John

 

“However blessed the generation of those sons, the greatest blessing is to have a Father so immeasurably ready to be merciful, so overflowing with compassion! . . .  From all eternity, the charity of God has been our mother, and while knowing beforehand that we were going to sin against it, even then it was thinking deep within itself thoughts of peace and not of affliction.“ (Sermon 13.3) Ready to be merciful, is it not a wonderful expression? Certainly it is a perfect one to sum up what the Year of Mercy is all about. This is what I thought when I was reading John of Ford’s thirteenth sermon On the Song of Songs at the very beginning of this Jubilee Year. 

 

Many of its words and images have accompanied me during these months: “Oh the power of charity! . . . It was anxious only to heal our wounds. . . . Indeed, he repressed all his wrath and compressed it into mercy, wholly pouring out his compassion upon us all. . . . He was ever saying: What can I do for my sons and daughters? They have a place deep within me, no one can take them from my heart, neither satan, nor sin, nor death.” (Sermon 13. 3) 

 

Can we get used to such a love? Can we stop wondering about it? I am afraid we can, or at least, I can. “The treasure of our love is hidden in the field of our hearts and lies buried down in the very depths. Only after great labor and heavy sweat, only after giving up everything that we posses, are we finally able –with difficulty- to dig up a little of it, and the small amount eventually dug up is found to be thoroughly impure and earthy.” (Sermon 13.4) I have sometimes thought that if I am not mindful, I can easily become like the older son in the parable of the Prodigal Son (cf. Lk 15: 11-32): always in the house of the Father, doing what I am supposed to do, but totally oblivious of what the Father is really offering to me: “you are always with me, all that is mine is yours” (Lk 15: 32).  “For from the goodness of his heart and the depth of his love, the Father has uttered a good word, and the most certain proof of his great love is the sending forth of his only begotten Son. But why did he send him, do you think? He sent him in order to give, he gave him in order to give himself and all that is his with him.” (Sermon 13.6)

 

Everything of mine is yours, the Father tells us every day with the sun, the rain, the winds and flowers, with each breath. “Everything of mine is yours, and everything of yours is mine” (Jn 17:10), says Jesus to the Father, thinking of each of us. And are not these the words of each bride to her bridegroom, of the Bridegroom to his Bride? “Let us see how earthly things compare to heavenly. Hear now: to assert more firmly the truth of his love, the Son left his Father and the Father his Son. Of the Son, it has been truly said: ´A man will leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife.´ Of the Father and to the Father, we have the cry of the Son: ´Why have you deserted me?´ . . . That cry was the thunderpeal of infinite charity and unspeakable tenderness, so intent on recommending to us the Father´s love that for our sake he showed himself  forsaken and deserted.” ( Sermon 13. 7). 

 

Oh my goodness! I know it is a poor response, but what else can I say? You, the Father and the Son, paid through love the cost of mercy. “In the presence of charity, all sinfulness disappeared in an instant like a cloud.” (Sermon 13. 8) “In the work of your salvation there is not dispute at all between your mercy and your truth (…). With very great love, then, God has taken thought for the church, has redeemed it at the price of charity, has lifted it up to heaven. Why then should he not bind it to himself for ever with indissoluble and firmest love? “ (Sermon 13. 9)

 

And I am there, his stubborn daughter, placed from all eternity in the indissoluble and firmest bond of love. My little and flickering light longs to join the fire strongly flaming of the Church´s charity. With her I want to draw from that other charity so that my charity will never grow dim and faint (cf. Sermon 13.10).

 

It is good we did not get an ending for the parable of the Prodigal Son. Jesus knew that this is not a onetime issue. I like to imagine the younger son, when the party had finished, back in his former room. He is still too astonished to fall sleep. He would see the new robe lying on the chair, the sandals at the foot of the bed. And he would look at the ring on his finger with the same wonder that babies, when they discover their hands for the first time. Is it true? Has he really forgiven me? Can he love me with such love? 

 

If the younger son never forgot, if I do not forget, even without fully understanding how all will work out, when the time comes, we will be ready, ready to be merciful and, of course, join the party.