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Every weekend an elderly man sits through the entire Mass at the back of the church with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face.  He doesn’t open his mouth to sing nor pray, not even the “Our Father.”  I’m sure if I did a little digging, I would find Oscar the Grouch, from Sesame Street, adorning his family coat of arms.  There is also a woman, a bit younger than the Grouch, who, out of sheer obligation toughs it out for the hour.  Although she doesn’t know the man, she would be the Grouch’s female equivalent.  Likewise, she sits at the back of the church with her head bowed to the floor.  She is scrupulous, morose, miserable, and like the Grouch, never smiles.  Never.  When I see her, I can’t help but think about asking parish council about expanding our elderly and disabled parking spots to include one for those who travel to church on brooms.  Looking out at these sourpusses–The Grouch and Cruella–I have to remind myself that I’m here to announce Good News.  Any one of us can have an off day or a really bad week.  But, it seems these two have completely missed the memo that Mass is supposed to be a celebration.  With these two, there is no love affair going on with God in this world, only fire insurance for the next.

Unfortunately, there is a little bit of The Grouch and Cruella in each of us.  If we were honest with ourselves, we would realize that most of our misery is self-imposed.  When reality doesn’t bend to our wishes, when people don’t do what we want them to do, when we can’t control outcomes, we end up on a crash course with misery.

So, is the solution to show up at Mass smiling from ear to ear, pretending everything’s perfectly fine even when it may not be?  Do we fake it until we make it?  Do we ascribe to the “power of positive thinking,” banishing every negative thought until only positive ones remain?  Do we project contentment to everyone around us and never let people know about our inner struggles and silent sufferings?  Probably not, as that, too, would be disingenuous and pretentious.

In Jesus’ farewell speech, on the night before he knowingly went to his death, his prayer was that, “my own joy may be in you and your joy be complete.”  The dying wish of anyone, including Jesus’, must be taken seriously.  He wants joy to inhabit us…completely! No plastic smiles.  No faking it until we make it.  Only genuine joy.

Do you know what causes joy to emerge in me?  Two Scripture passages, one from the Old Testament and one from the New.  In the 49^th chapter of Isaiah, we hear: “Can a woman forget her baby at the breast or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even if these might forget, yet I will not forget for I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”  Knowing that I am never forgotten, even for a nanosecond in the eyes of God, brings me joy.  The second passage, also from Jesus’ farewell speech the night before he dies, goes like this: “I have said this to you, so that my peace may be in you. In the world you will have hardship but take courage, for I have conquered the world.”  When I put the two quotes together, I realize I am inscribed in the hands of One who has overcome the entire world, including every struggle I have ever had, every struggle I’m currently experiencing, and every struggle yet to come.  St. Paul perhaps says, “If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”  Ponder this for two minutes and watch misery melt into joy. Jesus was nobody’s fool, and he certainly was not naïve about evil.  He never pretended, nor did he encourage us to pretend, to consider suffering, pain, hardship, and even death as trivial.  They are not.  Suffering and death are real but not ultimate; they are penultimate.  Jesus situates pain in healing and watches pain vanish.  He situates death in the center of life and watches death fade into oblivion.  Can we do the same?  Can we situate our little lives in the great life of God and watch misery turn into joy? It is a matter of trust in the One who has conquered the world.  Like the loaves and the fish, Jesus takes our little joy and turns it into too much joy.  I dare say, if we cannot handle too much misery, we will never be able to handle the joy Jesus came to give us.  Remember, the foremost symbol for heaven is not the beatific vision but a festive party.

Fr. Phil Mulligan