Fourth Sunday of Advent

 “Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.”

Mary believed the words of the angel.  She didn’t demand proof, sign a contract to cover all reasonable contingencies in case the whole mother-of-the-Messiah thing didn’t work out.  Her response to the word: “May it be it done to me according to your word.” In our faith, we have Jesus as the Word--the embodiment of God as human—Emmanuel, “God with us”. 

We also have the word of holy scripture that is our link to the living tradition of our brothers and sisters in faith, used by the Church as a tool of furthering the inspiration of the original community of believers. Unlike Mary’s time, we are overwhelmed with words.  It is estimated that nearly 300 million books will have been published this year alone!  That doesn’t include the words of advertising spoken on television, splashed across computer screens, covering bus shelters, billboards, and car bumpers.  It is hard to set your eyes on an object that doesn’t ask you to read something.  We are awash in more words than at any other time in history, yet we seem to have less and less to say. 

Cutting through this clutter is one righteous quest to enter the Christmas season that begins Saturday. In today’s gospel, John the Baptist as an infant still inside Elizabeth, responds to Elizabeth’s hearing of Mary’s greeting.  This chain of events reveals something important about how we exist in relationship to God and to one another.  

 Since baptism, each of us has been comforted, protected, educated by, and imbued with the presence of the Holy Spirit residing within us.  Like Mary and Elizabeth, pregnant with promise and God’s Spirit, our bond with God and one another is powerful. Our spiritual journey of Advent, distinct from Lent, is essentially communal—we prepare as a community, much the way both Elizabeth and Mary were in a strong bond of having received and believed God’s promise.  Each gave birth to the fulfillment of that promise, but also had to be sustained by it because of the difficulty to remain faithful during the rough times ahead for each woman.

We receive the Word if we are open to its life within us as a community who listens, who is attentive to God's promises.  Holy Scripture can only become Word through the ministry of the Holy Spirit and our willingness to, like Mary, have it transform our lives.  With Mary, our faith-filled response is "May it be done to me according to your Word".

All Saints and All Souls

 

"Hope Never Disappoints" St. Paul, Rom. 5:5

     Paul’s powerful declaration is one of the most powerful statements, in my opinion, that he makes among all the letters of his that we have. It is a bold statement that someone who has lost hope can sneer at as being hopelessly inept, naïve, and somewhat insulting.

     Today, our celebration of All Saints and All Souls is all about hope.  Jesus, in comforting his disciples for his impending death proclaims “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid”(Jn.14:27). The peace of Christ is a supernatural gift; it doesn’t come under our control and use. It is bestowed upon us by God through Christ. Our hope then is founded on this supernatural trust in Christ’s peace. It is a peace that does not shelter us from the world’s tempests and changes, it is a place where we can stand in the midst of turmoil and still have hope.

     Henri Nouwen, the great spiritual writer, observes that “…hope born of faith becomes matured and purified through difficulty. The surprise we experience in hope, then, is not that, unexpectedly, things turn out better than expected. For even when they do not, we can still live with a keen hope. The basis of our hope has to do with the One who is stronger than life and suffering. Faith opens us up to God’s sustaining, healing presence. A person in difficulty can trust because of a belief that something else is possible. To trust is to allow for hope”(Turn my Mourning into Dancing).

     One very real sign of our hope is our prayers today to and for the ones we love, and who have died, that for them and for us death is not a final separation, but only a delay that calls for hope in the Resurrection. A resurrection that plays out each day in the setting and rising of the sun; in the seasons that move from the birth of spring to the death of winter, and again to the birth of new growth; in the healing sacrament of reconciliation where death is sown in our sins and resurrection happens through forgiveness, and in Christ’s victory over death. All around us, God’s abundant love is present and anchors us in the sure hope of the resurrection.

Twnety-Second Sunday after Pentecost

 Unworthiness is not Worthlessness: "Go your way; your faith has saved you."

Faith is a gift, freely given, immeasurably valuable, but rarely embraced. Why? Consider Bartimaeus in today’s gospel. He is blind and wants to see. In his blindness, he yells out in his darkness at the passing healer, Jesus, whom he knows will save him. The folks around him probably wondered what he had done to displease God such that he was blind; and what does Bartimaeus do? He makes a scene—a very annoying distraction for those trying to get a glimpse of Jesus. Bartimaeus seems also to attribute his blindness to sinfulness because he doesn’t yell out “Make me better! Over here, Jesus. I’m blind. Make me better”. Bartimaeus gets Jesus’ attention by yelling "Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me." He yells this out twice. By addressing Jesus as Son of David, he implicitly acknowledges Jesus as successor to David and Messiah. Jesus’ reply is intriguing: “Go your way; your faith has saved you." Jesus didn’t say “I have healed you”, but rather focuses on the power of Bartimaeus’ faith. There is no recording of Bartimaeus even having been touched by Jesus. Jesus simply declares him healed by Bartimaeus' faith and to “Go your way….”

Bartimaeus’ healing is a wonderful instruction in faith, healing, and mission. In leading with the phrase “Have mercy on me”, he understands healing begins establishing the correct relationship between himself and Jesus. He, perhaps more than anyone else in the crowd, knows he is the least entitled; but his faith in the nature of Jesus’ compassion gives him the courage to call out. If our sense of unworthiness doesn’t compel us to call out, our real need isn’t healing, but faith. Realizing our unworthiness isn’t the same as worthlessness. God’s love gives us our worth; we cannot generate it ourselves. William Sloane Coffin, a famous preacher, wrote of this dynamic eloquently:

“Of God’s love we can say two things: it is poured out universally for everyone from the Pope to the loneliest wino on the planet; and secondly, God’s love doesn’t seek value, it creates value. It is not because we have value that we are loved, but because we are loved that we have value. Our value is a gift, not an achievement.”

