Why Jesus Had to Die

Dear Theophilous,

Like most of us who grew up going to a Catholic school, I could easily answer the question: Why did Christ die on the Cross? Like every child from preschool on, I would easily parrot back – To forgive our sins. It was an answer I knew by heart, but never really understood.

Until recently, when I read Venerable Fulton J. Sheen’s TheDivine Romance.

Originally published in 1930, Sheen’s work is timeless, and there are many ideas about the Church in Western Culture that one would think were prophetic, as they seem to address the trials She is currently going through in the early Twenty-First Century. Although thought provoking and worthy of much discussion, this will have to wait for another day.

As we approached Holy Week, what really struck my heart was how Sheen explained why it had to be Christ, and only Christ who could pay the debt of humanity’s sins on the Cross. Venerable Sheen based his explanation on the two-fold notion of a sin’s gravity being based on the one sinned against, while the honour of the repayment must be tied to the one make the atonement.

Let me explain…

Sin’s Weight

Any insult is offensive, but the severity of the insult lies with the one who is insulted. Let’s take the insult of pie-ing someone in the face for example. If I were to pie my boss in the face, I may get a few days off without pay, or possibly even fired. If I were to pie the mayor in the face, I may spend a night in jail and receive a fine. If a Member of Parliament (or Congressman) were my target, the jail time and fine would probably be a bit higher, while if it were the Prime Minister (or President), I could expect to cool my heels in a jail cell for a longer stretch, and when I got out, I’d spend a few years working to pay back whatever fine the judge found fitting.

The point to all this is to understand that the penalty for an offence is directly linked to the one offended (a student once paid a 25-cents to pie me in the face, and they were heralded as a hero of the student body). If the penalty for the offence of pie-ing someone in the face grows according to their importance in society, how much greater when the one offended through sin is God.

The Honour of Atonement

The more distinguished the title one bears, the loftier the honour their gift can bestow. Traditionally, one will receive recognition from public dignitaries for achieving special milestones; for example a 50^th Wedding Anniversary or a 100^th Birthday. A certificate from the mayor may be framed and then lost in a drawer. The form letter from the Member of Parliament (or Congressman) could take pride of place on the mantle. A personally signed note from the Prime Minister (or President) will most likely hang proudly on the wall. The most cherished of all (at least in our home) would be a letter of Apostolic Blessing from the Holy Father in the Vatican.

The higher in stature the one giving the gift, the greater honour the gift bestows on the one receiving it. If we would give such pride of place to the gifts given to us by human dignitaries, how much greater is the gift given by our infinite God through His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ?

Sin is offensive! Since sin offends God, and our God is infinite; then logically one realizes that gravity of sin’s weight is also infinite. If the weight of our sin is infinite, then it will require the honour of an infinite sacrifice to make atonement for this sin.

Out of pity for His creation, out of His love for humanity, God in His great mercy offered His Son to come down from heaven and pay the infinite price to forgive our infinite sinfulness. No one but the Messiah could make this payment; the price is too great. It is through Christ’s great sacrifice on the Cross and through His resurrection, that the death of sin could be conquered and the doors opened to eternal life in heaven.

This is why on Good Friday I weep, knowing that Jesus paid the price for the debt that I incurred.

Crying the Confiteor

Dear Theophilous,

I’ve always been a little bit on the sappy side. Ever since I was a kid, it hasn’t taken a whole lot to get me to tear up. At a very young age I learned why they called them tearjerker movies, but I never could really understand why there were tearjerker commercials on TV. Even today, if there is the least bit of emotional sentiment being expressed, I find my eyes begin to well up and I need to choke back the tears.

As I’ve gotten older, I have become better at keeping my emotions in check as my surroundings dictate. I really need to be caught off guard by a film I’m showing in class for the tears to come (can’t be letting the kids see me cry). If I do feel the tears starting to come, usually the classroom is dark enough for me to get to the door and step out into the hallway until I can get things back under control.

In other words – I don’t cry in public…

…until one day this past summer.

During the summer holidays I like to get to daily Mass at least once a week. The day of the week changes based on what we’ve got going on, or if I can get myself out of bed in time; but I do make the effort to get there at least one day through the week. I like the simplicity of the daily Mass, and I like the quiet. I especially like the quiet (in particular those moments of silence when music fills the void on Sundays – not that I mind the music, it’s just sometimes silence is nice too).

At this one particular daily Mass in the middle of August, as the 2 dozen or so of us in the congregation were saying the Confiteor the tears started coming, and there was no way I could stop them.

