On Ash Wednesday, Jesus warned us about the hypocrisy of “false Lenten fasts” which focus upon appearances—the veneer—not rending the heart and returning to God—the hardwood. In this sense, the season of Lent provides that 40-day period of time each year the Church sets aside to challenge us to engage in the DYI refinishing project of “woodworking”—stripping away the veneer of inauthentic faith and sanding down the glue and any appliqués to expose the authentic hardwood of faith in its original glory.
Today’s scripture readings remind us this DYI refinishing project requires stripping away the veneer of disappointment and getting down to the hardwood of hope that God breathed into each and every one of us in and from the beginning.
When we place our hope in people, those earthly hopes will surely collapse with the result that our hearts are filled with disappointment. Gazing upon the false veneer of those grains of wheat—all of those people who didn’t live up to our hopes of what they would be for us—we cannot see anything that offers anymore any possibility of any hope.
That project requires, first, redirecting where we place our hope because when we hope in the created—and, most importantly, people—we doom ourselves to disappointment. How so? While the veneer of every human being may be lustrous, appealing to the eye, and make us feel all so very good all over, all of that appeal and very good feeling disappear as soon as the veneer loses its luster and appeal, leaving us disappointed. It seems people just don’t ever live up to our hopes.
Consider all those folks in Jerusalem we heard about in today’s gospel.
What they saw in Jesus—the highly polished veneer—was so lustrous and appealing to behold: Miracles and other great signs and manifestations of great power as well as a promise of freedom from their imperial overlords. The veneer was so lustrous and appealing, in fact, it wouldn’t be long before those folks couldn’t contain themselves, acting as cheerleaders for Jesus and hailing him as their King—the “Messiah” (“God’s Anointed One”).
Yes, this was the man who would save them from all oppression and usher in the glorious Kingdom of Israel! In this worldly kingdom, “God will wipe away all tears…neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4).
Yet, as the luster and appeal of Palm Sunday wore off and those folks found their hopes dashed, it wasn’t long before they grew so disappointed yet once again with yet another false prophet they threw this “King,” as we are wont to say, “under the bus.” Within a few short days, the same throng that was ecstatic in its praise and enthusiasm would demand Jesus be humiliated, beaten, condemned and, ultimately, endure public execution on the Cross with the epigraph “INRI” (that is, “Jesus, King of the Jews”) inscribed on papyrus and affixed to the Cross above his head to express their profound disappointment.
Some “King” he was!
It’s in this context Jesus’ teaching in today’s gospel provides us timely instruction about the DYI project: Stripping away the veneer of inauthentic faith by fasting from disappointment and exposing the hardwood of authentic faith by feasting on hope.
Of this DYI project, Jesus said:
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. (John 12:24)
When we place our hope in people, those earthly hopes will surely collapse with the result that our hearts are filled with disappointment. Gazing upon the false veneer of those grains of wheat—all of those people who didn’t live up to our hopes of what they would be for us—we cannot see anything that offers anymore any possibility of any hope.
Yet, consider the “grains” of tomato seeds. If we place one on a window sill with a southern exposure, it will remain dormant...nothing more than a grain. Yet, knowing the nature of a tomato seed, we hope that placing even one into the earth, covering it, and providing it sufficient water—little by little, day by day, and growth spurt by growth spurt—new life will generate from within that seed’s veneer: first appearing as an ear, then as a bud, and subsequently, a tomato plant appears, one that will mature given proper nourishment and, ultimately, yield its fruit in due season to provide nourish, especially a healthy dose of vitamin C. (Yes, tomatoes are fruit!)
Hoping the grain’s veneer—its shell—will yield fruit ends only in disappointment, what Pope Francis has called “hope that collapses.” But, stripping away the false hope that the veneer will give life and embracing in its place authentic hope that the hardwood will yield fruit gives birth to what Pope Francis has called the “hope that lasts forever.”
In contrast to the false hope of those people in Jerusalem which collapsed when the veneer of Jesus was buried in the tomb, he instructed them about how authentic hope is born from within...the hardwood of the person. While earthly hopes collapse when the veneer is thought worthless and is cast asunder because it’s useless, it’s when the veneer is removed and the hardwood is exposed in all its glory that gives life to the “hope that lasts forever.”
That represents our challenge from scripture this fifth week of Lent: To gaze upon the grains of our relationships with other who didn’t live up to our hopes and realize that it’s within those people where new life will be found if we place our hope not in the veneer but the hardwood. Yes, in the past they filled our hearts with disappointment, but their hardwood offers hope that new life will rise out of them.
Looking beyond the veneer and contemplating the hardwood can assist us to begin our DYI woodworking project: To provide the nourishment those grains need—little by little, day by day, and growth spurt by growth spurt—so that, as time gradually unfolds, the plant will appear. Then, with the proper nourishment, the plant will mature and, ultimately yield its fruit, namely, the development of authentic faith in us, just as Easter rises from the hardwood of the Crucifix and resurrected life emerges from death.
To this end, right now: Identify one relationship that has ended in profound disappointment and today appears to be dead. Now, each morning this week, contemplate that relationship and identify one simple thing you will do that day to provide the environmental conditions that will eventually allow new life to emerge from within that grain of a relationship. Contemplating that grain not through the lens of inauthentic faith, don’t expect a miracle, but commit yourself instead in authentic faith—hope that lasts forever—to be watchful and steady in providing nourishment as new life emerges—little by little, day by day, and growth spurt by growth spurt—all in God’s good time, of course, because we may first have to go to The Catholic Shop and purchase some “Miracle Grow,” that is, if we’re to perform great works that give glory to God. Then, our hope will be fulfilled as what once was thought to be dead will be alive.
That’s how through those disappointing relationships authentic faith is born and is continuously reborn in us, how darkness is transformed into light, defeat into victory, and disappointment into hope.
Then, as we bear the fruit of hope and faith, that grain will give us life and from that life we will give others hope.
There’s no other way any of us can overcome the evil that’s caused human imperfection that begets disappointment. Yes, others will complain this logic of ours is doomed to disappointment and, yes, it would seem that it is a losing logic because one who possesses hope dies to the false hope of this world. Yet, is this not the logic of the Crucifix—the logic of the grain that dies and only in this way yields fruit?
All of us know this experience all too well: When the luster of the veneer of false hope wears off, we’re disappointed and then place our hope in someone else and then again someone else and so on, until our hope collapses upon itself and our days are filled with disappointment. The product of false hope, then, is a thirst that can never be satiated. In contrast, the “hope that lasts forever” requires dying to ourselves by rebuilding our broken relationships which are the grains in which we place our hope not only for ourselves but also for others who are thirsty for and seeking to be satiated with joy.
This week, let us fast from disappointment—“hope that collapses upon itself”—and feast upon hope—“hope that lasts forever.” As Jesus taught us:
Amen, amen, I say to you,unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies,it remains just a grain of wheat;but if it dies, it produces much fruit.
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