Keeping score

St. Augustine teaches that if we understand something completely, it cannot be God.  We cannot wrap our finite minds around the infinite God.  And yet, God reveals himself to us, who are incapable of fully comprehending.  Thus, we settle for images of God, many of which can tell us something important about God, but all of which – due to the finite creatures who created them – fall woefully short of the fullness of God.  If we forget this, our hearts become hardened, and we close ourselves to our only source of true joy and peace.

When I was a child, my dominant image of God was as a just and fair scorekeeper.  God made up the rules of the game and they were good rules.  My job was to follow the rules and thus earn points that God scrupulously recorded.  When I broke the rules, I lost points, and God was equally scrupulous about recording these. 

Actually, my thinking was that God must have had much bigger fish to fry than me, so he actually delegated the details of scorekeeping to St. Peter, who was ably assisted by the good sisters who taught me at St. Joseph’s School.  But God was omniscient, so he always knew the score, and, in the end, the scorebook would tell me whether I had won or I had lost.  There would be no questioning the call; no instant replay to reverse the decision.

In one sense, this was a useful image for me.  It made following the rules almost second nature to me.  And these weren’t just any rules, they were God’s rules – we’re talking Ten Commandments here.  Others looked at me as trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, etc. – and I wasn’t even a Boy Scout!

Of course, I wasn’t a perfect rule follower – who could be – but I knew I was better than most.  Everybody told me so.  My expanding career and rapidly growing salary told me so.  And with that, much as had happened to the Pharisees we see in today’s passage (Mk 3:1-6), my heart hardened.

For if by following the rules, I not only earned points with God, but also God’s blessings in the form of the esteem of others, material success and good health, than those who didn’t share these same blessings must not deserve them.  God loved me more and blessed me more because I was his obedient son – or at least his more obedient son.  Those who weren’t as obedient didn’t need my help; they just needed to follow the rules as closely as I was following them.  Only then would God love them and bless them as much as he so obviously loved and blessed me.

Jesus quickly unveils the shortcoming of my scorekeeper image of God.  If God has a scorecard that delineates the winners and losers, why shouldn’t I have a scorecard, too?  I divide the world between those that deserve my help and those that don’t; those that deserve my respect and those that don’t; those that deserve my love and those that don’t; and, ultimately, when my heart has become as hard as rock, those that deserve to live and those who don’t.

Jesus will have none of this.  Since nobody can possibly deserve what he has to offer – the complete joy, peace and love of life with his Father – it is offered to all.  All are invited to share in his Father’s love and then called to share his Father’s unbounded and universal love with others. 

Today, we remember and pray for those who are working for the rights of all people, born and unborn, to the God’s great gift of life.  For those braving the cold and snow in Washington today to march for life; for those working for an end to capital punishment in the United States; for those who generously care for the aged and the infirm, preserving their dignity until natural death; for those who seek reconciliation between countries to avoid the bloodshed of war; for all these, we pray that God fills them with courage and strength.

And for all of us who tend to keep score, that our minds stay open to the infinite grandeur of God and our hearts open to the God’s unconditional love, that we may be apostles of that love to one and to all.

Follow the Leader

A few years ago, I was speaking with a mom who was considering enrolling her daughter in Kumon, an after-school math and reading program that I run.  I asked her 6-year old daughter what sport or game she liked to play.  I do this to draw a connection between the importance of practice in getting better at a favorite sport with the importance of practice to get better at reading or math.  As frequently happens when speaking with young children, her answer was not exactly what I had planned on.  She said her favorite game was “follow the leader.”  Okay, we’ll go with that.  I asked her whether she preferred being the follower or the leader.  With a large grin, she exclaimed, “leader!”  

Don’t we all?  If I had my druthers, I’d much rather be the leader than the follower.  Yet, I also know that I can only be the leader is a very limited sense.  In reality, I, along with every one of us here, have to follow someone or something.  The real question is not whether I lead or follow, but whom or what will I choose to follow?

Not many people have had better reason to consider themselves as a leader than John the Baptist.  People flocked to him from all over Judea to be baptized by him and to listen to him preach.  Even many of his apparent adversaries recognized and respected his holiness.  Yet he knew he was a follower and he knew exactly who he was to follow:  “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world… this is God’s chosen one… who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” (Jn 1:29-34)

Is my own choice that clear?  Have I decided to follow Jesus as unequivocally as John?  On most days, I’m sad to say, the answer is no.  Perhaps, it’s more complicated than that.  How do I even know if I am following Jesus?  What can I do to be a better follower? 

Again, John the Baptist has an answer.  A bit later in John’s gospel, we hear his final testimony to Jesus.  Some of his disciples seem to be complaining to John about Jesus, who seems to be “horning in” on John’s ministry.  John’s reply was simple:  “He must increase, I must decrease.”  (Jn 3:30)

Are my actions, my attitudes, my relationships with others directed to increasing my own stature, my own security, or my own pleasure?   Of course, that pretty much describes how I spend most of my time.  Ouch.  But if I can make just little breaks in that self-seeking, self-centered life, perhaps all is not lost.

For example, the kids at Farmingville Elementary, where Mary teaches kindergarten, save the flip tops from aluminum cans for charity.  Now, being the math nerd that I am, I figured out how many of those flip tops you would have to save to even have a dollar’s worth of recycled aluminum.  It’s a very large number.  One of those tops is worth only a tiny fraction of a penny.   Wouldn’t it make more sense, be more efficient, to just write a check out to the charity than to go to the trouble to remove the top and remember to give it to Mary for the school?

But for me, the act of saving the top is so much more important than the money.  When I take the top off the can, Jesus reminds me that there are others whose needs are much greater needs than my own, others that I must pray for, others I must serve.  And the more times I can break into my self-centered routines and be reminded that my own increase is not important at all, the closer I can be to following Jesus, the Lamb of God, who died to forgive my sins, who loves me with an infinite and unconditional love, who leads me to everlasting life.

He must increase, I must decrease.