The Cave of the Heart
Luke 2:1-20
I wrote this meditation several years ago during Advent. It came out of an experience of prayer as I prayed with the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola. In this meditation on the birth of Jesus, the writer described his birthplace as a cave dug into the side of a hill just below Bethlehem. Before reading those words, I had a mental image of the birthplace of Jesus, a stable scene behind an inn.
For the first time in my life, I saw the birthplace as something other than that old scene I had envisioned for decades. I saw the hillside cave in such vivid detail that not only did the birth of Christ come alive for me, but I also envisioned the cave as a place in my heart.
This guided meditation comes from that prayer experience. The cave became more than a place Christ as born 2,000 years ago. The cave became an image for that part of my heart where the conceiving and birthing work of God continues to happen within me.
If you choose to use the meditation for prayer or meditation, read it slowly. Pause as needed, shut your eyes for a few minutes, and let God's Spirit lead you. The goal is not to get through the exercise quickly, but to linger with the parts of the prayer that seem to have substance for you. And don't be afraid to use your imagination, what some have called, "holy imagination." In other words, don't censor where your soul wants to lead you. Take in the experience. Let it happen.
Joyous Christmas to you!
I sit still and settle into prayer. . . . I consciously take several deep breaths, each one slower and deeper than the one before.
As much as possible, I lay aside the things that preoccupy my mind and distract me. I want to become aware of God, who is present to me at this very moment.
In my imagination I see a small Middle Eastern town on a hilltop, crowded with people who are bustling about and tending to important business . . . Some people are eating or drinking . . . others are talking on the streets . . . while others are buying or selling in the marketplace. I notice the seriousness with which these people are tending to their affairs. The rush of activity is obvious.
I allow my gaze to move outside the confines of the little town . . . down a hillside, to a small grotto dug into the earth.
It is the kind of place created to shelter animals from the elements of weather . . . but in this shallow “cave” are a man and woman, along with several animals. I take a moment to let my mind shape this scene for me.
The young woman is in labor and the man is assisting her with childbirth. I let my imagination fill in the details of the scene . . . what happens . . . what is spoken . . . where I am in the cave.
Perhaps I talk to this holy family, or just stand aside and watch, or maybe I take the place of one of the animals. I ask God to help me understand the significance of this event of which I am a part. I stay with this scene in the hillside cave as long as I’m able.
At some point I realize that there is also a cave in my heart . . . It may seem as if I live most of my life on the streets of activity and in the marketplaces of busyness, but there is within my heart a cave.
This cave is an interior space where the really important things in my life are conceived and given birth. . . . Conception and birth do not happen on busy street-corners, but in the privacy and hiddenness of the cave. . . . I notice where that cave is within me.
I may find that much of my life is spent on busy streets and in crowded marketplaces. How might I ask God to help me spend more time in the cave? If I can ask God for more "cave-time," what might God say back to me?
Then I ask God to help me see what is being conceived in my heart . . . what is being brought to birth within that cave of my heart. I ask God for the grace to find a life-giving rhythm that includes time in this quiet, interior cave . . . and time on the streets engaging daily life, people, and events. . . . I talk to God about both the busy streets of my life, and the hidden caves of my heart. I make this my prayer.
When I feel like my prayer has completed, I say the Lord’s Prayer as a way of bringing the prayer time to an end.
Monday, December 24, 2018
Christmas Eve - December 24, 2018
The Dawn from on High Breaks upon Us
Luke 1:67-79
The Advent journey is relatively short -- less than four weeks from the First Sunday of Advent to Christmas Day. But those of us who make the journey with intention notice the different ways we have been touched by waiting and looking for signs of the awaited Birth.
On Christmas Eve, many of us are "checking our lists twice," making sure we haven't overlooked anything. For me, it most always means at least one more trip to the grocery for some needed ingredient I have overlooked. For some of us, we check the list one more time to confirm travel plans, begin prep for meals, make sure the last-minute gifts are wrapped, and confirm the times of the Christmas Eve service we will attend. All of that is important.
But there are other considerations, as well. Can I find a bit of time and solitary space in the next 48 hours to ponder this Birth? How has the season of Advent shaped me?
Can I ask God for a genuine spirit of celebration, an authentic joy that is more than mouthing the words of a carol?
If I am sharing the day with others, how might I step into the day in a way that brings life to those with whom I celebrate Christmas?
What attitude or spirit would I pray for myself and others?
The Gospel reading today is the Canticle of Zechariah, known as the Benedictus. Zechariah is the father of John and has been voiceless throughout the birth story because he could not believe that he and Elizabeth could have a child at their age. When he is given back his voice, he sings a glorious song, not about himself and his perspective on God's work, but about his son. Zechariah's song announces that the time of waiting is almost over, that God ushers in a new day. His song is full of brilliant images and poignant metaphors. For centuries, this beautiful song has found its place in the Church as the closing to the daily morning office of prayer.
Blessed be the Lord,
The God of Israel;
He has come to His people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty Saviour,
Born of the house of His servant David.
Through His holy prophets He promised of old
That He would save us from our enemies,
From the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
And to remember His holy Covenant.
This was the oath He swore to our father Abraham:
To set us free from the hands of our enemies,
Free to worship Him without fear,
Holy and righteous in His sight
All the days of our life.
You, My child shall be called
The prophet of the Most High,
For you will go before the Lord to prepare His way,
To give his people knowledge of salvation
By the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our Lord
The dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
And the shadow of death,
And to guide our feet into the way of peace.
For Reflection:
** Choose a line, an image, or a phrase from the Benedictus for your prayer. Linger with it. Let it roll around in your heart for a few minutes. Don't be too anxious to analyze what it means so you have get some insight from it. Just let it live within you for a few minutes. Then, ask God to help you hear what invitation God might be extending to you?
** Again today, notice the verbs in the Benedictus. Write them down. Pray with them. As you look at your list, you'll see what Zechariah proclaims about God's work in the world. How much of that work do you see in your own world?
Luke 1:67-79
The Advent journey is relatively short -- less than four weeks from the First Sunday of Advent to Christmas Day. But those of us who make the journey with intention notice the different ways we have been touched by waiting and looking for signs of the awaited Birth.
On Christmas Eve, many of us are "checking our lists twice," making sure we haven't overlooked anything. For me, it most always means at least one more trip to the grocery for some needed ingredient I have overlooked. For some of us, we check the list one more time to confirm travel plans, begin prep for meals, make sure the last-minute gifts are wrapped, and confirm the times of the Christmas Eve service we will attend. All of that is important.
But there are other considerations, as well. Can I find a bit of time and solitary space in the next 48 hours to ponder this Birth? How has the season of Advent shaped me?
Can I ask God for a genuine spirit of celebration, an authentic joy that is more than mouthing the words of a carol?
If I am sharing the day with others, how might I step into the day in a way that brings life to those with whom I celebrate Christmas?
What attitude or spirit would I pray for myself and others?
The Gospel reading today is the Canticle of Zechariah, known as the Benedictus. Zechariah is the father of John and has been voiceless throughout the birth story because he could not believe that he and Elizabeth could have a child at their age. When he is given back his voice, he sings a glorious song, not about himself and his perspective on God's work, but about his son. Zechariah's song announces that the time of waiting is almost over, that God ushers in a new day. His song is full of brilliant images and poignant metaphors. For centuries, this beautiful song has found its place in the Church as the closing to the daily morning office of prayer.
Blessed be the Lord,
The God of Israel;
He has come to His people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty Saviour,
Born of the house of His servant David.
Through His holy prophets He promised of old
That He would save us from our enemies,
From the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
And to remember His holy Covenant.
This was the oath He swore to our father Abraham:
To set us free from the hands of our enemies,
Free to worship Him without fear,
Holy and righteous in His sight
All the days of our life.
You, My child shall be called
The prophet of the Most High,
For you will go before the Lord to prepare His way,
To give his people knowledge of salvation
By the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our Lord
The dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness
And the shadow of death,
And to guide our feet into the way of peace.
For Reflection:
** Choose a line, an image, or a phrase from the Benedictus for your prayer. Linger with it. Let it roll around in your heart for a few minutes. Don't be too anxious to analyze what it means so you have get some insight from it. Just let it live within you for a few minutes. Then, ask God to help you hear what invitation God might be extending to you?
** Again today, notice the verbs in the Benedictus. Write them down. Pray with them. As you look at your list, you'll see what Zechariah proclaims about God's work in the world. How much of that work do you see in your own world?
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 23, 2018
Wombing New Life
Micah 5:1-4
Luke 1:39-45
The Gospel reading today repeats the reading from two days ago, December 21, the encounter of Mary and Elizabeth known as The Visitation.
Within both Elizabeth and Mary new life takes shape. As the narratives have suggested, God intervened in the lives of both women, making the impossible possible. They now share the same path, but at the same time walk very different paths.
The womb is a rich Advent symbol worth pondering, as it suggests gestation, waiting, preparation, and more. Birth takes time and only happens in the fullness of time.
Within the womb of each of us -- yes, female and male! -- God's life grows, taking shape over a long period of time, slowly forming apart from our machinations.
I do not see the shape of this new life within me, nor can I know exactly what it will be. I can only imagine and hope, and even then the final reality of new life will surprise me at birth . . . how different it is from my expectations and imaginings!
But as the new life grows within me, I want to be with others who can help nurture the life growing in me . . . who will help me be faithful to God, self, and others . . . who will support me and challenge me and provide the setting in which this life within me can grow to fullness.
In the middle of Rainer Maria Rilke's poem, "I am too alone in the world," some beautiful lines caught my attention 15 years ago as I was going through a significant passageway, when things I thought I could depend on were crumbling in my hands. I found these words in his poem and they became a lifeline for me.
. . . and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
[Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, trans. by Macy and Burrows]
This is Mary going to Elizabeth, wanting to be with someone else who knows secret things, wanting the company of someone familiar with the mystery of Divine movements. It is any surprise that Mary's greeting upon entering the house causes Elizabeth's womb to awaken and stir with recognition? This is what happens among those who know secret things together.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes posted this poem a couple of days ago about this meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, and about our own wombing of new life into the world. (Find Steve at www.unfoldinglight.net)
When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,
the child leaped in her womb.
—Luke 1.41
Two expecting mothers share a bond,
the recognition of the altered balance,
the spherical spirit, the parallel gaze,
companionship on a hard, bright path,
the magnificent power of giving life
that others can only surmise.
And yet that gaze, that bond, that power,
is yours.
We have too many religions of gods in clouds.
God does not enter the world from the stratosphere.
God enters from within, in each of us,
not might or magic, but in love.
Mary's genius was her insight
that the divine, the world-changing Holy,
emerges from us like a newborn child.
I bear it. You bear it. It's who we are.
The Beloved begs us to feel for the leap in us,
the divine child in us that knows
its sibling in another, that knows
we are connected in our power to give life.
Behold that in yourself, feel for the leap,
and know the bond that makes of all humanity,
all living creatures, one blessed womb.
Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
[Steve Garnaas-Holmes, www.unfoldinglight.net)
For Reflection:
Reflect on the part of this story that draws you into itself . . . or spend time with the lines from Rilke . . . or pray with the poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes. There are many ways you may go today. The birth of Christ approaches. Spend time with whatever draws you today.
Micah 5:1-4
Luke 1:39-45
The Gospel reading today repeats the reading from two days ago, December 21, the encounter of Mary and Elizabeth known as The Visitation.
Within both Elizabeth and Mary new life takes shape. As the narratives have suggested, God intervened in the lives of both women, making the impossible possible. They now share the same path, but at the same time walk very different paths.
The womb is a rich Advent symbol worth pondering, as it suggests gestation, waiting, preparation, and more. Birth takes time and only happens in the fullness of time.
Within the womb of each of us -- yes, female and male! -- God's life grows, taking shape over a long period of time, slowly forming apart from our machinations.
I do not see the shape of this new life within me, nor can I know exactly what it will be. I can only imagine and hope, and even then the final reality of new life will surprise me at birth . . . how different it is from my expectations and imaginings!
But as the new life grows within me, I want to be with others who can help nurture the life growing in me . . . who will help me be faithful to God, self, and others . . . who will support me and challenge me and provide the setting in which this life within me can grow to fullness.
In the middle of Rainer Maria Rilke's poem, "I am too alone in the world," some beautiful lines caught my attention 15 years ago as I was going through a significant passageway, when things I thought I could depend on were crumbling in my hands. I found these words in his poem and they became a lifeline for me.
. . . and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
[Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, trans. by Macy and Burrows]
This is Mary going to Elizabeth, wanting to be with someone else who knows secret things, wanting the company of someone familiar with the mystery of Divine movements. It is any surprise that Mary's greeting upon entering the house causes Elizabeth's womb to awaken and stir with recognition? This is what happens among those who know secret things together.
Steve Garnaas-Holmes posted this poem a couple of days ago about this meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, and about our own wombing of new life into the world. (Find Steve at www.unfoldinglight.net)
When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,
the child leaped in her womb.
—Luke 1.41
Two expecting mothers share a bond,
the recognition of the altered balance,
the spherical spirit, the parallel gaze,
companionship on a hard, bright path,
the magnificent power of giving life
that others can only surmise.
And yet that gaze, that bond, that power,
is yours.
We have too many religions of gods in clouds.
God does not enter the world from the stratosphere.
God enters from within, in each of us,
not might or magic, but in love.
Mary's genius was her insight
that the divine, the world-changing Holy,
emerges from us like a newborn child.
I bear it. You bear it. It's who we are.
The Beloved begs us to feel for the leap in us,
the divine child in us that knows
its sibling in another, that knows
we are connected in our power to give life.
Behold that in yourself, feel for the leap,
and know the bond that makes of all humanity,
all living creatures, one blessed womb.
Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
[Steve Garnaas-Holmes, www.unfoldinglight.net)
For Reflection:
Reflect on the part of this story that draws you into itself . . . or spend time with the lines from Rilke . . . or pray with the poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes. There are many ways you may go today. The birth of Christ approaches. Spend time with whatever draws you today.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Third Saturday of Advent - December 22, 2018
Singing from the Underside
1 Samuel 1:24-28, 2:1-11
Luke 1:46-56
Those who have a lot -- power, possessions, influence, education -- don't often see or appreciate life-altering shifts in the landscape. In fact, life-altering shifts can threaten the much-ness they have. Mostly for these people, life consists of consolidating and maintaining the abundance one has.
Those who are accustomed to others giving heed to their words or positions sometimes find it easy to flip-flop, to say what is merely expedient, to satisfy the whims of the moment in order to maintain their place in the establishment. Though politicians certainly come to mind as susceptible to this here-one-day-gone-the-next kind of wobbly speech, anyone in a position of influence is prone to it.
After awhile, speech flattens out. We turn off our receptors, because it begins to sound like just another day of blah blah blah, blah blah blah.
But listen to someone speak who has been empty and has now experienced fullness. Their song sounds fresh, energetic, alive . . . full of Spirit! This person has known barrenness firsthand . . . has lived most of life underneath . . . has been squashed by the Impossibles. Now she sings!!
