The texts from the Roman Catholic Lectionary today invite contemplation of the interplay of sorrow and joy in our lives that deepens our relationship with Jesus.
Joy and Sorrow
The reading from the Acts of the Apostles shares the experience of Paul in Corinth.
* [18:2] Aquila…Priscilla: both may already have been Christians at the time of their arrival in Corinth (see Acts 18:26). According to 1 Cor 16:19, their home became a meeting place for Christians. Claudius: the Emperor Claudius expelled the Jews from Rome ca. A.D. 49. The Roman historian Suetonius gives as reason for the expulsion disturbances among the Jews “at the instigation of Chrestos,” probably meaning disputes about the messiahship of Jesus.1
Psalm 98 praises the Judge of the World.
* [Psalm 98] A hymn, similar to Ps 96, extolling God for Israel’s victory (Ps 98:1–3). All nations (Ps 98:4–6) and even inanimate nature (Ps 98:7–8) are summoned to welcome God’s coming to rule over the world (Ps 98:9).2
In the Gospel of John, Jesus assures us sorrow will turn into Joy.
“A little while and you will no longer see me, and again a little while later and you will see me.”3
Jeanne Schuler commented, on this date in 2018, that being left behind leaves a sting that is hard to forget. We remember the emptiness, as a child, when our grandparent dies. We remember how the car lights disappear down the street after being dropped off at college for the first time. Some separations are harsh. A child is left at the police station and then placed in an orphanage, never to see that family again. The woman fleeing violence arrives at the border. Officials take her child for months of separation. Abandonment is a brush with death.
When Jesus died, his followers grieved. They too died. But the story was not over. What felt final was not the end. “In a little while,” something stirred within. God’s presence filled them in a new way. Fear gave way to assurance and strength. Jesus’ puzzling words became real: “I am in you and you are in me.” Aroused by the Spirit, they returned to life and their new journey began. For some, the emptiness seems final. Does this hole have a bottom? God, send comfort into the darkness. Let your many branches of love find us.4
Don Schwager quotes “Christ our physician,” by Augustine of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.
"God sent the human race a physician, a savior, One Who healed without charging a fee. Christ also came to reward those who would be healed by Him. Christ heals the sick, and He makes a gift to those whom He heals. And the gift that He makes is Himself!" (excerpt from Sermon 102,2)5
The Word Among Us Meditation on John 16:16-20 comments that we don’t have to wait for the Second Coming to experience foretastes of the kingdom. That’s because the risen Christ is still here with us.
He is present and at work every time a parent and a child resolve their differences and reconcile. When a friend is healed of cancer, it’s because Jesus is there as the source of all healing. When a woman in a crisis pregnancy receives support that will help her to care for her baby, Jesus is walking with her and giving her strength. In good times and in bad, the kingdom of God will continue to break through because Jesus hasn’t abandoned us this side of heaven. Yes, this life is a mixture of light and shadows. But Jesus knows what it’s like to walk through both. And he lets his disciples—all of us—know ahead of time that we will face our own ups and downs. But he also tells us it’s not the end. If the grief that he experienced in his passion and death did not have the final word, neither will our own.6
Friar Jude Winkler describes the relationship of Paul with people of Corinth. Paul, Aquila, and Priscilla worked with the stoa in the marketplace where they shared Jesus' life. Friar Jude reminds us of the importance of Jesus foretelling His Passion to the disciples in the Gospel of John.
Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM, comments that contemplation and mysticism are synonymous terms. They both mean loving experiential awareness of God: not ideas in the head or on the lips, but personal living experience. In the Teresian tradition, this experience takes a special form [sometimes called] . . . “spousal prayer.” . . . In spousal prayer we come to know God the way a human spouse knows the spouse, the way a friend knows a friend, the way a lover knows the beloved. Spousal prayer is for men and women, for married couples and celibates, for people raising children or living in monasteries.
Spousal prayer does not make God the divine rival of a human spouse. Human love prefigures divine love. Spiritual matrimony with God may be the goal of our human longings. Is this our real desire when we marry another human person? In the deepest relationships, lovers do not turn each other into idols, but recognize one another as icons, leading them through their love into the very bosom of the Godhead. . . . Spousal prayer lies at the very heart of the Christian mystical tradition. . . . We will never know God spousally if we think this prayer is impossible, improper, or unimportant. Even if we accept the reality of spousal prayer in general, we may preclude it by saying, “But it’s not for me.” For many years I believed that this particular kind of prayer was not meant for everyone. But St. Teresa has convinced me of the opposite. She insists that everyone is called to this prayer to some degree or another, at one time or another.7
In our contemplation of our relationship with Jesus we are assured of the role of sorrow and joy in our transformation in Love.
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