Our Catholic Church claims that it is within the family that the love of God is most clearly expressed and lived out. That the family is the basic cell of all human organization, all human society. God designed the family, from the very beginning as Jesus explains in Matthew Chapter 19, to be founded on the covenant love of one man and one woman, united as one life.
In the Catholic Sacrament of Matrimony, husband and wife commit to helping their spouse get to heaven. Marriage is a Sacrament of Vocation: of a divine calling. It is not entered into for our own salvation, but for the salvation of another. In Matrimony we pledge before God and the Church that our vocation is to help our spouse get to heaven. We pledge to be an agent in the salvation of our spouse, of any children we are given, and of all those who seek the shelter and blessing of our home. This is the beauty and dignity and challenge of every Christian home, rightfully termed the “Domestic Church” by the Catholic Catechism.
So here’s the great vision, the big idea: the Christian family is the earthly sign, the sacrament if you will, of the inner life of God as God—the Most Holy Trinity! This is true for our families, even as we face brokenness and failure and weakness. God writes straight with crooked lines. We don’t embody God’s love because we are perfect, we embody God’s love because He is perfect! Wow! Talk about a big vision!
The love of God is not talked about in the family, it is lived: often to a heroic degree. It is in the daily commitment within a family to persevere in love through difficulties, transitions, heartbreak, and more that truly speaks most clearly and most loudly about the love of God. It is love, learned within the family, that we are commanded to bring outside of the family as well—to bring the fire of God’s love to all who need its warmth and light. Can this be done even when we experience broken or imperfect love within the family? Yes, of course, but that makes it a greater challenge to be sure. That’s why the health and support of the family is of such concern to the Church—because the Church’s mission in the world absolutely depends on the vitality of the Domestic Churches within her.
So, the home life of a family is where we learn the “shape” and “form” of God’s love—we’re talking about the incarnation (enfleshment) of love. Jesus Christ is the Word of God made flesh. The Son of God, the second Person of the Most Holy Trinity, took on our human flesh and became one of us without losing His divinity. He commands us to follow Him, to do as He did, to even take on His name: Christians. Through the Sacrament of Baptism and our maturing faith, we become little Christs, “Christians” for each other. We incarnate love because Our Lord did it first.
What is the form this incarnated love takes in the family, in our home life? Incarnational love, by definition, has form—a height and depth, a length and breadth. Well let’s reflect on the beautiful passage from Ephesians (3:14-19) that refers to the height and depth, the length and breadth of God’s love. Let’s examine each of these words in relation to family life.
“For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory, he may grant you to be strengthened with might through his Spirit in the inner man, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have power to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
Ephesians 3:14-19
First, the height of God’s love. God’s love calls us to reach far beyond ourselves, attaining to the very heights of heaven and bringing God’s Kingdom into our earthly life—we pray it all the time, don’t we: “may Your Kingdom come, may Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” In our families, in our home life, we are called to an ambition that far exceeds our natural human capacities—to be holy as God is holy, to be perfect as God is perfect—to live the life of a saint. Who can do that on their own? No one!
Reaching upwards to the height of God’s love is a movement of asking, of pleading, of seeking the help of the Father. One of the loveliest things a parent gets to experience is when a child comes toward her, arms outstretched, seeking comfort, security, love and affirmation by being lifted up into a parent’s arms. We instinctively scoop up our children, enfold them into our arms and allow them to see the world from “higher up”—from a place of love, compassion and security. I think our hearts remember that feeling, that experience of comfort, way after we become too big to be carried in our parent’s arms (I, for one, don’t want to try to pick up any of my 6-foot boys!).
In the family, we literally and figuratively help each other experience the height of God’s love. Godly love is merciful, compassionate, no-strings-attached, and forever. It is also demanding, uncompromising, challenging and humbling—we are, after all, climbing to the heights of heaven. But Godly love demands out of love, not as a condition to be loved! That makes all the difference in helping each other achieve all that love demands.
So family life is a place where the height of God’s love is experienced and lived. What, practically, does this look like? We express the height of God’s love when we call each other to excellence—when we offer each other encouragement and support to embrace what is good and true and beautiful. We express the height of God’s love when we offer forgiveness to each other—in face of betrayal or unfaithfulness or just plain stupidity, we bring the calming and soothing balm of mercy. The height of God’s love is not far away and remote, unattainable. Rather, it surrounds us and calls us to live the life God designed for us—a life of sanctity and virtue, of contrition and repentance.
