Within what I term the “inspiration” pieces was a version of St. Paul’s famous passage on love (1 Corinthians 13: 1-8) rewritten in a way that applies to preparing for Christmas. Titled “1 Corinthians 13 – Christmas Style,” it was written by Sharon Jaynes some years ago and posted on her blog on December 16, 2009. [http://sharonjaynes.com/blog/?p=104]. It reads as follows:

If I decorate my house perfectly with lovely plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights, and shiny glass balls, but do not show love to my family — I’m just another decorator.

 If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals, and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love to my family — I’m just another cook.

 If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my family — it profits me nothing.

 If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties, and sing in the choir’s cantata but do not focus on Christ — I have missed the point.

 Love stops the cooking to hug the child.

Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.

Love is kind, though harried and tired.

Love doesn’t envy another home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.

Love doesn’t yell at the kids to get out of your way.

Love doesn’t give only to those who are able to give in return, but rejoices in giving to those who can’t.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

Love never fails. Video games will break; pearl necklaces will be lost; golf clubs will rust. But giving the gift of love will endure.

This poem is a beautiful reminder to us all as Christmas draws ever-nearer, as the activities (and often accompanying stress) increase, and patience and perspective dwindle.

 This also reminds (and challenges) us to take the beautiful words of St. Paul seriously, as something far more than poetry or inspiration. Love is authentic (i.e. truly love) when it is incarnated, “made flesh” in our words and actions. And when love is incarnated in us, we become the sign of the God who IS love and so loved the world that God gave us his Son, who became incarnate (made flesh) of the Virgin Mary and dwelt among us. (cf. 1 John 4: 8, John 3: 16, John 1: 14)

 Not too many years ago, the above discussion would never have taken place. The decision would have been immediate and automatic: the St. Malachi Center Board would have recognized her death with a Mass.

 For many decades, a parish could expect that, soon after a funeral,  a family member would come to the office with a stack of Mass cards to schedule Masses for the person who had just died. Most parishes tried to schedule a Mass about a month after the individual’s death (known as a Month’s Mind Mass). Often, the family would wait some months before there was an “open” date for a Mass to be scheduled because there were so many requests for Masses. In large parishes, the parish bulletin would announce when the Mass calendar for the following year would be opened; usually, within a few days, every available Mass intention would be scheduled for the following year  (most parishes wisely held some dates in reserve to accommodate the requests that would come for those who would die during the year, so there could be a Month’s Mind Mass.)

This practice has declined dramatically. At St. Malachi – and many other parishes (so other priests tell me) – there are few, if any, requests for Masses after a funeral. A family member might request a Mass on the anniversary of a death and/or a birthday, but usually few other Masses.

 Why the change?

 I suspect there are several reasons. One is that the practice of designating a charity/charities which the deceased and/or the family support to receive memorial donations to honor the person who has died has become more common.

 However, I believe another, deeper, reason for the decline in Mass requests for a person who has died is because of a change in people’s attitude and religious belief. I believe that Catholics overwhelmingly believe that God “wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth.” (1 Timothy 2:4) In addition, preaching on Sundays and at funerals has, correctly, emphasized God’s mercy, forgiveness and compassion and also the hope and promise of Christ’s resurrection. These are positive developments.

 At the same time, less positively, I have noticed that more people seem to consider the concept of purgatory to be a old-fashioned, antiquated relic of pre-Vatican II theology and piety. People seem to think “God is loving, understanding and forgiving, so God understands us, is compassionate about our weaknesses and forgives our sins immediately. So when most people die, they must go straight to heaven.” From this perspective, there seems little reason or need to pray for someone after death.

Purgatory is not about punishment; it is about purification. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it this way: “All who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven.” (#1030)

 A bit of reflection will help make sense of the idea. If you died right now, at this moment, how much would you be leaving undone – not in the Bucket List sense of “things I always wanted to do in my life” but in the sense of “unfinished business that is my responsibility”? Is there anyone that you know you’ve hurt, any relationship that is damaged, that you have not yet made whole? What about the damage you’ve done or harm you’ve caused that cannot be undone? If you’re honest with yourself, do you feel “I need to clean up my act” in some ways to be the person you’re supposed to be? That is why purgatory is needed and that’s what purgatory is about – taking care of our unfinished business and cleaning up our act, so that we’re truly ready.

 “The Church assists those in Purgatory through prayer and especially the Eucharist in their final process of purification. Offering Masses for the deceased is a most powerful way of aiding them. November 2 each year, the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed (All Souls’ Day), is a day for special remembrance and prayer for the dead.” (United States Catholic Catechism for Adults, pg. 154)

 When someone we love has died, let’s not just presume that person is in heaven. Let’s love them enough to keep praying for them. And perhaps have a Mass offered for them.

