6th Sunday of Easter
Our Lord doesn't ask much of us. Love one another. Trust one another. Believe in one another. Correct one another. Remain in his love. Keep his commandments. Receive his peace. Teach and preach all that he has taught us. Baptize in his name. Remember him. Forgive. Show mercy. Serve. Keep his word. Feed the hungry. Visit the sick and imprisoned. Mourn the dead. Bless the poor. Drive out unclean spirits. Heal the blind and crippled. Deny ourselves. Pick up our crosses. Follow him. Oh, and, at last. . .die for the love we have for him. He doesn't ask much. Still, I'm tired.
O Lord! I am tired. My knees are swollen! My back aches! I have calluses on both my typing fingers! My eyes itch. I haven't slept well in four days. And I'm breaking out like a high school freshman. My room looks like a FEMA camp after Hurricane Katrina. And I've not done laundry since the third Sunday of Lent. . .2022. Here at the end of another semester, I've forgotten how to read and I can no longer do basic addition or long division. I'm tired, Lord. I'm tired. What do you have to say, Lord? “Love one another as I have loved you. It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.” Well, thank you, Lord. One more thing: can you unchose me?
The answer, of course, is no. He can't. Or, he won't. He knows our limits. And the limits beyond those limits. And he knows all that we give and all that we hold back. When we've given everything we have, all that we've held back. . .he gives us a new limit and the strength to reach it. The strength he gives is not some sort of magical grace-dust or a boost of sanctifying merits. He gives us himself. He's the limit. Not as an example, or a model, or a roadmap. He is the Limit. The Omega of all our striving. Think about it. Our end, our goal – Christ himself – comes to us in our soreness and sleepiness and crabbiness and hands himself over to us so that we might be made perfect as he is perfect. The Perfection we seek surrenders himself to us, the Imperfect, and dares us to surrender ourselves to him in return. How do we accomplish this astonishing task of surrender? “This I command you: love one another.” And forgive, show mercy, preach and teach, deny yourself, and follow him.
Looking for answers, or maybe just some small consolation, I've searched the ancient libraries of the world – Oxford, Cambridge, Rome, London, Beijing, Ole Miss. . .and I've read hundreds of books and manuscripts. Talked to masters, professors, mystics, seers, soon-to-be saints, and quite a few sinners. I've asked: how do I surrender? How do I hand over my life, everything that I am to God? I found the answer. My guide: a diminutive mystic of the Thomistic kind, a fellow renowned for his wisdom, patience, and kindness. I asked him my desperate question. He hefted his walking stick. Climbed a chair. And locked his eyes with mine and said, “Do, or do not. There is no try.” Expecting further distinctions or a citation from the Summa, I hesitated for a moment before developing a facial tic and bursting out laughing. Love, or do not love. Forgive, or do not forgive. Believe, or do not believe. There is no try. Surrender, or do not. There is no try. There is no limit to surrender in love. Love one another as Christ loves you. He will not unchose you to complete the work he has given you to do. He doesn't ask much of us. Love one another. Trust one another. Believe in one another. Correct one another. Remain in his love. Keep his commandments. Receive his peace. You know the to-do list. So, with sore knees, cramping fingers, grouchy disposition, blurry eyes, and a facial tic, charge head long and recklessly into the holy work you have to do. You aren't alone. As he promised, he is with us always, working right along side us and keeping us within his perfect peace.