Here’s an example: my husband and I took our 3 boys camping when our two oldest were in grade school, and our third was a toddler. Camping is always a lot of work for the parents—we pack at home, unpack at the campground, then organize, clean, feed and care for everyone, until it’s time to pack it all back up and face the unpacking and cleaning once we get home! I love camping, but sometimes, I get a bit grumpy because of all the work.
Well, I was busy packing everything up to stuff back in the car at the end of our trip. My husband was outside playing with the kids. I began hearing cries of dismay and went out to check on the kids. Our oldest boy was struggling to hold back tears as he looked up into a tree at his beloved handmade paper airplane. Now, let me explain—these airplanes, called ‘whitewings” are not a simple sheet of paper folded up and thrown. These airplanes require cutting apart many different shapes and then gluing them together to build a little flying machine. They take hours of work, and my son loved his whitewings airplane! There it was, stuck way up high in a tree.
I did what seemed the natural thing to do. I fussed at him for flying it so close to the trees and for making it hard on us when we were trying to pack up. My husband did what he does best—he tried to figure out a way to solve the problem. He and our son started throwing quite large sticks up into the tree trying to knock the airplane out. Not really a good idea in a busy campground!
The park ranger noticed the activity and strolled over to discourage the flying branches. My husband pointed out the airplane and explained how upset my son was (which was clearly evident anyway). The ranger said sorry, but you can’t throw things into the trees. He turned and walked away. My husband and oldest son looked bereft.
A few minutes later, the park ranger came driving over in a pick-up truck filled with his buddies. He backed up under the tree, then one of them grabbed a pole pruner and knocked the airplane out and into the arms of my delighted son. After receiving our fervent thank you’s, the park ranger and his friends drove off. My husband turned to our son and said, “Son, let this be a lesson to you.”
I was delighted, rubbing my hands in anticipation of a dressing down that would support my own fusses about being responsible and careful. I waited. But here’s what my husband actually said: “Never doubt that God will send people to help you when you need help.”
Now that’s a Godly lesson—much better than my fussy “be careful with the things you care about” lesson I had in mind. My husband’s supernatural lesson expressed the height of love, didn’t it! My husband’s lesson spoke from a greater and higher truth about living within Divine Providence—an assertion that we can depend on throughout our lives. Thank God for those moments when we can speak of the height of God’s love to our children—and thank God that I kept my mouth shut long enough for the “supernatural” lesson to be given, rather than my own!
A second aspect of God’s love is its “depth.” How deep does God love descend? All the way to the gates of hell! God, by sending His Only-Begotten Son to take on our humanity and offer Himself for our sake—shows the depth of God’s love. There is no one who has ever lived, who lives now, or who will live in the future that is not loved by God—Jesus Christ died out of love for every one of us. He sacrificed all to offer us salvation—if we ever wonder what we are worth to God, how much He values us, we can ponder a crucifix.
Sacrificial love shows the depth of God’s love. It shows how far God the Father will go to rescue His beloved, wayward children. We offer this sacrificial love in family life, too. It reminds me of a brief newspaper article I read many years ago that really stuck with me. Back to a camping story again!
A mom took her kids camping. Like most families, the kids were having the time of their lives, running around, being free and playing as kids do. One had to go to the bathroom and ran to the outhouse. Pretty soon, the other kids noticed that their sibling had never come back. They ran to tell Mom. Mom high-tailed it to the outhouse and found that her child has fallen through—and was sinking into the horrible filth that fills outhouses! Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached down into that filth and muck and drug her child out.
That, to me, is the perfect illustration of the depth of love. We parents won’t hesitate to rescue our kids when they fall in a pile of you-know-what. We don’t stop to wonder who else might do it. We don’t stop and wonder if this might be a good lesson in natural consequences. When a child is in danger, Mommas and Dads go into action! We reach into the most horrible situations, the very stink and horror of hell itself, in order to drag our children to safety. How many parents have had to do this with children mired and sinking in the sin of pornography, of an eating disorder, of alcohol or drug addiction, of self-harm or suicidal thoughts? We race to the outhouses of life, the piles of filth and disgust, and do everything we can to drag our children to safety. We go to the depths. We reach out, we struggle to keep hold, to be a lifeline.
Why? Because the love of God compels us to enact love—not just sit back and theorize about love. We just love! We love as we’ve been loved by God. We’ve all been pulled out of sinful situations as disgusting as an outhouse hole—we’ve all been rescued by God. He sought us in the depths and refused to allow us to remain there if we called out to Him. We embody, we incarnate, the depth of God’s love for our children—that’s family life.