In today's readings, watch Hannah -- long barren and childless -- dedicate her new son to God, then sing in thanks and praise.
Hear Mary sing her song from the underside, the perspective of someone who has been at the bottom of the social order (as a woman, a peasant, a virgin) and has experienced firsthand the graciousness of God. Attend to her words. Listen to her song. Nothing here is measured and predictable. These prayers are alive!!
And Mary said:
“My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me — holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; , s
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”
Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.
(Luke 1:46-56, NIV)
For Reflection:
At a workshop last year, I heard Anna Carter Florence -- Professor of Preaching at Columbia Theological Seminary -- suggest we would do well in reading scripture to attend more closely to the verbs. Most of us gravitate to the nouns, to the who, what, and where of the text. The verbs though, represent the text's movement, action, and drive.
Today, attend to the verbs in Mary's song. List the verbs (brought down, lifted up, filled, sent, helped, etc.). This is not a grammar lesson, but a step into prayer. Pray with these words that describe God's action in the world.
1 Samuel 1:24-28, 2:1-11
Luke 1:46-56
Those who have a lot -- power, possessions, influence, education -- don't often see or appreciate life-altering shifts in the landscape. In fact, life-altering shifts can threaten the much-ness they have. Mostly for these people, life consists of consolidating and maintaining the abundance one has.
Those who are accustomed to others giving heed to their words or positions sometimes find it easy to flip-flop, to say what is merely expedient, to satisfy the whims of the moment in order to maintain their place in the establishment. Though politicians certainly come to mind as susceptible to this here-one-day-gone-the-next kind of wobbly speech, anyone in a position of influence is prone to it.
After awhile, speech flattens out. We turn off our receptors, because it begins to sound like just another day of blah blah blah, blah blah blah.
But listen to someone speak who has been empty and has now experienced fullness. Their song sounds fresh, energetic, alive . . . full of Spirit! This person has known barrenness firsthand . . . has lived most of life underneath . . . has been squashed by the Impossibles. Now she sings!!
In today's readings, watch Hannah -- long barren and childless -- dedicate her new son to God, then sing in thanks and praise.
Hear Mary sing her song from the underside, the perspective of someone who has been at the bottom of the social order (as a woman, a peasant, a virgin) and has experienced firsthand the graciousness of God. Attend to her words. Listen to her song. Nothing here is measured and predictable. These prayers are alive!!
And Mary said:
“My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me — holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; , s
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”
Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.
(Luke 1:46-56, NIV)
For Reflection:
At a workshop last year, I heard Anna Carter Florence -- Professor of Preaching at Columbia Theological Seminary -- suggest we would do well in reading scripture to attend more closely to the verbs. Most of us gravitate to the nouns, to the who, what, and where of the text. The verbs though, represent the text's movement, action, and drive.
Today, attend to the verbs in Mary's song. List the verbs (brought down, lifted up, filled, sent, helped, etc.). This is not a grammar lesson, but a step into prayer. Pray with these words that describe God's action in the world.
Friday, December 21, 2018
Third Friday of Advent - December 21, 2018
The Open Space
Luke 1:39-45
In Luke 1:36, the angel Gabriel seeks to convince a hesitant Mary that she indeed will have a child. As one of his corroborating claims, he tells Mary that her cousin Elizabeth is expecting a child even at her advanced age.
In those days, then, after the encounter with Gabriel, Mary hurries to see Elizabeth. Both women are in awkward places . . . Elizabeth as an aging mother-to-be . . . and Mary as a too-young, too-virgin mother-to-be. No doubt both were joyful, but also more than a bit concerned about their situations. Together they could support and comfort each other, as well as share their joy. Few others would understand their strange predicaments and few would be sympathetic to their situations.
Their meeting, though, includes a surprising confirmation of God's work. When Elizabeth hears Mary's greeting, the child within her leaps in recognition and joy. Perhaps the greeting was the typical Hebrew, "shalom."
But it may as well have been the ancient "namaste" . . . "the Divine living in me greets the Divine living in you."
Theotokos (God-bearer) icons often depict Mary holding Jesus. Some depict Jesus in Mary's womb. This icon, based on the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth, depicts the new life within the wombs of both women. Both bear new life.
In 1965, Thomas Merton wrote about the deepest, most interior and hidden center within each of us. He called it le point vierge, literally "the virgin point." But the French phrase might better be translated the open center or the waiting space. This open space at our core is where we are most deeply and intimately connected to God, where none of our usual humanness selfishness litters, but where we are completely open to God . . . that place within us which only God can access, available only to God.
This is what Merton says:
Again, that expression, le point vierge, (I cannot translate it) comes in here. At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely. . . . I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.
[Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, (New York: Image, 1965), 158.]
It seems to me that these two women knew well le point vierge and that they each said their, "Yes!" to it.
As the Christian mystics have reminded us through the centuries, "Like recognizes like." The new life within Elizabeth recognizes the new life in Mary . . . and the life Mary bears recognizes the life Elizabeth bears.
For Reflection:
** Perhaps today you would greet Mary with the words of the Christian mystic, Hildegard of Bingen:
Mary, ground of all being,
Greetings!
Greetings to you lovely and loving Mother!
You birthed to earth your Son.
You birthed the Son of God from heaven
by breathing the Spirit of God.
** What within you leaps when Mary enters the room? Ponder that image for a moment.
** In what concrete way are you theotokos (a bearer of God) this Advent?
Luke 1:39-45
In Luke 1:36, the angel Gabriel seeks to convince a hesitant Mary that she indeed will have a child. As one of his corroborating claims, he tells Mary that her cousin Elizabeth is expecting a child even at her advanced age.
In those days, then, after the encounter with Gabriel, Mary hurries to see Elizabeth. Both women are in awkward places . . . Elizabeth as an aging mother-to-be . . . and Mary as a too-young, too-virgin mother-to-be. No doubt both were joyful, but also more than a bit concerned about their situations. Together they could support and comfort each other, as well as share their joy. Few others would understand their strange predicaments and few would be sympathetic to their situations.
Their meeting, though, includes a surprising confirmation of God's work. When Elizabeth hears Mary's greeting, the child within her leaps in recognition and joy. Perhaps the greeting was the typical Hebrew, "shalom."
But it may as well have been the ancient "namaste" . . . "the Divine living in me greets the Divine living in you."
In 1965, Thomas Merton wrote about the deepest, most interior and hidden center within each of us. He called it le point vierge, literally "the virgin point." But the French phrase might better be translated the open center or the waiting space. This open space at our core is where we are most deeply and intimately connected to God, where none of our usual humanness selfishness litters, but where we are completely open to God . . . that place within us which only God can access, available only to God.
This is what Merton says:
Again, that expression, le point vierge, (I cannot translate it) comes in here. At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely. . . . I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.
[Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, (New York: Image, 1965), 158.]
It seems to me that these two women knew well le point vierge and that they each said their, "Yes!" to it.
As the Christian mystics have reminded us through the centuries, "Like recognizes like." The new life within Elizabeth recognizes the new life in Mary . . . and the life Mary bears recognizes the life Elizabeth bears.
For Reflection:
** Perhaps today you would greet Mary with the words of the Christian mystic, Hildegard of Bingen:
Mary, ground of all being,
Greetings!
Greetings to you lovely and loving Mother!
You birthed to earth your Son.
You birthed the Son of God from heaven
by breathing the Spirit of God.
** What within you leaps when Mary enters the room? Ponder that image for a moment.
** In what concrete way are you theotokos (a bearer of God) this Advent?
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Third Thursday of Advent - December 20, 2018
Let It Be
Psalm 24
Isaiah 7:10-14
Luke 1:26-38
Luke 1:26-38 may be my favorite story in all of scripture. I never tire of reading it. I'll point out two things that stir me this Advent as I listen to the story yet again.
First, Gabriel announces to Mary that she is the "graced one" and that "God is with her." The usual translation, "favored one" misleads us. The idea of "favor" implies that some are not favored. The Greek word used twice in the passage is the root word for "grace."
Mary is the graced one. I have heard sermons about how beautiful Mary was, how innocent, how childlike . . . all products of fertile contemporary imaginations. In fact, some within the Christian tradition have built elaborate theological systems around Mary's sinlessness and virtue, suggesting this is why God chose her.
I'm not saying any of those things are untrue; however, if any of these imagined virtues become the basis for God choosing her, then this is not longer grace. It becomes merit and earning.
Grace is God's bestowal of God's self upon the world, with no regard for who deserves and who doesn't deserve. In fact, in the economy of grace, there is no such thing as deserving or undeserving.
(If it is God and grace you are talking about, you cannot even say, "God comes to the least deserving." There is no category of deserving or undeserving with God . . . only imperfect people who need to return to their grounding in God.)
Grace is the Farmer scattering seed on the entire field, broadcasting it wildly, freely, wastefully, and extravagantly, without regard for the state of the field . . . whether the soil is rocky, weed-filled, hard-pan, or tilled. (Mark 4:1-8)
So yes, Mary is graced and God is with her. But this isn't an announcement of something new. Rather, these words remind Mary -- and us -- of what is true always and everywhere. The words of grace and God's presence are true just as much of you and me as they are true of Mary. For this reason, the Christian spiritual life is not about acquiring something new, but about seeing, opening up, and receiving what God has already said and done . . . seeing ourselves as graced and knowing always that God is with us.
Second, Mary's response to Gabriel's announcement is simple acceptance, a quiet "Yes!" . . . "Let it be to me as you have said."
In my imagination, I often wonder if Gabriel visited other Galilean girls with the same greeting, only to be told, "No, I won't do it." Mary said "Yes."
"Let it be" is not a statement of resignation. Rather, the words declare an openness to join in and to partner with God in this world-altering event. They signify Mary's willingness to go to a place she had never been before, to explore whatever lay beyond the bounds of her imagination, and to trust God. She willingly steps into the unknown with God.
For decades I assumed that Sir Paul McCartney's "Let It Be" remembered this Mary, the mother of Jesus.
When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comforts me;
Speaking words of wisdom:
Let it be.
Only recently I heard Sir Paul say in an interview that "Mother Mary" was his own mother. She died when he was young, and in a time when he was particularly despondent over her death, she appeared to him one night in a dream to comfort him. "Let it be," she said.
"Let it be in me" . . . that's pretty good counsel, whether from Mary, mother of Jesus . . . or Mary, mother of Sir Paul.
For Reflection:
** Hear the message Gabriel spoke to Mary as if the angel spoke it over you: "Behold, graced one; God is with you." Meditate on those words as you hear them spoken into you.
** In what ways do you need to say to God today, "Let it be in me as you have said"? Consider one or two specific areas of your life right now. If you are honestly able to speak these words to God, do so.
Psalm 24
Isaiah 7:10-14
Luke 1:26-38
Luke 1:26-38 may be my favorite story in all of scripture. I never tire of reading it. I'll point out two things that stir me this Advent as I listen to the story yet again.
First, Gabriel announces to Mary that she is the "graced one" and that "God is with her." The usual translation, "favored one" misleads us. The idea of "favor" implies that some are not favored. The Greek word used twice in the passage is the root word for "grace."
Mary is the graced one. I have heard sermons about how beautiful Mary was, how innocent, how childlike . . . all products of fertile contemporary imaginations. In fact, some within the Christian tradition have built elaborate theological systems around Mary's sinlessness and virtue, suggesting this is why God chose her.
I'm not saying any of those things are untrue; however, if any of these imagined virtues become the basis for God choosing her, then this is not longer grace. It becomes merit and earning.
Grace is God's bestowal of God's self upon the world, with no regard for who deserves and who doesn't deserve. In fact, in the economy of grace, there is no such thing as deserving or undeserving.
(If it is God and grace you are talking about, you cannot even say, "God comes to the least deserving." There is no category of deserving or undeserving with God . . . only imperfect people who need to return to their grounding in God.)
Grace is the Farmer scattering seed on the entire field, broadcasting it wildly, freely, wastefully, and extravagantly, without regard for the state of the field . . . whether the soil is rocky, weed-filled, hard-pan, or tilled. (Mark 4:1-8)
So yes, Mary is graced and God is with her. But this isn't an announcement of something new. Rather, these words remind Mary -- and us -- of what is true always and everywhere. The words of grace and God's presence are true just as much of you and me as they are true of Mary. For this reason, the Christian spiritual life is not about acquiring something new, but about seeing, opening up, and receiving what God has already said and done . . . seeing ourselves as graced and knowing always that God is with us.
Second, Mary's response to Gabriel's announcement is simple acceptance, a quiet "Yes!" . . . "Let it be to me as you have said."
In my imagination, I often wonder if Gabriel visited other Galilean girls with the same greeting, only to be told, "No, I won't do it." Mary said "Yes."
"Let it be" is not a statement of resignation. Rather, the words declare an openness to join in and to partner with God in this world-altering event. They signify Mary's willingness to go to a place she had never been before, to explore whatever lay beyond the bounds of her imagination, and to trust God. She willingly steps into the unknown with God.
For decades I assumed that Sir Paul McCartney's "Let It Be" remembered this Mary, the mother of Jesus.
When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comforts me;
Speaking words of wisdom:
Let it be.
Only recently I heard Sir Paul say in an interview that "Mother Mary" was his own mother. She died when he was young, and in a time when he was particularly despondent over her death, she appeared to him one night in a dream to comfort him. "Let it be," she said.
"Let it be in me" . . . that's pretty good counsel, whether from Mary, mother of Jesus . . . or Mary, mother of Sir Paul.
For Reflection:
** Hear the message Gabriel spoke to Mary as if the angel spoke it over you: "Behold, graced one; God is with you." Meditate on those words as you hear them spoken into you.
** In what ways do you need to say to God today, "Let it be in me as you have said"? Consider one or two specific areas of your life right now. If you are honestly able to speak these words to God, do so.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
Third Wednesday of Advent - December 19, 2018
Emptiness Breeds Hope
Judges 13:2-7, 24-25
Luke 1:5-25
Ancient peoples valued childbearing as a sign of fruitfulness and blessing. People devoted themselves to gods and goddesses of fertility to assure abundant crops, many children, and plentiful resources.
While the Hebrew people did not have deities who oversaw fertility, they were continually tempted to give homage to the fertility gods and goddesses of other nations. Infertility, in both the Hebrew Scriptures and the Christian Scriptures, was a state of dishonor.
In fact, the prevalent theological understanding in both testaments took an extreme view of childlessness. Having no children signaled God's curse and was seen as God's punishment for something the woman or a family member had done. To live a life of barrenness was a harsh sentence that meant ostracism and reduced standing in the community.
Yet, scripture also contains a rich history of women in Israel who were barren for long periods of time before God intervened to give them children (Sarah, Hannah, among others). In many instances, these children became important leaders in Israel.
Today's Old and New Testament readings tell two of these stories.
Judges 13 tells the story of Samson, born to Manoah and his wife who had been childless. "Barren" typically describes a woman like Mrs. Manoah in scripture. Her womb was empty, in other words. But God intervened and gave them Samson, a child they specially dedicated to God as a Nazirite. Samson would grow to become an Israelite hero.
