If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me; but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me, believe the works, so that you may realize and understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.” Then they tried again to arrest him; but he escaped from their power.
I grew up in a "Catholic culture." Both parents were Catholic; they were raised in practicing Catholic homes. They had ten children, and we never missed Mass, though it took two separate trips to get us all through the ceremony. We attended Catholic schools, grades one through eight. My folks tithed and we recited the family rosary every evening. We had trouble, of course, and there was violence. If it was not ideal, it was Catholic.
We had the basics and the Catholic culture provided a good education in the three rs. There wasn't much beyond the three rs; we could not afford music or the arts. My Dad enjoyed his staycations; it's the only kind he ever took; and we enjoyed them with him. He once took the boys to the art museum because it was raining; while Mom, with the girls, hosted a girl party. Neither he nor his boys knew what to make of the paintings and sculpture. Although we wanted to stay, he was especially uncomfortable and hurried us through the room with the nudes.
We were the kind of Catholics who, like Saint John's congregation, believed in Jesus without much persuasion. The signs we saw were Baptism, Eucharist, and Confirmation, plus Marriage, Confession and the rosary. There was also the Corpus Christi procession at Churchill Downs. The week was anchored in Sunday Mass. There was no more doubt about attending Mass than there was in going to work and school. Certain things you don't question.
If we believed in Jesus' works, it was the Holy Spirit which kept us moving forward, although I don't remember any mention of either the Holy Spirit or the Holy Ghost. We relied on the Blessed Mother for protection when tornadoes were sighted in the area. (Mary is the Spouse of the Holy Spirit, they work together.) Mom would light a candle in front of her statue.
Why do I call up these memories now? In today's gospel we hear Jesus persistently demanding faith from people who will never believe in him. It sounds like an unhappy story but the Gospel of John always includes the Church which is hearing the gospel proclaimed. We are there in the congregation, fearing the danger that confronts our Lord; but confident also because we know how the story ends. We have seen the signs and the works and have been deeply impressed by them, although they mean nothing to non-believers They mean nothing to those without the eyes of faith.
We enjoy no earthly advantage over the skeptics. Nor do we expect any. If asked to explain why we cling to the Lord, we might be stumped for words. We'd certainly have nothing more persuasive than our unwillingness to leave the Lord during his darkest hour.
Lent is that season when Malachi's prophecy is fulfilled:
He will sit refining and purifying silver,Our faith has been refined through the sacrifices of Lent. We are ready to enter Holy Week -- despite the coronavirus!
and he will purify the Levites,
Refining them like gold or silver,
that they may bring offerings to the LORD in righteousness.
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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.