Prayer for Life

    We are the people of life because God, in his unconditional love, has given us the Gospel of life. Through the waters of Baptism we have been made a part of Christ, as branches which draw nourishment and fruitfulness from the one tree. We have become a people for life and we are called to act accordingly.
    We have been sent. For us, being at the service of life is not a boast but rather a duty, born of our awareness of being “God’s own people, that we may declare the wonderful deeds of God, who called us out of darkness into marvelous light.” We have been sent as a people. Together we all sense our duty to preach the Gospel of life, to celebrate it in the Liturgy and in our whole existence. (79)
    Therefore every threat to human dignity and life must be felt in the Church’s very heart. It must affect her at the core of her faith, and engage her in her mission of proclaiming the Gospel of life in all the world and to every creature. Today, this proclamation is especially pressing because of the extraordinary increase and gravity of threats to the life of individuals and peoples, especially where life is weak and defenseless. In addition to the ancient scourges of poverty, hunger, diseases, violence, and war, new threats are emerging on an alarmingly vast scale.” (3)
    Aware of our call to be people of life, let us pray during this Respect Life Month for those who are most vulnerable in our world. Let us pray for the unborn, for children living in poverty and neglect, for the elderly, for the terminally ill, for prisoners, and for the poor.

As we pray, we will listen to the words of Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche communities for developmentally disabled people. For nearly forty years, he has spoken out boldly on behalf of the weak, the abandoned, and those most neglected in our world. And let us pray that our own hearts may be open to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, that we may preach the Gospel of Life by the way we lead our own lives.

    Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste to a town of Judah, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth.
    When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the infant leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth, filled with the holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice and said, “Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
    “And how does this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the infant in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

    We were all conceived and born in littleness and weakness. We depended totally on our parents for food and protection; our greatest need was for their enfolding, protective, and stimulating love. Children cannot live and grow humanly without that love. For a human being, love is as vital as food.
    When children are loved, they live off trust; their bodies and hearts open up to those who respect and love them, who understand and listen to them. They begin to blossom.
    What happens when a child feels unloved, unwanted? There is nothing to compare with the terrible loneliness of a child; fragile and helpless, a lonely child feels fear, anguish, a sense of guilt. And when children are wounded in their hearts, they learn to protect themselves by hiding behind barriers.
    Lonely children feel no commonality with adults. They have lost trust in them and in themselves, they are confused and feel misunderstood. Lonely children cannot name the pain. Only self-accusation remains.
    However, life wants to live. If some children fall into depression and want to die, others seem to survive despite adverse conditions such as sickness, squalor, abuse, violence, and abandonment; life can be tenacious and stubborn. Instinctively all children learn to hide their terrible feelings behind inner walls, the shadowy areas of their being. All the disorder and darkness of their lives can be buried there. They then throw themselves into their lives, into the search for approbation, into self-fulfillment, into dreams and illusions.
    Hurts and pain can transform into the energy that pushes children forward. Such children can them become individuals protected by the barriers they had to build around their vulnerable, wounded hearts. Children who are less wounded will have fewer barriers. They will find it easier to live in the world and to work with others; they will not be as closed in on themselves.

    There was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
    Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes.
    In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled.
    One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.
    When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be well?"
    The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me."
    Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk."
    Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

    The passage of life itself suggests a constantly recurring pattern of movement from order to chaos, from chaos to order, again and again.
    Birth, adolescence, and old age are all passages that are filled with anguish. Finally there is the ultimate corruption and disorder that death brings. Throughout our lives there is the disorder created by sickness, accidents, loss of work, loss of friends – all the crises that destroy our agendas, security, and carefully laid plans. Such disorder demands a gradual re-ordering of our lives and the period of transition such a crisis represents is not an easy one to live through. It is a time of loss, when we have yet to receive something new. It is a time of grief.
In human beings, there is a constant tension between order and disorder, connectedness and loneliness, evolution and revolution, security and insecurity. Our universe is constantly evolving: the old order gives way to a new order and this in its turn crumbles when the next order appears. It is no different in our lives in the movement from birth to death.
    Change of one sort or another is the essence of life, so there will always be the loneliness and insecurity that comes with change. When we refuse to accept that loneliness and insecurity are part of life, when we refuse to accept that they are the price of change, we close the door on many possibilities for ourselves; our lives become lessened, we are less than fully human. If we try to prevent, or ignore, the movement of life, we run the risk of falling into the inevitable depression that must accompany an impossible goal. Life evolves; change is constant. When we try to prevent the forward movement of life, we may succeed for a while but, inevitably, there is an explosion; the groundswell of life’s constant movement, constant change, is too great to resist.

    The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery and made her stand in the middle.
    They said to him, "Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery.
    Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?"
    They said this to test him, so that they could have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger.
    But when they continued asking him, he straightened up and said to them, "Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her."
    Again he bent down and wrote on the ground.
    And in response, they went away one by one, beginning with the elders. So he was left alone with the woman before him.
    Then Jesus straightened up and said to her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
    She replied, "No one, sir." Then Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin any more."
    Jesus spoke to them again, saying, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."

