As he continues this section on judgment as a setting for hope, Pope Benedict brings up the atheism that emerged in the 19^th and 20^th centuries.  He explains that the growth of this rejection of the belief in God is due in part to the reaction to the injustices present in the world.  He writes:

A world marked by so much injustice, innocent suffering, and cynicism of power cannot be the work of a good God. A God with responsibility for such a world would not be a just God, much less a good God. It is for the sake of morality that this God has to be contested. Since there is no God to create justice, it seems man himself is now called to establish justice. (SS 42)

If there is no God to determine what constitutes justice, according to this line of thought, then it falls to human beings to determine justice.  From the Christian perspective, we know this to be dangerous, for our humanity, wounded by Original Sin, is prone to error and division.  This has played out, unfortunately, in tragic ways when human beings have taken control of defining and enforcing justice according to their standard of ethics and morality.  In light of this point, the Holy Father concludes soberly: “A world which has to create its own justice is a world without hope.” (ibid.)

Perhaps you have encountered individuals, such as co-workers, friends, or family members who have concluded that God must not exist for similar reasons to those listed above.  If God is good, how can He permit these things to happen?  It is sometimes easier to decide that there is no God than to wrestle with the mystery of how God can be present while there are so many bad things that have happened, and continue to happen, with little hope that the situation will get better.

In his Letter to the Romans, St. Paul writes: “We believe that all things work for the good for those who love God and are called according to His purposes.” (Rom 8:28) It takes a lot of faith to believe this is true, that it applies to all things, even the worst tragedies.  How that will come about is certainly not clear, but the promise is given to us by the Holy Spirit speaking through the Word of God.

As Christians, words like this and many others from the Scriptures give us good ground for hope, a hope that in the end, God’s justice will indeed triumph, a justice that always makes room for mercy.  But our belief in how God will resolve all things for the good does not give us permission to disengage and just let God work it all out.  Rather, we are invited to commit to cooperating with God in bringing about a more just and more merciful world by living according to the Gospel which alone has the power to transform society in a true and lasting way.  Though we may not always see the immediate results, and in fact, we may see things getting worse, nevertheless we continue to strive to bring the Gospel values to the world around us, trusting that the Lord can and will use what seems so insignificant in our eyes to serve His Providential plan for our good and for the salvation of the world. 

As the world around us becomes Autumn, we begin to recall the fleeting nature of life. The days have shortened and continue to shorten, and the weather is becoming more bitter as we approach the winter. As the leaves fall off our deciduous trees and the grass turns more and more beige, we can’t help but see that the structure of life includes a thing we call “death.” True, the trees are not actually dying, but their external life is going to sleep. 

It is fortunate for us that the world continues this steady cycle of seasonal change. With modern conveniences like heating, cooling, transportation, etc., not much of the regularity of our daily lives actually changes with the turn of the season. We can live under the illusion that things will just keep on running as they always have. Still, as human beings who change and who one day will undergo a truly substantial change in death, we need the reminder that life here is not going to last forever. 

For the Christian, however, this reminder does not come without hope. Autumn is followed by Winter, an even bleaker season, but then comes Spring! Spring always comes, life seeps back into the landscape with every budding leaf and flower. The death of Fall awaits its Springtime, and our own natural death awaits a future resurrection. We place our hope in Christ. We have the faith that after the decline of our life and our future death, our Lord will appear like the warmth of the sun in Spring to raise our bodies to new life, never to die again. 

I offer you a poem on this theme, the falling Autumn leaves:

They fall… and silhouettes
And twigs and limbs of wooden beasts
Are left to break the white-gray sky.

They fall… some green, maroon, 
Orangeish brown warm colored
Lifeless engines of life – their hue
Suspended in time by the chilled
And buoyant breath
Of nature.

Some stay… a gradient of death
Attached to the skeleton that remains,
Still, moved by nothing
But the sharp and constant breath
Of the north.

Frozen structures devoid of feeling,
Growth, and color; dormant
Waiting for life and light. Asleep
Till boldened by the springtime sun.

As you read the title for this article, you might be slightly confused as these two words seem very different in nature.  When we hear the word ‘judgment’ (particularly as it applies to the Last Judgment), we have a sense of uncertainty, even a bit of fear.  On the other hand, hope almost always stirs a feeling of delight and peace.

