There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.  (Galatians 3:28)

If this is to be true of believers, it is so only because it is already true in the resurrected Jesus Christ himself. We glimpse it in his earthly life, and it becomes literally fulfilled in the Resurrection.

What more then will there be with the Second Coming of Christ than with his Incarnation and his Resurrection?

Look! He is coming with the clouds;
every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him. (Revelation 1:7)

After the Resurrection of Jesus, only his disciples saw him—or at least only they knew who he was, and even they had some difficulty recognizing him. Mary Magdalene thought he was the gardener; and the couple on the road to Emmaus did not recognize Jesus until he broke the bread at supper. But at the end, we read, “every eye will see him.”

Perhaps this means not only that geographical boundaries will no longer exist (for no matter where we happen to be, we shall see him); but neither will we be hindered by those interior boundaries of the human heart which may now prevent us from recognizing and receiving the divine goodness and beauty. Even those of us who have pierced his heart (for it is not only at the crucifixion that Christ is wounded)—by our rejection, our sins, our blindness, our turning away, our denial of him—all of us will see him.

Will this be the moment when we, like Christ, will transcend all our limitations? Is this the moment—though time no longer has meaning—when, as St. Paul foresees in the magnificent fifteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, God will be all in all?

Paul assures us in that chapter that “as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ” (1 Cor 15:22). What will it be like after all are made alive? What will we be like after there are no more powers working to thwart the loving purposes of God?

What does Paul mean, that God will be all in all?

Here we must bow humbly before the mystery and not pretend to know the answers. But we may still speculate, as Christians throughout the centuries have done.

From Gregory of Nyssa (c. 330-395):

What, then, is the point the divine apostle is making in this text? That at some time evil will recede into nonbeing and then be completely eradicated and that God’s perfect goodness will enfold in itself every rational being, and nothing God has made will be cast out of his kingdom.

The Church’s Bible: 1 Corinthians, trans. by Judith L. Kovacs

Gregory of Nazianzus (330 – c. 389) reminds us of our human condition:

God will be “all in all” when we are no longer what we are now, a multiplicity of impulses and emotions, with little or nothing of God in us, but are fully like God, with room for God and God alone. This is the maturity toward which we speed.

Theological Oration 30.6, in On God and Christ:
The Five Theological Orations and Two Letters to Cledonius, trans. by Frederick J. Williams, Lionel R. Wickham

Is this glory only for the endtime?

Is it something we can forget about for now? How do we speed toward this maturity for which we are made, as Gregory of Nazianzus says?

We are not intended to sit by idly and wait for the fullness of history to come upon us. Here are a few suggestions as we wait for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ:

  Cultivate Mindfulness. Cultivate a stance of looking for God in all things, so that when the divine is revealed to us, we will be prepared to receive, and so that we may grow in the goodness and beauty God of throughout our life. We can practice gazing on God, as much as our present limitations and the abundant grace of God allow right now.

  Jesus has already prayed “that all may be one” (John 17). We can cooperate in that work of union by doing what we can to make divisions cease and by reminding ourselves of the beauty and goodness residing in ourselves and in each other.

  Pray to become the mercy, peace, and compassion of Christ in and for the world. We are created to be capable of God, capax dei. So we are also capable, through grace, of being Christ’s loving presence, Christ’s merciful presence, Christ’s peace-bringing presence.

  Pray that when people meet us, they will be meeting Christ. And if they forget who they meet, may it be ourselves they forget and not Christ.

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.  Live as children of light…
Ephesians 5:8

When I was a child, my dad, who taught aerospace engineering, would talk to me about “time dilation,” which I still find fascinating these many years later.

I learned that you could start out on a space ship to a distant planet and be away for a only a few years; but when you got home, everyone you knew would be long dead and gone, because time would have slowed down for you in relation to how they were experiencing time on earth.  Time, for a moving object – or a moving person – slows down more and more the closer the speed of the object approaches the speed of light.

Star Trek never seemed to me to take this into account in its adventures.  But in case you’re a Trekkie, I just learned that the Warp Drive on the spaceship Enterprise somehow creates an artificial time-space bubble that solves the problem.

Back on this earth, Einstein showed us that time is not constant.  Time is not an absolute.  It is light, the speed of light that is the constant (but even that is constant only in a vacuum).  And for a moving object, time theoretically would stop at the speed of light – if it were possible for it to reach the speed of light.

Light, not the speed, but light itself, rather than time, is the constant for us as Christians too, for Christ is our light. Christ is the light that never fails: unchanging, unwavering, undimmed.

