Homily for Laetare Sunday (4th Sunday of Lent)

Homily for Laetare Sunday (4th Sunday of Lent) 
1 Sm 16;1B, 6-7, 10-13A
Eph 5:8-14
Jn 9:1-41

"Laetare Jerusalem:
et conventum facite omnes
qui diligitis eam:
gaudete cum laetitia,
qui in tristitia fuistis . . ."

"Rejoice oh Jerusalem
and all who love her.
Be joyful,
all who were in mourning . . ." 

The name of Laetare Sunday comes from the first Latin word of the entrance antiphon, Laetare. Rejoice. In one of his many essays written during 40 years teaching at Georgetown, the late Jesuit Father Jim Schall wrote: "Laetare Sunday is traditionally called a respite. It makes us begin to feel the nearness of the Passion and the Resurrection, but with a reminder that even amid the Lenten fast and the coming remembrance of the Crucifixion, we are not to forget that Christianity is a religion of joy." 

Fr. Schall continues, "Christianity is called the most worldly of the religions. It is called the most worldly of religions because it is a religion engaged with the world and in the world, but it is not of the world. Christianity transcends the world, it goes beyond the world and the universe. It will not cease when the world ends or when the universe involutes on itself." Like Mary's fiat to the angel, "may it be done to me according to your word," indeed, because of her fiat, Christianity will persist beyond the persistence of the world. 

Schall then makes an important observations, "Christianity is also the happiest religion since it knows this world is not all there is. There is something precious beyond the world. The world is not a bad place. It gives us enough room to relax in, if we don't expect of the world more than it can give, or if we don't see the world for what it is not."

Seeing the world for what it is and what it is not, is the caution Paul gave to the Ephesians. 

“Take no part in the fruitless works of darkness, rather, expose them. . . " 

“Live as children of the light, for light produces every kind of goodness, and righteousness, and truth.” . . . 

“Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.”

Christ will give us the same light that he gave the man born blind, a gift given despite the cynicism of the Pharisees and others. The same kind cynicism and hostility often directed at those who profess their faith in Christ and manifest that faith in their way of life.

Soon the darkness of life today--a new and unexpected darkness hovering over all the world causing a global and individual anxiety-- will be replaced by the light of Christ. A light that shines through quarantine, surmounts social distancing, and any other obstructions. Even if the public celebrations of the liturgy are held in check by covid, the Holy Saturday liturgy will continue at least in enclosed monastic communities that have practiced self-isolation for centuries. The liturgies will be celebrated for all of us who are constrained by the reality of disease and the cautious response to same. 

The Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday begins with the blessing of the fire from which the paschal candle is lit. As he incises the candle before lighting it, the priest intones the words that explain our faith in one sentence: 

"Christ yesterday and today
the beginning and the end.
Alpha and Omega;
all time belongs to him,
and all the ages;
to him be glory and power,
through every age for ever." 

Soon our mourning, despite the oddness of today's reality, will be replaced by joy. It will not be the short respite of Laetare Sunday but the unfettered joy of Easter, a joy we will carry forth for weeks, despite quarantine, televised Masses, and an overall national anxiety. 

The darkness of death will be overwhelmed by the light of eternal life. Like the man born blind in today's Gospel, we will see with unclouded vision. Unlike the man born blind, we will not be confused about who gave us our sight. 
We know the source of the light. And thus we rejoice. 

"Laetare Jerusalem:
et conventum facite omnes
qui diligitis eam:
gaudete cum laetitia . . . " 
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It is a very odd Lent. Am going to reread Albert Camus' 'The Plague' for about the tenth time since I first read it as a second year medical resident. It is not an exaggeration to say that it was, if not a life changer certainly had a huge impact on my future, first as a physician and then as a Jesuit priest. My old battered, underlined, sticky tab book is sitting on the bed to be started tonight. Except for editing a (brilliant) STL thesis by a Chinese priest friend and perhaps working on some lectures there is not a lot on the agenda. Going to try to get out with the camera over the next days. BC's campus is completely socially distanted. 

I am struck by the increasing paranoia and restrictions that seem to ignore certain basic facts about a virus. Sometimes it seems as if it is being perceived like Sarin gas in the subway. Go outside and die. Which is total BS. 

One of the chapels at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC.  The prayer on the altar is:  Heart of Mary Pray for Us.  Short and easy to repeat multiple times during the day.

A sun-catcher at the Charterhouse of the Transfiguration in Vermont.  It is the seal of the Carthusian Order.  The Latin Motto:  Stat Crux Dum Volvitur Orbis translates as something crucial to remember today:  The Cross Stands Firm as the World Turns.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD