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Of all the things that we could talk about, about this beautiful Easter season in some of our readings I think that in this moment in time the Church practically compels us to focus our attention on one particular element: and that’s mercy. Not only is it Divine Mercy Sunday but its also a Jubilee Year of Mercy. And it has been a repeated theme of the Church’s teaching lately about what might as well be called the most profound and beautiful aspect of our whole religion: which is God’s mercy.
At the same time there’s always the risk when we talk more and more about something. Its kind of like hyper-inflation: its value continues to diminish until things like “God is love” or “God is merciful” just becomes a trite platitude. It might be right next to all of those paper bags that say “90% post-consumer recycled paper…by the way God is love. He is merciful.” Its practically become a caricature almost of Christian religion. And especially if we put it against the background of so many other things that our religion teaches us. I would hope that it were the case – but I certainly can’t promise it - that whenever you go into a Catholic Church at least as it concerns doctrinal matters you would never hear an opinion.
Because on those things – namely doctrine – the Church doesn’t deal in opinions. What’s why we have an infallible Church, that’s why we have a Magisterium. And the Church teaches us a lot about what our possible ends are – the four last things – Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell. The nature of justice and of mercy. And so in an attempt to understand the true profundity, the true beauty, the true wonder of mercy we also do have to weigh it against its counterpart which is Divine justice. And so to take just one very striking and perhaps unsettling image it was Teresa of Avila, the universally acknowledged Doctor of the Church, the great Carmelite mystic, saint, and nun who in one of her visions saw that the great mass of humanity seemed to be falling to perdition like snowflakes.
And this metaphor – Teresa’s not mine – seems to be confirmed by one of the greatest prophetic apparitions not only of the 20th century but of all time: that of Fatima. In which the Shepherd children the visionary saw something very similar. And that very frightful image does seem to just paint more vividly something that our Lord had said 2000 years ago. That the way that leads to life is narrow and difficult, the way that leads to perdition is wide (Matthew 7:13-14). But if that’s the case, then what are we to make of God’s mercy?
It seems that sometimes, in a bit of a caricature, God has been reduced to nothing but the grey-bearded and jovial uncle – more or less the great Santa Claus in the sky – that pats everyone on the back as they show up at the Pearly Gates and says, “don’t worry about it. Everything is fine.” And yet contrasting that to the image of Scripture which speaks of God’s love as a jealous love, as a consuming fire (Deuteronomy 4:24). How do we reconcile these kinds of images? Images of God’s justice? About the difficulty of salvation with His profound mercy that knows no limits? These aren’t abstract questions. In fact they should be some of the most pressing and intensely personal questions of our existence.
In the Gospels, people are constantly asking our Lord, “Lord what must we do to be saved?” (Luke 18:18). I want to know the answer to that question too. What must I do to be saved? There is no question in my whole life that I think more important than “what’s going to happen to me?” I want to know that I’m going to be with our Lord forever. And so, for those of you that have heard me now for a couple of years you know that I certainly like to indulge in things speculative and abstract. But I think as much as a stack of treatises on Divine Mercy it was something that I came across rather recently that seemed to sum up so many of these elements.
It was a story that Fr Winslow shared with me a couple of weeks ago and I was stunned that I had never really heard it before. And it’s a story that is still within the living memory of some and that all could at least relate to on some level. And so here’s a story about the wonders, the beauty and perhaps even a bit the fearfulness of God’s mercy.
There was a man by the name of Rudolph Hoss who was a German SS commandant and in charge of the world’s most notorious death camp of Auschwitz. And Rudolph Hoss may be the world’s greatest mass murderer. Of course there was Hitler, there was Stalin, there was Mao Zedong who killed hundreds of millions of people cumulatively. But few people could lay claim as Hoss did by his very own testimony which he later gave to personally overseeing the execution of between 2 and 2.5 million people.
