KNEADING FAITH
By Fran Lavelle
I spent nearly every day of my Christmas holiday taking walks with our dog Pickles. She enthusiastically enters the woods and searches for things unseen. Her curiosity has inspired me to look at things from a different perspective. In a recent walk, as the sun was setting, I was reminded of a St. John of the Cross quote, “In the evening of our lives we will be judged on love alone.” That quote has haunted and comforted me for decades. As I approach the ”evening” of my life I am questioning how well do I love?

We are taught that there are three types of love: eros (romantic love), philia (friendship love) and agape (selfless, unconditional love). Agape is considered the highest form of love as it is associated with God’s love for humanity. When we hear a call to love in the Gospels, Jesus is referring to agape. The question is how do we practice this kind of radical love for all people at all times? Eros and philia are much easier. It is easy to love the people who love you, look like you, pray like you or vote like you. The rubber really meets the road when we are asked to love others just because they too are God’s beloved.

I do an exercise in my retreat ministry using 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 exchanging the word love with our name.

4 __________is patient, is kind. He/she is not jealous, he/she is not pompous, he/she is not inflated, 5 __________is not rude, he/she does not seek his/her own interests, he/she is not quick-tempered, __________ does not brood over injury, 6 __________ does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. 7 __________ bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 __________ never fails …

This exercise is not meant to shame or blame but to open our hearts in asking the questions. Am I patient and kind? Am I not jealous, pompous? Inflated? Rude or seeking my own interest? Quick tempered or brooding over injury? Rejoicing in wrongdoing? Do I bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things? It is a tall order. And it is not one and done. It is a daily practice, a way to be aware of how we are growing in our love of God. I am reminded of an old Confucious saying, “We cannot eat the elephant in one bite, but we can eat the elephant.” We can grow in agape love, one day at a time.

St. Paul tells us that these three remain after all else is gone, faith, hope and love, and that the greatest of these is love. The love that St. Paul is pointing to is agape love. It is a deepening of our love for God and in doing so our love of others.

My husband reminds me that love is a verb. For it to bear fruit love must be lived out in our actions. Our actions, big and little, seen and unseen, are leaven that deepens our capacity to love. The attempts of social media and other mass communication outlets to deepen the divide between “us and them” only serves diminish agape love.

Dorothy Day said, “I can only love God to the extent I love my enemy,” meaning that the depth of one’s love for God can be measured by how much they love the person they find most difficult to love. Thanks to my daily walks with Pickles, I have been making a list of the things and, yes, even the people I find difficult to love. I am reflecting on 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. I am trying to see more and judge less. I am working not just to be found favorable in the evening of my life, but to change the narrative of popular culture. Hatred comes at a heavy cost.

“What does love look like? It has the hands to help others. It has the feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has the eyes to see misery and want. It has the ears to hear the sighs and sorrows of men. That is what love looks like.” (St. Augustine)

Love is the subject of novels, the title of great songs and the desire of every heart. Love is heroic and virtuous. Love is always reaching in, to pour out. Love is a verb. Love is the choice we make when confronted with the people and things we are in opposition to. Tina Turner once questioned, “What’s love got to do with it?” As the evening approaches, I can say for certain – everything, dear sister, everything.

(Fran Lavelle is the Director of Faith Formation for the Diocese of Jackson.)

IT IS GOOD
By Elizabeth Scalia
How could there not be enough water available to fire hydrants?

Why are controlled fires and routine brush clearing not part of normal maintenance in such a fire-prone area?

Who will be held accountable for lapses in fire preparedness and crisis readiness?

The questions came fast, and they were furious, as we all watched one of the most beautiful, desirable living spaces in the United States burn down to rubble over a matter of hours, and then days, and then through an entire week.

Multiple fires sprang up; the Santa Ana winds (and additional wind force created by the fire-heated air) moved the blazes along in a most terrifying fashion, and one could not watch the traumatized families, or view images of an area bigger than the island of Manhattan reduced to utter rubble so completely without feeling true heartache for those whose lives have been so completely upended.

