Where are we now?
Geographically speaking you might be reading this on a computer which
hypothetically could be viewed around the world today. Or more likely, perhaps
you are sitting in a Church pew bored or simply interested in a little light
reading before Mass.
Navigating
our reality is a tricky thing, though, when we encounter the living God who is
the same yesterday, today, and forever. For here we are together, mid-Lent,
perhaps wondering: why are we going
through the motions? Should we continue to fast? Is giving something up really
doing anything for the world, my prayer life, etc…?
Laetare
(Rejoice) Sunday, arrives just past the mid-point of Lent to enliven our senses,
occurring this year on March 30th as a “joyful pause”. This week,
the liturgy reminds us that we are halfway there. If we cleanse the eyes of our
hearts so as to see properly, we might catch a glimpse of our eventual Easter
joy—our resurrection to new life. So rejoice,
O Jerusalem, the liturgy echoes to us to refresh our fast in order to
remind us that we are an Easter people. Though the road is long and tiresome,
and the climb at times seems endless, our hope is that the risen Lord will make
us anew.
Do
we really believe the good news? Can
you see yourself resurrected into new life? And if so, does this change the
compass of your being? In the book of Romans, we are told that “if, then, we
have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him” (Romans
6:8).
Personally,
I have always loved the phrase coined by Paul in the book of Philippians: “rejoice
in the Lord always. I shall say it again: rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4-5). In
fact, if I were to choose a life motto, I would steal this one, but not
necessarily because the act of rejoicing is simple. Paul also rejoiced in his
sufferings and weaknesses. His choice to rejoice was conscious and deliberate,
but he did not flee from suffering. It was quite the opposite actually, for he
confronted the Greco-Roman world with the light of Christ, and at many moments
put his life on the line as a testament to his faith in Jesus.
Rejoicing,
then, is not disconnected from suffering, hardship, wreckage, or chaos. And it
does not mean that we cease to mourn our losses, nor that we pretend that all
is well with the world at large and in our own lives. Rather, I think that it
is a decision that we make in our beings to believe that the good news is both transformative and true. Though the night is
long, and we are not sure that we can endure here, our faith encourages us to
continue to believe and profess that Christ is making both our world and
ourselves anew. It is a large vision, one that we do not really even see if we
are honest—but it is there, on the horizon as we fast together hoping that life
will bloom forth in abundance for all people shipwrecked in our world today.
Rejoice, O Jerusalem!
Christy Hicks is a Campus Minister in Griesedieck Hall.
