On Various Topics
On Grief
On Conscience
On the Hope for Salvation and Limbo
I offer here a summary of a talk I gave recently (September 2011) at a gathering sponsored by the healthcare ministry folks at Immaculate Heart of Mary Church here in Lafayette. I am grateful to the good people of Immaculate Heart parish for the opportunity to join them on that day. The talk is basically a reflection on grief and loss in light of the story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus found in Luke 24. The presentation follows:
The Appearance on the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35)
Now that very day two of them were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, and they were conversing about all the things that had occurred. And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. He asked them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?”
They stopped, looking downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, said to him in reply, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know of the things that have taken place there in these days?” And he replied to them, “What sort of things?” They said to him, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, how our chief priests and rulers both handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him. But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel; and besides all this, it is now the third day since this took place.
Some women from our group, however, have astounded us: they were at the tomb early in the morning and did not find his body; they came back and reported that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who announced that he was alive. Then some of those with us went to the tomb and found things just as the women had described, but him they did not see.”
And he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are! How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures.
As they approached the village to which they were going, he gave the impression that he was going on farther. But they urged him, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them. And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight.
Then they said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning (within us) while he spoke to us on the way and opened the scriptures to us?” So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem where they found gathered together the eleven and those with them who were saying, “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!” Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
It was the first day of the week. It was the day on which the women went to the tomb, only to find it empty. It was the “third day”. On the Friday afternoon before this Sunday, the sky had darkened, the veil had been torn and the earth shook as the Son of God was executed. The story seems to revolve around two of the disciples of Jesus, yet in reality it is a story about Jesus, and his victory over sin and death.
Only one of the two disciples, Cleopas, is identified by name. Perhaps they were two friends, or cousins, or brothers, or even a husband and wife, who’s home was in Emmaus, the village that was their destination. We know that they were believers, and that they had shared hope in Jesus. For our reflection today, the starting point is that the disciples were leaving Jerusalem. Why were they leaving?
As they walked along, they were conversing about all the things that had occurred. A stranger joined them. They are amazed that he seemed unaware of the momentous events that were at the heart of their own lives. They began to tell him their story. They begin to describe to him all that had taken place. At the center of their story is tragedy: “But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel.”
These words describe the reason for their departure. They were giving up. They had heard some story from the women about visions of angels and such. But their hopes had been crushed. The one they expected to rise up in victory and claim the throne of David had been hung upon a tree, delivered up to a cruel and shameful death. The core of his little band of followers were huddled in fear behind locked doors, and they were getting out of town. All was lost.
What were they feeling? Perhaps there was anger at the authorities for condemning and executing Jesus. Perhaps some of that anger was directed at God, who once more had not given them what they wanted. Without a doubt there had to be sadness and grief, at having lost someone dear to them. Chances are they were still having trouble believing that it was true, even though they had watched, hidden in the shadows, as his body was taken down from the cross. One or both might have been mired in some self-pity, as they focused on their own loss, their own frustration and disappointment. They wanted their lives back, but it was simply not to be. Chances are they were feeling all the feelings anyone has when a loved one dies, when one’s world changes drastically, when one realizes that that life will never be the same again.
It was in the midst of this emotional turmoil and discouragement that the stranger draws near and begins to walk with them. He listens to their story, a story marked by grief and loss, by disappointment and self-pity, by fear and dissatisfaction. Hearing their story, he begins to tell them a story as well.
It is significant that these two disciples whom we can assume had followed Jesus and listened to Jesus still did not recognize him. Even as he began with Moses and all the prophets, and interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures, their eyes were prevented from recognizing him. As long as they were wrapped up in their little story, they could not hear fully the much bigger story which Jesus was telling them. As long as their only story was their own little story, they did not know him.
The journey continued, they drew near to Emmaus, and something led them to prevail upon Jesus to stay with them. Perhaps they were beginning to hear a little, to see a little. Jesus sat at table with them, and did what he had perhaps done for and with them before. He took break and gave thanks and broke it and gave it to them. In that breaking of the bread, he performed an act of self-giving and self-sacrifice. In that act of self-denial, he gave them food for the journey. He took and blessed and broke and shared.
