Saying Goodbye
This is a time, the end of the school year, when things are changing for many of us. Inevitably, this involves saying goodbye to people. This weekend, I shared the following reflection on Sunday's readings with some of our seniors and their friends. But I think it's a message that many of us can stand to here at this time. Especially me, as I'm saying goodbye also.
The reading today from John’s Gospel might well be referred to as the beginning of “The Long Goodbye.” Because the short reading we just heard come from a much longer discourse in which Jesus is basically saying goodbye to his friends. It lasts for about five chapters. Repeatedly, Jesus tells them, hey, by the way, did you know I’m not going to be around much longer. But don’t worry it will be OK. Just keep doing that stuff that I told you to do. And don’t worry we’ll see each other again. And besides, there’s this holy spirit that’s kind of going to take my place, and make sure everything is OK. Really, I have to go, and besides, it’s better that I go, because if I don’t go, then the Holy Spirit won’t be able to come, and so just remember you’re my friends, and keep doing what I said, and you’ll be OK, and don’t forget, the Holy Spirit, I’m leaving you with the Spirit, and then, you know, eventually, we’ll be together again, cause, well, you’re my friends, so don’t be afraid, don’t worry, it’ll be OK.
After a while, you wonder: Is Jesus trying to convince them? Or is he trying to convince himself? Maybe you’ve had a similar conversation recently? Or maybe it’s time for you to have one? I know in my final days here at Loyola, I’ve been kind of avoiding these conversations myself.
So, I’ve been thinking, maybe today’s readings are helpful. Maybe it’s helpful to think that we’re not alone in feeling this way. Maybe it’s helpful to realize that it seems like, maybe, Jesus had trouble letting go, too.
But let’s stop and think for a minute. Is Jesus’ goodbye really about letting go? Of course Jesus was sad at the prospect of losing his friends! He was human, after all. But he also knew what one senior told me he learned here at Loyola: “not to be afraid of hard times, because suffering is what makes you stronger, more at peace, wiser and comes with the acceptance that this strength isn’t ‘of me,’ rather it is the strength that comes from allowing who I am to become whom I am designed to be.” Jesus had to become who he was meant to be, and so did the Apostles, and that meant a painful separation. But Jesus wanted to assure his friends, himself and us who like the Apostles, gather around this table with him today, that we have been given a gift--the gift of Jesus, the gift of each other, manifested in that Holy Spirit which he left us to guide us into becoming all that God wishes us to be.
Jesus’ message, though couched in sadness, the pain of separation and absence, and the fear of an uncertain future is ultimately one of hope: “I will not leave you orphans. I will come to you. I live and you will live also.” If we love God, if we are believers in God’s plan, then we know that “goodbye” is just a necessary step in coming closer to what God wants for each one of us. But, that doesn’t mean it’s not sad, or painful, or scary.
The second reading from the first letter of Peter speaks of hope. We are called tonight to be people of hope. And can we really be hopeful if we are not sometimes sad, unsure or afraid? Saint Peter begins by urging us to “sanctify Christ in your heart.” Because our hope is in Christ who despite the pain of leaving his friends and in spite of his fears, went forward in hope, “graduating” into the future that God had planned for him, a “graduation” that each of us is called to imitate according to whatever hope God holds for you and I. Each of us must make it our business to come to know that hope which God has for us. How else can we be prepared to do what St. Peter says we must: In today’s reading he says:
“Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.”
So, I ask you: What is the reason for your hope?
Perhaps your answer is like the one I heard from another senior. She told me:
“I would have to say that the greatest gift I have received while at Loyola is gratitude. I have been so blessed with wonderful friends, classes, activities, and experiences. I know that all of my blessings come from God and that I should do everything in my power to use them to glorify God.”
What is the reason for your hope? Maybe it’s something like mine.
I came to Loyola about two years ago, hopeful but also fearful. Things had not gone well in my previous job. I’d put all I could into making it successful, and though I had some successes, I had to admit at the end of the year that overall the job had been a failure. Though I still felt confident that God was calling me to be a Jesuit, the experience of that year had made others uncertain. That’s when a job offer came from Loyola. That’s when I met many of you in the classroom, in the quad or on retreats. You shared with me, some of you, your love for learning, your sadness and your struggles, and your joys and your hopes, and I was able to share mine with you. And through that joy of discovery and pain of loss I shared, gratefully, with many people in this chapel, and many others besides, I discovered what it means to be a priest and a renewed hope and desire for that vocation which in these days I graduate to as I move on to my final stage of studies.
What is the reason for your hope?
Perhaps it’s something even more simple. Look around you, at the people here with you, and perhaps it is as simple as the words to a song I heard today as In was preparing this reflection that seemed, like the Gospel reading, particularly appropriate:
It goes something like this:
Hey kid . . . your time has come to change . . .
Though I need you more than I’ve needed anyone in anyway tonight.
Hey kid . . . I know it won’t be long
The Captain’s calling . . . Come to see you back where we belong.
Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you . . .
