So I was in the yard, wielding the pitchfork, hefting piles of leaves into a bin, when a nice-looking young man called out from the sidewalk, “I could help you!”

“Thank you, but no,” I replied. “I’m getting my exercise.”

He walked over and persisted, “I could do that, and you could give me a couple of dollars. I need a beer real bad.”

I tried to explain that since the city no longer accepts leaves in plastic bags, and we have only two plastic cans, there wasn’t a lot that could be done in one day.

“I’ll do two bins, and you can give me three dollars!”

“No,” I said again. “The doctor wants me to exercise.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he responded, looking sympathetic, evidently commiserating with whatever grave medical condition would inspire doctor-ordered exercise. “But I need beer,” he added pleasantly. “I drink a lot.”

“Why do you drink a lot?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m an alcoholic.”

“That’s not so good,” I said.

“Yeah, man. The stuff’ll kill you.”

“Yes, it can. It killed an uncle of mine.”

“For real, man?” (He sounded surprised, as if he had not seriously believed the danger up until now.)

“Yes, he got cirrhosis of the liver and died.”

After a few more moments of conversation, we shook hands, and he headed off toward downtown.

“Have a nice day. God bless you,” he called out.

“You have a nice evening,” I said. “And don’t drink too much beer!”

When I recounted the conversation to Sister Betty, she pointed out that he needs some lessons in marketing, if he really wants to be paid for yard work. I agreed that his sales pitch left something to be desired, but at least he didn’t claim that he needed the money to bury his dear grandma.

All of us are broken in one way or another. Most of us are just better at hiding it – or at least we think we are better at hiding it. And we are all helpless to mend ourselves.

Fertile powerlessness

The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous are very spiritually sound. Here are the first three:

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol [or substitute here another addiction]—that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

(For the rest of the Twelve Steps, click here.)

Some of us not in AA or other Twelve-Step programs still suffer under the illusion that we can manage our lives by ourselves. Saint Paul, though, knew that he could not.  He heard God telling him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

My power is made perfect, God says, not in your strength, but in your weakness.

Whether we are raking leaves or longing for beer or managing a Fortune 500 corporation, we stand in need of the powerful and tender mercies of the God who loves us.

The fallen spring leaves witness to the new life already emerging on the oaks, which will look scraggly and unkempt for a few weeks. Our own unkempt, ragged hearts, stripped of what we thought was our strength, offer the fertile weakness through which God’s grace brings new life — both for us and for the blessing of the world.

By what boundless mercy, my Savior,
have you allowed me to become a member of your body?
Me, the unclean, the defiled, the prodigal.
How is it that you have clothed me
in the brilliant garment,
radiant with the splendor of immortality,
that turns all my members into light?

Symeon the New Theologian, trans. by John Anthony McGuckin,
The Book of Mystical Chapters:
Meditations on the Soul’s Ascent from the Desert Fathers
and Other Early Christian Contemplatives

Faced with the grandeur and goodness of God, it is normal to feel unworthy. However, the feeling that we are worthless is not from God. There is a big difference between unworthiness and worthlessness. Each one of us is of infinite worth. “You were bought with a price,” says Saint Paul in 1 Corinthians 6.

Where worthiness is concerned, there are, as I see it, at least three stances that are not what we are called to as Christians.

• The “I’m worthy, but it’s doubtful that you are” stance. This is the self-righteous position. I’m afraid that this false sense of worthiness too often raises its head among church people, especially where there is finger-pointing at those we don’t think are quite orthodox enough in their worship or their beliefs—all the while being assured that we ourselves are totally correct with no possibility of error.

• I may not be worthy now, but if I work really hard I can make myself worthy. If I just pray enough and discipline myself enough and do enough good works, I can make myself worthy. This is actually a form of an ancient heresy called Pelagianism, which says, basically, that human beings have the ability to choose the good apart from any movement of God in us, and therefore to save ourselves by our own efforts.

