Bishop Michael Izen
Dr. Todd Flanders
Bishop Michael Izen
Gospel – John 2:1-11
There was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding. When the wine ran short, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servers, “Do whatever he tells you.” Now there were six stone water jars there for Jewish ceremonial washings, each holding twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told them, “Fill the jars with water.” So they filled them to the brim. Then he told them, “Draw some out now and take it to the headwaiter.” So they took it. And when the headwaiter tasted the water that had become wine, without knowing where it came from — although the servers who had drawn the water knew —, the headwaiter called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now.” Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs at Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him.
It is good to be here with you this morning. I was at a priest’s funeral last month, a priest by the name of Fr. Thomas Fitzgerald, and it was said about him that once at a wedding he looked at the couple and asked them, “Why were Jesus and His disciples at the Wedding at Cana?” And they smiled at first, and then their smile turned a little nervous, looking at each other, and it was their wedding so everyone they cared about was staring at them. He let them squirm for just a little bit and then he answered it for them and said, “Because they were invited.” It is interesting that John includes that in his Gospel, a little detail that says, “Jesus and His disciples were also invited to the wedding.”
Today the Church and our Holy Father, Pope Francis, invite us to pray on the World Day of the Sick, and you have the letter from Pope Francis in your program today. I read that letter yesterday as I was preparing for this Mass. Pope Francis connects it to our Jubilee Year of 2025 and says we are pilgrims of hope, and he talks about a hope that doesn’t disappoint. Not only does it not disappoint, but it strengthens us. It strengthens those of us who are ill, those of us who are sad, those of us who are suffering, and also strengthens those who care for the ill and the suffering. We have that kind of hope, Pope Francis encourages us.
It was about twelve years ago that I made my only trip to the Holy Land and went to Cana. We were in a chapel that tradition holds is where Jesus performed the miracle. One thing you’ll notice in that chapel is that along the wall there are six large stone jars that would hold 25 gallons – Scripture says between 20 and 30, so they cut the difference and they just have six 25-gallon jars – and it struck me how huge those are. I have heard this Gospel my whole life, and I would think, “Okay, yeah, six big jars.” These are very big, and our guide pointed out that we would never try to move these jars, and that’s why Scripture says that the waiter asked them to go and draw some wine from the jar. That is significant. So, six times twenty-five is one hundred and fifty. Who needs one hundred and fifty gallons of wine!? Why is that so important in the story?
Well, it’s a message of Our Lord’s abundance, of His desire not just to meet our thirst but to surpass it. It would be a miracle to turn one cup of water into one cup of wine, but one hundred and fifty gallons? And then the story continues that when the waiter tastes it he evidently doesn’t know about the miracle, because what he is shocked about is that it is better than the wine that was being served before. There is another message for us here. Not only does Jesus want to answer our prayers and respond to us, He wants to go above and beyond, to not only alleviate our suffering but to make us better than we were before we got sick or before we began to suffer. That would be hard to get our head around, but St. Paul says that it is a hope that doesn’t disappoint, and so perhaps we realize that it won’t be met under God’s Providence in this life, but we certainly can have the hope that the day is coming – at the heavenly wedding feast – when we will be better than we ever were before.
So, what is Mary’s role in all this? Sorry, I didn’t actually tell you this, but we’re celebrating Our Lady of Lourdes today, which is usually on February 11th. We are celebrating that feast because of Mary’s desire to intercede for us and help us get that healing that we’re searching for, or to help strengthen us as we serve those who need healing. Mary’s line is, of course, “Do whatever He tells you.” Most of you are probably familiar with this bit of trivia. How many lines does Joseph have in Scripture? Zero – Joseph doesn’t say a single word in Scripture. Perhaps you’ve heard that before, but what strikes me as being almost as impressive is that Mary doesn’t say all that much either. In fact, her line today – “Do whatever He tells you” – is her last line in Scripture. She doesn’t speak again, and I would point out that we are in Chapter 2 of John’s Gospel. It’s Jesus’ first miracle, and she’s not going to say anything else. Jesus has come on the scene, and she’s going to step back. That doesn’t mean that we can’t learn from that line and what she says right before it. So, “Do whatever He tells you” is pretty good advice.
As we speak about hope, and Pope Francis says we can all have hope, the hope that strengthens us no matter how sick we might be, no matter how desperate we might feel, in the end: Do whatever He tells you. Be faithful. And right before that, Mary comes to Jesus and she’s the first one to tell him, “They have no wine.” Jesus responds in a way that doesn’t seem super respectful – of course, it’s Jesus and so He’s very respectful – but He says, “Woman, what concern is that of Mine?”