To give some perspective, Bank of America Stadium downtown where the Panthers play holds a little bit over 70,000 people. So do the math. To get from 70,000 with a full stadium to 2 and 2.5 million. He personally oversaw the death of these men, women and children – Jews as well as Catholics. Agnostics and everyone else – By all sorts of horrific means, by mass shootings, by ovens, by gas chambers. And, as we’ll see in a moment, by some very mysterious design of God’s providence, amongst the countless people that he sent to their deaths it just so happened in the course of all these people that there was a Jesuit priest that was brought to him.
Now who knows what was going through his very black and twisted soul on this particular day – perhaps he flipped a coin once in a while and thought, “maybe I’ll do something different than I normally do. I’m tired of killing people by the thousands.” Who knows? For whatever reason, this priest that was brought to him was unexpectedly set free. He would be an unknown element of history were it not for what is going to follow momentarily. Certainly significant for that one man who escaped with his life but otherwise never would have been known, save for what follows.
When the war ended those that were apprehended – as was Hoss – were brought to trial and immediately convicted for the most atrocious crimes against humanity and sentenced to death. During his waiting for his execution, he said that the thing that scared him the most was not death in itself but rather the expectation that he would simply be met with that which he had doled out for most of his life: namely, brutal and horrendous treatment for which death at that point would practically be a relief. And so you might imagine that not only was he surprised, but he was absolutely bewildered – beside himself – when the treatment that he received in prison by his guards and custodians was not only not brutal, not horrendous, but quite humane. And all of that even more striking given the fact that those in whose charge he was surely had some sort of personal connection.
It may well have been their mothers, their fathers, their children whom he had a hand in killing. And so how he could receive anything like humane treatment was simply not something that calculated in that dark world of his. And it was in the course of reflecting on these things that Rudolph Hoss – once as an infant a baptized Catholic – very interesting point. There’s a saying that goes that “none fall as far as the baptized when they turn away.” And indeed some of the greatest monsters of history were Catholics once upon a time. But somewhere, deep down in that dark soul some shaft of light broke through. And he had some movement to call for a priest.
Now this is another important point so take note of this. When he asked his guards to find him a priest they obliged. They sent word calling for a priest to come and visit Rudolph Hoss. A very sad story in the history of the Catholic Church’s priesthood: no priest would come. Now on a human level its quite understandable isn’t it? This man has the blood of 2.5 million people crying out to heaven for justice. Those very priests may have lost all of their family in those concentration camps. And lastly, imagine the weight of responsibility simply to raise one’s right priestly hand and say to a man such as that “I absolve you of your sins.” Not a priest could be found that was willing to do that. Until, somehow, Rudolph Hoss remembered that there is a Jesuit priest that he had once let go. Years later who knows if this priest is alive. But he described him and asked that this priest if still living be tracked down and asked to come and visit him in prison.
Now wouldn’t you know it, they found the priest. And he came and visited Rudolph Hoss in prison. And through many hours of a now broken heart, through many tears he finally made a complete confession of his life and received absolution from that priest. Who a few days later came and brought him Holy Communion which had not touched his lips since his childhood and he received the precious Body of our Lord a short while before going to his execution.
Now the thing that probably jumps out at us about this story is the true depths of God’s mercy. And if it is what we say it is – if the Precious Blood of an unspotted lamb is enough to tip the scales even of the whole world, that if the blood of 2 million people which was on his hands could nonetheless be blotted out by the blood of the lamb. That is a mercy that is probably more terrible, more wonderful, than any of us might previously have thought.
I’m very blessed to have all of my immediate family living: my parents, my siblings. And yet if I asked myself if they were to be brutally murdered and the perpetrator were to show up in my confessional – and for the sake of argument lets just suppose that he truly is contrite – would I be willing to impart absolution as the Church demands? I hope so, but I don’t know. We can reflect on these things and meditate on them quite fruitfully: testing the authenticity of our Christianity but its worth bearing in mind that God doesn’t grant imaginary graces for imaginary situations, but rather only real graces for real situations to which we are confronted. So for each and every one of us God gives us the grace to do just as much as He actually asks of us.