What is more, we are called to become light.

In the gospel of John, we hear Jesus saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (8:12)

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, “You are the light of the world. … let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (5:14, 16)

Being light is not automatic, however.  It doesn’t happen just because we call ourselves Christian.  If we are light, it is because we are united with Christ, our Light.  We are light because we walk in the light of Christ, even as we stumble and fall and let ourselves be raised up again.  We are light because we are growing in becoming who Christ is – growing in love, mercy, and compassion; becoming peacemakers; becoming comforters of those who mourn; becoming a healing presence, rather than one of division; taking on the mind and heart of Christ, so that our lives are radiant with the holy Light that dwells within us.

Watch Cybernun’s video illustrating the lyrics of the Russian hymn,
“God, You Are Clothed in Light“

Negative Witness

The results of the survey have been widely disseminated online, and have hardly offered an appealing image of the followers of the Prince of Peace.  Non-believers have highlighted this survey and pointed out the violence in the Old Testament stories as justification for their negative view of religion.

Some Christians, it is true, believe that every word of Scripture is to have equal weight.  They are unaware of the remarkable development in the Bible, as human beings, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, learn more and more about who God truly is.  The primitive stories of tribal violence give way to the prophetic voices of love and justice for all peoples, leading finally to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

“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, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, October 24, 2004.

Let us pray

…that each of us as individuals and all of us as the mystical Body of Christ may take on the mind and heart of the merciful and loving God.

‘But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you

‘If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt

‘Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.

‘Do to others as you would have them do to you.’  (Luke 6:27-31)

In his homily on Sunday, Father Jose Mesa pointed out that the Transfiguration of Jesus prepares us less for the Crucifixion than it does for the Resurrection.  In both Matthew and Mark we read that Jesus cautions Peter, James, and John, who were witnesses to this manifestation of Jesus’ glory, not to tell anyone about it “until the Son of Man is raised from the dead” (Matthew 17:9).

Father Jose went on to say that in many ways the Resurrection is harder to deal with than the Crucifixion.  I nodded.  Yes, I do believe that is true.  Everyone has some experience of suffering.  And if as yet we have had no experience of death, we eventually will.

But resurrection? The victory of life over death?  The definitive triumph of goodness?  A radiance that will fill, not only Jesus, but us as well? How do we deal with this?  How do we even begin to describe it?  In the remarkable 15th chapter of 1 Corinthians, Saint Paul tries his best to tell us something of what the resurrection of the dead will be like, but ends up making it sound marvelously and totally incomprehensible.

When in the Presence of Mystery…

Faced with the dazzling glory of Jesus transfigured, Peter, who tends to rush in where angels fear to tread, says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” (Mark 9:5).

Whereupon the disciples hear a voice from the cloud.

What do they hear?  Not “Nice idea, Peter,” or even “Let’s sit down and discuss what you are experiencing.” No, all three synoptic gospels record that the voice says something to the effect of “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased;  listen to him!”

Or to be blunt, “Be quiet and pay attention to Jesus!”

What is the proper response when in the presence of great mystery —   whether we happen to be Peter the first pope, Benedict the current pope, or an ordinary person such as I am (and probably such you are, too)?

Stop talking and listen! Pay attention!  The time will come to proclaim the good news (for the Mystery of God is always good news).  But not yet.  Now is the time for listening.

_____

The following is Peter’s account.  Notice that he conveniently leaves out the part that suggests he was talking too much.

…we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that voice was conveyed to him by the Majestic Glory, saying, ‘This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’ We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain.

So we have the prophetic message more fully confirmed. You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

2 Peter 1:16-19

Rembrandt, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel

Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.

When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the day is breaking.’

But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go, unless you bless me.’ So he said to him, ‘What is your name?’ And he said, ‘Jacob.’ Then the man said, ‘You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans,and have prevailed.’

Then Jacob asked him, ‘Please tell me your name.’ But he said, ‘Why is it that you ask my name?’

And there he blessed him.

So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, ‘For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.’ The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

(Genesis 32:24-31 RSV)

Do you wrestle with God?

The Bible offers notable examples of wrestlers, for wrestling with God is not uncommon in life. But the most obvious wrestler is Jacob. We are told in Genesis that on a night when Jacob feared for his life, “a man” wrestled with him until daybreak. Jacob, however, was aware of having fought with more than a human being, for after the struggle was over, he said, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.”

