Heartbeat of Heaven

Hearing Jesus’ heartbeat and finding peace

12/27/2021

Jn 20:1a and 2-8 On the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene ran and went to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and told them, “They have taken the Lord from the tomb, and we do not know where they put him.” So Peter and the other disciple went out and came to the tomb. They both ran, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and arrived at the tomb first; he bent down and saw the burial cloths there, but did not go in. When Simon Peter arrived after him, he went into the tomb and saw the burial cloths there, and the cloth that had covered his head, not with the burial cloths but rolled up in a separate place. Then the other disciple also went in, the one who had arrived at the tomb first, and he saw and believed.

I love to celebrate baptisms, but invariably the baby bursts out crying. I cannot imagine why. A friend showed me how to hold the baby so that it stops crying almost instantly. You allow the baby to face forward, put your left hand under his bottom, wrap your right hand around his chest, and hold him close to your own chest. Almost always the baby becomes calm and stops crying. I suspect that position makes the baby feel like it’s back in the womb of the mother, where he can feel her heartbeat, he can hear her voice over his head, and he can sense everything and everyone, even if his eyes are closed.

But I believe it’s mainly the heartbeat – rhythmic, slow, steady and soft, that pacifies the baby and he knows everything is going to be okay. I am safe in the womb, or in my mother’s arms. Next time you are dealing with a fussy baby, test my theory, and let him or her hear your heartbeat, and see if pacifies them and gives them peace, and it might give you some peace, too!

Today is the feast day of St. John of Evangelist, another one of my patron saints. I love today’s gospel passage from Jn 21 where the younger John outruns the older Peter to the tomb. There is much to meditate on there. But if I were picking the gospel passage for today’s Mass, I would have chosen Jn 13:21-27, where John leans on Jesus’ breast during the Last Supper. Jesus has just announced that one of his disciples would betray him: “So Simon Peter nodded to [John] to find out whom he meant. He leaned back against Jesus’ chest and said to him, ‘Master, who is it?’” And of course, we know how Jesus gives a morsel of bread to Judas, who betrays our Lord.

Why would I have picked that peculiar passage? Because I am struck by the poignant scene of the beloved disciple John leaning on Jesus’ chest. Here you have Jesus’ apostles, who are very much like his babies, anxious and afraid, perhaps even crying. And how does he calm them down and make them stop crying? He holds them close to his chest so they can hear his holy heartbeat, so they can hear his divine voice, so they can see what he sees and they are pacified and feel peace.

Just like holding a crying baby at a baptism calms him, so holding his disciples, especially John, close to his heart, calmed him and the others. John could hear the heartbeat of heaven, so he was not troubled by things on earth. Indeed, that is how John could contemplate the chaotic and cataclysmic images of the Book of Revelation (which he wrote), and still feel peace. He could hear the heartbeat of heaven while all hell was breaking loose on earth.

My friends, what are the troubling and tragic things that cause you to cry? Maybe it is the loss of a loved one to death. We have had a lot of funerals this past year and I have watched tears flow down lots of faces. Christmas is especially hard for them. Are there anxieties in your family: bickering between spouses, teenage troubles and tantrums? Maybe you are wracked by fears about the COVID virus or fears fanned by conspiracy theories that there is no virus? Maybe you mourn the loss of your youth, or the agitations and aggravations of old age. Or maybe you are worried about the whole world and the wars and famines and global warming.

When any and all of these things cause you to cry, I suggest you follow St. John’s example and lean on Jesus’ breast at the Last Supper. How? Well, come to Mass and let Jesus hold you like I hold crying babies at a baptism. At Mass we are like little babies who can hear Jesus’ heartbeat, we can listen to his soothing voice in the gospel, and through the eyes of faith we suddenly see everyone and everything, even if our eyes are closed. And we feel peace. Indeed, like St. John, we can even behold the apocalypse and still smile because we know we are carried in Jesus’ arms, and held close to his heart.

Praised be Jesus Christ!