Bartimaeus understood the source of his worth by faith, and this is what gave him the courage to call out for healing from Jesus. Approaching God in a humility that is based upon establishing this right relationship is essential. Too often a sense of worthlessness keeps our prayers silent or redirected towards a favorite saint. We might be unworthy, but we are far from worthless. God’s love establishes our worth for all time, independent of our actions. Recognizing God’s love can allow us to cry out to God “Have mercy on me, a sinner….unworthy, but not worthless, because you love me, God!” Faith, then, at its essence is letting God know you’ve received the gift and want to claim it despite all the negative voices telling you to “be silent.” Get up. Jesus is calling you!

Tweny-First Sunday after Pentecost

 “...whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant;

whoever wishes to be first among you will be the slave of all.”

Mark’s community faced many struggles.  This community was likely made up of Jews living outside Palestine, and Romans. It is this reason that many have suggested that “Mark’s” community was in or near Rome. More important, though, is this community faced persecution from outside and division from within; it was a community under siege. One source of internal division seems to be over positions of prestige and honor within the community as reflected in James and John jostling for position. It is interesting to note that in Matthew, it isn’t the disciples seeking position and prestige, but rather their mother interceding on their behalf! Although such concern for ranking was not exclusive to Gentiles, Jesus’ response suggests the Kingdom will not be about the exercise of authority, but about the exercise of humility. Jesus’ identification with the Suffering Servant Messiah of Isaiah was difficult to accept, and the motif of the journey to Jesus’ death on the cross is central to following him both in a figurative and literal sense.

            How, then, do we regard the admonition to be servants? How far do we take this? Once again, Jesus gives us a standard of living that seems absurdly idealistic. And, once again, we see how far we are from that ideal. Following Jesus, the greatest cross for many is the cross of failure when one comes to understand the demands of love and sacrifice asked of us. Rather than becoming disheartened, however, it should remind us of the need for God’s grace, and our humble response of humility and gratitude.

            If we could but picture ourselves in a long retinue of followers, tripping constantly and falling farther and farther behind on this journey to Jerusalem, only to discover at the end of the line Jesus, offering us water and encouragement by telling us we were not the last after all; Jesus will be just behind us all the way.

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 

Thirst-Slakers, Children, and Prophets

           The gospel reading in Mark unites two completely different events and renders a fascinating connection.  The first excerpt, or pericope, is Jesus reproving John for preventing a man who is not Jesus' disciple from casting out demons by declaring "...whoever is not against us is for us."  The second pericope is taken from the context of warning his disciples not to scandalize children (the pais), or "little ones."  By linking these two passages together, Mark gives the moral force of punishment for those who lead astray the least and last (those in need of healing) with the "outsider" exorcist.  Remember last week when I told you that the word for child and servant was the same?  Today, we get an explicit linking between the two.

           The Old Testament scripture is also about cautioning against limiting God's work to only "approved" sources.  Moses remonstrates Joshua of Nun for complaining that there were two outside of God's chosen seventy elders who were prophesying (Eldad and Medad).  Moses asks, "Are you jealous for my sake?  Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets.  Would that the Lord might bestow his spirit on them all!"

These readings suggest quite clearly that the true authority does not reside in human institutions as such, but in what is done in God's name.  Gospel authority is doing the will of God.  Period.

           How does one, then, discern who is working in God's name?  Paul helps us with recognizing the "fruits of the Spirit" in " "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control."(Gal.5:22-23).  In a sense, when you recognize goodness, there God's Spirit is at work.  The other element besides the work is time.  Are these works true and good over time?  The ruse never lasts; the wolf must eventually shed its sheep's clothing to breathe.

           At the conclusion of all the Eucharistic prayers, the priest declares "...from whom all good things come." God is not only the source of all that is good, but God is also perfect goodness in essence.  Much of what is good is apparent, but finding the Resurrection looking at the Cross can be a bit more difficult.  Again, time reveals all.  Given enough time, the Cross becomes the Resurrection.  How long do we wait?  How deep is your faith?

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

 "Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me."

The Spirituality of Imperfection

                We continue this week with the second of three passages where Jesus describes his fate of persecution and suffering that awaits him.  Last week we took a look at the cross from a different angle, the "Tao" of the cross emphasizing sticking it out until the end with Jesus as being the cross of discipleship.  This week we look at the cross of servanthood and humility.

                Mark's gospel resonates with the Suffering Servant of Second Isiah where biblical scholar Reginald Fuller notes that in verse 13 (not included in the reading), God's suffering servant is called pais, a term used to denote both servant and child; both were at the very bottom of power in society.  So then Jesus uses children as an example of the types of people whom the disciples must embrace (Jesus embraces the child).  For us, who exalt children, this may not seem unusual, but in Jesus' time, such an act of concern for the least and last was profound. 

                After being told to get in line last week, Jesus addresses the rest of the herd as they vie to be " the first disciple".  Jesus tells them to become servants (pais).  In a sense, they should compete to become last and least.

