But maybe that’s the wrong question. Perhaps we should be asking ourselves: How have we used the time we’ve been given? For if there’s one thing COVID-19 has given us, it’s time. And what a time it’s been! A vastly different time for most of us.
A time of uninvited
change.
A time of separation
from the familiar, from the predictable.
A time of loneliness;
or a time to deepen friendships and family bonds.
A time of reflection;
or a time of complaint.
A time of openness; or
a time of closure.
A time of embraced opportunity;
or a time of withdrawal.
A time of joy; or a
time worry.
A time of faith; or a
time of fear.
In other words, how
many of us see this pandemic as something to be feared, as a life-stealing
threat?
And how many see it as
a gift?
I know, it’s hard to
see a virus as a gift. But remember, as St. Paul reminds us, God takes
everything and turns it to good for those who love Him [Rom 8:28].
This time, then, is
just another manifestation of the Good News, another reason to be joyful.
Let me sum it up with a
one more question: Have you and I grown in holiness? For this is what God asks
of us. Did we use this time to
deepen our love for God and for each other?
A few weeks ago, an
acquaintance complained that his spiritual life had suffered greatly because he
couldn’t take part in the usual acts of worship and charity that had filled so much
of his day prior to the pandemic. “It’s all so different,” he said.
I simply reminded him
that when our world changes, when everything is “so different”, our response,
too, must be different.
He’s a pretty active
guy, so I got the impression that his B.P. spiritual life (his before
pandemic life) involved a lot of doing – doing things he believed
were good Christian things to do.
Now, don’t get me
wrong. Liturgical and charitable ministries are wonderful things because they’re
done in response to Jesus’ command.
But so many Christians
do all these good things without really thinking very deeply about them. We can get so wrapped
up in our Christian work that we don’t take the time to reflect on the totality
of our lives.
So certain that we are
fine right where we are, we don’t ask God to show us where He wants us to be. Our prayer – when we
have time for it – tends to focus on what we believe to be our needs, instead
of opening our hearts to what God desires for us.
Of one thing we can be
certain: God does not want any of us to remain the same. He wants everyone to
grow in holiness.
When I think of the
Christian life, I’m always drawn to those traditional Lenten practices:
almsgiving, fasting, and prayer. In truth, though, almsgiving and fasting are
just other forms of prayer.
Today I’d like to focus
on almsgiving.
Gerard
Manley Hopkins, the 19th Century Jesuit poet, frequently
corresponded with the poet laureate of England, his friend Robert Bridges. In
one of these letters, Bridges, an agnostic, asked Hopkins how he could learn to
believe, expecting, I suppose, some deep theological answer. But Hopkins
reply consisted of only two words: “Give alms.”
What
a wonderful answer! Even though it might have been lost on Mr. Bridges. You
see, in his own search for truth, a search that ultimately led him to the
Catholic Church, Hopkins had learned something most people never grasp.
He
hoped to show his friend that the love of God is experienced most fully in our
love for others. For it’s through loving others that we recognize and
experience the source and being of all love. By
loving others, we come to see the divine image in every person. By
loving others, we come face to face with Jesus.
Of course, when you and
I think of almsgiving, we usually think of money – you know, writing a check to
Catholic Charities or Catholic Relief Services, or to a local charity like our
Food Pantry or the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, and then thinking really well of
ourselves.
These are all good
things to do – except the thinking well of ourselves – but almsgiving means so
much more than this.
The word
"alms" has its roots in the Greek word meaning compassion, and
"compassion" -- based on its Latin roots -- literally means "suffering with".
Now, for most of us, I don't
think writing a check to Catholic Charities really involves a lot of suffering,
especially suffering with someone in need. Perhaps we should
expand our understanding of almsgiving to include something a bit more up close
and personal. After all, it's hard to
suffer with someone if you don't know who's doing the suffering. Maybe our almsgiving
should include more than just giving money. Maybe it should also include giving
of ourselves, more hands-on than usual.
Many of our parishioners
are members of ministries that support those in need – for example, the Knights
of Columbus or the Council of Catholic Women. These are wonderful
ministries, but it’s also easy for members to hide behind the organization’s
collective work and forget that each one of us is called to get down and dirty,
so to speak, in our almsgiving, in our giving of ourselves.
Giving of oneself is
the sort of giving we see at the food pantry, or the free clinic, or the soup
kitchen. It's the sort of giving
that takes the Blessed Sacrament to the sick and homebound, the sort that
visits (or simply calls) those in the hospital or the nursing home or hospice. It's the sort of giving
that takes God's love to those who are imprisoned.
It’s also the love that visits
a lonely neighbor. Every neighborhood has its share of suffering souls, those who need your almsgiving, your suffering right along with them. How many of us know our
neighbors well enough to be aware of their loneliness, their illnesses, their
suffering?
As I mentioned earlier,
perhaps we should use this unfamiliar time to reflect on our motives. Why do I do God’s work?
Simply because Jesus told me to? Or do I do it out of love? Do I give those
personal alms, that compassion, because I see Jesus Christ in every person I
encounter?
What have I done, what
can I do now, and what will I do once our world re-opens? After all, God’s People
– and they are all God’s people, rich
and poor – will still have needs that call for our compassion, our suffering
with them.
It all boils down to
love, doesn’t it? If we answer the call to
almsgiving, to compassion, simply because it makes us feel good, what profit is
there in that? How did Paul put it?
