Second Sunday after Pentecost

Do This in Remembrance of Me

Today’s readings from the Old Testament and the gospels seem to focus on the miracle of resurrecting the dead; Elijah in 1Kings and Jesus in the Gospel of Luke are both miracle workers.  To be sure, these readings do deal with resurrection, but the resurrection of the two dead sons is only temporary.  In time, these young men will again succumb to death as does every human.  What, then, is the author of Luke and 1 Kings trying to get us to understand?

Each story really begins around a mother’s experience of abandonment by her son’s death.  In 1 Kings, the mother who has hosted Elijah the prophet is filled with anguish believing that the prophet’s visit has brought God’s retribution upon her for some undisclosed sin by killing her only son.  Likewise, in Luke, the widow’s son has passed away and the woman is now alone.  The widow-mother in 1 Kings laments to Elijah

“Why have you done this to me, O man of God?

Have you come to me to call attention to my guilt

and to kill my son?”

The phrase “to call attention” is more literally translated “to bring my sin to remembrance” (RSV). The Greek phrase for remembrance is key; the word is anamnesis and suggests more than bringing up a past thought.  The word carries with it the connotation of bringing a past reality to the present---resurrecting an old wound of an undisclosed sin.  Elijah immediately passes the buck and blames God, but he also pleads “O Lord my God, let this child’s life come into him again.”  The boy is resurrected, and the story ends with the widow joyfully announcing:  “Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.” This realization is the crux of the story, and the concept of "word" is crucial.  The Hebrew notion of "word", dabar suggests the “word-action” of God.  The same essential meaning of the Greek logos of John’s gospel that created the world.  God’s word brings life, not death.

In the literal rendering of this story, the truth could be quickly eclipsed by focusing on the extraordinary event of the raising of the dead. The truly eternal life, though, is the revitalization of the widow’s faith that God’s love is real and

present in her world, now, through the prophet's "mouthing" the "word".  In Luke, Jesus’ deep-seated compassion for the widow brought her son back to life but also gave the woman the eternal gift of hope and trust in God’s goodness.  The proclamation that “God has come to help his people” is the crowd's response, not unlike the widow’s response in 1 Kings. Both stories turn on the faithful response of God's chosen ones (Elijah and Jesus).  Would that each person you meet recall the encounter with such joy!

Each Sunday we participate in an “anamnesis” in the memorial of the Mass when we proclaim: “Christ has died.  Christ has risen.  Christ will come again”.  These phrases engender hope in the faithful.  For as St. Paul reminds us “If we have died with Christ, then we shall live with Christ”.  They can be an occasion for us to participate in the Thanksgiving that is called Eucharist as we recall the crucifixions Christ has raised us from, so we can secure the hope of Christ's coming into the lives of so many who wait patiently for hope.

We too share in some part of the vulnerability of the widows when we can’t see God’s will in the mess of our lives, in its pain and seemingly arbitrariness of destruction.  This “widow’s soul” of feeling vulnerable and abandoned is like a great beacon for God and the faithful.  In our grief, God’s great compassion is at work around us like God’s call to Elijah and Jesus’ profound feeling of compassion.  It is precisely when we feel abandoned that we need to draw near to our community, the Church, and the Mass.  Christ’s healing sacrificial power made present at every Mass begins this great healing and salvation. Never underestimate the strength of the faithful’s gratitude in being able to work God’s great healing power in our lives.

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. 

The Ascension of the Lord

Now What?

          Ascension has all the makings of a story’s end.  Jesus, who has been crucified, and now resurrected, is once again with his disciples teaching them to anticipate the arrival of the Holy Spirit. Then in a moment of great transcendent glory, departs “lifted up into the clouds”.  We have been following the story since Christmas and Jesus’ birth. Now it is only fitting that as we watch him ascend, there is a feeling of completion; the drama will certainly end with the arrival of the Holy Spirit.

            In truth, the story continues; the kingdom has arrived (Jesus is eating with his disciples as evidence of the arrival of the kingdom in Mark’s gospel, but is not adequately translated according to a prominent biblical scholar). The story continues, though, to the Eschaton and the righteous judgment of humanity and the end of earthly history.