                In Matthew, this discourse about humility and greatness occurs in chapter 18 and more fully develops the concept of "receiving these pais".  Jesus declares that beyond "receiving", the disciples, one must become as pais to enter the Kingdom.  Clearly, Jesus' words speak as much against the triumphalism rampant in the church today as it did for Jesus' disciples in the First Century C.E.
                Simon Tugwell writes eloquently about the need to not count the success of the church with the world's standards of power and domination.  In his book Ways of Imperfection, Tugwell writes 

"There is a kind of unsatisfactoriness written into her [the church’s] very constitution, because she is only a transitional organization, keeping people and preparing them for a new creation . . . .Christianity has to be disappointing, precisely because it is not a mechanism for accomplishing all our human ambitions and aspirations, it is a mechanism for subjecting all things to the will of God"(1)

                Inevitably, our human ambitions always creep into our communities, and into the church as a whole, but today's gospel reminds us how Jesus regarded such attitudes of a triumphalist church.  We need to become like pais, servants/children, who, as Tugwell has written, are not valued by Jesus for their innocence, but by their vulnerability.  They receive everything as a gift.
                Imagine the transformation from a church of control and power to a church as vulnerable as the wounded Christ; the vulnerability that grows gratitude becomes the mechanism for being Good News.  When people turn away from the church because they can't abide such a powerless institution unable to be an extension of their need for power and control, we shouldn't change to accommodate that sinful need.  The church's real gift is its witness of the Suffering Servant of Christ---vulnerable and committed to distributing God's grace to the least and last, and inviting transformation into that life of vulnerability, compassion, and gratitude.

Fifthteenth Sunday after Pentecost

    In today's gospel, Jesus opens the ears and restores the speech of one who is deaf. It is common for those who are not able to hear to also have a speech impediment. This relationship between speaking and hearing is no coincidence; speech is perfected not through the tongue, but through the ear.  Speaking is all about self-expression.  We use it both for healing and wounding,   praising and condemning.  It is a powerful tool in the hands of one who is adept in the art of speaking. Listening is associated with receptivity,  vulnerability, and openness.  It can manifest as profound hospitality and docility to a teacher, but it can also be a profound failure to act in the face of injustice.  In the right combination of motive and skill, it is God's gift of deep abiding wisdom and healing.  Speaking and listening is our agent of true communion.

We shouldn't confuse listening with hearing, though.  Hearing is simply the physical act of perception, but not of response; listening is much deeper.  Listening presupposes attention.  When we listen, we are in communion with the speaker, opening ourselves to her or his word, allowing ourselves to have our consciousness shaped by the word spoken.  When we attend to the proclamation of Scripture, we are open both to the word (text) and Word (God's voice heard in Jesus and the Spirit).  It isn't the book that saves; it’s the words and Word attended to that becomes healing and life.

Today, the Letter of James tells us to listen to this:
"Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters.
Did not God choose those who are poor in the world
to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom
that he promised to those who love him?"

We hear the poor, but do we really listen?  What would it mean to “be opened” to poverty?  Does it mean we must become poor ourselves? (That's the scary part!).  What if we did become poor?  We could then not help the poor because we would be poor, as the reasoning goes.  But what constitutes "helping the poor"?  The poverty of the poor is much more than the absence of financial means; it is a loss of participation in making choices.  To hear the poor is to participate in their poverty at this level.  To give the poor hearing and a voice, one must first enter into communion and listen.  Too often those who seek to "help" begin by imposing a solution rather than by entering into communion through listening.  The "poor" is not a single entity, but something in us all.  Can we hear our poverty?  Can we experience the beggar in ourselves, and are we ready to enter into communion with the literal beggar and listen before we speak?

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 

A Matter of the Heart

                Purity is a word that few would consider pejorative; it sits alongside other words we associate with virtue such as honesty, courage, etc.  It is even more effective as a marketing tool to entice the consumer that you are getting 100% of what you are expecting.  The other word associated with this one is perfection. In a sense, purity is a type of perfection, and when you begin an endeavor, it is common to hope for perfection.

                It is this struggle to be perfect before God that the Jews turned to the Torah (the first five books of the Bible).  These books contain a little over six hundred laws that were composed between 600 and 400 BCE.  These laws were extended to interpretive texts that were designed to help people apply these laws to everyday life to keep better the original six-hundred or so laws in the Torah.  By Jesus' time, some of these laws became impediments to the spirit that informed them.  Like so many good ideas, when people who have lost sight of why the law exists simply follow the law "because it is the law", the spirit suffers the ignorance of the law-abiding.

                In today's gospel, those whose job it was to interpret and admonish adherence to the Law (Pharisees and scribes) were incensed that Jesus seemed oblivious to the demands of the Law.  He did not seem to chastise those among his disciples that did not wash before meals in violation, not of the law, per se (Leviticus 15:11), but explicitly from the Talmud, a group of interpretive statements to apply the Law.  When questioned as to why Jesus seemed such a scoff-law we get a two-part answer:  You are like the hypocrites of whom Isaiah speaks "They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me", and the spiritual insight that "Nothing that enters one from outside can defile that person, but the things that come out from within are what defile."

                Jesus' statement in the fifth chapter of Matthew intends not to abolish the law but to fulfill it, and now he seems clear as to how the Law is fulfilled: intention.

