“I have told you this so that my joy might be in you
and your joy might be complete.
This is my commandment: love one another as I love you.
No one has greater love than this,
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
D uring his last supper, as Saint John tells the story, the Lord explained his mission with extraordinary detail; and perhaps more surprisingly, he included in his mission his ardent, joyful love for his disciples. He did not hesitate to call them friends, and to tell them that he would certainly lay down his life for his friends.
He seemed to consider his devotion to them his purpose, privilege, and greatest joy. And knowing this, we should also be delighted in the privilege and pleasure of his love; it must become our passion and purpose. And it would be demonstrated by our love for one another, which must also be our privilege, pleasure, and delight -- regardless of the bother, discomfort, cost, or pain.
It's easy to wax eloquent about love; it's not so easy to love others. Most of us ask occasionally, if not often, "When does it get easy?" Sleeping babies certainly charm the socks off their parents and grandparents. Affectionate adolescents, as their moods permit them, can be enchanting. But for human beings who have attained that adult ability to remember and be affected by the past, sleeping innocence and mercurial charm might not so easily overcome our self-protecting instincts.
Matthias was selected from the many disciples of Jesus to replace Judas Iscariot because he was one of only two who had been with the Lord "beginning from the baptism of John until the day on which he was taken up from us." He remembered everything: the early enthusiasm of the first disciples and the crowds; the growing opposition; the quarreling of the disciples about who was the greatest; and the Lord's persistent patience, generosity, gentleness, and courage. He remembered the Upper Room and the sudden plunge from Paschal joy to horror, shock, and grief at the Lord's arrest, trial, passion, and death.
He also remembered the astonishment of the Resurrection and, with all the disciples, struggled to understand this unparalleled reversal of everything everyone ever knew. The dead do not rise! and yet the Lord had been raised. And he had ascended into heaven. Clearly the story must be told and his mission continued!
Picked out of the crowd of eligible volunteers, and selected by lot and the Holy Spirit, Matthias accepted the responsibility of eager, willing, and joyful sacrifice. Despite everything he might remember he followed the Lord and proclaimed the gospel truly. Like the Eleven, he would not hesitate to tell the stories of their jealous quarreling, craven flight from Gethsemane, Peter's denial, and Judas's betrayal. As grim as these stories were, they could not be disentangled from the shining, beautiful gospel.
He knew that the Lord's most faithful disciples are always capable of betrayal; so long as we're human we're given that freedom. It can come from any quarter at any time from anyone; only the Lord is truly and absolutely reliable. Our love of his friends always includes the promise and possibility of forgiveness. Without mutual, persistent, reliable forgiveness, our truth is tarnished and our love, incomplete.
Today we pray with Saint Matthias and all his disciples for that willingness and spontaneous courage to persist in generous, cheerful, joyful love. We do not give until it hurts; we give until it stops hurting; until it's become as natural and dependable as sunrise and sunset.