Jesus answered and said to him,
"Whoever loves me will keep my word,
and my Father will love him,
and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.
This verse from John 14 is often cited in our mystical tradition. Contemplatives speak of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The phrase, misunderstood, suggests magic. By that I mean, something unnatural and bizarre, neither human nor familiar. If the Holy Trinity or any Member of that August Trio were to take up residence in my soul I would surely look and feel differently! I would be a saint!
(But, since that's not possible, I'll not worry about it.)
Candidate saints of these latter days often expect an experience of holiness when God moves in. We should feel with John Wesley, strangely warmed in the heart. Or, better yet, we might pray in tongues and be slain in the Spirit. These experiences are supposed to assure the faithful they are saved. The history of the United States is replete with mass experiences of grace, beginning with the first Great Awakening in the eighteenth century. Several of these movements have taught Americans to seek experience -- sacred or profane -- and regard it as the ultimate goal of life. In the end, having amassed a satisfactory collection of spiritual and emotional adventures, one might say, "I've had a good life!" However, neither Jesus nor Saint John knew of the American predilection for experience.
I read this beautiful and important verse as a promise of God's presence in the Church and to every faithful member of the Church. But there is no sure or certain experience which guarantees one's salvation. If we live by faith we live also by the anxiety that accompanies faith, and by the courage which responds to that anxiety. But even that courage guarantees nothing but the sense of conviction. If I am sure I am right, that doesn't make me right. It only tells me I feel right. Anyone who has ever been angry knows the pseudo-authority of thinking they can do what they feel like doing and say what they feel like saying. Only to regret it later.
Our faith is in the ineffable God and not in any past or present experience of grace.
Saint Paul encountered a similar problem in his relations with the Corinthians. His opponents -- whom he mockingly called "super-apostles" -- claimed authority to preach because that had seen extraordinary visions. At some time, apparently as a younger man, he had known these ecstasies.
I must boast; not that it is profitable, but I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord. I know someone in Christ who, fourteen years ago (whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows), was caught up to the third heaven. And I know that this person (whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows) was caught up into Paradise and heard ineffable things, which no one may utter. About this person I will boast, but about myself I will not boast, except about my weaknesses.
The Apostle could "boast" only of the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of suspicious Romans, hostile Jews, and contrary Christians. The ecstasies of his youth afforded him little pleasure in his latter years. They meant nothing to him and he tells us nothing of what he "heard" except that they were unutterable. If any super-apostle could describe his vision or audition, he was lying.
These visions did not assure anyone that the Father and the Son had made their dwelling with them.
In our practice of faith we should look for the assurance of doing good without doing well. We feed the hungry because they're hungry; we clothe the naked because they're naked. Not because it makes us feel good. There is no profit motive in our generosity. Nor is there an expectation of gratitude. If our generous offers are declined we honor that. We might even suppose "my bad." Perhaps I offered the wrong kind of help at the wrong time. We might then ask, "Can I help?" and "How can I help?" But there's no shame in having one's offer declined because we're not saved by our charity either.
"Nada, nada, nada." Saint John of the Cross said of his faith. There is no ego in God; we need none in our practice of faith.
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I love to write. This blog helps me to meditate on the Word of God, and I hope to make some contribution to our contemplations of God's Mighty Works.
Ordinarily, I write these reflections two or three weeks in advance of their publication. I do not intend to comment on current events.
I understand many people prefer gender-neutral references to "God." I don't disagree with them but find that language impersonal, unappealing and tasteless. When I refer to "God" I think of the One whom Jesus called "Abba" and "Father", and I would not attempt to improve on Jesus' language.
You're welcome to add a thought or raise a question.