The cross creeps me out. I have always been horrified by it. It was gruesome. It was torture. It was bloody, painful, and mutilating. It was the worst of what human beings are capable of. And the one we most admire and adore went through it. For us. That has always left me feeling somewhere between guilty and grossed out. I guess there was a little bit of gratitude in there too, but I have a low tolerance for horrible things, especially horrible things that are real.
The cross overwhelmed me so I pushed it away. Wow, that was amazing that you did that for me. Can we talk about something else now? Perhaps some of my revulsion is because of the horrible things I've lived through. Perhaps some of it is a reflection of the American avoidance of death. But perhaps some of it was a lopsided understanding of what the cross was really about. I only saw the pain.
"God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us." Romans 5:8
That one little sentence changes everything about the crucifixion. The cross isn't just about torture. It isn't about a blood-thirsty God who demands human sacrifice as payment for our sins. It is proof of love. The cross is a real-life demonstration of love!
The passion is a story like the childbirth stories I tell my children. Every year on their birthday, I start with, "# years ago, at this moment, ..." and relate the story in real time. I include the hard stuff, like when I was having my oldest and the pain made me blind, was knocking me unconsciousness, and that if I screamed loud enough, I could year the scream and not the pain in my mind. It was really hard. And then I end every story with, "and it was worth every bit of it to have you," because it's true. All the pain and horror was worth every bit of it to have those beautiful children be mine.
The point of the cross is for us to understand the depth of God's love. The passion is a story we tell over and over about how much God loves us. God knew that just hearing about divine love wouldn't be enough. Just doing miracles wouldn't be enough. Just speaking deep truths, the kind of truths that change lives, wouldn't be enough. God had to do something so big that we would truly believe that God really and truly loves us.
The cross was payment for sin, but the payment wasn't made to God, it was made to us. It was made to us so that all the things we do to alienate ourselves from God (sin) would be swept away with closeness and intimacy. It was God doing the most dramatic thing so that we would believe and accept the depth of God's love.
Today, as I begin to glimpse how deeply and completely God loves me, I'm reminded of Jesus' teaching: "pick up your cross and follow me." I've always thought that was about suffering with compassion. But if the cross was God's proof of love, then does taking up my cross mean my own demonstration of love? Does it mean that just telling people I love them isn't enough? Just being good to them isn't enough? Just being present and not leaving isn't enough? I have to take action that leaves no doubt in people's mind that I love them.
The great saints have made great demonstrations of love. The apostles all went to their own crosses, literally. Dorothy Day lived with the homeless her whole life. Oscar Romero spoke up for victimized of his beloved El Salvador and paid with his life. St. Francis of Assisi gave up all wealth and lived in poverty. St. Francis Xavier left every familiarity and missioned to Japan. Mother Teresa cared for the diseased and dying. They all made great demonstrations of love.
I've seen ordinary people in my own life make great demonstrations of love — a friend who adopted a 10-year-old boy out of foster care, a friend who spends his retirement working long hours with the homeless, a friend who serves as a Scout leader, in spite of stressful job with long hours, a married couple who remained committed to each in other as they weathered cancer and infertility. And so many more. There are great and wondrous demonstrations of love all around us.
As I walk this holy week, thinking toward Friday when I will touch the cross, venerate what Christ did for me, I will look for the next best way to demonstrate my love.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
1st Sundat in Lent: Seared by God's Love
Genesis 2:7-9; 3:1-7
Deacon Richard Kulleck teaches new deacons homiletics here in the diocese of Boise. He learned homiletics at Catholic Theologian Union from Dianne Bergant with Richard Fragomeni. They wrote a book called, Preaching the New Lectionary. At the beginning of the Lenten readings, they have a section on the overall themes we’ll be hearing for the next six weeks. This is what they say, “Although Lent has traditionally been understood as a time of repentance and penance, the liturgical readings of the season focus our attention on the goodness of God and the blessings that flow from this into our lives rather than on human sinfulness and any attempts to make amends for it through lenten practices.”
Is that news to you, because it’s kind of news to me. Not growing up Catholic, I knew about giving things up for Lent, but I never fully understood why, so I asked people. Why do you give up coffee? And they would say it was a sacrifice for God. But I would ask, and how does that bring you closer to God? The answers I got didn’t make a lot of sense. In fairness, many people were just doing what they had always done since childhood and never really asked why themselves. Sometimes their answers did make sense for their lives, but I couldn’t translate it into my own life. I think the truth is that most people think that giving things up, exercising their will power, somehow impresses God. I knew instinctively that God isn’t all that impressed by will power. I knew that Lenten disciplines were about growing closer to God.... not even closer to God. Scripture tells us over and over that God couldn’t be any closer. Jesus died on the cross and rose and is now as present to each of us fully, completely, powerfully, all the time, everywhere. It’s not closeness that we need, it’s awareness.
So I was still trying to figure out what to do for Lent. Then I heard things about doing something extra and that made more sense to me. Some people go to Mass more often. They donate more money. One year we decided to pray every day together as a family. One year I journaled every day. One year we didn’t go out to eat for all of Lent and donated the money we saved to a charity that we decided on together as a family.
Those practices made more sense to me. But I realized that I was still focusing on myself. In today’s first reading with the serpent and the temptation and sin entering the world, I felt the burden of that guilt. I felt the burden of sin. My Lenten practices, while growing in my awareness of God, I had to admit were tinged a taste of doing something for God. As if I could somehow make it up to God by sacrifice. And then Easter always had a tinge of relief at being freed from the sacrifice. If I’m growing in my awareness of God, of God’s powerful and life-enveloping love for me, than I don’t think I should feel relief. I still wasn’t getting it.
In our 2nd reading, St. Paul says, “but the gift is not like the transgression.” The transgression of Adam is not like the gift of Christ. The gift, the grace is so much bigger, so much more important, than the sin.
We look at our sinfulness only to get to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. It’s all about God’s love and compassion.
Penance isn’t about making it up to God. Jesus did penance, and he had nothing to make up for. It says he went into the desert and fasted for 40 days. This passage is rich with imagery that the early church would have easily heard. Jesus fasted in the desert for 40 days, just as Israel wondered in the desert for 40 years. They were hungry, God gave them manna from heaven, and they still grumbled. Jesus was hungry but didn’t grumble, instead heeding the word of God. Israel put God’s protection to the test, but Jesus won’t. Israel had been sent as a light to the nations, but it is Jesus who dismisses Satan with unwavering fidelity to God. The early Christians would have heard all of these contrasts and seen that Jesus is the new Israel, except that Jesus proves faithful when put to the test. Sooner or later, we will all be tested. Jesus shows us how it is done.
We notice our sinfulness only to get to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. Like Jesus, I will strive for faithfulness above all things.
The professors go on to say, “Only after we have been seared by the fire of divine love will any kind of penance be seen in its proper light.” First we are seared by divine love. We don’t do penance to find God, first we experience God’s overpowering love, and then we do penance, not to suffer, but to clean things up. It’s like having a beautiful piano in the front room, but over time, things get stacked on it, and in front of it, and pretty soon it’s hard to see the piano. Penance is cleaning things up so we can get back to that wonderful music.
Jesus was seared by that divine love. Have you been seared? Have you been amazed and shocked at the power of God’s love? Think for a time when God’s love for you was right in front of you, strong enough to leave burn marks on you. Maybe it was an ah-ha moment at a retreat, or a miracle God worked in your life, or a time that God truly saved you. Think of that moment when you truly knew. That’s where we start.
This Lent we walk with our candidates and catechumens toward baptism and full membership in our Catholic Church at Easter, remembering our own baptism, our own undeserved adoption into the family of Christ. These readings remind us again that God chose us, that God chose us because of God’s great compassion, and mercy, and love for each one of us.
Penance is all about getting to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. Like Jesus, I will strive for faithfulness above all things.
We begin with remembering how desperately God loves us, and then we get busy cleaning up that mess in front of the piano so that at Easter the music lifts our souls and we rejoice together.
Deacon Richard Kulleck teaches new deacons homiletics here in the diocese of Boise. He learned homiletics at Catholic Theologian Union from Dianne Bergant with Richard Fragomeni. They wrote a book called, Preaching the New Lectionary. At the beginning of the Lenten readings, they have a section on the overall themes we’ll be hearing for the next six weeks. This is what they say, “Although Lent has traditionally been understood as a time of repentance and penance, the liturgical readings of the season focus our attention on the goodness of God and the blessings that flow from this into our lives rather than on human sinfulness and any attempts to make amends for it through lenten practices.”
Is that news to you, because it’s kind of news to me. Not growing up Catholic, I knew about giving things up for Lent, but I never fully understood why, so I asked people. Why do you give up coffee? And they would say it was a sacrifice for God. But I would ask, and how does that bring you closer to God? The answers I got didn’t make a lot of sense. In fairness, many people were just doing what they had always done since childhood and never really asked why themselves. Sometimes their answers did make sense for their lives, but I couldn’t translate it into my own life. I think the truth is that most people think that giving things up, exercising their will power, somehow impresses God. I knew instinctively that God isn’t all that impressed by will power. I knew that Lenten disciplines were about growing closer to God.... not even closer to God. Scripture tells us over and over that God couldn’t be any closer. Jesus died on the cross and rose and is now as present to each of us fully, completely, powerfully, all the time, everywhere. It’s not closeness that we need, it’s awareness.
