Author: DVO

Our responsorial psalm invites us to be one with the Father through the redemptive actions of his Son, Jesus. We heard the story of the Prodigal Son earlier this week and now turn to the story of the Samarian Woman at the Well. The Prodigal Son spoke to two natures exemplified by the two sons: one son who does it all right in his obedience but is wrong in understanding Godly love and the nature of forgiveness and the other son who does it all wrong in his gluttonous squandering but comes to understand God’s unending merciful love and forgiveness. Another type of forgiveness and love can be seen in the interchange between Jesus and the Samaritan woman. It would be easy for Jesus to consider the woman an unrepentant sinner, unworthy to be in his presence or speak with him. That would align with the historical dissonance between the Jews and Samaritans. And yet, Jesus neither condemns nor judges her; rather, he offers her his unconditional mercy, compassion, and love. He treats her as an equal without reservation or regard for her ethnicity, social status, or religious beliefs. The common thread in these stories is one of love and forgiveness. We are called to repentance, which for most of us involves forgiveness of actions taken or not taken. It’s a call of return; it’s a call of immersion in God’s love; it’s a call to begin anew.

Today’s responsorial psalm is a perfect introduction to the foundational nature of Lent that is seen in the Prodigal Son’s story of return and forgiveness. God pardons our iniquities, heals our ills, redeems our lives from destruction, and crowns us with kindness and compassion. Fr. Richard Rohr, reflecting on this amazing story, says, “The parable of the Prodigal Son has the power to change us because it names human relationships so perfectly. We see ourselves in both sons. We try to live our life apart and autonomously, and yet that leads to eventual alienation and unhappiness. Slowly we gather our truth and our identity. But we are also capable of being the older son who prides himself on his orthodoxy but who is unable to celebrate and enjoy a free gift. So, we end with an amazing story of one son who does it all right and is wrong, and another son who does it all wrong and is right!” At the parable’s end, we never learn whether the older son comes to the banquet, but we do know that the Father continues hoping that his son will come and not live in resentment or superiority toward the brother who has done it all wrong. This story is an invitation to all of us who have perhaps been faithful Christians, ‘older sons,’ that can now find a pathway to compassion and forgiveness in this season of Lent.

We, the people, the Church, and the world, are not the owners of this vineyard; we are tenants. As tenants, we are entrusted with caring for the vineyard, but everything we have as humans is on loan. Our lives are not about us. Nature, not just humanity, is being redeemed by Christ. The world has intrinsic meaning and value beyond what it means for us as humans. That means that nature has inherent rights, not just the rights we find convenient to accord it. That means that defacing or abusing nature is not just a legal and environmental issue; it’s a moral issue. We are violating someone’s intrinsic rights. Our relationship to mother-earth and the universe is the non-negotiable fact that the quest for community and consummation within God’s Kingdom (our journey towards heaven) is a quest that calls us not just to a proper relationship with God and with each other but also to a right relationship with physical creation. We are humans with bodies living on the earth, not disembodied angels living in heaven, and Christ came to save our bodies and souls. He came, as well, to save the physical ground upon which we walk since he was the same pattern upon which and through which the physical world was created.

Reflecting on today’s verse, Sister Joyce Rupp writes, “This past year, I’ve become more aware of the scenarios that crowd and clutter my mind, those imaginary settings in which I conceive of what someone might be thinking, feeling or planning to do. These scenarios waste a lot of my energy that could be spent on something worthwhile. The more I intentionally send those mental judgments on their way, the more quickly I become alert to them when they zoom into my mind. Booting them out with an inner smile becomes increasingly easy as I say, ‘Oh, here is my six thousand and five hundredth scenario.’ The word spoken to Jeremiah strengthens my resolve to recognize that I have neither the ability nor the right to ‘probe the mind and test the heart’ of another with my mental ruminations.”

In his great work, The Imitation of Christ, Thomas Kempis writes that many will always love Christ’s heavenly kingdom, but few will bear his cross. Many are awed by his miracles; few accept the shame of his cross. Decide then, like a good and faithful servant of Christ, to bear the cross of your Lord bravely. It was out of love that he was crucified for you. Drink freely from the Lord’s cup if you wish to be his friend. Leave your need for consolation to God. Let him do as he wills. On your part, be ready to bear sufferings and consider how in these sufferings lies your greatest consolation. Realize that to know Christ; you must lead a dying life. The more you die to yourself, the more you will live unto God. You will never enjoy heavenly things unless you’re ready to suffer hardship for Christ. Nothing is more acceptable to God, nothing more helpful for you on this earth. When there is a choice to be made, take the narrow way. That alone will make you more like Christ.