I was thinking, in my twenty years as a priest I was able to use that line once with my sacristan, who was a very healthy lady in her eighties and she had the energy of a 50-year-old. As I was preparing for Mass, she came to me and said, “Father, we’re running out of wine, and I looked at her and said, “Woman, what concern is that of mine?” She laughed. But when Jesus says that to Mary, what’s her response? She’s not insulted. She doesn’t say, “Oh, please. Come on, do something.” Mary has more than hope. Mary has confidence. She just turns to the wait staff and says, “Do whatever He tells you.” It’s as if Mary is saying, “I know my Son just gave you an answer that seems to indicate He doesn’t care, that He’s not going to do anything, but He’s Jesus. He’s going to take care of it. Do whatever He tells you.” I don’t know if we ever feel that Jesus is disinterested, that He’s not responding to what we’re asking for. That’s not Jesus. He’s always going to respond. He’s always going to fulfill our hope in a way that’s superabundant, like 150 gallons of wine.
One last lesson I think we can take from this is Mary’s persistence and Mary’s confidence. We don’t have a whole lot of Scripture with dialogue between Jesus and Mary, but if this is all we have, wouldn’t it be fair to conclude that Jesus cannot say no to His mother? So, turn to Our Lady and turn to Our Lord, and have the hope that doesn’t disappoint.
——-
Dr. Todd Flanders
I’m called Dr. Flanders, but in a group like this I’m always a little bit humbled by that, because I’m not the kind of doctor who can do you any good. We have a lot of doctors here who actually can, so I’m humbled by that. Bishop, it’s so wonderful to have you here and members of the clergy, Knights and Dames of Malta, Curatio Apostolate – an extraordinary apostolate – and everybody else who is here. I’m very grateful for your presence. I noticed that Fr. Finnegan, I think, said more than once that my remarks were going to be brief. That’s because he knows me and really wanted me to understand, right? So I told him I wrote them down so they wouldn’t go way overboard.
The title of my talk is Sickness and Life-Giving Hope. I’m not a doctor or a nurse, nor a current sufferer of a chronic illness, so I approach speaking with this wonderful group with humility and deep appreciation. I’m a Catholic School Administrator, religion teacher and catechist. Serving in a Catholic School community, we are privileged to accompany some in our midst who do suffer terribly. It is a privilege to pray and accompany them, because we see so many hearts inflamed with love and compassion. We see some of the more difficult virtues being developed and exemplified by sufferers. We see corporal and spiritual works of mercy from students, staff, families and alumni. We see sickness and infirmity as more than tragedies; they can be unique sources of life-giving hope. In my own family, I am inspired by my sister, Stephanie, who has dedicated the last several years of her life exclusively to caring for our aging and dying parents. A caregiver is also a source of life-giving hope, and in her journey of compassion my sister Stephanie found her spiritual home in full communion with the Catholic Church last Easter, inspired most by Saint Teresa of Calcutta, God be praised. I am also struck that today is a memorial of St. Josephine Bakita, who I think is also a great saint of our time, a witness to suffering and hope. So, St. Josephine Bakita, pray for us.
I tell my senior religion class that, at the end of the day, there are two basic philosophies of life, one that denies meaning to suffering and one that affirms meaning. The first basic philosophy is that life is just one damn thing after another. I always shock seniors when I say that, but I tell them that it’s not a curse. The second basic philosophy is that life is a divinely choreographed dance that is shot through with meaning. In this talk, I want to explore these two philosophies in the ways they approach sickness and suffering.
So, item #1: Life is just one damn thing after another. A Christian perspective on suffering has fallen on hard times in our society. Eugenic abortion, euthanasia, even gender ideology suggest that a growing number of people in the developed Western world view a worthy life as one in which suffering must be minimized to the point of elimination. Eugenic abortion and euthanasia entail a disturbing thought that unborn babies with genetic disorders and the sick and elderly not only themselves pointlessly suffer, but that these sufferers cause suffering to others by inconveniencing them. Gender ideology entails the thought that not only do people with gender dysphoria suffer from being in the wrong bodies, but also that they suffer from not having gender-affirming treatments universally affirmed and applauded.
To take the example of eugenic abortion, the country of Iceland has seen Down’s syndrome cases fall to near zero in recent years, a statistic that has been widely reported and celebrated. This, of course, is because Down’s syndrome babies are aborted, not born. Therefore, the problems of suffering from Down’s syndrome and the inconveniences on others caused by Down’s syndrome have been solved in Iceland, so problem solved, right? I tell students these statistics and they are horrified. They all know and love a young man in our custodial staff with Down’s. They love him and see him as epitomizing love for them and others. They see his life as shot through with meaning.