So I was still trying to figure out what to do for Lent. Then I heard things about doing something extra and that made more sense to me. Some people go to Mass more often. They donate more money. One year we decided to pray every day together as a family. One year I journaled every day. One year we didn’t go out to eat for all of Lent and donated the money we saved to a charity that we decided on together as a family.
Those practices made more sense to me. But I realized that I was still focusing on myself. In today’s first reading with the serpent and the temptation and sin entering the world, I felt the burden of that guilt. I felt the burden of sin. My Lenten practices, while growing in my awareness of God, I had to admit were tinged a taste of doing something for God. As if I could somehow make it up to God by sacrifice. And then Easter always had a tinge of relief at being freed from the sacrifice. If I’m growing in my awareness of God, of God’s powerful and life-enveloping love for me, than I don’t think I should feel relief. I still wasn’t getting it.
In our 2nd reading, St. Paul says, “but the gift is not like the transgression.” The transgression of Adam is not like the gift of Christ. The gift, the grace is so much bigger, so much more important, than the sin.
We look at our sinfulness only to get to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. It’s all about God’s love and compassion.
Penance isn’t about making it up to God. Jesus did penance, and he had nothing to make up for. It says he went into the desert and fasted for 40 days. This passage is rich with imagery that the early church would have easily heard. Jesus fasted in the desert for 40 days, just as Israel wondered in the desert for 40 years. They were hungry, God gave them manna from heaven, and they still grumbled. Jesus was hungry but didn’t grumble, instead heeding the word of God. Israel put God’s protection to the test, but Jesus won’t. Israel had been sent as a light to the nations, but it is Jesus who dismisses Satan with unwavering fidelity to God. The early Christians would have heard all of these contrasts and seen that Jesus is the new Israel, except that Jesus proves faithful when put to the test. Sooner or later, we will all be tested. Jesus shows us how it is done.
We notice our sinfulness only to get to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. Like Jesus, I will strive for faithfulness above all things.
The professors go on to say, “Only after we have been seared by the fire of divine love will any kind of penance be seen in its proper light.” First we are seared by divine love. We don’t do penance to find God, first we experience God’s overpowering love, and then we do penance, not to suffer, but to clean things up. It’s like having a beautiful piano in the front room, but over time, things get stacked on it, and in front of it, and pretty soon it’s hard to see the piano. Penance is cleaning things up so we can get back to that wonderful music.
Jesus was seared by that divine love. Have you been seared? Have you been amazed and shocked at the power of God’s love? Think for a time when God’s love for you was right in front of you, strong enough to leave burn marks on you. Maybe it was an ah-ha moment at a retreat, or a miracle God worked in your life, or a time that God truly saved you. Think of that moment when you truly knew. That’s where we start.
This Lent we walk with our candidates and catechumens toward baptism and full membership in our Catholic Church at Easter, remembering our own baptism, our own undeserved adoption into the family of Christ. These readings remind us again that God chose us, that God chose us because of God’s great compassion, and mercy, and love for each one of us.
Penance is all about getting to the therefore. I have sinned, therefore I need God and I am filled gratitude for God’s love and compassion. Like Jesus, I will strive for faithfulness above all things.
We begin with remembering how desperately God loves us, and then we get busy cleaning up that mess in front of the piano so that at Easter the music lifts our souls and we rejoice together.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
7th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Love Your Enemies
Leviticus 19:1-2, 17-18
1 Corinthians 3:16-23
Matthew 5:38-48
Today we hear one of Jesus' most challenging teachings: Love Your Enemies.
(I didn't have time to type this week's up. Let me know if you prefer the written version.)
1 Corinthians 3:16-23
Matthew 5:38-48
<AUDIO FILE>
Today we hear one of Jesus' most challenging teachings: Love Your Enemies.
(I didn't have time to type this week's up. Let me know if you prefer the written version.)
Friday, February 11, 2011
6th Sunday in Ordinary time: Learning to Trust God
Sirach 15:15-20
1 Corinthians 2:6-10
Matthew 5:17-37
In the gospel today, Jesus drills underneath the commandments to their roots, our relationship with God.
My husband and I are discerning adopting a young sibling group out of the foster care system. Right now we are learning all we can about how toddlers experience adoption, especially when they’ve lived through abuse and neglect. Most adopted toddlers have problems with attachment. Experts say that attachment between children and their primary care givers is one of the most important elements in human development. Without it children don’t develop the basic social skills necessary for future relationships. They fail to develop a conscience. It actually causes significant delays in intellect and physical growth.
So we’re learning about attachment, and about the characteristics of children with attachment problems. I’ve been struck at how parallel these characteristics of children are to the characteristics of a life without faith, or without complete faith. Many of our spiritual struggles are strikingly similar to the struggles of children with attachment problems. If we think of God is our heavenly parent then we need a secure attachment with God for our growth and development. It seems as if all of us have some problem with attachment to God. I’m reminded of the prayer, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”
Here are a few of those characteristics.
resistance to being comforted — When children get hurt or are tired or don’t feel good, they usually go find their parent to be comforted, but children with attachment problems don’t. In fact, they actively resist when their parents try to comfort them. These are children who have been hurt, who have been tired or didn’t feel good, but when they reached out in the past were met with violence or silence. They weren’t comforted when they needed it. So they have learned that when you need comfort, you rely on yourself. They often develop self-comforting techniques like rocking or humming, or things that look autistic to us. When they’re adopted and their new parents try to comfort them, they reject the comfort because accepting it would bring a whole new waive of grief for all the times they weren’t comforted.
I’m thinking of people who need comfort but don’t go to God, they turn to other things. They are afraid about their security, so they build big bank accounts and big armies instead of leaning on God. They are afraid of being rejected, so they work on looking beautiful rather than leaning on God. They are suffering with pain or loss, but they don’t seek out God, they turn to self-comforting techniques like drinking, shopping, over-eating, smoking, sex, or some other compulsion.
Many times in my own life when I needed comfort, God has not been my first refuge. I want the external things in place, like the big bank account, the network of friends, the important job, and then I’ll turn to God. I’ve spent a lot of time not being comforted.
In our gospel, Jesus addresses a compulsion: sex. He delves into the commandment not to commit adultery, and he names lust as the root cause, the compulsion of sex. Jesus says that sex won’t make us feel better. We need something else. We need a different kind of comfort.
resistance to being cuddled — Normally children will regularly seek out their parents for cuddles and will “conform” to their parents’ bodies, relaxing into maximum physical contact. My little Xavier does that, I love it. But children with attachment problems don’t want to be held. They fight to get away, or they just go limp like a rag doll and slide out of their parents arms. In the past these children have felt that natural and normal need for gentle physical cuddling but were denied it by neglect or abuse. That need went unmet and somewhere along the way they decided they were going to live without cuddling, and maybe that decision actually helped them survive those early experiences. Now they reject all touching.
That resistance to being cuddled sounds a lot like the way many people think about God. Many believe in God, but don’t expect or want God in their daily lives. They accept that God created the universe, but then God politely left and we are now able to live our lives on our own. That’s the thinking that leads people to pay attention to God on Sunday but not on Monday. That’s basically the notion that God lives at church but not at work.
I remember when I left active ministry, I thought, well, God won’t be around as much. I carried an assumption that God maybe took special notice of me because I was in ministry, because I served others, but now that I was a normal person, God just wouldn’t be around as much. So I stepped back. What was I thinking? I was rejecting the calming presence of God, cuddles from my heavenly parent.
ambivalent behavior — Children with attachment problems will at once seek and reject their parents. When they get hurt, at first they’ll reach out to their parent, but when the parent gets close they scream, “no.” This ambivalent behavior may originate with a need being so strong that it overwhelms that decision that they don’t need anybody. But as the parent gets close, the walls come flying up.
Isn’t that much like praying in a crisis? We all want God when everything else has failed, and God always comes running, but after solving the crisis, we want God to get out of the way. When God stays close, it’s terrifying that God might want something from us, might ask us to live differently, and we push God away. We want God in the crisis, but not in ordinary life.
I can’t count how many times I’ve turned to God, wanting conversion, until conversion was actually upon me. Then I was afraid and pulled back. What if God asked something too big? What if I was called to martyrdom?
rage and aggression — Toddlers with attachment problems have temper tantrums that are on a whole different level than normal toddlers. Their aggresion can erupt out of the blue. These poor children with so much hurt in their live – hurt from abuse and hurt from nobody being there when they needed somebody — have done what most of us do with hurt, we turn it into anger and when there’s a lot of it, it comes out as rage.
The world is full of rage and aggression. It’s what drives war. We see it in road rage, in fact, I think remember reading that the number one cause of death on the roadways isn’t drunk drinking, it’s aggressive driving. And rage and aggression are the root of domestic violence.
In today’s gospel, Jesus drills deep into the commandment not to kill by saying that whoever is angry will be liable to the judgement. Jesus is going after rage and aggression as the root causes of murder. He’s saying that it’s not enough to not murder, but we must address the unhealed rage and aggression we carry. Otherwise, we are only about will power, not closeness to God.
These commonalities between the characteristics of unattached children and our distance from God is striking. Why don’t we reach out to God first when we need comfort? Why do we resist God’s presence? Why do we treat other things like God? Why are we filled with rage and aggression? If we are like unattached children, then what was the abuse or neglect that lead to these behaviors? Maybe that is what original sin is.
