Does being a Christian make any difference? Being a Catholic? On
Pentecost we are supposed to celebrate the church, but what is the
church?
It is expected that we cherish our faith, that we value it enough to
pass it on. But is it worth it?
Is our church really all that much a cause for celebration? Has our
faith been worth receiving? Is it worth giving?
These days, I guess, we are not supposed to be too proud of our traditions and our identity. After all, diversity is king. One faith, we are told, is as good as another. There are many paths to the mountain top. Why should we be so arrogant as to assume that ours is the best?
But if we believe that, why would it make much sense to want to proclaim it to anyone else? In fact, if our faith is not all that special, why should we even be grateful for having it?
If we have nothing wonderful to give to the world, why would our
children want to possess it? If we are so pluralistic as to think
that any way to God suffices, why should the way of the Lord Jesus
be considered a gift to our young?
It is no secret that many of us elders wonder why so many of our
youth seem not to take our church as seriously as we once did (or as
seriously as we think we once did). We can say that the homilies are
boring, that we should be as entertaining as MTV or the new
supermarket cathedrals.
We can blame the music, the irritating improvisations, the lack of
reverence, the loss of chant, the irrelevance of sermons, the
carping about money, the exclusive language, the inclusive language,
and an almost infinite number of deficits.
But whatever it is, we lack the fire.
It was fire that the Spirit bequeathed to our ancient brothers and
sisters. They were so much on fire, they wanted to proclaim it to
the world. They spoke of something that made a difference in their
lives, something or someone they loved.
St. Paul tells us that the something they experienced was enough to
make them feel like one vibrant body, unified in a common good and
goal. They cherished differences, but only because of the different
ways they revealed the one splendor of the gift they shared.
So what is our something, the common gift we share as Catholics?
Certainly it is the gift held in common with all Christians: our
Gospels, our Lord, our one faith, baptism, and communion. But for
Catholics it is more.
The “catholic” dimension is holistic, organic, and
integral. We come from a people whose encounter with Jesus Christ is
inclusive and capacious.
He may speak different tongues to us, but the same truth. He shines
in different gifts, but as one giver. He is our one body, our unity,
but he thrives through different members.
Thus, Catholicism resists any move that reduces Christ to only one
facet or moment of experience.
We find him in the holy word. But we know this is a scripture given
to us by a community, our community. We see him in community, but we
know our community was born of Christ and our memory of him. We pass
the word on, but it is the word that made us who we are and brought
us together.
As a people, we meet Christ in structures of law, magisterium, and
tradition. We see him in those shining lights we call our saints,
those leaders we call our hierarchy, those scholars we call our
theologians.
We encounter him in the passages of our lives: our birthing and
maturing, our failing and healing, our commitments and loves, our
feeding and our dying. Thus sacraments, bestowed by Christ and
sustained by the church, are signs of his presence holding together
the warp and weft of our lives.
We find him in the movements of our hearts: our great pieties and
devotions that remind us of the mysteries of his life. We find him
in the discernment of spirits, the weighing of forces for joy and
sadness. We hear him in the cry of the poor and read him in the
signs of the times.
Christ is not confined to any one of these. He is not in our
sanctuaries alone. He is not in the law alone. He is not in
sacraments alone. He is not in scripture alone. He is not in the
magisterium alone. He is not in our devotions, our saints, or our
poor alone.
He lives in and through them all. And through them all he blesses
and calls us. No one of them is supreme. Only he is supreme. And
only in him do we find the spirit of God that vivifies all his
parts.
Such a faith, ultimately faith in a person, deserves our zeal as
much as our consent.
I once asked a group of university students if they thought their
faith was worth sharing, even preaching to others? The wisest answer
was this: If you love someone or something enough, you want to share
it.
If you are in love, you can't wait to tell someone else. If you love
what it means to be a Catholic, it makes all the difference in the
world that you give this gift to the ones you love.
Ah, but do we love our Lord enough? And do we love the world enough
to impart our faith to it?