In that moment their eyes were opened. He vanished from their sight, but that was okay. Their eyes, and their ears were opened, they recalled how their hearts burned within them as he spoke on the road, and in that moment of surrender and acceptance, they finally heard his story. They finally heard a story of grief and pain that did not end in defeat, but rather in victory. They heard a story of an empty tomb that was a sign of life eternal, and of victory over death. They allowed Jesus to take their little stories, and wrap those stories of death and despair in his much greater story of hope and life. By allowing Jesus to wrap their stories in his, their stories were transformed. Immediately they got up and returned to Jerusalem, where they recounted what had happened to them on the way, and how they had come to know him in the breaking of the bread. They had a new story to tell. They did not get their lives back. They got a new and different life.
When we grieve a loved one, we find ourselves wrapped up in a story of loss and anger and denial and resentment, feeling the loss over and over again. We feel that things will never be the same again, and we are right. We also feel that we will never be okay again, and in that we are mistaken. The challenge is to come to the place where we can recognize him in the breaking of the bread, where we can listen to his story as we go on our way.
The healing comes when we let Jesus take our little stories and wrap them up in his story of victory and life. When we are willing to let Jesus take bread, and bless and break and share, (as we do each Sunday at Eucharist), we become able to embrace his story as our story. When we are willing to let Jesus take our lives, and bless and break and share, it begins to be not we who live but Christ who lives in us. In surrender and acceptance, our own stories become stories of healing. In his story of self-giving and sacrifice and resurrection, our stories become stories of life.
Let us pray:
Lord, Gracious God, Father of All,
We come to you today in praise and thanksgiving,
In hope and in trust.
We rejoice in you as the Lord and Giver of Life.
We thank you for the gift of Life,
Life on this earth,
And Life everlasting.
We thank you for our own lives,
And we thank you for the lives of the people we love,
The people who love us.
We rejoice in the ways these people touch and transform our lives.
We are grateful for the ability to love and to be loved by another.
At the heart of our gratitude, Lord, there is also sadness.
Some of those we love have passed away,
Some of those we love have departed this life,
Leaving us behind.
We mourn their passing,
we are saddened by their absence.
We lift these loved one up to you, O Lord,
We commend our deceased loved ones into your gentle hands.
Grant them happiness, grant them joy,
Grant them the peace which you alone can give.
For ourselves, Lord, we also pray healing for our broken hearts.
Open our eyes that we may come to know Jesus
in the breaking of the bread.
Open our ears that we may hear
his story of victory over sin and death.
Let our stories of grief and loss be transformed,
enveloped in the story of his life-giving death and resurrection.
Heal our broken hearts.
Amen
I have a vague memory of a MASH episode that included an argument between Hawkeye and Frank over a soldier claiming conscientious objector status. Frank, the hawk of the group, cried out in frustration, “What would you have if everyone tried that?” Hawkeye replied: “Peace?”
Decisions made in conscience can be very inconvenient things, both for the person making the decision, and for those whom it impacts. A person taking a stand based on fundamental concepts of right and wrong (often based on religious faith) risks consequences from any whom the decision might inconvenience.
In addition, conscience itself can be a very slippery concept. Understood as much more than an individual whim or idiosyncratic preference, it is understood by some as being rooted in one’s most intimate contact with God. The Catholic Church teaches that it is according to one’s adherence to a properly formed conscience that one will ultimately be judged.
At the same time, it is from that decision in conscience that our nation often finds genuine moral guidance. It was conscience that directed the abolitionists to run the underground railroad, and more recently it was conscience that inspired Rosa Parks to refuse to give up her seat on the bus. Other examples are legion.
Today, we are seeing a disturbing trend in some circles to attempt to trample upon conscience particularly in the health care field. Physicians are pressured to perform (or at least learn how to perform) abortions against their morals. Pharmacists are pressured to dispense substances known to be abortifacient, contrary to their religious beliefs. Hospitals and other institutions run by religious groups are required by law to provide services which contradict their creeds and morals. Paradoxically, some groups applying this pressure to violate conscience are precisely those whose rhetoric usually champions “choice”!
These attacks on conscience and individual moral belief must be resisted, for they constitute an attack on our nation’s commitment to religious freedom. Religion by its very nature demands a life lived in the public square that is consistent with one’s values and faith. Whether it be found in legislation or in employment policies or in pundit commentary, any attack on conscience is an attack on our national character.
On the Hope for Salvation and Limbo
A number of years ago, I arrived at the conclusion that while every death is sad, some deaths are particularly tragic. This was my way of expressing the reality that while we do somehow make sense of some deaths (coming at the end of a good, long life, or as a release from a difficult illness), others seem totally senseless to us. As such, these kinds of more “tragic” losses can challenge our faith in the very goodness and providence of God.