So after knowing all these things about attachment problems, what’s an adoptive parent to do? The experts look to normal babies, who experience a need, get agitated, the parent responds, and the baby calms down. This cycle happens over and over and over until the child trusts that the parent will always show up when they have a need. So adoptive parents have to repeat this cycle, new to the unattached child, over and over and over. Parents have to listen for needs in their children and respond immediately, building a new experience for children and eventually a new expectation. It can take a very long time for a toddler to let down their defenses, and the parent must keep up with the loving behavior even when it’s not reciprocated.
Does God do that with us? Does God keep up with the loving behavior even when it’s not reciprocated? Does God stay with us, always there to answer every need, holding on for years and years. Does God feed us? Does God leap to us when we fall? Does God show us over and over and over that God can be trusted, waiting for us to let down our defenses?
Just like the adoptive parent, God waits. Because in the end, the child must let down their resistance on their own. The child has to take a leap of faith, has to believe that this parent will be different, they have to choose to trust. Our first reading says, “if you trust in God, you too shall live.” God is there, reaching out to comfort us, feeding us, holding us, waiting for us. But in the end, we must choose to trust God.
Just as there is a list of characteristics of problems with attachment, there is a list of characteristics that let parents know when healing has begun. We can use them too. We’ll know when we’re growing in attachment to God:
1 Corinthians 2:6-10
Matthew 5:17-37
<AUDIO FILE>
In the gospel today, Jesus drills underneath the commandments to their roots, our relationship with God.
My husband and I are discerning adopting a young sibling group out of the foster care system. Right now we are learning all we can about how toddlers experience adoption, especially when they’ve lived through abuse and neglect. Most adopted toddlers have problems with attachment. Experts say that attachment between children and their primary care givers is one of the most important elements in human development. Without it children don’t develop the basic social skills necessary for future relationships. They fail to develop a conscience. It actually causes significant delays in intellect and physical growth.
So we’re learning about attachment, and about the characteristics of children with attachment problems. I’ve been struck at how parallel these characteristics of children are to the characteristics of a life without faith, or without complete faith. Many of our spiritual struggles are strikingly similar to the struggles of children with attachment problems. If we think of God is our heavenly parent then we need a secure attachment with God for our growth and development. It seems as if all of us have some problem with attachment to God. I’m reminded of the prayer, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”
Here are a few of those characteristics.
resistance to being comforted — When children get hurt or are tired or don’t feel good, they usually go find their parent to be comforted, but children with attachment problems don’t. In fact, they actively resist when their parents try to comfort them. These are children who have been hurt, who have been tired or didn’t feel good, but when they reached out in the past were met with violence or silence. They weren’t comforted when they needed it. So they have learned that when you need comfort, you rely on yourself. They often develop self-comforting techniques like rocking or humming, or things that look autistic to us. When they’re adopted and their new parents try to comfort them, they reject the comfort because accepting it would bring a whole new waive of grief for all the times they weren’t comforted.
I’m thinking of people who need comfort but don’t go to God, they turn to other things. They are afraid about their security, so they build big bank accounts and big armies instead of leaning on God. They are afraid of being rejected, so they work on looking beautiful rather than leaning on God. They are suffering with pain or loss, but they don’t seek out God, they turn to self-comforting techniques like drinking, shopping, over-eating, smoking, sex, or some other compulsion.
Many times in my own life when I needed comfort, God has not been my first refuge. I want the external things in place, like the big bank account, the network of friends, the important job, and then I’ll turn to God. I’ve spent a lot of time not being comforted.
In our gospel, Jesus addresses a compulsion: sex. He delves into the commandment not to commit adultery, and he names lust as the root cause, the compulsion of sex. Jesus says that sex won’t make us feel better. We need something else. We need a different kind of comfort.
resistance to being cuddled — Normally children will regularly seek out their parents for cuddles and will “conform” to their parents’ bodies, relaxing into maximum physical contact. My little Xavier does that, I love it. But children with attachment problems don’t want to be held. They fight to get away, or they just go limp like a rag doll and slide out of their parents arms. In the past these children have felt that natural and normal need for gentle physical cuddling but were denied it by neglect or abuse. That need went unmet and somewhere along the way they decided they were going to live without cuddling, and maybe that decision actually helped them survive those early experiences. Now they reject all touching.
That resistance to being cuddled sounds a lot like the way many people think about God. Many believe in God, but don’t expect or want God in their daily lives. They accept that God created the universe, but then God politely left and we are now able to live our lives on our own. That’s the thinking that leads people to pay attention to God on Sunday but not on Monday. That’s basically the notion that God lives at church but not at work.
I remember when I left active ministry, I thought, well, God won’t be around as much. I carried an assumption that God maybe took special notice of me because I was in ministry, because I served others, but now that I was a normal person, God just wouldn’t be around as much. So I stepped back. What was I thinking? I was rejecting the calming presence of God, cuddles from my heavenly parent.
ambivalent behavior — Children with attachment problems will at once seek and reject their parents. When they get hurt, at first they’ll reach out to their parent, but when the parent gets close they scream, “no.” This ambivalent behavior may originate with a need being so strong that it overwhelms that decision that they don’t need anybody. But as the parent gets close, the walls come flying up.
Isn’t that much like praying in a crisis? We all want God when everything else has failed, and God always comes running, but after solving the crisis, we want God to get out of the way. When God stays close, it’s terrifying that God might want something from us, might ask us to live differently, and we push God away. We want God in the crisis, but not in ordinary life.
I can’t count how many times I’ve turned to God, wanting conversion, until conversion was actually upon me. Then I was afraid and pulled back. What if God asked something too big? What if I was called to martyrdom?
rage and aggression — Toddlers with attachment problems have temper tantrums that are on a whole different level than normal toddlers. Their aggresion can erupt out of the blue. These poor children with so much hurt in their live – hurt from abuse and hurt from nobody being there when they needed somebody — have done what most of us do with hurt, we turn it into anger and when there’s a lot of it, it comes out as rage.
The world is full of rage and aggression. It’s what drives war. We see it in road rage, in fact, I think remember reading that the number one cause of death on the roadways isn’t drunk drinking, it’s aggressive driving. And rage and aggression are the root of domestic violence.
In today’s gospel, Jesus drills deep into the commandment not to kill by saying that whoever is angry will be liable to the judgement. Jesus is going after rage and aggression as the root causes of murder. He’s saying that it’s not enough to not murder, but we must address the unhealed rage and aggression we carry. Otherwise, we are only about will power, not closeness to God.
These commonalities between the characteristics of unattached children and our distance from God is striking. Why don’t we reach out to God first when we need comfort? Why do we resist God’s presence? Why do we treat other things like God? Why are we filled with rage and aggression? If we are like unattached children, then what was the abuse or neglect that lead to these behaviors? Maybe that is what original sin is.
So after knowing all these things about attachment problems, what’s an adoptive parent to do? The experts look to normal babies, who experience a need, get agitated, the parent responds, and the baby calms down. This cycle happens over and over and over until the child trusts that the parent will always show up when they have a need. So adoptive parents have to repeat this cycle, new to the unattached child, over and over and over. Parents have to listen for needs in their children and respond immediately, building a new experience for children and eventually a new expectation. It can take a very long time for a toddler to let down their defenses, and the parent must keep up with the loving behavior even when it’s not reciprocated.
Does God do that with us? Does God keep up with the loving behavior even when it’s not reciprocated? Does God stay with us, always there to answer every need, holding on for years and years. Does God feed us? Does God leap to us when we fall? Does God show us over and over and over that God can be trusted, waiting for us to let down our defenses?
Just like the adoptive parent, God waits. Because in the end, the child must let down their resistance on their own. The child has to take a leap of faith, has to believe that this parent will be different, they have to choose to trust. Our first reading says, “if you trust in God, you too shall live.” God is there, reaching out to comfort us, feeding us, holding us, waiting for us. But in the end, we must choose to trust God.
Just as there is a list of characteristics of problems with attachment, there is a list of characteristics that let parents know when healing has begun. We can use them too. We’ll know when we’re growing in attachment to God:
- when we seek God when we need comfort, rather than other compulsions
- when we accept God’s universal and persistent presence
- when we treat only God as God, not looking to other sources for our security, our sense of value, our worth
- when we loose our ambivalence by reaching out when God feels far away and when God feels close
- and, when we sense a gentle collapse of our rage and aggression.
Friday, February 4, 2011
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Glowing Light
Isaiah 58:7-10
1 Corinthians 2:1-5
Matthew 5:13-16
Remember a few weeks ago when Isaiah was to call Israel back to God, but it was too little, Israel was to be a light to the nations? Today we have Jesus echoing that call. Jesus is calling us to be a light to the world.
Our kitchen and dining room face south, so on clear days a lot of sunshine comes in the windows. The kids will play right there in the light and they get that sunshine glow. You know that beautiful glow of the sun on hair. They look just like angels. I think that’s the kind of light that Jesus is talking about. It’s a light that doesn’t originate with us, but when we are in it, we glow. We become breathtaking. It’s not us that has changed, it’s only where we stand. When we stand with Jesus, when we stand in Jesus’ light, we glow. We glow so strongly that it lights the whole world. I can think of some people who glow with the power of the Spirit, people who touch a holy part of me and fill me with energy.
Archbishop Oscar Romero is one. He was assassinated at the moment of consecration for his work for justice. At first I heard about the way he stood up for the poor of El Salvador, but it was only later when I learned his story that I realized he didn’t start with loving justice, he started with loving his friends. His justice work didn’t begin until a close friend was murdered. Then he changed. It shows me that it’s easier to do great deeds for justice when it is people who you love who are being stepped on. Social justice isn’t about ideas, it’s about people.