Fred Rogers, of “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood” famously advised his young viewers to “look for the helpers” when chaotic things begin to happen, and it was heartening to log on to social media and find the incredible people moving quickly to offer assistance, however they could. Within a day of the fire Chef Andrew Gruel (@ChefGruel) and his wife Lauren (@LaurenGruel) posted to the “X” platform that their restaurant’s huge parking lot would be open to the dislocated: “You can stay as long as you need and camp out. We will provide free meals for all of those affected.”

After that, they quickly began coordinating with others. Almost overnight, people began to arrive with relief supplies – food, clothing, baby formula, diapers, pet food, hygiene products and more.

Then the Amazon delivery trucks appeared as people throughout the country, eager to do what they could to help, used the shopping service to send what they could. The daily postings of the Gruels, (and other small local businesses) showing the donations, the foods, the vans and the helping hands of friends, family and associates as they continually deliver all of it where needed, have been a source of real inspiration. There is a sense of not just purpose but real joy evident in their posts; it’s the sort of joy that comes when people are selflessly helping others, joining with strangers to build up what has been torn down.

Rebuilding homes and infrastructure will be on the shoulders of others – and that for years to come – but the locals who have taken it upon themselves to coordinate relief to the afflicted have been sustaining the human spirit, so easily wounded and brought low. They’ve been helping people by rebuilding hope, one meal, one package of supplies, one crate of baby formula and binkies at a time.

We have only just begun the Year of Hope proclaimed by Pope Francis in this time of Jubilee, and these scenes have helped me to define the whole concept of “hope” away from any vague platitudes I might have been tempted to in my prayers or my work.

One of the most perfect descriptions of hope ever written comes to us from Emily Dickinson:
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all

The act of sustaining hope in our sisters and brothers when they are in need is no easy thing. It is heroic, but even more, it is noble in the way that great and honorable acts are so often predicated upon the tiniest things and the littlest ways – small acts of humanity and love-of-neighbor that arise organically and instinctively, that come without press releases and last more than 15 minutes.

Sustaining hope is something remarkable within humanity, and the Holy Father is right to encourage people of faith to think about hope, learn to recognize hope and be givers of hope.

The devastation of the fires of Los Angeles is teaching us many things about preparedness, management and even about leadership and the value of a two-party system. It is also teaching us about how easy it is to look outside of our own comforts and be generous, especially where we see real need.

Experienced firefighters tell us that the best way to fight a fire is by using an intentionally created and directed blaze to snuff out an advancing conflagration. Perhaps we need to kindle small fires of hope throughout 2025 – this already challenging year – in the small places where we live, in our families and our communities and beyond – and let the flames of constructive hopefulness meet and defeat the infernos of suspicion, malice, distrust and hate that are, undeniably, raging all around us.

(Elizabeth Scalia is editor at large for OSV. Follow her on X (formerly known as Twitter) @theanchoress.sity of America’s Columbus School of Law.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
We crave few things as deeply as self-expression and recognition. We have an irrepressible need to express ourselves, be known, recognized, understood and seen by others as unique, gifted and significant. A heart that is unknown, unappreciated in its depth, lacking in meaningful self-expression and recognition, is prone to restlessness, frustration and bitterness. And, truth be told, self-expression is difficult and full self-expression is impossible.

In the end, for most of us, our lives are always smaller than our needs and our dreams, no matter where we live or what we accomplish. In our daydreams each of us would like to be famous, the renowned writer, the graceful ballerina, the admired athlete, the movie star, the cover girl, the renowned scholar, the Nobel Prize winner, the household name; but in the end, most of us remain just another unknown, living among other unknowns, collecting an occasional autograph.

And so, our lives can seem too small for us. We feel ourselves as extraordinary, forever trapped inside the mundane, even as there is something inside us that still seeks expression, that still seeks recognition, and that feels that something precious inside us is living and dying in futility. In truth, seen only from the perspective of this world, much of what is precious, unique and rich, seemingly is living and dying in futility. Only a rare few achieve satisfying self-expression and recognition.