Luke tells the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah, childless and advanced in years. Luke is careful to line out for his readers that both Elizabeth and Zechariah remained faithful to God despite their "empty" condition -- which their community likely viewed as God's curse -- even while they continued living in hope.
God's intervention in Elizabeth and Zechariah leads to the birth of John the Baptist, who we have met already this Advent.
The stories stand against the notion that childlessness is curse, and against a fated understanding of life's unfolding. God is in control of history . . . not just the world's history, but also the history of you and me. We are not subject to the whims of human initiative or efforts to control life by means that make sense to us.
The stories also suggest that God values emptiness, and the rest of scripture validates this truth. The one who is empty lives in hope, open to God's filling. About this hope that arises from emptiness, Thomas Merton said:
Supernatural hope is the virtue that strips us of all things in order to give us possession of all things. We do not hope for what we have. Therefore, to live in hope is to live in poverty, having nothing. And yet, if we abandon ourselves to the economy of Divine Providence, we have everything we hope for.
[Merton, No Man Is an Island, pp. 14-15]
For Reflection:
Reflect on some way you feel empty today. In what way are you "barren"? Perhaps you are barren of energy . . . empty of creativity . . . drained of love . . . peace is gone . . . missing the company of a person who is far away.
Today's meditation suggests that emptiness is the beginning of hope. Our poverty feeds hope in God and prepares us inwardly to receive the whatever-may-come of God without controlling what the whatever-may-come looks like.
Judges 13:2-7, 24-25
Luke 1:5-25
Ancient peoples valued childbearing as a sign of fruitfulness and blessing. People devoted themselves to gods and goddesses of fertility to assure abundant crops, many children, and plentiful resources.
While the Hebrew people did not have deities who oversaw fertility, they were continually tempted to give homage to the fertility gods and goddesses of other nations. Infertility, in both the Hebrew Scriptures and the Christian Scriptures, was a state of dishonor.
In fact, the prevalent theological understanding in both testaments took an extreme view of childlessness. Having no children signaled God's curse and was seen as God's punishment for something the woman or a family member had done. To live a life of barrenness was a harsh sentence that meant ostracism and reduced standing in the community.
Yet, scripture also contains a rich history of women in Israel who were barren for long periods of time before God intervened to give them children (Sarah, Hannah, among others). In many instances, these children became important leaders in Israel.
Today's Old and New Testament readings tell two of these stories.
Judges 13 tells the story of Samson, born to Manoah and his wife who had been childless. "Barren" typically describes a woman like Mrs. Manoah in scripture. Her womb was empty, in other words. But God intervened and gave them Samson, a child they specially dedicated to God as a Nazirite. Samson would grow to become an Israelite hero.
Luke tells the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah, childless and advanced in years. Luke is careful to line out for his readers that both Elizabeth and Zechariah remained faithful to God despite their "empty" condition -- which their community likely viewed as God's curse -- even while they continued living in hope.
God's intervention in Elizabeth and Zechariah leads to the birth of John the Baptist, who we have met already this Advent.
The stories stand against the notion that childlessness is curse, and against a fated understanding of life's unfolding. God is in control of history . . . not just the world's history, but also the history of you and me. We are not subject to the whims of human initiative or efforts to control life by means that make sense to us.
The stories also suggest that God values emptiness, and the rest of scripture validates this truth. The one who is empty lives in hope, open to God's filling. About this hope that arises from emptiness, Thomas Merton said:
Supernatural hope is the virtue that strips us of all things in order to give us possession of all things. We do not hope for what we have. Therefore, to live in hope is to live in poverty, having nothing. And yet, if we abandon ourselves to the economy of Divine Providence, we have everything we hope for.
[Merton, No Man Is an Island, pp. 14-15]
For Reflection:
Reflect on some way you feel empty today. In what way are you "barren"? Perhaps you are barren of energy . . . empty of creativity . . . drained of love . . . peace is gone . . . missing the company of a person who is far away.
Today's meditation suggests that emptiness is the beginning of hope. Our poverty feeds hope in God and prepares us inwardly to receive the whatever-may-come of God without controlling what the whatever-may-come looks like.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Third Tuesday of Advent - December 18, 2018
The Story within The Story
Jeremiah 23:5-8
Matthew 1:18-24
As the day of Jesus' birth nears, the Advent readings speak more directly of his coming. The stories, repeated each Advent, tell a familiar tale. If we are not intentional during the season, we may sleepwalk through these familiar texts and miss their life-altering message.
We return to them each year, though, because in some ways they contain the whole Gospel in a nutshell. In a sense, the acorn-like birth narratives become the Gospel oak tree. The birth stories introduce themes that Jesus will deal with throughout his life. Matthew 1:18-24 is a wonderful.
** The birth story begins in scandal and hints of illegitimacy . . . a mysterious pregnancy not easily explained to family, friends, and the religious authorities. Likewise, scandal will follow Jesus throughout his short life as his teaching stirs controversy, as he keeps company with persons of disrepute, and mostly as he claims to have the authority of God. He will be charged with lacking legitimacy, of not having the proper credentials to speak on God's behalf.
** Matthew makes sure we hear at the beginning of the Gospel that Jesus is Immanuel, God with us. Then Matthew reminds us again, when he ends the Gospel with Jesus' words after the resurrection: "Behold, I am with you always." (And always means always!)
** In Matthew's version of the birth account, Joseph chooses compassion and mercy in his care of Mary, rather than legalism and judgment. (A public hearing to determine the origins of her pregnancy would have been common in his time.) Likewise, throughout his life Jesus will bring mercy and compassion to life-situations in which others call out for judgment.
** Joseph wakes up. In a dream, Joseph is given eyes to see what the Spirit is engineering through this birth, then he awakens from that dream. However, more than simply opening his eyes from physical sleep, Joseph sees the Divine dimension in the events unfolding around him. He sees through the actual events to their interior. Again, this will be the very perception Jesus tries to instill in God's people, that we have "eyes to see and ears to hear." In fact, Anthony de Mello said this is the core of Jesus' entire message: "Wake up!!"
For Reflection:
Take something you've read today and bring it into your prayer and meditation. You may simply rest in this familiar story, allowing wonder and gratitude to bubble up within you.
Jeremiah 23:5-8
Matthew 1:18-24
As the day of Jesus' birth nears, the Advent readings speak more directly of his coming. The stories, repeated each Advent, tell a familiar tale. If we are not intentional during the season, we may sleepwalk through these familiar texts and miss their life-altering message.
We return to them each year, though, because in some ways they contain the whole Gospel in a nutshell. In a sense, the acorn-like birth narratives become the Gospel oak tree. The birth stories introduce themes that Jesus will deal with throughout his life. Matthew 1:18-24 is a wonderful.
** The birth story begins in scandal and hints of illegitimacy . . . a mysterious pregnancy not easily explained to family, friends, and the religious authorities. Likewise, scandal will follow Jesus throughout his short life as his teaching stirs controversy, as he keeps company with persons of disrepute, and mostly as he claims to have the authority of God. He will be charged with lacking legitimacy, of not having the proper credentials to speak on God's behalf.
** Matthew makes sure we hear at the beginning of the Gospel that Jesus is Immanuel, God with us. Then Matthew reminds us again, when he ends the Gospel with Jesus' words after the resurrection: "Behold, I am with you always." (And always means always!)
** In Matthew's version of the birth account, Joseph chooses compassion and mercy in his care of Mary, rather than legalism and judgment. (A public hearing to determine the origins of her pregnancy would have been common in his time.) Likewise, throughout his life Jesus will bring mercy and compassion to life-situations in which others call out for judgment.
** Joseph wakes up. In a dream, Joseph is given eyes to see what the Spirit is engineering through this birth, then he awakens from that dream. However, more than simply opening his eyes from physical sleep, Joseph sees the Divine dimension in the events unfolding around him. He sees through the actual events to their interior. Again, this will be the very perception Jesus tries to instill in God's people, that we have "eyes to see and ears to hear." In fact, Anthony de Mello said this is the core of Jesus' entire message: "Wake up!!"
For Reflection:
Take something you've read today and bring it into your prayer and meditation. You may simply rest in this familiar story, allowing wonder and gratitude to bubble up within you.
Monday, December 17, 2018
Third Monday of Advent - December 17, 2018
God's Word in the Outsider
Numbers 24:2-7, 15-17
Matthew 21:23-27
Today's readings have a "who-do-you-think-you-are?" feel about them.
The Old Testament reading from Numbers introduces Balaam, the prophet, to our Advent experience. But Balaam is not a prophet of Israel. He is an outsider. He has been called a prophet for hire. The king of Moab, Balak, hires Balaam to curse Israel, with the promise of a great reward if the curse allows Balak a military victory over Israel. Balaam commits to speak what he hears. He will not be bought. He will not curse when all he hears is blessing. Four times he blesses, when all Balak wants to hear are curses. Ultimately, Balak gives up on Balaam and sends him home. Balaam stays faithful to the revelation of God, despite the personal consequences.
In the Gospel reading, the chief priests and elders question Jesus' authority to teach in the Temple. Jesus was not a part of the religious institution (the Temple hierarchy) and was not credentialed to lead the people. The question, "By whose authority do you do these things?" implies a snarky, "Who do you think you are?"
In both stories, God's word comes to those who stand outside the normal institutional structures, those who are not insiders, those who are non-traditional.
God's word usually shows up where we do not expect it. God's Spirit is revealed to us when we are not looking.
All of us have our own predictable prompts -- places, experiences, practices -- to which we run when we want to hear a word from God or when we need to discern our next step forward.
Advent invites us to be alert for the unexpected, to wander off the grid, to look outside the usual, to move away from the norm. Certainly you may hear God's voice in an Advent sermon or a Christmas musical. But don't miss God's word in the red kettle bell-ringer . . . in a child's face . . . in a greeting from the stranger . . . in an act of kindness at the grocery . . . in a phone call from a longtime friend.
For Reflection:
Be alert for how God's word comes to you today. Especially be attentive to persons who are outside religious structures, who have little training or credentials in God-speech. In short, notice those whose authority comes from God, not from institutions or power structures.
Numbers 24:2-7, 15-17
Matthew 21:23-27
Today's readings have a "who-do-you-think-you-are?" feel about them.
The Old Testament reading from Numbers introduces Balaam, the prophet, to our Advent experience. But Balaam is not a prophet of Israel. He is an outsider. He has been called a prophet for hire. The king of Moab, Balak, hires Balaam to curse Israel, with the promise of a great reward if the curse allows Balak a military victory over Israel. Balaam commits to speak what he hears. He will not be bought. He will not curse when all he hears is blessing. Four times he blesses, when all Balak wants to hear are curses. Ultimately, Balak gives up on Balaam and sends him home. Balaam stays faithful to the revelation of God, despite the personal consequences.
In the Gospel reading, the chief priests and elders question Jesus' authority to teach in the Temple. Jesus was not a part of the religious institution (the Temple hierarchy) and was not credentialed to lead the people. The question, "By whose authority do you do these things?" implies a snarky, "Who do you think you are?"
In both stories, God's word comes to those who stand outside the normal institutional structures, those who are not insiders, those who are non-traditional.
God's word usually shows up where we do not expect it. God's Spirit is revealed to us when we are not looking.
All of us have our own predictable prompts -- places, experiences, practices -- to which we run when we want to hear a word from God or when we need to discern our next step forward.
Advent invites us to be alert for the unexpected, to wander off the grid, to look outside the usual, to move away from the norm. Certainly you may hear God's voice in an Advent sermon or a Christmas musical. But don't miss God's word in the red kettle bell-ringer . . . in a child's face . . . in a greeting from the stranger . . . in an act of kindness at the grocery . . . in a phone call from a longtime friend.
For Reflection:
Be alert for how God's word comes to you today. Especially be attentive to persons who are outside religious structures, who have little training or credentials in God-speech. In short, notice those whose authority comes from God, not from institutions or power structures.
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Third Sunday of Advent - December 16, 2018
What Should We Do?
Zephaniah 3:14-18
Philippians 4:4-7
Luke 3:10-18
"Sing, O daughter of Zion; shout, O Israel; be glad and rejoice with all your heart, O daughter of Jerusalem. For the Lord will remove his hand of judgment and disperse the armies of your enemy. And the Lord himself, the King of Israel, will live among you! At last your troubles will be over—you need fear no more.
On that day the announcement to Jerusalem will be, “Cheer up, don’t be afraid. For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty Savior. He will give you victory. He will rejoice over you with great gladness; he will love you and not accuse you.” Is that a joyous choir I hear? No, it is the Lord himself exulting over you in happy song.
I have gathered your wounded and taken away your reproach." (Zeph. 3:14-18, The Living Bible)
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! (Phil. 4:4, NIV)
The Third Sunday of Advent is Gaudate Sunday, mostly gathered around themes of rejoicing. On Gaudate Sunday, from the Latin "to rejoice," we light a pink candle -- following the purple candles of the first two Advent weeks -- as a pause from the intensity of Advent.
Thus, the Old Testament reading from Zephaniah and the New Testament Epistle from Philippians emphasize rejoicing.
But then, almost as if on cue, here comes John the Baptist with his fiery message of repentance and axes ready to chop down out-of-touch trees. John's sermon challenges our joy. Oh well . . . so much for the break from intensity!
John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.
John answered, “Anyone who has two coats should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”
“Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.
Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”
He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely — be content with your pay.” (Lk. 3:7-14)
John's basic message is repentance. We have made repentance into a scary word, thinking repent is something bad people must do. In reality, repentance refers to a moment-by-moment returning to the Source of our lives, coming back moment-by-moment to an awareness of God, taking on an increasingly expansive vision of God, self, others, and the world that is attuned with God's own vision. Repentance denotes both an interior shift in consciousness, as well as an exterior change in action. Lopsided repentance, in which we attend to one or the other, will not get us to transformation. We must continually return, giving attention to both the interior and the exterior.
The crowd asks a question. In the Gospels, "the crowd" most always represents the behavior or the questions that any person might ask. "The crowd" is the universal voice of Everyman and Everywoman.
"What shall we do, then?" they ask. Good question.
On one level, John responds, "Well, since you asked . . , do what you can. Do what is right. If you have two coats, give one to someone who don't have a coat. If you have extra food, give some to a person who's hungry. Don't cheat. Don't bully. Don't use your position to get ahead." To each group of inquires, John gives directed counsel on what to do. Most of it sounds simple and straightforward. Plain-talk. His answers are social in nature (share what you have, don't extort, don't bully, etc.), but he does not critique the unjust systems which have contributed to these societal ills. He gives advice on a personal, relational level.
At this level, it's almost as if John's advice is, "Give what you can. I'm not asking for a huge sacrifice, the old-fashioned give-till-it-hurts. Just do what you can, what is right and just. You don't have to give until you have nothing left for yourself. Just give out of your abundance. You have enough, someone else has not-enough. So share."
This first level may be sufficient for you today. If it suffices for you, then you can stop reading here.
But I think the passage offers us another level of spiritual insight and challenge which bites us just a bit more.
