NOTHING IS LACKING
WHERE EVERYTHING IS GIVEN
A Homily for the Vigil of Sister Theresa Chiappa
August 23, 2021
Wisdom 3: 1-7, 9; Psalm 63; 2 Timothy 4: 1-8; Mark 10: 17-21
“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”
I somehow stumbled upon that quote last week. It was written by the great 12th Century abbot, writer, reformer and mystic, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. And although not intended by him to be so, I think it’s probably the best one sentence definition of what it means to be a saint. I also think that it’s the statement that best summarizes the life of Sister Theresa.
“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”
We can look at this quote in two ways and both apply to Theresa. First, “Nothing is lacking where everything is given” because God multiplies his blessings and gives us everything that is needed to live a life of holiness, to live a life of service, to live a life formed by the gospels, to live a Christ-centered life, to live a life of true happiness when we give everything over to Him – when we freely empty ourselves completely of all that the world tries to convince us is important, the things that it promises will bring success and happiness but ultimately don’t – and when we, instead, allow ourselves to become an empty vessel to be filled by and with Christ. Second, because of all of that, everything has now been given to Theresa – eternal life, unspeakably joy, immeasurable peace, total and complete healing from the pain that she endured so triumphantly in this life.
“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”
I had a difficult time choosing the readings for this vigil service, especially the gospel because when your life so mirrors the gospels, as Theresa’s did, all of them seem to apply to her and speak of her faith.
So, should I have chosen Jesus’ invitation to the Apostles to “Come follow me” for, at an early age, Theresa heard and accepted his invitation?
Should I have chosen the passage where Jesus said, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple,” in recognition of the sacrifice of family she made when choosing her vocation as a sister? Or perhaps, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple,” acknowledging the heavy cross of pain that Theresa bore.
Or how about the Great Commandment, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind . . . and love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Or Jesus’ words to the Canaanite woman, “O woman, great is your faith.” Or the gospel of the talents where the landowner praises his industrious servant, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
Maybe proclaiming the Beatitudes would have been appropriate for tonight’s service because Sister Theresa modeled all of them: poor in spirit – God was the only riches she ever desired; mourning – her voice was raised to weep with those who wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced; meek – she was never weak but ever strong in patience and tolerance; hungering and thirsting for righteousness - she, like Mary, became the handmaid of the Lord and her constant “yes” to God made her holy . . . a living saint . . . and now a saint in glory; merciful – what was forgiven was also forgotten; pure of heart – she was constantly aware that she was in the holy presence of God and saw Him in everything and everyone; a peacemaker – she diffused situations of anger and hurt, and brought others together in reconciliation; and persecuted for the sake of righteousness – she united her own pain and suffering with the cross of Christ and became a suffering soul for the good of others and the salvation of the world.
The gospel that I did choose for this evening might seem to be an odd choice and is one, in all honesty, that is not usually proclaimed at a wake service or funeral mass – the story of the rich young man who came to Jesus, in sincerity, to ask what was necessary for him to have eternal life. “Follow the commandments,” Jesus tells him. “But more than that, sell everything you have and come follow me.” We know from hearing that passage over and over again, that he went away downcast, perhaps even brokenhearted, for he savored the riches of this world and couldn’t part with them. Theresa could and did.
Tomorrow, in the preface for the funeral mass, we will hear, “Lord, for your faithful people, life is changed, not ended.” Sister Theresa truly believed that - and so do we. And in spite of the tears of the past several days and the tears still to come as we miss our beloved Theresa, we rejoice. We rejoice with her and for her, for we know in our hearts, and through our faith, that her life has not ended, but merely changed. That her life is now like the gold tested by fire that we heard about in our First Reading from the Book of Wisdom. Her life, emptied of the desire for fortune or fame, for wealth and success, her only wish was to know, love and serve our Lord. Like St. Paul, in our Second Reading from the Second Letter to Timothy, she competed well; she fought the good fight, she finished the race, and now the crown of righteousness awaits her.
“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”
Some of you might be familiar with a poem entitled, “The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.” But did you ever notice Sister Theresa’s hands?
Hers were the hands that offered her whole life to Jesus on her Profession Day.
Hers were the hands that, joined with the hands of other Sisters, created a bond of love and support in community so strong that all the Church now seeks to emulate it.
Hers were the hands that Christ chose to use to bless us and our world for the past eighty-three years.
Hers were the hands, fingerprints outlined in chalk dust, that formed and taught our little children and gave them their formal knowledge of their precious faith.
Hers were the hands that gathered our teenagers and taught them to believe in themselves - sometimes with discipline, sometimes with humor, sometimes holding them as they poured out their frustrations.
Hers were the hands that lifted up the depressed and deprived and fed the hungry . . . food for their bodies and food for their souls.
Hers were the hands that comforted the elderly and gave hope to the lonely.
Hers were the hands that healed the sick and restored the abused to sanity and to the belief in the goodness of others again.
Hers were the hands that squeezed the hands of children in the last moments of their lives and placed their hands into the hand of God.
Hers were the hands pumped up to cheer our success (and the occasional victory of the Mets); hands that held tightly to ours to give us strength; hands that dried our tears of sadness and grief.
Hers were the hands folded for hours in prayer, hands where countless beads slipped through her fingers, that our burdens might be lifted.
Hers were the hands that she placed into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus to unite the pain that wretched her body to His pain for the salvation of the world.
And today, her hands touch the face of the God she loved so much, the God she served so well, the God she gave her whole life to.
Today our hands dry the tears from our eyes . . . but tomorrow will reach out and bless the world with compassion and love, healing and mercy . . . Because her hands touched our hands.
Theresa, "May the angels lead you into paradise; may the martyrs receive you at your arrival and lead you to the holy city Jerusalem. May choirs of angels receive you and with Lazarus, once poor, may you have eternal rest."