The long and the short of the whole story – I realized what I was saying, and I realized how unworthy I am of God’s mercy.

Although it has taken me a while to get up the courage to share this with you, dear Theophilous, I would like to share the Confiteor with you, and then take you through the thoughts that stirred so much emotion.

I confess to Almighty God,

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have greatly sinned,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,

through my fault, through my fault,

through my most grievous fault;

therefore I ask the blessed Mary ever-Virgin,

all the Angels and Saints,

and you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me to the Lord our God.

Amen.

So now bit by bit, couplet by couplet, my reflections on the Confiteor…

I confess to Almighty God,

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

Confession is nothing new. My family and I try to make a regular habit of it (though it is admittedly more irregular than regular). I had been away from the sacrament for some time, and found it difficult at first, but now I find I get antsy if we haven’t been in a while.

On this particular day, at this particular Mass, with these particular words, I began to realize just how personal my confession is. It’s not just some list to be rattled off by rote, or a pat “The usual” or “The same as last time”. This time I was acutely aware of the reality of my sins and that they hurt my relationship with God. I also became more conscious of the fact that the Father already knows my sins, and that I He would be more merciful if I came clean and repented myself.

This time I was also struck that I was confessing to the whole congregation – my brothers and sisters. Not only did my sins affect my relationship with God, but with the entire Body of Christ – the Church. It felt weird at first to be confessing to others in the congregation, but then I was comforted by the words of St. James’ letter: Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. (James 5:16) It brought me solace to know that no matter how great of a sinner any of us are, we’re in this together. That we are the Body of Christ, and that when one part of the body is ill, the rest of the body pulls together to heal itself.

that I have greatly sinned,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,

Even on the days when I’m just rattling through the Confiteor, these lines act like a mini examination of conscience for me. My mind starts racing and I can never seem to get through the list before we’ve moved on to the next couplet.

This, however, was really the moment when I realized the seriousness of what I was saying. The moment when the tears started coming.

This time I stopped, though. I slowed down and listened to what I was saying… I have greatly sinned. There should be no trivializing of my sin. No rushing through the list to make sure I didn’t miss anything. If my sins are great enough to list, then they are great enough to have offended God. Although there is a difference between venial and mortal sin, all sin offends God. All sin drives a wedge between ourselves and the Father who loves us. All sin is great in its harm.

So then I dug deep. I recalled not only my sins of action, but also the thoughts that had germinated those sins. I also recalled the thoughts that started me on the road toward sin, but through the grace of God I was able to catch before they came to fruition; thoughts that are still sin as Christ taught us. (cf Mt 5:28)

And then there is the kicker: in what I have done and in what I have failed to do. Not only to I need to recall all of my sins, but I also need to remember when I should have done something but I didn’t. How many times had I passed the homeless on the street, turned a blind eye to someone who needed help, shirked away instead of defending the Church.

I have sinned… lots… and I have sinned greatly… and I just at that moment realized what that meant to my relationship with God and others.

And matters were only getting worse (and the tears copious) as I knew that this sinning was…

through my fault, through my fault,

through my most grievous fault;

I had nowhere to hide; no one to blame it all on. These sins are mine and mine alone. I knew what I was doing (but maybe pretended I didn’t). I had made the conscious decision. It’s always a humbling experience to admit it… but these sins were my own fault and nobody else’s.

I wanted to do more than pound my chest. I wanted to wail and rend my garments. I was devastated. My sins felt greater than me, that I could not overcome them to receive God’s mercy.

Thank goodness we have friends greater than this world to help us through…

therefore I ask the blessed Mary ever-Virgin,

all the Angels and Saints,

A sense of calm began to wash over me. I could ask for help. All those who are close to the Lord would pray for me: Mary, His Mother; the Angels who surround, serve and worship the Lord; and the Saints, those humans who would tell you that they were the greatest sinners. They would all be praying for me, as well as for you.

With the list of sins that had just flashed through my mind, I needed all the help I could get; and the closer the help was to God, the better.

and you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me to the Lord our God.

And yes, I knew I had to pray for all of my brothers and sisters in Christ, because I sure knew that I needed their prayers. Just like St. James exhorted us to do, we needed to pray for one another for healing. The journey through life is too arduous to do it alone, we need one another’s help. When one of us falls, the others need to pick them up through prayer and spiritual guidance.