At Providence Academy, we want our graduates to understand secular philosophies that treat suffering as meaningless and to understand the impulse to eliminate suffering by eliminating sufferers. Our seniors read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World for both English and Religion classes. In that novel, the world state is a totalitarian government that controls every aspect of life. It prioritizes efficiency in science to assure that everyone has feelings of happiness all of the time. Children are genetically engineered to assure fitness. They are raised on state propaganda to be satisfied with their roles in life. Marriage and family are outlawed because they create attachments that may cause discomfort. Promiscuous sex is encouraged, because it brings pleasure. Promiscuity is promoted to avoid unpleasant attachments. Peace of mind is assured by a state-supplied drug called Soma. Religion is outlawed, because it makes people look beyond worldly contentment. People are trained to end their lives by euthanasia when their pleasures decline and therefore they become a burden to society. Does any of this sound vaguely familiar?
My students are appalled by the world state, as the author wanted them to be, but what is more, they see as the author did that modern society has been tending in these directions. That novel was written in 1931. Being appalled by utopian phantasies of eliminating suffering is a good step in pondering how suffering may not really be one damn thing after another. Catholic spiritual master, Fr. Jacques Philippe, comments “Our hedonistic society’s notion that all suffering is an evil to be avoided at any price leads people to make themselves unhappy. Those who habitually seek to avoid all pain and experience only what is pleasant and comfortable will sooner or later find themselves carrying far heavier crosses than those who try to consent to sufferings that it would be unrealistic to try to eliminate.”
So, how did we get to this point? How did Christian principles – and they are emphatically Christian principles, largely unknown in a pre-Christian world, of redemptive suffering and compassion for the sick and disabled – how did they become transformed into their opposite? It’s a long story with many threads, but perhaps I can offer a bit of insight from two very influential figures, one Christian and one fiercely anti-Christian, who meditated on suffering deeply. I speak of the 17th century Catholic genius, Blaise Pascal, and the 19th century German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. During the illness that would end his life at age 39, Blaise Pascal often refused the care of a physician. He said, “Sickness is the natural state of Christians.” He believed that human beings had been created to suffer. Misery was the condition of life in this world.
I remember in college, when I myself was not yet a believer, an atheist philosophy professor taking aim at Pascal. He argued that Pascal’s view of suffering shows the depressing and life-denying character of Christianity. The professor also argued that Pascal influenced Nietzsche’s hatred of Christianity two centuries later. Two centuries later Nietzsche wrote, “I do not just read but also love Pascal as the most instructive victim of Christianity, murdered slowly, first physically then psychologically, the whole logic of this most gruesome form of inhuman cruelty.” Nietzsche saw Christianity as the victory of sickness over health and the revolt of weakness against strength, again the most gruesome form of inhuman cruelty. He thought that Christianity itself was the problem that must be solved.
Ideologies that have some connection with Nietzsche’s critique of Christianity have become influential, and you can see the irony. Christianity brought compassion, love and care for the sick, the unborn, the poor, the elderly and the dying into a callous world where power reigned supreme, a world in which life for most people really was one thing after another. Nietzsche and many after him share somewhat in the Christian view that suffering deserves our attention, but in seeing Christianity as the cause of suffering it turned the virtue of compassion on its head. While Nietzsche himself would have despised Nazi efforts to eliminate suffering by eliminating sufferers, Nazi eliminationism drew very heavily from Nietzsche’s anti-Christian animus. The idea is that we can make a better world by making better and happier people through eugenics and mercy killing. To return to that novel Brave New World, the novel presents a kind of Nietzche-Nazism with a happy face that perversely draws on Christian ideas while turning them demonic.
Part 2: The divinely choreographed dance. We should reflect again on Blaise Pascal. We could quibble with him on the extremeness of his formulation that sickness is the natural state of Christians, but he was onto something profoundly true. Let us listen to words of Pope Francis in his new message for the 33rd World Day of the Sick: “Sickness becomes an occasion for a transformative encounter, the discovery of a solid rock to which we can hold fast amidst the tempests of life, an experience that, even at great cost, makes us all stronger, because it teaches us that we are not alone. Suffering always brings with it a mysterious promise of salvation, for it makes us experience the closeness in reality of God’s consoling presence. In this way, we come to know the fullness of the Gospel, with all its promise and life.”
