NOT PERFECT, BUT TRUE ^_[1]

MATERNAL CONFINEMENT ENDED

1.  On the day of Jesus' crucifixion, his disciples were not with him. The four Gospels treat the apostles kindly, for none of the inspired writers say that they bolted and hid themselves in fear.  Neither do the Gospels offer an explanation for the apostles' absence during the critical events of his passion and death.  We know, however, more about Peter than the others. The Gospels recount how Peter tried to hide his identity as he followed Jesus to the house of Caiaphas.  [cf. Mt 26:57]  He lied and said he was not a disciple of the Lord.  We know that if the disciples fled from the authorities on the day of Jesus' death, they remained close at hand. On the third day, when Jesus rose from the dead, the disciples gathered together to support one another in their fear and confusion. They were bewildered and essentially dulled to the possibility of Jesus' resurrection. They were insensible in their distress. If any one of the eleven was calm and attempted to reassure his companions, Scripture is silent about him. We do know that Jesus appearance to the disciples shocked them:  "They were startled and frightened, and supposed that they saw a spirit."  [Lk 24:37]  Jesus reassured them, and he offered a practical solution to their fears and incredulity. He asked them for something to eat so that he could show them that he was not a phantom. Then Jesus told them to go back out into the world from which they had come. The time of his maternal confinement was over; the apostles must be birthed into the world to face the demands of evangelization in the Lord's name. This may have been difficult at first for the disciples, for they were very much aware of the shocking hostility directed towards Jesus and his followers. The newly-born Church, however, was very much in need of nurturing. They were to preach on the theme of conversion: Repent and turn to God and perform deeds worthy of repentance.  [cf. Acts 26:20] 

HOURS AFTER MIDNIGHT

2.  My parents live in a modest home in Midland, Texas, which they purchased in 1956. The grounds are about one acre in size, adorned by many stately Elm and Black Locust trees. At the time of its purchase, I was about seven years old. Shortly after moving into the house, I had a frightening experience in the night.  In those days, we did not have central air-conditioning. My large bedroom windows were wide open in the warm summer nights. I would push my bed lengthwise against them to maximize the effect of the night breezes. In the early morning hours after midnight, I turned over in bed toward the windows and opened my eyes. A man stood on the other side of the window screen looking down at me. I froze in horror. I tried to call out for help but not a sound escaped my throat. Terrified before the large silhouette, I pushed myself over the side of the bed and fell to the floor. My father found me wedged under the dining room table at the far end of the house. The ceiling light clicked on. He called my name, took me by the hand and pulled me out. Comforting me, he proposed something altogether shocking: We need to walk outside and check things out.

I don't want to,  I said.

We need to check things out. 

Why?  I asked, still shaking.

Let's go.

My father turned off the dining room light. We left the darkness of the house and went out into the front yard holding hands: a man in his pajamas with a little boy in his briefs. Both barefoot. Walking on the bizarre shadows of the tree branches made by the moonlight, we circled the end of the house, went through the gate, and entered the backyard. "Everything's okay," he said, standing in front of my bedroom window. Back in my room, my father pulled my bed a few inches away from the windows, tucked me back in it and kissed me. There are many things now that remain a bit of a mystery about this experience. Why did I not run to my parents bedroom? I did not cry out or scream, yet how did my father found me where I was hiding. And he never felt the need to explain why we walked around the outside of the house in the middle of the night.  I am not sure now if the figure that I saw was real or merely the character of a twilight dream,  the sort that reaches out and appropriates your actual, real surroundings, a dream that pierces the membrane  (Lat. membrana, skin, transparency)  of sleep and spills out into one's emerging consciousness. I do know that I dreamed much as a child and that many of these were very intense.

GREATER TRUTH

3.  Human beings tend to want to sort things out. I am no different, and so I have mulled over this experience from time to time. When I was young, the proper emphasis of this story seemed to be on my fears. This was true enough, but now as I have grown older, the meaning of the story has shifted and a greater truth has emerged for me. The greater truth is that my father found me when I was very frightened. To go outside with him was a moment of reckoning, but I placed my trust in him. He knew that this very practical gesture would help me to restore my confidence in the dark and in the future. Pajamas and underwear make poor armor, but they were enough. My father consoled me and gave me the reassurance of his kiss. As you can see, my childhood story is not perfect, but it is the true story of a boy frightened in the night. It helps me to accept certain Gospel stories which do not answer all my questions. I have learned that one need not have all the information in order to possess the truth. We know very well the story of Peters apostasy, his denials of the Lord, and all this in great detail. Yet, scripture is totally silent on how Peter reconciled to God and the other disciples and offers no explanation on how he secures forgiveness for his mortal sin. We marvel all the more upon hearing St. Paul's conversion story; the barest account must include his ruthless persecution of Christians, being blinded by the light of Christ, and beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked and martyred! We remember that Mary Magdalene was plagued by seven demons. Jesus cured her, but the experience of her healing and reconciliation remains unknown to us. Scripture is largely silent on details of sinners repentance, because the conversions and confessions that endure are the ones that are private and not public. What remains unspoken in the Gospel story--as in the stories of our own childhoods--is the mystery to be respected and preserved in the stillness of our souls. We leap in faith from sin to forgiveness, from fear to confidence and from reticence to proclamation. The Gospel story is not perfect, but it is the story. It does not answer all our questions, but all of it is the "way, and the truth, and the life".  [Jn 14:6]  For the holy way is a person, Jesus, and this Jesus is perfect truth and abundant life. He leads the new Israel in his name through the mystery of faith to a privileged encounter with the Father:  "Thy way was through the sea, thy path through the great waters; yet thy footprints were unseen."  [Psa 77:19]  The Word of God is right and always right. Of the many things that will scare us in life, sins will scare us the most. We need to confront them. The truth is that Christ requires us to experience "repentance and forgiveness of sins"  [Lk 24:47]  as he did Peter.  The truth is that we must confidently grasp the hand of Our Father in Heaven.  We must entrust ourselves to his Word. When he says, Go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, get down on your knees, and check things out, it is for the sake of the order of grace and the blessings of our future which God alone knows that we entrust ourselves to his fatherly guidance:  "Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord!"  [Exo 14:13]