 Composed by: Sr. Mary Magdalene
this post was originally published in March of 2017. It is re-posted here to be read in light of our present circumstance. God Bless and keep you! “Where Is Your God Now?” Where is your God now? When you are in trouble: Where is your God now? Look upon the rubble! Are You not the Messiah? Save Yourself and us! Where is your God now? Where is your God now? Why does He let you suffer? Where is your God now? The vultures come to hover. I heard you call him “Father,” Does He still call you “Son”? Where is your God now? While working on a performance of The Passion of Our Lord for my parish community, I once wrote a short song for the unrepentant thief to sing from his cross alongside Jesus. As I prayed and played with it, the words for “Where Is Your God Now” began to take shape. The good/repentant thief already was singing a great song by the band Third Day, simply called “Thief.” (If you’ve never heard it, I encourage you to take a listen! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwPqCPMyypI ). What started as a kind of logistical need for a song quickly became a prayer and an opportunity for meditation. Picture, if you will, the scene in John’s Gospel in which the Evangelist describes the Crucifixion of Our Lord. So they took Jesus, and carrying the cross himself he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus in the middle (John 19: 17,18). John doesn’t speak to us about anything the two others may have said as they hung from their own crosses. We hear about them, however, in Mark’s Gospel account. Those who were crucified with him also kept abusing him (Mk 15:32). And it is in Luke’s narrative that we hear from the two thieves themselves. Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.” The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, “Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” (Lk 23:39-42). It is in this conversation, that I would ask us to linger for a while. First, let’s make note of what may be obvious. Luke, though he is recognized as one of the four Gospel writers and Evangelists, probably never met Jesus in the flesh. He is not listed as one of “the 12” apostles who traveled with the Lord and heard His words and witnessed His miracles directly. It is thought that Luke was likely a close travelling companion of the apostle Paul (also not one of “the 12”). So, it can be easily surmised that Luke did not directly hear the conversation between the two thieves of which he writes. This fact, however, does not detract from what he may be trying to convey to us in our own time and place. I think it likely that we can embrace the reality that there is a little bit of “thief” in all of us. Perhaps not by the conventional definition, but certainly in what these two others represent and demonstrate to us. In the repentant thief we can, perhaps, more willingly see ourselves. We recognize that we sin, we stumble. Perhaps like Peter we can even recognize that we deny. In our own examination of conscience, with a hope in God’s Mercy, we can echo the words of this condemned man and ask, “Remember me Lord, when you come into your Kingdom.” But I think Luke may be asking us if we might see ourselves in the unrepentant thief as well. Let’s take a look at his words once again:“Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.”Are there times when we lack faith, even question the existence of God? Or at least question His status as benevolent and all-merciful? We’ve heard the argument, perhaps even from friends or family: if God is real, how is it that the world is full of suffering? Why would a good “Father” allow his Son to suffer in that way? What about me!? In fact, I think perhaps that’s the biggest difference between the “other” on Jesus’ right and the “other” on Jesus’ left. One recognizes his weakness, woundedness, and sinfulness, and yet he chooses to hope in Mercy. The other, by contrast, continues to push off blame onto other people, even onto the Lord! If he is not saved, it is because Jesus is not really the Messiah. He has yet to admit his culpability and is still demanding things of others. This requires no faith at all. “But I have faith,” we protest. “I’m much more like the good thief.” In what situations might we resemble the unrepentant one? If we pray hard for a loved one to recover from a serious illness or injury and they die, do we wonder if we didn’t pray hard enough? Did they die because of our lack of faith or failure in prayer? God’s Mercy doesn’t work like that. His Mercy is never withheld from us. Perhaps it doesn’t look like what we expected or had wished for, but it is still an abundantly loving mercy. Our own suffering calls out a greater faith in us. Lord, when you enter your Kingdom, please remember me. When things have gone poorly or with difficult obstacles I’ve often heard (or perhaps even said!) “the evil one is really on the attack.” To be sure, I do believe that Satan takes full advantage of our weaknesses. Indeed, many saints suffered greatly from his torments. Christ, himself, was tested and tempted during His 40 days in the desert. That having been said, I think it prudent that we check our own responsibility when something goes poorly. Am I making myself more vulnerable because I’m distracted, careless, self-absorbed or overtired? Am I forcing the fulfillment of my own wants and desires instead of graciously accepting the gifts that God gives me? Am I assigning blame to others (other people, Satan, the Lord) instead of accepting my own part in a failure or unexpected outcome? The reality of the human experience is that there will be times when we fall into the pit from which we see our circumstances and our sufferings merely as things that are happening to us. The risk in this, I believe, is that we see this cross as a Cross of Despair, rather than a Cross of Hope. When we are willing to see ourselves more clearly through the merciful eyes of the Savior, when we accept our mistakes and shortcomings with what the psalmist calls a contrite and humble heart, we can more readily recognize Christ the Lord, in whom our hope lies. Jesus’ cross is a Cross of Hope. The struggle is real. St. Augustine describes it in beautiful and poetic agony: When at last I cling to you with my whole being there will be no more anguish or labor for me, and my life will be alive indeed, because filled with you. But now it is very different. Anyone whom you fill you also uplift, but I am not full of you, and so I am a burden to myself. Joys over which I ought to weep do battle with sorrows that should be matters for joy, and I do not know which will be victorious. But I also see griefs that are evil at war in me with joys that are good, and I do not know which will win the day. This is agony, Lord, have pity on me! It is agony! See, I do not hide my wounds; you are the physician and I am sick; you are merciful, I in need of mercy. In adverse circumstances, I long for prosperity, and in times of prosperity I dread adversity. On your exceedingly great mercy rests all my hope…… - St. Augustine
