Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time A
I met Margaret last evening at a little reception following
the 4:00pm Mass at St. Mary’s Cathedral in Ogdensburg. I had spotted her out in the pews
earlier during the Mass. She had
the most lovely big, dark eyes, and beautiful curly, dark hair. She was actually rather
captivating. Now, before you get
too nervous, I need to add: Margaret’s not quite two years old….
When I was introduced to her, Margaret had a big cookie in
her hands, and was happily nibbling bits of it from around the edge. Her sippy cup was easily within
reach—her reach, and that of her mother and grandparents, as well. And when I last saw her, as we headed
out of the Cathedral together, Margaret had been wrapped in her pretty, pink,
polka dotted raincoat, with the hood up to protected her from the rain.
With food, drink, and clothing all taken care of, Margaret
seemed to be without a care in the world…with one exception. As the reception wore on, she began to
venture farther and farther into the room, away from her family’s table. But every 10-15 seconds, she’d turn
back to look over her shoulder.
Margaret’s only worry was that she might wander out of her mother’s
sight.
How is it that little children, whose needs are so great,
manage to live without worry?
Because they have complete confidence that they will be cared for; they
have prefect trust that they are loved.
As we continue our reading of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount
this Sunday, he repeatedly tells us not to worry: “Look at the birds of the
air! See the wildflowers of the
field! Do not worry and ask, ‘What
are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’” At first glance, it might seem that
Jesus is encouraging us to irresponsibility—to throw caution to the wind and
neglect having any concern about the necessities of life. Nothing could be farther from the
truth! In the first pages of the
Bible, we’re told that, from the dawn of creation, we human beings have been
given a stewardship over the good things of this world. We are to cultivate and care for the
earth, by means of which God provides for our every material need—with more
than enough to go around. In
writing to the Corinthians, St. Paul reminds us that this stewardship extends
to spiritual goods, as well. For
them all, we must one day give an accounting—not according to the opinions of
our neighbors, but by the judgment of almighty God.
No, the opposite of worry is not irresponsibility. Jesus isn’t counseling us to be
careless, but carefree. What he
wants us to see is that the opposite if worry is faith.
Faith is a word that can have many dimensions. Three levels of meaning come to mind
for me today.
We can say, “I believe in God,” and mean nothing more than,
“I have faith that God exists.”
Most people on this planet have some sort of belief in a “higher
power”—whether they believe in a god or gods or some impersonal force that
animates the universe. That’s not
the level of faith to which Jesus is calling us.
We can say, “I believe in God,” and mean, “I have faith that
the God revealed by Jesus Christ exists.”
This is the foundation of Christian faith: belief in the Most Blessed
Trinity—the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—a personal God who is an eternal
communion of mutual love; and that this divine love overflows for sinful
mankind, and is most perfectly manifest in the life, death, and resurrection of
Christ, who is God-made-man. But
Jesus is calling us to a level of faith even deeper than that.
When we say, “I believe in God,” we need to be saying, “I
don’t only believe that God is perfect, eternal love. I believe that God loves ME—individually, particularly, and
personally. He knows me inside
out, and has a plan for my life.
And I believe that to follow that plan, to obey his will, is my only
path to real happiness—in this life and the next. And that’s what God wants more than anything else: for me to
be happy with him forever.”
Jesus is calling us to just the sort of faith, the sort of
trust, that I saw in Margaret. As
Isaiah relates it so powerfully, “Can a mother forget her infant, be without
tenderness for the child of her womb?”
We know of no stronger human bond than that between mother and
child…which is why it’s so shocking to ever read the story of a mother
abandoning her baby on the steps of a hospital, orphanage, or church. It should equally sadden and shock that
the law of the land permits a mother to end the life of a little one growing within
her. “Even should she forget,” the
Lord assures, “I will never forget you.”
It’s faith in that sort of promise that frees us of every worry. We are to believe that we are
constantly cared for, to trust that we are perfectly loved.
If you want to be free from every worry, then you’ll have to
put your complete confidence in God—not just for the most part, but 100%. The trick is, we oftentimes put our
confidence in the good things God provides, rather than in God himself—or even
mistakenly believe that we can provide them all on our own.
Lent starts this Wednesday, and it’s a fairly common custom
for folks to give up something for 40 days. When we decide to give up something for Lent, it shouldn’t
be something sinful…since we ought to give up our sins not only for a season,
but for a lifetime. No, during
Lent the challenge is to give up something good, and do so in favor of
something even better. To practice
such freely-chosen sacrifice and self-denial helps to refocus our faith and
strengthen our will. Lent is a
perfect time to make sure our trust is where it rightly belongs.
May this Lent be a time that frees you from all worry. Look to the birds of the air, the
wildflowers in the field, to little children like Margaret, and learn to trust
in the Lord’s love for you.
In God alone will your soul be at rest.
