In the passage that we proclaim today from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, he speaks to us of what he calls a “hidden” wisdom. To better understand what St. Paul is saying, it might be helpful to keep the Jewish apocalyptic worldview in mind. This particular worldview maintained that the secrets of the future had been written down at the beginning of time and were preserved somewhere safe from the eyes of humankind. When the fullness of time at last dawns, these secrets will be revealed. Consequently, this school of thought and, in this case St. Paul, divides time into two parts; namely, this present age of waiting and the future age when all things will be made known.
St. Paul speaks of the age to come in one of the most poetic verses of his writing. It has been translated in many different ways from the Greek and is rendered thus in the International Standard version: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things that God has prepared for those who love him.”
I find myself going back to this verse quite frequently. Each time I ponder it, I come to a very clear realization of how small my human understanding is when it comes to God. This verse reminds me of the limits of my human nature, particularly the limits of my human mind. Throughout history, humankind has plumbed the depths of all the sciences, of all the various philosophies, of the many schools of art, and of the various endeavors of the men and women of history. Yet St. Paul reminds us that human wisdom is so shallow when compared to the depth that is God and so miniscule when compared to the immense nature of God.
St. Paul has told us that the wisdom of God seems foolish to us, that the strength of God seems like weakness to us. The world looks at the crucified Jesus which hangs on the walls of our homes and churches and sees failure. You might remember that last week we heard St. Paul say that he wished to know nothing else but Jesus Crucified. Indeed, Jesus hanging on a cross is the kerygma, the basic message of our faith. This is the first thing the apostles preached after they were filled with the Holy Spirit. Jesus died on a cross and rose three days later. Today’s reading, however, is not the kerygma of the Gospel, for St. Paul tells us that he is speaking not to those who have never heard the message. Today he announces that he is speaking to those who are mature. In other words, he is speaking to those who have heard the message and know that this so-called mystery is constantly being revealed to us as we go through life. Each time we experience a loss, each time we are confronted with death, be it our own impending death or the death of a loved one, a little more of the mystery of the death and resurrection of Jesus is revealed to us.
Jesus teaches us through his own death that the only way to draw close to the mystery of love is by dying to ourselves. We are called to put our needs second and the needs of others first just as Jesus did. We have been taught that when we were baptized, we were baptized into his death. His death is quite literally the mystery of love. If we wish to understand the secret of love, then we have to understand that loving others means following Jesus to Calvary. I say from the outset that none of us will ever completely understand this kind of love because God’s wisdom has never entered the human heart completely. So as I preach this morning, I realize clearly that this mystery cannot be understood through my words. It can only be understood through deeds, and the deed that explains it most clearly is that which Jesus did for us. Through his death and resurrection he has given us eternal life in heaven.
Perhaps the most frequently asked question that is posed to me is, “What will heaven be like?” Every believer wants to know. Most of us have pictured what it must be like. Whenever you think you have it figured out, just remember, “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, it has never entered the human mind what God has ready for those who love Him.”
Fr. Lawrence Jagdfeld, O.F.M., Administrator