Endless day which knows not night

This morning, with millions of others, I watched the Inauguration of Benedict XVI (my cat, Mirielle, snuggled with me throughout, happy that a cat lover is on Peter's throne.) His references to the Good Shepherd, a favourite image of mine, naturally called forgiveness to mind. Repentance, forgiveness, new life in Christ are such lovely concepts - and how we moderns shudder at the very words! Caught up in our own 'self esteem,' we cannot admit to the beauties of forgiveness because that would mean admitting we were not always right in the first place. "Penance," a word we Franciscans cherish (with its meaning getting back into line with the gospels - continuous creative power making us ever more real), is one which normally cannot even be mentioned.

Perhaps, if we could think of forgiveness without concurrently picturing that this means we'd otherwise be punished, we could grasp a bit of the reality. There has been too much focus, in the Middle Ages and beyond, on penalties, hell, atonement as if that last meant appeasing fury. Of course, I realise that such emphases were purely practical in some cases. Alphonsus Liguori (whose principles of moral theology were as sound and reasonable as any in history) wrote a work on hell that could make anyone's skin crawl... unless one remembered that Alphonsus, bishop of the neighbouring diocese to my family's, was dealing with people who had no excess of guilt, and who thought a sufficient defence for murder was that the bastard had it coming to him. :) The 'Dante-esque' depictions of purgatory often were merely sermons on the seven capital sins... trying to get a bit of restraint into the lives of the licentious, perhaps.

Forgiveness is healing and wholeness, and, above all, a call to greater intimacy with God. I am sure that most of us who've had a lengthy time on the Christian path know of many times when the Good Shepherd came after us before we even realised we wanted to be rescued. God keeps calling us to a greater reflection of his image in our lives. Our sins are all basically lies - his forgiveness removes the blinders (how we first hate that, with the sudden glare of light), and he draws us more closely to himself.

Though I would never deny the beauty of seeing the Eucharist as a source of forgiveness, nor would I think partaking of it as anything to be taken lightly, it is unfortunate that too much emphasis was placed on our being worthy. (Is that possible?) For centuries, people rarely if ever approached communion, and feared so being condemned if they were not in the proper state. So, Jesus is so vengeful that he is looking to chastise his people for partaking of his body and blood...

This quotation from an Easter sermon by Maximus of Turin expresses what I am trying to say... how I wish I could write two paragraphs of this quality before I die.

Christ is risen! His rising brings life to the dead, forgiveness to sinners, and glory to the saints...

The light of Christ is an endless day that knows no night... the coming of Christ's light puts Satan's darkness to flight, leaving no place for any shadow of sin. His everlasting radiance dispels the dark clouds of the past and checks the hidden growth of vice. The Son is that day to whom the day, which is the Father, communicates the mystery of his divinity..

The celestial day is perpetually bright and shining with brilliant light; clouds can never darken its skies. In the same way, the light of Christ is eternally glowing with luminous radiance, and can never be extinguished by the darkness of sin...

And so, my brothers and sisters, each of us ought to surely rejoice on this holy day. Let no one, conscious of his sinfulness, withdraw from our common celebration, not be kept away from public prayer by the burden of his guilt. Sinner he may indeed be, but ... if a thief could receive the grace of paradise, how could a Christian be refused forgiveness?"