Tag: resurrection

  • Understanding Christian Hope for a New School Year

    Understanding Christian Hope for a New School Year

    A group of college students sitting on steps laughingEvery new school year brings its own set of expectations for the future. I have a privileged position to reflect on this reality, as I teach senior theology, which includes a course on vocations. This opportunity inspires me to consider the Christian theological virtue of hope and its effect on the life to which Christians are called. 

    Many seniors at Catholic high schools come from families with means, whose hopes for the future involve attending a prestigious college, achieving professional success, and solidifying their legacy. One finds these hopes imparted well onto these young people. Every year I overhear the usual questions of “Where will you be attending school next year?” and “What will you be studying?” 

    LISTEN: Saints for the School Year: Holy Men and Women to Accompany Teachers

    Instilling hope for a successful college and professional career is a necessary step in procuring that future. These are noble goals that should offer opportunities for deeper growth in virtue. But hope for these things is a little different when considered through the lens of faith.

    In Spe Salvi, an encyclical which provides Pope Benedict’s treatment of the virtue of hope, he describes “one who has hope” as one who “lives differently” (2). Benedict sees hope through the lens of the Resurrection of Jesus. 

    Because hope is understood in light of the Resurrection, one’s death, but also one’s life, is viewed differently, particularly when it comes to God’s call for our lives. The early Christian martyrs died with hope for their resurrections because they had faith in the Resurrection of Jesus, but they also lived with hope before their martyrdom. This belief did not invalidate the deaths they faced; their individual lives and, more importantly, life itself were just more real. It was in the face of these seemingly hopeless circumstances that God’s purpose for them became clear. 

    RELATED: The Road to Emmaus: A Journey Toward Hope

    A common movie trope involves the hero realizing his weapon cannot pierce the monster’s scales from the outside, so he must be swallowed by it in order to defeat it. It appears as though the monster has won and hope seems lost, until the hero cuts himself out of the monster from the inside, both freeing himself and killing the monster. It was by initially relinquishing his power but maintaining the small strand of hope that success was possible. 

    There is a powerful metaphor here for the way Christ conquered death and established hope in the Resurrection. In the same way that God worked on humanity intrinsically: Allowing himself to be swallowed up by creation, by time, and ultimately by death, he could then cut his way out by the double-edged sword of his Word (cf. Heb 4:12). This is referred to as the kenosis, or self-emptying, of Jesus highlighted by St. Paul in Philippians 2:7.

    Kenosis is not only a foundational idea to historical orthodox Christology, but a foundation of Christian spirituality and an essential element to fostering hope. Through kenosis, we can see the proper way of viewing hope: How Christians are called to “live differently,” including how they see their vocations. One discovers a vocation through kenosis in recognizing their relationship to the whole. There is a misguided notion that discerning one’s next steps in life is a realization of one’s individuality by rejection of community. For those raised in a Catholic environment, this often requires a shedding of one’s Catholic “identity.” This is misguided not only because of the rejection of Catholic practice, but also because it asserts the self above the community that formed it. Worse than St. Paul’s eye in 1 Corinthians 12:21 saying to his hand “I don’t need you!” it’s saying it to the whole body. The discerning young person, in recognizing oneself as one member of the Body of Christ, finds a calling in relation to the Body. This is why many high schools and colleges, including the ones where I teach, have built-in service days and organizations to help young people see themselves as connected to their local community.

    RELATED: Pope Francis’ Advice for College Students

    Every school year is a continued preparation for students to become who God has called them to be. I implore that we not only preach kenosis to do this but also live it and model it. One way I have tried to model this practice is to be a little vulnerable, professionally and personally. Being willing to risk at least a small humiliation can begin to empty one of pride. Admit to a time you were unfair to a friend or a jerk to a stranger and had to ask forgiveness. Tell an embarrassing story not just to connect, but to show you can live through it. Humility is the vehicle for kenosis; it empties our ego quickly, which is the only way our hope is no longer in the “I,” but like St. Paul, it is now in “Christ who lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). 

    Humility and kenosis are the tools for students to realize their vocation, which gives them hope when it is understood in light of the Resurrection of Jesus, leading them to live differently. Their time in school should foster hope that “does not disappoint” (Rom. 5:5) because it is in he who does not disappoint. 

  • How Becoming a Mother Helped Me See Easter in a New Light

    How Becoming a Mother Helped Me See Easter in a New Light

    “Then the [women] went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed.” (Matthew 28:8)

    “Fearful yet overjoyed”? Aren’t those emotions opposites? Reading this passage from Matthew, I never understood that description of how the women felt. We read in Matthew’s Gospel that the women go to the tomb, see an angel, and are told the great news of Jesus’ resurrection. Why, then, would they go away fearful? I had always found the combination of fear and joy puzzling … that is, until I became a mother. 

    In fact, this Easter is my very first Easter as a mother, and as I read that familiar passage in Matthew’s Gospel this year, the emotions of the women began to make sense. When my son was born, I was excited to meet him, to hold him, and take him home. When the nurses weighed him and examined him in my labor and delivery room, I remember I could not take my eyes off of him. I was simply mesmerized! And I was anxious. I was waiting for an answer – “Is he alright? Is he healthy?” I had been a mother for less than an hour, and I was already afraid he might be hurt. I knew right away that I wanted to protect him from every single instance of pain and suffering, and I also knew shielding him from every inconvenience was not within my power. 

    RELATED: Who Were the Resurrection Women? 

    Recognizing my powerlessness led me to fear. I imagine my mix of emotions when I became a parent is like the women’s reaction to Jesus’ resurrection. They were excited to see Jesus again, and yet they probably had a flurry of questions and anxieties rolling around in their heads, too. They probably wondered, “How did this happen?” “Is Jesus okay?” I imagine they were likely wondering about Jesus’ future. After all, Jesus had just been executed a few days before. “What would the Jews do to Jesus when they find out he’s alive again?”

    In the midst of all my questions and mixed emotions, I eventually learned two very important things in that labor and delivery room. First, when it comes to worries — logical or not — we essentially have two choices. We can remain paralyzed with fear like the guards at the tomb (Mt 28:4) and ponder all the terrible things that could happen, focused on our powerlessness to protect our loved ones from every illness and injury. Or, we can turn to the one who does have control — God. I knew in meeting my son I had to surrender myself and my child into the arms of God, trusting him to take care of us in this life and the next. We can thank God endlessly for every joy-filled moment we have with our loved ones. We can be like the women at the tomb who do still encounter fear, but they do not remain in fear. Instead, they let celebration and happiness overshadow their fears. 

    RELATED: Three Ways God Reveals Himself to Me Through My Young Children

    While I was in the hospital, and even after being discharged, I could have focused on the pain and suffering I was enduring or the sleepless nights caring for a newborn. In fact, for a while, I did focus on the negatives. I complained a lot. And after some time, I realized I did not want to complain any more. My baby would only be this tiny for a short time, and I wanted to soak in every cuddle and coo. I chose to move my thoughts from complaining to prayers of thanksgiving. When I noticed myself venting about having to feed my newborn again or begging my baby to please go back to sleep, I started listing off my thank you’s to God instead. Thank you God for my health. Thank you God for keeping my baby safe. Thank you God for my husband and his generous heart. … On and on I’d thank God until that “glass half empty” thinking faded away and my complaints seemed insignificant. Shifting our thoughts from worries to gratitude is not easy, but as this new mom can attest, it is definitely worth it.  

    May we all, this Easter season, find the strength to trust our loving Father every day, and give thanks even in times of trial for every good gift.

    Originally published April 7, 2021.