                The other day, I had a rather distressing conversation with a man who insisted that undocumented immigrants should not be allowed to receive any public services such as education and a driver's license. He said this about the poor entering our southern border.  He felt quite confident that his view wasn't obstructed by racism, but that "it was the law".  He insisted that acting unlawfully was the fundamental transgression that could only be remedied by these people returning to their native country and following the procedure for properly entering the United States. He was so focused on the violation of the law that the broader question of justice seemed to him as a distraction from the core issue of these folks breaking the law.

                The law serves justice, but so many today have it reversed thinking that if it is a law it presupposes being just.  Needless to say, in recent memory laws that kept blacks segregated from society, women from voting, and prohibiting consenting adults who are gay from marrying are examples of laws most would find difficult to reconcile with concepts of justice.

                Jesus understood this insidious tendency to focus on law rather than justice. This focus provides a false sense of comfort to those who don't want to deal with the messiness of justice and opt for the simplistic purity of law. For many Christians, the Bible has become the modern equivalent to the religious law--studied to discover transgression rather than compassion in the false promise that by doing so one may become perfect.  But perfection does not lie in the observance of the law, but in its fulfillment as Christ fulfilled it: love of God and love of neighbor--the two most important commandments according to Jesus. 

                The standard of civil justice for us as Americans is the Constitution, and the standard for Christian justice is love.  The Good News must be received and dispensed from the heart.  Reading the scripture to discover "what to do" is ignorant. We read scripture to become more like Christ.  It isn't so much searching the Scriptures to see "what would Jesus do" as much as it is searching scripture to see "what Jesus did".  Holy Scripture doesn't interpret itself but only comes to life in the circumcised heart of someone who loves aided by the Spirit.

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 The Practice of Discernment

    In both the Old Testament and gospel readings, people were asked to make a decision. In Joshua, the people were asked to choose between worshiping a foreign god or worshiping God. In the gospel, Jesus’ revelation about himself as “the one who has come down from heaven” turns away some, but it also generates Peter’s confession: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

Making choices is at the core of a moral and ethical life. Now that we have “come to believe and are convinced” that Jesus is the Christ, we must continue to make choices that are consistent with our commitment to follow Christ.

    An excellent way to make these choices, or to “discern” what is consistent with our spiritual welfare, is the time-honored approach of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits.  Taken from the site developed by the Valparaiso Project from the University of the same name, it is an adjunct to the book Practicing our Faith: A Way of Life for a Searching People. As the website, PracticingOurFaith.org describes: “Both book and website explore twelve time-honored practice shaped by the Christian community over the centuries and still richly relevant to contemporary experience.  These Christian practices are shared activities that address fundamental human needs and that, when woven together, form a way of life that is faithful and has integrity.”

Here is an excerpt from that site meant to guide a Christian in discernment:

    Discerning the Spirit as an individual 
Ignatius of Loyola, founder of Jesuits, offered a model that includes these requisites: a passionate commitment to follow God, an attitude of indifference toward all other drives and desires, and a deep sensitivity to the ways and being of God. 

1.     Become aware of as many aspects of the decision as possible.

2.    Consider the negatives, the decision you feel least inclined to choose.

3.    Repeat the process of consideration with the side you feel most inclined to choose.

4.    Take action to see if your decision is resulting in the desired outcome; if it is not, re-evaluate your decision.

One essential addition I’d like to make: All decisions involving your spiritual welfare should be made in dialogue with a spiritually mature friend or mentor. In the Christian life, discernment has a communal element as well.  Needless to say, prayer is part of all the steps of the process.

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

 "Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him"

This line taken from John's gospel is the core of what Catholics believe about unity. However, this unity of which John speaks is sometimes confused with uniformity by the institutional Church. Case in point: last year’s doctrinal investigation by Rome of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious assessing how well the organization is aligned with Church teaching on matters of "feminist issues"(op. cit. NCR). Specifically, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith is concerned that the LCWR is silent in matters of birth control/abortion and marriage norms set by the institutional Church, and that it gives dissenting voices from Church teaching, some of them quite radical (i.e. espousing a post-church spirituality, post-Jesus, spirituality [op. cit. Bishop Leonard P. Blair]). The name of this investigation is formally called a "doctrinal assessment". The goal is to have the LCWR align what they say (or what they allow their members to say publicly) with official Church teaching; for Rome, having holy people saying different things about what it means to be an ecclesiastical community undermines the Faith for all believers. However, it is this mistaken notion of uniformity for unity that I believe is a threat to the Faith. Pope Benedict wrote

"We cannot keep to ourselves the words of eternal life given to us in our encounter with Jesus Christ: they are meant for everyone, for every man and woman. ... It is our responsibility to pass on what, by God's grace, we ourselves have received."
- Pope Benedict XVI, Verbum Domini, 2010

This is precisely what the sisters of the LCWR are attempting. In their mission statement, they declare that bringing the Good News, " to further the mission of the Gospel" to the "world today" is the animating nexus of their community. The Good News is often messy, because everyone who has been transformed by this "encounter" with Christ has, as part of her or his story, the uniqueness of the encounter. Different that these encounters may be, we seek community to share our stories and listen to the stories of others from the founding of the Church in the first century down to the present. It should not be surprising, then, that the meanings attached to these personal experiences diverge in many places--good for spiritual health, bad for institutional uniformity.

