Easter
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Betrayal, Prayer, Grace: The Way To Easter

Today is the last day of Lent; tomorrow, we begin the Triduum – Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. These are the holiest days of the year for Catholics, as we enter into Christ’s last days, the institution of the Eucharist, His example of washing the feet of the Apostles, His Passion and Death. They are somber days, quiet, contemplative. They are days of mystery and wonder, prayer and longing, peace and unrest.

Those themes (mystery, wonder, prayer, longing, peace, unrest) are outlined for us in the Mass readings for today.  In the first reading, Isaiah seems to be celebrating the gifts he’s been given in his prophetic office: a well-trained tongue, ears to hear God. But this passage is also about betrayal: those who oppose his words beat him,  spit on him, pull hairs out of this head. Yet, in spite of this, Isaiah remains faithful and grateful.

The psalmist cries out, “Lord, in your great love, answer me!” He is assured that God loves him and will answer him. He praises God in song, glorifies Him in thanksgiving. Yet again, we see betrayal: his own brothers have cast him out. They make his food inedible and give him vinegar to drink. Like Isaiah, the psalmist remains stalwart in his faith: “You who see God, may your hearts revive!:

Finally, and saddest of all, is the Gospel. Judas has put into motion his betrayal of Jesus. Jesus is well-aware of this, yet He includes his betrayer to dine with the group that night. He blesses the bread and wine – pronouncing them now His own Body and Blood – and Judas partakes. The most stunning sinner in history still has a place at the table.

It is hard to imagine the magnitude of pain Jesus felt by this betrayal. Here was a man in whom Jesus had seen great potential, a man fit for building the Kingdom of God. Jesus walked and talked with this man, ate with him, laughed with him, taught him. Judas was a brother in faith, until … he wasn’t.

Have you ever been betrayed? Most of us can relate, in at least a small way. Some of us have known the pain of infidelity in marriage, or learning that a beloved child has been stealing from us to feed a drug habit. Maybe a dear friend destroyed a confidence and hurt our reputation. Some of us remember being befriended by someone in school, but the only intention of that person was to get close enough so as to make us look foolish with their friends standing by, laughing at our expense.

Being human means you’ll get hurt. Our emotions are a gift from God, just like everything else about us, save sin. We say and do hurtful things. We get drawn into gossip. We harbor resentments and lash out. But for all our experience, we still do not know the depth of Christ’s pain.

It was not just the betrayal of Judas, however great a sin that was. It was the denial of Peter. It was the fact that all of His Apostles (except for John) fled when He needed them the most. It was the humiliation of being stripped, and His Father mocked. It was the weight of the Cross – a burden so large no man could lift it. The appalling weight of the Cross: made oppressive by our sins.

It is easy, sitting in our clean churches, our tidy homes, our coffee shop, to judge Judas. Yet, do we not betray Christ every day? We sin. We reject the life God has given us, in essence saying, “I know this is wrong, but I want it. I choose this action over the life God offers.” It is why, on Palm Sunday, it is so easy for us to cry out both “Hosanna!” and “Crucify Him!” Theologian Romano Guardini:

And yet, aren’t there many days in our lives on which we sell him, against our best knowledge, against our most sacred feeling, in spite of duty and love, for some vanity, or sensuality, or profit, or security, or some private hatred or vengeance? Are these more than thirty pieces of silver? We have little cause to speak of “the traitor” with indignation or as someone far away and long ago. Judas himself unmasks us. We understand his Christian significance in the measure that we understand him from our own negative possibilities, and we should beg God not to let the treachery into which we constantly fall become fixed within us.

We cannot save ourselves from betrayal. Our only hope is Christ. Over the next few days, our most fervent prayer should be one of contrition for our sins and for the whole world.

Today’s Mass begins with the priest praying on our behalf: “O God, who willed your Son to submit for our sake to the yoke of the Cross, so that you might drive from us the power of the enemy, grant us, your servants, to attain the grace of the resurrection.” May our Holy Week begin and end with this prayer, so that we may know the mystery, wonder, prayer, longing, peace, unrest of today’s readings, and thus enter fully into the joy of Easter morning!

 

EH headshotElise Hilton is an author, blogger and speaker. Her role at Diocesan Publications is Editor & Writer with the Marketing Team. She has worked in parish faith formation and Catholic education for over 30 years. A passionate student of theology, Elise enjoys sharing her thoughts on parish communication, the role of social media in the Church, Franciscan spirituality and Catholic parenting. To enquire about booking her as a speaker, please contact her at ehilton@diocesan.com.

