Do you cling to life? I remember a night many years ago in college, when sitting at my desk and lost in thought, I saw my hands before me suddenly aged in appearance. The veins stood out like spiderwebs on my hands, and as I stared at them the reality hit me: I will die one day. I too will grow old, this body
will wither away, and the life I am living right now will pass away.
Memento Mori
It is one thing to say this and know it intellectually, and another thing entirely to look it squarely
in the face in the quiet of one’s heart. Indeed, it is a lifelong process, for one must continually
learn to embrace the reality of one’s own death.
In today’s Gospel reading Jesus reveals to his disciples the imminence of his death with the
image of the grain of wheat. They have come to him bringing the request of certain Greeks who
wish to see him, and Jesus responds enigmatically. “Unless a grain of wheat dies,” he declares,
“it dies alone; but if it dies in the earth, it bears much fruit.”
Two Choices
I have read these words many times, but as I was reflecting upon them recently, I was struck
distinctly with this insight: The grain of wheat is going to die anyway. The life of that little seed
is but a passing breath, and two choices alone lie before it. It can hang on the stalk for as long as
possible, all the while withering away, and thus die naturally; or it can make an offering of itself,
falling and dying in the earth, where it may be buried, nourished, and then in due season, break
open from its husk to sprout forth the ear of wheat. The grain dies either way, yet with vastly
different results. Either it may die alone, or if having sacrificed itself, it may die and bear new
life.
In this light, how futile appears our clinging to the days of this life! Like the grain of wheat, each
of us must die. Yet how, and for whom? Will we die clinging on to the trappings of self, like the
husk of the seed? Or following the example of our Lord, can we enter into that spirit of confident
surrender, offering ourselves back to the Father, so that we may be broken open and spill forth
the gift of new life—abundant life—to those around us?
Bread for the Life of the World
During my weekends home from college, I had a special routine of preparing homemade bread. I
took delight in the process of mixing ingredients, kneading the dough, and allowing time and
temperature to bring forth a fresh loaf of bread. There was nothing quite like the texture of that
slice of bread fresh from the oven.
The pleasure of eating such bread springs from the fact that this bread is ultimately a gift. The
grain of wheat, in dying and falling to the ground, ultimately brings forth a crop of wheat which
then becomes the gift of bread. Indeed, one might say that the essence of that grain was never to
remain simply itself, but to give itself away so that it might nourish the one who eats it.
Hold in your mind this tangible reality of gift the next time you receive Jesus in the Eucharist.
When He spoke about the grain of wheat destined to die in the earth, He knew that He, too, was
at the cusp of giving Himself away for the life of the world. How do we respond? The only
fitting response is to receive Him with heart opened wide, to sing our thanks, and to be
abundantly nourished with His life, so that we, too, may learn to give ourselves away in love.
Thank you Radhika for the simplicity, depth and personal experiences in your GVM reflections. God bless you!