Jesus said I am the "living bread" because he established a relationship with his disciples that continues as "living bread", a nourishing relationship through the Holy Spirit. The unity, of which the Church speaks so much about, is borne from this living and dynamic relationship, and yields poorly to the box-building structures of institutional rule-making; unity is full of dissent, divergent understandings, and practices, and embraces everyone who claims a relationship with Christ within and without the institutional Church. The keeper of uniformity is doctrine; the keeper of unity is dialog. It takes greater faith to live to work with unity than simply abandoning the responsibility of communion by blind obedience to institutional decrees; one's conscience must be given the ability to speak truth to authority.

Dialogue is communion because it presupposes sharing rather than declaring. That isn't to say that there can be no doctrine or statements of definition, provided they are a product of this dialog, something the Church increasingly is seeing as a threat to its centralized authority. To be a living church is to allow the messiness of relationships and espouse the humility to seek a new direction when the old one no longer speaks Good News to the world. If we seek the eternal in human institutions, we worship a false god.

Jesus' admonition in today's gospel to "stop murmuring among yourselves" because "no one can come to me unless the Father, who sent me-draw[sic] him." He then goes on to cite Isaiah 54 "They shall all be taught by God." Our first and primary teacher in our spiritual journey is not the decrees of church, per se, but God, or more specifically, our living and dynamic relationship with God through Christ and the Holy Spirit that is tested not against a rigid authority, but against a sensus fidelium--honoring the experiences of the faith-filled as a foundation of expressing what we believe and understand to be true. When Church doctrine no longer speaks to the faithful, it becomes bread with bleached flour, void of sustaining nutrition, not the Bread of Life from which one may eat and never go hungry.

Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

 

More than Enough

For the next five Sundays, including today, in our reading from the Gospel of John, we will explore what Jesus means by declaring that he is the “Bread of Life”.

We begin with Jesus feeding the five thousand in John 6:1-15 and end with John 6:60-69 and some of Jesus’ followers leaving because they could not accept his teachings about who he was. Today, and in the four succeeding Sundays, we are asked to reflect on our hunger for righteousness and how it is unlike any other longing we have; in fact, it is the only longing we cannot satisfy ourselves.

We begin this series with hungry people, a lot of hungry people—-five thousand according to the gospel, but, of course, that is only counting the men! 

Our reading from 2 Kings also involves feeding a hungry crowd though only two percent of the crowd Jesus faced. Two very important elements connect the two stories: signs and abundance.  In both stories, the events were considered “signs”, or markers that pointed towards a new existence. For Elisha, the sign wasn’t entirely clear: amidst famine, God provides—-God as a refuge in times of trouble. Samira, the place of Elisha’s “sign” was currently experiencing a famine, and the barley loaves set before the prophet Elisha became the blessing not only to be sufficient but to be a sign of God’s abundance in the face of famine.

Likewise in today’s gospel, Jesus is faced with the doubt of his claim that what was brought before him would be sufficient to feed the hungry crowd (this time, five thousand—at least). Again, what was considered insufficient was not only sufficient but an abundance as evidenced by leftovers. In fact, there were more leftovers than the original number of loaves and fishes: “twelve wicker baskets of fragments”. The leftovers symbolized the Twelve as Jesus’ core disciple retinue, but also the link to the twelve “remnant” tribes of Israel, ten of whom have been lost.

The people of Israel themselves are signs of God’s abundance, and though small in the scale of the people of the world, more than sufficient for “feeding” the world and announcing God in their midst.

But, like so many times in Jesus’ ministry, he is mistaken as the Messiah/king who will drive out the Romans and usher in a new kingdom of righteousness with Israel’s greatness once again established and God’s blessing upon them. Today’s gospel ends with Jesus retreating into solitude. He needed time to regroup and realized that a great deal of further instruction was necessary because his “sign” was woefully misinterpreted.

The expectation of God’s abundance often translates into earthly wealth and power. Entire “prosperity gospel” themes are broadcast to hundreds of thousands of hungry people. But the sad truth of these distortions of Jesus’ message is that the food of material wealth and power has no spiritual nutrition; it's all empty calories. If you are hungry for power and money, then Christianity offers you nothing. If you hunger and thirst for righteousness, then pull up a seat at the table.

God’s bread feeds the truly hungry with food that will satisfy humanity’s deepest longing. As we will see as we progress through the sixth chapter of John, Jesus returns and opens us this mystery of being the Bread of Life.

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

 Ordained Ministry: Sufficient Grace

"Because our value is a gift, we don't have to prove ourselves, only to express ourselves, and what a world of difference there is between proving ourselves and expressing ourselves"--William Sloane Coffin, Credo

Jesus utters that famous line in Mark today: "A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house".  It is a bitter pronouncement, tinged with frustration.  It is remarkable that the author of Mark observes "So he was not able to perform any mighty deed there, apart from curing a few sick people . . . ."  Who wouldn't consider any healing a "mighty deed"?  A closer inspection of the gospel doesn't reveal Jesus' inability to heal, but his inability to bring people to faith in spite of the healing.  The incredulous response Jesus received was because he was a local boy.  Somehow, imagining someone we know well being spiritually advanced is difficult.  We don't do well seeing the extraordinary spring from the ordinary, but Jesus' birth and the arc of his life were spent revealing to the less-than-ordinary, the extraordinary.  Jesus' amazement at his hometown community's lack of faith leads him to appoint twelve disciples to go in pairs to extend his ministry.  It is a crucial transition in Jesus' ministry from being the sole font of healing and wisdom to establishing a community of healers and preachers. 