There’s a certain martyrdom in this. Iris Murdoch once said: “Art has its martyrs, not the least of which are those who have preserved their silence.” Lack of self-expression, whether chosen or imposed by circumstances, is a real death; but like all deaths it can be understood and appropriated in very different ways.

If it is accepted unhappily as tragic, it leads to bitterness and a broken spirit. If, however, it is understood and appropriated in faith as an invitation to be a hidden cell inside the Body of Christ and the human family, to anonymously provide sustenance and health to the overall body, it can lead to restfulness, gratitude and sense of significance that lays the axe to the roots of our frustration, disappointment, depression and bitterness.

I say this because much of what gives us life and sustains us in our lives has not been provided by the rich and famous, the high achievers and those to whom history gives credit. As George Eliot points out, we don’t need to do great things that leave a big mark in human history because “the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Well said. History bears this out. I think, for instance, of Therese of Lisieux who lived out her life in obscurity in a little convent tucked away in rural France, who when she died at age 24, was probably known by fewer than 100 people. In terms of how we assess things in this world she accomplished very little, nothing in terms of outstanding achievement or visible contribution. She entered the convent at age fifteen and spent the years until her early death doing menial things in the laundry, kitchen and garden inside her obscure convent. The only tangible possession she left behind was a diary, a personal journal with bad spelling, which told the story of her family, her upbringing and what she experienced during her last months in palliative care as she faced death.

But what she did leave behind is something that has made her a figure who is now renowned around the world, both inside and outside of faith circles. Her little private journal, The Story of a Soul, has touched millions of lives, despite its bad spelling (which had to be corrected by her sisters after her death).

What gives her little journal its unique power to touch hearts is that it chronicles what was happening inside the privacy of her own soul during all those years when she was hidden away and unknown, as child and as a nun. What she records in the story of her soul is that she, fully aware of her own uniqueness and preciousness, could unbegrudgingly give that all over in faith because she trusted that her gifts and talents were working silently (and powerfully) inside a mystical (though real, organic) body, the Body of Christ and of humanity. She understood herself as a cell inside a living body, giving over what was precious and unique inside her for the good of the world.

Anonymity offers us this invitation. There is no greater work of art that one can give to the world.
Jesus said as much. He told us to do our good deeds in secret and not let our left hand (and our neighbors and the world) know what our right hand is doing.

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

THINGS OLD AND NEW
By Ruth Powers
The new year is the traditional time for taking stock and making resolutions for positive change. In addition to the usual things like lose weight, get more exercise, and the like, some of us may have made a decision to try to focus on improving the spiritual aspect of our lives. In this era when so many people say that they are “spiritual but not religious,” we may begin to wonder exactly what “spirituality” is, and furthermore, is there a specifically Catholic spirituality.

In its broadest definition spirituality is the combination of praying and living. It is the way in which our relationship with God plays out in our day to day lives and informs our life choices. Most people think of spirituality in terms of one’s private relationship with God, a view strongly influenced by Protestant ideas of spirituality. However, in Catholicism it also includes our acts of public group worship specifically the Mass and the Divine Office (Liturgy of Hours), both of which are meant to unite us in the worship of God.

Another thing to understand is that it isn’t correct to refer to spirituality as if it is a single approach to the Catholic relationship with God and prayer. Instead, it is more appropriate to speak of “spiritualities” – ways of relating to God that grew out of different communities at different periods of the church’s history. Some faded away or developed into other forms. Others have stood the test of time and continue to be important today. (More on this below.) They do all have one very important thing in common: Christ is the center and model of any true approach to spirituality.

Jesus is the focus of all true Christian Spirituality. Jesus Christ, God’s only begotten Son and second person of the Trinity, took on our humanity in order to redeem us from our fallen state caused by the disobedience of our first parents. As a result of this disobedience, we are born “good but wounded” (different from Protestant viewpoint that we are born depraved) and Jesus came to make it possible for us to be healed of this wound by God’s grace.

