Some things can’t help but spread. Laughter would be one, hiccups definitely
another. True goodness is the same way,
and that’s true in any field: the greatest musician isn’t the diva or divo who
tuts about their accompanist’s tempo, but someone who makes everyone around
them play better when they pick up their instruments; just as a great athlete
doesn’t hog the ball, but raises the play of the whole team. Virtue’s the same way too: the virtuous
person is contagious with goodness and walks around lighting fires of zeal and
coating everything with a soothing balm of hope and patience. And if that’s what virtue does, then that’s
what resurrection does too. Resurrection
is the fruit of the greatness of Christ’s love, it’s what happens when a human
life was lived so perfectly, so holily, so virtuously that someone dared to
love us enough not just to die for us, but loved us so much that not even death,
death at our hands, could keep him from being with us. The fiery furnace of Christ’s love erupts in
resurrection. And it spreads.
Some of the Corinthians Paul was
writing to didn’t believe this. They believed in Christ’s resurrection, they
could celebrate that, but they limited God’s love: raising one man from the
dead? That was enough. They thought it was an anomalous exception,
like a single stone thrown into a lake, that soon returns to rest, resolutely immobile. But, no: the resurrection ripples out, and
the ripples raise us up. Death has been
conquered, the seemingly immobile rock has been rolled away.
Christ is the first fruits, he’s the
beginning of the harvest and the best of the harvest, but to be the beginning
means there must be more to come. He is
ready and ripe to be harvested, to be nourishment for us. But we are being readied and being
ripened. We are works in progress,
trying to be bread for the world, but finding ourselves coming up short. We find ourselves like the woman we read
about in Revelation (who’s often been read as an image for the Church): about
to give birth and in fear of a dragon.
We find ourselves laboring, gasping, panting, in pain, but expectant,
hopeful, excited about what will be coming, about whom we’ll be coming be
coming face to face with; knowing that Christ has conquered that dragon and has
extended that victory to us… but fearing, fearful still.
And that’s why we need Mary, and we
need this Feast, of the Assumption. We
need to know that ripples have not just started
to spread, it’s not just the first fruits of one man that have ripened: Mary too
was raised. Mary was assumed body and
soul into heaven before her body could see decay, because of her Son’s love for
her, and because of her Son’s love for us.
The ripples raised her up and that kindles our hope that they will raise
us up too. Christ’s resurrection was not
just for himself, but intended for all, for us.
Mary’s song captures it perfectly: the hungry are filled by the
first fruits of the harvest which we’re to continue, the lowly are
raised, proud death has been cast from his throne. Mary has labored for us, and has brought
forth what God’s love planted in her womb.
Thanks to her, we will see our God face-to-face, because the ripples
that have extended to her have not attenuated, but continue to spread; and
resurrection ripples will raise us up.
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