Paul's confession of being "content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints" could have come from the mouth of Christ just as easily.  One of the huge traps of the spiritual life for preachers, teachers, and priests is the "messiah complex"--the belief that we are God's greatest conduit for spiritual transmission.  This gospel reminds me well of even Jesus had to confront failure and lack of faith.  His response, however, is telling.  Instead of simply throwing up his hands and leaving, he moves away from himself to entrusting the mission to those closest to him.

People come to faith experiences with remarkable variety, but they almost always involve other, non-ordained people.  Relying on church leaders, ministers or priests to impart faith is a losing proposition.  At best, we plant seeds and touch people with God's grace-filled love at vulnerable times in their lives, but this is not the exclusive territory of church ministers.  Everyone is called to this ministry.  People may come to me for confession, but frequently they seek the religious brother or other non-ordained people to seek God's presence in a less formal way.  Being ordained keeps one occupied with church finances, organizing liturgies, and administrative tasks, such that it is easy to forget that our first responsibility is to nurture our relationship with God.  Henry Nouwen, a wonderful source of wisdom for ordained clergy, wrote that "in order to be of service to others, we have to die to them; that is, we have to give up measuring our meaning and value with the yardstick of others"(The Way of the Heart).

The drive to be a success in the religious life is more pernicious than "secular" life.  Nouwen's "yardstick" is the size of one's congregation, the number of books, speaking engagements, and theological degrees.  The measure of holiness can easily become the measure of what common society values; but social value is earned, fought for, and then displayed.  Spiritual value, or worth, springs from faith, the awareness of our value to God.  William Sloane Coffin, the wonderfully gifted preacher, wrote that "God's love doesn't seek value, it creates value.  It is not because we have value that we are loved, but because we are loved that we have value.  Our value is our gift, not an achievement" (Credo).

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

 

Take a Leap

"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle.  I just wish he didn't trust me so much."
--Mother Treasa of Calcutta

Faith is a tricky thing it seems.  Sometimes one who claims to be acting on faith is simply avoiding the responsibility to apply any rational effort to see the truth; other times, Christians feel that acknowledging mystery is a throwback to the Middle Ages and superstition.  Like most extremes, the wisdom of faith and reason is more like a dance than a recipe.  It is helpful, I think, to see the foundation of our belief in God, in the mission of Jesus as the Christ, our salvation and resurrection, and other essentials of Christianity as matters of faith rather than logical constructs that have a beautiful internal consistency; Christianity makes, I think, a rather shabby philosophy with all its demands on a passionate belief based on an encounter with a  person rather than theory.

We have two such personal encounters in today's gospel reading: one with a "synagogue official named Jairus" and the other with a woman afflicted with "hemorrhages".  Jarius wants Jesus to heal his daughter; the woman also seeks Jesus' healing while he was en route to his first appointment.  What both these stories have in common is the linking of faith to healing, and of healing to salvation.

Jesus' life on earth was one of preaching and healing, full of passionate encounters and the revealing of the kingdom as a kingdom of restoration and grace.  In the first century, disease and death were all "unclean" and associated with sin.  Jesus' announcing the Good News brings an end to sin and death through healing and grace; these were lived experiences, not propositional arguments made by Jesus.  The woman, pushing through the crowd, touched Jesus' cloak and became "aware at once that power had gone out from him".  Jesus did not willingly give his "power" of healing to the woman, but she received it because of her faith, her bold determination to associate her healing with touching Jesus, or failing that, at least his cloak.  Jesus declares "Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction." 

Faith is also associated with the healing/salvation of Jairus' daughter.  Jesus doesn't anoint her or say prayers, he simply told her to get up after declaring to her anguished father "Do not be afraid; just have faith".  Jarius' faith, like that of the hemorrhaging woman, was faith in desperation.  They had nowhere else to turn.  Jesus was their last hope.  They knew they did not merit the healing, but sought it anyway because they had nowhere else to turn.  If logic were applied here, we would question Jesus' declaration of adequate faith.  Faith borne of desperation for many is not faith at all; it's simply the last chance.

Thomas Merton, the Catholic monk, made famous from his writing from his Cistercian vocation penned this prayer:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.  I cannot know for certain where it will end, nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.  But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.  And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road although I may know nothing about it.  Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death, I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

That Merton came to understand most vividly in his life as a monk was that all of our spiritual life was lived on the edge when faced truthfully.  Faith doesn't sprout from a certainty; it springs from profound, experienced uncertainty.  Like the woman plowing through the crowd of Jesus' entourage, we have to plow very often through the "faithful" who surround Jesus.  Sometimes, it is not enough to follow those who follow Jesus; we must somehow make it up to the master's robes and touch them ourselves if what we desire is salvation.  But even if we trip and fall, the master knows our effort and our direction; we never need to make it to the cloak to receive healing.  Our faith drives us because at the root of our faith is passion.  It could be passion born of profound gratitude, or of desperation and fear, but what is important is that our faith drives our will to trust.  To trust not in the all too fallible institutions, not even in those who are pointing the way, but to the destination of our yearning: the person of Christ, himself. 

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

 “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”

How long does it take to have faith that God will spare you from the ravages of a storm? What reason did the disciples have to think they would be spared? Jesus had not saved them from such harm before.  What does it take to have faith that would face the wind, rain, and choppy seas with serenity?

I have always taken issue with Jesus’ rebuke and wish one of the disciples would have stood up and said, “Hey, we have left everything and followed you. You heal the lame, feed the thousands with only a few fish and loaves of bread; you are an amazing guy, but who wouldn’t be afraid of being swamped in a small boat in the middle of a storm?”