Spiritual teachers interested in life-change know that life always flows from the inside to the outside. Our doing always emerges from our being. So initially, spiritual teachers are not nearly as concerned with our actions as with our inner landscape . . . our attitudes, thoughts, motivations, patterns of perception and action. Most often, these teachers begin on the inside, attempting to shape us inwardly, knowing that inner change will bring about outer change.
Transformed people (on the inside) transform the world (on the outside).
However, there is another way to get at this, which seems to be the way John chooses. John begins on the outside, with action. He gives the crowd something to do that at the same time seems quite simple, yet nearly impossible. That is, he suggests some action that people will resist, then invites reflection on why they cannot accomplish the outer action. I know, it sounds convoluted. Let me demonstrate . . .
John said, "Anyone who has two coats should share with the one who has none."
I don't have two coats. I have many more than two coats. It should be simple enough for me to share with someone who has none. But then there are voices within me that come up with all kinds of objections, all sorts of rationalizations.
"I have a work coat and a dress coat. I CAN'T get rid of those. I have a jacket for mild, breezy weather and a coat that's a little heavier for temperatures just above freezing and another coat that's more of a parka for the cold-cold. I have another coat, but my mother gave it to me and it has sentimental value . . . and still another coat that doesn't fit me, but maybe it will one day. And if I do give one away, which do I give? Which should I keep? And to whom should I give it? How do I know they will take care of it?"
Do you see what I mean? John's instruction sounds easy. Maybe it should be easy. But it's not. Trying to take some action in the outer world begins to bring up things within me that are skewed, things that are off-center and out of balance. Any attempt to take a new course of action is foreign to me. I have behavior patterns already rutted into my thinking.
Go ahead and run through the entire list John mentions. Who among us does not make excuses, come up with justifications, find ourselves rationalizing? We have dozens of good reasons to explain why we cannot do what John asks of us.
John's words invite us to notice our hesitation . . . to pay attention to the inner resistance that keeps us from acting justly . . . to listen to the internal commentaries which roll around in our minds, almost beneath consciousness . . . to observe the road-blocks within us that keep us from doing our faith . . . to address the inner obstacles we stumble over.
Then, John believes, we will see change in both our inner landscape and in the way we live in the world. This is the repentance, the moral change, John preaches and advocates.
For Reflection:
For reflection today, I offer you this meditation by John Shea, which is based on our John the Baptist text. It is long, but well worth your attention.
The crowds asked him, “What should we do?”
Glad you asked.
Pick a value. It must be a transcendent value, one that is grounded in God. Not one of those contemporary whims that pass as values, like “keeping in touch.”
I mean a real value, like compassion or forgiveness or reconciliation or peace or justice. Something that has some bite in it and will be around long after you’re gone. Something moths and rust cannot consume and thieves cannot break in and steal. For example, let’s take compassion.
Now take ten minutes a day in the morning and meditate on it. Clear your mind of other thoughts and distractions. If they continue to intrude, just notice them and let them go. Return to compassion.
It is good to have a phrase to repeat silently and mindfully. Some Buddhists think equality is the path to compassion, and they suggest a phrase like, “Everyone wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer.” As you slowly and silently repeat this phrase that makes you equal with everyone else, pictures of people you know may enter your mind. Simply use their name in the next phrase, “Joan wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer . . . Frank wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer,” and every so often say, “I want to be happy and don’t want to suffer.” Now you are in the human mess with everyone else.
When you have done this for about ten minutes, get on with the day. Don’t evaluate how the meditation is going. Dismiss all questions like “Did I do it right? Why am I doing this? Did I waste my time?” Just continue to do it.
Also you should read some stuff on compassion. Meditation is not enough. Over the long haul it will heighten your awareness of opportunities for compassionate action. But, in itself, it won’t make you much smarter about compassion. You need to read and ponder, to reflect on what you are reading. . . .
Now for the really important part. At the end of the day, take some time to review the day in the light of your spiritually grounded value of compassion. No doubt you will notice some things that could have been done differently if you had remembered your value of compassion.
Well, get on the phone or email and redo that situation. Don’t let embarrassment stop you. Just do it. You may be awkward at first, but you’ll get used to it.
This is repenting. Repentance is not what bad people have to do. It is what people who live out of transcendent values find necessary. Most of us don’t get it right the first time. We only notice we could have done it differently “over the shoulder.” But when we see a more compassionate way, we have to act on it. This is how we get better. A little.
Getting better means seeing a compassionate way while a situation is actually unfolding. Most likely the first time this happens you will have to pause to figure out what is going on. In the pause a response will come to you. Yes, a response will come to you. It will not be a carefully worked out strategy with all the pluses and minuses lined up in columns for you to evaluate. You will suddenly see it. Like it was there all along but you didn’t notice it. When it comes to you like that, this is the Holy Spirit. Say, “Thank you.”
And act on what you see. The courage to act on what you see will also come from the Holy Spirit. Say, “Thank you.”
Although you have compassion in your heart and you saw what to do and you did it, it may not have worked out very well. That’s not the Holy Spirit. That’s you. Redo it. Redoing and pausing / pausing and redoing are partners. Where there is one, you’ll find the other.
After a while, you’ll think, “I’m getting pretty damn good at this. I am probably the most compassionate person in this whole organization (family, neighborhood, etc.).” That’s your ego wanting to separate you from other people in order to feel superior. Say, “No thank you.”
Instead, humbly recommit yourself to your spiritual practice on compassion, your spiritual reading on compassion, and your experiments in bring compassion into all you do. That’s fire, the steady burning that does not burn out. Of course, by now you know where this perseverance comes from, so say, “Thank you.”
One last thing. This process is never over. Repenting is forever. Get used to it.
[John Shea, The Relentless Widow (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2006), 12-14.]
Zephaniah 3:14-18
Philippians 4:4-7
Luke 3:10-18
"Sing, O daughter of Zion; shout, O Israel; be glad and rejoice with all your heart, O daughter of Jerusalem. For the Lord will remove his hand of judgment and disperse the armies of your enemy. And the Lord himself, the King of Israel, will live among you! At last your troubles will be over—you need fear no more.
On that day the announcement to Jerusalem will be, “Cheer up, don’t be afraid. For the Lord your God has arrived to live among you. He is a mighty Savior. He will give you victory. He will rejoice over you with great gladness; he will love you and not accuse you.” Is that a joyous choir I hear? No, it is the Lord himself exulting over you in happy song.
I have gathered your wounded and taken away your reproach." (Zeph. 3:14-18, The Living Bible)
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! (Phil. 4:4, NIV)
The Third Sunday of Advent is Gaudate Sunday, mostly gathered around themes of rejoicing. On Gaudate Sunday, from the Latin "to rejoice," we light a pink candle -- following the purple candles of the first two Advent weeks -- as a pause from the intensity of Advent.
Thus, the Old Testament reading from Zephaniah and the New Testament Epistle from Philippians emphasize rejoicing.
But then, almost as if on cue, here comes John the Baptist with his fiery message of repentance and axes ready to chop down out-of-touch trees. John's sermon challenges our joy. Oh well . . . so much for the break from intensity!
John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.
John answered, “Anyone who has two coats should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”
“Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.
Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”
He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely — be content with your pay.” (Lk. 3:7-14)
John's basic message is repentance. We have made repentance into a scary word, thinking repent is something bad people must do. In reality, repentance refers to a moment-by-moment returning to the Source of our lives, coming back moment-by-moment to an awareness of God, taking on an increasingly expansive vision of God, self, others, and the world that is attuned with God's own vision. Repentance denotes both an interior shift in consciousness, as well as an exterior change in action. Lopsided repentance, in which we attend to one or the other, will not get us to transformation. We must continually return, giving attention to both the interior and the exterior.
The crowd asks a question. In the Gospels, "the crowd" most always represents the behavior or the questions that any person might ask. "The crowd" is the universal voice of Everyman and Everywoman.
"What shall we do, then?" they ask. Good question.
On one level, John responds, "Well, since you asked . . , do what you can. Do what is right. If you have two coats, give one to someone who don't have a coat. If you have extra food, give some to a person who's hungry. Don't cheat. Don't bully. Don't use your position to get ahead." To each group of inquires, John gives directed counsel on what to do. Most of it sounds simple and straightforward. Plain-talk. His answers are social in nature (share what you have, don't extort, don't bully, etc.), but he does not critique the unjust systems which have contributed to these societal ills. He gives advice on a personal, relational level.
At this level, it's almost as if John's advice is, "Give what you can. I'm not asking for a huge sacrifice, the old-fashioned give-till-it-hurts. Just do what you can, what is right and just. You don't have to give until you have nothing left for yourself. Just give out of your abundance. You have enough, someone else has not-enough. So share."
This first level may be sufficient for you today. If it suffices for you, then you can stop reading here.
But I think the passage offers us another level of spiritual insight and challenge which bites us just a bit more.
Spiritual teachers interested in life-change know that life always flows from the inside to the outside. Our doing always emerges from our being. So initially, spiritual teachers are not nearly as concerned with our actions as with our inner landscape . . . our attitudes, thoughts, motivations, patterns of perception and action. Most often, these teachers begin on the inside, attempting to shape us inwardly, knowing that inner change will bring about outer change.
Transformed people (on the inside) transform the world (on the outside).
However, there is another way to get at this, which seems to be the way John chooses. John begins on the outside, with action. He gives the crowd something to do that at the same time seems quite simple, yet nearly impossible. That is, he suggests some action that people will resist, then invites reflection on why they cannot accomplish the outer action. I know, it sounds convoluted. Let me demonstrate . . .
John said, "Anyone who has two coats should share with the one who has none."
I don't have two coats. I have many more than two coats. It should be simple enough for me to share with someone who has none. But then there are voices within me that come up with all kinds of objections, all sorts of rationalizations.
"I have a work coat and a dress coat. I CAN'T get rid of those. I have a jacket for mild, breezy weather and a coat that's a little heavier for temperatures just above freezing and another coat that's more of a parka for the cold-cold. I have another coat, but my mother gave it to me and it has sentimental value . . . and still another coat that doesn't fit me, but maybe it will one day. And if I do give one away, which do I give? Which should I keep? And to whom should I give it? How do I know they will take care of it?"
Do you see what I mean? John's instruction sounds easy. Maybe it should be easy. But it's not. Trying to take some action in the outer world begins to bring up things within me that are skewed, things that are off-center and out of balance. Any attempt to take a new course of action is foreign to me. I have behavior patterns already rutted into my thinking.
Go ahead and run through the entire list John mentions. Who among us does not make excuses, come up with justifications, find ourselves rationalizing? We have dozens of good reasons to explain why we cannot do what John asks of us.
John's words invite us to notice our hesitation . . . to pay attention to the inner resistance that keeps us from acting justly . . . to listen to the internal commentaries which roll around in our minds, almost beneath consciousness . . . to observe the road-blocks within us that keep us from doing our faith . . . to address the inner obstacles we stumble over.
Then, John believes, we will see change in both our inner landscape and in the way we live in the world. This is the repentance, the moral change, John preaches and advocates.
For Reflection:
For reflection today, I offer you this meditation by John Shea, which is based on our John the Baptist text. It is long, but well worth your attention.
The crowds asked him, “What should we do?”
Glad you asked.
Pick a value. It must be a transcendent value, one that is grounded in God. Not one of those contemporary whims that pass as values, like “keeping in touch.”
I mean a real value, like compassion or forgiveness or reconciliation or peace or justice. Something that has some bite in it and will be around long after you’re gone. Something moths and rust cannot consume and thieves cannot break in and steal. For example, let’s take compassion.
Now take ten minutes a day in the morning and meditate on it. Clear your mind of other thoughts and distractions. If they continue to intrude, just notice them and let them go. Return to compassion.
It is good to have a phrase to repeat silently and mindfully. Some Buddhists think equality is the path to compassion, and they suggest a phrase like, “Everyone wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer.” As you slowly and silently repeat this phrase that makes you equal with everyone else, pictures of people you know may enter your mind. Simply use their name in the next phrase, “Joan wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer . . . Frank wants to be happy and doesn’t want to suffer,” and every so often say, “I want to be happy and don’t want to suffer.” Now you are in the human mess with everyone else.
When you have done this for about ten minutes, get on with the day. Don’t evaluate how the meditation is going. Dismiss all questions like “Did I do it right? Why am I doing this? Did I waste my time?” Just continue to do it.
Also you should read some stuff on compassion. Meditation is not enough. Over the long haul it will heighten your awareness of opportunities for compassionate action. But, in itself, it won’t make you much smarter about compassion. You need to read and ponder, to reflect on what you are reading. . . .
Now for the really important part. At the end of the day, take some time to review the day in the light of your spiritually grounded value of compassion. No doubt you will notice some things that could have been done differently if you had remembered your value of compassion.
Well, get on the phone or email and redo that situation. Don’t let embarrassment stop you. Just do it. You may be awkward at first, but you’ll get used to it.
This is repenting. Repentance is not what bad people have to do. It is what people who live out of transcendent values find necessary. Most of us don’t get it right the first time. We only notice we could have done it differently “over the shoulder.” But when we see a more compassionate way, we have to act on it. This is how we get better. A little.
Getting better means seeing a compassionate way while a situation is actually unfolding. Most likely the first time this happens you will have to pause to figure out what is going on. In the pause a response will come to you. Yes, a response will come to you. It will not be a carefully worked out strategy with all the pluses and minuses lined up in columns for you to evaluate. You will suddenly see it. Like it was there all along but you didn’t notice it. When it comes to you like that, this is the Holy Spirit. Say, “Thank you.”
And act on what you see. The courage to act on what you see will also come from the Holy Spirit. Say, “Thank you.”
Although you have compassion in your heart and you saw what to do and you did it, it may not have worked out very well. That’s not the Holy Spirit. That’s you. Redo it. Redoing and pausing / pausing and redoing are partners. Where there is one, you’ll find the other.
After a while, you’ll think, “I’m getting pretty damn good at this. I am probably the most compassionate person in this whole organization (family, neighborhood, etc.).” That’s your ego wanting to separate you from other people in order to feel superior. Say, “No thank you.”
Instead, humbly recommit yourself to your spiritual practice on compassion, your spiritual reading on compassion, and your experiments in bring compassion into all you do. That’s fire, the steady burning that does not burn out. Of course, by now you know where this perseverance comes from, so say, “Thank you.”
One last thing. This process is never over. Repenting is forever. Get used to it.
[John Shea, The Relentless Widow (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2006), 12-14.]
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Second Saturday of Advent - December 15, 2018
Sadness Amidst Celebration
Matthew 17:10-13
This strange Advent text comes on the heels of the Transfiguration, where Peter, James, and John see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah on the mountain. When Peter wants to memorialize the moment with three monuments, the heavenly voice makes sure these three figures are not given equal standing: "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!"
The text then turns to a discussion of Elijah and his role in the coming of the Messiah.
It seems like a glorious moment . . . Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus . . . the voice of God declaring Jesus as the Beloved . . . the desire to celebrate and remember by erecting commemorative booths.