But in this case there were some, perhaps many, that were asked to forgive Rudolph Hoss. Which is the more subtle point of the story but one that is no less striking. And so let me paint it in the most vivid possible contrast. As of right now, to simply judge by external appearances, which is the only thing we have to go by – I make no attempt to pass a definitive personal judgement on individuals. I can’t do that. Man sees the exterior only God sees the heart – but simply to draw a conclusion based on what we could observe historically and if Rudolph Hoss did genuinely repent and receive devoutly the sacraments then at this very moment – unless he’s still scrubbing off the last of his Purgatory points – then he’s shining with the saints in the glory of heaven. Shoulder to shoulder with the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, Saints Peter and Paul and all of the other saints. And perhaps many, many, many of those people whom he himself killed in this earthly life. Just like St. Stephen, once stoned by a man named Saul – now called St. Paul – are standing shoulder to shoulder together in heaven.
But the most stark of all contrasts may be this: that next to that picture maybe a picture of a number of Catholic priests who, let’s say for the sake of argument, presumably, devoutly preached and taught the Gospel and Catholic doctrine for their whole lives. That devoutly offered the sacraments. That imparted absolution to tens of thousands of people. That offered day in and day out the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. That promised themselves to a life of simplicity, of obedience to the Church, of chaste celibacy and yet on account of failing to respond to one of the Gospel’s most basic precepts which is to forgive others as we have been forgiven (Colossians 3:13) they may be – I don’t know. Hopefully they repented – but they may be in hell.
What a contrast. Between a man who devoted all of his life to torturing and killing people, conceivably in heaven at this very moment versus a group of men who are supposed to stand as alter Christi - as other Christs - as Catholic priests, as ministers of forgiveness who withheld it because they would not visit him in prison. Again I hope that they did repent of that sin. But Christ was very clear all along, that this was one of the supernatural elements of our religion. That when someone strikes you on the cheek, to turn the other one (Matthew 5:39). That when someone offends you, not 7 times but 70 times seven which is to say an infinite number of times you must forgive (Matthew 18:22). That as I (Christ) have laid down my life for you, you must lay down your life for others (John 10:18; John 15:13).
And so that we would never forget it, the very prayer which our Saviour taught us – the Our Father – in one of its seven petitions says “Forgive us our trespasses as” just as “we forgive those who trespass against us.” The measure with which you measured out shall be measured back to you (Matthew 7:2). I think when we put all of this in a modern context when we speak of people that may be within the living memory of some and certainly very much alive in all of our history books it may seem all the more striking.
But in fact this juxtaposition, this wondrous paradox of God’s mercy has been playing out all throughout Scripture. Just take Good Friday which we commemorated a little bit more than a week ago and take this hypothetical. What if the world had ended on Good Friday? On that day there was a man who up until that point had been very, very bad. And yet in the last moments of his life, finding himself crucified next to a man who at that moment he realized was far more than just a man, turning to him he said, “My punishment is just. Have mercy on me.” (Luke 23:40-42). And to that man, a very bad man, but now to all ages known as the Good Thief, he heard the most blessed words in practically all of Scripture, “this day you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).
Once again we could paint a very vivid contrast between another prominent Gospel figure. It was one who had not long ago asked Christ “we’ve left everything to follow you. What’s in it for us?” (Matthew 19:27) well if things had ended on Good Friday, the answer would have been “nothing good”. That man was the first Pope. That man was St. Peter. Whom if the world had ended that day history would have erased the “S-T-period”. And he would have found himself on the opposite chasm from that Good Thief.
