In class this morning we read together two homilies of the
Pope—the Tacloban Homily and the Luneta Homily. They’re deep
homilies….reminding me of the beatitude, “blessed are you who mourn”. Indeed,
what can we do in front of the darkness we face? Jesus accompanies us all the
way—the Lord on the cross. He accompanies us in our fragility, in our
precarious conditions….even in our inability to fully address the darkness
confronting us.
Maybe all we can do is mourn, but we are so assured that Jesus
mourns with us.
Maybe it is necessary to be effective in our “advocacies” and
“social involvements”.
But we are also confronted with our own powerlessness.
The temptation is to believe that we can “solve it all” or that we have enough
strength and power to “correct it all”, as if it is all in our power. The
victory, however, is, perhaps, elsewhere…in our powerlessness, in humility and
in being a “child”. The victory is perhaps in clinging to our Mother’s mantle
at the foot of the cross.
Just as we read in Mark, the seed grows and
sprouts in a mysterious way…in a way that is in the nailed hands of the Lord. I
am reminded of Caryl Houselander’s image of the infant Christ with arms
stretched out to stem the tide of darkness—arms that will, later, be on the
cross. In a mysterious way the victory is achieved over darkness.
Charles de
Foucauld’s prayer starts this way, “Father I abandon myself into your hands”.
Therese de Lisieux puts it this way: “You must navigate the tempestuous sea of
the world with the love and utter trustfulness of a child who knows that his
father loves him too much to forsake him in the hour of peril”. This is how I “read” the Pope’s two
homilies.
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