At least two important things can happen when we wrestle.

1. An unexpected transformation

All night Jacob has been struggling. We read that that Jacob “prevailed” in this combat. But the old Jacob does not prevail.

Alone with God, Jacob is asked his name. Why? Surely God knows who he is.

Sister Elizabeth says that God wanted Jacob to acknowledge himself as the cheater. Remember that he had cheated his brother Esau out of his birthright and out of the paternal blessing as the first-born. Now, as dawn breaks, Jacob can no longer hide behind a disguise; he can no longer obtain what he wants by guile. Back then, when his blind father asked who he was, he had said, “I am Esau” (Genesis 27). Now Jacob must admit who he is. He has to face himself and face God directly.

Through his struggle, Jacob is transformed. “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel.” He has survived, not as his former self, but as someone resembling more closely the person God is calling him to be.

2. A defeat which is in truth a victory.

Notice what an intimate activity wrestling is, unlike other forms of fighting: boxing, for example, or modern warfare, where one can kill from a distance without even seeing the other. In wrestling, not only do you see your opponent, not only do you make contact, but the two of you might almost appear to be embracing, as in the Rembrandt painting above.

What is more, in this photo by Dreier Carr the two wrestlers are so entwined that it is difficult to distinguish to whom the arms and legs belong.

Dreier Carr, "Two High School Students Wrestling" (Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike 2.0 Licence)

What shall we do in a match as intimate as this, when like Jacob we have been wrestling all night, and perhaps all day or all year as well? What shall we do when all the wrestling arms and legs and hearts and minds are scrambled and seem just a part of oneself; when God is so tangled up in our life that we wonder if God is there at all or if we were just imagining a divine Other involved in the combat? What is to be our response when we are so woven together with God that we can’t tell where we end and God begins?

This is not the time to push for a conquest. Neither is it the time to disengage.

Now is the time to sink into God in a blessed defeat which is the only victory worth winning — and to walk like Jacob into the future, limping perhaps, but graced by God.

Isn’t it the great tragedy, when one wrestles with God,
not to be defeated?
N’est-ce pas le grand malheur, quand on lutte contre Dieu,
de n’être pas vaincu?

Simone Weil, La pesanteur et la grâce (Gravity and Grace)

[The following was presented as a talk at Saint Augustine Parish in Gainesville, Florida.  For an abbreviated version, see "Waiting in the Cenacle."]

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After the Ascension and before Pentecost, there is another mystery worthy of honor, but which most of us just pass right over on our way to Pentecost. The Sisters of the Cenacle, however, don’t let it go unnoticed, because it is called the Mystery of the Cenacle and is celebrated as the Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle. But it is not a mystery just for the Cenacle Sisters. It is a mystery important for the whole Church, because it prepares for the birth of the Church at Pentecost. The feast day of Our Lady of the Cenacle — for Mary was there — is the Saturday after Ascension Thursday.

We read in the book of Acts:

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away; and when they had entered, they went up to the upper room, where they were staying, Peter and John and James and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot and Judas the son of James. All these with one accord devoted themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brothers.  (Acts 1:12-14 RSV)

The word Cenacle comes from the Latin word coenaculum, which means the supper room (or in this case the upper room).  Now tradition tells us that this cenacle was the same place where Jesus celebrated the last supper with his apostles and the same place where his friends and family were gathered when the Holy Spirit was poured out upon them at Pentecost.

But what about this in-between feast? What were Mary and the friends of Jesus doing in the Upper Room – in the Cenacle – after Jesus had ascended into heaven? Well, we are told that they were praying.

“Is that all?” we ask.

Most of the other New Testament mysteries are mysteries of presence and of the breaking forth of something obviously new into the world. That is certainly true about the Last Supper and Pentecost. But the mystery of the little group gathered in the Upper Room is, first, an in-between mystery, sandwiched in between more spectacular ones of which it is a part. And secondly it is a mystery of absence: Jesus has departed from them. He has been taken into heaven. And third, it is a mystery where nothing much seems to be happening. What were Jesus’ friends and family doing in the Cenacle? Why were they gathered there?

As yet they had no ministry, strictly speaking. It is possible that Peter went out to fish each day and that others went out to work or carried out tasks in the Cenacle itself. After all, the necessities of life didn’t stop, no matter how timid and uncertain the group was feeling after Jesus had left them. But as far as we know, helping with the work was not the purpose of their being together. They may have sat around telling stories about Jesus, remembering.  But the only thing we know for sure is that they were praying — a useless activity in the pragmatic eyes of the world.

