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COLUMNS
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» In Light of Faith
 
Passion Sunday, March 16, 2008, Cycle A
by Anne Ruggaber
The readings for Passion Sunday bring together the weeks of Lent. In preceding weeks, we have seen the divinity of Jesus shine through, as he was transfigured.
We have seen it as the angels ministered to him after the desert temptations, as he cured the blind man, and in the astounding event of the raising of Lazarus, who was, as Martha pointed out, very, very dead.
We have heard it as we listened to Jesus describe himself as Living Water to the woman at the well.
If we look, however, Jesus’ humanity is there as well.
We have seen him struggle with temptation, just as we do.
We have seen him thirsty at the well, weeping for his friend Lazarus, feeling the crush of the crowd around him as the blind man called out.
We have shared these experiences. We identify with the frustration he must have felt with the disciples who wanted to stay on the mountain top, and who thought the blind man was being punished for sin.
The readings for Passion Sunday put both humanity and divinity before us once again. Jesus is hailed as the Son of David with hosannas fit for the divine King, as the ecstatic crowds wave palm branches and throw down cloaks.
The crowd, and perhaps some of the disciples as well, were likely thinking that the moment of triumph had finally come. God would wipe out their enemies and enthrone his Son, and they, the Chosen People, would take their rightful place.
The moment of triumph was indeed at hand, but certainly not in the way many expected. In the passion narrative, Jesus’ humanity is never more apparent.
We see him in the garden, imploring his friends to keep him company, praying in an agony of apprehension and dread over what is to come.
We see him in his very human suffering and abasement as he is mocked, scourged, spat upon, and finally, nailed to the cross.
We see the human Jesus crying out on the cross with the words of the psalmist: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Why, we might ask, did the evangelists go into such horrifying detail as they recounted the events of the Passion?
I believe it is because, to understand our salvation, we have to be firmly, totally immersed in the humanity of Jesus.
It was as a human that he yielded to the will of God in the garden.
It was as a human that he forgave his tormenters on the cross.
It was as a human, like us in everything except sin, that he accomplished our redemption by his total obedience, even to death on the cross.
It is essential that we grasp that. Otherwise, we might be tempted to dismiss the fullness of Jesus’ self-giving and excuse ourselves from imitating him.
“Of course he never sinned,” we say, “he was God!”
“Of course he was faithful; he was God!”
“Of course he lived his life in union with God’s will; he was God!”
That’s more comfortable for us than to accept that Jesus suffered as we do, was tempted as we are, and died as we will.
In a week when we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, we also recognize it as the basis for confidence in our own expectation of resurrection and eternal life. Our Easter faith must be as equally grounded in Jesus’ humanity as it is in his divinity.
If we truly, truly believe that Jesus is as human as we are, then we believe that what happened to him (resurrection) will also happen for us. That is the faith that we will profess with our catechumens in just a few days, and the faith on which we base our lives.
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Wonder and awe make great gifts
by Mary Hood Hart
When preparing Confirmation candidates, we review with them the gifts of the Holy Spirit.
Over the years, asking which gift they feel they could most benefit from, I’ve never heard a teen answer “wonder and awe.” (No one has ever chosen “reverence” either.)
Perhaps it’s because they’re at that time in their lives — high school — when they are preparing for the adult world and all its practical responsibilities.
Wisdom, understanding, right judgment, and knowledge are practical gifts. They’re the spiritual equivalent of sensible shoes. Wonder and awe are Dorothy’s ruby slippers.
Even though they may not be the most practical, wonder and awe do make great gifts. It’s sad we don’t seem to have as much time for them anymore. They require our being open to just being still and observing what’s around us.
Maybe it’s not that we’re too busy or distracted, perhaps, we’re just harder to impress. We adults save our wonder and awe for the truly amazing stuff — childbirth, winning American Idol, Tiger Woods’ golf game.
Babies, on the other hand, have an innate and abundant sense of wonder. Early in infancy babies become fascinated with the world around them, beginning their fascination, naturally, with the faces of the people closest to them, but expanding to almost everything.
When a homely dog trots into his view, a baby becomes thrilled. His eyes light up, arms extend, his entire body wriggles in delight. Now that’s awe.
(The rest of us reserve that sort of response for Tiger Woods, Oprah Winfrey or the pope.)
If we are lucky enough to have babies in our inner circle, they help restore to us a sense of wonder, perhaps not as sensitive as theirs, but improved nonetheless. Through this abundance of wonder at all God’s creation, babies open the door, bit by bit, so that, through their perspective, we can glimpse heaven for ourselves.
Eventually, as in my immediate family’s case, babies grow up and become teens and young adults. Like most of us, they develop some cynicism. They are no longer prone to become excited watching cloud formations or ant hills.
Yet, hopefully, in the cycle of life, their sense of wonder will one day be restored by babies of their own. If not, they may discover passions — apart from watching American Idol and Tiger Woods — which prompt in them wonder and awe.
Yet in the meantime, we who are not in the daily company of babies, can try to adopt an attitude of awareness. This awareness would predispose us to appreciate how God’s grace is revealed to us in creation, in other people, in the ordinary experiences of our lives.
