I write these words as I try to process my feelings toward the tragic, gut-wrenching burning of Notre Dame in Paris. So if I say anything that isn’t with full sensitivity, I ask your humble forgiveness as I work through some complex emotions.
Today’s Gospel selection continues the inevitable march toward the betrayal and execution of Christ, and which — as we all know — we will commemorate this Friday. Yet for me, the daily selections from Sacred Scripture always combine oddly with the Sunday Mass schedule, resulting in a melange of mixed emotions. This past Sunday — Palm Sunday — we celebrated the triumphant coming of Jesus to Jerusalem . . . but the Gospel selection that Sunday also detailed his crucifixion. Then — for today’s Gospel — he is not dead . . . not yet. The pieces are merely falling together for him to be betrayed for 30 pieces of silver.
So, on Sunday, Christ was killed. Today he is alive but destined to be betrayed. Friday he shall be killed again. Saturday we mourn his passing, but the Vigil Mass — started as the calendar does not yet say Sunday — tells the full story of his glorious resurrection.
How should I feel today? How do I prepare myself for Christ? Do I mourn his passing, as we did on Sunday? Rejoice in the fact that he is not yet dead, as in today’s readings? Look forward to his inevitable triumph over death?
Many of these same thoughts occur as I keep refreshing my browser for the latest news on the Notre Dame fire. Do I feel sad at the destruction? Hopeful at the outpouring of support? Do I feel relief over the artwork and relics that were saved? Do I pore over the past, taking comfort in the fact that nearly every millimeter of that historic structure has been preserved photographically and digitally to the best of our abilities? Do I feel hopeful and anticipatory, knowing that it will almost certainly be rebuilt? Do I find sorrow in knowing that re-creations are not the same as the real thing?
As much as we make our Faith friendly and welcoming to children, it is — at the end of the day — an “adult” religion. The questions it conjures, the feelings it forces us to follow, the mix of emotions it makes in our hearts . . . none of these are easy to navigate, especially during Holy Week. I live in hope at the promise of life eternal, as I navigate my fears at my own inadequacies in the eyes of the Lord. I feel joy at the coming resurrection as I also feel shame in the selfishness lurking in all human hearts that would eagerly seek to crucify him again.
As saddened as I am at the spire’s fall, I take a small bit of comfort at the outpouring of sorrow that has come from all corners of the Earth . . . including many who would consider themselves nonbelievers. Millennia ago, a crowd of human hearts couldn’t recognize the divine as He stood naked and suffering in front of them. Today, those same human hearts can feel that aching, that sense of loss, the feeling of injustice at an act so senseless. That nagging they feel — even if their secular hearts can’t give it voice — may be echoed in our Lord’s own words: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34) In today’s divided world, that union of suffering . . . that sorrow spanning the secular and the sacred . . . there is some hope in that.
In the same way that Christ turned a humiliating death into a glorious triumph over sin, let us turn our own emotions to bettering our selves and our world, as we work to bring the Kingdom to Earth. Recognize that Holy Week is complex, and that if you have different and seemingly contradictory emotions, that’s okay. Pray. Walk with the Lord. Perhaps partake of the Stations of the Cross.
And if a colleague, friend, or family member expresses sorrow at Notre Dame, take it with the spirit of unity and humility that it engenders . . . especially if they are normally agnostic or even antagonistic toward the Faith. Christ united the world through his death, and — in so doing — overcame death itself. In our own human way, we can do our small part to bring about healing to a broken world, through humility and compassion.
Today’s readings: Is 50:4-9A; Ps 69:8-10,21-22,31, and 33-34; Mt 26:14-25
