Lazarus

Catholic evangelist Matthew Kelly always urges us to become the best version of ourselves.  That’s a salutary goal and very Ignatian in spirit.  However, if can often be difficult to tell what the best version of yourself is.  If you get it wrong, the result can be either comic or tragic, neither of which brings you closer to God.

For example, when I was young, I would often dream that my best version was Joe Cool – the hipping-happening, stylish, popular, man-about-town.  Of course for the uber-nerd that I was and always will be, this bordered on sheer lunacy and high comedy ensured following any of my efforts to realize this dream.

On the other hand, God granted me intelligence, an ability to work hard, and a sense of obedience and respect for the law.  I began to believe that my “best version” was a righteous “great provider.”  So what if I wasn’t necessarily stylish or popular.  I was respected as a good person, solid citizen, making a good living for my family, and knowing the answers to all problems.

This sounded pretty good – and it seemed I was doing very well at this.  I made a lot of money and earned many honors and awards for my hard work.  I was well respected by all were important to me.  I even became a deacon – what could be better than that?

What I didn’t realize was the tragic nature of my vision.  For in this “best version” of myself, I was trapped, as dead and buried to this world as Lazarus was to Martha and Mary and his friends.

I made a lot of money, but it never seemed to be quite enough.  The bills got bigger and the debt got deeper.  Anxiety and worry were always present.  Maybe if I just worked a bit harder or a little longer…

I was certainly righteous, the “good boy” who rarely strayed.  But I was never as good as I hoped I’d be.  To make myself feel better, I would be dishonest with myself and others to hide my imperfections.  When that wasn’t enough, I’d simply take note of those who were much worse than I was in obeying the law, judging these people as unworthy of my love and respect, and thereby validating my own obviously better effort.

I had lots of answers – and many of them were correct, a few of them even wise.  Yet I began to dwell in my own mind, not even listening to those around me.  They would talk, but I never listened, for I was simply thinking about my response, my solution to their “problems,” even when their solution was simply for me to listen.

I was truly dead.  Yet Jesus is for me, as he was for Lazarus, as he is for you, the answer.  He calls me – as he called Lazarus and as he calls you – to come out of the tomb.

He calls me to leave behind my farcical and tragic versions of self and to lovingly accept who I truly am – his loved child created in his image and likeness.  He loves me not for my servile obedience but despite my failures and weaknesses, for while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  He loves me not for the money I’ve earned to sustain my life, for he is the resurrection and the life, source of eternal joy and peace.  And he calls me, forming me from my mother’s womb, with his Spirit dwelling in me, to live as he lived, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, such that my joy may be complete, now and in the kingdom of heaven, forever and ever, Amen.