A Joyful Life

The word “joy” has the connotation of exuberant happiness, big smiles, and irrepressible optimism.  When we hear people say Christians should be joyful, we might wonder if we measure up.  Doesn’t this kind of joyfulness come more easily to some personalities than others?  In The Joy of the Gospel, Pope Francis offers an insightful commentary on joy that might give us a better understanding of what the word truly means as a way of life:

“There are Christians whose lives seem like Lent without Easter.  I realize of course that joy is not expressed the same way at all times in life, especially at moments of great difficulty.  Joy adapts and changes, but it always endures, even as a flicker of light born of our personal certainty that, when everything is said and done, we are infinitely loved.  I understand the grief of people who have to endure great suffering, yet slowly but surely we all have to let the joy of faith slowly revive as a quiet yet firm trust, even amid the greatest distress:  ‘My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is…  But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:  the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.  Great is your faithfulness…  It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord’ (Lam. 3:17, 21-23, 26)” (EG 6).

An elderly woman who was looking back at her life once told me, “I was content.”  She meant that she was not always happy, but she was at peace.  It was a simple way of describing a long life full of good things but fraught with difficulty.  One might describe the life of Christ himself in much the same way.  The joy of a Christian is realistic, genuine, compelling – it is not manufactured or manic.  As Pope Francis wrote, joy adapts and changes.  Sometimes it is exuberant, but sometimes it just “waits quietly.”  The essence, the undercurrent, of Christian joy is a habitual falling back on the steadfast, infinite love of the God who saves and who holds all things in existence.

Deep Like the Rivers

For the last two weeks, we’ve been acknowledging the cold hard truth that sometimes we turn our back on Scripture, failing to pay attention to it, or not letting its message take root and transform us.  I shared with you an example from Luke’s Gospel – how I realized I was habitually skimming over certain verses because on some subconscious level I had classified them as “unimportant.”  I have had several such experiences with Scripture, and even though it is always a little bit embarrassing (shameful would be a better word!), it is also exciting.  I like discovering things I should have noticed before.  It makes me wonder what other shiny new treasures are waiting for me in familiar places!

I’d like to share another experience, even though it will reveal the extent of my bad habit.  Several years ago I was both appalled and delighted to discover that there were a few verses in the creation stories that I had basically overlooked for my entire life.  When studying theology, it doesn’t get any more basic than the two accounts of creation found in Genesis 1-3.  They lay the groundwork for pretty much everything else.  And when teaching theology and Scripture, I have turned back to these stories again and again.  How could I have missed something here, of all places?

Granted, the passage I am referring to is not necessarily fundamental to understanding the creation stories and their meaning.  This is why I had always read these verses without paying any attention to them.  I was always looking to the “juicy” parts like “in his image he created them” (1:27) and “the eyes of both were opened” (3:7).  It seems that when I came to the passage below, my brain said, “Here’s the part about the rivers.  Skip it.” 

But several years ago, when I read this passage carefully (I think I was reading it out loud), I realized what I had been missing.  First of all, the words are beautiful.  They create in your mind an unforgettable image of what we now call the Fertile Crescent – a land of lush vegetation and gorgeous river views.  You can easily picture a pristine land full of precious minerals and rich resources – gold, onyx, and bdellium (a fragrant resin similar to myrrh).  Second, the passage describes a geographical place on earth, communicating to us a simple truth that the rest of Scripture corroborates and develops:  our God is inextricably intertwined with the lives of human beings, in their times and places.  Although he is mighty – he creates worlds simply by speaking! – he is not removed.  Our ancient stories about God don’t begin “long ago and far away.”  They begin with places like “Assyria” and “the Euphrates” and situate their truths in the “mountains of Ararat” (8:4) and “Ur of the Chaldeans” (11:31).  And finally, I love this passage because now that I have rediscovered its worth, it sounds like a poem to me.  It makes me think of what Langston Hughes wrote:  My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

This passage may not mean as much to you as it does to me.  One reason I like it so much is because of my history with it.  But I share this story and these verses with you because I’m sure you understand my experience and may have had similar moments with Scripture.  It is a reminder for me that Scripture will never be fully known and certainly can never be “mastered.”  It always has something new to divulge.  It is a dynamic phenomenon.  You might say it flows like a river.

"A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches. The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold; and the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that flows around the whole land of Cush. The name of the third river is Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates" (Gen. 2:10-14).

The Two-Edged Sword

Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Heb. 4:12).

There are stories and passages in Scripture that are so familiar to us that we tend to categorize them in the “been there done that” file in our minds.  When we hear them at Mass, we tune out with a mental note to “check back in” when we hear the concluding words, “The Word of the Lord.”  If we come across these passages when reading on our own, we’re tempted to skim over them, or give them a meaningless, cursory read.  We want something to give us new insight; those familiar passages seem “worn out.”