 In Eucharistic Prayer III, we tell God that we will “praise you forever through Christ our Lord, from whom all good things come.” So the natural question arises in the mind of believers: where is God when earthquakes, tsunamis kill tens of thousands and wreak complete devastation?

 In his homily on the First Sunday of Lent, Archbishop Patrick Kelly, the Archbishop of Liverpool, England, reflected on this question in light of Matthew’s account of Jesus’ temptation by Satan in the desert (Mt 4:1-11). Archbishop Kelly identifies our desire for God to prevent the earthquake (and subsequent tsunami) (or halt it as soon as it begins) with the temptation directed to Jesus by Satan (“the tempter”) to make use of divine power to turn stones into bread:

 If he is he Son of God, let him turn the stones that block our path, all that undermines our comfort, ease, into loaves of bread, into life and immediate pleasure. If you are the Son of God, do a “Superman” and hold back the plates that undermine the surface of the earth. If you are the Son of God bow down before power, claim powers as your own, control dominate, subdue all that is.

“If you are the Son of God, do a ‘Superman’ and hold back the plates that undermine the surface of the earth” – I had never thought about it in those terms. But that is exactly what “where was God when this happen? Why didn’t God prevent it/stop it?” means. In our desire for God to act by “doing a Superman,” we stand with the tempter and try, with all the might of our prayer, to compel God to do what we would have God do. And we allow ourselves to be tempted in this way whenever something bad happens.

 Archbishop Kelly reflects that what we are seeking in these moments is not God’s way. He quotes from Pope Benedict’s homily at his first public Mass as Pope on April 24, 2005:

‘I lay down my life for the sheep.’ It is not power, but love that redeems us! This is God’s sign: he himself is love. How often we wish that God would show himself stronger, that he would strike decisively, defeating evil and creating better world. All ideologies of power justify themselves in exactly this way, they justify the destruction of whatever would stand in the way of progress and the liberation of humanity. We suffer on account of God’s patience, and yet we need his patience. God, who became a lamb, tells us that the world is saved by the Crucified One, not by those who crucified him. The world is redeemed by the patience of God. It is destroyed by the impatience of man.” [http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/homilies/documents/hf_ben-xvi_hom_20050424_inizio-pontificato_en.html]

 “It is not power, but love that redeems us!” By quoting Pope Benedict’s words, “How often we wish that God would show himself stronger, that he would strike decisively, defeating evil and creating better world,” Archbishop Kelly invites us to recognize that the question we ask, “where was God when the earthquake and tsunami hit?” is the result of our yielding to the temptation of seeking “a God of power” to save us, rather than the God who became powerless out of love for us and, as a Good Shepherd, ”laid down his life for us.” (cf. John10:14)

 To resist this temptation is to accept the mystery of natural disasters as they exist – part of the world around us, not something controlled – started or stopped – by the God of power and might. To resist this temptation is to recognize how we, as human beings, contribute to the toll of these disasters by choosing to build and live in at-risk areas, by over-estimating our power to create “safety” and “protection” from such threats, and by assuming we are “ready” and able to handle whatever may occur. To resist this temptation is to become humble: knowing the limits of our knowledge, abilities and power to control the world around us. Most of all, to resist this temptation is to seek the love and compassion of God that saves us, to learn the patience of God.

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 Rightly so, because the rescue was a stunning technical achievement: never before had people been rescued so far down; never before had people been rescued after being trapped so long.

 Rightly so, because the rescue was truly an international effort: experts, equipment and aid came from many different countries. The whole world had a stake in the outcome.

 Rightly so, because in a world so badly torn by strife and division, the rescue demonstrated what collaboration can achieve. The coming together of people from all over the world, sharing their gifts and resources in a common effort was the only way the rescue efforts could have succeeded.

 Rightly so, because the rescue mission took a truly holistic approach, concerned about everyone (family members, members of the community as well as the trapped miners) and concerned about the whole person: the physical needs (food, medical care, physical fitness levels, etc.), social needs for contact with their families, emotional and psychological needs (addressing mental health issues caused by months of isolation, the very natural fears of the miners and their families, the trauma of the cave-in, etc.), spiritual needs, and possible long-term effects of the ordeal. Again, specialists from all over the world were consulted and contributed their expertise to provide the best possible care to the miners and their families.

 Rightly so, because the miners themselves were not passive victims, but actively worked to insure their own survival and make possible their ultimate rescue. They quickly banded together, sacrificed for the common good of the whole group (sharing their meager supplies and food in the days immediately after the mine collapse to ensure everyone’s survival), supported and encouraged each other, kept themselves physically and emotionally fit to be ready when the tunnel was completed so the rescue could be made.

