Ez 47:1-2, 8-9, 12/1 Cor 3:9c-11, 16-17/Jn 2:13-22
We’re coming to the end of Paul’s Letter to the Romans this week, the longest and most theological of his letters. In chapter 15 he speaks about his mission to Spain, (Friday) assuring the Romans he’s coming to Rome as a visitor, not to be part of their church. He hopes they’ll support him on his Spanish mission, so that he can bring the gospel to the whole world.
But Paul never gets to Spain; he will die in Rome.
We may find it strange that Paul in his letters doesn’t offer extensive references to incidents in Jesus’ life, such as his miracles, or quotations from his teaching or his parables. We do that as a matter of course in teaching or preaching about faith.
True, the gospels were not written when Paul wrote, likely in 56 to 58 from Corinth, but certainly the stories of Jesus’ life and summaries of his teaching were important in Christian preaching at the time. Why doesn’t Paul utilize them?
Does he see the gospel, especially the mystery of the death and resurrection of Jesus, as an immediate mystery, taking place now? The gospels bring us back to the time of Jesus, the events of his life and the words of his teaching. Paul saw them, not just as events and words of the past, but a mystery happening now. Jesus was not dead, but living in the world and in him. Now.
Is that why Paul’s letters are read with the gospels? So that we may understand they are happening now, in our time, in us?
We usually think of Mary, the mother of Jesus, apostles like Peter and Paul, or extraordinary individuals like Mother Teresa when we think of saints. True friends of God.
Besides them, the Feast of Saints reminds us of unnumbered others in God’s company. In a vision of heaven, St. John saw “a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue.” {Revelations 7, 9-13} We hope we will join them one day.
Our hope rests on a promise Jesus made:
“See what love the Father has bestowed on us
that we may be called the children of God.
Yet so we are…
Beloved, we are God’s children now;
what we shall be has not yet been revealed.” (1 John 3,1-3)
How shall we reach that place where we’ll be revealed as children of God? Jesus says to follow him and live as he taught. He shows the way in his Sermon on the Mount, our gospel reading for this feast. He will be the way, the truth and the life.
We haven’t seen yet that promised life. We haven’t completed our lives here yet. This feast reminds us of the hope God reveals.
Extraordinary saints are not the only ones in heaven. There is a multitude of others, not a few. God welcomes countless others, saints unnoticed here on earth, saints with little to show, saints who were sinners. People like us.
Celebrating this feast, remember your destiny, St. Bernard says:
“Rise again with Christ and seek the world above and set your mind on heaven. Long for those who are longing for us; hasten to those who are waiting for us, ask those who are looking for our coming to intercede for us. Desire their company and seek a share in their glory. There’s no harm in being ambitious for this. No danger in setting your heart on such glory.
“Remembering the saints inflames us with a yearning that Christ our life may appear to us as he appeared to them and that one day we may share in his glory.”
Father Amedeo Cencini, an Italian priest frequently consulted by dioceses and religious communities, spoke at the Passionist General Chapter in Rome, October 2018 on the issue of formation.
I expected his presentation to touch on academic matters. What schools to go to, what books to read, how should we form new members.
He didn’t speak on those issues at all, instead he spoke on learning in the school of daily life. Learning day by day, where you are, every day of your life. Daily life is our basic school.
For the school of daily life we need “docibilitas”, a Latin word we might translate as “docility”, but docility can be understood too negatively today– someone easily led, easily trained, like a trained animal.
In its original Latin meaning, to be docile means to be open to what one hears and willing to follow that truth. It’s brave and daring, not weak and compliant.
In the Letter to the Romans, which we’re reading these days in our liturgy, Paul calls for a docility to the Holy Spirit. Don’t be led by the world, he says, be led by the Spirit of God, and “the Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought,” (Romans 8,26)
We don’t know how to live as we ought either. Docility means we listen to more than ourselves or the accepted wisdom of our world.
Prayer is a way of being docile to the Spirit, who is there in our weakness. Daily prayer brings us wisdom for daily life.
The Victor's Place 