I have often told others, and most importantly told myself, that loving as the Lord taught us is the singularly hardest thing for a Christian to do. But that is because we fail to understand the humility one needs in life to understand, live, and give away love as Jesus did. Bishop Robert Barron notes humility is living out the deepest truth: God is God, and we are not. But Bishop Barron also readily notes that all of this sounds very clear when stated in the abstract, but man, is it hard to live out. In our fallen world, we forget so readily that we are creatures. We start to assume that we are gods, the center of the universe. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that we demonstrate humility when we live in the face of the fact that we are both dependent and interdependent. We are not ipsum esse subsistens, self-sufficient Being, God, nor the center of the earth, nor intended to be that center. Humility is centering on the reality that we can do nothing without God and should seek to do everything for the glory of God. It is not about us; it’s about Him.

Bishop Robert Barron reminds us, “the more one draws on the divine life, the more one receives that life precisely because it is a gift.” Dr. Carolyn Y. Woo, reflecting on this passage, says, “Our capacity to forgive and give to others seems, in my experience, so limited. But God gives us the power to accept our sinfulness, to acknowledge this in others. His power within us is like a current that, when turned on, illuminates and energizes. When we unplug from others in negative judgment and self-centeredness, we disconnect ourselves from God’s power. When we plug in to give and forgive, we invite God’s love and mercy into us.” This state of humility requires us to accept God’s gift of love and, in turn, learn to live our lives centered on that love. When you receive it as a gift, you must give it away, and then you will find more of it flooding back into your heart. The love of the Lord is meant to be given away to others.

An introductory scriptural statement often repeated by scholars of Jesus is that his mission was the fulfillment of Old Testament revelation. The symbolism of the Transfiguration has Moses representing the law, Elijah representing the prophets, and Jesus representing the fulfillment of what they said. Bishop Robert Barron explains that God gave the Torah, the law, to his people so that they might become a priestly people, a holy nation, a people set apart, in the hopes that they would then function as a sort of magnet to the rest of the world. But the law didn’t take. From the beginning, the people turned away from its dictates, becoming as bad as the nations around them. And then the prophets. Repeatedly we hear the call to be faithful to the Torah and follow the Lord’s ways. The prophets constantly turn on Israel, reminding her of her sinfulness. And then came Jesus, God, and man. Jesus did what no hero of Judaism had ever done. He fulfilled the law and remained utterly obedient to the demands of the Father, even to the point of laying down his life. He brought the Torah and the prophets thereby to fulfillment.

Jesus said this about enemies: love your enemies; do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who mistreat you. Fr. Ron Rolheiser asks, “How do we really love and forgive as Jesus did? How did he retain peace of mind, warmth in his heart, graciousness in his speech, joy in his life, resiliency in his efforts, the capacity to be grateful, and a sense of humor in the face of misunderstanding, jealousy, hatred, and death threats?” Fr. Rolheiser writes that Jesus did it by recognizing that this was, singularly, the most crucial challenge of his life and mission and, under the weight of that imperative, by falling on his knees to ask for the help of the One who can do in us what we can’t do for ourselves. Dorothy Day writes that when you love people, you see all the good in them, all the Christ in them. God sees Christ, His Son, in us. And so, we should see Christ in others and nothing else and love them. There can never be enough of it. And this is not easy. Everyone will try and kill that love in you, even the nearest and dearest of your friends. But the only Christian answer is to see Christ in others, even to the very end, to the laying down of your life. If there is an “acid test” in life for determining who is or isn’t living as a Christian, loving one’s enemy is that test.

The greatest miracles have to do with gratuity, with love, with unfreezing a soul, and with forgiveness. Our great poverty is that these go mostly unnoticed. Spirituality writer, Benoit Standaert, suggests that the greatest miracle is “that the freely given exists, that there is love that makes whole and that embraces what has been lost, that chooses what had been rejected, that forgives what has been found guilty beyond appeal, that unites what had seemingly been torn apart forever. Whenever we strive to bring a little more peace through justice here on earth and, in whatever form, change sadness into happiness, heal broken hearts, or assist the sick and the weak, we arrive directly at God, the God of the resurrection.” Fr. Rolheiser writes that forgiveness is the most astonishing miracle we will ever see or experience on this side of eternity. It, alone, makes for the possibility of heaven and happiness.