 

become like christ
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We Become What We Love, So We Must Love Christ

The Chicago Cubs are in the World Series. If you’re a baseball fan, you know what a big deal this is. The Cubs have long been the lovable losers of baseball; some believe that a curse placed upon the team in 1945 has kept them from victory. They haven’t won a World Series since 1908. When the Cubs clinched the pennant before heading to the 2016 World Series, actor Bill Murray (a longtime Cubs fan) actually wept. That’s a true fan: someone who identifies so deeply with the team that the team’s victories and losses become one’s own. Murray isn’t just watching a game; he identifies with the team. He is a Chicago Cub.

As Catholics, are we “fans” of our faith? Do we identify so deeply with Christ, our Rock and our Salvation, that people see Him in us? Sister Ilia Delio, OSF, in her book Franciscan Prayer, discusses how Saint Clare of Assisi deepened her spiritual life with this vision of spirituality. Saint Clare described Christ as a mirror, by which we see a reflection of who we are in Christ.

The mirror of the Crucified tells us how we are most like God in this world through suffering, poverty and humility, and what we do to God in this world – crucify him. In this mirror, therefore, we see the greatness of the human capacity to love and the sorrow of human sinfulness.

In a way (remember: this is a metaphor!), we become a rabid fan: the ups and downs of “our team” get played out in our lives. But the love of Christ goes deeper than any relationship we have with a sport or a hobby. The more we “reflect” Christ, the more we become like Him. Our life becomes less and less a mere imitation of Christ, and more and more Christ-like. Delio:

We become what we love and who we loves shapes what we become. If we love things, we become a thing. If we love nothing, we become nothing. Imitation is not a literal mimicking of Christ; rather, it means becoming the image of the beloved, an image disclosed through transformation.

Saint Clare advised a young woman to gaze upon Christ, consider Him, contemplate Him. The more time we spend with Christ in prayer and contemplation, the more we become like Christ. Saint Paul states this boldly: I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ in me… (Gal. 2:19-20)

Many of us – like a Cubs fan – are willing to invest time and money in our pastimes and hobbies. As Catholics, we know that our faith is not a mere hobby; it is the means of our salvation. It is the person of Christ Himself. If we become what we love, we need to ask ourselves, “Do I truly love Christ? Am I invested in my relationship with Him? Do I desire to become more and more like Him? Who do I see when I gaze in the mirror that is Christ?”

Transforming ourselves to reflect Christ to the world is so much more than a World Series victory. It is the triumph of sin over death; it is the victory that conquers the world.

shortcut to heaven
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Lookin’ For A Shortcut To Heaven?

We hustle through the grocery store and when our carts are full, we scout out the shortest line. Of course, we never make the right choice.

Or we go through the drive-through to grab a quick dinner, and somehow our order gets mangled and we hear those dreaded words: “Could you please pull ahead? We’ll bring that right out.”

We live in a “hurry up” society. We rush to and from work and errands, hustle our kids to appointments and sports. A current car commercial says that adults in our society have an attention span of only 8 seconds, and then touts its car’s safety features: automatic braking and lane correction. Apparently, we just can’t pay attention that long.

In today’s Gospel, from Luke, we recognize this is not a problem in just our culture.

Jesus passed through towns and villages,
teaching as he went and making his way to Jerusalem.
Someone asked him,
“Lord, will only a few people be saved?”
He answered them,
“Strive to enter through the narrow gate,
for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter
but will not be strong enough.

The passage finishes with one of the most memorable lines in the Gospels: For behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first will be last. Suddenly, we feel as if we’ve been standing in the check out line for 15 minutes and another lane opens: the people behind you scurry over before you can get there. How fair is that??

It’s a narrow gate, this passage to Heaven. It’s hard to find and even harder to get through. There are no EZ-Passes, no skip-the-line tickets, no shortcuts. Thus, we are left with the question: “Do I want to go this way? This narrow gate – is it worth it to me? Sure, salvation awaits, but this is tough, and there are no shortcuts. Do I want this?”

Catholic philosopher and teacher Peter Kreeft in his lovely little book How to be Holy, outlines the map to this narrow gate:

God makes us holy in two opposite ways, in the two parts of our lives. First, He makes us holy through our own will, our own free choice of faith and hope and love. (For divine grace does not turn off human free will; it turns it on.) And second, He also sanctifies us against our will, through suffering, because the other way of sanctifying us, through our own will’s choices, is not strong enough, because our faith and hope and love are not strong enough. So He sanctifies us also through what He allows to happen to us against our will, in other word, suffering.