Some of you know that for about three years I have been carrying on an e-mail correspondence with an ex-christian — a former preacher who is now preaching fervently against faith.  One of his latest missives claims that there is no evidence for anything spiritual at all.  And as for prayer, he says, “Believers may talk with their god all they want, but he never responds to them.  And if they say he does, that constitutes a form of mental illness.”

And answered prayer is just an illusion, he writes.  (He has no concept of prayer as relationship or communion, just as asking for things — and not getting them.)  Now most of his rants against religion I ignore, but occasionally I do feel I have to respond.  So I wrote back,

If you write off all communication with God as mental illness, you are doing that by faith alone [i.e., his own materialistic faith]. There is absolutely no evidence that the majority of religious people are mentally ill.  Yes, some are, as are some non-religious people. 

But we Christians can also buy into the idea that prayer is a wasteful way to spend time.  It’s seems better to be accomplishing something.  The sense of absence and lack of purposeful activity in the Upper Room after the Ascension may be one reason this time when Jesus’ friends and family are gathered in prayer is so hard to deal with as an event – or a non-event – and why it seems easier to skip over this mystery and move on to Pentecost.

But I propose to you that something absolutely essential for the church and the world was happening there in the Upper Room. Yes, this is an in-between time: in between the great mysteries of Cross/Resurrection/Ascension and Pentecost. But all gestation periods are in-between times.

In the New Testament we have three times when the Body of Christ is prepared and given.  The first, of course, is the Annunciation and Mary’s time of waiting leading up to the birth of Jesus.

The second takes us to the Cenacle for the Last Supper, followed by the whole of the Paschal mystery of dying and rising — and then the mystery continued and lived after the Resurrection when the followers of Jesus met for what they called the “breaking of the bread” and what we call Eucharist.

The third is this period of waiting between the Ascension and Pentecost; and once again, we will see that, even in the post-Ascension absence, it is the Body of Christ that we are talking about here — even when Jesus seems to be absent to those who love him…

…Because what we have in the first chapter of Acts is a new Annunciation.

Let’s go back for a moment to the Annunciation scene in the first chapter of Luke. It took me a while to notice the similarities between Gabriel’s proclamation to Mary and the words of Jesus to his disciples just before the Ascension. Remember that the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts were both written by Luke. Luke is a careful writer, so it is doubtful that the resemblance is accidental.

In Luke 1, in response to Mary’s question, the angel says, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you…”

In Acts 1, right before the Ascension, in response to the questioning of the apostles, Jesus says, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you…”

In both events we hear that the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and there will be an experience of power.  This verbal resemblance is important, because it indicates that what is happening is similar in both cases.

But there is a difference.

One of the major distinctions between the two annunciations is this: at the time of the first Annunciation, the word was spoken to one person, Mary; but the promise on the day of Ascension is made, not to one person, but to the gathered apostles of Jesus. This time, the Spirit is promised to the community. In both events, the power of the Holy Spirit will bring about an embodying, an enfleshing: in the first case, the conception of the infant Jesus; in the second case, the conception of the infant church, the mystical Body of Christ.

Since this is so, the womb is to be prepared this time, not in the body of Mary, but in the body of the community. Gathered there, supporting each other, forgiving each other — and they did have some forgiving to do, didn’t they, for the miserable and cowardly way most of them had acted after Jesus was arrested — assembled in the Cenacle, a hollowing-out is taking place, an emptying, a making room or preparing a womb for the Spirit of Jesus. In fact, there are paintings of Pentecost in which Mary, gathered with the others and representing the church and Mother of the Church, is depicted as pregnant.

The presence of Mary the Mother of Jesus is indispensable to this little community, for Mary is the only person in the world who already knows what it is like to be emptied in such a way as to receive the mystery of Christ within herself.

So is this a time when nothing is happening?

The group gathered in the Upper Room needs this time of prayer where nothing seems to be taking place. The friends and family of Jesus no longer have his physical presence, and what they are left with, for better or for worse, is each other. They must receive the mystery of Christ into themselves; they must be prepared to incarnate the presence of Christ for each other and for the world. Because of this wondrous process, Paul can later say:

“Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:27).

It would seem that not even Pentecost can happen without this strange mystery of waiting and being with and for each other in the Upper Room.  It is only when the presence of Christ is growing (you notice that I do not say “finished”) and nurtured in this little community that they can be entrusted with ministry, because only then can they be the presence of Christ in the world.