We have no such comment (at least not one recorded), and should perhaps look more deeply to find the truth the gospel writer was trying to reveal in this story of terror and faith.

Mark’s story is in a long tradition of Old Testament stories where prophets still storms. The focus of the story is to reveal Jesus’ identity as one “whom even the wind and sea obey”. The story is meant to establish Jesus’ association with God. The disciples’ faith is not yet fully developed and won’t be until Jesus’ crucifixion and subsequent resurrection, ascension, and sending of the Holy Spirit.

Yet, we who have the great advantage of hindsight, and the great gift of the Holy Spirit, often are stuck in the boat without the strength of faith. What excuse do we have?

From the Letter to the Hebrews: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, of things unseen”. Trust engenders hope, and hope, faith. Father Henry Nouwen wrote, “The real hope is not in something we think we can do, but in God, who is making something good…in some way, we cannot see”(Turn My Mourning into Dancing). Nouwen makes this crucial connection between trust and hope in writing that a “person in difficulty can trust because of a belief that something else is possible. To trust is to allow for hope.”

We don’t hope because of what God has done, but what God can do. We live within this relationship made real and present by the Spirit such that whatever happens to us, God is always present, not as a spectator, but as one who is with us, Emmanuel.  He is with us in and through the stormy weather. Our hope is not that every anxiety is assuaged, but that our connection with God is never broken. Our faith may not quell the storm, but it will allow us to see through it.

Third Sunday after Pentecost

 Losing Control and Finding the Kingdom

We have a lot of baggage associated with the word "kingdom".  On the positive side, King Arthur comes to mind with all of the associated virtues of chivalry and knighthood; on the negative, we see feudal oppression, paranoid brutality, and hedonism.  For the Jews, kingdom meant one thing:  God's reign on earth in the line of David. The reading from Ezekiel is a prophetic utterance in exile.  As a priest in exile, Ezekiel cannot offer sacrifice at the Temple, which is over a thousand miles to the west, but Ezekiel does become God's voice to his people promising them a return and a vision of the future in which a messianic ruler will unite God's people again and usher in a new age of prosperity. The image of Israel's new life from a cedar branch becomes "a majestic cedar.  Birds of every kind shall dwell beneath it, every winged thing in the shade of its boughs."  In Mark's gospel, Jesus picks up on this imagery in describing the mustard "tree"(it is more of a bush) that "'becomes the largest of plants and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade'".  For Ezekiel, cedar grew from a single branch; for Jesus, a tiny seed. 

Jesus' kingdom, though, wasn't to be realized through the establishment of a theocracy (this was a constant source of tension among his disciples).  Jesus' kingdom is a people who are directly animated by God's Spirit and called to a high ethical standard (love your enemies, justice for the poor, etc..).  The branches in Jesus' kingdom go out rather than up, and it would be a mistake to associate (as many have and do) the Church with God's kingdom.  While the institutional Church is part of the kingdom, we still pray "Thy kingdom come".  In John's gospel (unlike Mark, Matthew, and Luke), Jesus announces "My kingdom is not of (from) this world" when questioned by an anxious Pilate about the nature of Jesus' "kingdom".  This is echoed in Luke's gospel when Jesus replies to the Pharisees "the kingdom of heaven is in the midst(among) of you".  Jesus' presence defines kingdom while he walked the earth, and we have inherited this presence at Pentecost with the sending of the Holy Spirit.  The "branches" that have sprung are not royal lineages, but the profound ethic of sacrificial love.  The sacrifice of Christ made real and present at each Mass, becomes the "mustard seed" of our faith that finds roots among ourselves initially, but then branches out to the world.  We also find seeds of faith in prayer and reading of sacred scripture, each seed sprouting and growing in many different and splendid ways.

This image of the sprawling tree/bush can be complemented with what we usually do in response to wild, vegetative growth; we want to manage it.  In a world that has fallen in love with control, this bush breaks out of its fences, defies pruning, knocks down walls, and seeks to embrace the world.  I think of women religious who are struggling against Rome's heavy-handed treatment, and the response of a particular sister who was referred to in an essay quoting a lay worker: "The Eucharist will live only if we find a way for it to live outside the Mass."  Spot on. Jesus' parable is one of distributive, expansive justice, of inclusion set prophetically against the "kingdom" of royal lineage, palaces, and "trickle-down" justice.  Ezekiel's prophetic vision of a greater, supreme kingdom arrived with the birth of Jesus and continues in its many "royal" lines at every baptism when the candidate is given the powers of priest, prophet, and king by the Holy Spirit.

Holy Trinity

 

"Batter my heart three-person God"
--John Donne, "Meditation 14"

Preaching on theological-theme-Sundays is particularly challenging because it invites abstraction and can quickly turn into a lecture; even in a seminary, seminary professors want to hear a homily and not a lecture at Mass.

The Holy Trinity is difficult because the official declaration of God's identity as "three persons one God" seems to run contrary to our understanding of what it means to be a person.  For many, such language brings up popular images of "multiple personalities" in a single person suffering from a mental disorder.  There is a quotation from the spiritual masterpiece The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis that gives us a great place to start:

"What good does it do to speak learnedly about the Trinity if, lacking humility, you displease the Trinity? Indeed, it is not learning that makes a man holy and just, but a virtuous life makes him pleasing to God. I would rather feel contrition than know how to define it." Book 1, Chapter 1

The first thing we should recognize is that any theological understanding finds its ultimate meaning in the goal of all Christian life: to allow God to transform us daily into becoming more the Christ that has dwelled in us since baptism. With that in mind (and heart), let's consider today's readings, how the blessed Trinity is revealed in them, and the implications for our life in Christ.