We are gifted with countless opportunities to encounter the sacred through our senses — holding the hand of a loved one, sharing dinner with good friends, the first sip of coffee in the morning, watching a sleeping child, smelling fresh herbs, examining petals on a flower, listening to Mozart, sipping wine by the fire.
We are gifted with countless opportunities to encounter the sacred through our encounters with people — in the communion line at Mass, playing at the park, in the classroom, conference room, on the bus, subway, sidewalk.
In going about our busy lives, we are inclined to become consumed by the practical rather than the wonderful. We carry heavy burdens at times, and we have a lot to do. So, we need to be reminded frequently of the sacred in our ordinary life. Like babies, poets are especially good at that.
So, let me end this column with some lines from the poem, “All That Is Glorious Around Us,” by Barbara Crooker
… doing errands on a day
of driving rain, staying dry inside the silver skin of the car,
160,000 miles, still running just fine. Or later,
sitting in a café warmed by the steam
from white chicken chili, two cups of dark coffee,
watching the red and gold leaves race down the street,
confetti from autumn’s bright parade.
… But everything glorious is around
us already: black and blue graffiti shining in the rain’s
bright glaze, the small rainbows of oil on the pavement,
where the last car to park has left its mark on the glistening
street, this radiant world.
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The Holy City
by Barbara Hughes
Last year, about this time, my husband and I were touring the Holy Land. Given the season, it’s not surprising that during recent weeks, my thoughts have been drifting back to the sacred places we visited.
One of those sites was the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
The church houses not only the site of the tomb where Jesus was laid but the site of the crucifixion as well. It seems only right that the two should be located within the same edifice, for the crucifixion without the resurrection would simply be another human tragedy. In Christian theology the two must co-exist for there to be real significance.
Over the centuries, the stately church has undergone numerous demolitions, constructions and restorations. Pagan worship, the efforts of Constantine, crusaders, Turks and earthquakes have all played a role.
But today, the church serves not only as a tourist destination but as a place for prayer and worship. Upon entering, the silence that is encountered speaks volumes about the awe that fills the hearts of those who cross its threshold.
A chapel has been erected on the site of Calvary, but touching the actual place where the cross of Jesus stood requires getting on your knees and reaching down into a narrow opening in the floor.
There, beneath the floor rests the rock we call Golgotha. Its surface cannot be seen; but it can be felt. Somehow, it seems only fitting for we cannot see God and yet at times his presence is so real we can actually feel it. And when that happens, our interior disposition is one of profound humility that compels us to fall on our knees.
Scaling the heights of the mountain of God requires humility; entering into the Paschal Mystery means reaching deep within the recesses of our heart to embrace the cross. And both require faith - not unlike the faith that is required when visiting the Holy Land.
Today, the Via Dolorosa is a crowded collage of shops and street vendors. Trying to find the inscriptions that mark the Stations of the Cross requires a map and a keen sense of vision as most blend into the doorways of the 12th century structures that stand on top of the streets that Jesus trod.
The people who live and work in the old city of Jerusalem prove to be as varied as the crowd must have been during the time of Jesus. Vendors entice passersby with items that appear gaudy and irrelevant when pilgrims recall the reason they traveled to the holy city.
Tour guides warn those under their charge to hold fast to handbags and wallets lest they become victims of pickpockets.
Religious memorabilia are displayed next to articles of clothing, spices and postcards creating a kaleidoscope of colors and aromas. The unlikely mix serves as a reminder that the Son of God did not set himself apart from humanity but entered into our world and walked with the people of his day as an ordinary citizen.
It’s a lot to ponder as we move through the extraordinary events of the week that defines our Christian heritage.
My pilgrimage to the Holy Land was very different than I expected. For me, it emphasized the humanity of Jesus in a way I had not anticipated.
Among the pictures I took is an unlikely photo of the Mount of Olives Pharmacy with a Coca-Cola sign in the background. It’s a reminder for me that life in the Holy Land did not stand still because Jesus walked the dusty roads of Palestine, climbed the hill of Calvary and burst forth from his tomb in a blaze of glory.
His native land is not fixed in time the way pietistic musings would invite us to imagine. Today there are churches that mark many of the places that we read about in the Gospels but there is also the Dome of the Rock and the Western Wall.
It’s a holy city for so many reasons and the kaleidoscope of religions that vie for rights to claim it reflects the human tendency to make the holy, unholy.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre reflects this irony. Since the signing of a treaty in 1852, the official custodians of the Church have been the Greek Orthodox Church, the American Apostolic Church and the Franciscans, an order of the Catholic Church. Legal domain has also been granted to the Syrian, Coptic and Ethiopian Orthodox Churches.
Care, cleaning, renovation and times of worship have been designated by means of this treaty. And since the tension among these Christian churches has run so high, the keys to the Church were entrusted to a Muslim family.
For generations the same family has continued to hold the keys to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and is responsible for its daily opening and closing. I believe there’s a lesson there for all of us.
During this holy season, let us pray for eyes to see and ears to hear all that God has to teach us.
May God grant us the wisdom to set aside the folly that imprisons and open our hearts to the Holy Spirit who continues to form and reform the wills of those who are humble enough to hear God’s voice.
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Copyright © 2008 The Catholic Virginian Press. Articles from Catholic News Services, including Fr. Dietzen’s column, may not be reproduced due to copyright considerations.
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