If I speak in human and angelic tongues, but do
not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal [1 Cor 13:1].
In other words, unless we act out of love, our
actions mean little.
Take a few moments to read Jesus’ wonderful description
of the last judgment [Mt 25:31-46] and reflect on what Our Lord is telling us
about those who suffer. I read that passage at least once a week, just
to remind me of how often I fail as a disciple of Jesus Christ.
How
did Jesus put it? “…whatever you do for the least of my brothers, you do for
me.”
But
Jesus didn’t stop there, did He? He
tells us not only to give alms, but also to take it a step farther, to do what
doesn’t come naturally: to give alms in secret [Mt 6:1-4]. Imagine
that! Being charitable but telling no one. Taking no credit for the good we do.
No bows, no bouquets, no recognition, no thanks. Why, it’s almost inhuman.
Well…actually…it
is inhuman, because it’s what the Father wants, and He will repay us.
At the Wildwood Soup Kitchen, we have a guiding principle we hope will direct our ministry
to those we serve. It’s really quite simple: “We don’t serve food; we serve Jesus Christ.”
This is what God wants from us, to see Jesus
Christ in others and to be Jesus Christ for others. This is true discipleship.
The disciple should also be filled with joy, for
discipleship is celebration, a time in which you share the joy that comes from
knowing we are loved by God.
Like all holy acts, almsgiving is an
opportunity for evangelization. What an opportunity to carry the Good News of
Jesus Christ to those who suffer!
A simple phone call to one who is ill in body,
mind, or spirit is a coming together in worship. And God wants us to celebrate when we worship. His is the Good News, not
the okay or the so-so news.
This, indeed, is what the Mass is, a coming together in worship, to
share not only in the remarkable gift of the Eucharist, but also in each
other's joys and sorrows. It is a time of communion. (To
come to a deeper understanding of this, read Pope Benedict XVI’s wonderful,
little book, Called to Communion.)
Have you ever considered that Our God is a communion, a communion of
three Persons, united in a love beyond our understanding? The Blessed Trinity becomes, then, a model for us as a we struggle to
respond to God’s call to communion.
Just look at the words of the Word of God. When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He didn't begin with, My Father. He began with Our Father. And He didn't end by saying, "…deliver me from evil," but
with, "…deliver us from evil." He didn't choose one apostle, He chose twelve. And He didn’t send them out alone; He sent them out in pairs.
God, in His infinite wisdom, knows we need each other to accomplish His
Will. We need His Love, manifested through the love we have for each other, to
achieve salvation.
St. Paul recognized this. In his First Letter to the Corinthians
he celebrates the many spiritual gifts that we, as Christians, receive from the
Holy Spirit: wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, works of mercy, prophecy,
discernment, prayer in the Spirit…all wonderful gifts. But each person, each gift, by and of itself, needs the others to make a
whole. [1 Cor 12:1-11].
And in that same letter, Paul states emphatically that the Body of
Christ does not consist of one member but of many. We must all share in each
other’s joys and sorrows. Sadly, not everyone understands this.
Many years ago, in
another parish, I was assisting a retired bishop at Mass. He spent the summer in
our town and occasionally helped the parish by celebrating Sunday Mass.
One Sunday, right after
the homily, he called a couple forward to receive a blessing on their fiftieth anniversary. Everyone in the parish knew them, and so after the blessing, the
bishop led us in a round of applause.
Later a parishioner
approached me in the parking lot furious that we had applauded during Mass,
something he considered sacrilegious. At first, I thought he
was kidding, but his reaction to my little chuckle taught me otherwise. He had forgotten about
the bishop and was now angry with me.
I also realized argument
would be futile, so I simply said, “Read First Corinthians 12:26” and walked
away. In that verse Paul simply writes:
"If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is
honored, all rejoice together” [1 Cor 12:26].
You know, in all the years I knew that man, I never saw him smile.
We encounter a similar situation in chapter two of John’s Gospel in
which we find Jesus, accompanied by His Mother and His disciples at a wedding
feast in Cana. Here Jesus joins His people in a joyful celebration of marriage between
a man and a woman. But more than that, He sanctifies this marriage by
performing His first public miracle – not at a time of human sorrow, but of
human happiness.
John draws the picture of Jesus enjoying Himself at this celebration. Jesus chose to be there, to take part in this very human celebration,
this party. It wasn’t beneath Him but was something He sought.
Our Christian faith,
then, is a cause for joy, and the
Christian who goes through life with a long face, spreading gloom behind him should
meditate long and hard on this Gospel reading. Jesus
told His disciples,
“If you
love me you will keep my commandments” [Jn 14:15].
And so, if
we aren’t keeping His commandments, if we aren’t loving our neighbor as
ourselves, it’s apparent that we’re not loving God either. We can’t,
then, grow in holiness unless we love.
In its
broadest sense, almsgiving is one of the means through which we grow in
holiness. Because it’s
also a form of prayer, it helps us fulfill Paul’s call to “Pray without
ceasing” [1 Thes 5:17] by the way we live our lives, the way we love.
Since this
is supposed to be a reflection, perhaps each of us should do a little
reflecting and consider how we give of ourselves to others, how we take Jesus
Christ to others in need.
Who in my
life is suffering from loneliness, from illness, from heartache?
Who needs to experienced God's love but has received no alms, no compassion, no suffering-with
from me?
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