Throughout his ministry Jesus spoke about his mission being to accomplish the will of the Father. That was his sole focus. (John 5:19,30 and John 6:38) Since authentic Catholic spirituality also asks us to imitate Jesus, it centers on the process of surrendering one’s own will to the will of God, and daily seeking to know and accomplish God’s will rather than our own. In knowing and accomplishing God’s will, we find the ultimate source of purpose and life. (Matthew 7:21 and John 6:40) Any form of prayer or spiritual devotion that does not ultimately lead us to Christ, whether it be Marian devotion, devotion to one of the Saints, or whatever, is a false spirituality.

There are many approaches to spirituality accepted by the church. Different people may respond better to one approach or the other, or some combination of approaches. Below is an overview of just three examples of well-known spiritual schools within the broader range of Catholic spirituality.

Monastic/Ascetic Spirituality – This approach is most often associated with St. Benedict, but its roots actually go back into the early days of the church when the Desert Fathers removed themselves from the temptations of society in order to concentrate their whole lives on prayer, study of scripture and union with God. Some characteristics of monastic/ascetic spirituality include an emphasis on “getting away” from everyday life to spend time in quiet prayer and spiritual reading; contemplative prayer seeking union with God (strong in all Catholic spiritual traditions, “centering prayer” is a modern form of this); and disciplining the body through things like fasting and other forms of self-denial to focus on eliminating sinful impulses.

Incarnational Spirituality – This approach to spirituality is most often associated with St. Francis of Assisi and the great Franciscan scholars St. Bonaventure and Blessed John Duns Scotus, although aspects of it are part of other spiritual traditions as well. In Incarnational Spirituality the incarnation of Christ is not a “Plan B” which occurred in response to sin. Instead, the Incarnation was the plan for the beginning and represents the pinnacle of Creation, where God freely and out of supreme love takes on human nature: “the universe is for Christ and not Christ for the universe” and “He is the beginning, middle, and end of creation.” Love is the center of this spirituality. Duns Scotus and Bonaventure taught that the reason for the incarnation is love – Christ would still have come as the supreme manifestation of God’s love for the creation he freely brought about. Love is the center, not sin. Franciscans do not reject the theology of the atonement or the Cross. Rather, we seek to emphasize the aspect of the nature of God being love, but not to the point that we reject any theological teachings that are firmly rooted in the church, like the atonement. Our focus does not take away the role that the Cross played in redemption; rather, we focus on God’s love, rather than man’s sin. In addition, by seeing Christ as the center of all creation, Christ can be experienced in all of creation.

Spirituality of the Cross – This is the approach to spirituality that most Catholics probably know best. It says that the Cross is where we find the ultimate source of meaning and the explanation of God’s saving that “through suffering and death we come to new life.” The spirituality of the Cross centers on the reality of the redemptive value of suffering and the realization that moments of pain and death have been given meaning and transformed by the death of Christ into the means of our salvation. Out of this approach have come some of the greatest and best-known spiritual writers in the history of the church – Thomas Aquinas, Theresa of Avila, John of the Cross and Ignatius of Loyola.

(Ruth Powers is the program coordinator for The Basilica of St. Mary in Natchez.)

FROM THE HERMITAGE
By sister alies therese
Have you ever considered joining the Peace Corps, Teach for America, or the Jesuit Volunteer Corps? Maybe you are an alum of one of these and have a few stories to tell? Maybe your service changed your life or the lives of others. Maybe your participation fulfilled a dream … a dream you’d had to serve others? Just perhaps.

We have turned into a new year, a Holy Year of Hope, where we have been asked to become intentional pilgrims. “Not all people are blessed with true vision. Some may spend a lifetime searching, building dream upon dream.” (Ellen Raskin, Figgs & Phantoms). There is a certain hopefulness in the notion of dreaming. Our Scriptures are full of dreamers. Some of them were also big actors and I suspect that is what the Holy Father is calling us to … not just dreaming, but acting.

Having said that: go where Jesus is not. Go and fill a void where the aches and pains of humanity cry out as loudly as John the Baptist. “dreaming of eating will not satisfy the hungry.” (African proverb) Voids are seeable and action is doable. Folks are often convinced if it is not big … then it is not worthy. Ugh, no. If it is for others in the Lord, it is hopeful. That is our goal to discover hope, to dispense hope, and to be transformed into a holy and hopeful people for God.