Dorothy Day is another. She was filled with convictions, but lost in the world. It wasn’t until she took her God-given gift for writing and called the Catholic Church to walk the talk that everything changed for her. When she published the first Catholic Worker newspaper in 1933, at the height of the Great Depression, she called on every parish to open up a House of Hospitality. And then people showed up on her doorstep asking for hospitality. It was real people looking her in the eye that changed her, and the Catholic Worker movement was born. But she struggled with maintaining balance between her work with the homeless, her writing, and her own family life. I struggle with a similar balance. Her struggle inspires me in dealing with mine.
Henry Krewer here in Boise is another person who inspires me. I met Henry about 15 years ago at a meeting of people thinking about starting a Catholic Worker community. We were reading a book about the Catholic Worker movement and discussing it. I remember Henry with reading glasses all crooked and his hair all tousled, but he spoke a wisdom that was deeper than anything I had ever heard. His ease with loving the homeless and his persistent sense of calling were awe-inspiring to me. He made me look at the homeless in a new way. He made me look at my own calling with greater respect.
All of these people are lights in a world of darkness. But you know, all of them have a shadow side. Last Sunday Fr. Hugh described humility as fully knowing two things — that we are good because God made us a good, and that we are sinners and broken. Archbishop Oscar Romero only got on the justice band-wagon when his friend was killed, but not before when people he didn’t know were killed. Dorothy Day spoke out against a lot of injustice, but not sexism, one that I care a lot about. Even Henry has his shadow. Once we were demonstrating against the death penalty and a guy came up to argue with us. He clearly just wanted to pick a fight. Well, not only did Henry not refuse to fight, I swear he actually goaded the guy on. They almost came to blows. Now, I hesitate to tell a story on Henry because after 15 years he could easily stand here for hours telling stories on me. Probably so could most of you.
We all have a shadow side. Just because people do great things, shine great light, doesn’t mean they are perfect. All of us have a shadow side. All of us, except one.
Jesus! Jesus has no shadow. Jesus worked for justice and didn’t leave anybody out. Jesus reached out in charity and always pushed back to the broader questions of justice. Jesus’ pride never stopped him from living out his mission. Jesus felt fear but never let it drive him. Jesus’ love for people was genuine, and it was for all people — those on the very bottom of society all the way up to the powerful, women, men & children, his own people and foreigners. To me that is one of the most compelling things about Jesus. It what makes him more than a great teacher. He had no shadow; he was all light.
The rest of us have shadows because the light shines on us, not from us. And that’s normal, that’s the way we were created. God obviously approves of it because God made us that way. But Jesus has no shadow because Jesus is the source of the light. In today’s gospel as Jesus is telling us to be a light, he’s saying to get into that warm sunlight like my children do. Stand there, because when you do, you glow.
Being a light to the world isn’t about will power or changing ourselves, it’s about standing with Jesus, about witnessing for Jesus. We witness by expressing what Jesus means in our life. We witness by following those urgings in our hearts that pull us toward holiness and bring about good works. We witness by the honest sharing of our faith struggles. We witness by discerning our own callings and respecting those callings because they come from God.
Every day that you stand with Jesus, you are a glowing light to the world. You inspire people by merely standing in Christ’s light. Your faith inspires people the same way that others have inspired me.
1 Corinthians 2:1-5
Matthew 5:13-16
<AUDIO FILE>
Remember a few weeks ago when Isaiah was to call Israel back to God, but it was too little, Israel was to be a light to the nations? Today we have Jesus echoing that call. Jesus is calling us to be a light to the world.
Our kitchen and dining room face south, so on clear days a lot of sunshine comes in the windows. The kids will play right there in the light and they get that sunshine glow. You know that beautiful glow of the sun on hair. They look just like angels. I think that’s the kind of light that Jesus is talking about. It’s a light that doesn’t originate with us, but when we are in it, we glow. We become breathtaking. It’s not us that has changed, it’s only where we stand. When we stand with Jesus, when we stand in Jesus’ light, we glow. We glow so strongly that it lights the whole world. I can think of some people who glow with the power of the Spirit, people who touch a holy part of me and fill me with energy.
Archbishop Oscar Romero is one. He was assassinated at the moment of consecration for his work for justice. At first I heard about the way he stood up for the poor of El Salvador, but it was only later when I learned his story that I realized he didn’t start with loving justice, he started with loving his friends. His justice work didn’t begin until a close friend was murdered. Then he changed. It shows me that it’s easier to do great deeds for justice when it is people who you love who are being stepped on. Social justice isn’t about ideas, it’s about people.
Dorothy Day is another. She was filled with convictions, but lost in the world. It wasn’t until she took her God-given gift for writing and called the Catholic Church to walk the talk that everything changed for her. When she published the first Catholic Worker newspaper in 1933, at the height of the Great Depression, she called on every parish to open up a House of Hospitality. And then people showed up on her doorstep asking for hospitality. It was real people looking her in the eye that changed her, and the Catholic Worker movement was born. But she struggled with maintaining balance between her work with the homeless, her writing, and her own family life. I struggle with a similar balance. Her struggle inspires me in dealing with mine.
Henry Krewer here in Boise is another person who inspires me. I met Henry about 15 years ago at a meeting of people thinking about starting a Catholic Worker community. We were reading a book about the Catholic Worker movement and discussing it. I remember Henry with reading glasses all crooked and his hair all tousled, but he spoke a wisdom that was deeper than anything I had ever heard. His ease with loving the homeless and his persistent sense of calling were awe-inspiring to me. He made me look at the homeless in a new way. He made me look at my own calling with greater respect.
All of these people are lights in a world of darkness. But you know, all of them have a shadow side. Last Sunday Fr. Hugh described humility as fully knowing two things — that we are good because God made us a good, and that we are sinners and broken. Archbishop Oscar Romero only got on the justice band-wagon when his friend was killed, but not before when people he didn’t know were killed. Dorothy Day spoke out against a lot of injustice, but not sexism, one that I care a lot about. Even Henry has his shadow. Once we were demonstrating against the death penalty and a guy came up to argue with us. He clearly just wanted to pick a fight. Well, not only did Henry not refuse to fight, I swear he actually goaded the guy on. They almost came to blows. Now, I hesitate to tell a story on Henry because after 15 years he could easily stand here for hours telling stories on me. Probably so could most of you.
We all have a shadow side. Just because people do great things, shine great light, doesn’t mean they are perfect. All of us have a shadow side. All of us, except one.
Jesus! Jesus has no shadow. Jesus worked for justice and didn’t leave anybody out. Jesus reached out in charity and always pushed back to the broader questions of justice. Jesus’ pride never stopped him from living out his mission. Jesus felt fear but never let it drive him. Jesus’ love for people was genuine, and it was for all people — those on the very bottom of society all the way up to the powerful, women, men & children, his own people and foreigners. To me that is one of the most compelling things about Jesus. It what makes him more than a great teacher. He had no shadow; he was all light.
The rest of us have shadows because the light shines on us, not from us. And that’s normal, that’s the way we were created. God obviously approves of it because God made us that way. But Jesus has no shadow because Jesus is the source of the light. In today’s gospel as Jesus is telling us to be a light, he’s saying to get into that warm sunlight like my children do. Stand there, because when you do, you glow.
Being a light to the world isn’t about will power or changing ourselves, it’s about standing with Jesus, about witnessing for Jesus. We witness by expressing what Jesus means in our life. We witness by following those urgings in our hearts that pull us toward holiness and bring about good works. We witness by the honest sharing of our faith struggles. We witness by discerning our own callings and respecting those callings because they come from God.
Every day that you stand with Jesus, you are a glowing light to the world. You inspire people by merely standing in Christ’s light. Your faith inspires people the same way that others have inspired me.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
4th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Beatitudes
Zephaniah 2:3; 3:12-13
1 Corinthians 1:26-31
Matthew 5:1-12a
Today we hear the beatitudes, the opening section of the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew’s gospel, along with Luke’s, contains all the material of Mark’s along with some additional stuff. The Sermon on the Mount is some of the additional stuff. It is one of five sermons in the gospel of Matthew that make up the core teachings of Jesus.
The beatitudes have always been puzzling to me. What does it mean to be poor in spirit and how is that good? What does it mean to be meek, to mourn? The truth is that these are pretty words that just don’t line up with the world I live in. These things that Jesus says are blessed by God bring suffering. So how does this work? Is he offering a reward, like a piece of chocolate at the end of the day for good work? Or is he naming something that just happens naturally, like when you plant watermelon in June you get to eat watermelon in September?
Every one of these blessings is about being lowly, humble, and trusting God. Jesus demonstrated and taught that there is no happiness without dependence on God and with dependence on God, any suffering is merely a detail. People who live their lives without God but with money, power, comfort, and control aren’t happy. They aren’t content. They aren’t joyful. They are eaten up by their own brokenness. But those who are poor, with dependence on God, who are above no one, who would rather get stepped on rather than do the stepping, who crave the goodness of real justice, who forgive because they were first forgiven, who are a reconciling presence in the world, these people have a contentment that is so much deeper and bigger than any suffering they go through.
How is it blessed to be poor? To live with the stress of bill collectors calling and utilities getting turned off. To live with the knowledge that all it will take is one problem and those ends that are barely meeting, just won’t meet anymore. To live with the terror of homelessness. How was that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when have had those times of relying on nothing other than God, that we find a security that no amount of money can give. We learn that dependence on God in poverty is truly blessed.
