The Resurrecting Power of Mercy

The Resurrecting Power of
Mercy
Returning to my seat, I found myself considering all those
horrific news reports and the perpetrators that gave them warrant. Jesus died
for them, too. Even if they come late to work in the fields, He promises them
the same wage, salvation. Evil will never overpower mercy. The morning's
temptations to despair were arrested in this moment by Truth. While the world
may be going mad, evil will be conquered just as it was on Calvary.



Zebulon, NC (Catholic Online): Like
the devil himself was trying my patience and tempting me into despair, this
morning horrific news reports bombarded me from every angle. Typically
surrounded by a protective news bubble (by choice), I stumbled upon reports of
dismemberment of parents and children, a radio broadcaster detailed the sick
artwork of a child-hater, a blog hit my screen filled with angry rants, an
article filled me in on the scandals created by a drug-dealing priest, and
porn-promising spam snuck its way into my in-box. Add to this, the current
hot-topic debates that equate the sacred Sacrament of Marriage to milk and
unborn humans to benign tissue and it would seem the world's gone hopelessly
mad.

So in hushed stillness, we sat in the first pew waiting for The
Stations of the Cross to begin on this Good Friday. My eyes searched the bare
altar, scanned the purple clothes hiding my favorite statues, all in an attempt
to find consolation in familiarity. The lights still out and the sanctuary lamp
missing from its stand added to the strange sense of loneliness.

Then as
the clock met noon, the bells chimed loudly crying out the hour, the lights
clicked on and Father, the Deacon and the servers began their Cross walk. On
hearing those first words, tears puddled in the corners of my eyes, but I drew
them back. Genuflecting to the declaration "Because by Your Holy Cross you have
redeemed the world," I was transported in my thoughts. Watching our innocent
Lord stand accused, seeing Him accept the crushing weight of the wooden cross, I
couldn't help but choke on my words as I begged His forgiveness and requested
His aid to keep me from offending Him again. Choking because I know I'll fail
repeatedly.

Periodically, when kneeling shrank my height, our 4 year old
leaned over and left a sweet kiss on my cheek. These tender momentary
distractions helped keep the tears at bay.

We accompanied Jesus down the
long, arduous roads toward the end on a hill where He'd give up His life. The
Stations of the Cross are a journey, both communal and personal. Traveling them
throughout Lent leads to extraordinary grace, but especially on Good Friday.


Our steps complete, Father and his assistants disappeared and the church
emptied of all signs of life. The next two hours for me were spent filling
hungry bellies with a meager meal and seeing to the task of providing a safe
place for my youngest to expend their ample energy before the hour of mercy
called us back to worship.

Just before the third hour, I ushered my brood
back into the serene sanctuary, back into the silence, the loneliness. Then, the
procession stirred the stillness and as the priests reached the naked altar they
prostrated themselves. Impressed by the awesome display of three large men,
robed in rich red garments, lying face down on the altar riser, my son inquired,
"Why are they doing that?" "They are telling God that they adore Him," I
explained, "and they are offering their whole selves to Him."

Listening
to the readings reminded me that Jesus was the fulfillment of an Old Testament
promise. His Passion foreshadowed in detail to generations. Again those wet
drops welled up as I considered how much God so loved the world. After the
gospel recounted the Passion, Father spoke to us of the mercy of God. He
reminded us that in His lifetime, Jesus Christ spent time in the company of
unbelievers, of critics, of sinners, and betrayers, He turned no one away. He
healed, fed and taught all who came, even those who would reject or betray Him.
God is unchanging, He continues to offer Himself for all of us today, all of us.


Then, a crucifix was carried to the altar and its purple veil removed as
Father declared, "Behold the wood of the cross on which hung the Salvation of
the world." Affixed to this 3 foot crucifix was a corpse of our Lord, our
Salvation, which we were invited to venerate. Reaching my turn at the head of
the communal line, I bent forward, delicately gripped the wood and kissed the
carved, pierced feet of my Savior. A sublime moment, when such a little act has
the power to release such a flood of mercy.

Returning to my seat, I found
myself considering all those horrific news reports and the perpetrators that
gave them warrant. Jesus died for them, too. Even if they come late to work in
the fields, He promises them the same wage, salvation. Evil will never overpower
mercy. The morning's temptations to despair were arrested in this moment by
Truth. While the world may be going mad, evil will be conquered just as it was
on Calvary.

The reception of Christ's Body and Blood followed, increasing
my strength and then once again the Good Friday celebration was complete. But
left on the altar riser was that crucifix and I found myself wishing to curl up
at its foot (I restrained myself for fear spectators would decide I'd finally
and completely lost my mind). But, I really wanted to drop there and pray, pray
for all those unbelievers, scandal-inducers, lost souls, misguided believers and
evil-doers. I realized this was my opportunity to fight back against the
madness. I had the power to beg God's mercy for myself and the whole world.


Truly, it is a Good day this Friday. Each year it opens the doorway to
history and allows us to go deeper in our journey. It destroys hopelessness,
pours out mercy and prepares us for what is to come on the third day. How can we
immerse ourselves, our whole selves, in the intense joy of Easter without first
discovering the power of the crucifixion? It is in witnessing the total
self-surrender of Jesus on that instrument of torture that we can begin to
understand (although never fully) the breadth and depth of His love for us all
and the resurrecting power of His mercy.