• Despair. The problem with thinking that we have to make ourselves worthy is that no matter how hard we try, we find it’s never enough. We can never be good enough. We can never be unselfish enough or generous enough or forgiving enough or attend enough masses or go to confession often enough or pray well enough to be worthy. So trying to make myself worthy can easily lead to discouragement and eventually to giving up. I can never be worthy, so why try?

But wonder of wonders, we don’t have to be worthy!

In Christ, we are offered the grace to entrust all to the heart of God, and there we are accepted — with our sins, our neuroses, our emotional quirks, our inadequacies, our divided heart — and in the spacious and welcoming heart of God we are shown that peace lies in the handing over of all to God who is always sufficient.

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast.
For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.

Ephesians 2:8-10

“Oh, Mercy! … Wherever I turn my thoughts,
I find nothing but mercy.”
(St. Catherine of Siena, Dialogues 30)

Dear God,

Your mercy is like the air to me. I breathe mercy, I walk through mercy, I get up in the morning and go to bed at night wrapped in your mercy.

While my own hold on you is tenuous, your hold on me is solid and unbreakable. You are merciful when I am unmindful of you. You are merciful when I am clinging, not to you, but to past wrongdoing. You are merciful, even when my heart is filled with violence and vengeance.

Yet if I am unmerciful, does that not mean that I have refused to welcome your divine mercy, which is life to me? When I am unmerciful, am I not then making my own air less breathable? Am in not in danger of asphyxiation?

And so in your presence I breathe deeply, and I continue to pray, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

However, there is an unfortunate contingent of Catholics who think that the embrace of the church should be more restricted. Specifically, she should weed out those who do not believe precisely the way they do. Most parishes seem to have a few of this unhappy group. They take upon themselves the role of God’s constables, alert to any sign of straying from the narrow way. When they detect a whiff of transgression, they rush to point it out, sometimes in the least courageous way, to the bishop rather than to the offender.

I notice that I am saying “they”; however, I must recognize that none of us is exempt from the temptation to exclude others — usually for what we see as the holiest of reasons. Otherwise Jesus would not have had to warn us against judging. Even with the best intentions, over-alertness to the sin of others is itself an offense against the love of Christ. There is a difference between a town that has, say, healthy enforcement of traffic regulations for the sake of the welfare of both residents and visitors, and one that is a speed trap, hyper-vigilant to the least infraction.

It is true that whenever there is as much diversity as we have in the Catholic family, there is likely to be some error. For that reason, dialogue is important, as well as sound teaching and preaching and continuing education for all ages. But there is a heresy which pops up every so often in church history (most famously under the name of Donatism) and into which it is all too easy to fall: the claim that church membership is reserved to the pure. Unfortunately, there is no one who fits that requirement, either in the realm of morality or of thought.

We are a church of sinners, dependent at every moment on the mercy of God shown to us in Jesus Christ. I am convinced that Christians who are aware of their own need for mercy and who are humble before the mystery of the incomprehensible God — these are the ones who make the best teachers of sound doctrine, while being unlikely to take on the role of orthodoxy’s constables.

‘Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, “Let me take the speck out of your eye”, while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor’s eye. (Matthew 7:1-5)

At the resurrection, what the apostolic group began to understand was that there is no violence in God, no wrath, no desire for retribution, no need for vengeance or satisfaction” (James Alison, “Befriending a Vengeful God,” Encounter, October 24, 2004).

Violence and vengeance are not to be found in the heart of God. One cannot be a maker of violence and at the same time claim to be following Christ.

Violence, we are told in the letter to the Galatians, is not the fruit of the Holy Spirit, but is rather the work of the “flesh,” that is, belonging to the order contrary to the Spirit of Christ. Included in the list of those contrary works (Galatians 5) are enmity and strife. Those words are sometimes translated hatred and discord, and can also be rendered as hostility and fighting. No matter how they are translated, they stand in sharp contrast to the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

We also read that “those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God” (Galatians 5:21). There is violence in each of us, of course, because we are all sinners. But we mustn’t let the violence in us become the lens through which we view the world. And when we claim that the violence we do is God’s will, we add to the shame of the action.