How it blessed to mourn? Not just the kind of mourning that we are used to, but the kind of mourning from being invaded, conquered, and oppressed. The slaves of the American south mourned. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we suffer under oppressors, or suffer from racism, or sexism, that we can sense God standing beside us, standing up tall, and feeling that support and presence, we are blessed.
How is it blessed to be meek? The Hebrew word for meek, anawim, was the word for the widows, the orphans, and the aliens. How is it blessed to be an alien? To go to bed at night wondering if ICE is coming. To show up at work the day before payday and be arrested and flown far away with no way to let your family know. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we are powerless against the world, then we find that real power comes from God and we are blessed.
How is it blessed to hunger and thirst for righteousness? To hunger for something so absent from our world? That here in the richest country in the world we have people having abortions because they can’t afford a baby, we have people sleeping on the streets of Boise. We have people dying because they can’t afford chemotherapy. How is that blessed to see that and to able to do so little to change it? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that, in fact, it is the only hunger that that will satisfied. We all hunger, but those who hunger for God’s justice are the only ones who will be satisfied, and that is blessed.
How is it blessed to be merciful? Isn’t that just being foolish? If somebody cheats you to just let them go? We must be tough on crime, we must be ruthless, or else we’ll be overrun by crime. Being merciful will get you take advantaged of. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we are merciful, forgiving without good cause as we have been forgiven, that we are healed and that is blessed.
How is it blessed to be clean of heart? It sounds nice, but the ones with authentic integrity, the kind of integrity of saying what you believe and following it up with action will sooner or later run up against a pretty hard wall. That kind of integrity gets people fired every day. People who have stood up and told the truth found themselves with clean hearts but empty bank accounts. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when our words and actions and lives line up with God’s truth that we are filled with a sense of holy identity and we are blessed.
How is it blessed to be a peacemaker? It sounds nice too, but getting involved in conflicts, even to make peace, can leave you a casualty. Many people don’t want their conflicts resolved, and if you aren’t on their side, then you’re the enemy. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when our presence is about lasting reconciliation and peace, then we have been co-workers with God and we are blessed.
How it blessed to be persecuted? Being denied a job, refusing to rent to you because you’re Christian isn’t just in the history books. Ostracism happens right now. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that the joy of being aligned with God makes any gruff we receive nothing more than gnats buzzing around and we are blessed.
These blessings from God are in opposition to the world. So the world uses every trick to get us back in line. To make us crave money for our security rather than trusting in God. To make us value comfort over integrity. To make us punish our enemies, and call that fair, rather than reconcile with them. It takes strength of faith to resist those lies because they just keep coming. It takes persistence to reject the lie that war makes us secure, to reject the lie that it’s better to be at the top of the heap than the bottom, to reject the lie that the one who dies with the most toys wins. A lot of us Christians have bought those lies. That’s why we don’t like the cross. Because it’s foolishness to us.
But we keep coming back to these beatitudes because even though they’re foolish, they speaks to the part of us that knows the world is lying.
We’ll spend our whole lives living into the beatitudes just as we spend our whole lives becoming fully Christian. For some of us, who want so badly to prove we are independent, the challenge will be accepting God’s care. For some of us, who haven’t had much success with trust, the challenge will be believing that God loves you enough and is powerful enough to care for you. For some of us, who like things fair, the challenge will be forgiving without first getting revenge. For some of us, raised in a world that says its better to be rich than poor, the challenge will be to value the people who are named in these beatitudes — the poor, the meek, those who mourn oppression.
These beatitudes are knives with sharps edges, a different edge for each one of us. But these are not knives that stab. They are scalpels that cut away cancers from our soul that drain life from us, that drain energy from us, that drain love from us. With those cut away, there is nothing left but blessing.
1 Corinthians 1:26-31
Matthew 5:1-12a
<AUDIO FILE>
Today we hear the beatitudes, the opening section of the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew’s gospel, along with Luke’s, contains all the material of Mark’s along with some additional stuff. The Sermon on the Mount is some of the additional stuff. It is one of five sermons in the gospel of Matthew that make up the core teachings of Jesus.
The beatitudes have always been puzzling to me. What does it mean to be poor in spirit and how is that good? What does it mean to be meek, to mourn? The truth is that these are pretty words that just don’t line up with the world I live in. These things that Jesus says are blessed by God bring suffering. So how does this work? Is he offering a reward, like a piece of chocolate at the end of the day for good work? Or is he naming something that just happens naturally, like when you plant watermelon in June you get to eat watermelon in September?
Every one of these blessings is about being lowly, humble, and trusting God. Jesus demonstrated and taught that there is no happiness without dependence on God and with dependence on God, any suffering is merely a detail. People who live their lives without God but with money, power, comfort, and control aren’t happy. They aren’t content. They aren’t joyful. They are eaten up by their own brokenness. But those who are poor, with dependence on God, who are above no one, who would rather get stepped on rather than do the stepping, who crave the goodness of real justice, who forgive because they were first forgiven, who are a reconciling presence in the world, these people have a contentment that is so much deeper and bigger than any suffering they go through.
How is it blessed to be poor? To live with the stress of bill collectors calling and utilities getting turned off. To live with the knowledge that all it will take is one problem and those ends that are barely meeting, just won’t meet anymore. To live with the terror of homelessness. How was that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when have had those times of relying on nothing other than God, that we find a security that no amount of money can give. We learn that dependence on God in poverty is truly blessed.
How it blessed to mourn? Not just the kind of mourning that we are used to, but the kind of mourning from being invaded, conquered, and oppressed. The slaves of the American south mourned. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we suffer under oppressors, or suffer from racism, or sexism, that we can sense God standing beside us, standing up tall, and feeling that support and presence, we are blessed.
How is it blessed to be meek? The Hebrew word for meek, anawim, was the word for the widows, the orphans, and the aliens. How is it blessed to be an alien? To go to bed at night wondering if ICE is coming. To show up at work the day before payday and be arrested and flown far away with no way to let your family know. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we are powerless against the world, then we find that real power comes from God and we are blessed.
How is it blessed to hunger and thirst for righteousness? To hunger for something so absent from our world? That here in the richest country in the world we have people having abortions because they can’t afford a baby, we have people sleeping on the streets of Boise. We have people dying because they can’t afford chemotherapy. How is that blessed to see that and to able to do so little to change it? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that, in fact, it is the only hunger that that will satisfied. We all hunger, but those who hunger for God’s justice are the only ones who will be satisfied, and that is blessed.
How is it blessed to be merciful? Isn’t that just being foolish? If somebody cheats you to just let them go? We must be tough on crime, we must be ruthless, or else we’ll be overrun by crime. Being merciful will get you take advantaged of. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when we are merciful, forgiving without good cause as we have been forgiven, that we are healed and that is blessed.
How is it blessed to be clean of heart? It sounds nice, but the ones with authentic integrity, the kind of integrity of saying what you believe and following it up with action will sooner or later run up against a pretty hard wall. That kind of integrity gets people fired every day. People who have stood up and told the truth found themselves with clean hearts but empty bank accounts. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when our words and actions and lives line up with God’s truth that we are filled with a sense of holy identity and we are blessed.
How is it blessed to be a peacemaker? It sounds nice too, but getting involved in conflicts, even to make peace, can leave you a casualty. Many people don’t want their conflicts resolved, and if you aren’t on their side, then you’re the enemy. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that when our presence is about lasting reconciliation and peace, then we have been co-workers with God and we are blessed.
How it blessed to be persecuted? Being denied a job, refusing to rent to you because you’re Christian isn’t just in the history books. Ostracism happens right now. How is that blessed? But Jesus says it is. Jesus says that the joy of being aligned with God makes any gruff we receive nothing more than gnats buzzing around and we are blessed.
These blessings from God are in opposition to the world. So the world uses every trick to get us back in line. To make us crave money for our security rather than trusting in God. To make us value comfort over integrity. To make us punish our enemies, and call that fair, rather than reconcile with them. It takes strength of faith to resist those lies because they just keep coming. It takes persistence to reject the lie that war makes us secure, to reject the lie that it’s better to be at the top of the heap than the bottom, to reject the lie that the one who dies with the most toys wins. A lot of us Christians have bought those lies. That’s why we don’t like the cross. Because it’s foolishness to us.
But we keep coming back to these beatitudes because even though they’re foolish, they speaks to the part of us that knows the world is lying.
We’ll spend our whole lives living into the beatitudes just as we spend our whole lives becoming fully Christian. For some of us, who want so badly to prove we are independent, the challenge will be accepting God’s care. For some of us, who haven’t had much success with trust, the challenge will be believing that God loves you enough and is powerful enough to care for you. For some of us, who like things fair, the challenge will be forgiving without first getting revenge. For some of us, raised in a world that says its better to be rich than poor, the challenge will be to value the people who are named in these beatitudes — the poor, the meek, those who mourn oppression.
These beatitudes are knives with sharps edges, a different edge for each one of us. But these are not knives that stab. They are scalpels that cut away cancers from our soul that drain life from us, that drain energy from us, that drain love from us. With those cut away, there is nothing left but blessing.
Friday, January 21, 2011
3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time: Unity
Isaiah 8:23-9:1-3
I Corinthians 1:10-13, 17
Matthew 4:12-23
When I was studying theology, we read all the great theologians — Karl Rahner, one of the fathers of Vatican II, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Augustine, and St. Paul. Have you ever thought of St. Paul as a theologian? He was. He thought about the stories he had heard about Jesus, about his own experience of Jesus, and wondered, what does it mean? What does it mean about our relationship with God and what does it mean about how we are to be together as Christians. In his letter to the Corinthians we hear some of his conclusions.
