...and you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”
Oddly, the Church follows the elated celebration of the Exaltation of the Cross with the very sad Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows. It is, perhaps intentionally, a reminder that we must still walk that lonesome valley; we still live in a vale of tears.
Born in the post-war forties and fifties when the world struggled with economic depression, but educated in the sixties and seventies when the promise of prosperity blanketed the world, I remember the shame-faced, guilt-ridden prayers of the pre-Vatican Church and the apparent liberation that followed.
And I have seen the collapse of promised prosperity as the gap between wealth and poverty resumed its growth. The expectation that united nations might create a stable, balanced, and just economy disappeared. Like generosity, the arms race now begins at home in a nation that boasts of more guns than citizens. (393 million guns, 329.5 million people).
And there is much sadness. Neither Facebook, nor Disney World, nor the Wide World of Sports can lift the pall that hangs over us. Where kids in the 1960's used alcohol and drugs to get high, today's youth drink and shoot up to relieve their distress. If we expected to build the Kingdom of God in the sixties and seventies, we cremate the victims of the twenty-first century.
For comfort we turn to Our Lady of Sorrows. Her heart was pierced that the thoughts of our hearts might be revealed.
Like her Beloved Son, Mary remains with us in our grief. She does not urge us to cheer up, or just forget about it. She does not distract us with an assurance of eternal gladness in the Great Beyond, a happy Elysian Field that is promised to everyone regardless.
By her remaining at the foot of the cross throughout that long ordeal, we learn that sorrow too is good. It cannot be explained. Celebration seems hardly the word; memorial might be more fitting.
There is comfort in her company, and she teaches us to stay with one another. We should neither deny the grief nor distract from it.
Like the Virgin, the Church remains; we're not going away. We cannot flee. Not because grief is inescapable but because we belong here.
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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.