With this next paragraph in Spe salvi, Pope Benedict begins the final section of the document, looking at how judgment is a setting for learning and practicing hope.  It makes sense that he would save this for last, as judgment is indeed one of the Last Things.  Instead of treating judgment as something overwhelmingly negative, the pope invites the reader to see how our awareness of judgment is meant to influence how we live here and now, and that by living according to the Gospel, we can have great peace in believing that the promise of eternal rest, for which we hope, is something the Lord delights to give us after we complete our earthly pilgrimage.  On this point, the Holy Father writes:

From the earliest times, the prospect of the Judgement has influenced Christians in their daily living as a criterion by which to order their present life, as a summons to their conscience, and at the same time as hope in God’s justice. (SS, 41)

He then explains how these two topics – judgement and hope – were depicted in the artwork of Christian sacred buildings:

In the arrangement of Christian sacred buildings, which were intended to make visible the historic and cosmic breadth of faith in Christ, it became customary to depict the Lord returning as a king—the symbol of hope—at the east end; while the west wall normally portrayed the Last Judgement as a symbol of our responsibility for our lives—a scene which followed and accompanied the faithful as they went out to resume their daily routine. (ibid.)

This highlights an important awareness that we as Christians should always keep in mind, that there will come a time for all of us – at an “unknown day and unknown hour” (cf. Mt. 24:36) when the Lord will come to us and ask us for an account of our lives.  This judgment known as the Particular Judgment, is described in the Catechism of the Catholic Church in the following words:

Each man receives his eternal retribution in his immortal soul at the very moment of his death, in a particular judgment that refers his life to Christ: either entrance into the blessedness of heaven—through a purification or immediately,—or immediate and everlasting damnation. (CCC 1022)

Admittedly, this sounds a little bit dark, but it does not have to, especially when we live as intentionally as possible the commandments of love of God and love of neighbor.  This point is made in this paragraph of the Catechism, with a quote from St. John of the Cross:  “At the evening of life, we shall be judged on our love.” (St. John of the Cross, Dichos 64) We believe that God is love (1 Jn 4:16), and that He has poured this love into our hearts (Rom 5:5), and that by remaining in that love (Jn 15:9-10), our hope in His Promise is firm, for He delights to give us the Kingdom. ( Lk 12:32) Therefore, let us ask the Lord for the grace to persevere every day in that love of His, so that when we take our last breath, we will awaken to see Love Himself in the glory of Heaven.

After I was ordained a priest, I and a classmate took a camping trip out west to Glacier, Yellowstone, and the Grand Tetons National Parks. It was an amazing trip, and I loved looking at the mountains, a feature of the landscape we certainly don’t have around here. I had never been so close to mountains before, and some of the sights left me in a state of wonder. One of the more beautiful aspects of the stony faces of the mountains was the way they reflected the sunlight. At different times of day, they appeared to be different colors, much like the clouds here in the Midwest.

During Mass this weekend, you’ll hear from Psalm 121, which begins, “I lift up my eyes toward the mountains; whence shall help come to me? My help is from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.” The Psalmist is searching for help as he makes his way up to Jerusalem, a sort of allegory for making his way up to Heaven from the depths of this earthly life. He needs (and we need!) a lot of help along the way. So, where do we turn for that help? Should we turn to the seemingly impregnable mountains? What are these mountains? 

Saint Augustine can help us understand what is going on here in this Psalm by revealing a deeper spiritual meaning behind the words. He reads the mountains mentioned in this Psalm as the “great” figures of history, especially of salvation history – the patriarchs, prophets, saints, and holy ones of the scriptures. They can help us by giving us light, a light which comes from God alone.

We read,

“… the mountains do not give off light of their own. They transmit light from him of whom scripture says, He was the true light, which illumines every human person who comes into this world (Jn 1:9). We can take the mountains to be symbols of great and illustrious people. And is anything greater than John the Baptist? What a mountain he was! …You can certainly see in him a lofty mountain bathed in light; but listen to [John’s] confession: From his [God’s] fullness we have all received (Jn 1:16). Help comes to you not from the mountains themselves but from him whose plenitude endows the mountains. All the same, unless you lift your eyes to the mountains through the scriptures, you will not be brought near to be illuminated by him” (St. Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms, 120.4).

