"Tough" readings

We had a substitute priest at mass yesterday, who has subbed for us many times before, and whose homilies I've enjoyed very much. Yesterday, however, may have set my personal record for most cringes during one homily. Why is it so often Marianists who have this effect on me?

A brief synopsis of the Gospel reading: someone asks Jesus if only a few will be saved. Jesus replies that we should strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many will try to enter but will be unable. He goes on to say that these will knock at the door and hear the reply "I don't know where you're from." They will protest that they ate and drank with him, that he taught in their streets, but to no avail. They'll ultimately look on in anguish at the vast number who come from north and south, from east and west, feasting at the banquet.

Now, our visiting priest described this as a "tough" reading to understand, then interpreted it in the typical pre-Vatican-II Catholic manner, with the typically Marian twist. His point was that, while we may find we haven't been "strong enough," we have an advocate in Jesus' mother who will speak on our behalf at that moment, as we regularly implore " . . . pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death."

Now, once upon a time, I had a problem with the role of Mary as an intercessor. That is no longer the case. However, his approach to this reading still doesn't work for me, as I believe it underappreciates Mary's humility and Jesus' Godhead.

So here's my take on this reading. It isn't that "only a few will be saved," as the inquirer asked at the start of the Gospel passage. Rather, those who attempt to enter by their own merits, or who approach with an attitude of privilege, will find themselves unable to. Many of Jesus' own people had taken on a self-righteous sense of entitlement concerning their place in God's favor. Instead, the banquet hall will be filled with those saved, but they will indeed be saved, not worthy or entitled. It seems to me that those who are convinced that they belong can't ever work their way in. Only those who know how unworthy we are of God's love and of Jesus' sacrifice will have the proper attitude to enter the gate. Jesus is the narrow gate ("I myself am the gate for the sheep," Jesus says in St. John's gospel), and we enter through him, not through our own merits.

It seems to me that the earthly Christian church (and this is an issue beyond denomination) has too many people who act as if the purpose of our faith is to get us to the point at which we no longer need a savior. I believe it is impossible to achieve this. Our eternal destination isn't a matter of being good enough or strong enough or "faithful" enough (in the way we use the term to mean we've stayed the course), but humble enough. Yes, we are called to remain faithful, but not so that we can puff out our chests over our faithfulness, but humbly full of faith.

Now, lest I stumble into "sola fides," let me clarify that I don't believe such faith in Jesus is real if it is unaccompanied by a response. I believe we are to run the race, fight the good fight of faith, and (as St. Paul says) "work out our salvation with fear and trembling." But both the faith and our response to it - our running, fighting, and working out - are God's gift to us, so it is only by God's grace we enter the banquet, not by our belonging there in any other way.

Sheff

You know, I try not to pay too much attention to celebrity, but now and then someone says something that just really strikes me.

Gary Sheffield was quoted as saying, "If I lose friends, so what? I don't need friends. I've got plenty of friends," Sheffield said.

Wow.

My friends are more precious to me than that. I sure hope he was quoted completely out of context.

Sanctimony

Barry Bonds. Michael Vick. Tank Johnson. Adam Jones. Tim Donaghy. Michael Rasmussen. Alexander Vinokourov. Ryan Tucker. Marion Jones. Tim Montgomery. Neifi Perez. Ivan Basso. Floyd Landis. Mark McGuire.

Okay. I'll stop now. But let's get the point. And it isn't just about sports figures, either.

We ought not tolerate cheating.

We also ought not get all uppity in the process. Let's not think ourselves better than others. If we do, we've missed the point.

And no, I don't think myself better than those who think themselves better than others. What a trap that would be!

We all have our weaknesses. We should help each other out of them or, if our help isn't desired, at least not enable the dynamic that nurtures them. But just because I don't have another person's weakness, or because my weakness hasn't made the headlines, that doesn't give me room to judge.

Or maybe I just feel that way because my own weakness was so undeniably ugly.

From what comes hope?

Compared to a lot of tragedies in this world, this one (registration req'd, and I don't know how long the Post keeps its articles available) may be small. Perhaps it doesn't compare to terrorism, war, starvation, or genocide. Still, it touches me deeply.

Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake were brilliant people, deeply united with one another, yet they became hopeless.

It seems that none of these things that the world values - intelligence, esteem, beauty, brilliance, riches, success - can provide true hope. Or, in the words of Arlene Landis, "All this proves to me is that worldly fame is worthless."

I have been this full of despair. On the way to work one day, over a decade ago (at close to Jeremy's age, in fact), I chose the means and site of my death that afternoon.

Providence and grace delivered me over to a better answer than to follow in my father's footsteps, and saved my family the further hurt to which I would have selfishly subjected them. But it wasn't a matter of choosing to live in misery myself rather than making them miserable.

There is a Way through such desperation. Beyond the abject darkness there is bright, joyful day, where life is indeed far better.