Christian, Where Is Your Joy?

Good Friday of the Lord's Passion

I had a few experiences on the streets of Baltimore this morning that left me with a question. The experiences don’t really matter but the question does: What would the world look like if Christians lived what they believe about suffering and death? That is my question. Those who live without God in the world fear suffering and death, they hate suffering and death, and the godless spend their lives running from the reality that we are frail and mortal creatures; they live in fear of suffering; they cower in the face of death. Life for them is filled with an anxiety and despair that builds up into attitudes of anger and resentment. That is what I saw on the streets this morning. And what about those who live with God in the world? Well, somehow, we have come to believe the opposite: That suffering and death are good, and necessary, and help get us to God. We might not like suffering, and when we’re honest with ourselves we know that we often try to avoid suffering as diligently as those who have no faith. But we believe we need to suffer, and maybe should want to suffer, because suffering makes us holy. Those beliefs are false; as false as those of the godless. And those beliefs fill our lives with a sadness that is supposedly redeemed by our seriousness of purpose. But sadness and seriousness of purpose cannot sustain us; sadness and seriousness of purpose cannot make life worth living. And so, for too many of us who believe in God, suddenly our lives are filled with the same kind of anxiety and despair that builds up into those same attitudes of anger and resentment in the godless. I saw that on the streets of Baltimore this morning as well. The interior lives of those with God and those without God end up looking an awful lot like one another. No wonder the world is a hard place to live. 

Here is the problem: we Christians—the ones who ought to know better, the ones who ought to live better—we have lost sight of the mystery of the Cross. We don’t know what to do with suffering and death. We Christians have too easily become the victims of a flawed spiritual arithmetic that tells us that suffering is good—is necessary—because Christ suffered. We have come to believe that because God is capable of drawing forth great good from the reality of evil, then that somehow suffering and death are to be sought out by anyone who desires holiness and eternal life. These kinds of beliefs are false. The fact that the death of your loved one might have deepened the bonds that unite your family does not mean that the death of your loved one is good, or necessary. The fact that your pain or your illness—or the pain or illness of one whom you love—might have drawn you into a more intimate relationship with Christ does not mean that pain and illness are good, or necessary. The fact that your struggle with broken relationships or addiction might have led to a genuine growth in virtue or to a direct encounter with God’s grace does not mean that broken relationships or addiction are good, or necessary. The fact that one man’s—one God’s—death on a Cross redeems an entire world does not mean that the death of Christ is good, or that his death is necessary. The kind of thinking that would claim that suffering and death in human life is good—or necessary—that kind of thinking perverts God into the kind of moral monster who would tolerate the death of a child because some good will come from it. The kind of thinking that would claim suffering and death in human life is good—or necessary—that kind of thinking would reduce the mystery of the Cross to a cold and sterile moral calculus: and so the Cross becomes an open market—a site of commercial exchange—your pain and suffering traded for the good of grace and salvation. 

Evil is not good; nor is it necessary. Evil, in fact, possesses no positive value or quality at all. Evil is only the absence of what is supposed to exist. The Church has always taught that the world in which we find ourselves is broken, fragmented, wounded, and in the grip of an ancient enemy who would destroy the creation that God brought forth in an act of love and freedom. And the mystery of the Cross is not the fact that Christ’s sacrifice results in salvation — the theological formula of “passion + death = redemption” is not a mystery but merely a testament to God’s power. No, the mystery of the Cross is the fact that the broken and fragmented world in which we find ourselves becomes the condition of possibility for the most noble and the most profound acts of love. The mystery of the Cross is the fact that the firm and vice-like grip that the enemy of God maintains on this world becomes the very way through which death is conquered. 

Make no mistake: Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross is an act of supreme rebellion. God enters into this world and revolts against the order and the structure that binds creation into an ancient form of slavery. Through the mystery of the Cross, Christ has loosened the fetters that bind you; he has broken the chains and cast off the shackles of a world whose suffering and death would otherwise define you; through the mystery of the Cross Christ has made you free. The mystery of the Cross is not some call for the Christian to seek out  suffering and death. Evil is not good, nor is it necessary. The Christian should hate suffering and death with a perfect hatred because suffering and death belong to a world that is not what God intended. Our culture and our nation are right to reject them both. But the Christian is called to rebel against this world alongside Christ. The Christian is called to show the world that suffering and death are not the defining features of a human life. The true mystery of the Cross is the fact that this broken and fragile world that rises up against God’s will becomes the theater in which he accomplishes his greatest glory. Christ’s revolt against sin and death reveals the glory of God. And you—through your suffering, through the hardships and difficulties in your life—you are invited to join him in the revolution. To show the world that suffering and death hold no power over you because you are free; that your life is marked by love; and by joy; and by peace; and by patience; and by goodness; and by gentleness; and by self-control. 

These are the works of the Spirit in us. And the Christian who lives what they believe about suffering and death leads a life of the most profound love and joy and peace and patience and goodness and gentleness and self-control. The Christian who lives what they believe about suffering and death possesses an interior life that in no way mirrors the broken heart and fractured mind of those who live without God in the world. How could we possibly expect the world to laugh in the face of death or to love in the face of real suffering when we so often fail to show the world that our lives are defined not by the tools and the tactics of the enemy of God, but rather by the life of the Spirit within us. St. Paul himself once laughed in the face of evil: “O Death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory?” Well, Christ has won the war; he has claimed that victory; he has drawn us into the very heart of the mystery of his Cross. And so Christ asks you — he challenges you: “O believer, where is your peace? O faithful one of God, where is your love? O Christian, where is your joy?”

Homily preached on April 7th at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary