A Reflection for Tuesday of the Second Week of Easter
Find today’s readings here.
When I read today’s first reading, I laughed out loud. “The community of believers was of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common. With great power the Apostles bore witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great favor was accorded them all. There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the Apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need.”
“The community of believers was of one heart and mind,” huh? “There was no needy person among them,” eh? Oh, how things have changed. There are surely some Catholic communities where believers are more or less of one heart and mind if you don’t look too closely, and I’m sure there are a few where no one is allowed to remain very needy. But in general, this is not how I would describe the church in 2024. Not at all.
But then, I realized that this is also not how the Evangelists describe the church in the first century. When Paul really gets going, he gets pretty disgusted with the Christian community in Corinth, for example. And his writings probably predate Acts.
This discrepancy makes me uncomfortable. What was really happening? Was the early church actually as holy and pure and single-minded as Luke describes it, or was it a pack of weasels and backsliders and hypocrites, as Paul often seems to believe? Did it start out good and then go bad immediately? Or were the glorious early accounts written by people so naïve and blinded by optimism that they didn’t see what people were really like? Neither explanation is especially gratifying. The answer, I think, is both. Just like it is now. Sometimes the church is pure and holy and good, and sometimes it’s corrupt and selfish and errant. Sometimes it’s both at the same time.
In the Gospel reading for today, Jesus tells Nicodemus,
“The wind blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
One way to understand this statement: It’s not only God whose actions are beyond our comprehension, sometimes. It’s also God’s church. How could people who actually met Jesus in person go on to live anything but a life of sanctity? I don’t know. How can I meet Jesus in the sacraments and then go right out and act like it never happened? I don’t know! I just do.
The funny thing is, the parts of the New Testament where Paul sounds ready to smack one of his fellow believers over the way they’re behaving—those can actually be some of the most encouraging parts of Scripture. They help us remember that it’s hard to be holy. It’s normal to slip. It’s human to fall apart. It’s always been this way, ever since the church was brand new. This is why we have the liturgical seasons: to help us accept our constant failures and to encourage us to take advantage of the constant renewal the church offers, over and over again. It may look like we’re just being randomly buffeted about by the winds of chance and inconsistency and irrationality, but that’s because we’re in the thick of it.
If we take a step back and look up, we will see Jesus.
“No one has gone up to heaven except the one who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”
That’s where it ends if we keep looking to him. Eventually, our discouraging cycles of faith and faithlessness will cease, and we will be able to rest in Jesus.