Those Corinthians were a difficult bunch. Paul had been there, preached the good news, and established a church. But later he received reports of divisions in the church. Some people were declaring allegiance to Paul, some to the charismatic leader Apollos, some to another leader named Cephas, and a fourth faction claimed to be just Christ followers. But that division was a big problem. It split the community. Paul was emphatic that there was only one community, just as there was one baptism, one gospel, and one source of wisdom that united people in Christ.
Paul was saying that being a follower of Christ binds a person with every other follower of Christ. But how does that work? How does the Spirit unite us all without wiping out our diversity? Paul never answers the “how” question and I sure haven’t figured it out. It’s a mystery, one that we can’t understand and one that we certainly can’t control. But it is one that we can observe. We can see it.
It reminds me of that joke that sitting in the pew doesn’t make you a Christian any more than sitting in the garage makes you a car. We can look in the garage tell by looking, you’re not a car. St. Paul is saying the same thing about Christians, we can tell a Christian community just by looking — it is a community empowered by Christ to be of one love, one heart, and one mind. He’s not saying that it’s a community without diversity because only a short bit later in this letter to the Corinthians is his beautiful description of the many gifts and the one Body. St. Paul is telling us that I can be quite different from other people and still be bonded to them, bonded in love. The love which binds us together is our love for Christ, but more importantly, it’s Christ’s love for us, and every other person who Christ loves.
I was thinking about this as I was watching my little son stringing beads. I think a string of beads is a good way to think about this unity St. Paul is describing.
We are like the beads. Like, this one, it’s a yellow cube, is Mia. I can set it out here by itself. It’s an individual. It can’t do much. It’s pretty, but it’s only one bead. But then I take it and put it on the string. The string is the Holy Spirit. Suddenly that yellow bead that is Mia is part of a whole artwork. The string is holding me together with a bunch of other beads. They are all different from me – different shapes, different colors — but we have one thing in common. We all have a hole for the thread. Just as with all of us, we have different gifts and charisms, but all of us have a hole where God goes. And when we are strung onto God, we are held together. When my son’s done stringing his beads, he asks me to tie a knot in the end, just as Christ is the knot that holds us all on.
Apart from the string, we are just individuals. But on the string, we form a community, a Christian community – strung by God the Father, held on the string that is God the Holy Spirit, and knotted securely by God the Son.
One thing I like about this image is that the beads don’t change. They don’t have parts cut off, they are smashed into new shapes. They are put on the string exactly as their are. That’s how it is in Christian community for us, we come as our true selves, nothing more, nothing less, with the giftedness God has imbued in each of us. But being strung on that string, we have gotten so close to God that God has become part of us and we part of God.
I think that’s the secret between the kind of community like the Corinthians that broke apart and the kind of community St. Paul was describing. When coming together means that some of us have to be smashed in order to make room for others to expand, there’s problems. But when we all come together, exactly as we are, expecting nothing other than the love of God to hold us together, then there is an easy bond that supports but doesn’t control.
In the end, the beads don’t know how they are held together, they just know that they are. They observe that they are. They don’t know how it works. They may not even see the string, they may not know about beads down the way, and they certainly don’t see the overall design. They know that they’re held together.
So how is this helpful to us? If we are those beads, sitting on that string, how does that change our life?
You know, I’ve often thought of my community as the people who I like. That the bond of friendship holds us together. These beads aren’t held together by themselves, it is only the string holding them together. Christian community is being held together by nothing other than the love Christ has for each of us. That changes a lot for me. That I means I don’t have to like every person in my parish community to be bonded them. Even more, they don’t all have to like me. We’re still held together.
Just like I’ve thought of my community as the ones who I like, I’ve thought of my community as the people who are similar to me. But these beads aren’t all the same. In fact, the design is more beautiful because they’re different. Christian community is a bunch of people who are different, being woven into a design that is bigger than any of us.
What does it mean for you? Are you a bead right in the middle of the design. Maybe you’re on the string but you’re looking down a seeing another bead, thinking, oh I wish I was red cube. Look at how much attention he gets. Or maybe you’re telling all the other beads around you, you really should be red cubes. Maybe you’re on the string, but you keep trying to jump off, and taking the whole string along with you, God acting through the other beads calling you back every time. Or maybe you’re out on the table and you need to jump on the string.
Christian unity is something we called to, but it isn’t something we create. Our unity comes from God the Father, who threads us on, from God the Holy Spirit, the string we all ride on, and from God the Son, the knot at the end holding us all together.
I Corinthians 1:10-13, 17
Matthew 4:12-23
When I was studying theology, we read all the great theologians — Karl Rahner, one of the fathers of Vatican II, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Augustine, and St. Paul. Have you ever thought of St. Paul as a theologian? He was. He thought about the stories he had heard about Jesus, about his own experience of Jesus, and wondered, what does it mean? What does it mean about our relationship with God and what does it mean about how we are to be together as Christians. In his letter to the Corinthians we hear some of his conclusions.
Those Corinthians were a difficult bunch. Paul had been there, preached the good news, and established a church. But later he received reports of divisions in the church. Some people were declaring allegiance to Paul, some to the charismatic leader Apollos, some to another leader named Cephas, and a fourth faction claimed to be just Christ followers. But that division was a big problem. It split the community. Paul was emphatic that there was only one community, just as there was one baptism, one gospel, and one source of wisdom that united people in Christ.
Paul was saying that being a follower of Christ binds a person with every other follower of Christ. But how does that work? How does the Spirit unite us all without wiping out our diversity? Paul never answers the “how” question and I sure haven’t figured it out. It’s a mystery, one that we can’t understand and one that we certainly can’t control. But it is one that we can observe. We can see it.
It reminds me of that joke that sitting in the pew doesn’t make you a Christian any more than sitting in the garage makes you a car. We can look in the garage tell by looking, you’re not a car. St. Paul is saying the same thing about Christians, we can tell a Christian community just by looking — it is a community empowered by Christ to be of one love, one heart, and one mind. He’s not saying that it’s a community without diversity because only a short bit later in this letter to the Corinthians is his beautiful description of the many gifts and the one Body. St. Paul is telling us that I can be quite different from other people and still be bonded to them, bonded in love. The love which binds us together is our love for Christ, but more importantly, it’s Christ’s love for us, and every other person who Christ loves.
I was thinking about this as I was watching my little son stringing beads. I think a string of beads is a good way to think about this unity St. Paul is describing.
We are like the beads. Like, this one, it’s a yellow cube, is Mia. I can set it out here by itself. It’s an individual. It can’t do much. It’s pretty, but it’s only one bead. But then I take it and put it on the string. The string is the Holy Spirit. Suddenly that yellow bead that is Mia is part of a whole artwork. The string is holding me together with a bunch of other beads. They are all different from me – different shapes, different colors — but we have one thing in common. We all have a hole for the thread. Just as with all of us, we have different gifts and charisms, but all of us have a hole where God goes. And when we are strung onto God, we are held together. When my son’s done stringing his beads, he asks me to tie a knot in the end, just as Christ is the knot that holds us all on.
Apart from the string, we are just individuals. But on the string, we form a community, a Christian community – strung by God the Father, held on the string that is God the Holy Spirit, and knotted securely by God the Son.
One thing I like about this image is that the beads don’t change. They don’t have parts cut off, they are smashed into new shapes. They are put on the string exactly as their are. That’s how it is in Christian community for us, we come as our true selves, nothing more, nothing less, with the giftedness God has imbued in each of us. But being strung on that string, we have gotten so close to God that God has become part of us and we part of God.
I think that’s the secret between the kind of community like the Corinthians that broke apart and the kind of community St. Paul was describing. When coming together means that some of us have to be smashed in order to make room for others to expand, there’s problems. But when we all come together, exactly as we are, expecting nothing other than the love of God to hold us together, then there is an easy bond that supports but doesn’t control.
In the end, the beads don’t know how they are held together, they just know that they are. They observe that they are. They don’t know how it works. They may not even see the string, they may not know about beads down the way, and they certainly don’t see the overall design. They know that they’re held together.
So how is this helpful to us? If we are those beads, sitting on that string, how does that change our life?
You know, I’ve often thought of my community as the people who I like. That the bond of friendship holds us together. These beads aren’t held together by themselves, it is only the string holding them together. Christian community is being held together by nothing other than the love Christ has for each of us. That changes a lot for me. That I means I don’t have to like every person in my parish community to be bonded them. Even more, they don’t all have to like me. We’re still held together.
Just like I’ve thought of my community as the ones who I like, I’ve thought of my community as the people who are similar to me. But these beads aren’t all the same. In fact, the design is more beautiful because they’re different. Christian community is a bunch of people who are different, being woven into a design that is bigger than any of us.
What does it mean for you? Are you a bead right in the middle of the design. Maybe you’re on the string but you’re looking down a seeing another bead, thinking, oh I wish I was red cube. Look at how much attention he gets. Or maybe you’re telling all the other beads around you, you really should be red cubes. Maybe you’re on the string, but you keep trying to jump off, and taking the whole string along with you, God acting through the other beads calling you back every time. Or maybe you’re out on the table and you need to jump on the string.
Christian unity is something we called to, but it isn’t something we create. Our unity comes from God the Father, who threads us on, from God the Holy Spirit, the string we all ride on, and from God the Son, the knot at the end holding us all together.