Then Jesus drops a bomb . . . his own suffering and death (v. 12). Indeed, in the Gospels, the story of the Transfiguration marks a turning point in the narrative. From this moment onward, Jesus' face is turned toward Jerusalem and the cross. His journey takes on a new urgency, a resoluteness.
We feel something of the shock, the bummed feeling of skipping merrily through Advent when a reading like this is dropped among us, reminding us that the end of Jesus' short life will be a cruel death. We don't want to hear this message as we sing "Joy to the World" and "Silent Night," as we hang lights and put out stockings, as we carefully place the creche which depicts the vulnerable baby, Jesus with Mary, Joseph, and barnyard animals.
While we may not want to hear this news about Jesus, I imagine it resonates with each of us. Every one of us will experience some empty chair around the Christmas table . . . whether the grief is fresh or lingers from decades ago. Persons we love will not be there.
As a pastor, I learned decades ago that more people die in December than any other month. Funeral home directors know these dynamics well, and staff for them. Frequently I would be away with my family for Christmas, only to receive a phone call that a beloved church member had died. I would make the trip back to Bonham or Houston to be with the family. It was almost routine. Sadness seemed to go hand in hand with celebration.
Pancreatic cancer took my own father just a couple of days before Christmas 20 years ago. I remember someone in the family -- I don't remember who -- saying, as we all gathered at mom's house shortly after hearing the news, "What are we going to do about Christmas this year?" Exactly!
Even now, Christmas is the most difficult time of year for my mother. I suspect that holds true for many of us.
Jesus is honest about being fully human. Birth, life, and death are somehow intertwined. We are not given the choice of choosing only those aspects of life that are easy or pleasant. Only when we allow ourselves to be where we truly are -- even in our sadness and grief -- can we move onward with him. Loss and grief are part of life, even during Advent.
It's okay to be where you are.
For Reflection:
Spend a few moments today thinking about those persons who will not be with you for Christmas. Some of them have passed to the next life. From others you are separated by many miles.
In your own quiet space, simply whisper the name of each person who comes to mind. If you'd like, cup your hands in front of you, as if you were holding them out to God as you quietly say their names.
Matthew 17:10-13
This strange Advent text comes on the heels of the Transfiguration, where Peter, James, and John see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah on the mountain. When Peter wants to memorialize the moment with three monuments, the heavenly voice makes sure these three figures are not given equal standing: "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!"
The text then turns to a discussion of Elijah and his role in the coming of the Messiah.
It seems like a glorious moment . . . Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus . . . the voice of God declaring Jesus as the Beloved . . . the desire to celebrate and remember by erecting commemorative booths.
Then Jesus drops a bomb . . . his own suffering and death (v. 12). Indeed, in the Gospels, the story of the Transfiguration marks a turning point in the narrative. From this moment onward, Jesus' face is turned toward Jerusalem and the cross. His journey takes on a new urgency, a resoluteness.
We feel something of the shock, the bummed feeling of skipping merrily through Advent when a reading like this is dropped among us, reminding us that the end of Jesus' short life will be a cruel death. We don't want to hear this message as we sing "Joy to the World" and "Silent Night," as we hang lights and put out stockings, as we carefully place the creche which depicts the vulnerable baby, Jesus with Mary, Joseph, and barnyard animals.
While we may not want to hear this news about Jesus, I imagine it resonates with each of us. Every one of us will experience some empty chair around the Christmas table . . . whether the grief is fresh or lingers from decades ago. Persons we love will not be there.
As a pastor, I learned decades ago that more people die in December than any other month. Funeral home directors know these dynamics well, and staff for them. Frequently I would be away with my family for Christmas, only to receive a phone call that a beloved church member had died. I would make the trip back to Bonham or Houston to be with the family. It was almost routine. Sadness seemed to go hand in hand with celebration.
Pancreatic cancer took my own father just a couple of days before Christmas 20 years ago. I remember someone in the family -- I don't remember who -- saying, as we all gathered at mom's house shortly after hearing the news, "What are we going to do about Christmas this year?" Exactly!
Even now, Christmas is the most difficult time of year for my mother. I suspect that holds true for many of us.
Jesus is honest about being fully human. Birth, life, and death are somehow intertwined. We are not given the choice of choosing only those aspects of life that are easy or pleasant. Only when we allow ourselves to be where we truly are -- even in our sadness and grief -- can we move onward with him. Loss and grief are part of life, even during Advent.
It's okay to be where you are.
For Reflection:
Spend a few moments today thinking about those persons who will not be with you for Christmas. Some of them have passed to the next life. From others you are separated by many miles.
In your own quiet space, simply whisper the name of each person who comes to mind. If you'd like, cup your hands in front of you, as if you were holding them out to God as you quietly say their names.
Friday, December 14, 2018
Second Friday of Advent - December 14, 2018
Growing Up
Isaiah 48:17-19
Matthew 11:16-19
In early childhood, we are faced with the developmental task of moving from self-interest and an egocentric worldview in which everything and every person resolves our self, to a more expansive worldview in which we are invited to play with others, respect others, and cooperate with others in order to achieve shared goals. In short, we are invited into a worldview in which we do not insist on getting our own way; rather, we find ourselves in a complex web of relationships in which we must cooperate and often give up our own preferences for the greater good. As infants accustomed to the total attention of others, we grow into early childhood which invites us to mature from crying out for attention, toward a sense of shared living, cooperation, and compassion toward others.
It is never an easy developmental transition. If you have ever engaged in a conversation with an 8-year old who already knows everything, and will not budge to your years of wisdom, you know what I mean. We have a hard time letting go of our egocentric vision in which we know what is best, have all the answers, and expect others to orbit around us. Sadly, some adults have never emerged from this self-referenced developmental stage. (You know some adults who are ALWAYS right, don't you?? Who never fail to have a story that tops yours?? Who insist on having the last word??)
In order to do life well, in a manner that is healthy for self and life-giving for others, we must cultivate -- among other things -- a teachable spirit. Contemplative spirituality usually calls this "openness" and "receptivity" In our spiritual practice, we return regularly to that which helps cultivate an open and receptive spirit within us. We know there is much we do not yet know, since each of us exists in a state of becoming. We are becoming the person and people God created us to be.
Today's readings touch on this teachable spirit. In Isaiah, God says,
"I am the Lord your God,
who teaches you what is best for you,
who directs you in the way you should go." (Isa. 48:17)
In other words, "Do you trust God to teach you what is best for you?"
"Do you trust God to lead you in the way you should go?"
"Can you put aside your own egocentric concerns and begin to see life though a wider lens?"
In Matthew 11, Jesus compares the masses of people to children who are stuck in early-stage egocentrism. These adults, acting like petulant 6 year olds who do not get their way, are akin to spoiled children who say, "We played a song for you, but you didn't dance the way we wanted you to dance" . . . "we sang a song for you, but you didn't tell us how much you liked it" . . . "we performed for you, but you weren't paying attention to us!"
A healthy spirituality that gives life to the world is rooted in humility, and it is teachable -- open and receptive It is not self-centered, and is not stuck in its own ideas. It is growing, becoming, always open to the next place God is taking it.
In the 4th and 5th centuries, pilgrims went to the deserts of Egypt and the Near East, seeking the wisdom of the Desert Mothers and Fathers. Tradition says that seekers would arrive at the cave or cell of a Desert Father or Desert Mother and simply say, "Abba (or Amma), give me a word." The Fathers and Mothers would then offer a saying or a teaching story to the seeker. Whatever the Abba or Amma spoke, the seeker humbly received as a word from God, then went off to work that word into their lives, sometimes over the course of many years.
Another story tells about a seeker who came to see the Persian mystic, Rumi. The seeker traveled a long distance, and upon arrival bowed before Rumi and begged, "Master, will you teach me?" After a long silence, Rumi answered, "That all depends. Are you ready to learn from me?"
For Reflection:
Notice the scripture, story, or idea that most stirs your heart today. Bring that stirring into your prayer. Pray with it. Journal with it. Allow God to speak to you through it.
Isaiah 48:17-19
Matthew 11:16-19
In early childhood, we are faced with the developmental task of moving from self-interest and an egocentric worldview in which everything and every person resolves our self, to a more expansive worldview in which we are invited to play with others, respect others, and cooperate with others in order to achieve shared goals. In short, we are invited into a worldview in which we do not insist on getting our own way; rather, we find ourselves in a complex web of relationships in which we must cooperate and often give up our own preferences for the greater good. As infants accustomed to the total attention of others, we grow into early childhood which invites us to mature from crying out for attention, toward a sense of shared living, cooperation, and compassion toward others.
It is never an easy developmental transition. If you have ever engaged in a conversation with an 8-year old who already knows everything, and will not budge to your years of wisdom, you know what I mean. We have a hard time letting go of our egocentric vision in which we know what is best, have all the answers, and expect others to orbit around us. Sadly, some adults have never emerged from this self-referenced developmental stage. (You know some adults who are ALWAYS right, don't you?? Who never fail to have a story that tops yours?? Who insist on having the last word??)
In order to do life well, in a manner that is healthy for self and life-giving for others, we must cultivate -- among other things -- a teachable spirit. Contemplative spirituality usually calls this "openness" and "receptivity" In our spiritual practice, we return regularly to that which helps cultivate an open and receptive spirit within us. We know there is much we do not yet know, since each of us exists in a state of becoming. We are becoming the person and people God created us to be.
Today's readings touch on this teachable spirit. In Isaiah, God says,
"I am the Lord your God,
who teaches you what is best for you,
who directs you in the way you should go." (Isa. 48:17)
In other words, "Do you trust God to teach you what is best for you?"
"Do you trust God to lead you in the way you should go?"
"Can you put aside your own egocentric concerns and begin to see life though a wider lens?"
In Matthew 11, Jesus compares the masses of people to children who are stuck in early-stage egocentrism. These adults, acting like petulant 6 year olds who do not get their way, are akin to spoiled children who say, "We played a song for you, but you didn't dance the way we wanted you to dance" . . . "we sang a song for you, but you didn't tell us how much you liked it" . . . "we performed for you, but you weren't paying attention to us!"
A healthy spirituality that gives life to the world is rooted in humility, and it is teachable -- open and receptive It is not self-centered, and is not stuck in its own ideas. It is growing, becoming, always open to the next place God is taking it.
In the 4th and 5th centuries, pilgrims went to the deserts of Egypt and the Near East, seeking the wisdom of the Desert Mothers and Fathers. Tradition says that seekers would arrive at the cave or cell of a Desert Father or Desert Mother and simply say, "Abba (or Amma), give me a word." The Fathers and Mothers would then offer a saying or a teaching story to the seeker. Whatever the Abba or Amma spoke, the seeker humbly received as a word from God, then went off to work that word into their lives, sometimes over the course of many years.
Another story tells about a seeker who came to see the Persian mystic, Rumi. The seeker traveled a long distance, and upon arrival bowed before Rumi and begged, "Master, will you teach me?" After a long silence, Rumi answered, "That all depends. Are you ready to learn from me?"
For Reflection:
Notice the scripture, story, or idea that most stirs your heart today. Bring that stirring into your prayer. Pray with it. Journal with it. Allow God to speak to you through it.
Thursday, December 13, 2018
Second Thursday of Advent - December 13, 2018
Violence and the Kingdom of God
Isaiah 41:13-20
Matthew 11:11-15
In the Gospel text today, Jesus introduces John the Baptist. We, the Gospel readers, have met John already. Now Jesus speaks to who he is.
John played a critical role in the unfolding project of God, but John's understanding of Jesus was incomplete. He imagined God's Messiah would come with fire, as an ax ready to chop down trees.
So Jesus claims that those who truly give themselves to a God-oriented life (kingdom of God) as modeled by Jesus, would have greater understanding and do more to shape the world than John . . . a wild and extreme claim.
Then, in a verse which is subject to a variety of interpretations, Jesus points out that people have been violently trying to live the kingdom-of-God-life (God-centered life) since the time of John. Perhaps the violence itself was influenced by John's fiery rhetoric, his ax-chopping-down-the-trees metaphors.
From the time of John the Baptist until now, violent people have been trying to take over the kingdom of heaven by force. (Matt. 11:12, CEV)
For a long time now people have tried to force themselves into God's Kingdom. (Matt 11:12, The Message)
From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence, and violent people have been raiding it. (Matt. 11:12, NIV)
In his life's work and in his life's words, Jesus is clear that violence has no place in the kingdom of God. The God-centered life is not forced upon anyone and is not achieved by violence done to persons. It is not accomplished by powerfully forcing on people a set of beliefs or standards. There is no coercion in the kingdom of God.
And yet Christians all through the centuries continue to get this wrong. When Emperors Constantine and Licinius in 313 issued the Edict of Milan, they ushered in an age when the interests of the Church and the state were intricately woven together. With Christianity the favored religion, citizens of the empire were expected to be baptized, sometimes by force. The marriage of the Church to the state created an unhealthy union propelled by coercion.
Our own times are no stranger to that kind of compulsion. A friend -- and "research assistant" -- shared a blog with me Monday, the 50th anniversary of Thomas Merton's death, which remembered Merton warning that the marriage of religious fundamentalism and American nationalism would produce "the greatest orgy of idolatry the world has ever seen." (http://www.matthewfox.org/blog/on-the-50th-anniversary-of-thomas-mertons-death#)
Advent reminds us that God's ways are radically different from the ways of the world (and even the Church). The kingdom of God among us does not come in force and violence, but as a vulnerable child born to parents who were outside society's power structure.
For Reflection:
Have you ever used violence, excessive power or force, or compulsion to accomplish what you thought were noble ends?
Reflect on your experience in light of this Advent text.
Isaiah 41:13-20
Matthew 11:11-15
In the Gospel text today, Jesus introduces John the Baptist. We, the Gospel readers, have met John already. Now Jesus speaks to who he is.
John played a critical role in the unfolding project of God, but John's understanding of Jesus was incomplete. He imagined God's Messiah would come with fire, as an ax ready to chop down trees.
So Jesus claims that those who truly give themselves to a God-oriented life (kingdom of God) as modeled by Jesus, would have greater understanding and do more to shape the world than John . . . a wild and extreme claim.
Then, in a verse which is subject to a variety of interpretations, Jesus points out that people have been violently trying to live the kingdom-of-God-life (God-centered life) since the time of John. Perhaps the violence itself was influenced by John's fiery rhetoric, his ax-chopping-down-the-trees metaphors.
From the time of John the Baptist until now, violent people have been trying to take over the kingdom of heaven by force. (Matt. 11:12, CEV)
For a long time now people have tried to force themselves into God's Kingdom. (Matt 11:12, The Message)
From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence, and violent people have been raiding it. (Matt. 11:12, NIV)
In his life's work and in his life's words, Jesus is clear that violence has no place in the kingdom of God. The God-centered life is not forced upon anyone and is not achieved by violence done to persons. It is not accomplished by powerfully forcing on people a set of beliefs or standards. There is no coercion in the kingdom of God.