Third dimension of God’s love—the length of love. How long does God’s love last? Forever and eternity. I remember when my oldest child was learning about “infinity” in school—the idea that you count forever, to “infinity.” He wondered aloud about the difference between “infinity” and “eternity.” I suggested that infinity means counting forever, as in numbers that never end. Eternity is a different kind of forever, where every moment is caught up in a now that never ends.
God’s love is eternal—it will never end. God is love—and therefore true love gives us an opportunity to “plug in,” or to access God. When we love another as other—for the good of another and not for selfish reasons—we bring God’s love into the equation. That changes the quality, the permanence, and the effect of our puny human efforts to love. When we love with the love of God—embody it, incarnate it as Jesus shows us how—our love gets caught up in something far greater than ourselves and our own life. We get drawn into the very family life of God—the eternal furnace of divine love that is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
What is the length of love? Forever. Eternal. This doesn’t mean that every time we have feelings of love or have a desire to love that it is this kind of Godly love—it takes discipline, discernment, and humility to love as God loves. It takes choosing to speak the truth in love, to call our loved ones to a life of excellence and obedience to God’s commandments, rather than taking the easy road of accommodation and avoidance. It takes choosing Godly love over self-love—and that’s not always easy!
I think this dimension of God’s love is most evident when we face the death of a loved one—as we say “good by” for now and trust that in heaven we will be able to love for all eternity. We entrust our beloved to God and commend their soul to the love that never ends—and we see the truth that our love doesn’t die when a loved one’s life ends on earth. Those of us left behind understand this truth first through the aching sorrow of grief. Those who go on before us experience this truth in the unending joy of union with God.
Our loved ones in heaven reassure us of the length of God’s love—forever! In eternity love is unending—not in a static, boring way like some college lectures. Rather, God’s love is eternal in a maturing, exciting, adventurous way as it expands to fill the infinity of heaven. We get to eternally explore every corner and crevice of God’s heart, beating for love of us. The length of love will take an eternity to discover—an eternity of never-ending joy.
When I lost my baby to miscarriage, I had an experience that taught me about the length of God’s love and how we humans get caught up in it. I had recovered physically from the miscarriage and was beginning to confront the grief and loss that filled my heart. Losing a baby to miscarriage is a unique kind of grief: you grieve the loss of a son or daughter that you hadn’t even got to meet yet. In addition to grieving the death of a child, a parent also grieves the lost opportunity to be a parent, all the lost milestones and experiences that will not happen.
I took myself on a day retreat to Mt. Angel Abbey—to bring my grief and sorrow to God and to seek the healing my heart desperately needed. I began the day with my journal in the Reading Room at the Abbey. I began to write down all the people and events that I could be thankful for since my baby’s death—those who had reached out with support and love, with kindness and meals and help with the kids at home. My heart turned toward healing as I turned toward God in thanksgiving and praise in the midst of my great sorrow.
Later I went into the beautiful Abbey church and knelt down before the Blessed Sacrament in the Tabernacle, which is in the main church at a side altar. Above the Tabernacle there is an icon of Christ—it is absolutely beautiful and peaceful and lovely. I sat there, gazing at the icon and experiencing the healing Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. I bowed my head and closed my eyes and worshiped the God who was loving me through this experience.
And then I heard the voice of Christ speak to my heart, “Would you, my beloved, if it was in your power, ask for your child to be taken out of heaven and given back to you?”
Oh, my goodness, my heart and mind stopped as I wrestled with this question. The natural Mom in me wanted to scream, “Yes, yes I would! I want to know my child! I want to watch him grow, teach him, share his life. I want him back!”
But as I struggled in my heart, the truth became abundantly clear. My child, my beloved child, had already achieved the highest ambition any parent can have for their child—to dwell forever in heaven, to be a saint! The thing missing for me, of course, was being a part of that process. So, would I avoid the temptations of wounded pride at being “left out,” and of a sort of possessive, controlling “love” that demands our say, our involvement—even to the detriment of the one we are supposed to love?
“No, Lord,” I finally whispered, “No. If it was in my power to take my child away from you and out of heaven, I would not will it.”
I rested in the outpouring of three revelations of the length of love. First, the love I was expressing, even in my grief, to God. Second, the perfect and eternal love God was pouring out on my grieving soul. And third, the new experience of the love pouring out upon me from my precious little one, my little saint in heaven!
That’s the length of love—knowing that all love, in the end, will be caught up in the eternal love of God—and that its imperfections must die. That’s the length to which love goes in a family—where we release hold on our imperfect vision of how things “ought to be” and simply love each other as God has planned. And in choosing to express the eternal length of love—in all the challenges we face in our families—our puny human love gets caught up, transformed and purified into the perfect love of God.