Friday, January 14, 2011
2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time: Mission
Isaiah 49:3, 5-6
1 Corinthians 1:1-3
John 1:29-34
Isaiah had been called from birth, called from the womb, and he knew it. His job was to bring Israel back to God. It was a mighty commission: important and relevant work. It would call for his best gifts and deepest love, but God had formed him for this task. He could feel it in his bones. He was inspired and that inspiration made the mission possible.
I think most of us have some sense that we have a purpose on this earth is that is only ours. Much of the discernment we go through as young adults is searching for that mission, fine tuning it. We do it by pursuing our interests and talents, what we are good at and what we long to do. Maybe it’s a call to the healing arts of nursing or doctoring. Maybe it’s a call to the creative crafts of carpentry, plumbing, or mechanic. Maybe it’s a call to teaching or law or farming or ministry. Maybe we also have a call to parenting and married life. We discern our calling by finding those holy passions that keep at us even as obstacles arise.
Isaiah had that done that. He knew he had a life’s mission that was to be mouth piece of God, calling Israel back to God. At the end of the Babylonian exile, the people were ready to be called back. They were weary from being away and wanted to be close to their land and close to their God.
And then God changed things on Isaiah. The calling he had taken on and accepted was too little. Isaiah had it all figured out, but it was too little. He had thought through his calling, it would be difficult, but he’d wrapped his arms around it. But it was too little! God wanted more! Isaiah was to lead Israel to be a light to the nations! That’s completely different. It wasn’t enough for Israel to gather around God, they had to be an example. Their faith had to be so strong, so life-changing, so life-giving that they would be a witness and inspire every other nation! They were the ones who would spread God’s salvation to the ends of the earth.
After getting people all comfortable back on their own land with their own God, Isaiah had to send them back out! Isaiah didn’t have his arms around that.
Now think about the calling you’ve felt in your own life, that purpose for which you were made, that mission that calls for your best gifts and deepest love. But is it a mission that you’ve got your arms around, that you know will be difficult, but you think you can do it. Does God say to you, It’s too little! Does God say, that holy work you’ve been doing is not enough. I want more. I will make you a witness, a light to everybody. I will send you to reach my salvation to every corner of the earth.
God said that to Mother Teresa. She was doing good work in India teaching in a Catholic school, but God wanted more. It was like that for Archbishop Oscar Romero. He was doing good work caring for his church in war-torn El Salvador, but God wanted more. It was like that for the Virgin Mary. She was doing good work in her home in Israel, but God wanted more. It was like that for Pope John XXIII, he was doing good work leading his diocese, but God wanted more.
It seems that God gives us a calling, gets us all formed and educated until we feel comfortable and competent, and then God hands us a whole new job.
I’ve had God turn corners on me in my life. When I was in school I always got better grades in math than in English. As a young adult, I was asked to write articles now and then, but I figured it was because nobody else was around. I really wasn’t a writer. Then I went to a Called and Gifted Workshop and I was told, right to my face, “you might want to discern the charism of writing.” Well that wasn’t comfortable! I was good at math, not writing. Writing was a struggle, it was hard, it made me feel inferior. Frankly, it scared me. It still does. But those words about discerning writing grabbed a hold of me and didn’t let go. Like all things of God, those words were not for me. They were for my community, reaching all the way to the ends of the earth. And God started working through my writing. So I did some discerning, and I continue discerning, surprised every time when my writing touches people deeper than I capable of touching them, inspiring them more than I am capable of inspiring them.
You see, I had things figured out. I had decided how I would serve God. But God told me, it is too little, and then called on me for more. It has been uncomfortable, because it always is when you let God do the deciding, rather than the other way around.
There were other reasons that I resisted writing. It was the voices telling me that maybe I should have more reasonable goals. Lay women from Idaho really don’t become well known authors. The voices said, how much can you really have to say. Or the voices were just silent, that clanging, jarring silence where encouragement could be.
You know what I’m talking about. All of us at some point have been told that we are less than the calling we received from God. We’ve been told to be realistic, to be reasonable. It is a cold towel thrown on God’s fire. Sometimes I’ve even been those voices to others.
God uses the unworthy to do great things. God always has. God chooses the unworthy over and over because, in truth, they are worthy. Every one of us is worthy of our Creator and of the mission that our Creator gave us. We are the ones with the small minds who have to be reminded that the real power comes from God. Why did God choose Paul when there was Peter... If God choose Peter, people could say, “well sure Peter’s got faith but he heard and saw the Lord.” But Paul didn’t. Paul’s like us. And Paul had faith.
Why did God choose Mary Magdalene when there was James and John... If God choose James and John, people could say, “well sure they proclaimed the resurrection, they were the official disciples after all.” But Mary wasn’t. Mary’s like us. And Mary proclaimed the resurrection.
God consistently chooses the ones like us, but we are slow to accept them. Because we are slow to accept the messenger, we are slow to accept the message. And then we have to deal with our own lack of faith... but he was a Pharisee... but she was a woman... but he’s from Idaho... but she’s not qualified.
As long as we discount the messenger, ourselves included, we discount the message. In today’s reading we hear that God gives ordinary people extraordinary jobs, to prepare us, to be a light, to be gathered to God.
God is saving the whole world and using each of us to do it. God has given each of you an extraordinary job, maybe one even bigger than you’ve accepted yet.
1 Corinthians 1:1-3
John 1:29-34
<AUDIO>
Isaiah had been called from birth, called from the womb, and he knew it. His job was to bring Israel back to God. It was a mighty commission: important and relevant work. It would call for his best gifts and deepest love, but God had formed him for this task. He could feel it in his bones. He was inspired and that inspiration made the mission possible.
I think most of us have some sense that we have a purpose on this earth is that is only ours. Much of the discernment we go through as young adults is searching for that mission, fine tuning it. We do it by pursuing our interests and talents, what we are good at and what we long to do. Maybe it’s a call to the healing arts of nursing or doctoring. Maybe it’s a call to the creative crafts of carpentry, plumbing, or mechanic. Maybe it’s a call to teaching or law or farming or ministry. Maybe we also have a call to parenting and married life. We discern our calling by finding those holy passions that keep at us even as obstacles arise.
Isaiah had that done that. He knew he had a life’s mission that was to be mouth piece of God, calling Israel back to God. At the end of the Babylonian exile, the people were ready to be called back. They were weary from being away and wanted to be close to their land and close to their God.
And then God changed things on Isaiah. The calling he had taken on and accepted was too little. Isaiah had it all figured out, but it was too little. He had thought through his calling, it would be difficult, but he’d wrapped his arms around it. But it was too little! God wanted more! Isaiah was to lead Israel to be a light to the nations! That’s completely different. It wasn’t enough for Israel to gather around God, they had to be an example. Their faith had to be so strong, so life-changing, so life-giving that they would be a witness and inspire every other nation! They were the ones who would spread God’s salvation to the ends of the earth.
After getting people all comfortable back on their own land with their own God, Isaiah had to send them back out! Isaiah didn’t have his arms around that.
Now think about the calling you’ve felt in your own life, that purpose for which you were made, that mission that calls for your best gifts and deepest love. But is it a mission that you’ve got your arms around, that you know will be difficult, but you think you can do it. Does God say to you, It’s too little! Does God say, that holy work you’ve been doing is not enough. I want more. I will make you a witness, a light to everybody. I will send you to reach my salvation to every corner of the earth.
God said that to Mother Teresa. She was doing good work in India teaching in a Catholic school, but God wanted more. It was like that for Archbishop Oscar Romero. He was doing good work caring for his church in war-torn El Salvador, but God wanted more. It was like that for the Virgin Mary. She was doing good work in her home in Israel, but God wanted more. It was like that for Pope John XXIII, he was doing good work leading his diocese, but God wanted more.
It seems that God gives us a calling, gets us all formed and educated until we feel comfortable and competent, and then God hands us a whole new job.
I’ve had God turn corners on me in my life. When I was in school I always got better grades in math than in English. As a young adult, I was asked to write articles now and then, but I figured it was because nobody else was around. I really wasn’t a writer. Then I went to a Called and Gifted Workshop and I was told, right to my face, “you might want to discern the charism of writing.” Well that wasn’t comfortable! I was good at math, not writing. Writing was a struggle, it was hard, it made me feel inferior. Frankly, it scared me. It still does. But those words about discerning writing grabbed a hold of me and didn’t let go. Like all things of God, those words were not for me. They were for my community, reaching all the way to the ends of the earth. And God started working through my writing. So I did some discerning, and I continue discerning, surprised every time when my writing touches people deeper than I capable of touching them, inspiring them more than I am capable of inspiring them.
You see, I had things figured out. I had decided how I would serve God. But God told me, it is too little, and then called on me for more. It has been uncomfortable, because it always is when you let God do the deciding, rather than the other way around.
There were other reasons that I resisted writing. It was the voices telling me that maybe I should have more reasonable goals. Lay women from Idaho really don’t become well known authors. The voices said, how much can you really have to say. Or the voices were just silent, that clanging, jarring silence where encouragement could be.
You know what I’m talking about. All of us at some point have been told that we are less than the calling we received from God. We’ve been told to be realistic, to be reasonable. It is a cold towel thrown on God’s fire. Sometimes I’ve even been those voices to others.
God uses the unworthy to do great things. God always has. God chooses the unworthy over and over because, in truth, they are worthy. Every one of us is worthy of our Creator and of the mission that our Creator gave us. We are the ones with the small minds who have to be reminded that the real power comes from God. Why did God choose Paul when there was Peter... If God choose Peter, people could say, “well sure Peter’s got faith but he heard and saw the Lord.” But Paul didn’t. Paul’s like us. And Paul had faith.