Isn’t our own call similar to theirs? These first Christians needed each other.  They couldn’t go it alone as Christians, and neither can we.  Like them, when we pray, we wait — if not in an actual Cenacle, in the Cenacle of our hearts — and often we feel as if little or nothing is being accomplished. However, along with the whole communion of saints, those still living (including the motley crew of sinners that we are here tonight) and those who have gone before us, we wait and pray, allowing God to pour out love on us (whether or not we are even aware of it) and to begin transforming us into the loving presence of Christ for each other and for the whole world.

On the other hand, the Bible does indicate some spiritual clothes that never go out of style. These are symbolized by the white garment which the neophytes, the new Catholics, received during the Easter Triduum.

We read in Galatians 3:27,

As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.

Being clothed with Christ is an amazing thought; and if we carry the image of the garment one step further, it becomes even more astonishing. Psalm 104 tells us that God is “wrapped in light as with a garment,” and it seems that a garment of light is not only fitting garb for the divine, but also for us. In the Eastern rite Catholic churches (and the Orthodox churches), when the newly baptized receive the white garment, these words are sung:

Grant me a Robe of Light,
You who are robed in Light
as with a garment,
O Christ our God, so rich in mercy.

(See Baptism – Saint Elias Church)

Here are some of the results of putting on this robe of light — which is another way of saying that we have put on Christ.

First, all those differences that tend to cause division become unimportant when we are clothed with Christ:

As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3: 27-28)

Next, there are some very practical effects, including some rather awesome responsibilities, connected with this apparel.

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. (Colossians 3: 12-14)

And in the long run, we allow our mortal bodies to be clothed with immortality:

For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. (1 Cor 15:53)

If this new garment is not just made of white cloth, but is in truth a robe of light, it would seem to be a rather exalted form of dress for us lowly human beings. I imagine all of us, whether new Catholics or seasoned Christians, have already learned to our sorrow that we do not lead perfect lives after baptism.

But — oh, wonder of wonders! — Jesus does not wait until we are perfected to offer the robe. He gives it to us, and then calls us to grow into it.

The process of growing into that garment of light is called sanctification.

Now in a very important sense, we are already holy: each of us is God’s child — one of God’s holy ones. But sanctification means becoming more and more like Christ in our hearts, in our minds, and in our daily lives, more and more one with the compassion, mercy and love of God.

Can we wear the robe of light, taking on the mind and heart of Christ, while we are promoting war, or ignoring the plight of the poor, or saying nasty things about our next-door neighbor? We must choose to live so that to encounter us is to touch the hem of Christ’s garment; so that by grace our presence will be the healing presence of Christ for our fractured world.

“Who are these robed in white?” we ask, like the elder in the book of Revelation, “and where have they come from?” (7:13)

These are God’s people. We have come from here and from all over. We have put on Christ and are growing in holiness — often failing, but always forgiven, always praying to become more and more the presence of Christ for the world, so that to meet us is to meet Christ.

I learned that over the centuries bees have been used as images of industriousness and of purity. I found that for the Latin poet Ovid, bees symbolized metamorphosis. But what really stayed with me was a passage from a poem by Antonio Machado:

Last night, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed — blessèd illusion! —
that I had a beehive inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

(Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazón;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las amarguras viejas,
blanca cera y dulce miel.)

Isn’t that what God does in us? The Spirit of Jesus, in the darkness of our hearts and the messiness of our lives, transforms our failures into sweet honey.

When I approached Main Street the other day to make a right turn, I noticed a bicyclist at the corner, waiting to cross. He was less than respectable looking, bone thin, with a short scruffy beard and an arm covered with tattoos. I was fully expecting him to cross the street before I turned — after all, he got there before I did. Instead, he waved me on ahead of him.

That’s all he did — just let me go first. No big deal. But I felt as if his action were a sign of the goodness of God. More, it seemed at that moment that the kindness of God was visibly present in him.

“All creatures are by nature endeavoring to be like God,” says Meister Eckhart. “The heavens would not revolve unless they followed on the track of God or of His likeness. If God were not in all things, nature would stop dead, not working and not wanting; for nature fundamentally is seeking, although obscurely, and tending toward God.”

We human creatures are also, often very obscurely indeed, seeking and tending toward God. Our efforts may be misguided, as we mistake lesser things for God; or we may try to refuse the search or turn from Love. However, we are made for God and made to be like God, which is the only way we will be happy. Performing or receiving a simple act of kindness can provide a glimpse of that truth and bring us closer to the conclusion of St. John of the Cross, who said, “In the evening of our life, we shall be judged by love.”