One of the essential characteristics of the Trinity is relationship, and God's "aseity", or uncreated, perfectly actualized being. Wow, that sounded like the beginnings of a seminary essay!  Scripture implies not only God's uncreated nature, it also gives us an experience of God as moving away from self into humanity in the form of revelations (the Prophets) and redemptive action (Jesus as Christ), and acting within human nature in such a way to recognize in oneself, and one's neighbor, the Divine.  This three-part structure: God-self, God-revelation, God-within humanity becomes the basis to reflect our experience of God's relationship to humanity.

Deuteronomy speaks of God's existence in both heaven and earth, acting in both revelation and redemption.

...fix in your heart, that the LORD is God in the heavens above and on the earth below, and that there is no other . . . . that you and your children after you may prosper, and that you may have a long life on the land . . . ."

In Paul's letter to the Romans, he explicitly writes of God in terms of Father, Spirit and of being "heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ"
The text takes an interesting turn, then, and suggests that this relationship is only fully recognized (The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit) "if only we suffer with him".  Paul is suggesting that we will be led by the Spirit into the sufferings of Christ to enter into the glory of the Father.  How often do we regard God as aloof and incapable of suffering because of the attribution of "perfect".  Something perfect does not suffer, but God as the Christ did suffer (contrary to the rather insipid claim of the Gnostics) and does suffer.  The reason God suffers, for Paul, is clear: we are all God's children.  God suffers because of His great love of his creation and his perfect love expressed in our free will to walk away from our inheritance like a petulant child walks away from Disneyland to play in the backyard on a dry, brown lawn with broken toys in the summer heat to spite his parents.

In Matthew's gospel, the Trinity is explicit in the triadic baptismal formula with the promise that the role of the disciple is to teach the world "all that I have commanded you".  If you remember three weeks ago, Jesus commands his disciples: "love one another".  The mission, then, of both the Church and the individual, is one of "going out" into the world, as Christ and the Father "went out" of themselves---God in creation, revelation, and redemption, Christ in perfect obedience to the Father. This centrifugal force of the Spirit, though, is only possible as a fruit of loving one another--the centripetal force of the inwardness of God's presence within us and Christ's presence in the community of the faithful.  What draws us together, leads us to the mission.

The mission will "batter" us, to quote the epigraph from Donne, but we live because we are embraced by God's Spirit in following the battered Christ resurrected.  Donne's pleading seems masochistic until one realizes that to join in this family of God's children, the way of life and glory is also the way of suffering and death for love of the other, embodying the practice of the Trinity.  Who could ever understand such love?

Pentecost

 

The Language of the Holy Spirit

". . . they were confused because each one heard them speaking in his own language."

The first action at Pentecost had to do with the paradox of a single group of men from a particular region speaking so that others who spoke many other languages heard them in their own language.  Perhaps the message was one of universal salvation.  Scripture simply says the Spirit ". . . enabled them to proclaim. . . .  the mighty acts of God." What could be mightier than the gathering of all nations to the loving call of God?

Too often the call one hears in one's own language can lead one to assume God's call is exclusive to him or herself; that the others couldn't have got it right because God is speaking so personally to me! But the language of the Holy Spirit which is heard in all languages is the language of the Cross and the Empty Tomb.  The language of the Holy Spirit is loving sacrifice and triumph over death.

The Spirit's long embrace of love is "as a flame of fire".  This simile suggests it is a passionate, dynamic and living presence.  Candles, "eternal flames" of remembrance, the sanctuary lamp, all mirror this reality of a living, present God.  Each of us, born like an unlit candle, becomes a light with God's touch at baptism and is the sustaining presence that burns brightly in dark places where light is sorely needed.  As Jesus proclaimed "I am the light of the world"(John. 8:12), so too we are called to live as "Children of the light"(Ephesians 5:8-19). This light, as St. Paul reminds us takes the form of the many and various gifts of the Holy Spirit; yet, 

As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ.For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body,
whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free persons, and we were all given to drink of one Spirit.(1Cor.12:12-13)

And in "this one body" we work out our salvation light's gift of God.  Too often diversity is looked upon with suspicion by the institutional church and among Christian denominations.  Instead of looking at one another with a sense of mystery and awe at the diverse workings of the Holy Spirit, we assume error because of the difference.  Very often this difference is mistaken for a lack of unity; what, in fact, it is is a lack of uniformity.  What living system exhibits uniformity?  When, then, is a "difference error"?  The Spirit is also our teacher and what is not of God will always manifest itself as a force pulling people away from the peace, love, and hope of Christ.  St. Paul writing to the Galatians (Gal.5:22) declares: "...the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness,s and self-control. Against such things, there is no law.”  

 In 1 Corinthians, Chapter 13, after discussing the “many gifts, one Spirit,”  Paul writes elegantly of the primacy of love as evidence of the Spirit’s presence:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. ¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
¹³ And now these three remain faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.


Love is the language of the Holy Spirit and the sure sign of God’s dwelling and the source of our comfort, instruction, healing light, and salvation.