In searching out the void, the places where Jesus is not, we are on our long journey. There are some poor reasons to stop dreaming or to linger by the wayside, but we are called to press on both in our dreams and actions. For some, however, dangers and fears seem to block our journey. “Trying to find her way home was like a nightmare, where there is no possible way home and time stretches into infinity.” (Eleanor Cameron, The Court of the Stone Children)

Where is this void? Where is Jesus not? We say God is everywhere. True. But the absence of God, of Jesus in the lives of so many is undeniable. Let’s think about jails, prisons and death rows. Some individuals might be persons of faith for whom bad decisions landed them in an extreme situation and they can survive their incarceration based upon that. Others, however, are devoid of counsel, hope, indeed Jesus unless someone goes there, and cries out … Jesus can be here, even in this darkness. Letters, emails, phone calls break the void’s grip and open a new world of hope. And something, no, Someone replaces some of the anguish and some of the despair. Or consider your local nursing home/rehab center/mental health clinic. Often there are persons of faith who long to be back with their worshipping communities … alas they are now in a void, a place of darkness for them. Well, visits, letters, cards, calls, surprise packages … all break into that void and say, Jesus can be here, if you go. We can list many others … visiting the housebound, the deaf, children with cancer and their parents, homeless adolescents. Yes, we can also go overseas to pockets of poverty and injustice.

The call is to go where Jesus is not. In our own country, the dreams of various peoples were squelched for decades and still impact many. Hunger and poverty is disgustingly abundant in our nation. What dream do you have where hope can bring something bigger and better to millions? Or to that one family down the block, or those school kids in your district, or by national legislation? Some folks have lost their dream, and the reality of hope is slim. “I have lost my dream! And it was such a beautiful dream! It sang, and shouted, and glittered, and sparkled – and I’ve lost it! Somebody pulled it away, out of reach, just as I woke up.” (Joan Aiken, The Last Slice of Rainbow) To lose one’s dream, the dream of food for breakfast, or the dream of serving, is demoralizing. That people will dream for generations of freedom, equality and justice only to have these and other virtues slashed from their reach is wicked.

On the other hand, every generation seems to have a person or two who rises and challenges the void, challenges the anguish, and goes where Jesus is not so that the dreams of others might grow in hope. When you go where Jesus is not, you can be sure of criticism, ridicule and even danger.

Besides the Lord, Jesus, Himself, in our recent history I thought of these two: Langston Hughes, an African American poet, who in Dreams, wrote, “Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” And it does not just not fly for others, it will not fly for you either. Secondly, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who as a civil rights leader and pastor spoke in his famous ‘Dream Speech’, “…I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons/daughters of former slaves and former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.” Both these men went where Jesus was not more than once and deposited the gift of hope into the hearts of many.

Where will your pilgrimage take you this year? Where will hope and the fulfillment of dreams take place, for you and others? How will you more deeply root your prayer in hope, deepening your trust that if you go to where Jesus is not, He will arrive through you?
Blessings.

(Sister alies therese is a canonically vowed hermit with days formed around prayer and writing.)

IN EXILE
By Father Ron Rolheiser, OMI
Daniel Berrigan once said: Before you get serious about Jesus, think carefully about how good you are going to look on wood!

That’s a needed caution because Jesus warned us that if we follow him, pain will flow into our lives and we will join him on the cross.

What exactly does that mean? Is pain laid on a disciple as some kind of test? Does Jesus need his followers to feel the pains he experienced? Does God want the followers of Jesus to undergo pain to help pay the price of sin? Why does accepting to carry the cross with Jesus bring pain into our lives?

It’s interesting to note that the great mystic John of the Cross uses this, the inflow of pain into our lives, as a major criterion for discerning whether or not we are authentically following Jesus. For John, you know you are following Jesus when pain begins to flow into your life. Why? Does God lay special pain on those who take Christ seriously?

No. God doesn’t apportion special pain on those who take Christ seriously. The pain that flows into our lives if we take Christ seriously doesn’t come from God. It flows into us because of a deeper openness, a deeper sensitivity, and a new depth on our part. The algebra works this way: By authentically opening ourselves up to Christ we cease being overly self-protective, become more vulnerable and more sensitive, so that life, all of it, can flow into us more freely and more deeply.