There you go. If you choose the path to salvation, it’s going to be tough. It requires super-human strength (we Catholics call this “grace“) and we will suffer. We will need to, first, choose this path of our own free will, and then, turn aside from our will and allow God’s will to permeate us.

No shortcuts. No express lane. No drive-through window. But we have the most Perfect Guide, Christ Himself. “Come, follow me and you will have treasure in Heaven.”

Line forms right here. No pushing, please. If you choose this line, you’ll need to be patient.

betrayal
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Betrayal, Despair And Salvation

Surely, it is not I, Lord?

Christ begins the Passover celebration with the Apostles by telling them that one of them will betray Him, their Lord and Master. There is denial and consternation among them: Surely, it is not I, Lord?

The Gospels clearly record Judas’ betrayal – selling out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. We know, too, that Peter betrays Christ by denying he even knows Him, three times. Because the other ten Apostles were human, we know they betrayed Christ in some way. We betray Christ.

Sin is an ugly thing. It always damages relationships. Sometimes the slights are small: we are brusque with a co-worker or raise our voice to a small child. Other times, the sins are quite damaging: an abortion, an affair, theft from an employer. We betray God, each other and we betray the person God created us to be.

Despite his betrayal, Peter was chosen by Christ to lead the Apostles and the first Christians. How can that be? It is the mystery of salvation: Christ took those sins, and ours, with Him to the Cross and won for us our salvation. Peter knew He needed Christ and the salvation He offered.

What of Judas? Was his sin of betrayal so much greater? Some believe Judas’ fault lies elsewhere:

Perhaps Judas’ greatest sin was not in betraying Jesus; rather, it was in allowing himself to be consumed by a prideful despair after the betrayal. Unlike Peter and the rest of the apostles, Judas failed to repent; he failed to find hope. Like us at times, Judas could not see past his owns sins and his feelings of unworthiness. Instead of turning outward toward the Lord with a repentant heart that could have been filled with hope, Judas regrettably looked inward and saw only his own despair. Lacking the courage to begin his life anew, Judas ends his life by hanging himself.

Poor Judas despaired. He thought his sin was far too great to be forgiven. He lost hope; he failed to accept the salvation Christ offered.

There is not one of us who can stand and say, “I have no sin.” And no one of us can judge another. We even stumble when we judge ourselves, as Judas did. The Church has wisely given us the Sacrament of Reconciliation, so that a priest (acting in persona Christi) can counsel us and give us absolution. Otherwise, we could despair as well. Pope Benedict, speaking of this, said, “Let us remember two things. The first: Jesus respects our freedom. The second: Jesus waits for us to have the disposition to repent and to be converted; he is rich in mercy and forgiveness.”

This Tuesday of Holy Week, as we prepare to celebrate the Triduum, let us ponder our own need to repent, and the abundance of God’s mercy and forgiveness.

Heaven
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Hoisting The World To Heaven

As easy as it is to become discouraged about the state of the world, we must remember that saints walk among us. Saints are just ordinary people who dutifully accept God’s grace, hoisting themselves and the world to heaven.

Madeleine Delbrel, a French Catholic writer and mystic, knew this. Delbrel was raised Catholic, but as a teen, lost her faith, proclaiming that “God is dead.” Later, she claimed to have re-discovered her faith in God by praying that she could believe.

Delbrel wrote:

If some have to leave the world in order to find it and raise it to heaven, others have to plunge into it so as to hoist themselves with the world to the same heaven.

I take that to mean that a few souls are called to live a monastic life: a life apart from the world, rooted in prayer and work. Their lives are continuous prayer for the salvation of all. It is a rigorous life, and not one that God calls many to.

The rest of us are “plunged” into this world. We must deal with the sins of ourselves and others writ large: provocative “entertainment,” poverty and hunger, politicians and leaders who scandalize, the complete lack of charity for those with whom we work and live, those strangers on the street. Our lives are filled with distractions; how often do we “visit” with friends and family, only to have everyone stare at their phone screens?

It is into this world we are plunged. Delbrel is reminding us that it is our calling as Catholics to hoist ourselves above all this, and bring others with us. When we lift ourselves above this world, heaven becomes more and more clear, and more and more desirable. We may wish sometimes that this was not our calling, but here is where God placed us: in this time, in this place, with these people. How will you hoist them to heaven today?