But occasionally we get blindsided by familiar things.  I love it when a passage I think I’ve read or heard or studied a hundred times divulges something completely new.  It takes me down a notch, and I realize that I’ve taken for granted something that is living and active, something that has the ability to pierce, to divide joints from marrow, and soul from spirit (Heb. 4:12).  Something I thought was lifeless for me actually re-animates me in some way.

You know that amazing feeling you get when you find out something new about your spouse or an old friend?  I’ll never forget how delighted I was to hear the story of how a sweet, even-tempered friend of mine was so determined not to go to school on her first day of Kindergarten that she gripped the doorframes of her home and made her mom pry her fingers away and carry her to the car kicking and screaming.  I certainly saw my friend in a different light after hearing that story.  “Sweet and even-tempered” became “sweet and even-tempered with a seriously stubborn side.”  And every time I find out something new about my husband (which is about once a week), I realize that the people we think we know best will always – always – have more to reveal.  We sell them short when we think we have them “figured out.”  We run the same risk when we dismiss the familiar Words of God.

Karl Rahner described our experience of God as one of “inexhaustible intelligibility.”  Whether here or in eternity, there is always more to know about God.  And when we learn new things about God, we change, our relationship with him changes – just as my relationship with my friend shifts ever-so-slightly each time I learn something new about her.  Scripture is a part of this “inexhaustible” process of knowing God and of being changed by him, of moving closer to him and him to us, close enough to pierce the “joints and marrow”, the very fibers of our being.

So next time your mind glazes over as you hear or read a familiar Bible text, ask God to show you something new.  It is his Word after all, and it is alive.

Content with Weaknesses

Several days ago on a long drive to visit a friend, I was thinking about my voice and how I wish it was louder.  I was thinking about Mariah Carey and how she belts out a tune, and how I always wished I could sing like her.  That made me start thinking about how it would also be nice to look like Jennifer Lopez.  And keep house like Martha Stewart.  All with the heart of Mother Teresa. 

I don’t usually hear voices in my head, but somewhere in my consciousness I heard a divine chuckle.  And in the laughter, I heard a truth.  For some reason, our God is very comfortable with human weakness.  Have you noticed how he likes small things (“Unless you change and become like children….” Mt. 18:3), broken things (“Those who are well have no need of a physician….” Lk. 5:31), things that in some way must die before they can fully live (“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain!” Rev. 5:12)?  This is a God who creates greatness in ordinary things (“You are only a man!” Jn. 10:33) and who requires of his people a similar way of thinking (“The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” Mt. 20:16).

St. Paul claimed that he boasted of his weaknesses.  He did this because he believed they placed him where he rightfully belonged – on the cross of Jesus.  Is it possible that the things we perceive as weaknesses or failings are actually the things that bind us most closely to the Holy One?  Our weaknesses, our sins, our problems and burdens – yes, they make us small, ordinary, broken.  But they are how we learn about dying and rising, about surrender, about needing a savior, and about what it truly means to be loved.

I will never look or sound like a celebrity.  And I will never be worthy to unbuckle the sandal of Mother Teresa much less aspire to her heart!  Like you, I have many things about myself that I would like to change (some more shallow than others!).  But I don’t perceive these things – even my serious weaknesses that are much more than skin-deep – as rotten parts of myself.  Rather they are the part of my humanity that still awaits transformation, they are my emptiness yet to be filled.  They are an invitation to God to be with me, because I know I am not whole by myself.

“So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.  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 Cor. 12:9-10).

I Don't Understand Eternity

After a very long, very cold winter here in the Northeast, I took my two sons out for a walk on the first nice day we’d had in months.  As we turned a corner onto a long straight sidewalk, my 18-month-old wriggled down from my arms and took off running.  He ran for a third of a mile.  (Fortunately his legs are really short so I was able to keep up!)  I was amused by his reaction to wide open spaces.  He had obviously been indoors far too long.

I wonder if this experience could be an analogy for eternity, a concept I don’t understand (and I doubt I am alone).  We understand the limits of this world; we understand the finite.  But the infinite?  We only have brief glimpses of it, short bursts of understanding that flash in our minds and disappear quickly.  I had one of these bursts as I watched my son running as far and free as his little legs would take him after being pent up in the house all winter.  For Eli, being so young, winter was the only reality he could remember.  His was a restricted world – indoors except for quick trips back and forth to the car, bundled in bulky layers, glimpsing the sun only in passing, experiencing the beauties of winter from the other side of a window.  Of course it wasn’t all bad – there was warmth inside, family, food, books and toys.  But spring?  This was new.  It meant being outdoors, a seemingly limitless place full of wonders and discoveries.  It meant boundless freedom that went on and on, all the way down Milford Point Road.

Eternity hangs around the edges of our consciousness – a promise we can’t live without, but an incomprehensible future that may scare us a bit because of its…forever-ness.  It isn’t our fault that we just don’t get it – it is something we have never experienced.  But here we trust – we live in trusting expectation.  For now, our winter does have its joys, and one of them is the anticipation of spring. 

Eli enjoys the warmth of spring after a long winter.

"No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).