St. Augustine calls us to keep our eyes fixed on the “mountains” by looking to the examples and words of the holy people in the scriptures. At the same time, we have to recognize that our true help does not come from these people but from God alone. In God alone is the light that fills us with life. In God alone is sure salvation. We need the models of grace so that we can be built up in faith, but they don’t give us life.  As we continue through the Psalm, we hear that the Lord alone guards us without sleeping, and that he will never fail us. 

May we put our trust in the Lord always. He stands beside us to keep us safe from all evil. He gives us great models, mountains of holiness, to serve as beacons who reflect the saving light of God. Lord, help us keep our eyes fixed on these mountains and the many beautiful ways they reflect your light – the light that gives us life. Amen.

As he brings this section on learning hope through suffering, Pope Benedict offers a few words on the spiritual practice of “offering up” our minor daily hardships, a practice that “used to be a form of devotion—perhaps less practised today but quite widespread not long ago.” (SS, 40)

For those of you of a certain age reading this may recall your parents or religious sisters in school repeating that phrase over and over again, especially when they found you complaining about your problems.  “Offer it up.”  Sadly, that phrase was often not explained well, and it simply became synonymous for “get over it” or “quite whining.” Acknowledging that this practice has suffered in the past from misguided or exaggerated forms of expression, the Holy Father pauses to question where there actually may be some value in revisiting this devotion.  He offers the following reflection:

What does it mean to offer something up? Those who did so were convinced that they could insert these little annoyances into Christ’s great “com-passion” so that they somehow became part of the treasury of compassion so greatly needed by the human race. In this way, even the small inconveniences of daily life could acquire meaning and contribute to the economy of good and of human love. Maybe we should consider whether it might be judicious to revive this practice ourselves. (ibid.)

A few months ago, I came across a podcast episode in The Road to Emmaus podcast hosted by Dr. Scott Hahn in which he interviewed Megan Hjelmstad on this very topic, referring to the book that she recently wrote, titled Offer It Up: Discovering the Power and Purpose of Redemptive Suffering (published by Emmaus Road Publishing).  Dr. Hahn wrote of this book:

In Offer It Up, Megan Hjelmstad transforms a trite slogan into an invigorating battle cry. Those who are suffering in mind or body, as well as their caretakers, will find ample encouragement to embrace their cross and participate more intimately in our Lord’s saving mission. (https://stpaulcenter.com/store/offer-it-up-discovering-the-power-and-purpose-of-redemptive-suffering)

Though I have not read the book, I was inspired by the interview.  If you are reading this and are not too scarred from past admonitions to “offer it up”, perhaps this can be a good book for your spiritual reading.  And if you do not have the time right now to read the book, perhaps listening to the interview would be a blessing.  Here is the link:  https://youtu.be/i1Akj9DcLFw?si=iJJ-EHv6thJ4MgKg (or you could search for “The Guide Through Life’s Struggles with Megan Hjelmstad and Scott Hahn” in YouTube and it should show up).

The line that really caught my attention toward the end of the interview came from words that Jesus shared with St. Faustina, the Apostle of Divine Mercy: “You will save more souls through prayer and suffering than will a missionary through his teachings and sermons alone.” (Diary of St. Faustina, no. 1764) May we never underestimate the power of suffering to teach us many important lessons and so be a means for growing in hope and being instruments of hope to others.

Spiders are one of those strange creatures that are both beautiful and frightening at the same time. They can be dangerous – and look the part! – But the traps they make for their prey, their webs, are some of the most delicately intricate structures in nature. I’m considering in particular here the orb-weaving spiders that make the wheel-like webs, though even other web shapes have a certain finesse to them. 

A quick Google search provides the information that it takes anywhere from thirty to sixty minutes to create a good web. Many of these webs are then “recycled” daily – the spider may eat the old web and create a new one each evening. This process is a good deal of work for the arachnid, and provides a unique image for Christian prayer, specifically the prayer of meditation.

