God is relentless

'Everything that the Father gives me will come to me'

The souls of the just are in the hand of God,
    and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
    and their passing away was thought an affliction
    and their going forth from us, utter destruction.
But they are at peace.
(Wisdom 3:1-3)

The well-connected, purposeful choice of today’s three readings (Saturday, November 2) answer for the unsure among us three important — vital even — cores of our faith. I say unsure because evangelizers, preachers, and teachers who voice these essentials know that the power of fear rattles when reality strikes. When death darkens our day, even the holiest among us question God. Will he embrace us and give us peace? Will we be worthy?

Wisdom speaks about death as a punishment in the “eyes of the foolish,” a prediction that some of us will not enjoy an immortal joy because our sins have been public. “For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality” (Wisdom 3:4). Therein lies our uncertainty. We hope for immortality because we have repented, recanted, and called out to God. Still, we remain unsure.

Image by antonynjoro

Wisdom tells us next, “Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself” (Wisdom 3:4). This verse supports the Catholic notion of Purgatory. Yes, we die with sinful baggage but God who knows our pleading, yearning heart. He will deal with our encumbrances.

Yet, we know ourselves. The world may see us as evil and be mistaken of the consequences, but in our hearts we hide other sins that they do not know. Sins of omission haunt us the most. We watch women and men who are unjustly punished for exhibiting their faith — charged with praying publicly, urging people to see sin through the lies being told to them. 

We likely root for such courage, but would we be so brave?

More commonly, though, we waffle in our certain knowledge of God, unwilling to accept his sharpening love for us. He makes us better but it stings. Wincing in pain that breaks our habits, we fall back on the promises of earthly goals, temporary satisfactions, rather than live burdened with the effects of being transformed. 

Death rattles us back to him. When we cannot escape the fear of death, for our loved ones and ourselves, Wisdom, Romans, and John’s gospel speak to us.

1. The “just” will be in the arms of God. Wisdom
2. The “baptized” will be raised on the last day. Romans
3. The “believers” in Jesus will not be rejected. John

These three vital cores are not the most important. They deal with death and what comes after, surely hinge-pins to faith. We can argue over which of the hundreds of faith cores matter most. However, when a core faith issue piques our conscience it becomes exceedingly important. 

Jesus tells us that loving God with our whole heart, mind, soul, and strength is the greatest commandment, and hitched to that is that we love our neighbor as we love ourselves. Remembering this — the schema for the Jews, reminded to us by Jesus — strengthens us to attend to all the cores of the faith. Maybe not now, but eventually we must deal properly with how death aids us by awakening the schema. 

We wrestle with today’s reminders like we do with most of the fallout from loving God wholly and loving our neighbor. The first core, noted in Wisdom, above, is that the “just” are embraced by God upon their death. Number two comes from the second reading from Romans:

Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.
(Romans 6:3-5)

Being embraced by God happens in our baptism, not just symbolically, but physically. We will be buried like Jesus, the final submission to allow God to do with us what he wants. 

Finally, the third vital core of our faith is cited in Jesus’ words in the Gospel of John:

“Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and I will not reject anyone who comes to me, because I came down from heaven not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me.” 
(John 6:37-38)

Jesus is one with the Father. It’s baffling, but somehow logical. God joins us to save us. Does he love us that much to become one of us? Called silly and even dangerous by the world, Jesus won’t let go. His Holy Spirit drives us toward God to grasp better what we are to him. We submit, or we shake him off, incapable for the moment to allow an eternal promise to affect our earthly ones.

We hope, with worried hearts, that we have already met God’s acceptance of us and merely extend our time in purgatory. Just another failing for God to burn off.

The legalist nature in us focuses upon the meaning of being just, baptized, and a believer. We have met such holy sainted folks. Also called the righteous, those rare (we imagine) deserving ones of eternal life with God live a God-centered, intimacy with Jesus. If we review our life with an examination of conscience, we’re likely to discover the inept, selfish, and coarse times in our life. Are we holy enough and acceptable for an ending purged into sainthood. We can't handle the pain of transformation now. Could we then?

Would God call us just? Was our baptism a transformation? Did we remain fixed upon Jesus as God becoming one of us? Hopefully, yes. But, most of us are unsure. 

The repentant, practice-oriented part of us looks for our sacramental markers, the annointing moments of where we said yes to God. He took us back, even in our hostile and angry conversations with him. It’s dangerous to review such things, replaying our failures to stay on the right path. No matter how many boxes we ticked to step forward in faith, we are frightened that many of our religious practices were empty. Quite often our failures tempt us to hide from God.

God, however, is relentless. Everything that the Father gives me will come to me.

The submissive, surrendering part of us must kick in. If we know him, we’re done in by him. If our parents handed us over to him, we’re captive. The prayers of the saints and the holy ones we know cannot be easily dismissed, if at all. If for just a moment we felt that brotherhood with Jesus and recognized his sacrifice when we made a similar sacrifice, our faith lights up the darkness of our unsurety. 

These readings go beyond legalities and religious practices. There is a desperation on the part of God about us. We are unsure, but God is certain, unflagging. In our insecurity, tempted by our unworthiness, our motives and intentions seem paltry, yet God leverages our need for him. Death’s finality is a lie, he tells us. 

It’s at this point when we choose to call upon God, often out of fear rather than love. Be not afraid, he then tells us. Sure, but fear fills us. Still we call upon him because we have no where else to go. Nothing else fills us. So much of our behaviors are distractions from God’s grip. He loves us. He wants to make us one of the just, already drawn into him, baptized as a member of his body, and pleased when we believe in the face of our unbelief.

When the raw, real part of us falls to our knees hopeful for God’s mercy, that graced action is fixed in our memory. God acts upon that.

For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life.
(John 6: 39-40)