The inner affinity with the Mystery in whom we are alive and move and have being—Father, Son, Holy Spirit—can grow on us only in the experience of God as ‘the All’: the God of each of us at the expense of none of us, the God who never comes alone but always with the entire cosmos and all of humanity.  This experience is the heart of common worship, with its cosmic and universalist dimensions, its significant silence and significant speech, its significant gesture and significant motionlessness, its interplay of the seen and the unseen—in sum, its doxology made tangible.

Franz Josef van Beeck, “Trinitarian Theology as Participation,” The Trinity: An Interdisciplinary Symposium on the Trinity, edited by Stephen T. Davis, Daniel Kendall, SJ, Gerald O’Collins, SJ

Doxology—from the Greek word doxa (δόξα), meaning glory: Glory to “the God of each of us at the expense of none of us, the God who never comes alone but always with the entire cosmos and all of humanity.”

- – - – -

“Space fractal with stars” image by Rose Hoover, rc

We nod our heads when we read in the Gospel of Matthew:

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. (18:5)

Where do we find hope as members of this church whose leaders have too often not received the child as Christ?

Yes, we may reasonably ask why the media must focus on the Catholic Church, when respectable fathers of families travel to Indonesia and other countries to have sex with children, thereby supporting the lucrative human trafficking and child prostitution industries.  And when many others simply stay home and rape their own daughters.

It is undeniable that the Catholic Church is the organization that people love to hate.  However, in the Church we lay claim to a higher sort of life.  It is doubly shocking when persons who proclaim goodness are found to have wallowed in or abetted evil.  So perhaps the media can be forgiven for being particularly hard on those who represent the Church.

“Where was God?” countless victims ask.  “Where was God when I was being abused?”

We must not attempt a facile response, and indeed any words seem inadequate in the face of such heartache.  The only response, I believe – though it is not an answer to the question of why it happened – is that God was where God always is when the beloved is being betrayed and harmed: right there, in sorrow, in pain.  Right where God was when Jesus was being crucified.

As for a reason why, Christianity offers us no answer except for the reality of human freedom – a gift which is too often misused.

Sin, even when we think it is private, is always communal in its effects.  While those who have not been abused can never totally understand the experience of those who were, still we all share in some way – though a far lesser way to be sure – in the consequences of the evil.  We are a wounded Church this Easter season.

But if in the Crucifixion of Christ we are given a promise of presence – of a God who shares in the grief and pain – in the Resurrection we are also offered the assurance that evil does not have the last word.  Evil will never have the last word. In spite of all appearances to the contrary, the love, goodness, and holiness of God are stronger than even the most horrendous evil.

Do we just sit around and wait for that day when all tears will be wiped away?  No, of course not.  We must take strong, practical action to prevent abuse – and where possible to ease the suffering of those who have been abused – even if that means changing time-honored ecclesial structures.  And we must nurture the spiritual life, so as to grow in union with the Risen Christ, for this is the only way that the divine goodness and loving-kindness will be more clearly manifested in the daily life of the Church.

“By his holy and glorious wounds,
may Christ our Lord guard us and keep us.”

Preparation of the Paschal Candle at the Easter Vigil

It is unfortunate that this expression has become in too many cases a shibboleth used to divide Catholics.  It seems to imply that while we know that we are real Catholics, we are not at all sure about you.

When we consider the history of the Church, we see that the understanding of fidelity as unquestioning docility is contrary to Catholic tradition.  Respectful challenge has been a part of Christian faithfulness to authority beginning as early as the Saint Paul’s challenge to the first pope, Saint Peter, as recounted in Galatians 2.  Paul writes that he opposed Peter “to his face,” as Peter appeared to be wobbling regarding the decision not to require Christians to become Jews according to the law.

The fact is that saints can tend to be troublesome to Church authorities.

• Saint Catherine of Siena (1347-1380) carried on a lively correspondence with Pope Gregory XVI.  Her letters were both respectful and affectionate, but at times very challenging.  She urged him to return the papacy to Rome from Avignon.  Not long before his departure, however, he received a warning that he would be poisoned in Rome.  Catherine would not accept even the threat of death as a reason for remaining in Avignon.  She wrote, “I beg you in the name of Christ crucified not to be a timid child but a courageous man.”

