help you truly to attribute to everything on this earth only its true importance.

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September 18, 2020September 2, 2020

The Here and the Hereafter

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

The Church exhibits great wisdom in teaching us about earthly realities. Her social doctrine, for example, goes into some detail with regard to the balance between the right to private property and the priority of the common good. She teaches us to be good and careful stewards of the great resources that have been made available to us through creation. She urges all of us, perhaps especially us lay people, to strive with all our might to build a just society, one where the principles of justice and charity reign in hearts and in the public square.

But in the end, the object of none of it, really, is earthly reality. The Church holds out no hope for an earthly utopia–that is, a society here on earth where we finally feel truly fulfilled and happy, and justice reigns without exception. Christians who focus on building a just society solely for its own sake completely miss the point. As St. Paul tells us today, “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are the most pitiable people of all.”

And the Psalm tells us, “Lord, when your glory appears, my joy will be full.” Only when we see Him in His eternal glory will our happiness truly be culminated.

Interestingly, in contrast to all this, we see a very earthy narrative in the Gospel, which tells us about how Jesus is traveling about, who is with Him, and how those with him are looking after His needs with their resources.

If we are not careful, we can spend our time, including our time in prayer, questing after earthly happiness as if this were the main objective. We can puzzle obsessively over why we sometimes feel depressed, how to avoid discomfort, and how to have a happier outlook on life.

There is nothing wrong with examining and amending our outlook, but we also need to get comfortable with the fact that we exist in a “valley of tears,” as earth is described in the Salve Regina, perhaps the most popular Marian hymn ever written.

Our definitive happiness does not and cannot lie here. Ironically, the more we bear this in mind, the happier we can be in this life, because our expectations are not set on what is not achievable, and thus the woes of our earthly exile are not compounded by the stress and frustration of false hopes.

There are two things that matter for our life on earth, because of their bearing on eternal life: What we become in holiness and union with God, and our service to others, especially (but not only) with respect to their spiritual welfare–even though these will not automatically make us feel continuously content here on earth. The rest is passing. Still, even the most mundane, passing things are beautiful when they form part of the landscape of a life focused on what matters.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Dare to ask Jesus how He views your life, your day, your reality, including the most mundane and earthy aspects. Does He despise the passing things in your life? If not, how do they figure into His eternal plan for you? Ask Him to enlighten you to strive for good things in this world, especially for others, but only in the manner that corresponds to their value relative to eternity.

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September 17, 2020September 2, 2020

Written and Unwritten

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

The impression caused by today’s readings is very earthy, very human, very real. Which makes the divine, spiritual, supernatural aspect that much more remarkable.

The first reading, even though it falls outside the Gospels, might be the most complete summation we have of Jesus’ earthly life after the Resurrection. And it is striking because it is a summation. The Gospels are formatted into little vignettes, one after another, without a lot of time reference, giving the accounts a somewhat detached feel. As Paul sums things up in a matter-of-fact manner, outside of the Gospel accounts, we are struck with a unique sense that “this stuff really happened.”

It is is also fascinating that a number of the things Paul mentions in his ultra-short summary weren’t even covered in the Gospels: The appearance to the five hundred, the appearance to James. It make one wonder how many thousands of events occurred in Jesus’ life, events as remarkable as Jesus Himself is remarkable, that were never recorded. As the end of the Gospel of John tells us, “There are also many other things that Jesus did, but if these were to be described individually, I do not think the whole world would contain the books that would be written.” (Jn. 21:25)

What of all those other things? Are they inconsequential, because they are not written? They are consequential, not because of what Jesus achieved, and–importantly–not because of the audience He reached. The unwritten things only reached the people in his day, immediately surrounding Him.

They are consequential because of who Jesus was.

No different from the items that are written, actually. Like the event in today’s Gospel. It is vivid–we can easily place ourselves in this scene, shifting in our seats uncomfortably as the woman handles somethings so expensive in such a barbarian manner. Jesus’ reaction to her fills us with wonder and joy. He sees right into her soul and loves her, right where she is, crediting her own faith with her salvation.