Its almost inconceivable to imagine isn’t it? That St. Peter who had so devoutly followed our Lord and yet solemnly disavowed Him on that one day when everything was on the line by saying “I solemnly tell you I do not know the man (Luke 22:54-57, 59-62; Mark 14:69-70; Matthew 26:73-75; John 18:13-27) and fled the Passion. Whereas it was the Good Thief who said "my punishment is just have mercy on me." Of course all of this just echoes what had still been said earlier in the Scriptures. In the book of Ezekiel for example when God says "Let every man know this, that he who turns from his wicked ways no matter how long he persist in them no matter how grave they be if he turns from his wicked ways I will pardon him and I will have mercy on him (Ezekiel 33:11) but if any man no matter how long he be walking the path of virtue if he turn away and embrace sin then I will cast him off (Ezekiel 33:12).
Now this may seem very harsh. What about the man who has been trying to live a good life for so long? What about St. Peter who left everybody and followed our Lord? That seems harsh. But I want to suggest that its not about harshness or laxity. Those are the wrong kinds of terms. That in fact everything we're describing on some level is one of the most familiar and well-known things to us. Which is the nature of love. What Ezekiel had said what is at work in that contrast on Good Friday between St. Peter and the Good Thief, the contrast between the unforgiving Catholic priest and the mass-murderer Rudolph Hoss is simply this: That God's mercy which is an extension of his love, which is a jealous love, which is a consuming fire, like all loves will not be content with anything but our whole selves. And so just ask yourselves what spouse would be content with something such as this?:
What if after years of marriage one spouse were to find another unexpectedly unfaithful? Would any satisfying justification go along these lines?:
“Well, I've been faithful all this time. For all these years I've been faithful. And now you're going to call me out on the carpet for just a slip-up? In fact you have no idea how often I've been tempted. You should be grateful that all these years I resisted those temptations. And you owe it to me to cut me some slack.“
Isn't that often how we treat God? Reminding Him of how much He should cut us some slack. Whereas He should be reminding us what the nature of real love is. Any spouse would demand of another spouse - all the more so after years of marriage - that if you love me then you are totally mine and I am totally yours. And all the more reason why infidelity is something that has no place.
But perhaps, and this is where we'll conclude that unlike any earthly lover, the Divine Lover who is absolutely jealous, who demands complete fidelity nonetheless there is no one that He is not willing to take back if they simply, genuinely, from the heart ask for pardon. And so I hope that that turns a little bit our expectations on their head. I hope that it at least provokes some unsettling thoughts about the true nature and the wonder of God's mercy.
When we say that God is love : Deus Caritas Est.
That God is merciful : Misericors est Dominus.
That these are things that cut to the quick to the very heart of our existence. That its not a platitude and that we recognize that every single one of us needs mercy. I first of all, perhaps most of all. But no one is exempted. We all need God's mercy. And what God is looking for is absolute fidelity. That even one grave sin can separate us forever from His friendship as may have happened with some of those priests who would not fulfill that basic Gospel precept. Forgive others as I have forgiven you. And yet could embrace one of history’s greatest monsters like Rudolph Hoss. That is the power, that is the beauty, that is the wonder of God’s mercy. That is the reason why it is at the very heart of our religion. That’s the reason why we have a beautiful feast day now in the Church to commemorate it.
So on this day, this Divine Mercy Sunday, this last octave day of Easter, let us cast ourselves into the arms of God’s mercy. The loving arms of a Father who is willing to pardon anything provided there is real contrition. As the psalm say “A humble and contrite heart O God you will not spurn” (Psalm 50(51):19) and even more “if your sins be red as scarlet I can make them white as snow” (Isaiah 1:18). But all of that does depend on real and genuine and profound and heartfelt contrition. It may be true as our Lord says – in fact I dare say it must be true if our Lord said it – that “the way that leads to salvation is narrow” (Matthew 7:14). That is the saints and mystics said that there are vast swathes of humanity that will not receive God’s mercy because they ignored it. They didn’t really care about it. They presumed it rather than asking for it and converting. And yet for every one that would cry out there is the Prodigal Father, the father of the Prodigal Son that is always waiting, always calling, always seeking and inviting us back into the arms of His mercy.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
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