See The Letters of Catherine of Siena,
translated with introduction and notes by Suzanne Noffke
(Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2000).

Today Catherine might well be accused of not being faithful to the magisterium.  But for her, fidelity was not the same thing as agreement with everything the pope said or did.  In her case, fidelity to Pope Gregory meant challenging him to do the right thing for the people of God.

• Saint Joan of Arc, we remember, was tried for heresy and burned at the stake in 1431.  It didn’t help her case that she was considered a cross-dresser.
• Saint Ignatius of Loyola (1491-1556) was imprisoned by the Inquisition.
• It was announced in December that Mary Ward (1585-1645) is declared venerable, a step in the process toward being officially named a saint.   Mary Ward founded the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary (IBVM), but her apostolic vision was ahead of its time and not in accord with the subservient role of women in her day.  She was charged with heresy and imprisoned.
• Mary MacKillop (1842 – 1909) is to be the first canonized Australian saint.  She founded the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart, who established many schools for poor children.  Mary was  excommunicated for a period of several months, supposedly for insubordination.

That Mary Ward and Mary MacKillop are on the way to canonization is a heartening development, considering the events of their lives, but it is not really surprising, for many saints were considered difficult – and sometimes even heretical – in their day.

Did this mean that they and the other vexatious saints just did whatever they wanted and called it God’s will?

No, they would not be called venerable and blessed and saint today if that were the case.  On the other hand, having carefully discerned, it is also unlikely that they would be canonized if they had yielded to the pressure put upon them to act in a way contrary to God’s call.

Saints have to assume, as we also must, that our bishops and popes are men of good will, trying, like us, to be faithful to Christ and intent on proclaiming only the truth of God — just as they must assume that we are trying to be faithful.

Our presumption must also be that other ordinary Catholics are, like us, trying to be faithful.    To quote the “Presupposition” found at the beginning of the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius of Loyola:

…it should be presupposed that every good Christian ought to be more eager to put a good interpretation on a neighbor’s statement than to condemn it.

The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius, A Translation and Commentary by George E. Ganss, S.J.
(Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1992).

One last word, this time from John Henry Newman (whose beatification has been approved by Pope Benedict XVI with the recognition of a miracle resulting from Newman’s intercession):

In On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine, Newman pointed out that during the time of the Arian heresy, orthodoxy “was maintained during the greater part of the fourth century not by the unswerving firmness of the Holy See, Councils, or bishops [many of whom had been swayed by Arianism], but by the consensus fidelium,” that is, primarily by the laity.

In the case of the Arian heresy, much of the magisterium was in error.  More often in the history of the Church, it has not been a question of the magisterium straying, rather of occasionally needing a nudge in order to recognize the movement of the Holy Spirit.  To acknowledge this is not to denigrate either the authority or the holiness of bishops and popes.  It is simply to accept the fact that God often works through unexpected people and in unexpected ways.  And sometimes, so we learn from our history, one generation is not sufficient for the action of God to become clear to the whole Church.

We are called to be faithful to Christ along with the magisterium who are called to teach us.  The surest way to be faithful to the magisterium, then as now, is to grow in union with Christ in his divinity and in his humanity.

We honor best the teaching authority of the Church when our whole being joins in that wondrous prayer which is said quietly in our name by the priest or deacon at Mass as he adds a small amount of water to the wine:

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 prayer expresses both the path of fidelity and the ultimate purpose of our lives.

____________________

Icon of Saint Paul from Holy Stavronikita Monastery
Painting of Joan of Arc, Miniature, 1450-1500, Centre Historique des Archives Nationales, Paris
Portrait of John Henry Newman by Sir John Everett Millais, 1829-1886, London, National Portrait Gallery

The internet has made me more aware than ever of our human tendency to judge each other, although I doubt that more judging is going on now than in the pre-cyberspace world. It is rather that no thought, holy or otherwise, seems to remain unpublished these days.

The blatant ugliness of most of the judgments serves as a caution to me when I am tempted to indulge in it myself.

Below are a few examples, most of which will remain anonymous to protect the perpetrators. But first a distinction:

It is one thing to condemn an action that is obviously harmful. This we must do when necessary.

It is another thing altogether to condemn the person who commits the action; or to claim to know that a person’s heart is evil; or to predict the final end of another; or to hold a person in scorn.  All of these fall under the commandment of Jesus not to judge, that we ourselves may not be judged.

Now to the examples drawn from various websites:

An anti-Christian site informs us that it is only the immature who believe in “non-existent beings,” such as Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Jesus.

You can read elsewhere that most Christians are mean-spirited; and that people who speak out for God are often lunatics.

But neither are believers always generous toward other believers (or toward God, for that matter):

Mel Gibson says, “My wife is a saint. She’s a much better person than I am…She prays, she believes in God, she knows Jesus, she believes in that stuff.”
No matter, for she’s probably going to hell, we learn. It turns out that she is Episcopalian, not Catholic. (Note that the Catholic Church would NOT take the harsh stand that Gibson takes toward his wife.)

On a blog by a young Catholic we are informed that the souls of those who voted for Barack Obama are also in danger of hell.

We find on YouTube that people who practice centering prayer are deceived by Satan, both in being seduced into adopting this form of prayer in the first place, and also because this kind of prayer makes one open to demonic suggestion.

And let’s not forget the Antichrist: the pope is probably the most popular candidate (any pope, pick one).  Others who have been named are Barack Obama, Ronald Reagan, George Bush, Bill Gates, Bill Clinton, the president of the European Union – and on and on….

Even more radically vicious judgments are on the loose (if it is possible to be more vicious than calling someone the Antichrist) which I will not cite because they are not suited for a family-friendly web page.  These judgments I prefer to chalk up to zealous ignorance.

So let us pause and take a deep breath of fresh air…

To continue on a happier note, here are some quotes about the true judgment:

In the evening of life, we will be judged on love.
(St. John of the Cross)

The Last Judgment will come when Christ returns in glory… Then through his Son Jesus Christ, [God] will pronounce the final word on all history. We shall know the ultimate meaning of the whole work of creation and of the entire economy of salvation and understand the marvelous ways by which his Providence led everything towards its final end. The Last Judgment will reveal that God’s justice triumphs over all the injustices committed by his creatures and that God’s love is stronger than death.
(Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1040)

Let the floods clap their hands;
let the hills sing together for joy
at the presence of the Lord,
for he is coming to judge the earth.
He will judge the world with righteousness,
and the peoples with equity.
(Psalm 98:8-9)

During the sexual abuse crisis, the retired archbishop of San Francisco, Most Rev. John R. Quinn, wrote:

“I believe, in fact, that this is the best time in the history of the church to be a priest, because it is a time when there can be only one reason for being a priest or for remaining a priest—that is, to ‘be with’ Christ. It is not for perks or applause or respect or position or money or any other worldly gain or advantage.”

(“The Strengths of Priests Today,” America, July 1, 2002)

One might make a similar point about religious life: this may be the very best time to be a Catholic Sister, in spite of — or perhaps because of — declining numbers, loss of prestige, and partisan controversy among some Catholics about which kind of religious life (if any at all) is really of value. No longer can entering the convent offer security or an assured future — except the future full of hope promised by God through the patriarchs and the prophets, and revealed and sealed by the Resurrection of Jesus.  No longer can a Sister be confident of living a productive life, seeing a new generation pick up the torch of the charism, and dying surrounded by her sisters in the infirmary of her congregation.

And as for the many tasks of the Church formerly accomplished only by religious — they can now be performed just as well by dedicated lay people.

With all this in mind, shouldn’t young women flee in the opposite direction, as many are obviously doing?

On the contrary, now is the moment to listen diligently to God’s call, for at a time such as this, there can be only one reason for becoming a sister, and that is to know Christ and to accept the call to union with God in love.

But aren’t all Christians called to union with God in love?

Yes, of course.  However, each Christian call has its own unique value for the Church and the world, and the living-out of that call has its own emphases, highlighting different facets of the same divine love and the same call to transforming union.  One Christian vocation is not interchangeable with another.  Without Catholic sisters (or brothers or religious priests) there would be something sorely missing, but this missing element would not necessarily be the works we are now doing, no matter how important these works are.  Just as the witness of married love is not based on the occupations of the spouses, but rather on living deeply the sacramental relationship of marriage — so the witness of religious life and the reason it is still indispensable to the Church is not based primarily on the jobs we do, but on the life itself, lived in depth.