And part of what now flows into us is pain: the pain of others, the pain of mother earth, the pain of our own inadequacy and lack of altruism, and the pain caused by the effect of sin everywhere. This pain will now enter us more deeply and we will feel it in a way we never did before because previously we protected ourselves against it through insensitivity and self-focus.

Happily, this has a flip side: Just as pain will now flow into our lives more freely and more deeply, so too will meaning and happiness. Once we stop protecting ourselves through self-absorption, both pain and happiness can now flow more freely and more deeply into our hearts and we can begin to breathe out of a deeper part of ourselves.

Freud once commented that sometimes things can be best understood by examining their opposites. That’s partially the case here. The opposite of someone who opens herself to pain, who opens herself to the pain of the cross, is a person who is callous and insensitive (in slang, someone “who is thick as a plank.”) Such a person won’t feel a lot of pain – but won’t feel much of anything else either.

A number of implications flow from this.

First, God doesn’t lay pain on us when we become followers of Jesus and immerse ourselves more deeply in the mystery of Christ and the cross. The pain that ensues is intrinsic to the cross and is felt simply because we have now ceased protecting ourselves and are letting life, all of it, flow into us more freely and more deeply. Happily, the pain is more than offset by the new meaning and happiness that are now also felt.

Second, experiencing the pain that flows intrinsically from discipleship and the cross is, as John of the Cross wisely puts it, one of the major criteria that separates the real Gospel from the Prosperity Gospel. When the pain of the cross flows into our lives, we know that we are not feather-bedding our own self-interest in the name of the Gospel.

Third, it’s worth it to be sensitive! Freud once said that neurosis (unhealthy anxiety) is the disease of the normal person. What he didn’t say, but might have, is that the antithesis of anxiety (healthy and unhealthy) is brute insensitivity, to be thick as a plank and thus protected from pain – but also protected from deeper meaning, love, intimacy and community.

If you are a sensitive person (perhaps even an over-sensitive one, prone to depression and anxiety of all sorts) take consolation in that your very struggle indicates that you are not a calloused insensitive person, not a moral boor.

Finally, one of the implications of this is that heaven isn’t the same for everyone. Just as pain can be shallow or deep, so too can meaning and happiness. To the degree that we open our hearts to depth, to that same degree deep meaning and happiness can flow into us. A closed heart makes for shallow meaning. A heart partially open makes for some deep meaning, but not full meaning. Whereas the heart that is fully open makes for the deepest meaning.

There are different depths to meaning and happiness here on earth and, I suspect, that will be true too in the next life. So, the invitation from Jesus is to accept the pain that comes from the wood of the cross rather than being thick as a plank!

(Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser is a theologian, teacher and award-winning author. He can be contacted through his website www.ronrolheiser.com.)

FAITH ALIVE
By D.D. Emmons
Jan. 1 is the solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, the final day of the Christmas octave.

In the fifth century, a heresy led by Nestorius, patriarch of Constantinople (r. 428-431) claimed that Jesus was actually two persons: one human and one divine – that his divinity was instilled on him after he was born. Thus, they reasoned incorrectly that Mary was the mother of Jesus but not the mother of God. Their rationale contradicted ancient Christian beliefs as well as proclamations and canons issued at earlier church councils.

At the Ecumenical Council of Nicea in 325, the church fathers had clearly determined that Jesus was consubstantial with the Father and, therefore, Mary was the Mother of God.

In response to the heretical message of Nestorius, another ecumenical council was held in 431 at Ephesus, Turkey. Led by St. Cyril (r. 412-444), bishop of Alexandria, Egypt, Mary was defended as Theotokos, God-bearer, and that Jesus was one person with a divine and human nature; Mary was the Mother of God. Nestorianism was condemned by the council and Nestorians excommunicated.

The people of Ephesus, joyful over the council decision, went through the streets chanting, “Mary, Mother of God,” which would become words prayed during the rosary devotion.