We Christians are told by Christ Himself that we must carry crosses; we are to carry them daily. Christ commands this not because he is sadistic or life denying; He says it because suffering is our situation after the fall of man. We are, as the great old prayer puts it, “poor, banished children of Eve, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.” Christ does not deny it, but He does not embrace an ethos of sickness and weakness, just the opposite. The Son of God, the Second Person of the Trinity, deigned to come down to take on our flesh, to raise us into His health and strength. He emptied Himself and took on the form of a slave. He humbled Himself and became obedient to death – even death on a cross – not for the sake of death, but for the sake of life; not for morbid dwelling in sickness, but to bring God’s healing; not for the sake of weakness, but for the sake of the saving and exalting strength of God. But the way of Christ is the way of the cross; the way to victory is to share in the sufferings of Christ, as He shared in ours. He called us to yoke ourselves to Him; it’s a wonderful image, a pair of oxen yoked together in service, carrying the burden of the day and the work, but Christ tells us that, if we yoke our burdens to Him on His team, His yoke is easy and His burden is light. We are not called to suffer for suffering’s sake, but to find the rest that is in Christ.
At Providence Academy, we teach seniors St. Augustine’s Confessions. Did we do that when you guys were back there? We did! Good, I’m glad. We’ve done that for a long time then. On the first page of St. Augustine’s Confessions is a famous thesis statement: “You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” Our hearts are restless, aren’t they? We want so much. We want health, wealth, pleasure, power, honor, and we’re never satisfied that we have enough of these. St. Augustine tells his own life story about how he pursued all of these things, and pretty successfully I might add, but he kept on going to these wells to drink and always came up dry. The cause of our restlessness, really of our suffering, is our sense that we are made for fulfillments that the goods of this world cannot fully offer. We seek fulfillments that are ultimately not of this world.
This truth about ourselves – that we are made for fulfillments that are not of this world – is a reason why the vision of comfort and contentment in the novel Brave New World is so horrifying to us. That totalitarian society offers a kind of rest, namely the absence of pain and suffering, but the price paid for this rest is the loss of humanity. There is no humanity left to be redeemed and therefore no redemption. Christ’s solution is to offer a rest that comes through a yoke and a burden, but one that is ultimately made light. For this momentary light affliction, as St. Paul says to the Corinthians, is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison. The affliction is connected with the weight of glory; carrying our crosses is the way. As Blessed Marie Thérèse de Soubiran said, “I realize that my crosses have been permitted and willed by You, God, to teach me to trust in You despite everything.” And it is not just our own suffering that we must consent to; we must share the burdens and sufferings of others. We must literally suffer with them, which is the exact meaning of the word compassion, just as Christ suffered with us.
I think of my friend, the late great Don Briel, who I understand was also a great friend of Curatio. He was a long-time professor at the University of St. Thomas and the founder of the Center for Catholic Studies, and some years ago he was diagnosed with two forms of leukemia simultaneously and at the doctor’s office was given seven weeks to live. The Handmaids of the Heart of Jesus from New Ulm ministered to him during this time, so that Don could spend that time ministering to others, which is what he wanted to do. I was one of the many who visited Don during that time; it was a week before he died. He shared with me that he was ready to go home to Jesus, who had revealed to him how much He loved him. I recall being so overcome by emotion that Don Briel had to comfort and embrace me. I thought I had gone there to comfort him. Such is the mystery of suffering with, of Christian compassion. It is not life-denying, but radically life-affirming. Suffering itself is a key to growth in love and to final victory. Life this side of the veil is a divinely choreographed dance. We need to spread the Gospel of love and healing, because it is the truth our world so desperately needs.
I will conclude with a reflection by Fr. Jacques Philippe, from whom I receive much spiritual nourishment: “In the midst of our trials, we can experience these delicacies of love. They are not reserved for the saints; they are for all the poor who believe that God is their Father. They can be for us a powerful encouragement to abandon ourselves to His care, far more efficacious than any reasoning.” And I believe that this is the true response to the mystery of evil and suffering. It is not a philosophical response, but an existential one. In abandoning myself to God, I experience in a concrete fashion that it really works, that God makes all things work together for my good, even evil, even suffering, even my own sins. How many occasions that I dreaded, when they arrived, in the final analysis proved to be supportable, finally beneficial after the first impact of pain. That which I believed to be working against me revealed itself to be to my benefit. Thus, I tell myself, that which God does for me, in His infinite mercy, He must do for others also. In a mysterious and hidden manner, He must do it for the entire world.