    Forgiveness, the act of loving my enemy, like forgiveness of self, is not a sudden event, a rapid change of the heart. Most of the time it is a long process that begins with the desire to be free, to accept ourselves as we are, and to grow in the love of those who are different and those who have hurt us or appear as rivals. It is the process of getting out of the prison of our likes and dislikes, our hatreds and fears, and walking to freedom and compassion. In the process of liberation, there may still be inhibitions, resentments, and anger, but there is also this growing desire to be free.
    To understand the enemy both within us and outside of us is an important part of forgiveness. If we work at it, God works in us, and, one day, resentments start to disappear. Forgiveness is to begin to love and accept ourselves, trying to understand and appreciate all that is valuable in us all, praying that what blocks us all from being free may break like a dam, so that what is most precious in us may flow forth. That is the final prayer of Jesus: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
    To forgive is to break down the walls of hostility that separate us, and to bring each other out of the anguish of loneliness, fear, and chaos into communion and oneness.
    Of course, all this takes time. But are we not called to take this journey if we want to become fully human, to conquer divisions and oppression, and to work for peace? If each one of us today begins this journey and has the courage to forgive and be forgiven, we will no longer be governed by past hurts. Wherever we may be – in our families, our work places, with friends, or in places of worship or of leisure – we can rise up and become agents of a new land. But let us not put our sights too high. We do not have to be saviors of the world! We are simply human beings, enfolded in weakness and in hope, called together to change our world one heart at a time.

Gospel (Luke 16:19-31)

    Jesus said to the Pharisees:
    "There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day.
And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man's table.
    Dogs even used to come and lick his sores.
    When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham.
    The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld, where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side.
    And he cried out, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering torment in these flames.'
    Abraham replied, 'My child, remember that you received
what was good during your lifetime while Lazarus likewise received what was bad; but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented.
    “Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours.'
    He said, 'Then I beg you, father, send him to my father's house, for I have five brothers, so that he may warn them, lest they too come to this place of torment.'
    But Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them.'
    He said, 'Oh no, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.'
    Then Abraham said, 'If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.'"

Meditation from Jean Vanier

    This story of Lazarus tells us a lot about today’s world, where there is a huge abyss between those who have food, money, and comfort and those who are hungry or have no place of their own. I remember seeing children in Calcutta, their noses glued to the window of a luxurious restaurant. From time to time, the doorman would shoo them away. The rich – and that includes me and many of you – do not like to see dirty beggars staring at them. Haven’t we all felt embarrassment and fear in front of those who are hungry?
    One day in Paris, I was accosted by a rather disheveled woman who shouted at me: “Give me some money!” We started to talk. I learned that she had just come out of a psychiatric hospital; I realized quite quickly that she had immense needs and I became frightened. I had an appointment and I didn’t want to be late, so I gave here a little money and went on my way, just like the Pharisee and the Levite in the gospel parable of the good Samaritan. I was frightened of being swallowed up by her pain and her need.
    What is this abyss that separates people? Why are we unable to look Lazarus straight in the eye and listen to him?
    I suspect that we exclude Lazarus because we are frightened that our hearts will be touched if we enter into a relationship with him. If we listen to his story and hear his cry of pain we will discover that he is a human being. We might be touched by his broken heart and by his misfortunes. What happens when our hearts are touched? We might want to do something to comfort and help him, to alleviate his pain, and where will that lead us? As we enter into dialogue with a beggar, we risk entering into an adventure. Because Lazarus needs not only money but also a place to stay, medical treatment, maybe work, and, even more, he needs friendship.
    That is why it is dangerous to enter into a relationship with the Lazaruses of our world. If we do, we risk our lives being changed.
    Fear makes us push those with intellectual disabilities into far-off, dismal institutions. Fear prevents all of us with the price of a meal in our pocket from sharing with the Lazaruses of the world. It is fear, ironically, that prevents us from being most human, from growing and changing. Fear wants nothing to change; fear demands the status quo. And the status quo leads to death.

CONCLUDING PRAYER
John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae

O Mary,
bright dawn of the new world,
Mother of the living,
to you do we entrust the cause of life
Look down, O Mother,
upon the vast numbers
of babies not allowed to be born,
of the poor whose lives are made difficult,
of men and women
who are victims of brutal violence,
of the elderly and the sick killed
by indifference or out of misguided mercy.
Grant that all who believe in your Son
may proclaim the Gospel of life
with honesty and love
to the people of our time.
Obtain for them the grace
to accept that Gospel
as a gift ever new,
the joy of celebrating it with gratitude
throughout their lives
and the courage to bear witness to it
resolutely, in order to build,
together with all people of good will,
the civilization of truth and love,
to the praise and glory of God,
the Creator and lover of life.

Jean Vanier, Becoming Human. New York: Paulist Press, 1998.
Brother Roger, Prayer for Each Day. Chicago: GIA Publications, Inc., 1998.

All scripture texts are from the New American Bible.
Stained Glass images by Hans Gottfried von Stockhausen, 1994. St. James Cathedral.