Reinforced with the knowledge that I had all of that prayer behind me, the tears subsided and the sniffling stopped. As we moved into the liturgy of the word, my mind and heart felt like fertile ground for the seed of God’s wisdom. And the Eucharist, my heart itself was moved to a warmth that spread through my whole body.

Although I’ve never said the Confiteor by rote since; always aware of what I’m saying, aware of the damage my sins have done; I’ve never been so acutely aware of my sins and God’s bountiful mercy for those who seek it, as I was on that August morning in a quiet suburban church.

What Would Jesus Do?

 

 

 

Dear Theophilus,

WWJD? What Would Jesus Do? The question is just about as ubiquitous as the colourful plastic bracelets. Unfortunately, I don’t think the majority of the people asking the question would be happy with the answer.

The question, WWJD? is usually followed by the questioner citing Christ: You shall love your neighbour as yourself, (Mt 22:39) or Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. (Jn 13:34) The intended meaning being that if you are a true Christian, then you will let others do whatever they please, not hold them up to a moral standard; that love must somehow equal permission.

This endemic problem stems from contemporary society’s habit to read their own perspective and opinion onto the sayings of Christ instead of reading what Christ has to say onto their perspective and opinion. As Michael Coren so aptly put it in his book Heresy, people are looking for God the Grandfather (doting and obliging) instead of God the Father (wise and guiding, yet firm with His love). We seem to have forgotten that sometimes love has to say, “No.”

The people who trot out the question, What Would Jesus Do? enrobing themselves in what they perceive to be the love of Christ, a love which will let them do their own will instead of God’s, are usually surprised by Jesus’ stronger words of love and what one should do:

Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called the least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. (Mt 5:17-19)

Guiding us to follow the Commandments God set out in His covenant with His people. That by following His law we will come to know greatness in heaven.

Christ also stated:

I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. (Lk 12:49-51)

The fire Christ promises is to purge us from our sinful ways. The division He brings is between those who choose to follow Him and those who reject His law.

I know that much of what I have just written would come across as being hardhearted. That, according to what many people in the world say today, I am being un-Christian. The crux of my point here returns to what I have already said, when we quote Christ saying Love your neighbour as yourself ; are we reading our own perspective onto Christ’s words, or are we reading His words onto our perspective? Do we really understand the true meaning of God’s love?

Christ’s love for us desires to bring us to an eternal wholeness, and this is a love He calls us to share with one another. Christ’s love strives to bring us out of our sinfulness and into the light of His ways, and this is the love that He calls us to share with one another. Christ’s love accepts us for who we are, yet challenges us to change for the better, to go and sin no more; and this is the love He calls us to share with one another.

In this light when we are faced with a moral dilemma, What Would Jesus Do? is a legitimate question to ask ourselves, and others. The question calls us to a higher moral standard; a divine moral standard at that. WWJD? demands that we mirror Christ’s love by keeping others from harm, calling them from their sinful ways. Perhaps the hardest thing of all for us to do when we strive to Do what Jesus did; is to judge sinful actions without being judgemental of the sinner.

The next time someone trying to argue for permission for their sinful ways tries to take the ethical upper hand by asking WWJD? followed by the usual Jesus quote: Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another; I will answer them as Jesus did: You are wrong because you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God. (Mt 22:29)

 

Rejoicing in God's Forgiving Grace



Dear Theophilus,

Lately I’ve been trying to read the Church’s proscribed readings of the day before the hectic whirlwind of the school day begins. Long before the students arrive, I sit quietly at my desk and read from the Entrance Antiphon through the Gospel. Meditating on the readings, I’m amazed at how everyday something jumps out at me as important to my life.

Yesterday (September 20^th) it was Luke’s Gospel (Lk 7:36-50) that caught my attention. It’s a story that most Catholics know well – that of the woman sinner who, while Jesus was dining at the home of a Pharisee, bathed Christ’s feet with her tears and then dried them with her hair before anointing them with costly ointment. What really stood out for me was not what the woman was doing, but rather Christ’s response to the Pharisee who questioned Christ on allowing himself to be touched by a sinner:

A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he cancelled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?

…

Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little. (Lk 7:41-42, 47)

Immediately I felt the burning need in my heart to go to confession.

I am a sinner. I know I am a sinner. I also know that my sins offend the Lord greatly.

I liken confession to taking a shower after a long hard day of working in the garden. Watching the dirt wash away and the clean feeling afterwards soothes in a way that is beyond words. So is confession for my soul.

Over the years the Lord has shown me great forgiveness. In turn, I must show Him great love.