I haven’t been a deacon very long,
so I haven’t had the chance to officiate at that many weddings, maybe seven or
eight, but in almost every one of them, the couple picked this second reading
from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. Why? Well it seems like such a perfect reading
for a wedding reading, huh? I mean, it’s
all about love, sweet, romantic, euphoric, love!
And who doesn’t love this
reading? I hear those first few words…”Brothers
and sisters, strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts…” and my ears perk
up and a smile comes across my face.
Thing is, if we know the context in
which St. Paul was writing – to whom he was writing and why – we’d conclude
that a wedding is the last place you’d hear this reading.
Paul was writing to the Church in
Corinth, the capital city of Achaea in what is now southern Greece, a wealthy center
of commerce, a very worldly, city. A
culture that didn’t value the dignity of human life, that considered human life
expendable, from its widespread practice of abortion to its enthusiasm for the
bloody games of the Roman amphitheatre.
And while we, the Church, are always
called to be different from the culture around us, to be in this world but not
of it, the fledgling Corinthian Church had assimilated, taken on, much of the
Corinthian culture. Father George
Montague describes the context of Paul’s letter in his scripture Commentary:
Imagine you’re in a parish where there are several
drunks at Sunday Mass; where some are claiming that there’s no resurrection
from the dead and that Jesus isn’t really present in the Eucharist; the
parishioners are divided into cliques and factions; the Altar Society president
isn’t talking to the catechist; there is public unchallenged adultery and many
marriages are in disarray; there’s dabbling in new age spirituality; the
liberals, charismatics and traditionalists are all trumpeting their version of
the church; Masses are shortened for the sake of Sunday football, one of many
signs the parish has compromised heavily with the surrounding secular
culture. A nightmare? Not exactly. You’re just experiencing a modern version of the
community in Corinth.
In addition, we can infer from our
second reading that the Corinthians were impatient, unkind, jealous, pompous,
self-inflated, rude, selfish, quick-tempered, brooding, and rejoicing at
wrongdoing!
Enter into this picture the Apostle
Paul, preaching now to the disciples there. Against this background, not
completely different from the rivalry and bitterness and anger we heard
described in Luke’s Gospel, what is Paul saying to them? What is Paul saying to us?
One thing, I’d say, is “grow up.” That these ways of acting are childish. Not childlike, which Our Lord praises, but
childish. They’re not the way we as mature
disciples of Jesus are called to act, to behave.
But the main thing, he says, is to
love. Love is the very mark of the true
Christian. Love is the antidote, if you
will, to all these ways of acting, all these ways of taking on the depraved
culture around us. But to be sure, it
isn’t the sort of love that naturally comes to mind when we hear this second
reading proclaimed at a wedding – sweet, romantic, euphoric.
No, Christian love, the love which
St. Paul is preaching is intentional, merciful and sacrificial.
Intentional – love is not a feeling,
it’s an act of the will. You see, we’re not born loving this way. Because of
our sinful nature we’re actually born kind of selfish, self-centered. We’re not naturally kind. Jealousy comes easy
to us and we may often explode in a tantrum.
Now many of us have been trained from our earliest days in kindness and
gentleness and self-control, but even then, we sin – we have impulses to do and
say unkind things, we’re still often inwardly focused on ourselves.
Christian love is intentionally deciding
to go against these impulses, these temptations, intentionally choosing to do
the right. True love is choosing to be
patient and kind, choosing to put aside jealousy or arrogance, intentionally
being courteous. When the impulse
strikes us to rejoice in wrongdoing, intentionally saying “no,” I won’t. When tempted to relay a juicy bit of gossip, to
listen to that small voice that says “no, don’t, how is that loving?”
This kind of love is challenging,
and difficult. But it comes easier, and maybe
only, with the grace that God provides us.
Christian love is intentional, but
it’s also merciful, forgiving. When we
hurt another, it’s critical that we have empathy, the ability to put ourselves
in the other person’s shoes, which leads us to realize the hurt we’ve
caused. Empathy and humility, then,
should lead us to beg forgiveness from the other person, to be reconciled to
the other person. This is how it works
with God, too, huh? We examine
ourselves, our behavior, and we come to the realization of the ways we’ve
sinned, of the ways we’ve failed to love God as we ought, and we beg His mercy,
His forgiveness, and seek to be reconciled to Him.
And when another has hurt me, how do
I react? Am I bitter? In my pride do I hold onto my hurt, or am I
humble enough to be open to forgive and let myself be reconciled to the other?
Finally, Christian love is
sacrificial. Love is patient; love is
kind; and love is death - death to self.
The love of which St. Paul writes, the love which we see most vividly
here on the Cross, is a death to self, it’s a complete outpouring of ourselves
for the good of the other. It’s wanting nothing but the good of the other.
This self-giving love is also not
natural, it’s a gift, the gift of grace, something that as we mature in faith
is a light that shines ever brighter in us.
It’s also a purging, as we mature in faith, as by God’s grace we become
more aware of all the ways we cling to self interest and self-centeredness.
Actually, it’s this kind of love
that most every married couple with a marriage that’s endured over the year
knows very well. It’s why their
marriage has endured.
And it’s this love that lies ahead
of us in heaven. Heaven, I’m convinced,
is not a place where we’ll be waited on hand and foot for all eternity as some
would have us think. No, what if heaven
is a place where we give of ourselves completely? Pour ourselves out completely for all
eternity, just like the love of the trinity which we’ll enter into.
Let me close with a little parable which
I think is a beautiful and vivid way of describing this kind of love:
I asked God to give me a vision of
heaven and hell. First He showed me
hell. I saw a multitude of people sitting at a
banquet table as long as the eye can see, and on the table was an amazing feast.
The food was stacked high and the aroma coming from each entrée was exquisite.
Each person looked longingly at the feast with anticipation of the best cuisine
they’d ever seen. But nobody was eating.
You see, they all had forks that were three feet long. Occasionally, someone would
stab at their food hoping to somehow get a morsel up to their salivating mouth
but the result was the same. The fork was too long. They were helpless. They
all sat there starving, groaning in pain as their bloated stomachs ached for
something to eat. And they sat there, looking longingly at this feast, for all eternity.
The people were devastated, lonely, and in despair. Though it wasn’t what I ever
expected, that was hell.
Then God gave me a vision of heaven. There was a sea of
people sitting around the same banquet table as long as the eye could see. On
the table was the same amazing feast sacked high and with the same exquisite
aroma. What I didn’t expect confounded me. For they all had three-foot long
forks as well. But these people were all eating and loving every second of each
other’s company as they each served one another, feeding each other. They were laughing
and conversing, having an incredible time, enjoying this most amazing feast.
They never seemed to get full and the food and desserts just kept coming. It was breathtaking. These companions all had
love and joy in their eyes, delighting in the honor and privilege of serving one
another. The love and grace in the banquet room were obvious. In this place, it
was clear where I was. For this was heaven.