In the Latin text of Psalm 90, we read this curious phrase, “Anni nostri sicut aranea meditabantur.” This can be translated, “Our years toiled around like a spider” (Translation found in St. Augustine, Expositions on the Psalms, 89.9). While St. Augustine comments on the actual meaning of the verse, I personally find the Latin text enlightening. The Latin translation of the Hebrew of the Psalm uses “meditabantur” to refer to the way a spider toils around its web. This word is the same word used for “consider” or “think about,” and it is precisely where our word for “meditation” comes from. 

When we meditate, we consider a subject from different angles. Like a spider travelling round and round its web as it is creating it, we look at the subject from all different points of view, over and over again. We ask different questions from as many different points of view as possible. This helps us to fully grasp the subject and truly understand it – in a way, to catch the prey of knowledge. 

This is the process of Lectio Divina in a nutshell. This type of prayer refers to the meditative reading of scripture. We invite the Lord into our mind and our reading and then take time to consider the passage we have read. When we want to meditate fruitfully on a passage from scripture, we don’t just read it once and leave it at that. No, we read it once, think about it for a bit, then read it again, and ask different questions about it. We may then read it again or even several more times in the course of the meditation. 

The classic steps to Lectio Divina are 

1. Lectio – Reading
2. Meditatio – Meditation
3. Oratio – Prayer
4. Contemplatio – Contemplation

While reading the passage is the first step, a reading of the passage generally also takes place before each of these steps. We turn the scripture over and over in our mind, considering it from different angles, asking questions, seeking answers, and trusting in the aid of the Holy Spirit. The spiders “meditate” daily over their webs – likewise, the more often we practice meditation, the easier it becomes. 

There is one primary difference between prayerful meditation and a more natural meditation on any other subject: when we are praying, the “prey” we are attempting to catch is not simply new knowledge but rather a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ through his Word. 

May the Lord enlighten our minds and hearts and grant us the grace to drink deeply from his Word. Amen!

As he continues to reflect on the theme of suffering with and for others, noting how important this is to the good of humanity, Pope Benedict poses the following questions we would all do well to consider regarding our willingness to suffer:

Yet once again the question arises: are we capable of this? Is the other important enough to warrant my becoming, on his account, a person who suffers? Does truth matter to me enough to make suffering worthwhile? Is the promise of love so great that it justifies the gift of myself? (SS 39)

Theoretically speaking, we know that the answer should be ‘yes’ to all of these questions.  Yet when, in reality, we have to make the decision to suffer for another, for truth, for love, we can sometimes hesitate.  We calculate the cost of extending ourselves, we consider the possible pain we might experience, the rejection that we might experience, the disappointment we might experience.  The fear of how our offering ourselves might be received sometimes results in our turning back in on ourselves and deciding not to subject ourselves to possible suffering after all.

To help us in addressing those fears, the Holy Father directs our attention to Jesus Christ, who in becoming one of us, entered into the experience of suffering and in so doing, offers us hope and encouragement.  The pope explains:

Man is worth so much to God that He himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus’s Passion. Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God’s compassionate love—and so the star of hope rises. (ibid.)

As I wrote about in my previous article, knowing that somebody is with us in our suffering gives us courage, for the pain of isolation is one of the greatest pains in suffering.  Though the physical pain may not be removed, the emotional pain is often lessened significantly we someone is there by our side.

It is helpful to recall the Lord’s presence with us in any form of suffering we encounter, whether it be our own suffering, or the suffering we bear with and for others when we choose to love them.  This is one of the reasons why I always keep a small crucifix in my pocket.  When I begin to feel the pangs of suffering, I can just reach into my pocket and feel that crucifix and be reminded that He is with me in this suffering, that I am not alone.  It also serves as a reminder that when I choose to enter into the suffering of another person, whether it be visiting a sick person in the hospital, listening to them as they share their sorrow for sin in the confessional, or when delivering a hard truth that my not be received so willingly, I am reminded that the Lord is extending His arms to embrace both of us – the one suffering, and me as I share in their suffering.