Would this event be any less consequential if it hadn’t been recorded? It is great that, through the centuries, the Church can read it and learn from it continuously. But the importance of this event does not stem from its publicity; rather, it stems from the importance of who Jesus is: God made flesh.

This is what happens in our lives, too, when we become holy, when we grow in union with God. The relevance of our actions does not stem from their earthly reach and power. It stems from who we have become, in Him. In fact, if we become holy, it is not what we do that becomes so consequential. It is who we are in the doing.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Read the Gospel passage again and contemplate how lovable and glorious Jesus is as a person, as borne out in everything He does. Ask Him to infuse you powerfully with the Holy Spirit, that you too may be an injection of the divinity into earthly reality.

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September 16, 2020August 31, 2020

Love and How to Get It

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

Jesus and St. Paul both teach us something today about the relative importance even of the things that appear most important in the world, compared to the things that will last and merit all our focus.

If I had the powers of prophecy, I might very well be tempted to think of myself as superior. More so still if I had special gifts of knowledge like, say, St. Thomas Aquinas–or even a great natural scientist.

St. Paul sees the importance of such things as very relative, and possibly of no value at all. They are passing away. They won’t be notable differentiators in Heaven, even if they seem to be today.

Jesus talks about how the tone and content of St. John the Baptist’s preaching and teaching was different from His, due to the particular role of each. Such things are destined to change with time and place. They are not constants.

So, if we are looking for the constant, the thing to focus on, what is it? What is the constant between the Baptist’s teaching and Jesus’? What is the thing that doesn’t change, and that is of absolute importance because it continues into eternity?

St. Paul doesn’t keep us guessing. The constant is love. Love for God: Perfect union with Him. Love for neighbor: Driving passion for the happiness of each person around us in line with our particular vocation.

So how do we love? If (per St. Paul) even a martyr’s sacrifice is of no value if it is made out of pride rather than love, how do we attain love, and leave aside selfishness?

St. Paul describes how love manifests itself, but if we examine his words carefully, he does not give “instructions” for attaining love per se.

Love, or the theological virtue of Charity, is a gift. It is a virtue that is infused into us by God. As such, we cannot obtain it through “practice.” That is maddening! How do we get this gift???

The fact is, there IS something that we can do to grow so full of love that we reach the full potential of the exalted beings that God has created and redeemed us to be.

Love is obtained like a suntan. Sure, no “practice” is useful to get a tan. A suntan is not earthly, It comes from beyond the earth. But it would be foolish to think we can do nothing to get a tan. Lay out in the sun, for goodness sake!

Similarly, to attain love as surely as a suntan, spend time with Love, spend time with God and the sacraments. Exposure to God by these means is a sure way to attain the inestimable virtue of divine love. And if we have that, everything else falls into place.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Ask His help to make your thirst for Him more constant and consistent so that you dedicate specific time to prayer and the sacraments each day. Ask Him to help your distracted heart focus less and less on the things that are passing, and more and more on Him and neighbor. Ask him for the give of divine love.

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September 15, 2020August 31, 2020

Her Part in the Play

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

Today is the feast of “Our Lady of Sorrows,” that is, Mary as she who cooperated with Jesus’ act of redemption by suffering with Him.

Often, there are different optional readings for any given day among which the priest saying Mass may choose. The reflections found in this blog always focus on the primary readings for the day found at the Conference of Bishops link that is included. Sometimes, like today, the default is a combo platter. Today’s Gospel is for the feast of Our Lady, whereas the first reading is from the weekday–so, they were not in any way chosen to go together.

At least, not by the hand of man.

On such occasions I love to discover messages that God might have in store for us from the combination that He alone chooses.

In today’s first reading, St. Paul talks about how God creates us for the Church with special gifts to fit together neatly like the parts in a body. (I chuckle that he cites “administration” as one of the spiritual gifts. Hey bureaucrats, you have a place! lol)

In the Gospel passage, we see Mary’s role eloquently portrayed as the Mother of Sorrows.

So putting the two together, we may ask, what was and is Mary’s special role within the body of Christ that is the Church? Where does she fall within St. Paul’s paradigm?