Some 1,500 years after the council, Pope Pius XI (r. 1922-1939) would claim: “If the Son of the Blessed Virgin Mary is God, assuredly she who bore him is rightly and deservedly to be called the Mother of God.”

(D.D. Emmons writes from Pennsylvania.)

REFLECTIONS ON LIFE
By Melvin Arrington
Have you ever noticed on social media the use of the phrase “I love you more?” Although this seems to be a fairly recent phenomenon, its usage is becoming more and more prevalent in written communication. For example, a daughter writes to her mother, “I love you,” and the mother, instead of responding, “I love you, too,” says, “I love you more.” Does this mean “more than you love me?” Or maybe “more than you’ll ever know?” Or perhaps “more than anyone else could ever love you?” On the surface it looks rather silly, almost like a game. But true love is not a game. It’s what our lives should be about.

I have two daughters, both of whom I cherish. The intensity of my affection is the same for each of them. There is no quantifiable difference in how much I care for each one. The only distinction I can make is one of duration rather than intensity; that is, I have loved the older one longer but not any more than the younger one.

God, on the other hand, has loved all of us the same length of time, despite differences in our ages, because He has known each of us from all eternity: “He chose us in Him, before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish before Him. In love He destined us for adoption to Himself through Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 1:4-5a) Psalm 139 expresses this even more vividly in the beautiful image of God as the First Knitter: “You formed my inmost being; You knit me in my mother’s womb. I praise You, because I am wonderfully made; wonderful are Your works! My very self You know.” (vv. 13-14) In short, God loves each of us more than we love Him and more than we will ever know, and more than anyone else could ever love us.

Throughout Scripture God is seeking to bring us back into the deep, personal, committed love relationship He intended for us to have with Him from the beginning, a relationship that has been damaged, and in some cases, broken because of our willful disobedience. In Genesis chapter 3, Adam sins and then tries to hide, but God goes looking for him and calls out to him. One of Christ’s seven sayings on the Cross, “I thirst,” (John 19:28) means, in addition to physical thirst, His thirst for souls. He longs for us, even when we turn our backs on Him. In Revelation, we see the Lord continuing to pursue us: “I stand at the door and knock.” (3:20) All we have to do is open the door and invite Him into our hearts and our lives.

We are like the little sheep that wandered off and was lost in Luke chapter 15. Jesus told this parable to make a point, but He also meant it in the sense that He would really and truly leave the ninety-nine and go in search of the one that was lost because every soul is precious to Him.

True love is self-sacrificing, and no one has sacrificed more on our behalf than Our Lord: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13) Look how much Jesus loves us. When He went to the cross for us, to pay to sin debt that we couldn’t pay, He surrendered everything He had: His clothes – “They divided His garments by casting lots” (Matt. 27:35); His mother – “Behold, your mother” (John 19:27); His life – “It is finished” (John 19:30); His very spirit – “Father, into Your hands I commend My spirit.” (Luke 23:46) All of this, not to mention that He gave up the glory of the heavenly kingdom to become one of us, born in a filthy stable because there was no room for Him in the inn: “And the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.” (John 14:1a)

That’s what He did for us. That’s how much He loved us, and yet we complain about having to abstain from meat for a few days during Lent! Heaven help us! Along the same lines, St. John of the Cross once said: “Whenever anything disagreeable or displeasing happens to you, remember Christ crucified and be silent.” I’m ashamed to admit how often I have to remind myself of that saying.

How can we let Jesus know that we really love Him during the Christmas season? Obviously, we can do it by giving generously to worthy charitable causes and by performing the corporal works of mercy. Also, we can be more patient with others, practice kindness, and let others see all of the other fruits of the Spirit in our lives. But what else can we do? Two specific things come to mind: spend more time in prayer and make frequent visits to our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. He is waiting there for us.

So, when we tell the Lord we love Him and try to prove it by the way we treat others and by how much time we spend with Him in prayer, Scripture reading, and adoration, His reply might very well be, “I love you more,” because He truly does. Merry Christmas!

(Melvin Arrington is a Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages for the University of Mississippi and a member of St. John Oxford.)