The traffic was always intense. Car horns honked heatedly. Smog saturated my nostrils. The people penetrated my space smelling of odors not known to this Midwesterner. Yet, strolling down the streets of Manhattan this summer with rosary in hand, my heart pumping adrenaline and my eyes focused on skyscrapers, I might have been caught singing:
In New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There’s nothing you can’t do,
Now you’re in New York,
These streets will make you feel brand new,
The lights will inspire you.
And if you’re not inspired, be assured: I was inspired. While in this city I could feel the serotonin seep in my brain. It was glorious. Not even in Babel has the world seen such a place. Yet in all its glory, with all the inspirational lights, the dream filled jungle of concrete, the panoply of pedestrians and the ordered chaos of converging countries, I could not help but heed Jesus’ words from today’s gospel: All that you see here—there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” If Jesus’ words are true, then even this temple of the modern world will one day fade away.
If we don’t have empire states of mind, and would not shed a tear if Manhattan sank into the sea, we are hardly free from Jesus’ apparent Good News in the Gospel. Like an Alvis research paper we thought we saved that is never to be seen again. Or a cell phone dropped into the ice fishing hole, the worlds we have been creating for ourselves will one day be gone:
The mounted deer masquerading a once living day.
The diploma that caused our hair to turn gray.
The friends that have walked with us on the way.
The family that taught us how to pray.
Sports teams we have followed come what may.
And even the church that we know of today.
All these things are fading away.
Christ’s warning of the ephemerality of life—the transitory nature of all that we see around us—can be down right depressing. Like a college graduate moving back in with his parents, or a middle aged man buying that red sports car, we can attempt to ignore these eschatological words of Christ. Yet this passing away has been with us since that baby was born in a manger and shepherds heard angels’ hosannas ring on high. It continues to be with us now. And we, too, should sing hosanna on high that all these things are passing away.
It was my novitiate year in Glenmary. Our director handed us novices the list of expectations for the program. If you only could have read the mind of this post modern 24 year old millennial as I scanned the list:
--A limit of two emails, two phone calls, and two letters a week.
--No visitations of friends or family for one year—which meant that I would miss my best friend’s wedding.
--Grand silence and seclusion in our rooms by 8 pm every night.
--Limited to no internet use.
I died a thousand deaths that year. I tried to escape in any way possible. But the excitement of everything I tried faded away. One night I broke the rules and wandered down to the chapel. There, in front of the glow of the candle and in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament I fell to my knees. I was bankrupt. Almost everything that meant something to me was gone. And yet the candlelight was still glowing. He was near.
In a fascinating book on spirituality, the Holy Longing, Fr. Ronald Rolheiser speaks of the necessity for allowing less important aspects of our lives as Christians fade away. He presents to his readers two people: Janis Joplin and Mother Theresa. He makes the claim that these two women were actually similar in many respects. Both were full of energy, passionate, intense lovers, and highly spiritual. The difference between the two being only the manner in which they directed their generative energy. Janis Joplin directed her energy in a multiplicity of places: creativity, drugs, booze, sex and music. Mother Theresa directed her energy in a singular fashion towards loving God. The former led to disintegration and ultimately death, the latter lead to sanctity of life. Citing Soren Kierkegaard, Rolheiser states that a saint is ultimately a person who can will the one. That is, where everything in life fades away and one is only left with the singular focus of the will on God.
Spending much time in Appalachia, I have come accustom to hearing Protestant ministers ask me if I am saved, and letting me know that the end is very near, and so I must repent. It might be easy to ignore them. It might even be easy to laugh at them under my breath. Yet, they might not be far from the truth. Jesus’ words in the scripture today indicate that before the end comes, there must be a fading away of material things, a shake up of nations, and even death. Coming in contact with Christ can be nothing less than this: a fading away of those things that divide our heart, a shake up of our lives to redirect us to what is truly important, and a death to those things that threaten to disintegrate our souls. This process will certainly take perseverance. But if we persevere in grace, it will leave us staring face to face with the true jewel, the pearl of great price, that which is greater than anything we can experience in this life, Jesus Christ our Lord.
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