There are so many facets to Mary’s vocation, so many titles for her. It is hard to argue, for example, that today’s title for Mary and today’s Gospel encapsulates the climax of her effectiveness as a disciple of Jesus, under the Cross–for it is the climax of Jesus’ mission.

But then we also have her as Queen of the Angels, the new Ark of the Covenant who carried the Messiah…etc.

In the end, though, if we are to sum up Mary’s special role, we might look at it like this: She is the proto-creature. (Hey! I just invented a title! Notice that it’s not capitalized…) In this, her role is distinguished even from the role of her Son. Jesus was God. As such, one thing that He couldn’t do was model for us how a mere creature with no divine attributes should respond to God’s call.

Mary is not God. She is mere creature, just like you and me. But her response, her “yes” to God, in the midst of the confusion and partial understanding befitting a creature, models for us beautifully how to respond to God in generosity and simplicity.

That “yes” was not a one-time affair at the Annunciation. It continued in the moment we commemorate today, the moment she suffered under the Cross. It was the continuum of her life.

No matter what our particular role and gifts–whether we are administrators, or miracle-workers–we can look to Mary’s yes as the model for how we can entrust full understanding of the big picture to God, and simply listen for the promptings of the Holy Spirit each day for how to channel our consistent “yes” to God.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Tell Our Lord that you entrust the big picture to Him. Thank Him for not burdening you with the responsibility of mastering it. Ask him for a few ways that you can show your trust today in an unconditional “yes” to Him.

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September 14, 2020August 28, 2020

The Power and the Glory

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

Today again we see magnificent wisdom on the part of the Church in its selection of the readings for this feast.

There is something unexpected about today’s feast. It is the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, also known as the Triumph of the Holy Cross. It is not called the Triumph of the Resurrection, but of the Cross.

The second reading is one of the most beautiful passages in all of Scripture, perhaps because St. Paul himself is clearly so moved by the degree of Christ’s gratuitous willingness to undergo slavery, abasement and death to free us from our sins. In harmony with the glorifying action of God the Father, St. Paul exalts joyfully in the greatness and glory of such a Savior.

The Gospel passage recalls the first reading, where at God’s command, Moses lifts up the image of a saraph serpent, and the Israelites are cured of their snakebites, which are the result of their sin against God. Interestingly, it is the image not of something holy, but of the serpent–the fruit of their sin–that is used to bring about their healing.

So it is with the Holy Cross: It is God crucified, the horrible fruit of our sin, that heals us from that sin. “For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.”

It is not the Resurrection on its own that we venerate, forgetting about the Cross like some sort of unpleasant necessary evil that is best not talked about. Rather, the glorious, triumphant light of the Resurrection shines on and exalts the Cross as the culminating act of all history: The moment when God Himself in flesh performs the greatest act of love ever witnessed, sacrificing His life out of love that “the world might be saved through Him.” The Cross is the moment of Jesus Christ’s great power, when He wins victory over sin and death.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Contemplate a crucifix. Imagine the glorious light of the Resurrection shining on it. Tell Jesus that you adore Him right there, at that moment, on the Cross, and you believe in the power of His sacrifice. Tell Him that you embrace the way of the Cross, of sacrificial love, for your own life as well, with all your heart.

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September 13, 2020August 28, 2020

Let It Go

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

Some people love to contrast the Old Testament and the New Testament, caricaturing God in the former as a meany and in the latter as a sweet guy who just loves to hug.

In reality, both Testaments feature a Creator who is not to be messed with, whose laws hold firm and bear eternal consequences, and yet who is also mind-blowingly merciful. He not only gives us second chances, He comes up with ingenious schemes to take the hit for His own laws and open doors that we have closed for ourselves. But we must opt for those second chances. We still must conform to His way, the way of our deeper and better nature, the way He created us to be.

