Stepping Back
Before we die, we have to die.
For the past two weeks, I've been accompanying a student whose life has been turned upside down through a series of events that have shattered his world. Once popular, athletic and scholarly, he now can't bring himself to get out of bed, hang with friends or attend class. He's exhausted and scared, and it was into this space in his mind and heart that he invited me.
I've sat with him for hours, listening. Talked him into getting some help. Let him rage and cry without judging his motives or reasons. In a word, I tried to offer him a harbor in the little chapel at his state university. And seemingly, with God's grace, the hours of sitting in the mess with him has worked.
Healing has happened. Crisis visits to the chapel have stopped. He waves hello after Mass and then goes
about his campus routine.
And here's what I've learned: it's hard to care about someone deeply, walk with them in their “mess”
and then step back. But yet, quite often, that's what love requires.
What strikes me about today's Gospel is the selflessness of John the Baptist. Because he was so authentically in love with God, he was charismatic. People followed him and wanted to be in his orbit. Even at this point in his life's journey -- jailed for speaking truth to power -- his disciples still came to see him. He could have kept them at his side as he prepared for his martyrdom at the hands of a foolish
king and hateful queen, but instead he asked them this one question: Is Jesus the one or is there another coming?"
Now a quick pause: it's certainly natural that John would ask such a question on the eve of his death. After all, the Jesus to whom the Baptist pointed was not acting as a Messiah should. He wasn't overthrowing Roman occupation or gathering a powerful army about him. It would be understandable to have doubts about Jesus being the Son of God he claimed to be. I've had my own about the Lord's
will and love at work in my life; I'm sure you have, too. Why, then, couldn't John?
But I think something else is happening here below the surface that points to something even more -- than first blush suggests. John knew exactly what he was doing by sending his disciples on a fact-finding mission: it wasn't for him to get answers; it was to let his followers find God.
By sending those friends of the Baptizer to encounter Christ -- witnessing how he healed the sick and helped the blind see -- John was stepping back so that a greater love could be found.
It's to this that we are called, at different times and in different ways:
Standing at the bedside of a dying spouse, letting her know that Jesus awaits and that the family will be okay: you are living the selfless love of letting go in order for God to reign.
When your adult children or best friends make choices related to faith that disappoint you, but you choose to pray for them and love them without angry or hateful retorts, you're selflessly loving and letting go for God to do His work in their lives.
And when your own desires for parenthood or a longed-for career or positive health diagnosis never materialize and you repeatedly whisper in prayer "Thy Will be done," you are opening the door to a deeper faith that finds the real Christ, not the one we wish Him to be.
Selfless love steps back in order for God to do God's work. It doesn't mean we stop caring for another; it simply means that I not need to be the center of the relationship. It's enough for me that God is. How beautiful that John in his humility was willing to say: I love you enough to let you go in order to find God in the way He wants to meet you.
And Jesus knew it. When he, in turn, calls out the countless Judeans who came to the desert out of curiosity, he pushes back out of love: What did you come here to see?
Are you only here to look at a man eating locusts, or do you want something deeper? Are you here because "everyone else is doing it," or are you longing for a baptism of repentance that really changes your life? Jesus is ultimately saying to the crowds (and us): Do you want a genuine
relationship with God or would you rather live faith and life at the surface level?
Are you content with standing on the outskirts or are you willing to jump in to an incredible adventure and journey with Jesus, just as the Baptist has done?
It really is such a beautiful moment of selfless love between two men and cousins who want nothing more than to save souls: one by pointing the way to the Savior; the other by pouring out His life and mercy on the Cross.
A love such as this is one that trusts, surrenders, sacrifices and dies-to-self. It's not always an easy, feels-good love, but it's one that participates in the true building of God's Kingdom through His Cross.
This third week of Advent, we are being asked the very same question that the Lord asks the crowds: What does your heart really want? Are you willing to go deeper in relationship with God? Are you willing to let go of others in order for them to find Him? Can the world be a little less about me?
What truly have you come here to see? Fifty minutes of an obligation prayer event or a chance for the Lord to radically love me, heal me and make me completely His own?
What have you come here to see: Who's not here? Who dresses funny? How good the homily or music might be? Or are you here to give honor, glory and praise to the One who walks with us in every storm and guides us to holiness, even in ways we don't understand?
Are you here to become disciple-makers and prayer warriors, or are you here, because, well, I'm not
sure? What have you come to see? How will loving selflessly like John the Baptist help you find what your heart is really seeking?
Just yesterday, I saw the student I counseled two weeks ago walking across campus, laughing with a friend as they made their way to the dining hall. It was good to see him smiling again. He no longer needed my help as he once did. Years from now, he may only have vague recollection of his time at the campus Newman Center. But here's one thing I know for certain: he's found Christ in a deeper way now, and that's enough for me.