Only What's Done for Christ will Last

I published this several years ago. I thought it good to recycle it now:
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. . . for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there, namely, Jesus Christ.  If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, or straw, the work of each will come to light . . . (1 Cor 3:11-13).

From my seat toward the front of the auditorium, I could see Linda’s eyes water. “Has it really been twenty-eight years?” She seemed to ask it more of herself than of those gathered at her retirement ceremony. Decades of conflicts and triumphs, of paperwork piles and project deadlines, of exhilarating new tasks and the lumbering routine of others blended into a half-forgotten dream.

After the framed certificate, the engraved plaque, and the punch and cookies in the foyer, life will move on. Younger employees will step into her varied roles, and the organization will continue with business as usual.

“I thought this day would never come.” She tried to smile.  “But here it is.”

While Linda spoke, my mind drifted to the many times I’ve said, “I thought this day would never come”?  How many important events passed before I knew they were close upon me? Birthdays, graduations, weddings, births, more weddings, more births. My life has moved almost seamlessly from sunrise to sunset, seasons to years, anticipating one milestone and then another. All the while I’ve been too busy to notice the calendar pages disappear like vapors in the wind.

I don’t often think about my final milestone. I still hope to enjoy many more graduations, weddings and births before I start thinking much about that particular day. Yet, when it comes, will the decades of my life also seem as a brief moment? The conflicts, the joys, the deadlines, the routines . . . I know life will move on without me.

When Linda received her plaque, I wondered what kind I will receive when I stand before the Great Cloud of Witnesses (see Hebrews 12:1).  Will it be engraved with the names of those whom I have touched during my service for the Master? Or will it be an empty testimony of misplaced priorities during my earth-bound journey?

As I draw nearer to my sixty-second birthday – 62!  Oh, how the years have flown – As I draw near, those questions whisper from the corners of my thoughts with increasing urgency. Life really is shorter than I realize, and everything I now consider so important -- money, popularity, passions, career -- will smolder on that day like charred timbers after a house fire.

When the day I thought would never come finally arrives, I want to hear more than pleasant words at a ceremony. I want to enjoy more than punch and cookies in the foyer. I want to hear from the men and women standing with me before His throne, “Thank you for using your time, your talents, your resources to tell me about the Savior.”  And oh, how I want to hear from the lips of the King of Glory, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord” (See Matthew 25:21).

Celebration!

"The Lord your God is in your midst . . . He will rejoice over you with gladness . . . He will sing joyfully because of you, as one sings at festivals" (Zephaniah 3:17).

So I’m reading through Luke 15 and I have an epiphany. A fleeting one, probably – although I hope I can hold onto the excitement that swept over me as I read the three parables in that chapter.

In the first, Jesus used the illustration of a lost sheep to talk about how much the Father loves us. You remember the story. The shepherd left ninety-nine sheep safe in the pasture and set out to search for the one that had strayed.  When he found it, he lifted it onto his shoulders and then said something that to me is astonishing: "There is greater celebration in heaven over one sinner who repents than over those who need no repentance."

Celebration. Shouts of joy. Laughter. Dancing. Feasting. That’s what happens among the angels and saints around God’s throne. when even one sinner comes home.

Then the Lord talked of a woman who’d lost her coin. To others, perhaps it would not have been worth making a fuss over, but to her . . . well, she turned her house inside out looking for it.  And once again Jesus connected the dots for us: “Come, celebrate with me – for I found my lost coin.”

The call to celebration reaches its climax with the last parable, the one of the lost son – better known as the Prodigal son. I hope you know that story, too. The young man decided living with his father was too inconvenient, his rules archaic and stifling. He wanted to live as he wished, answerable to no one but himself.

So he left. And then the money ran out.

What I like about this story is the young man’s humility and penitent attitude. He didn’t think to go back home and request his rights as a son. Rather, he planned to return and tell his dad, “I have sinned against heaven and in your sight. I am not worthy to be called your son. Make me as one of your hired hands.”

That caught my attention: “I am not worthy to be called your son.”

The way the narrative unfolds, it seems his father didn’t even pay attention to what he said. The father was already starting to celebrate.  “Bring the fattened calf,” he shouted.  “And my best robe, and put it on my son. He was lost, but now is found. He was dead, but is now alive.  Come! Let’s celebrate.”