Few deaths strike us as more tragic than the death of a child. There remains a sense of being cheated and betrayed ourselves, even as the child is not accorded the opportunity for the long and happy life we anticipated. And this is true even if the child dies prior to even being born.
In this light, it was a marvelous example of pastoral care when the late Pope John Paul II entrusted to the International Theological Commission the task of re-examining the question of what happens to infants who die before they can be baptized. That commission concluded its work this past January, and the document they produced has been published this April, with the title, “The Hope of Salvation for Infants Who Die Without Being Baptized”. And as usual, some of the media has misunderstood the import and purpose of the document.
Grasping the meaning of this advisory opinion given to the Holy Father requires a look at a bit of history, especially as it involves the concept of limbo. From the time of St. Augustine, the church has struggled to reconcile two seemingly contradictory positions drawn from the scriptures. As the commission document put it, “In short, the problem both for theology and for pastoral care is how to safeguard and reconcile two sets of biblical affirmations: those concerning God’s universal salvific will (cf. 1 Tm 2:4) and those regarding the necessity of baptism as the way of being freed from sin and conformed to Christ (cf. Mk 16:16; Mt 28:18-19).”
The idea of “limbo”, a destination of natural happiness for infants who die before baptism, was one attempt among others to deal with these two beliefs in a way that safeguarded both the necessity of baptism for salvation as well as the desire of God to save all mankind. And even though this concept was in the Baltimore Catechism which many of us remember, limbo was never actually Church doctrine; rather, it was one theological opinion that was generally accepted at the time. It’s virtue was that it managed to affirm the importance of baptism for achieving eternal happiness with God (the beatific vision), while avoiding the rather disagreeable idea of these innocents being consigned to the fires of hell. At the same time, it left many wondering why these innocents, truly beloved of God, could be denied entry into heaven through no fault of their own.
The fact that the Church arrives at one particular solution to a theological and pastoral problem does not mean that other, better explanations might not be arrived at in the future. Remember that we are dealing with the mystery of God, and how our God works in the world, offering us the gift of salvation through Christ Jesus. Even as we affirm as definitively true some teachings on this reality, we remain at a loss, always, to completely and exhaustively explain God!
One thing many recent articles on the document managed to overlook was that this document gives a theological foundation to a development that had long been in the works. Again, we quote from the document in question:
There has even been an important liturgical development through the introduction of funerals for infants who died without baptism. We do not pray for those who are damned. The Roman Missal of 1970 introduced a funeral Mass for unbaptized infants whose parents intended to present them for baptism. The church entrusts to God’s mercy those infants who die unbaptized.
In its 1980 instruction on children’s baptism the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith reaffirmed that “with regard to children who die without having received baptism, the church can only entrust them to the mercy of God, as indeed she does in the funeral rite established for them.”(4)
The Catechism of the Catholic Church (1992) adds that “the great mercy of God, who desires that all men should be saved [1Tm 2:4], and Jesus’ tenderness toward children, which caused him to say, ‘Let the children come to me, do not hinder them’ (Mk 10:14), allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation for children who have died without baptism.”(5)
It is clear from this that the conclusion of the document, that there is a well-founded hope that infants who die before baptism are welcomed into the bliss of heaven and do enjoy the beatific vision, has been developing for some time. In areas of teaching that lie outside of defined doctrine, this is precisely how the teaching of the Church develops.
Probably the most significant misperception of this development is that it constitutes some radical and unforeseen break with traditional teaching. Unnoticed went the absence of the term limbo in the new Catechism of the Catholic Church as well as the fact that the Church has been praying for entry into heaven for unbaptized infants since 1970.
What then is that teaching today? Quite simply, it remains necessary to provide baptism for infants whenever possible, as soon as practically possible, and always in danger of death. Baptism remains the ordinary way in which we come to share in the life of grace in Christ Jesus. At the same time, we do not assume that God is unable to offer salvation and life in heaven with him even to those whom we are unable to baptize. Rather, we commend these infants to God’s mercy, trusting in his desire to save all in Christ.
For years now, I have ministered to parents who were not able to baptize their children before they died (due to ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, etc). Time again, I have seen in them (and supported them in) a firm belief that their child was resting in the loving hands of the God who gave their child life. This recent document simply affirms that their hope is well-founded, rooted in the love of our God who saves us in Christ Jesus.
