I treasure my memories of years past when I would visit family in
Ireland at this beautiful season of the year. One of my most vivid
memories is of rolling hillsides and rocky headlands as far as the eye
can see blanketed with the brilliant red of wild fuchsias. They are
everywhere and they are spectacular. Against the blue sky and the blue
of the ocean they take your breath away. Years ago, an Irish priest
friend of mine told me that the locals referred to fuchsias as ‘the
tears of God.’ Only the Irish could come up with that! And, perhaps,
only the Irish who have suffered so much over the centuries – and who
have held onto their faith against some formidable odds – could have
imagined that God would shed tears, that God would even cry.
Has it ever occurred to you that God might actually weep, shed tears
over us and our doings, over our world and what we have made of it?
Part of me thinks that tears are impossible for God - that with God
there is only serene joy, peace, and utter tranquility, but today’s
reading from Isaiah suggests otherwise. The reading was a lament, God’s
lament over his people, his beloved Chosen People, his vineyard over
which he had labored mightily and squandered untold affection. To quote
the reading, God “spaded it, cleared it of stones, and planted the
choicest vines; within it he built a watchtower and hewed out a wine
press.” Sadly, however, when God went to harvest the grapes all he got
was wild grapes. Love’s labor lost.
The lament that follows is poignant and moving. God, the lover, pours
out his anguished heart in words that should move even the hardest of
hearts: “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done?
Why, when I looked for the crop of grapes did it bring forth wild
grapes?
It’s not stretching things at all, my friends, to say that God weeps,
sheds tears as copious as those Irish fuchsias, sheds tears over the
failings and infidelities of the people he loves with an undying love.
Now, it’s helpful to know the context of a scriptural passage.
Isaiah, in that particular passage, was prophesying during a time of
great civil unrest – one of the most critical periods in the history of
Judah. The great king Uzziah had died and with that, Judah’s prosperity
and national glory had come to an end. And the mighty and superior
forces of Assyria were now threatening her borders. But, serious as the
political crisis was, more serious by far was the spiritual crisis that
had overtaken the people. Greed, hypocrisy, and rank injustice were
rampant. Judah’s kings, instead of administering justice were oppressing
the helpless. The orphan and the widow, the neediest and most
defenseless in society, were no longer being protected and cared for:
they were left to fend for themselves. And, of course, this made a
mockery out of temple worship, took the heart out of it, made it
sterile, hollow, hypocritical, totally divorced from life. In Isaiah’s
poetic imagery, wild grapes had overtaken the carefully cultivated
vines, and the fruits that were harvested were sour and bitter - worthy
of the tears of God.
My friends, as I’ve said so many times, the scriptures live in the
now, not in the past. God’s word is dynamic, not static. If Isaiah was
speaking in God’s name today, I doubt that his words would differ much
from those which he spoke so long ago. That’s because God is still
shedding tears over this world of ours – over the glorious creation that
we are destroying and exploiting for our own selfish gain; over the
billions of people living in poverty; over the billions who are
discriminated against because of their race, religion, social status, or
sexual orientation. Over countless lives systematically snuffed out or
casually disregarded in this throw-away culture of ours; over
immigrants, refugees, and asylum-seekers turned back at our borders. And
on and on it goes. How is it possible that God is not at this very
moment shedding tears, weeping over our world, lamenting our injustices?
These are important things for us to reflect on these days before the
election. The vote we will cast is one of our great privileges as
citizens and one of our great responsibilities. And our vote is also a
holy thing. It is. Our vote is a statement of faith, as well as an act
of justice. In the letter I’ve directed to you
today, I do my best to remind you of some of the things that we as
conscientious Catholics must think about as we vote. I remind you that
we are not single-issue people: we are people who believe in and profess
what Pope St. John Paul II called the Gospel of Life, a gospel that
champions all of life from womb to tomb and at every stage in-between.
Every human being without exception – but especially those whose lives
are degraded and diminished by extreme poverty, or discrimination, or
injustice in its many forms – every human being needs to be our concern
when we cast our vote. That is our responsibility and a solemn one it
is.
My friends, the tears of God will flow over our world and our nation
until we heed the call of Isaiah to do the works of justice, until we
heed the call of Jesus to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty,
welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, and care for the sick and
imprisoned. We should scarcely need to be reminded that this is not
politics - that this is religion - because as long as we do it for one
of his least brothers or sisters, we are doing it for him.
Father Michael G. Ryan
|
|