There is a point in the liturgy of the Eucharist when the priest holds aloft the host and the cup and says, “This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to His supper.” Thereupon the congregation responds, “Lord, I am not worth to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

After reading the parables in Luke 15, I  compared the penitent worshipper during the Mass to what we ought to be doing during the Eucharistic liturgy  --  being in the processes of humbly returning to God with such words as “I am not worthy to receive You.”

And I think the Father – already knowing what we are going to say – is not even paying attention. He’s already started celebrating.

Several months ago, during a nursing school graduation, the students played a 1980s song by “Kool and the Gang” to mark their joyous occasion. I thought of it as the realization of God’s celebration swept over me during my reading of this chapter. I doubt it’s what the angels and saints sing when the Church celebrates Mass (frankly, I’m sure they sing something from Handle’s Messiah), but the song's energy and exuberance quickened something inside me, so I searched the internet for Kool and the Gang’s performance. Click here, and you will be linked to a ‘words and music only’ YouTube video. Click here and you’ll be linked to the video (skip through the advertisement by clicking the appropriate button on your screen when you load the video. You can also enlarge the image by clicking on the four arrows in the lower right corner of the YouTube screen).

Celebration!

Think of it!  Almighty God celebrates you. And me.

It should stir in us energy. And exuberance.

Oh, I hope my epiphany of that truth lasts until the next Mass I attend. And beyond.

Who Have No Hope

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14).

When you sit at the bedside of someone you love,

his eyes glazed,

his skin hanging loosely on his skeleton,

his breathing slow

and shallow,

and you know death is days,

maybe hours away . . .

Or when someone who loves you

sits at your bedside,

your eyes glazed,

your skin hanging loosely on your skeleton,

and she knows death is days,

maybe hours away . . .

It is good

for those left behind

to have confidence,

that it can be said of the dying:

“If the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven, inasmuch as we, having put it on, will not be found naked. For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed but to be clothed, so that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life.”*

Yes, it is good

to do all we can do

to ensure our loved ones know

they need not grieve

as others who have no hope.**

*2 Cor 5:1-4

** 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14

What Can Wash Away My Sin?

[B]ut if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin (1 John 1:7).

Several years ago I showed a woman a photo of a large crucifix – a cross with a figure of Jesus nailed to it. I don’t think I will ever forget her reaction. She physically shuddered, turned her head from the image, and told me to close the book.

It's “gruesome,” she told me. The blood seeping from his side and forehead disturbed her. She preferred the unadorned cross she’d grown accustomed to in the church she attended over the past few decades.

Many people don’t often think about it, but Christianity is a bloody, gruesome religion.  But it had to be bloody, for only blood – in this case, the blood of the Innocent One - could atone for, or wash away, the sins of the guilty.

And gruesome it was. Soldiers tied Jesus’ hands to the whipping post and stripped off his robe. Then one of them swung the rock-embedded whips against Jesus’ back, buttocks and legs. Again and again, slicing into His flesh until strips of skin hung from his body. Small capillaries and arteries oozed and spurted blood with each beat of His heart and tracked down His back, His thighs, His legs.

Spurt.

Spurt.

Spurt . . . . The pavement at His feet was moist with dirt and congealed blood.

Spurt.

Spurt . . . until the blood vessels clotted over.

It was a bloody, bloody scene. But it was a God-ordained and utterly necessary scene. Without the shed blood of Jesus, there could be no forgiveness of sins to the penitent.

My sins. Your sins. Your pastor’s sins. The Pope’s sins. Everyone’s sins. As the Holy Spirit warns: All humanity has gone astray. We have each turned to our own way. But God, being rich in mercy, laid all of our sin - and its judgment - on Jesus (see Isaiah 53:6).

Without the bloody death of the Messiah, there would be no hope for absolution in the confessional to the penitent. No hope ever for forgiveness. No hope for eternal life, but instead only a sure judgment and eternal damnation facing us in our grave.

But for the blood of Jesus.

Which is why St. Paul wrote: In [Christ] we have redemption by his blood, the forgiveness of transgressions, in accord with the riches of his grace (Ephesians 1:7). And the Church explains, Redemption comes to us above all through the blood of [Jesus’] cross . . .  (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 517). And again: The human heart is . . . . converted by looking upon [Christ] whom our sins have pierced: Let us fix our eyes on Christ's blood and understand how precious it is to his Father . . . (Catechism, 1432).