 Rightly so, because awful tragedy was transformed into the perfect happy ending: none of the 33 miners was lost or left behind; everyone was rescued and safe.

 I believe that the rescue of the miners is celebrated for even deeper and more meaningful reasons. The miners’ rescue is also a story with symbols and echoes of the paschal mystery:

• Initially, the miners were thought to be dead, but lived;
• They were lost, but then were found;
• They were buried in the earth, but were raised up;
• They lived in darkness, but were brought back to the light;
• They endured heat and suffering, but came to a place of coolness and refreshment;
• They were separated and alone, but were restored to family and friends;
• They could not save themselves, but were saved by sacrificial love and compassion beyond themselves

 Can it be that we rejoice because we sense instinctively that the story of the miners is, at the very bottom, a story of grace and salvation — and a part of us knows that it is our story, too?

From this story, the phrase “Good Samaritan” has entered our language as a description of anyone who selflessly comes to the aid of a person in need. There are even “Good Samaritan” laws which protect such individuals from being sued for any harm a helper might unintentionally cause while offering aid.

Using the imagery of this story, the question is: why is there so much passion about and attention given to the very rich young man who is leaving town with his entourage? In light of “The Decision,” why has so much time, energy, commentary, newsprint, talk, focus and emotion been paid to someone who is leaving, with all his riches and power intact?

Why is there not the same level of passion – and compassion – for so many of our children who are being robbed of an adequate education, which we know is essential to their future?

Why is there not the same level of passion and compassion for the millions of people who have lost or are in the process of losing their unemployment benefits, who have no “next job” in sight (despite all their efforts) and who are now worrying how they can possibly support themselves and their families?

Why is there not the same level of passion and compassion for the struggling alcoholics and addicts who have become “sick and tired of being sick and tired” and have reached out for treatment, only to be told that there are no treatment beds available and they will have to wait? For many, that wait will be too long and they will relapse, not because they want to, but because their addiction overwhelms them once again.

Why is there not the same level of passion and compassion for people coming out of prison, who have paid their debt to society and are trying to begin a new life? Very quickly, they learn that if they are honest on their resume, they may not get an interview and probably won’t get the job; if they leave it off their resume and the person hiring finds out, they certainly won’t get the job; and if the owner does a background check, they probably won’t get the apartment.

Why is there not the same level of passion and compassion for the people whose neighborhoods have been devastated by mortgage fraud, by foreclosures, by vandalism, by abandoned and empty houses and lots, whose own property has lost much of its value despite being kept up for many years and now will have little to leave to their children or grandchildren?

Why is there not the same level of passion and compassion for the many people who sit alone in their home, in their apartment, in the nursing home and no one ever calls and no one ever comes?

Perhaps it is easier to pay attention to the rich man leaving. Perhaps it is easier for us to talk about him and complain and criticize and get all worked up. That way, we keep moving down the road ourselves and we, too, can pass by on our way. And pretty soon, we can forget about the people on the side of the road and forget that we ever saw them.

The story of the Good Samaritan is a simple one. We know what we’re supposed to do. As the book of Deuteronomy says, it “is not too mysterious and remote for you. …  No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.” (Deuternonmy 30: 11, 14)

Or, as Jesus tells the scribe, “Go, and do likewise.” (Luke 10:37)

It may be tempting to focus on personal preferences and immediately react in terms of “I like this” or “I’d rather do that” ritual. What may be more helpful is to enter into reflection on the symbolism and meaning of the foot washing ritual itself. This will prepare us not only to understand, but to pray the ritual on Holy Thursday.

Gabe Huck reflects on the washing of the feet as an introduction and way to enter into the prayer of the Triduum [“three days” – Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday Easter Vigil]:

The mandatum rite is meant to be much more than the re-enacting what Jesus did. It is even more than fulfilling his words to “do what I have done to you.” The ritual washing of feet, whether or not such a gesture is any longer part of a people’s common practice, powerfully expresses Holy Thursday night: first moment of the church’s Triduum in which such signs of gentle attention and service say what we have received from our Lord. This Passover we have entered contains a very specific vision of the universal human theme of death and resurrection. Volumes and centuries of witness have helped to express this. And as Paul said, every time we break bread and share the cup we are proclaiming it. But in these three days the Christians who gather to pray need once-a-year prayers and gestures. Mandatum is one of these. To wash one another’s feet is to get very close to what makes us church, to our Easter Triduum. We do so in the presence of our “elect,” those who will be baptized at the Vigil; it can be the image of the church we wish to be and offer to them.

….

