I had a Jesus moment while putting my daughters to bed the other night. My 3 year old was sick: fever, cough, runny nose, etc., and it was clear that she was going to need some special attention in order to fall asleep. Instead of going through our typical evening proceedings, I gave her a teaspoon of honey and tried to rock her to sleep. But as I did so, my younger daughter became increasingly distressed: she wanted her normal bedtime routine.
My husband and I have worked hard to establish a predictable sequence of events leading up to bedtime, and our girls appreciate the consistency. But, sometimes, circumstances demand that the routine be disrupted.
And that’s uncomfortable.
My younger daughter was upset because I had breached the established order of things. I had broken the rules. As she fussed and clung to me and tried to stop me from rocking her sister, I became irritated. Couldn’t she see that, right now, the needs of her sister trumped the “rules”? After untangling her from my leg for the umpteenth time, it struck me that this was probably exactly how Jesus felt when he was reproached by the Pharisees for healing people on the Sabbath. Jesus, in his wise compassion, knew that giving sight to the blind was far more important than following the rules. But, much like my daughter felt unmoored without her typical bedtime routine, Jesus’ disregard for the rules made the Pharisees feel insecure, and they reacted with scorn and judgment.
I am frequently a Pharisee.
But here’s an encouraging thought: although I was irritated by my younger daughter’s dogmatic approach to bedtime, I certainly didn’t love her any less because of it! I was, in fact, very sympathetic to her discomfort; I wished only for her to understand that, although I cherish them both equally, her sister’s need was greater in that moment.
As Catholics, we profess a Preferential Option for the Poor. This is a rich and provocative theological concept to which entire books are devoted, but it essentially boils down to this: God is most present to those who are most vulnerable and—as followers of Christ—we must similarly prioritize the poor. One of my spiritual directors described it this way:
Theologically, the notion of preference says more about the goodness of God than it does about the goodness of the poor. It does not mean the poor are necessarily more virtuous, more deserving, or more holy than those who are not poor… It means that God reaches out in love to those who have a greater need. —
(“Globalization, Spirituality and Justice” by Rev. Daniel G. Groody)
When one of my daughters is sick, I reach out to her with a special kind of love, not because she is better than her sister, but simply because she needs me more. As a mother, it is easy—instinctual, even—to give preference to a sick child without wavering in love for her healthy sibling.
As a community member, churchgoer, and citizen, it’s a lot tougher.
We who believe in a Preferential Option for the Poor are called to stand in solidarity with and prioritize the most vulnerable. That may sound romantic, but this is messy, difficult, and sometimes exceedingly unpopular work. Still, we are called to do it with cheerful hearts.
Even as we break the rules in order to uplift the vulnerable, and even as we ourselves cling to the rules in order to maintain our own comfort, we must remember this: although he preferred the disciples, Jesus did not love the Pharisees any less.
I find that fact to be both distressing and reassuring. I am distressed because it means I must look with love upon those whose actions I deplore. I am reassured because it means that my own deplorable actions have not made me unlovable.
… And I know this to be true, because no matter how many times my daughter fusses or clings or tries to sabotage her sister’s special time, I could only ever see her as my beloved.
Nicole Steele Wooldridge is a mom, writer, and friend of Sister Julia’s. She finds that putting a theological spin on her daughters’ behavior helps maintain her sanity.