Why did God choose Mary Magdalene when there was James and John... If God choose James and John, people could say, “well sure they proclaimed the resurrection, they were the official disciples after all.” But Mary wasn’t. Mary’s like us. And Mary proclaimed the resurrection.
God consistently chooses the ones like us, but we are slow to accept them. Because we are slow to accept the messenger, we are slow to accept the message. And then we have to deal with our own lack of faith... but he was a Pharisee... but she was a woman... but he’s from Idaho... but she’s not qualified.
As long as we discount the messenger, ourselves included, we discount the message. In today’s reading we hear that God gives ordinary people extraordinary jobs, to prepare us, to be a light, to be gathered to God.
God is saving the whole world and using each of us to do it. God has given each of you an extraordinary job, maybe one even bigger than you’ve accepted yet.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Baptism of the Lord: Identity
Isaiah 42:1-4, 6-7
Acts 10:34-38
Matthew 3:13-17
Jesus went out to the Jordan to be baptized by John the Baptist. I’ve always imagined Jesus walking across the hot desert sand over to the river. John is there, calling for repentance and baptizing people, wearing scratchy stuff. Right after this, Jesus is driven to the desert to be tempted and begin his public ministry.
Scripture scholars tell us that this passage is all about Jesus’ identity. The Gospel of Matthew was written for a Jewish Christian community who cared a lot about who Jesus was. When the heavens break open, we are being told of a new communication between God and humanity. When the dove flies to Jesus and he’s called “my son,” we hear of his divinity. When the voice calls Jesus “beloved” we hear a connection to the Old Testament, to Isaac the beloved son of Abraham, and to the messiah, the king from David’s line. When the voice says, “with whom I am well pleased,” we hear about God’s servant described in our first reading, “my chosen one with whom I am pleased.”
It was like a mirror. Mirrors reflect reality back to us, often a reality we don’t see. It was a reflection of the truth about Jesus, a truth that maybe many didn’t see. We don’t even know if Jesus had seen that truth himself. When those heavens opened up and the dove flew down and Jesus looked up, he was looking into a mirror and seeing his most true self. He was seeing that he was the Son of God, the messiah, God’s servant — and because he knew who he was, he knew what he needed to do.
But Jesus wasn’t the only one that day. It was a mirror for John the Baptist too. He had been out in the desert for a while, we can assume. When those heavens opened up and John saw the dove, he was also seeing his most true self. It was a mirror, showing him that he was the one to prepare the way. His baptism of repentance was getting God’s people ready for the Christ. That’s who he was and he knew what he need to do.
The crowds were looking into a mirror too. As Jesus was proclaimed “my son,” they saw that they were the ones whom God came for. They were the beloved children of God, the ones who God would be born for, and would die for. That’s who they were and they knew what they needed to do.
In that scene, everyone could see the truth. They knew who they were and because of it, they knew what they were called to do. There is something deeply comforting about knowing who you truly are.
I wonder if Jesus found it comforting. Being fully human, we can assume that he had some need for comfort, especially that most basic comfort of knowing who you really are. Do you think it comforted him? Did it give him the confidence and resolve that he needed to live out his public ministry?
I wonder if John found it comforting. He was out in the middle of no where, living on bugs and honey, which is bug by-products. Had doubts worked their way into his mind, wondering if he was really doing God’s will. And then the heavens open up, and he saw the glory and majesty of God. Did it give him confidence and resolve to life out his calling?
I wonder if the crowds found it comforting. After all, they were the ones paying the taxes to Rome, paying those high temple taxes, and following all those 600 and some odd rules of ritual purity so they could even approach God in the temple. Did this scene, affirming the one who called for their justice, affirm them? Did knowing that God remembered them, help them see the fullness of their own humanity? Did knowing that God longed for their justice, give them confidence and resolve to live out their own callings?
Mirrors don’t show us anything new, they show us reality. When the heavens broke open, God wasn’t making something new, God was reflecting the truth. Jesus was already the Son of God. God the Father was just showing us.
God has put mirrors like that in each of our lives, that don’t make things new, they just show us the truth that is already there. They reflect back to us who we really are and when we know who we are, we know what we need to do.
Maybe it’s the people who truly love us, showing us that we are cherished children of God, showing us how easy we are to love, and how truly important and valuable we are. Think of people who love you. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s people who encourage us when we are called to vocation, nurturing our charisms, helping us to learn and grow and develop. Think of people who have nurtured and taught you. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the people who comfort us when when we have stood up for justice and have met with resistance, when we feel discouraged and need to hear that it was worth it. Think of people who have comforted you when you’ve done what is right. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the natural world, showing us the delicacy, grandeur, and toughness of God’s creation. Think of those times you’ve been a natural setting. What does it show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s people who challenge us, who point out the lies we are telling, especially to ourselves. Think of people who have told you uncomfortable truths. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the beauty of art, the precision of science, or the power of technology. Think of those times that ideas have excited your mind. What does it show you about yourself.
Maybe it’s us, here, as we name each other Christian, marked for Christ, disciple of Christ, apostle of Christ. Think of our parish community. What do they show you about yourself?
Look in the mirrors God has given you and see who you really are.
Acts 10:34-38
Matthew 3:13-17
Jesus went out to the Jordan to be baptized by John the Baptist. I’ve always imagined Jesus walking across the hot desert sand over to the river. John is there, calling for repentance and baptizing people, wearing scratchy stuff. Right after this, Jesus is driven to the desert to be tempted and begin his public ministry.
Scripture scholars tell us that this passage is all about Jesus’ identity. The Gospel of Matthew was written for a Jewish Christian community who cared a lot about who Jesus was. When the heavens break open, we are being told of a new communication between God and humanity. When the dove flies to Jesus and he’s called “my son,” we hear of his divinity. When the voice calls Jesus “beloved” we hear a connection to the Old Testament, to Isaac the beloved son of Abraham, and to the messiah, the king from David’s line. When the voice says, “with whom I am well pleased,” we hear about God’s servant described in our first reading, “my chosen one with whom I am pleased.”
It was like a mirror. Mirrors reflect reality back to us, often a reality we don’t see. It was a reflection of the truth about Jesus, a truth that maybe many didn’t see. We don’t even know if Jesus had seen that truth himself. When those heavens opened up and the dove flew down and Jesus looked up, he was looking into a mirror and seeing his most true self. He was seeing that he was the Son of God, the messiah, God’s servant — and because he knew who he was, he knew what he needed to do.
But Jesus wasn’t the only one that day. It was a mirror for John the Baptist too. He had been out in the desert for a while, we can assume. When those heavens opened up and John saw the dove, he was also seeing his most true self. It was a mirror, showing him that he was the one to prepare the way. His baptism of repentance was getting God’s people ready for the Christ. That’s who he was and he knew what he need to do.
The crowds were looking into a mirror too. As Jesus was proclaimed “my son,” they saw that they were the ones whom God came for. They were the beloved children of God, the ones who God would be born for, and would die for. That’s who they were and they knew what they needed to do.
In that scene, everyone could see the truth. They knew who they were and because of it, they knew what they were called to do. There is something deeply comforting about knowing who you truly are.
I wonder if Jesus found it comforting. Being fully human, we can assume that he had some need for comfort, especially that most basic comfort of knowing who you really are. Do you think it comforted him? Did it give him the confidence and resolve that he needed to live out his public ministry?
I wonder if John found it comforting. He was out in the middle of no where, living on bugs and honey, which is bug by-products. Had doubts worked their way into his mind, wondering if he was really doing God’s will. And then the heavens open up, and he saw the glory and majesty of God. Did it give him confidence and resolve to life out his calling?
I wonder if the crowds found it comforting. After all, they were the ones paying the taxes to Rome, paying those high temple taxes, and following all those 600 and some odd rules of ritual purity so they could even approach God in the temple. Did this scene, affirming the one who called for their justice, affirm them? Did knowing that God remembered them, help them see the fullness of their own humanity? Did knowing that God longed for their justice, give them confidence and resolve to live out their own callings?
Mirrors don’t show us anything new, they show us reality. When the heavens broke open, God wasn’t making something new, God was reflecting the truth. Jesus was already the Son of God. God the Father was just showing us.
God has put mirrors like that in each of our lives, that don’t make things new, they just show us the truth that is already there. They reflect back to us who we really are and when we know who we are, we know what we need to do.
Maybe it’s the people who truly love us, showing us that we are cherished children of God, showing us how easy we are to love, and how truly important and valuable we are. Think of people who love you. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s people who encourage us when we are called to vocation, nurturing our charisms, helping us to learn and grow and develop. Think of people who have nurtured and taught you. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the people who comfort us when when we have stood up for justice and have met with resistance, when we feel discouraged and need to hear that it was worth it. Think of people who have comforted you when you’ve done what is right. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the natural world, showing us the delicacy, grandeur, and toughness of God’s creation. Think of those times you’ve been a natural setting. What does it show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s people who challenge us, who point out the lies we are telling, especially to ourselves. Think of people who have told you uncomfortable truths. What do they show you about yourself?
Maybe it’s the beauty of art, the precision of science, or the power of technology. Think of those times that ideas have excited your mind. What does it show you about yourself.
Maybe it’s us, here, as we name each other Christian, marked for Christ, disciple of Christ, apostle of Christ. Think of our parish community. What do they show you about yourself?
Look in the mirrors God has given you and see who you really are.
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