            The ascension completes the human ministry cycle of Jesus but begins the reign of Christ within the Church. The Kingdom is more than a representation of Christ to humanity, it continues as God’s presence among us. For Christians, the Holy Spirit gives us communion with God the Father and Son, we now “abide” with God. For non-believers, we become more than simply messengers of doctrine, we have the potential to be Christ’s presence.

The liturgical cycle reflects this well. Most of our time is spent after Pentecost. This is the time to compare our lives with the life of Christ and his ministry.  The Advent-Christmas cycle we revisit God’s incredible love for humanity and the birth of Jesus. Then, in the Lent-Easter cycle we celebrate the mystery of Jesus’ death and resurrection, ascension and the spark of the Holy Spirit which sets the Earth ablaze with God’s Kingdom once again. The final chapter has not been written, and there is much work yet to be done.

Third Sunday of Easter

Sheepish Leaders

If you knew God was speaking to you, it is likely you would listen. It is even more likely that you would be trembling in fear and, like countless times in the Bible, have to be encouraged not to be afraid. 

In the Gospel of John, we hear Jesus speaking as the Good Shepherd, which makes us sheep. Sheep have the reputation for being rather dull, but I suppose if you look at the course of history from the outside, say the way an alien race might see us, perhaps the sheep would come out ahead.

In the gospel reading, Jesus does not lead with a conditional statement: “If my sheep hear my voice”, he says “My sheep hear my voice”; it is a declaration. As a matter of fact, real sheep (not metaphorical ones) have been reported to be as good as people in distinguishing others in a crowd (Sheep 101.info). So why use sheep to make his point?

As in most of Jesus’ figurative statements, he uses something familiar to his audience; however, like Paul and Barnabas in the first reading, his audience was divided: some followed, some thought he was a nut.

The Gospel of Christ isn’t a very attractive philosophy. Following is, for us, a becoming, a transformation into someone who recognizes Christ by his “voice”. Where do we hear Christ’s voice?  Most clearly, we hear the voice of Christ in those who are oppressed, who are marginalized and unjustly punished, who are poor in spirit and materially poor (the two often go together).  It is the “least of these”; but to put this phrase in context from the 25th Chapter of Matthew, the “least” are his disciples. Following Christ puts us at the end of the line, so the poor become not always those outside our community, but those inside our community as well. It is in our poverty, the ordinariness of our daily lives, that Christ speaks, and we respond.  Last week, Christ said to his disciples “Feed my sheep”; we are those sheep; we are those shepherds.

Second Sunday of Easter

He Reveals Himself in This Way

This is an incredible story that resonates with an earlier account of Jesus giving fishing advice to fisherman. In Luke chapter 5, Jesus has the disciples “put out for deep water” and fish. The boat was overwhelmed with fish. Also in Luke’s account, Simon Peter was the “voice” of the disciples and “fell down at Jesus’ knees saying ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man”.  In today’s gospel, however, Peter launches himself half-naked into the water and swims ashore ahead of the rest only to be confronted by one questions asked three times: “Do you love me”. Three times Peter affirms his loyalty, which some commentators suggest is an undoing of Peter’s denial of Christ three times. Whatever the case, what is significant is that Jesus is recognized in the miracle, and in serving them. He does not tell them he will make them fishers of men as he did previously, but this time he tells him “Feed my sheep”.  As Christ has fed them, literally, he is sending them into a life of serving those whom they “catch”.

For us, it isn’t a numbers game; it isn’t simply about how many fish we get, its about serving those who are attracted to Christ. How will they recognize the risen Christ who has already risen and ascended into heaven? They will see Christ risen in our lives of service and communion, of mission and faith.

Second Sunday of Easter

Resurrection and Woundedness

It was important to the early Church that the account of Jesus' resurrection did not become a "ghost story."  Some followers of Christ could not reconcile his divinity with his humanity and concluded that Jesus, being divine, could not have truly suffered on the cross; a wounded God is much more difficult to worship. Luke writes in the tradition of Christians who share the conviction, handed down by the Apostles, that Christ's humanity and suffering did not detract from his divinity.

When Jesus invited his Apostles to touch his wounds and then to give him some cooked fish to eat, his intent was clear: "It is I myself."  During Good Friday, we venerated the Cross and meditated on the wounds of Christ, as those wounds were the sins of humanity being put upon Christ. Today, we see Jesus, the resurrected Christ, but we also see his wounds. Jesus was resurrected with his wounds.