He’s in love with me
(“If God Made You” by Five for Fighting)
The reading today from John’s Gospel might well be referred to as the beginning of “The Long Goodbye.” Because the short reading we just heard come from a much longer discourse in which Jesus is basically saying goodbye to his friends. It lasts for about five chapters. Repeatedly, Jesus tells them, hey, by the way, did you know I’m not going to be around much longer. But don’t worry it will be OK. Just keep doing that stuff that I told you to do. And don’t worry we’ll see each other again. And besides, there’s this holy spirit that’s kind of going to take my place, and make sure everything is OK. Really, I have to go, and besides, it’s better that I go, because if I don’t go, then the Holy Spirit won’t be able to come, and so just remember you’re my friends, and keep doing what I said, and you’ll be OK, and don’t forget, the Holy Spirit, I’m leaving you with the Spirit, and then, you know, eventually, we’ll be together again, cause, well, you’re my friends, so don’t be afraid, don’t worry, it’ll be OK.
After a while, you wonder: Is Jesus trying to convince them? Or is he trying to convince himself? Maybe you’ve had a similar conversation recently? Or maybe it’s time for you to have one? I know in my final days here at Loyola, I’ve been kind of avoiding these conversations myself.
So, I’ve been thinking, maybe today’s readings are helpful. Maybe it’s helpful to think that we’re not alone in feeling this way. Maybe it’s helpful to realize that it seems like, maybe, Jesus had trouble letting go, too.
But let’s stop and think for a minute. Is Jesus’ goodbye really about letting go? Of course Jesus was sad at the prospect of losing his friends! He was human, after all. But he also knew what one senior told me he learned here at Loyola: “not to be afraid of hard times, because suffering is what makes you stronger, more at peace, wiser and comes with the acceptance that this strength isn’t ‘of me,’ rather it is the strength that comes from allowing who I am to become whom I am designed to be.” Jesus had to become who he was meant to be, and so did the Apostles, and that meant a painful separation. But Jesus wanted to assure his friends, himself and us who like the Apostles, gather around this table with him today, that we have been given a gift--the gift of Jesus, the gift of each other, manifested in that Holy Spirit which he left us to guide us into becoming all that God wishes us to be.
Jesus’ message, though couched in sadness, the pain of separation and absence, and the fear of an uncertain future is ultimately one of hope: “I will not leave you orphans. I will come to you. I live and you will live also.” If we love God, if we are believers in God’s plan, then we know that “goodbye” is just a necessary step in coming closer to what God wants for each one of us. But, that doesn’t mean it’s not sad, or painful, or scary.
The second reading from the first letter of Peter speaks of hope. We are called tonight to be people of hope. And can we really be hopeful if we are not sometimes sad, unsure or afraid? Saint Peter begins by urging us to “sanctify Christ in your heart.” Because our hope is in Christ who despite the pain of leaving his friends and in spite of his fears, went forward in hope, “graduating” into the future that God had planned for him, a “graduation” that each of us is called to imitate according to whatever hope God holds for you and I. Each of us must make it our business to come to know that hope which God has for us. How else can we be prepared to do what St. Peter says we must: In today’s reading he says:
“Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.”
So, I ask you: What is the reason for your hope?
Perhaps your answer is like the one I heard from another senior. She told me:
“I would have to say that the greatest gift I have received while at Loyola is gratitude. I have been so blessed with wonderful friends, classes, activities, and experiences. I know that all of my blessings come from God and that I should do everything in my power to use them to glorify God.”
What is the reason for your hope? Maybe it’s something like mine.
I came to Loyola about two years ago, hopeful but also fearful. Things had not gone well in my previous job. I’d put all I could into making it successful, and though I had some successes, I had to admit at the end of the year that overall the job had been a failure. Though I still felt confident that God was calling me to be a Jesuit, the experience of that year had made others uncertain. That’s when a job offer came from Loyola. That’s when I met many of you in the classroom, in the quad or on retreats. You shared with me, some of you, your love for learning, your sadness and your struggles, and your joys and your hopes, and I was able to share mine with you. And through that joy of discovery and pain of loss I shared, gratefully, with many people in this chapel, and many others besides, I discovered what it means to be a priest and a renewed hope and desire for that vocation which in these days I graduate to as I move on to my final stage of studies.
What is the reason for your hope?
Perhaps it’s something even more simple. Look around you, at the people here with you, and perhaps it is as simple as the words to a song I heard today as In was preparing this reflection that seemed, like the Gospel reading, particularly appropriate:
It goes something like this:
Hey kid . . . your time has come to change . . .
Though I need you more than I’ve needed anyone in anyway tonight.
Hey kid . . . I know it won’t be long
The Captain’s calling . . . Come to see you back where we belong.
Something inside me is breaking
Something inside says there’s somewhere better than this
Sunset sailing on April skies
Bloodshot fire clouds in your eyes
I can’t say what I might believe
But if God made you . . .
He’s in love with me
(“If God Made You” by Five for Fighting)
posted by Mark Mossa, SJ at 12:55 AM
1 Comments:
You make me proud to be a Jesuit groupie.
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