The pope concludes his reflection in this section by mentioning the example of the saints who in so many ways embraced suffering – sometimes heroically, even to the point of death – and now enjoy the peace of eternal life in Heave, the fulfilment of the hope that kept them from fleeing from suffering, but leaning into it with love for God and for others.  May their witness encourage us to do likewise, and so become witnesses ourselves to a world that is in desperate need of such witnesses.

I have always loved to read, and back when I was in high school, I loved to read very large books. I think I enjoyed the challenge that a thick tome presented, and also a story that didn’t just end right away. I would read fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction, adventure, fairy tales, and even saint stories. Reading was how I found my Confirmation saint, St. Thomas Aquinas. Reading was how I grew to love writing and it has been a great conversation starter over the years. Reading has also been one of the primary ways God has chosen to work in my life. By the grace of God, a book fell into my hands when I was seventeen that not only satisfied me for its size but also changed the way I thought about God. 

This book was the spiritual diary of St. Faustina Kowalska – a big red book I found one day as I was looking for something to read. Looking back, I don’t exactly know why I enjoyed it at that age. Still, the way that St. Faustina wrote about her experience of the Mass, her time before the tabernacle, her discernment of her vocation, and especially her experience of confession made me re-think all of those things myself. I think it was one of the first times I really understood how these sacraments and parts of a life of prayer can be a real and tangible means of actually drawing closer to God. 

I also needed her message of mercy. As St. Faustina writes in one of the most often quoted passages of the diary, Jesus says to her, “proclaim that mercy is the greatest attribute of God. All the works of my hands are crowned with mercy” (300). I needed to hear that God would love me and any sinner no matter what I ever did, and that the door to his mercy was wide open in the sacrament of reconciliation. I needed to hear how real his presence in the Eucharist was and how his presence in the host at Mass is a gift from his merciful heart. He is there and he pours out love from there, from his wounded heart.

I bring this up today because if today, October 5, weren’t a Sunday, it would be the feast day of St. Faustina. Her message of mercy was nothing new, but it was God’s timely reminder to the world to turn back to him. While we’re on earth there is always time to turn back to him. Plus, once we have received his mercy, our task becomes that of helping others draw near to God’s mercy also. 

I think most Catholics have had the thought after Confession – “If the world ends now, that would be ok” – said with a grin. We recognize that the more time we have here on earth, the more time there is to mess up! But, seen in another light, the more time we have on earth, the more time we have to seek God’s mercy. Time is one of God’s greatest gifts. As St. Augustine comments on a passage from Psalm 60, he counsels us, “Don’t try to chop down the bridge of mercy after you have crossed over yourself. Let it remain in place forever” (Expositions of the Psalms, 60.6) This “bridge” is the time we have left on earth. 

While we have the time, we can enter the door of the confessional, we can receive that mercy, God’s greatest attribute. We turn to St. Faustina today and ask her intercession to help us never fear the “size” of our sins or the love of God. Pray for us today, St. Faustina, and pray for all those in need of God’s mercy!

In last week’s article, we explored the importance of not turning away from suffering, as we are so tempted to do.  Rather, by turning into our suffering, it can become a means by which we mature “through it and find meaning through union with Christ, who suffered with infinite love.” (SS 37) In the next paragraph, Pope Benedict explains how accepting our own suffering not only helps us get through suffering, but it also equips us to assist others in their suffering.  On this point, the Holy Father notes the impact that accepting personal suffering can have on the society in which we live:

A society unable to accept its suffering members and incapable of helping to share their suffering and to bear it inwardly through “com-passion” is a cruel and inhuman society. Yet society cannot accept its suffering members and support them in their trials unless individuals are capable of doing so themselves; moreover, the individual cannot accept another’s suffering unless he personally is able to find meaning in suffering, a path of purification and growth in maturity, a journey of hope. (SS 38)

One who is unwilling to endure suffering themselves will be less likely to help others when they are suffering.  But there are times when somebody close to us begins to suffer that we put aside our fear of suffering and enter into their suffering.  Though we may not be experiencing the same suffering, nevertheless we suffer with the other person, and the Lord uses that experience of suffering in another to strengthen and purify us, even as we support the one who is suffering.  Even if we cannot take away the suffering of another, our presence removes the particularly painful experience that so often accompanies suffering, loneliness and isolation.