In the face of the mistaken tendency to pit Old Testament and New Testament against each other, Jesus’ teaching in the Gospel is nothing but the first reading repeated, but in a beautiful, easily understood story–that is, in warm, human terms. He teaches what we hear summed up earlier in the Lord’s Prayer (cf. Mt. 6:9ff): “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The simple but tough lesson: God will not forgive us our sins if we do not forgive our brothers and sisters from our heart.

Of course, this does not necessarily mean that the wound does not still cause us pain. The though of the offending person can still cause us revulsion, even physical sickness. But we do not hatch plans or desire their suffering and destruction. We leave their welfare in God’s hands and even pray that He will given them what they need, conversion if necessary, to be happy with Him one day.

The contrary attitude is one of willingly harbored resentment, by which we actively choose to desire suffering and harm for the person who has offended us, out of “justice” in return for what they have done for us.

But what is it that causes us to cling to such desires, and stubbornly refuse to let them go? Ultimately, it is attachment of our heart to created things. Sin and spiritual imperfection come from our heart attaching itself to created things, whether those things are people or possessions, or more intangible things such as our own reputation. Spiritual perfection comes from a profound relationship with God whereby He truly is all we cling to as essential.

The soul with created attachments is at risk of the sin of resentment, of not forgiving, if another person ventures to interfere with the object of its attachment.

We may think of this as another of Jesus’ tough, challenging teachings–and it is. But there is also something beautiful in this teaching that we may take for granted, that we may overlook or fail to fully appreciate: If we do let go of ill desires for others, and thus forgive them from the heart, we have the joy and freedom of knowing that God does the same for us, even though our sin has taken a baseball bat to the very order of the cosmos, to the very underpinnings of our own nature. Even though, more importantly, our sin has spat in the face of the very author of these. God’s mercy inspires awe. We do not deserve it. And yet, it is right there at the fingertips of the person willing to let go of attachment to others’ offenses.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Contemplate God’s mercy. Think of His mercy in the face of your terrible sins, but also in the face of humankind’s wholesale rejection of Him. Ask Him to show you how to be merciful, like a father showing his five-year-old how to ride a bicycle. Ask Him to help you to attach your heart and your will more and more only to Him.

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September 12, 2020August 27, 2020

The Cup of Salvation

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

In today’s gospel, Jesus talks about building on solid rock by acting on His teachings, unlike the foolish builder who builds on sand, whose building is ultimately destroyed by the forces of nature. Christians build a vulnerable spiritual building, destined to destruction, when they do not ground that building on the rock of a committed life lived in accord with Jesus’ teachings.

We see this in the world today. Many of those with whom we come in contact are “good” people–honest-to-goodness nice people, with whom we enjoy a positive relationship of mutual good will. But of these, many unfortunately feel the attraction of the Christian message, but consciously avoid adopting it in its fullness. They build their houses on sand. Why? Because of one word: Sacrifice.

The Psalmist asks today “How shall I make a return to the LORD for all the good he has done for me?” And his response: “The cup of salvation I will take up, and I will call upon the name of the LORD.”

There are beautiful layers to this psalm, in the light of the New Testament. In a very real way, the answer to our quandary about how to “repay” the Lord for what He has done for us is to take up the Eucharist, prefigured in the psalm by the cup. We can repay Him by taking up, that is, receiving, the sacrament of salvation–and thus, by making His sacrifice for us fruitful. It is not so much a “repayment” as a bringing to fulfillment His gift by letting it come to fulfillment in us.

But this also means taking up our own allotted cup of sacrifice, the sacrifice of faithfulness to our Christian life by giving up our lives in the day-to-day for others within our vocation. “My cup you will indeed drink,” Jesus tells his disciples James and John in Mt. 20:23. Indeed we are to drink to the dregs the cup of sacrifice allotted to each of us in our own life, in imitation of and collaboration with our Master.

Ah, but there’s the rub. That’s the one step that is so difficult for many to take. Jesus wants us to lose our life in order to find it (cf. Mt. 16:25). Not easy. Many otherwise good and nice people simply decline.