And yet Christians all through the centuries continue to get this wrong. When Emperors Constantine and Licinius in 313 issued the Edict of Milan, they ushered in an age when the interests of the Church and the state were intricately woven together. With Christianity the favored religion, citizens of the empire were expected to be baptized, sometimes by force. The marriage of the Church to the state created an unhealthy union propelled by coercion.
Our own times are no stranger to that kind of compulsion. A friend -- and "research assistant" -- shared a blog with me Monday, the 50th anniversary of Thomas Merton's death, which remembered Merton warning that the marriage of religious fundamentalism and American nationalism would produce "the greatest orgy of idolatry the world has ever seen." (http://www.matthewfox.org/blog/on-the-50th-anniversary-of-thomas-mertons-death#)
Advent reminds us that God's ways are radically different from the ways of the world (and even the Church). The kingdom of God among us does not come in force and violence, but as a vulnerable child born to parents who were outside society's power structure.
For Reflection:
Have you ever used violence, excessive power or force, or compulsion to accomplish what you thought were noble ends?
Reflect on your experience in light of this Advent text.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Second Wednesday of Advent - December 12, 2018
The Weariness of Misplaced Trust
Isaiah 40:25-31
Matthew 11:28-30
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. (Isa. 40:28-31)
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)
In Isaiah's time, the hope for a savior was tied to political systems and empires. The people waited for God to raise up another king like David. Of course, governments and political systems have no power to "save"; rather, they seem to specialize in self-interest and in burdening their citizens. It is that very weariness to which Isaiah spoke, the assurance that God does not grow faint or weary . . . that those who hope in God's present and future will renew their strength, soar like eagles, not grow weary or faint.
Of course, Isaiah's day was not alone in trusting political or governmental solutions for complex human need. A vast part of the U.S. electorate voted in 2016 hoping their candidate would usher America back to some elusive past greatness, seeking political solutions to myriad social issues. And this approach was largely supported by huge coalitions of Christians who claim to trust God alone for salvation.
In the years since 2016, another segment of the electorate has sought to use political means to restore order to a chaotic government, believing that well-being will come through more elections and appointments.
Though political means represent the way our current system is set up, both groups are delusional, especially those who advocate that one party or the other holds the keys to happiness and well-being. Trusting political systems to grant even a semblance of salvation is idolatry, and idolatry held so closely is burdensome.
The Advent texts today invite us to take up another way, to yoke ourselves to Christ, to turn from frantic anxiety and weariness to One whose yoke is easy and burden is light.
This is how The Message says it:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matt. 11:28-30, The Message)
For Reflection:
Sit with Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message. Let it speak to you. What do you hear? What invitations from Jesus stir your heart?
Isaiah 40:25-31
Matthew 11:28-30
Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. (Isa. 40:28-31)
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)
In Isaiah's time, the hope for a savior was tied to political systems and empires. The people waited for God to raise up another king like David. Of course, governments and political systems have no power to "save"; rather, they seem to specialize in self-interest and in burdening their citizens. It is that very weariness to which Isaiah spoke, the assurance that God does not grow faint or weary . . . that those who hope in God's present and future will renew their strength, soar like eagles, not grow weary or faint.
Of course, Isaiah's day was not alone in trusting political or governmental solutions for complex human need. A vast part of the U.S. electorate voted in 2016 hoping their candidate would usher America back to some elusive past greatness, seeking political solutions to myriad social issues. And this approach was largely supported by huge coalitions of Christians who claim to trust God alone for salvation.
In the years since 2016, another segment of the electorate has sought to use political means to restore order to a chaotic government, believing that well-being will come through more elections and appointments.
Though political means represent the way our current system is set up, both groups are delusional, especially those who advocate that one party or the other holds the keys to happiness and well-being. Trusting political systems to grant even a semblance of salvation is idolatry, and idolatry held so closely is burdensome.
The Advent texts today invite us to take up another way, to yoke ourselves to Christ, to turn from frantic anxiety and weariness to One whose yoke is easy and burden is light.
This is how The Message says it:
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matt. 11:28-30, The Message)
For Reflection:
Sit with Matthew 11:28-30 in The Message. Let it speak to you. What do you hear? What invitations from Jesus stir your heart?
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Second Tuesday of Advent - December 11, 2018
What Do You Think?
Isaiah 40:1-11
Matthew 18:12-14
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young. (Isa. 40:11)
“What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish." (Matt 18:12-14)
Isaiah's promise of God's tender care for people finds fulfillment in Jesus' short teaching story of a shepherd who will not rest from laboring until all the sheep are cared for. Even when 99% of the sheep are safe and well-cared for, the shepherd still seeks the imperiled one.
Jesus begins the story, however, with a cryptic invitation: "What do you think?" He invites us into the story. He wants to know where we stand on these things. "What are your thoughts about this?"
I know some of my thoughts about the story. What about you?
**It's insane, leaving 99 sheep vulnerable in order to find just one.
**Better to sacrifice the one than to put the 99 at risk.
**It's not fiscally responsible. Financially you open yourself up to huge losses.
**This shepherd doesn't have much common sense.
Megan McKenna shares a reflection, written in 1997 by a friend, which illumines the Gospel story in a contemporary way. The United States is in a different place now than in 1997; nevertheless, the same arguments and ideas are still around.
In the ongoing debate about health care and health insurance in our country, one of the sticking points is what to do about those people who have no form of health insurance at all. Some argue that this situation is simply not acceptable. We need, they insist, a program that offers universal coverage, reaching even to the poorest of the poor. Another group argues strongly against this position, asserting that any attempt to provide insurance for everyone will end up bankrupting the system and ruining what we already have. Better to cover as many people as possible and sacrifice those few who slip through the cracks.
It is clear that those in the latter group would not hire the shepherd in today's Gospel as their risk management consultant. His search for the one sheep that has gone astray would be seen as an extravagant gesture, a completely unacceptable risk to the other ninety-nine sheep.
In an era that calculates how much it can afford to do for those at the bottom of the social ladder, the ethic of Jesus must seem extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. Yet it might be a worthwhile Advent exercise for those of us who claim to follow Jesus to picture ourselves explaining this position to him. What would we say? Would we not be forced to acknowledge that the phrase "We can't afford to do this" means that we cannot do it without threatening our own financial and social well-being?
One suspects that he who suffered and died so that all might be saved would not be particularly susceptible to arguments about risk management. Today's Gospel baldly asserts that it is no part of God's plan "that a single one of these little ones shall ever come to grief." The question that confronts us in the middle of this Advent season is this: "Where do we fit into that plan?"
(Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany: Stories and Reflections on the Daily Readings, pp 58-59)
Jesus asks, "What are your thoughts about this? What do you think?"
For Reflection:
Take any contemporary social issue. Hold it up to this Gospel reading. Hold it up to the life and way of Jesus. Then hear Jesus ask you, "What do you think about this?"
Explain your position to him . . . why something should or should not be done. Are you open to altering your position in light of having to explain your stance to Jesus?
Possible issues for consideration might be:
Immigration
Gun control
Sexual harassment
Racial tensions
Fake news / "alterative facts"
Liberal elites / Basket of deplorables
Poverty
Terrorism
Hunger
Refugees
Salary inequality in the workplace
Isaiah 40:1-11
Matthew 18:12-14
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young. (Isa. 40:11)
“What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish." (Matt 18:12-14)
Isaiah's promise of God's tender care for people finds fulfillment in Jesus' short teaching story of a shepherd who will not rest from laboring until all the sheep are cared for. Even when 99% of the sheep are safe and well-cared for, the shepherd still seeks the imperiled one.
Jesus begins the story, however, with a cryptic invitation: "What do you think?" He invites us into the story. He wants to know where we stand on these things. "What are your thoughts about this?"
I know some of my thoughts about the story. What about you?
**It's insane, leaving 99 sheep vulnerable in order to find just one.
**Better to sacrifice the one than to put the 99 at risk.
**It's not fiscally responsible. Financially you open yourself up to huge losses.
**This shepherd doesn't have much common sense.
Megan McKenna shares a reflection, written in 1997 by a friend, which illumines the Gospel story in a contemporary way. The United States is in a different place now than in 1997; nevertheless, the same arguments and ideas are still around.
In the ongoing debate about health care and health insurance in our country, one of the sticking points is what to do about those people who have no form of health insurance at all. Some argue that this situation is simply not acceptable. We need, they insist, a program that offers universal coverage, reaching even to the poorest of the poor. Another group argues strongly against this position, asserting that any attempt to provide insurance for everyone will end up bankrupting the system and ruining what we already have. Better to cover as many people as possible and sacrifice those few who slip through the cracks.
It is clear that those in the latter group would not hire the shepherd in today's Gospel as their risk management consultant. His search for the one sheep that has gone astray would be seen as an extravagant gesture, a completely unacceptable risk to the other ninety-nine sheep.
In an era that calculates how much it can afford to do for those at the bottom of the social ladder, the ethic of Jesus must seem extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. Yet it might be a worthwhile Advent exercise for those of us who claim to follow Jesus to picture ourselves explaining this position to him. What would we say? Would we not be forced to acknowledge that the phrase "We can't afford to do this" means that we cannot do it without threatening our own financial and social well-being?
One suspects that he who suffered and died so that all might be saved would not be particularly susceptible to arguments about risk management. Today's Gospel baldly asserts that it is no part of God's plan "that a single one of these little ones shall ever come to grief." The question that confronts us in the middle of this Advent season is this: "Where do we fit into that plan?"
(Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany: Stories and Reflections on the Daily Readings, pp 58-59)
Jesus asks, "What are your thoughts about this? What do you think?"
For Reflection:
Take any contemporary social issue. Hold it up to this Gospel reading. Hold it up to the life and way of Jesus. Then hear Jesus ask you, "What do you think about this?"
Explain your position to him . . . why something should or should not be done. Are you open to altering your position in light of having to explain your stance to Jesus?
Possible issues for consideration might be:
Immigration
Gun control
Sexual harassment
Racial tensions
Fake news / "alterative facts"
Liberal elites / Basket of deplorables
Poverty
Terrorism
Hunger
Refugees
Salary inequality in the workplace
Monday, December 10, 2018
Second Monday of Advent - December 10, 2018
Participating in Kindness and Compassion
Isaiah 35:1-10
Luke 5:17-26
Again today, a common theme bridges the Old Testament lesson to the Gospel.
Isaiah 35 anticipates a time when God will cause the dry land to be fruitful, when the feeble will be strong, when the blind will see, when the deaf will hear, and when streams will gush through the desert.
The Gospel reading in Luke 5 points us to a day when the prophecy is fulfilled. A paralyzed man is carried to Jesus by friends who creatively drop him on his mat into the presence of Jesus through a hole in the roof. The crowds were large and the four persons carrying the mat could not navigate the throngs; yet, they found a way to act with kindness and compassion on behalf of the lame man.
While the story moves on toward a larger point of contention -- the religious leaders who object to Jesus healing the man by means of forgiveness -- we dare not miss the obvious. Not only is the kingdom of God (life which is lived with God at the Center) present in Jesus, but there are also those who come alongside Jesus, necessary participants in the compassionate, kind, and healing work Jesus is about. Those who carry the man on the mat join in the saving work of Jesus, whether they know it or not.
The hope of Advent is not that Jesus will come in order to free us to sit and watch him set the world aright.
The hope of Advent is you and I actively participating in God's work in the world through common acts of mercy, compassion, kindness, and self-giving.
Not only is Jesus mystically present in the world. He is also present in the world through you and me. Together, we join him as a sign of the kingdom's presence.
For Reflection:
1. Spend time in the Gospel story, Luke 5:17-26, among the different characters. For example, meditate on the story as the person on the mat . . . then as the friends who carry the mat . . . then as the religious people who object to Jesus' healing and forgiving . . . even as Jesus. Be careful not to analyze the story, but rather allow yourself to feel and sense along with the different persons in the narrative.
2. Make a pledge to some small acts of mercy and kindness this Advent as a way of joining Jesus in the kingdom's coming.
Isaiah 35:1-10
Luke 5:17-26
Again today, a common theme bridges the Old Testament lesson to the Gospel.
Isaiah 35 anticipates a time when God will cause the dry land to be fruitful, when the feeble will be strong, when the blind will see, when the deaf will hear, and when streams will gush through the desert.
The Gospel reading in Luke 5 points us to a day when the prophecy is fulfilled. A paralyzed man is carried to Jesus by friends who creatively drop him on his mat into the presence of Jesus through a hole in the roof. The crowds were large and the four persons carrying the mat could not navigate the throngs; yet, they found a way to act with kindness and compassion on behalf of the lame man.
While the story moves on toward a larger point of contention -- the religious leaders who object to Jesus healing the man by means of forgiveness -- we dare not miss the obvious. Not only is the kingdom of God (life which is lived with God at the Center) present in Jesus, but there are also those who come alongside Jesus, necessary participants in the compassionate, kind, and healing work Jesus is about. Those who carry the man on the mat join in the saving work of Jesus, whether they know it or not.
The hope of Advent is not that Jesus will come in order to free us to sit and watch him set the world aright.
The hope of Advent is you and I actively participating in God's work in the world through common acts of mercy, compassion, kindness, and self-giving.
Not only is Jesus mystically present in the world. He is also present in the world through you and me. Together, we join him as a sign of the kingdom's presence.
For Reflection:
1. Spend time in the Gospel story, Luke 5:17-26, among the different characters. For example, meditate on the story as the person on the mat . . . then as the friends who carry the mat . . . then as the religious people who object to Jesus' healing and forgiving . . . even as Jesus. Be careful not to analyze the story, but rather allow yourself to feel and sense along with the different persons in the narrative.
2. Make a pledge to some small acts of mercy and kindness this Advent as a way of joining Jesus in the kingdom's coming.
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Second Sunday of Advent - December 9, 2018
Preparing the Way
Luke 3:1-6
Philippians 1:4-11
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene — during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. As it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet:
“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
make straight paths for him.
Every valley shall be filled in,
every mountain and hill made low.
The crooked roads shall become straight,
the rough ways smooth.
And all people will see God’s salvation.’” (Luke 3:1-6, NIV)
In the year of our Lord, Two-thousand, eighteen . . . when world leaders met in Argentina for the G-20 . . . in the third year of Donald Trump's presidency . . . when Jared Polis was elected governor of Colorado . . . when Francoise Bettencourt Meyers was named the richest woman in the world . . . when Jorge Mario Bergoglio was in the 5th year of his papacy as Pope Francis . . . and in Joel Osteen's 19th year of pastor at Lakewood in Houston . . . the word of God came to John, living in a small, nondescript town apart from the centers of power and wealth.
While the names and titles in Luke's litany are mostly foreign to us, taken together they are Luke's way of reminding us who truly controls in human history . . . not presidents and kings and the wealthy and religious leaders.
No. God grants the course of history, not humans. And rather than visiting traditional halls of power, God chooses to bring reveal God's-self to John in the obscurity of desert.
John is an ordinary man living an ascetic life, stirred by the word of the Lord to proclaim a message that would prepare people to see God's anointed.
