Loving in Deed and Truth

The 5th Sunday of Easter
Today’s Readings: Acts 9:26-31; Ps 22; 1 Jn 3:18-24; Jn 15:1-8 [Link to readings]

This weekend, we celebrate Mother’s Day and we remember in a special way the love we have for our mother, and the love she has for us. Whether we are still blessed to have her with us, or even if she’s gone home to God, let us pray for her especially at this mass and ask God’s abundant blessings upon her.

Speaking of a mother’s love, one of the wonderful ministries that parish priests enjoy is to prepare couples for marriage. For the most part, I’ve been very edified by the seriousness and faith commitment that brides and grooms bring to the altar. It’s a real joy to watch that love blossom and mature.

Occasionally, though, we priests may come across two people who want to get married in the church mainly because the church is pretty and they think it would be a beautiful backdrop for their wedding photographs… or maybe they want to get married in the church for reasons of nostalgia: Mom and Dad were married here, and they think it would be nice if we were, too.

I’ll never forget a pair like that that I met about five years ago. This couple and I were having one of our marriage preparation sessions, and the man spoke very openly about his feelings for his fiancée—a woman, by the way, he had been dating for six years. The guy said that he hoped that their love would be strong enough to last a lifetime, but he was nervous. “Why?” I asked. He said, “Because I’m not sure she can make me happy.”

OK… foolish me: I took the bait. I asked him why not, which turned out to be rather uncomfortable. He went on and on—with her sitting right there—explaining all the reasons why she didn’t make him as happy as he wanted to be.

Feeling kind of embarrassed for his poor fiancée, I finally interrupted him and asked, “What kind of wife would make you happy?” The more he described what he was looking for in a wife, the more convinced I became that what he really needed was not a wife. He needed a goldfish—the pretty kind with the long tail that floats around… or possibly a golden retriever—well, maybe not, since even a dog can make demands on you emotionally. A goldfish would probably be perfect, since it just sits there looking pretty, and it doesn’t ask you to communicate. It doesn’t ask you how your day was or expect you to listen to how its day was. The last thing this guy needed was a wife, because his whole understanding of why the world existed was to meet his needs.

Thanks be to God, these two young people decided in the end not to get married. I think we managed to save the world from one more divorce!

I was reminded of this couple when I read the first line of the letter of St. John today: Children, let us love not in word or speech but in deed and truth.

John means that the most important thing is that we put our love into practice. It’s not enough just to have good desires or intentions. You’ve got to take that extra step to actually live out these good intentions with enthusiasm and a cheerful heart.

Back in the ’60s and ’70s, one of the popular catch-phrases was: If it feels good, do it! Lots of people of this “free love” era felt that if the going got tough, they were entitled to walk away from relationships, marriages, jobs or commitments of just about any kind. Sad to say, over these past 40 years, our society has taken a real hit. We’ve become so self-absorbed and narcissistic, so concerned with our own immediate happiness, that we don’t know too much about how to make a real commitment—in other words, how to love not just in word but in deed and truth.

Why are we so afraid of this kind of loving… this kind of commitment?

At one time, I thought it was because people wanted instant gratification and didn’t care about the long term. But I realized that that’s not really true. People do work hard for future rewards, and they don’t give up even when the going gets tough. People are willing to make the effort in some aspects of their life.

So what is it then?

Not too long ago, a friend of mine was telling me about how, when he was a kid, he used to go to lots of auctions with his dad. His father always reminded him, “Now, don’t scratch your nose at the wrong time or you’ll wind up buying something!” He also taught him that if he did want to bid, he should know his upper price limit beforehand. In other words, his wise advice was not to let yourself get caught up in the frenzy of the bidding or you could get into trouble.

If you think about it, that’s actually the kind of mindset that a lot of us have about life in general. We set an “upper limit” of how much we’re willing to pay… or do… or put up with—before we call it quits and walk away. When a boss or a spouse or a boyfriend or girlfriend crosses the line once too often, that’s the last straw.

The problem with living a real Catholic life—of authentic Christian loving—is that Jesus won’t let us set an upper price limit! That’s why he could die on the cross. That’s why he teaches us: If you save your life, you will lose it… but if you lose your life for my sake and the gospel’s, you will keep it.

You see, our calling to love is a vocation to a life of unconditional commitment where the price is unknown—and that, my friends, is scary stuff…

…unless you’re willing to keep your head faithfully up in the clouds where Jesus, Mary and the saints and angels all live. We may just be lowly branches, to use the analogy of today’s gospel, but we must never forget that we are grafted onto the true vine, Jesus Christ—so his power and grace course through us, as well. That’s how come all things are possible… even unconditional love and commitment in the truest, most profound sense.

Do you want to love and commit the way Jesus instructs? Well, begin by talking to the Lord in your prayer! Put yourself into his hands with faith and trust, and ask him to fortify you, take away your fear, and bless you with the gift of hopeful perseverance.

And as the gospel reminds us: By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. Amen.