By its very existence through the centuries, religious life proclaims:

that what matters is God; and as Teresa of Avila wrote, “sólo Dios basta,” God alone suffices;

that prayer is more powerful than bombs;

that it is possible to live together in peace, even with people whom we did not choose — or might never have chosen — as companions;

that communion with God includes communion with each other, expressed through presence, ritual, and the sharing of material goods;

that possessions do not make us happy;

that giving ourselves totally, as Jesus did, does not lead to annihilation, but brings us most surely into who we truly are.

that grace and mercy abound in the struggle to be faithful to God’s call; and that when we inevitably fall short, grace and mercy abound, still and always.

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)

We live in an age when young adults rarely consider religious life an option for their own lives. Are we dinosaurs? If we are not, then why is it that we come together in religious communities in this day and age—or in any day and age? I am not going to tackle the question of why we have consecrated life in any form, but will simply reflect on the purpose of religious community, whether we are talking about community under one roof or community in a broader sense that does not necessarily mean living together.

Why do we gather? For example, are we brought together as religious for the purpose of a particular task? Do we form community for the sake of the ministry we do? Many groups do join together for a task—music groups and sports teams, for example. Some groups even live together to make the job easier, like the ad hoc assemblages on some of the reality shows. We too have a task, and for religious, this is usually a task not only precious to us, but valuable for the people of God. It is true that good community life can assist us in the carrying-out of our ministry. But is ministry the primary reason we come together? Today, in most cases, other people do the same ministries we do, and do them just as well as we do, without being members of religious communities. If religious community is for the purpose of performing our ministry, and if the ministry no longer necessitates coming together in community, then is our gathering as consecrated religious also unnecessary?

What about relationships? There was a lot of talk a few years ago about relational communities as opposed to task-oriented communities. A quick internet search shows that the concept is far from dead today. As Christians we are indeed called to be in relationship both with God and with each other. Without the relational element, any individual, much less any community, is bound to be lifeless. Consequently, relationships and companionship must be nourished in religious life. However, although loving presence is absolutely necessary for consecrated life, companionship—even deep relationship—can be had in other ways, some of them far easier than religious community. Besides, neither friendship nor companionship can be the main purpose of religious community. As Antoine de Saint-Exupéry writes in Wind, Sand and Stars, “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” [1] When our primary gaze in Christian community is on each other, rather than on Christ, relationships cannot lead to true communion.

Can religious community exist for the purpose of making the practical details of life more economical or more simple? It certainly can do that, though it does not always. In our university town, we see students who live together to save money and sometimes to make life less burdensome and leave more time and energy for studies. We know that religious community too can be a good model for simple and economical living—even for gospel poverty. But is this all there is to it?

What about security? People throughout the centuries have banded together for the sake of security. Gated communities are thriving today. California lays claim to at least three gated cities—basically walled towns: Rolling Hills, Hidden Hills, and Canyon Lake. There are probably people who did enter religious life to be safe from the dangers of the “world.” (Not to mention the others who tried, but were not accepted, like the woman who told me she wanted to “escape the demons.”) We know from experience that religious community is no way to flee the world, if for no other reason than that the world walks right in with us. Security, therefore, cannot be the purpose of coming together as religious.

There has to be more to religious community than any of these, more even than all of these together. The Quaker Parker Palmer, who at the time he was writing was part of an intentional community, puzzled over the longevity of monastic community, especially given the difficulties of community life. He concluded that it is because the monks “created a form of community that brings them together not for the purpose of togetherness but to support each other in the rigors of the inward journey.” [2]
To support each other in the rigors of the inward journey: the inward journey, the spiritual journey, is indeed rigorous. It has no less a goal than transforming union with Jesus Christ. That, after all, is the Christian call. Along the way, the road can be rocky, and pitfalls can lurk in our path. There are periods of discouragement on the journey, as well as periods of joy, peace, and love. There are moments when we are astonished by grace, and others when we are thoroughly bored; times when we are tempted to take the easy path of complacency, and times when we are strong against the wiles of the enemy; moments when we have glimmers of understanding and others when we are miserably confused.