Preparation is John's message. Get ready. Wait, but in waiting, straighten what has become crooked. Bring down what has become high. Raise up what has fallen into disrepair.
Advent waiting is preparation, the preparation John proclaimed. And what has to be prepared? I do. And you. The road he describes is the way into you, the road into your interior. Make it straight, stop being crooked. Don't be too high and proud. Don't be too low and full of shame. Don't litter the way with impediments.
Because the One who is coming wants to enter you!!
As Paul says in the Philippians text, the Spirit who began this good work in you is going to bring it to completion (Phil. 1:6).
For Reflection:
Today is a time to prepare the road into your interior. Is there anything high in you that has been unduly inflated? Is there shame that keeps you lower than you truly are? Is there anything crooked that needs to be straightened? Today we make ourselves ready for the One who seeks to come to us.
Luke 3:1-6
Philippians 1:4-11
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene — during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. As it is written in the book of the words of Isaiah the prophet:
“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
make straight paths for him.
Every valley shall be filled in,
every mountain and hill made low.
The crooked roads shall become straight,
the rough ways smooth.
And all people will see God’s salvation.’” (Luke 3:1-6, NIV)
In the year of our Lord, Two-thousand, eighteen . . . when world leaders met in Argentina for the G-20 . . . in the third year of Donald Trump's presidency . . . when Jared Polis was elected governor of Colorado . . . when Francoise Bettencourt Meyers was named the richest woman in the world . . . when Jorge Mario Bergoglio was in the 5th year of his papacy as Pope Francis . . . and in Joel Osteen's 19th year of pastor at Lakewood in Houston . . . the word of God came to John, living in a small, nondescript town apart from the centers of power and wealth.
While the names and titles in Luke's litany are mostly foreign to us, taken together they are Luke's way of reminding us who truly controls in human history . . . not presidents and kings and the wealthy and religious leaders.
No. God grants the course of history, not humans. And rather than visiting traditional halls of power, God chooses to bring reveal God's-self to John in the obscurity of desert.
John is an ordinary man living an ascetic life, stirred by the word of the Lord to proclaim a message that would prepare people to see God's anointed.
Preparation is John's message. Get ready. Wait, but in waiting, straighten what has become crooked. Bring down what has become high. Raise up what has fallen into disrepair.
Advent waiting is preparation, the preparation John proclaimed. And what has to be prepared? I do. And you. The road he describes is the way into you, the road into your interior. Make it straight, stop being crooked. Don't be too high and proud. Don't be too low and full of shame. Don't litter the way with impediments.
Because the One who is coming wants to enter you!!
As Paul says in the Philippians text, the Spirit who began this good work in you is going to bring it to completion (Phil. 1:6).
For Reflection:
Today is a time to prepare the road into your interior. Is there anything high in you that has been unduly inflated? Is there shame that keeps you lower than you truly are? Is there anything crooked that needs to be straightened? Today we make ourselves ready for the One who seeks to come to us.
First Saturday of Advent - December 8, 2018
What You Have Received as a Gift, Give as a Gift
Isaiah 30:19-25
Matthew 9:35-10:8
In the Gospel reading from Matthew 9, Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals as he moves through towns and villages. He meets crowds everywhere he goes, and is moved with compassion as he observes that the people are "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Then, Jesus says that there is much need, much to harvest in the world, but that few are laboring for that harvest. Pray for workers who will serve the harvest of God's kingdom, he says to his followers.
For those of us who would read an Advent blog like this, I imagine that Black Friday and Cyber Monday signalled the need to decorate homes, make lists, plan menus, coordinate calendars, buy and wrap gifts, and confirm travel plans for the holidays. With so much on our plates, we may feel like those who are harassed and helpless, completely besieged by the demands of the season.
In truth, though, most of what feels burdensome to us during December is surface stuff . . . the lists and plans and anxieties that we take upon ourselves.
At the same time, there may be weightier concerns both within us and in those around us . . . grieving significant passings . . . loss of meaningful work . . . newly diagnosed health concerns . . . emotional struggles, including depression.
In the Gospel text, I imagine Jesus turning to those of us who are his followers and asking that we pray for someone -- or perhaps to be the ones -- who will go out to where people are truly harassed and helpless, where persons are lost and without a way, despondent and despairing, broken and exhausted, dazed and without a noticeable pathway home.
So what if, as Jesus suggests, we seek out those who are truly harassed and helpless this Advent? What do we have to offer?
In the last line of today's Gospel, Jesus says simply, "What you have received as a gift, give as a gift." (Matt. 10:8)
That is all.
FOR REFLECTION:
Spend time reflecting on Matthew 10:8.
"What you have received as a gift, give as a gift."
As you consider the line, go beyond analysis and what you think it means. Actually do some self-reflection. What have you received as a gift?
After considering what you have been given as gift, you will have some sense of what Jesus might be inviting you to give as gift.
Isaiah 30:19-25
Matthew 9:35-10:8
In the Gospel reading from Matthew 9, Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals as he moves through towns and villages. He meets crowds everywhere he goes, and is moved with compassion as he observes that the people are "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Then, Jesus says that there is much need, much to harvest in the world, but that few are laboring for that harvest. Pray for workers who will serve the harvest of God's kingdom, he says to his followers.
For those of us who would read an Advent blog like this, I imagine that Black Friday and Cyber Monday signalled the need to decorate homes, make lists, plan menus, coordinate calendars, buy and wrap gifts, and confirm travel plans for the holidays. With so much on our plates, we may feel like those who are harassed and helpless, completely besieged by the demands of the season.
In truth, though, most of what feels burdensome to us during December is surface stuff . . . the lists and plans and anxieties that we take upon ourselves.
At the same time, there may be weightier concerns both within us and in those around us . . . grieving significant passings . . . loss of meaningful work . . . newly diagnosed health concerns . . . emotional struggles, including depression.
In the Gospel text, I imagine Jesus turning to those of us who are his followers and asking that we pray for someone -- or perhaps to be the ones -- who will go out to where people are truly harassed and helpless, where persons are lost and without a way, despondent and despairing, broken and exhausted, dazed and without a noticeable pathway home.
So what if, as Jesus suggests, we seek out those who are truly harassed and helpless this Advent? What do we have to offer?
In the last line of today's Gospel, Jesus says simply, "What you have received as a gift, give as a gift." (Matt. 10:8)
That is all.
FOR REFLECTION:
Spend time reflecting on Matthew 10:8.
"What you have received as a gift, give as a gift."
As you consider the line, go beyond analysis and what you think it means. Actually do some self-reflection. What have you received as a gift?
After considering what you have been given as gift, you will have some sense of what Jesus might be inviting you to give as gift.
Friday, December 7, 2018
First Friday of Advent - December 7, 2018
Do You Believe . . .?
Isaiah 29:17-24
Matthew 9:27-31
During the first week of Advent, a lone candle stands against the darkness . . . a solitary symbol of hope and light.
Advent reminds us time and time again that the darkness surrounding us is not the only reality of life. In our spiritual deafness, we will hear and in our spiritual blindness we will see. Hope comes even as we wait.
Isaiah says,
"In that day the deaf will hear
the words of the scroll,
and out of gloom and darkness
the eyes of the blind will see." (Is. 29:18)
What Isaiah speaks as prophecy, Matthew answers from the life of Jesus.
Isaiah prophecies that out of gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind will see. Matthew tells us that two blind men seeking mercy receive their sight from Jesus.
For many, the world seems darker, gloomier, more divided than ever. Some of us struggle to see light, blinded by pervasive hatred, by conflict, by chasms that grow deeper by the day.
In the Advent texts, we are the blind, the deaf, those wondering if light has abandoned us.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet and politician who wrote these words several decades ago in days of global tension over nuclear proliferation:
I am fighting for that ubiquitous, widespread, inexhaustible goodness. . . . I still have absolute faith in human destiny, a clearer and clearer conviction that we are approaching a great common tenderness. I write knowing that the danger of the bomb hangs over all our heads, a nuclear catastrophe that would leave no one, nothing on this earth. Well, that does not alter my hope. At this critical moment, in this flicker of anguish, we know that the true light will enter those eyes that are vigilant. We shall all understand one another. We shall advance together. And this hope cannot be crushed. (Quoted in Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, pp. 36-37)
Neruda's days were no more explosive than our times today. Hope creeps toward us.
The story of the two blind men in Matthew 9 turns on this question Jesus asks: "Do you believe I am able to do this?" Do you believe I can change darkness to light? Do you believe you'll see hope again? Do you believe against all evidence to the contrary?
This is an Advent text because it fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah.
It is also an Advent text because the two who are blind walk in darkness, needing sight, hoping for light.
What about you?
Do you believe you will see light again?
Do you believe God can cause light to overcome darkness?
Do you believe God is somehow at work in the world, even though your eyes may be blind to God's light-work?
For Reflection:
Today, hear Jesus ask you, "Do you believe I am able to do this?"
Answer as honestly as possible. Speak your answer . . . or write it. Allow Jesus' question to lead you into prayerful conversation with him.
Isaiah 29:17-24
Matthew 9:27-31
During the first week of Advent, a lone candle stands against the darkness . . . a solitary symbol of hope and light.
Advent reminds us time and time again that the darkness surrounding us is not the only reality of life. In our spiritual deafness, we will hear and in our spiritual blindness we will see. Hope comes even as we wait.
Isaiah says,
"In that day the deaf will hear
the words of the scroll,
and out of gloom and darkness
the eyes of the blind will see." (Is. 29:18)
What Isaiah speaks as prophecy, Matthew answers from the life of Jesus.
Isaiah prophecies that out of gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind will see. Matthew tells us that two blind men seeking mercy receive their sight from Jesus.
For many, the world seems darker, gloomier, more divided than ever. Some of us struggle to see light, blinded by pervasive hatred, by conflict, by chasms that grow deeper by the day.
In the Advent texts, we are the blind, the deaf, those wondering if light has abandoned us.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet and politician who wrote these words several decades ago in days of global tension over nuclear proliferation:
I am fighting for that ubiquitous, widespread, inexhaustible goodness. . . . I still have absolute faith in human destiny, a clearer and clearer conviction that we are approaching a great common tenderness. I write knowing that the danger of the bomb hangs over all our heads, a nuclear catastrophe that would leave no one, nothing on this earth. Well, that does not alter my hope. At this critical moment, in this flicker of anguish, we know that the true light will enter those eyes that are vigilant. We shall all understand one another. We shall advance together. And this hope cannot be crushed. (Quoted in Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, pp. 36-37)
Neruda's days were no more explosive than our times today. Hope creeps toward us.
The story of the two blind men in Matthew 9 turns on this question Jesus asks: "Do you believe I am able to do this?" Do you believe I can change darkness to light? Do you believe you'll see hope again? Do you believe against all evidence to the contrary?
This is an Advent text because it fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah.
It is also an Advent text because the two who are blind walk in darkness, needing sight, hoping for light.
What about you?
Do you believe you will see light again?
Do you believe God can cause light to overcome darkness?
Do you believe God is somehow at work in the world, even though your eyes may be blind to God's light-work?
For Reflection:
Today, hear Jesus ask you, "Do you believe I am able to do this?"
Answer as honestly as possible. Speak your answer . . . or write it. Allow Jesus' question to lead you into prayerful conversation with him.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
First Thurday of Advent - December 6, 2018
Hearing the Word
Isaiah 26:1-6
Matthew 7:21-27
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. . . ." (Matt. 7:24, The Message)
25 years ago, I did all sorts of things with the words spoken by Jesus. I studied them, memorized them, took seminary classes to illumine them, read books about them, taught them, preached sermons about them, quoted them. . . . I became skilled at handling the words, but much less skilled, to use the phrase in The Message, at "working these words into my life."
Jesus calls some ways of handling his words, "building a house on sand."
He calls other ways of handling his words, "building a house on solid rock."
Building a house in Jesus' wisdom saying is metaphor for building a life. In truth, God is present both in the house/life with a sand foundation and in the house/life with a foundation of rock. God is not limited by our wisdom and skill -- or lack thereof -- in building a life. Thus, what may be lacking in the house built on sand is our simple awareness that God is already in the house. Lacking that awareness, we allow ourselves to be thrown around by storms and windy weather, when acknowledging God in the house would immediately give us a solid foundation on which to stand.
In one of his journals, Thomas Merton wrote this:
I am content that these pages show me to be what I am, noisy, full of the racket of my imperfections and passions, and the wide open wounds left by my sins. Full of my own emptiness. Yet, ruined as my own house is, You live there!" (Merton, The Sign of Jonas.)
For Reflection:
1. Spend time today reflecting on Matthew 7:24 from The Message. Notice the words, phrases, or ideas that stand out to you. What do you hear God saying to you through these words, phrases, or ideas? What invitations from God do you sense?
2. Write your own "journal entry" in the style of Merton's entry above. How would you express your own sense of what Merton communicated in his short statement?
Isaiah 26:1-6
Matthew 7:21-27
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. . . ." (Matt. 7:24, The Message)
25 years ago, I did all sorts of things with the words spoken by Jesus. I studied them, memorized them, took seminary classes to illumine them, read books about them, taught them, preached sermons about them, quoted them. . . . I became skilled at handling the words, but much less skilled, to use the phrase in The Message, at "working these words into my life."
Jesus calls some ways of handling his words, "building a house on sand."
He calls other ways of handling his words, "building a house on solid rock."
Building a house in Jesus' wisdom saying is metaphor for building a life. In truth, God is present both in the house/life with a sand foundation and in the house/life with a foundation of rock. God is not limited by our wisdom and skill -- or lack thereof -- in building a life. Thus, what may be lacking in the house built on sand is our simple awareness that God is already in the house. Lacking that awareness, we allow ourselves to be thrown around by storms and windy weather, when acknowledging God in the house would immediately give us a solid foundation on which to stand.
In one of his journals, Thomas Merton wrote this:
I am content that these pages show me to be what I am, noisy, full of the racket of my imperfections and passions, and the wide open wounds left by my sins. Full of my own emptiness. Yet, ruined as my own house is, You live there!" (Merton, The Sign of Jonas.)
For Reflection:
1. Spend time today reflecting on Matthew 7:24 from The Message. Notice the words, phrases, or ideas that stand out to you. What do you hear God saying to you through these words, phrases, or ideas? What invitations from God do you sense?
2. Write your own "journal entry" in the style of Merton's entry above. How would you express your own sense of what Merton communicated in his short statement?
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
First Wednesday of Advent - December 5, 2018
Having Enough
Isaiah 25:6-10
Matthew 15:29-37
Isaiah 25 offers the image of a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine, as a symbol of the coming "day of the Lord" at a table where everyone eats together.
The age of God's reign is often imaged in scripture as a feast, as a banquet at which all are fed, regardless of social class, race, gender, nationality, sexual orientation, or political persuasion. Everyone gathers at the table for a banquet. The poor and the rich are seated at the same table for God's feast, the finest meats, the best wines, enough for everyone, a table of plenty.
Whenever the Church offers a Eucharistic meal, the very act of Communion from a "common" table, she provides a miniature sign of this all-encompassing feast foreshadowed in scripture.