But the entire first reading teaches us something important in this regard. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be a Christian without the personal sacrifice. As Paul poignantly points out, you can’t participate in the Eucharistic table and then sacrifice to demons by remaining in selfishness. With Christ, it is all or nothing.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: Think about the relationship between Jesus’ Cup of Sacrifice in the Eucharist, and the sacrifice of your own personal gift of self to your vocation and to others in the day to day. And how you can offer your cup of sacrifice in your heart with the mundane gifts of bread and wine that go to the priest’s altar each day, and receive the body, blood, soul, and divinity–Jesus’ sacrificial gift to you–in return. Adore Him, praise Him for the incredible, disproportionate “economy of gift” that He has set up for you because He loves you.

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September 11, 2020August 27, 2020

Dr. Livingstone, I Presume

This is a reflection on the Mass readings of the day.

There is something beautiful but mysterious about the reading from St. Paul this morning. He says, “All this I do for the sake of the Gospel, so that I too may have a share in it,” and later, “I drive my body and train it, for fear that, after having preached to others, I myself should be disqualified.”

Paul speaks in the reading as becoming a slave for others, all things to all, that at least some may be saved. But then he almost speaks as an outsider looking in, one who would like to have a share in the Gospel, one who considers himself at some risk of being disqualified.

St. Paul clearly does not suffer from one of the sins that most characterizes the Church in our age. Perhaps the sin of the later period of the early Church was heresy; perhaps that of the Middle Ages was worldly ambition; perhaps that of the Renaissance was decadence; and perhaps one of the sins that most characterizes today’s Church is presumption of salvation.

St. Paul stumbles upon no such pitfall. He is well aware of his weakness. He knows that in the end, eternal salvation is dependent upon faithfulness, and he does not take his own faithfulness for granted. Still, he keeps on with joy and optimism, because He is passionately in love with Jesus Christ and trustingly places his eternal welfare in His hands.

In the Gospel passage today, Jesus talks about not worrying so much about others faults as examination of our own–or more precisely, he does not prohibit correcting faults in others, but urges us to place priority on our own, which tend to be much larger than we initially assess them to be.

St. Paul’s hesitancy to presume on his own salvation shows that he has taken Jesus’ words well to heart.

But perhaps the question arises: How are we to trust fully in the Lord, if we don’t presume a little? Conversely, how are we to avoid presumption, if we don’t take on responsibility for our own lives, rather than abandoning them into the hands of Jesus?

Once again, St. Paul’s attitude borne out in this and all his letters provides us with the answer. “I know him in whom I have believed.” Paul can be content and undisturbed, with his life completely abandoned into the hands of Jesus Christ, because he trusts not in an outcome but in a person. He knows how much Jesus loves him. and he entrusts everything to that love, with (frankly) something of a “damn-the-torpedoes” attitude toward everything else.

Many in today’s Church presume that God will save them and pretty much everyone else, without really focusing on their relationship with God at all. Their priorities lie elsewhere, in comfort and worldly ambition, and they assume God will usher them into heaven because He’s such a nice guy, because He is merciful. The gloss over the obvious fact in Scripture and all Church Tradition that the manifestation of that mercy is the second chance afforded through Christ’s sacrifice–not in any guarantee or pseudo-guarantee that we’re all going to make it.

Ultimately, even though trust can sometimes look like presumption, the reality is that they are night-and-day different. Indeed, trust (rather than fear) is the only real antidote to presumption. Trust means prioritizing our relationship with God through real daily time dedicated to prayer, frequent sacramental life, avoidance of sin, and acts of love throughout our day, and in this way really abandoning all other priorities (even the priority of our own salvation) over to His care. It frees us from presumption, which is the casual assumption that God doesn’t care if He’s an afterthought, the last priority on our list.

Ideas for conversation with the Lord: The Church defines “perfect contrition” as being sorry to God not out of fear of consequences, but out of sorrow for having hurt Him whom we love. Similarly, a perfect life is one lived not in fear or presumption, but saturated in loving, trusting focus of our attention and priorities on God. This is not something we can achieve on our own–not even close. In dialogue with Jesus, ask Him to fill you with the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love. Ask Him to take control of your relationship with Him and do whatever it takes to bring it where He wants to take it.

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