Don’t be hasty to discard the traditional mandatum. True, it is not “contemporary” but neither is breaking bread or laying on hands, yet all these are far more than relics of other cultures and times. They need only be done with care and beauty to release the power of meaning beyond surface impressions. Foot washing is that kind of gesture also, if the ones involved care about what is happening, know it is a gesture that expresses and judges their lives.   [Gabe Huck, The Three Days: Parish Prayer in the Paschal Triduum, 1981]

In his blog post, Hugh McNichol  reflects on the meaning of the ritual symbolically:

Religious signs and symbols are usually very misunderstood by Catholics. The reason is not that we do not have lots of them for personal spiritual contemplation, but that the entire concept of sign and symbol is frequently lost in modern perceptions that usually involve politically correct assumptions. One great example of this confusion is the ritual Washing of the Feet, at the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday. The optional observance of this ritual in the Holy Thursday liturgy has both sign and symbol dimensions associated with the actions. Jesus’ washing of the feet of the disciples is a sign of Jesus’ humility by performing this act. It is also a symbol of Jesus’ message of service that he conveys to the Apostles by acting as a personal attendant for the needs of the Apostles. Additionally, it is also central to the cultures of the Semitic and Eastern cultures to ritually wash before the participation in a meal. Good hospitality in the Jewish world included the opportunity for guests to “freshen-up,” so to speak. After travel on dusty paths and highways to celebrate the Passover meal, such cleansing would be a welcome relief.

Jesus offers however a strong indication of His determination to perform this act of hospitality for the Apostles as an example of ministerial service for His Apostles. One needs to understand that Jesus is the principle leader of this gathering and the host of the Passover meal. His actions are indeed the antithesis of what one would expect from the host in similar situations. One for example would not anticipate (the) President … attending to the needs of his guests personally at a state dinner. One does not anticipate Jesus’ actions of ritual purification. However, that is precisely what He does and the entire notion regarding personal service is conveyed to the Apostles and indirectly to the Church by the actions.   [Hugh McNichol, The Holy Thursday Ritual … a Ritual for both men and women (http://verbumcarofactumest.blogspot.com/2008_03_ 13_archive.html)]

When Jesus finished washing his disciples’ feet, he said to them, “Do you realize what I have done for you?” (John 13:12)  It is a question for each disciple in every age to answer.

What does this ritual mean to you?

What does it mean for St. Malachi, our new parish, formed as a Eucharistic people, united in prayer, welcoming to all, serving those who are poor and in need?

Just as the Transfiguration revealed the full identity of Jesus, Lent calls every Christian to consider the question “who am I?” seriously.

Thomas Merton expressed it this way:

If you want to identify me ask not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, and ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for. Between these two answers you can determine the identity of any person. The better the answer he has, the more of a person he is. (sic)

Merton continues, reminding us that the process of realizing one’s true identity, becoming “who I really am” is the effort of a life time:

… I am all the time trying to make out the answer as I go on living. I live out the answer to my two questions myself and the answer may not be complete, even when my life is ended I may go on working out the answer for a long time after my death, but at last it will be resolved, and there will be no further question, for with God’s mercy I shall possess not only the answer but the reality that the answer was about. (Thomas Merton, My Argument with the Gestapo)

What are you living for?
What is keeping you from living fully for the thing you want to live for?

If we think about the calendar, celebrating Gaudete Sunday on the Third Sunday of Advent guarantees that the season is at least half over. On the Third Sunday of Advent this year, it is only 12 days until Christmas.Similarly, during Lent, “Laetare (rejoice) Sunday” is on the Fourth Sunday of Lent – which means that Lent is half over. (A simple trick to remember which “rejoice” Sunday belongs to which season is to remember that “Laetare” and “Lent” are both L-words.)

The idea of rejoicing because Advent is at least half over works well for young people already excited about Christmas. For busy adults, with much more yet to accomplish before Christmas arrives, the reminder that Christmas arrives in less than two weeks from may cause more dread than delight.

So often, “rejoicing” seems to be about what makes us feel “happy” or “up” or “good inside” (like the Browns beating the Steelers) (sorry all you Steeler fans out there). Feelings come and go; rarely can a person sustain a feeling for a long time. The rejoicing that Paul is writing to the Philippians about – “rejoice in the Lord always” – is something he intends for them to sustain. It is not a matter of holding on to a good feeling, but of rejoicing because we recognize the Lord is near – here, now, today, in this moment.

This season has many reminders of the nearness of the Lord. St. Paul says, “your kindness should be known to all.” That’s an important clue. Look around – where do you see kindness? Where do you see goodness? compassion? However small, however fleeting, however ordinary the act may be, each moment of kindness or goodness or compassion reflects the goodness and compassion of God – and reminds us that the Lord is near.