The other day my wife and I needed to ship some packages for a business associate; we’ve done so every year for the past few years — without any real compensation — because it’s a big help to the person in question. We got to the shipping place about 10 minutes before the last pickup. However, since our associate wasn’t expecting his boxes anytime soon, we didn’t particularly care if we made the cutoff or not. While we were waiting in line, three other people came in who needed to have their packages shipped as fast as possible, leaving today if at all feasible. When we noticed that these customers wouldn’t possibly be able to get their packages in on time with us in line, we casually said each time, “Oh, please . . . go ahead of us.” One of the clerks commented, “Wow; that’s really nice.”
I’m not sure my wife and I really even thought about it. It came so naturally that we didn’t even confer with each other, for either of the three customers. In fact, thinking about it this right now feels kind of strange, as if I’m bragging about how amazing or magnanimous we are . . . which isn’t the case. But to us, we’d gladly sacrifice an extra 15-30 minutes waiting in line than to see three fairly stressed-looking people have their problems escalated by a whole day because they were a few minutes late.
This incident happened about an hour before I looked at today’s readings. I smiled when I saw the Gospel selection from John. It features one of those bits of scripture that I’ve always had a hard time with, because it didn’t quite click for me, when Christ says, “[U]nless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” I’ve always had a hard time trying to think through what it’s trying to say. Is dying a good thing here? Is remaining a grain of wheat? Neither seems like a terribly good option.
This confusion was always exasperated by Jesus’ next words: “Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life.” Wait; I like my life! As Catholics, aren’t we supposed to love life in general? Is everyone else but me supposed to love my life?
It’s taken me a fair bit of contemplation and prayerful reflection to get a sense from those words that most connects with me. First off, I’m not aware of any context that Christ hated his life . . . at least, not in any sense that we would use the term today. He seemed to enjoy spending time with his Apostles and friends, speaking to them warmly and earnestly. Nor did he seem to hate his life itself; in the Agony of the Garden he specifically says, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me . . .” (Matthew 26:39).
Rather than hating his life, Christ recognized that his life was not really his own. As shown by the rest of Matthew 26:39 — “yet, not as I will, but as you will” — Jesus knew he had a duty and a purpose to fulfill . . . just like we all do. To paraphrase the old Baltimore Catechism standby, our purpose is to know, love, and serve God in this life, so we can be happy with him in heaven.
Thus — to me — the grain of wheat that grows into fruit-bearing plants isn’t “dying” per se, so much as serving its purpose . . . which is to grow into a useful plant. As encapsulated by Christ’s two great commandments, each of us is here to love God and love one another. If — in doing so — we love our lives, then great! St. Thérèse of Lisieux realized that we can grow closer to Christ in the little ways of living our lives, putting the higher purpose of God’s plan above ourselves. And in this way our own lives need not be “hated,” per se, so much as ignored for the larger purpose of loving God and loving our fellow humans.
None of these thoughts came to mind as I stepped aside at that office and let more urgent people send out their packages before my own. In the same way a grain of wheat doesn’t put thought into growing, but simply does it because it “knows” it’s right and that’s why it’s here, our own actions of putting others above ourselves was natural, perhaps a sign of Christ’s love and message having found fertile soil in our hearts, like a grain of wheat.
Today’s readings: 2 Cor 9:6-10; Ps 112:1-2, 5-6, 7-8, 9; Jn 12:24-26