What does the fact that there is no violence in God say about a Christian’s stance toward war, or capital punishment, or abortion? What about domestic violence, or coercion, or emotional violence in all of its forms? What about hours spent gazing at violent television programs or playing violent video games, since ancient wisdom tells us we become what we gaze on?

Thanks be to God for the mercy shown us in Jesus Christ, without which we would be lost! Blessed be the Spirit of Christ, who works in us to transform us into peacemakers, whom Jesus calls the children of God.

First, the Resurrection shows us that Goodness is in control of the universe.

Huston Smith puts it this way:

“Jesus’s resurrection was not about the fate of a worthy man. It concerned the status of goodness in the universe, offering evidence that goodness has power—indeed, ultimate power. Jesus was goodness incarnate, and in his resurrection his goodness triumphed….The resurrection reversed the cosmic position in which the cross had placed Jesus’s goodness.” (The Soul of Christianity: Restoring the Great Tradition [HarperSanFrancisco, 2005], 75-6)

It is crucial to remember this when we face the obvious evil in our world. The awareness that goodness is ultimately in control keeps us from losing hope; and hope itself helps us to notice the good and not to get mired in discouragement at the in-your-face presence of evil.

The resurrection shows us that there is no violence in God.

According to theologian James Alison,

“At the resurrection, what the apostolic group began to understand was that there is no violence in God, no wrath, no desire for retribution, no need for vengeance or satisfaction” (“Befriending a Vengeful God,” Encounter, October 24, 2004).

How de we know that there is no violence or vengeance in God? For one thing, Jesus came right back to the people who had denied him and run off in his hour of need—and he didn’t come back to get even. He came into the room where the apostles were quivering in fear and said to them, “Peace be with you” (John 20:19 ).

The early Christians took very seriously the belief that there is no room in God’s love for violence. One of the ways in which this was evident was that they tended to refuse military service.

The Resurrection shows the tender mercy of God toward us.

Instead of taking revenge on us for our own denials and betrayals, God forgives us and turns our falling into new life—life renewed for our earthly journey, and life everlasting after death.

“For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” (Romans 5:10)

The gifts of the Resurrection carry with them a marvelous responsibility. For through the tender mercy of God who forgives us our sins; through the love of God in whom there is no violence; through the power of God whose goodness triumphs over evil—we, puny creatures that we are, are called to let ourselves be transformed into the good and merciful and peaceful presence of Christ for the world.

In John 20:21, Jesus says a second time (they probably needed to hear it again) “Peace be with you.” But then he adds, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.”

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ.
Indeed I count everything as loss
because of the surpassing worth
of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.

For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as refuse,
in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him,
not having a righteousness of my own, based on law,
but that which is through faith in Christ,
the righteousness from God that depends on faith;

that I may know him and the power of his resurrection,
and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,
that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect;
but I press on to make it my own,
because Christ Jesus has made me his own.

(Philippians 3:7-12 RSV)

First, Jesus never says, I’ll wait until your faith is perfect before loving you.

Consider the distraught father in Mark 9:17-29, who brings his son to be healed. The boy has been having convulsions, even falling into the fire. The disciples of Jesus have not been able to heal him, and when Jesus himself arrives, the father pleads,

“If you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.”

“If you are able!” Jesus says. “All things can be done for the one who believes.”

Then we hear the father cry out, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

And Jesus heals the boy.

The father didn’t pretend that his faith was any greater than it was; and Jesus didn’t require perfect faith of him.

According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church (153), “Faith is a gift of God, a supernatural virtue infused by him.” In other words, faith is not something that we can give ourselves. However, it is our responsibility to nurture it. Even when we are plagued with doubt, we can still walk in faith and nourish faith, for faith and doubt are not mutually exclusive.

Second, Jesus never ever says, I will wait until you no longer need forgiveness before forgiving you.

In truth, what makes us qualified for forgiveness is being sinners. We are forgiven precisely because we are unworthy, not because we have been able to make ourselves perfect.

