We love through serving
Then the King will say to those on his right hand, ‘Come… take for your heritage the kingdom prepared for you… For I was hungry and you gave me food, thirsty and you gave me drink… naked and you clothed me, sick and you visited me. …’
Next he will say to those on his left hand, ‘Go away from me…to the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels… For I was hungry and you never gave me food; thirsty and you never gave me drink;… naked and you never clothed me, sick and in prison and you never visited me. … In so far as you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me’ (Mt 25:31-46).
In this Gospel, the Lord tells us that our eternal destiny depends on showing compassion for the suffering — the least, the lowest. Somehow, our eternal destiny is related to that. Nothing else is spoken about in this story.
When he comes again in glory, the Lord apparently will have only one thing on his mind about each of us: Did we love him in “the least”? Did we serve him? This is the question that will be asked. Yes or no. It’s a sobering thought.
What do we learn from this Gospel? It seems to me that the first thing this Gospel teaches us is that this compassion of serving the poor (the needy, the sick, the thirsty, wherever they are, whatever kind of poverty we’re dealing with, whatever kind of suffering) is the essence of the spiritual life.
Otherwise, why would our eternal destiny depend on it? It must be the essence of the spiritual life. To do it, or not do it: the question revolves around this.
It’s striking that the Lord doesn’t say anything about: “And also you prayed — one check point; and you fasted — check point; you attended the Liturgy — check point.” That’s not in this Gospel. It must all be related to this somehow, but what he wants to know is this: Did you love me, did you serve me, where you could do so? Where you could — did you? That’s the question.
Notice that the Gospel does not say, “love them.” I don’t know if that struck you. It doesn’t say, “Did you love them?” It says, “Did you feed them? Did you give them something to drink? Did you go visit? Did you listen? Did you cover them with clothing?”
The word is serve, not love. There’s a wisdom in that, because we love through serving. If I wait until I love you to serve you, I may never do anything. But if I serve you, I might learn to love you. There’s at least a chance.
It’s usually through service that we learn love, although there may be a moment of inspiration when you just love somebody and are willing to serve. But the normal path, over the long haul, through a whole long life, is to keep serving or you’ll stop loving; it’s the way we’re made.
So let service to the poor, to the needy, to the neighbor, be at the center. The wisdom of the Lord is there.
The next thing about this Gospel is that to serve our neighbor, the least, the suffering, is to serve Christ. And he says, it seems to imply, that this will mostly be a hidden reality, hidden from us. When we serve our brother or sister, we know we’re serving Christ. He told us so in the Book.
This requires faith. It takes stepping out in faith. Because the thing about suffering and poverty is that it is contagious. If you serve people who have it, you’ll get it — even more than you’ve already got it. Their suffering will become yours. Their poverty somehow becomes yours.
And you’ve got your own poverty to deal with. Your poverty grows. My suffering grows because I touch their suffering. Dare I continue? Only if I have faith.
That’s where prayer comes in. You cannot persevere in a life of service and a life of embracing the suffering Christ without praying for strength, and for faith, and for hope, above all. Because hope really takes a hit in the pit of suffering. But hope also shines in the pit of suffering, through grace. Only through grace.
So, we have to step out in faith, and when we do, love can blossom in our hearts. Christ is hidden from us.
What is the goal of the Lenten practices, then? What is the goal of all the prayers and fasting and almsgiving? What are we trying to do? What are we hoping for? Self-improvement? Holiness?
It seems to me that what we’re hoping for is a heart like Christ’s. An open heart, an opened heart, like his was. This isn’t pious sentimentality. This is the lance going in. It hurts. But at least the heart is open.
If you get into my heart, I’m doomed. If I can keep you out, I can get by. If you find your way in, I’m caught. I have to love you. I have to notice you. I have to pray for you. I have to listen to you. Or do what I can do. And if I get into your heart, you’ve got the same problem: you’ve got me — we have one another.
The goal of Lent, it seems to me, is to have a heart like the Lord’s. He said, “Come to me all you who labor and are overburdened” when he spoke about his heart. “Come to me all you who labor; I will give you rest.” That’s an open heart. That’s a receptive heart. That’s God’s heart: “For I am meek and humble of heart.”
So let us pray that our hearts be like his. Because then he can love through us, and he can manifest his mercy through us, and we are filled then with his presence. Because of faith, love can shine in our midst through open hearts.
(Pre-Lenten homily to the community of Madonna House, Feb.15, 2009)
[Calligraphy by ©Susanne Stubbs, Madonna House.]
