Something New

For our Jesuit boys that go on to be Texas A&M Aggies, there is a daily reminder on their campus of today’s first reading.  Across the edifice of the new St. Mary’s Catholic Church, as one walks by this huge structure on campus, is a line from Revelation etched in stone that one maybe will miss because it is not necessarily painted.  The line from Revelation, etched above the front doors of the church, echoes the promises made back during the time of Isaiah – “Behold I make all things new.”

In today’s first reading from Isaiah, the Lord states “Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth.  The things of the past shall not be remembered.”  Isaiah’s promise is particularly aimed at the Jewish people of his time during the period of the Babylonian Exile, but it holds its greatest significance at the end of time.  Isaiah’s words were a hope and a promise for the Israelite people to look forward to a new time, to see life beyond the Exile.  The promise becomes even more pregnant with meaning when we consider Christ’s victory over sin and death at Easter, which is now just 3 weekends away.  Easter is a foreshadowing and already realization of that final victory at the end of all things.

However, at this stage of Lent, now just passed the halfway point of Lent, it might be hard to see that ‘new heavens and…new earth’ opening before us because we’ve tried to live new resolutions this season, but inevitably, we’ve failed at those resolutions (or at the very least compromised at times on this resolutions) and found ourselves back in the same sins we had when we started.  This experience of our own brokenness can be very painful.  I know it is for me, realizing that I’m not much different (or better) than when I started Lent.  Seeing our brokenness, (my brokenness) in such a way that it feels inevitable is exactly why we need the words of Isaiah today.  For the Lord goes on to say, “Instead, there shall always be rejoicing and happiness in what I create.”

It is significant, I think, to hear that the Lord explains that ‘always’ and ‘what I create’ are inseparable ideas.  It is not so much about what we can create in ourselves; we have already seen countless times that our attempts at fixing ourselves are hopelessly feeble.  Rather, we need a spirit of passivity that allows the Lord to make “always…rejoicing and happiness…” in ourselves.  We often think that we will be the agents of ‘new heavens and a new earth’ both in the world and in our personal life, but we often forget that it is so much more about what the Lord can do in us.

St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Avila, two Carmelite saints and Doctors of the Church on Prayer, remind us that the last stages of interior life are not done by us at all.  John calls this time of passivity “the dark night of the soul”  and Teresa dedicates mansions 4-7 of her Interior Castle (more than half of her book) to what the Lord does in us – not what we do.

Even more poignantly, the words of Isaiah are meant for us today.  We need to let go of the projects and designs we’ve surmised for our betterment.  We can’t bring ‘this new heavens and new earth’ to ourselves.  We need the Lord to do something new for us, and in us.  

If we’ve felt Lent has been of mixed results, then it’s time to turn over these last couple weeks before Easter to the Holy Spirit.  Listening for the slightest inspirations of that ‘new heavens and new earth’ the Good Spirit (as St. Ignatius says) is calling us to.  Then, we will experience “always…rejoicing and happiness” in what the Holy Spirit creates in us.  St. Faustina once remarked that “faithfulness to the Holy Spirit is the shortest route to Heaven”.  May we follow this shortest route, using the discernment of spirits that St. Ignatius has taught us, following those inspirations that will bring God’s lasting consolation, leaving behind our old selves in the process. 

Author: Adam Hauser, English Department