Truly a rigorous journey this is, more rigorous than the Tour de France or the Iditarod or the ascent of Mount Everest—and one that is much too arduous to be undertaken alone. Without each other, the journey can be well nigh impossible.
So yes, I would agree with Parker Palmer about the rigors of the inward journey. I believe, too, that whether we knew it or not when we said yes to religious life, this journey is the primary reason we entered. It is a purpose that God knew, even if we did not—the call to give ourselves wholly to God in this journey of transforming union in love.

Demands of the Spiritual Journey

This spiritual journey not only blesses us with the joy of being loved and forgiven, it also demands much of us.

First, it would seem to go without saying that the inner journey requires prayer. Nevertheless, I believe it does need to be said, because while for some people, prayer may be pure joy, for others, prayer truly is a rigorous obligation. And as for praying together, some find it no burden at all, while others are sorely tested by common prayer. The spiritual journey asks us to find the courage to carve out leisure for prayer and presence (both to God and to each other) when society—and sometimes religious life as well—would instead reward us for constant activity. How many times have we heard someone say with a hint of pride in her voice, “I haven’t had a day off in months”? Or maybe we have even made that boast ourselves.

The spiritual journey requires us to learn compassion toward the uncompassionate and to love those who do not love us. It asks us to see loveliness in those who appear unlovely, recognizing how incredibly beautiful we all are. The spiritual journey demands an acknowledgement of our own sinfulness, our helplessness, and our inability to understand either ourselves or the God who loves us and in whose image we are made.

The spiritual journey in religious life means being favored with a vision of life—but usually without visions. It involves taking on the mind of Christ who emptied himself. It means not clinging to anything, holding nothing back. This journey obliges us to take one step at a time, without knowing the end of the road and often without even being certain whether the next step is the right one. It can take us through an interior landscape where it may seem as if someone has removed all the highway markers; and the weather can be so obscure that we barely see our hands in front of our faces, much less perceive the presence of God.

But what a trip it is! Formidable though the way may be, it is precisely here that we find our delight. After all, the God who created the universe, who fills the cosmos, who is and was and ever shall be, this God is, amazingly enough, both our companion and our destination. After beginning on this path, any other way seems insipid, hardly worth the trouble of putting one foot in front of the other.

To nurture this wondrous journey and to smooth its progress, we come together as community. We gather in order to support each other by our words, our prayers, and our presence; to encourage each other as well in the silence and solitude we need. And when we become discouraged, like Elijah lying under the broom tree, we take for each other the role of the angel who said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you” (1 Kings 19:7 NRSV).

If we are truthful, though, we will admit that sometimes our sisters and brothers themselves can be part of the “burning of the noontide heat, and the burden of the day.” [3] The community may be the very reason we long to crawl under the broom tree and disappear in sleep. But the burdens and the blessings of the road are intermingled and often indistinguishable one from the other. What seems like a burden may in reality be a blessing, and each blessing tends to bring with it its own weight, imperceptible at times, unbearable at others. In community, as we accompany each other along the way, as we support each other in the rigors of the spiritual journey, we are for each other burden-bearers, burdens, and blessings.

What, then is the role of our ministry? Is the value of ministry lessened if the work we are called to do is not the primary reason we are brought together? On the contrary. Apart from the inward journey, our ministry lacks integrity. A religious community with a task—even a noble task—as its primary purpose and goal risks allowing both the community and the task to become sterile. The apostolate is inseparable from the journey of transforming union. Flowing out of the journey, rather than usurping its place, our ministry flowers and reaches fruition, for it becomes more and more the work of Christ, as we ourselves are being transformed into the compassionate and merciful presence of Christ for each other and for the world.

__________

1 Aimer, ce n’est pas se regarder l’un l’autre, c’est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.

2 Parker Palmer, “The Monastic Way to Church Renewal,” Desert Call, Winter 1987: 8-9.

3 Eliz­a­beth C. Cle­phane, “Beneath the Cross of Jesus,” 1868.

. . . . . . . . . .

The above Journal reflection is somewhat longer than usual. This essay was accepted for publication in Review for Religious. However, when it came out in January, 2007, it had been edited so severely (without my knowledge or permission) that it was almost unrecognizable. According to Sister Elizabeth’s calculation, only 27 of the 87 sentences were my own. Even worse, the intent had been modified.

I thought that some of you might like to read the original.

Sister Rose Hoover

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.