So knowing this, knowing the bloody, gruesome cost of our salvation, how then ought we live?

Reverently, yes. Obedient to His Word as interpreted by the Church. Of course. But we must not forget that the ability for reverence and obedience results from growing deeper in love with God. Fr. Pedro Arrupe, one time Superior General of the Society of Jesus, wrote:

Nothing is more practical than finding God, that  is, falling in love [with Him] in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with seizes your  imagination; it will affect everything. It will decide what gets you out of bed in the morning, what you will do in the evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, what you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love [with God], stay in love, and it will decide everything."

And so, let us prayerfully implore the Holy Spirit each day to help us love God more and more. Growing deeper in love with Him day by day trains our hearts to reverence and obedience – and to ever internalize the answer to the question: What can wash away my sin?

Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

The Fragrance Remains

“You will see me . . . .” (John 14:19).

My mind wouldn’t rid itself of the memory. Yeshi hurt so badly.

I could do nothing. Nothing to help him.

I stared at my food. Yohanan told me to eat something. I needed my strength. He would return for me, help me take what I wished to his home where I would stay with him and his family. Then he left to meet the others.

“Woman, behold your son,” Yeshi said. And to Yohanan, “Behold, your mother.”

What will I take to their house? What will I leave behind? So many things. So many memories. This table and chair. As solid as when my Yeshi built it, how many years ago? Five? Seven? And the dishes. My beloved Joseph bought them for me when we wed so many decades ago. I still have many of them.

My clothing. The parchments. The walking stick. . . .

But Yeshi. My Yeshi.

“Momma.”

Deep in thought, forcing back my tears, I thought I heard a whisper behind me.

What was it the old man said to me, “A sword will piece your heart”? I never understood what he meant.

I do now.

“Mother.” A little louder.

The voice startled me. And the fragrance. Suddenly the room smelled of, of . . . flowers. Like – yes, like roses. Roses of Sharon.

“Mother.” A command.

I knew that voice. When I turned, color drained from my face. The room spun. If he had not caught me in his arms, I would have fallen.

Still dizzy, I let him hold me. The fragrance of roses rose from his robe. He cupped my chin in his hand and lifted my face to look at him.

“Yeshi!”

“Yeshi! But how?”

He smiled. The same smile he always smiled when he spoke with me. “I was given authority to lay down my life,” he said. “I was given authority to take it up again. Henceforth, he who believes in me will live, even if he dies. And everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

I reached for his face, caressed the scars in his forehead. My tears would not stop. “You’re alive! My son. My son. You were dead, but you’re alive.”

“Mother, I must go.” He grasped my arms and held me away from him.

“But . . . .”

“Mary Magdalena and the others are at the tomb. I must meet them.”

“Yeshi! You can’t go. Not now. Not like this . . . .”

“I must. But you will see me again.” He let go of my arms, and his eyes locked with mine. “Momma, I love you.”

Then he was gone. In the time it took for me to blink, he was gone.

But the fragrance . . . the fragrance remains.

Avoiding the Spider

How can the young walk without fault? Only by keeping your words . . . In my heart I treasure your promise, that I may not sin against you . . . In your laws I take delight; I will never forget your word (Psalm 119: 9, 11, 16).

I didn’t see the spider's web until I nearly ran into it. The thing was virtually invisible. If sunlight hadn’t suddenly glistened off its strands, I would have walked right into it. So there I stood, inches from the biggest, ugliest, hairiest spider I’d ever seen. Its open jaws were at least three inches wide and ready to grab me.

Well, that last remark is hyperbole, however, truth be told, I was glad I wasn’t a hapless bug flitting through the air, totally clueless about the spider’s trap in front of me.

But while I’m on the subject of spiders and webs, in the near-indiscernible world of the supernatural, Satan’s subtleties are often invisible to the natural eye – which is why it’s so incredibly easy to get caught in his web. And most of the time we don’t even realize it is his web we’re caught in until he has devoured our health, wealth, homes, and families.

Sometimes even our lives.