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 Composed by: Sr. Mary Magdalene
This post was originally posted in Feb 2016. It is re-posted here to be read in the light of our present experience. I just finished reading a recent post in the Dominican student brothers’ online publication known as Dominicana. The February 25, 2016 edition supplied a link to the latest installment of Reflections on Ethics, Faith & Health Care, a weekly series from Dominican Friars Health Care Ministry of New York. I come from a healthcare background so I found myself naturally drawn to the series. This week’s post was entitled, “The Consoling Love of Christ: A Reflection on John 11: 1-44.” In it the author, Fr. Jonah Pollock, O.P., uses the well-known Scripture passage on the death of Lazarus and the grief of his sisters to explore 3 ways in which Jesus approaches the human person as consoler and healer. If you’ll indulge me, I found it to be very well done and worth sharing. First, a refresher on the story. Jesus, we are told in Scripture, received word that his good friend Lazarus was ill and dying. Rather than rushing immediately to his side, Jesus “delayed 2 days” before returning. When he arrived, Martha came to meet him and exclaimed, “had you been here, Lord, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you” (John 11:21-22). Lazarus had already been in the tomb about 4 days. A short time later, their sister Mary comes to the Lord. She falls at his feet and sobs, saying “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” The familiar story culminates with Jesus going to the tomb and calling Lazarus back to life. Fr. Pollock then went on to look at Jesus’ three main encounters within the story and how the Lord’s compassion and consolation are manifest in each. The first is with Martha. When she approaches Jesus, she is both grieving and perhaps even a little bit frustrated with the Lord’s delay in coming. Jesus responds by telling her that Lazarus will rise, and reminding her that Jesus, himself, is the resurrection and the life. He asks her, “Do you believe this?” and gives her an opportunity for her own profession of faith, “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.” It is significant to note that he asks her this even before he raises Lazarus from the dead. Fr. Pollock notes that Jesus is asking Martha to “trust Him”. The Lord asks the same of us. To trust that He is “the resurrection and the life” and that “all who believe will have eternal life” The next encounter, of course, is with Mary. Mary, we are told, “fell at his feet….weeping." And Jesus’ response was silence. He saw her tears and was “disturbed……and (He) wept." Over many years in healthcare, I have found myself referring to this passage frequently. When I’ve had friends or patients who are grieving the loss of a loved one and “apologizing” for crying, I have often referred to this line in Scripture, “And Jesus wept.” Jesus wept even though he knew exactly what would come next! Knowing, as he did, that he would soon be calling Lazarus from the grave, why did he weep? Fr. Pollock reminds us that Jesus is “fully human." He wept because he loved his friend Lazarus. He wept because Mary was weeping and he understood her suffering. He shared in her sorrow and he shares in our sorrows, as well. And now for the third encounter. It may have seemed that Jesus was unconcerned with Lazarus’ illness. He did, after all, delay his return to Bethany. But perhaps there is something more than this. When Jesus first hears of Lazarus’ illness, and before he begins the journey to return to his friend’s side, Jesus tells his disciples “This illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” But our loved ones’ lives do end in death, we might bemoan. In fact, even Lazarus, once brought back from death, will live out his natural life and die once again! It seems there was a greater purpose in the experience for Lazarus and his sisters. It was “for the glory of God” and it is said that “many came to believe in Him” as the result. I’d like to tell you about a visit I just shared with an older friend who is in the hospital, on the psychiatric unit. She shared with me that she was finding herself in a dark period. She said that she could only manage to “pray words and did not feel God.” I found myself applying Fr. Pollock’s “consolations” to my friend’s experience. As I told her about Lazarus and his illness bringing about “the glory of God," she told me how many of the other patients she’s in contact with have shared some of their stories with her and appreciated her ability to listen and respond with compassion. “You’re being the face of Christ," I told her, “even in your pain." As her tears began to flow, we spoke of that short but powerful verse in Scripture, “And Jesus wept." She was comforted in the knowledge that the Lord knows her sorrows and sits in the midst of them with her. And Martha? Even in those moments when we cannot sense God’s intimate presence, when he seems to delay in coming, He asks us to trust. Trust that there is something on the other side of this present darkness. And this “something” is His wonderful light. Perhaps these are “consolations” worth pondering during our Lenten journey. This voluntarily accepted desert time we choose in the hope of drawing closer to our Lord. Trust that the Lord is both the culmination of the journey and the companion along its way. Allow this man of sorrows to sit with you in the midst of your tears and you, in turn, be willing to sit with another. Recognize that now “we see dimly, as if through a veil” and we may not recognize the ultimate good that might come from our present experiences. This, too, is a consolation. It is the consolation of being allowed to (in some small way) participate in bringing about the glory of God. Image: Duccio, The Raising of Lazarus |
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