Thirty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
The destructive forces creating the chaos and confusion cause the greatest fears. Fear that abyss where we become senseless, even mindless and mad, for we have lost all meaning, purpose, and hope. This, of course, is hell, total despair.
In fear we regret the past knowing it could have been different. We regret the future knowing we are stuck, enslaved in an environment that will not and cannot change. We regret the present for there is no enlightenment just permanent poverty. Fear overwhelms as we tumble, spiraling, spinning out of control. It crushes our potential while destroying the present, knowing we are guilty for our past.
What causes our fears? Pusillanimity. Made for magnanimity, to be a person of great soul, we become pusillanimous, a little soul. Petty, cheap, infantile. Nothing desolates a soul more than self-absorption. So focused on our own trivial ideas, selfishness devours our passion and desire for greatness.
Lost in this desolation, our souls long for resurrection, to be lifted far beyond our imagination. Resurrection inspires. It causes greatness. It gives faith and hope when shadows of darkness and desolation lengthen. Filled with the hope of the resurrection, magnanimity drives us. Our pusillanimity is devoured, and our greatness ascends like a phoenix, rising from the ash heap to live another life.
Greatness is not cheap. It costs. To spend the time and energy exhausting ourselves to achieve greatness, our heart’s desire, entails love. Love is the only power that breaks us of our pusillanimity so that magnanimity rules our lives. Magnanimous, nothing is impossible. Nothing is an obstacle. We fear neither the terrors nor the arrows, the plagues nor pestilence, for we have a Warrior at our side. He carries his sword and his staff that give us courage to battle against our cowardliness. In his presence, we have confidence.
Confidence trusts. It corrects. It emboldens me to fight against the fears that weaken my will. With confidence, fear—that diminutive word—changes. It becomes reverence and awe for I see my power to transform my life, even my world. I, the author of my life, dream taking what is weak and wounded and making it strong and vibrant. Taking what is rotted and gutted and resurrecting it to be alive and restored. Taking what was lost, because I was once lost, is now found and I know the way. No longer is my life trivial, but powerful for I seek magnanimity—not pusillanimity.
The way back takes magnanimity. Magnanimous, I have a heart greater than the problem. I have a desire greater than my weakness. No problem is too small, nor too large for me not to resolve. In this confidence, I resurrect, becoming larger than life. My life, though once on the brink of the grave, is now breaking into heaven. I am a phoenix, filled with new life—in Christ.
Such a thought, but do we truly believe in the resurrection? Our world denies the supernatural. It belittles the miraculous. It condemns the transcendent. These philosophies, popularized by Enlightenment which reduced everything to the rational, scientific, and political, originated not from human minds, but the mind of the Evil One. He instilled into our world the pusillanimity that belittles our very origin.
Made in the image and likeness of God, we are made for greatness—magnanimity—for our souls long for the divine. We seek eternity. We crave glory, not the glory of this world, but glory of the world to come. This is the resurrection. We trample down those petty, cheap, childish fears instilled in us by the Evil One and allow the Great One, Jesus Christ, King of kings, Lord of lords, to rule our lives. He empowers us as the Mighty and Holy One to do what He did. We conquer death. We overcome darkness. We root out our sin. His power is our power. His majesty is our majesty. His crown is our crown. Instead of ruling over us, He crowns us with his crown, empowers us with his power, and magnifies us with his majesty. No longer are we trite, we see ourselves as crucial. The King of Kings came and restored our dignity by humbling Himself of his Divinity. He, lowering Himself to become one like us, we become one like Him, Divine.
Yet, his kingdom is different. Earthly kings lord it over others, making their authority felt, “It shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave” (Mt 20:26–27). Authority, in Christ’s Kingdom, does not dominate, but serves and ransoms those suffering. He reaches down into the pit and lifts up the lowly. He takes the smoldering wick and enflames it. He takes the broken reed and heals it. He takes our death and resurrects us.
Our world has gone mad. Domination directs. Might makes right. Rules are relative. He who has the most is the most. Yet, this does not ring true. Those who dominate with their might and impose their rules die too. They are filled with vanity. As the Preacher preaches,
Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun? (Ec 1:2–3).
As the Author, Solomon complains, we all die. Death is the great equalizer. Those who thought themselves better, dominating with their philosophy, science, and politics die and to what end did they achieve? What was gained is lost and what was lost in trying to gain the whole world has destroyed magnanimity. Dominating, we become less not more when we rule over others.
Yet, in Christ’s Kingdom, to rule means to serve. To feed the hungry, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, in other words to help those who are helpless. This is Christ’s kingdom. He serves us and lifts us up from the dung hill. He reaches down and pulls us our of the fires. He protects us when we are thrown into the lion’s den. He warns as well as encourages us as we cast our cares upon our King.
Be sober, be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking some one to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith” (1 Pe 5:7–9).
We who are invited into his world find greatness of soul for we empty ourselves of our self, becoming like Him, magnanimous.
The contrast is clear. Death comes to us all. For those who are pusillanimous, full of self, we die empty without greatness. The lion of self-importance destroys our lives. Those, however, who empty themselves of their arrogance and pour out their lives out for the little ones, find their lives rich—magnanimous.
Magnanimous, we give, and our hearts are filled. We seek out the lost and find ourselves. We knock at the door of eternity, and our resurrection occurs. In his prayer, St. Francis explains magnanimity perfectly, it is in pardoning we find healing. It is in faith we conquer doubt. It is living in the light we overcome the darkness. It is in being joyful, even when life is trying, we overcome sadness. In giving we receive.
In a world gone mad, so self-centered, those who give of their lives seem insane. Yet those who do so resurrect and find a kingdom where love, joy, and peace reign.