“And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.”
(2 Corinthians 3:18)

Deep in the top layer, we came upon a series of black-and-white snapshots identified on the back as “St. Pat’s Day ‘48.” These featured scenes from a local parade, and as the floats carried people we didn’t know, the pictures were on their way to the discard pile — until we took a closer look at one of them. It showed an innocuous-looking float bearing a beauty queen in crown and long flowing gown, and proclaiming boldly (are you ready for this?) — “Miss Atom Bomb.” Behind Miss Atom Bomb was a large model of the bomb, and the lettering on the side of the float indicated that the sponsoring organization was the Society of American Military Engineers. In other words, the theme of the float was deadly serious.

I had heard of all sorts of beauty pageants, for men and women both, but I couldn’t get this one out of my mind. So I have been pondering the phenomenon of Miss Atom Bomb, and as I’ve pondered, I’ve remembered that, yes, we too have a crown awaiting us. We are a royal priesthood, as the first letter of Peter says. That makes us beauty queens and beauty kings, called to share in the loveliness of the God who is Beauty: whom Saint Augustine called, “O Beauty ever ancient, ever new.”

Unlike Miss Atom Bomb, however, we find our glory in the cross — an expression of weakness, not of force.

“But God forbid that I should glory, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.” (Galatians 6:14)

There is power in the cross, of course, the true power that burst forth on Easter morning — but it is not a power over anyone, not even over those we know are wrong — but a gift of life to all who will accept it.

As Christians we are not to take pride in our own power — whether it resides in weapons of mass destruction, or money, or honors, or physical strength, or intellectual strength. We hear, with Paul, God saying, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” And we can respond, like Paul, “Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9, 10).

The crown awaiting us is a crown of life (see James 1:12), a far more desirable crown than the one Miss Atom Bomb is wearing. (By the way, if you are interested in this lesser sort of crown, you can purchase one online, silver plated with rhinestones, for $260.)

What is the glory that that is promised in this best of all beauty pageants?
In the Old Testament, the term glory is often used to express God’s presence as it is perceived by human beings. Therefore in the New Testament, “Christ is presented as the glory of God made visible on earth to those whose eyes are opened to see it…” ¹

God does grant us glimpses of glory. It’s just that we don’t always recognize them:
- partly because our human eyes are dim;
- partly, I think, because we are conditioned to thinking of glory in worldly terms: the glory of battle and of military strength (Miss Atom Bomb again); the glory of athletic prowess; the glory of wealth and fame. Society tells us that it is foolish to think of glory in terms of the cross and resurrection. We know better, but it is hard to get beyond our cultural conditioning.

It is easy to praise the glory of God revealed in the magnificence of nature. We have to gaze very reverently, though, to see glory in the people sitting across the breakfast table from us or slumped in front of the television; or in the people in line with us at the grocery store checkout counter; or in the ordinary events of daily life. It takes a special kind of heart-seeing to perceive the glory of Christ in someone slowly dying. (That kind of glory is something Pope John Paul II revealed to many people in his last months on earth.)

In this life we often behold glory in terms of Mystery. We look, we gaze, we feel, we rejoice, and we suffer — and so much of what we experience is incomprehensible to us. We are living the paradox of the already and the not-yet, a tension between the Resurrection of Jesus, which is already a reality in our lives and which expresses the fullness of glory, and our own resurrection, which is still to come. ² Christ has made all things new, yet we still experience the cross; and we still live in an age that glorifies destructive power (although we are probably too sophisticated now to crown a Miss Atom Bomb).

This is where we are — in the already and the not yet. But this is not where we will always be. “When Christ who is your life is revealed,” says Paul, “then you also will be revealed with him in glory” (Colossians 3:4).

Christ who is your life right now, Christ who is the path you walk right now, Christ who is your all: when he appears, then you will be revealed with him in glory.

The Johannine writer puts it a little differently, but the meaning is the same.

Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is. (1 John 3:2)

That is our glory. We will be like God. We are already made in the image of God. We are already God’s beloved children, but that likeness is to be fulfilled. In Christ, we will be like God. That is the glory in which we are to grow in this life, and which will be our final destination in Christ.
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1.  L. H. Brockington, Theological Wordbook of the Bible, edited by Alan Richardson (New York: Macmillan, 1950), 175).

2.  See the monumental book by N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Fortress, 2003).