Finally, the fourth dimension of love—the breadth of God’s love. Is there anyone who is removed from the love of God? Is there anyone who is literally unloved and unlovable? Our Catholic faith proclaims, NO!
No person, no thing, no power, no experience, no weakness or failure, nothing can take us out of the love of God made visible in Jesus Christ. This is the breadth of love demanded of us in family life!
We love our spouse, we love our kids, we love our extended family. At least we try to. But someone does something mean. Someone acts like a jerk. Someone says something or does something that leaves a wound. And then we choose not to love. We choose to hold grudges. We choose to reject and judge and condemn. Rather than follow our Church’s admonition to hate the sin and love the sinner, we do the opposite—we love the sin because it gives us a chance to hate the sinner.
Let’s recognize situations of true evil—including the horror of abuse or the crushing weight of infidelity and other such matters. Even in those cases, we are commanded by Christ to forgive, even if reconciliation is not possible. But these situations require healing first–a healing that may take much hard work over a long period of time with talented assistance from counselors and spiritual directors.
Let’s talk, instead, about the irritations, unpleasantness and “little” sins that are commonplace within our homes. Okay, yes, we are called to embody, to incarnate the very life of God as Trinity—the divine communion of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But that man I’ve been married to for 33 years still can’t manage to remember to turn the lights off when he leaves a room—how is this supposed to be an opportunity to embody the love of the Trinity!!
Well, that’s exactly where we fallen humans learn something about the breadth of God’s love—God’s love encompasses everyone, every single person. Every single person, even that irritating member of our family, is a unique manifestation of the love of God—a never-to-be-repeated masterpiece made in the image and likeness of God. And that’s kind of the point. The people in my family are not intended to be made (or remade!) in my image and likeness! God is the standard, not me!
How difficult for us all to remember this—God is God, I am not! The breadth of God’s love requires us to embrace, to admire, to celebrate and to actually live with other people. And to accept their otherness—not as a problem, but as a delightful opportunity to meet God face-to-face in a unique incarnation of His love.
This means we do all sorts of things in families that we never anticipated doing. Maybe it’s trying to learn how to ski even when terrified of falling in order bless a husband who loves to ski. Maybe it’s working hard to understand a Shakespearean tragedy because your son has a role in it, even when after your fourth time at the show, you still have no idea what anyone is saying. Maybe it’s helplessly sobbing and clinging to a son who is sobbing and clinging to you as you face the terrible finality of his beloved track coach committing suicide. Maybe it’s learning different ways to have fun and spend time together with a child who really cares nothing for the things that you most enjoy doing. Maybe it’s forgiving, again and again, words spoken in impulsive haste, out of a place of insecurity and self-doubt, that hurt but aren’t really aimed at you at all. Perhaps it’s being open to getting out of my comfort zone and resisting the tyranny of demanding that my expectations be met. These points of uncomfortable stretching lead us to wonderful moments of connection—moments that would have never happened if we insist on being in control.
We are commanded to express the breadth of God’s love—as Irish author James Joyce said about the Catholic Church, “here comes everybody!” Love in God’s Kingdom is encompassing and inviting. As we enter the Kingdom, we are all expected to check our baggage at the door, take off the fake crowns of being kings and queens of our own universe, and open our eyes to the joyful truth of God’s sovereignty. The arms of Christians are meant to extend in love to everyone we encounter—especially those who share our home.
Expressing the breadth of God’s love allows us to relax and enjoy the creativity of God—the beautiful diversity and complexity of life around us and the human persons we encounter. The breadth of love helps us to take a deep, calming breath and say, “I don’t understand this and it’s not what I expected, but God is ruling as King of the Universe, and God’s will be done!”
We’ve reflected on the Catholic vision of the Christian family. We’ve connected it to St. Paul’s description of the height and depth, the length and breadth of God’s love. We’ve unpacked how these four dimensions are expressed in the Christian home. Do you feel overwhelmed, not up to the challenge, or intimidated by the Catholic vision? Good! That means the vision is worth your effort, matching your dignity and true identity. After the verse describing the height and depth, the length and breadth of God’s love, St. Paul assures us that God “is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20). Remember: for us it might be impossible, but for God, nothing is impossible. Trust in His plan and in His power!
Now, it’s time to stop reflecting and start incarnating! It is time to be the hands and feet of Jesus. To see others through Jesus’ eyes and to love each other with the love of Christ. Relax and try. Remember that we described ourselves as “practicing Catholics”—we’re not saints yet!
Flourish Catholic 