Being resurrected doesn't mean we jettison our wounds, or, as Hamlet put it, "shuffle off our mortal coil"; the resurrection has transformed our wounds, not removed them.  We carry our wounds through our baptism into our new life in Christ, and we often take on new wounds.  What is markedly different, though, is as Christians, we live with our wounds visible, proof of our resurrection.  We can share the painful wounds we've received because we live in a new body, the body of Christ.  Love has conquered death, our wounds are no longer harbingers of death: proof we have not died, but that we live.

In a sense, our wounds, when not hidden, become the agent of connection with a wounded world.  The bumper sticker "Not Perfect, Just Forgiven" comes to mind.  Our wounds make us human; the freedom from having our woundedness leads us into despair, hate, anger, greed, etc.. is our release from death--our resurrection with the risen Christ. 

What being resurrected means for us is living with the confidence that love overcomes death.  That our wounds present in our new life in Christ become a source of great hope for those whose woundedness has led to death.  Like Christ, we can live a life that removes the defensive imperative to cover our wounds and move to dominate, to control, and accumulate wealth.  Our life in Christ shows the world another way: the way of Jesus displaying his wounds to his followers as the beginning of their spiritual journey as people of the resurrection.

Resurrection of Our Lord, Jesus the Christ

The older I get, the less concerned I am about the historical facts of my faith.  Don't get me wrong, if I could know some historical fact regarding the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, I'd jump at the opportunity; it's more a matter of accepting the inherent limitations of living a life of faith regarding the type of knowledge faith reveals.  I see so many folks trading their faith for a kind of intellectual dishonesty that makes bizarre claims in an attempt to find an empirical backing to what they claim to believe already. 

Christian curmudgeons who scour the Bible making esoteric connections that reveal the exact time Christ will return are examples of this type of dishonesty. Another kind of intellectual dishonesty is prevalent myths handed down by unsuspecting pastors who “read this somewhere” that when Jesus said to turn the other cheek, rather than being a form of submission to an aggressor, it was, in fact, a Middle Eastern custom of offering your enemy your left cheek as a form of insult. Or how about the old “eye of the needle” problem for wealthy people seeking the Kingdom? I’ve heard this explained away from the pulpit by referring to unnamed sources that, in fact, the “eye” was a very narrow gate that a camel could get through, but that it had to go on its knees to make it. The good news here is that you can have your riches and make it through the “eye” on your knees. Of course, there never was such a gate in Jesus’ time, and even the metaphor itself is strained to find Good News for the wealthy (see Kittel’s Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, vol. 3, pp. 592-594 ). But there is no way to explain away the necessity for crucifixion before resurrection while claiming orthodox Christian faith. There is no other way to resurrection than through crucifixion.  This is the substance of my faith when I proclaim each Sunday "He was crucified, died and buried.  On the third day, he rose again in accordance with the scriptures."

Crucifixion forces our hand and breaks our plans for an orderly and carefully controlled life while putting us at the feet of the cross, or on it.  We will likely never have empirical, historical evidence of Jesus’ bodily resurrection, but one thing is eminently probable: Jesus was killed on the cross by Roman and religious authorities who were threatened by the instability of challenged metaphors: Jesus said he was a king, and Jesus said he was the Messiah.  The only possible way Jesus could walk to the cross was a faith born not in what would come after, but in the sustaining relationship of love he had with the Father.  Jesus' fear, and feeling of dejection in murmuring the 22nd Psalm "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" ends with the 31st Psalm: "Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit." 


The Resurrection is what happened after.  The disciples witnessed it according to the accounts of Scripture.  But my faith in the Resurrection is also founded on the resurrections I've experienced in others and in myself that have their origin in The Resurrection. This yoking of death with birth is an incredibly rich source of our human experience recorded in art and literature.

 Easter is the "difficult birth" of a faith borne on the cross of a two-thousand-year-old man who claimed to be a king and Messiah, but the millions of new lives hewn from the roughness of the Cross is witness to a deeper and more profound truth than a single historical event; the Resurrection has lived long after Jesus walked the earth.