There is a good reason the Holy Spirit inspired St. Peter to write, “Be sober, be vigilant. Your adversary, the devil, roams about seeking someone to devour" (1 Peter 5:8). There is good reason the Holy Spirit inspired Joshua to say, “This book of the law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night so that you will be careful to do all the things that are written in it” (Joshua 1:8). And the Psalmist to write, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path" (Psalm 119:105). 

There is no better way, there is no surer way, to avoid Satan’s web than to see the light of God’s word glisten off its strands as a warning: Danger! Don’t go any further.

The Church “has always venerated the divine Scriptures as she venerated the Body of the Lord" (Catechism paragraph 141), and the Catechism of the Catholic Church (para 133) further exhorts us “to learn the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ, by frequent reading of the divine Scriptures. Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ.” Thus, it is no wonder Pope Benedict repeatedly challenges the Catholic faithful to “assiduous study of Holy Scripture.”

Whether or not we obey the prophets and the Church who exhort us to read God’s word, Satan remains patiently waiting in his web. Problem is, we won’t see it unless God’s light glistens off the web.

See this link for one of many methods available to make Bible reading a daily habit. (Note to those living in the Tacoma area. I teach a weekly Bible study each Monday evening. Write me if you would like more information: richmaffeobooks@gmail.com).

Baseball Cards and Relationships

I wrote this many years ago. I thought it good to share it with you:
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Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away (James 4:14).

It's been fifty years, but I still remember the fun we had collecting baseball cards. For a few cents my friends and I purchased photos and playing histories of the sport's greatest. I kept mine safely in a shoe box. Whitey Ford, Willey Mays, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Sandy Koufax.... we catalogued them, traded them, "flipped" for them. In fact, flipping for cards was easily one of our favorite pastimes.

It was all in the wrist. If I held the long edges of the card with just the right tension between my thumb and the fingers of my right hand, and then flicked my wrist with just the right snap, the card would twirl to the ground with a fair degree of predictable accuracy. If my "heads" matched my friends "heads" already on the ground, I won. If it mismatched, I lost. I collected a lot of baseball cards by flipping.

But as the years passed, my once compelling interest in baseball cards waned. Other things captured my attention. And without realizing it, my revered Whitey Fords and Mickey Mantles ended up scattered across the bottom of my chest of drawers or on the floor beneath my bed. By the time I was thirteen I no longer owned a baseball card.

Had I known then what I know now about the value of those cards, things would have been different. Flip them to the ground? Never! Leave them scattered around the house? Are you kidding? Some of those cards are worth several hundreds of dollars today. And to think I let mine gather dust beneath my bed.

Older now . . . and hopefully a measure wiser, baseball cards have taught me an important lesson about the value of things often taken for granted. Like relationships.

Marriage, for example.

It used to be I could count on one hand (well, maybe two) the number of failed marriages among my friends. Now I've lost track. Had each couple planned, as they stood before the altar, their future division? I doubt it. Rather, each vowed their life-long commitment, full of promises and romance. But then pressures of work, of raising a family, and who knows what else began taking their toll. And somehow romance and promises wound up collecting dust between the covers of photo albums or scattered like so many nick‑nacks across a passionless house. And without realizing what was happening while it was happening, they flipped their relationships aside like so much valueless clutter.

Relationships.

Like between a parent and child. How many moms and dads have lost touch with the value of their children? When the kids were younger they played ball together, went for picnics, had tea parties. But now there's precious little time to do much as a family. Monday is PTA. Tuesday, scouts. Wednesday is bingo. Thursday, bowling. Friday is whatever. Then comes the weekend, and who can crawl out of bed? And so weeks roll into years, and memories collect dust and cobwebs.

But the saddest of all examples of outgrown relationships is the way many "outgrow" their relationship with God. Where Mass had once been an important part of childhood, where stories of Moses and David, of Paul and Jesus had been the stuff on which they were nurtured, fishing trips, shopping at the Mall, or just sleeping in, now take precedence on Sundays. The value of a once vibrant relationship with the God of the Universe has lost personal meaning for a large and growing number of people.

Relationships can so easily become strained or torn asunder between a mom or dad . . . a spouse . . . a child. Even with God. But the choice, where the choice may still be made, is ours. We can flip our treasures to the ground, or safely protect them. One way or the other, each of us will learn in time, relationships with one another are of much more worth and of more infinite value than things like baseball cards.