Sunday, VI Easter
(John 14)
“But most of all, I remember Mama.” Each episode of a television series fifty years ago opened with lines including these words. Today one is challenged to remember the plot of any episode. But how could anyone who watched it every week forget the graciousness of Mrs. Hansen with her children? In the gospel today Jesus is at pains to relate to his disciples an incalucubly greater love. He means to tell them how he and the Father will occupy their hearts in the Holy Spirit. We should not think of grace running on two distinct levels – a natural grace in a mother’s love and a supernatural grace in God’s love. Rather the mother’s love facilitates divine grace when it moves in harmony with the same Holy Spirit.
In a ballad, poignant with meaning in recent weeks, Bob Denver sings of his uncle named Matthew. He tells how Matthew came to stay in his house after a Kansas tornado stripped the man of home and family. The man was more than a blessing; he was a friend who guided the singer to a profound appreciation of life. Jesus promises his disciples such friendship – or, again, an infinitely more gracious friendship – when he tells them that he and his Father will make their dwelling with them. Like a mother bird builds the family nest the Godhead occupies our hearts. It makes us saints by enabling us to thrive while living poor in spirit, mourning with the afflicted, and craving righteousness more than bread.
What’s that? We don’t think of ourselves as saints. We are not even sure that we want to be saints. Yes, the young often have a wooden idea of sanctity. They see saints as living in an etherized environment with scant joy and zero pleasure. But this is hardly the case. Saints excel at living because whatever they have, they share with the most congenial of company. That is, they delight in the presence of God. As a comparison we might ask ourselves which would we prefer -- a six course dinner taken alone at the Ritz-Carlton or a pear cut in three and shared with two life-long friends? We would probably eat the former too quickly to savor its goodness. But tasting the fruit with trusted companions will sooth our hearts.
So Jesus imparts his peace to us. He means shalom -- the Hebrew concept which, as most of us know, means well-being. This peace is coming home to mother’s kitchen after pitifully gorging oneself on cafeteria buffets and painfully cramming all night for exams. It is tasting her sauce -- or perhaps her stew -- made not just with love but with time that allows all flavors to be absorbed. It is hearing her words of consolation that assure us that -- whether we make all A’s or flunk out -- she will always welcome us home. It is not the world’s peace which is no more than a muscle-less “wish you well.” The Lord’s peace follows us everywhere. Because God is with us, His love eternally refreshes us.
But, we imagine, mother seems more forgiving than God. She may be disappointed if we forget to call on Sunday, but she does not cut us off from her grace. On the other hand, God – at least as we remember Him from catechism -- seems so judgmental, so inflexible. But who cuts whom off from grace? When we refuse to attend Mass on Sunday, we cut ourselves off from the light we need to sojourn through a world of darkness. Let us make no mistake about it. The commandment to “keep holy the Lord’s Day” – like all the commandments -- is not a scourge but a mercy. It enables us to reach the final home we seek.
Jesus then tells his disciples, “If you loved me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father.” His choice of words may sound peculiar. What does he mean by “if you loved me”? Do we not love him? Not fully. The disciples before receiving the Holy Spirit, and we to the extent that we reject the Holy Spirit, have a tainted love. We often want to possess the beloved rather than allow him or her complete happiness. When he meets Mary Magdalene after rising from the dead, Jesus must tell her not to cling to him. True love seeks union but not possession. The greatest legacy that our mothers have left to us, the best reason for honoring them today, is that they taught us how to love unselfishly. Their love freed us to give ourselves to our spouses if we are married, to our associates if we are single, and to our communities if we are religious.
John Denver sings of his uncle named Matthew: “Joy was just a thing that he was raised on; love was just a way to live and die. Gold was just a windy Kansas wheat field; blue was just the Kansas summer sky.” Like Jesus, he is speaking of peace, shalom. It stems from unselfish love, our mothers’ greatest legacy. It forgives us, refreshes us, and welcomes us home. The Lord’s peace forgives, refreshes, and welcomes us home.
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