I have a vivid memory of this from my childhood after I had a rather major surgery.  I woke up very briefly in recovery, feeling a lot of pain and feeling scared.  I did not even open my eyes, but I sensed somebody was there in the room.  When the voice spoke, it was that of my mother, and though I still felt so uncomfortable, I fell back asleep in peace, knowing that she was there with me and that I was not alone.  The following morning, I awoke early in the ICU, but nobody was there.  I do not exactly remember how I felt physically, but there was an overwhelming sense of fear of being alone.  The nurse assured me that my parents were on their way, and when they did arrive, I was able to be at peace again.  Throughout my childhood, whenever I had to stay home due to being sick, which was always miserable, my mom was always there.  Though she could not suffer what I was suffering, she was suffering with me and for me as only a mother can and her presence always made the experience much more bearable.

In that regard, we recently celebrated the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows.  This feast recalls the beautiful truth that as Jesus was dying, Mary stood by the Cross.  Her standing signifies a posture of readiness to do whatever she could to help encourage her Son in His final hours.  From the Cross, Jesus entrusted His mother to us when He said to her about St. John, and by extension, all of us: “Behold, your son.” (Jn 19:26) Mary always stands close to us in our suffering, ready to offer her motherly encouragement, reminding us that we are never alone in our suffering.  May that truth bring us true consolation, and may we imitate her example of standing ready to assist anybody who the Lord invites us to assist in their suffering.

A question St. Augustine asks frequently throughout his many commentaries on the Psalms is, “Who is speaking here?” He reads the Psalms as prayers composed by a human author called the “psalmist,” and yet, they are also inspired by the Holy Spirit and destined to be prayed by many more people than just that psalmist, even one particular person known at first only to God. Insofar as they are inspired, the words of the Psalms come from the heart of God and are a true communication of the divine Word. This Word became flesh (John 1:14) in Jesus Christ, and therefore, the primary answer St. Augustine gives to his question, “Who is speaking here?” is Jesus Christ, the Lord. He is speaking here.

Though Jesus is the one St. Augustine understands to be speaking in the Psalms, Jesus is not speaking alone. He speaks in, with, and through his body, the Church. St. Paul gives the seed of this teaching when he writes, “He [Christ] is the head of the body, the Church” (Colossians 1:18), and “Now you are the body of Christ, and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:27). This teaching of St. Paul is something that St. Augustine reflected on very deeply. The image and reality of the Church as the body of Christ became the root of St. Augustine’s understanding of the speaker in the Psalms. 

As he preaches on Psalm 61(60), especially the opening line, “O God, hear my plea, give heed to my prayer,” St. Augustine asks that very question: “Who is saying this? It sounds like a single person. But look at the next phrase, and you will see whether it can be only one: From the ends of the earth I have called to you, as my heart was wrung with pain. It cannot be one alone, then; yet it is one, because Christ is one, and all of us are his members” (Expositions of the Psalms 60.2, Translated by Maria Boulding). One person says this, and that one person is Christ, the head of the body. But, more than one person says it, and says it from the ends of the earth, because Jesus has joined a body (the Church) to himself.

St. Augustine calls this head and body unity the totus Christus, “the whole Christ.” Jesus is, in himself, a true person, and a divine person at that. He doesn’t need any additional body attached to him to make him complete and perfect. BUT, in a wonderful plan of salvation, he chooses to join human beings to himself in a mystical and sacramental union so that we become truly members (limbs) of his mystical body. We therefore share his divine life – the Father looks upon us as children, the life of the Holy Spirit dwells in our souls, and we are heirs to his Kingdom. We also, then, speak and act as Christ in our prayer and in our lives. A simple analogy is this: When my hand moves, I move; when a member of the body of Christ acts, Christ acts. 

It is, therefore, not a stretch for St. Augustine to be able to say that Christ is the one speaking in the Psalms, always. Sometimes Christ the head alone speaks, sometimes a member of the body alone, but more often than not, he can say that Christ, head and members, speak as one. The whole Christ speaks. This teaching gives a whole new meaning to those words of the Mass, that we pray through Him, with Him, and in Him, to God the almighty Father. 

Thanks be to God for this saving grace!