“Is your being thirsty a hindrance to your getting water?” asks Horatius Bonar (1808-1889)? Of course not. Indeed, Bonar titles his essay, “How Shall I Go to God?” – and answers the question in the first paragraph. “It is with our sins that we go to God, for we have nothing else to go with that we can call our own. This is one of the lessons that we are so slow to learn…

After all, “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners,” says Jesus (Matthew 9:13 ).

Mercy surrounds us at every moment of our lives. Amazing grace, without any doubt!

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”

(Lamentations 3:22-24)

 

The woman behind the counter sighed as she worked, “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy!”

From behind the cash register at the other side of the room came, “Have mercy!”

Yes, I thought, Lord, have mercy. This August we are commemorating the 60th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. The date of the bombing was August 6, the same day as the Feast of the Transfiguration: a holy light and an evil light remembered on the same day.

We read that the face of Jesus “shone like the sun,” after which “a bright cloud overshadowed them” (Matthew 17:2, 5). The bomb, too, provided light and cloud. A survivor of the Hiroshima blast, Dr. Michihiko Hachiya, wrote,

Suddenly, a strong flash of light startled me – and then another. So well does one recall little things that I remember vividly how a stone lantern in the garden became brilliantly lit and I debated whether this light was caused by a magnesium flare or sparks from a passing trolley.
["Surviving the Atomic Attack on Hiroshima, 1945," EyeWitness to History, www.eyewitnesstohistory.com (2001).]

We all know about the huge mushroom cloud that followed, and the death, and the anxiety of the atomic age which had just begun.

An evil light and a holy light. The apostles were witnesses to the glory of Christ, an experience which made such an impression on them and on the early church that the event is recounted in all three synoptic gospels, as well as in the second letter of Peter. Dr. Hachiya, on the other hand, was witness to a light that represented the darkness that has plagued the spirit of humankind from the beginning of recorded history.

Pray without ceasing, Saint Paul tells us. When we look back, look around, and look inside ourselves, there is no doubt that we are in constant need of mercy. Working, playing, resting; cooking or eating a shrimp po-boy; here and everywhere, we can pray, “Lord, have mercy!” May our light always be the light of Christ, peaceful, compassionate, and glorious.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)

Day by day in fear
my heart collapses on itself.
My hours are gray with forgetfulness.
See — the coals of my love have already settled into ash.

Breathe me into new life,
that I may expand
in the amplitude of your love.
And, You who are all in all,
be all to me.
Amen.

__________

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and put a new and right spirit within me.
Do not cast me away from your presence,
and do not take your holy spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and sustain in me a willing spirit.
(Psalm 51:10-12)

1. Tacked on a tree by the side of the highway:

The second impressed me as being a tad on the defensive side. But it reminded me, as Lent begins, that God never says to us, “I don’t like you either,” even when we are at our most hostile toward God and all that is good. Of course God doesn’t like our sins: God doesn’t like anything that hurts either us or others — which brings me back to the first sign:

Repent! Final chance!

Could this really be the last chance? I suppose it is conceivable that it could be, if we have so hardened ourselves to God’s loving mercy that we refuse it in a way that is total and irrevocable. But that would be our choice, not God’s.

God keeps reaching out to us and calling us back, over and over, tenderly, out of that love that is so deep and wide and all-encompassing that we cannot begin to understand it.

Repent?

Yes, indeed!

Now?

Yes! Not out of fear that it may be the last chance — because, rather, it is the way to blessed life, and any delay would be a pitiful waste of what is most valuable and most joy-bringing.

Here are signs that I can more easily imagine God tacking on a tree or sticking on the rear window of an angelic vehicle:

For I do not do the good I want,
but the evil I do not want is what I do.
Now if I do what I do not want,
it is no longer I that do it,
but sin that dwells within me.
So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right,
evil lies close at hand…..
Wretched person that I am!
Who will deliver me from this body of death?
Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! …
There is therefore now no condemnation
for those who are in Christ Jesus.

(Romans 7:19-21, 24-25; 8:1)