In the Gospel for today, Matthew describes the feast a bit differently than Isaiah. The feast is not opulence, but rather is simple sustenance for people who are hungry and in danger of "collapsing on the way." (For another time, you might consider this text with eyes beyond the literal . . . what is the true food of God that feeds people, sustaining us so that we don't "collapse on the way"?)
Many people have gathered, hungry, and in gathering resources to feed north of 4,000 people, some loaves and a few fish have been shared. It is not much, but it is enough.
Indeed, there is enough food to feed everyone, the story goes on to demonstrate. But what I have in my possession must be shared, not hoarded, not used as an instrument of social control. The food and resources at my disposal are not to be used in a way that holds power over those who have not. The bread must be brought together and shared for the common good.
The wonder here is not only the miracle of Jesus somehow causing bread and fish to multiply. The miracle is also the wonder of human sharing . . . the miracle of what happens within people when they take their grip off the resources they hold, and make those resources available for the common good . . . when we all share together, refusing to hold onto what we have -- either to punish the other, or to control them by what we have and they have-not -- so that everyone has enough.
Everyone is fed. There is plenty to go around. There are baskets of leftovers.
Perhaps Matthew is answering Isaiah, saying in effect that the day of the Lord is here already, right now, when people share what they have so that everyone has enough. It is not a feast of opulence, but it is enough, plenty for hungry people.
For Reflection:
What do you hold in your hand? Take inventory of what you have, the resources at your disposal. Everyone has something to share . . . material goods . . . time . . . expertise in some area . . . a willing spirit . . . compassion. What do you have to share so that others have enough? And how might you share this week?
Isaiah 25:6-10
Matthew 15:29-37
Isaiah 25 offers the image of a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine, as a symbol of the coming "day of the Lord" at a table where everyone eats together.
The age of God's reign is often imaged in scripture as a feast, as a banquet at which all are fed, regardless of social class, race, gender, nationality, sexual orientation, or political persuasion. Everyone gathers at the table for a banquet. The poor and the rich are seated at the same table for God's feast, the finest meats, the best wines, enough for everyone, a table of plenty.
Whenever the Church offers a Eucharistic meal, the very act of Communion from a "common" table, she provides a miniature sign of this all-encompassing feast foreshadowed in scripture.
In the Gospel for today, Matthew describes the feast a bit differently than Isaiah. The feast is not opulence, but rather is simple sustenance for people who are hungry and in danger of "collapsing on the way." (For another time, you might consider this text with eyes beyond the literal . . . what is the true food of God that feeds people, sustaining us so that we don't "collapse on the way"?)
Many people have gathered, hungry, and in gathering resources to feed north of 4,000 people, some loaves and a few fish have been shared. It is not much, but it is enough.
Indeed, there is enough food to feed everyone, the story goes on to demonstrate. But what I have in my possession must be shared, not hoarded, not used as an instrument of social control. The food and resources at my disposal are not to be used in a way that holds power over those who have not. The bread must be brought together and shared for the common good.
The wonder here is not only the miracle of Jesus somehow causing bread and fish to multiply. The miracle is also the wonder of human sharing . . . the miracle of what happens within people when they take their grip off the resources they hold, and make those resources available for the common good . . . when we all share together, refusing to hold onto what we have -- either to punish the other, or to control them by what we have and they have-not -- so that everyone has enough.
Everyone is fed. There is plenty to go around. There are baskets of leftovers.
Perhaps Matthew is answering Isaiah, saying in effect that the day of the Lord is here already, right now, when people share what they have so that everyone has enough. It is not a feast of opulence, but it is enough, plenty for hungry people.
For Reflection:
What do you hold in your hand? Take inventory of what you have, the resources at your disposal. Everyone has something to share . . . material goods . . . time . . . expertise in some area . . . a willing spirit . . . compassion. What do you have to share so that others have enough? And how might you share this week?
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
First Tuesday of Advent - December 4, 2018
Beginning . . . Again
Isaiah 11:1-10
Luke 10:21-24
Isaiah's prophecy looks to a time when a "root will come up from the stump" of Jesse (King David's lineage) . . . "from his roots a Branch will bear fruit."
In something that looks final (a stump), something new will begin to appear.
Something small and hidden (roots) will be the beginning of fruit-bearing.
In Luke 10:21, the revelation is entrusted to children, to the unsophisticated, not to the learned. We all have to begin as children, in other words.
Today's readings make clear a basic spiritual truth: The first step of the spiritual life is to begin, and to begin where you are, not where you would like to be or where you have been in the past.
Begin here, not there.
Begin now, not then.
Don't ever think of yourself as so advanced that you have no need to begin right here, right now. I've heard too many people through the years say, "I can't begin now . . . I'll begin when _______."
The only place from which you can begin is here. Now.
When a Benedictine monk was asked by a visitor what the monks did all day at the monastery, he replied, "We fall down and get up. Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up" (hence the title of John McQuiston's book on Benedictine spirituality, Always We Begin Again).
About the spiritual life, Thomas Merton wrote this: "One cannot begin to face the real difficulties of the life of prayer and meditation unless one is first perfectly content to be a beginner and really experience himself (sic) as one who knows little or nothing, and has a desperate need to learn the bare rudiments. Those who think they 'know' from the beginning will never, in fact, come to know anything. . . . We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!" (Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer, pp. 36-37)
For Reflection:
1. Spend some time reflecting on what it means for you to be a beginner. How does that feel to you? What does it raise up within you? What part of you resists being a beginner? Sit with this as non-judgmentally as you can.
2. Take one of the quotes above (the Benedictine monk or the Merton quote) and sit with it. In whichever quote you choose, notice what ideas or lines speak to you. Also notice which ideas you resist. Bring both that which draws you and that which you resist into your prayer today.
Isaiah 11:1-10
Luke 10:21-24
Isaiah's prophecy looks to a time when a "root will come up from the stump" of Jesse (King David's lineage) . . . "from his roots a Branch will bear fruit."
In something that looks final (a stump), something new will begin to appear.
Something small and hidden (roots) will be the beginning of fruit-bearing.
In Luke 10:21, the revelation is entrusted to children, to the unsophisticated, not to the learned. We all have to begin as children, in other words.
Today's readings make clear a basic spiritual truth: The first step of the spiritual life is to begin, and to begin where you are, not where you would like to be or where you have been in the past.
Begin here, not there.
Begin now, not then.
Don't ever think of yourself as so advanced that you have no need to begin right here, right now. I've heard too many people through the years say, "I can't begin now . . . I'll begin when _______."
The only place from which you can begin is here. Now.
When a Benedictine monk was asked by a visitor what the monks did all day at the monastery, he replied, "We fall down and get up. Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up" (hence the title of John McQuiston's book on Benedictine spirituality, Always We Begin Again).
About the spiritual life, Thomas Merton wrote this: "One cannot begin to face the real difficulties of the life of prayer and meditation unless one is first perfectly content to be a beginner and really experience himself (sic) as one who knows little or nothing, and has a desperate need to learn the bare rudiments. Those who think they 'know' from the beginning will never, in fact, come to know anything. . . . We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!" (Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer, pp. 36-37)
For Reflection:
1. Spend some time reflecting on what it means for you to be a beginner. How does that feel to you? What does it raise up within you? What part of you resists being a beginner? Sit with this as non-judgmentally as you can.
2. Take one of the quotes above (the Benedictine monk or the Merton quote) and sit with it. In whichever quote you choose, notice what ideas or lines speak to you. Also notice which ideas you resist. Bring both that which draws you and that which you resist into your prayer today.
Monday, December 3, 2018
First Monday of Advent -- December 3, 2018
The Unfolding Plan of God
Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 8:5-11
Most mornings I make the mistake of checking the news before I am fully grounded. I read about acts of aggression . . . hostility among races . . . mean tweets that exaggerate facts and belittle others. If I fall too deeply into the hole, despair knocks on the door.
Scripture always resists despair, but is completely realistic about our human situation. The words of prophet and Gospel-writer alike address a fractured world, while also chasing after alienated humans with hope for a reconciled world. The final word is not fracture and alienation, scripture insists, but oneness, healing, and compassion. The world is not a forsaken garbage dump in which good things miraculously happen; rather, God is at work in and around the world in mercy, to bring all things to wholeness. In the words of those who follow the path of Ignatius of Loyola, God's project for the world is to bring all things to oneness. And God is somehow present in all things to bring God's vast project to fruition.
Of course, there are wars and divisions, competition and conflict, racism and sexism, lands and peoples who are plundered. But the work of God is about healing and saving those who are caught in the grip of conflict, destruction, and unjust systems.
The work of God is about restoring the earth so that vegetables and fruit, oil and wine, might feed and refresh all people of the world.
The work of God is about using creativity and ingenuity to fight disease and to create just systems of government for our communities.
The work of God is about compassion, sharing with those who struggle in famine and flood, through hurricane and wildfire.
The work of God is about stepping across divisions between haves and have-nots, using power and authority for giving fullness of life, not diminishing life.
Advent proclaims the truth of our current reality, but also the vision toward which God is working. Our world is being made still, as you and I still are being made. And God is in the making, the unfolding, even now.
The birth of Jesus into the world is part of the unfolding plan of God.
For Reflection:
In what part of life are you most tempted to despair? What helps you to recognize when you are in a place close to despair?
Above I shared with you a partial "litany" of what I sense God is about in the world. Write your own litany, or statement of what you feel God is about in the world. You might begin each line with something like: "The work of God is about __________."
Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 8:5-11
Most mornings I make the mistake of checking the news before I am fully grounded. I read about acts of aggression . . . hostility among races . . . mean tweets that exaggerate facts and belittle others. If I fall too deeply into the hole, despair knocks on the door.
Scripture always resists despair, but is completely realistic about our human situation. The words of prophet and Gospel-writer alike address a fractured world, while also chasing after alienated humans with hope for a reconciled world. The final word is not fracture and alienation, scripture insists, but oneness, healing, and compassion. The world is not a forsaken garbage dump in which good things miraculously happen; rather, God is at work in and around the world in mercy, to bring all things to wholeness. In the words of those who follow the path of Ignatius of Loyola, God's project for the world is to bring all things to oneness. And God is somehow present in all things to bring God's vast project to fruition.
Of course, there are wars and divisions, competition and conflict, racism and sexism, lands and peoples who are plundered. But the work of God is about healing and saving those who are caught in the grip of conflict, destruction, and unjust systems.
The work of God is about restoring the earth so that vegetables and fruit, oil and wine, might feed and refresh all people of the world.
The work of God is about using creativity and ingenuity to fight disease and to create just systems of government for our communities.
The work of God is about compassion, sharing with those who struggle in famine and flood, through hurricane and wildfire.
The work of God is about stepping across divisions between haves and have-nots, using power and authority for giving fullness of life, not diminishing life.
Advent proclaims the truth of our current reality, but also the vision toward which God is working. Our world is being made still, as you and I still are being made. And God is in the making, the unfolding, even now.
The birth of Jesus into the world is part of the unfolding plan of God.
For Reflection:
In what part of life are you most tempted to despair? What helps you to recognize when you are in a place close to despair?
Above I shared with you a partial "litany" of what I sense God is about in the world. Write your own litany, or statement of what you feel God is about in the world. You might begin each line with something like: "The work of God is about __________."
Sunday, December 2, 2018
First Sunday of Advent -- December 2, 2018
Stepping into Advent
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-28, 34-36
The season of Advent invites us home to our deeper selves as we move toward the celebration of Jesus' birth. We move through the days mindfully. The Advent journey unfolds within each of us as we step with intention toward Bethlehem. As the saints have reminded us consistently across the centuries, it matters little that Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago if he is not born anew in our hearts today.
Thus, the early readings in the Advent season begin soberly, reminding us of the state of the world and of the ongoing work of mercy that is God's chief work in the world.
In a theme that will come up often in the Advent readings, Luke's Gospel today is careful to remind us that we must be careful, keep watch, and have a heightened sense of readiness for what God is doing in the world. Otherwise, we will miss it.
One of the Zen Masters advocated living each day and each hour in the same frame of mind as a person falling off a horse. The person falling from a horse has no time to obsess about the past, no time to beat herself up about who she is or where she is, no time for regret. Nor does she have a thought for the shape of the future. There is no time to look around to see how other people are falling (or not falling), or to see how her fall compares to their fall.
In fact, the person falling instinctively gives his or her full attention to that very moment, to the split second in which they are living. The moment is intense, focused, and calls for the person's full attention.
Such intensity sounds intimidating. Who can sustain that kind of heightened awareness? Yet, our spiritual teachers -- Jesus foremost among them -- have consistently called for us to stay awake, to be ready, to pay attention. In many ways, this kind of heightened awareness is the heart of the spiritual life . . . and this is also the area in which we most need assistance.
For Reflection:
In your prayer and reflection, explore what it means for you to "pay attention" today. Have a conversation with God about having a heightened awareness. Or write out your thoughts as if you were writing a note to God.
Then at the end of the day, check in with yourself. How did you do in paying attention over the past 24 hours? What did you notice? As you reflect over the day, be sure you do so without judging yourself. There is no failure, no shame involved in the exercise. You are simply asking God for the grace to see what is, not beat yourself up for what you missed.
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-28, 34-36
The season of Advent invites us home to our deeper selves as we move toward the celebration of Jesus' birth. We move through the days mindfully. The Advent journey unfolds within each of us as we step with intention toward Bethlehem. As the saints have reminded us consistently across the centuries, it matters little that Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago if he is not born anew in our hearts today.
Thus, the early readings in the Advent season begin soberly, reminding us of the state of the world and of the ongoing work of mercy that is God's chief work in the world.
In a theme that will come up often in the Advent readings, Luke's Gospel today is careful to remind us that we must be careful, keep watch, and have a heightened sense of readiness for what God is doing in the world. Otherwise, we will miss it.
One of the Zen Masters advocated living each day and each hour in the same frame of mind as a person falling off a horse. The person falling from a horse has no time to obsess about the past, no time to beat herself up about who she is or where she is, no time for regret. Nor does she have a thought for the shape of the future. There is no time to look around to see how other people are falling (or not falling), or to see how her fall compares to their fall.
In fact, the person falling instinctively gives his or her full attention to that very moment, to the split second in which they are living. The moment is intense, focused, and calls for the person's full attention.
Such intensity sounds intimidating. Who can sustain that kind of heightened awareness? Yet, our spiritual teachers -- Jesus foremost among them -- have consistently called for us to stay awake, to be ready, to pay attention. In many ways, this kind of heightened awareness is the heart of the spiritual life . . . and this is also the area in which we most need assistance.
For Reflection:
In your prayer and reflection, explore what it means for you to "pay attention" today. Have a conversation with God about having a heightened awareness. Or write out your thoughts as if you were writing a note to God.
Then at the end of the day, check in with yourself. How did you do in paying attention over the past 24 hours? What did you notice? As you reflect over the day, be sure you do so without judging yourself. There is no failure, no shame involved in the exercise. You are simply asking God for the grace to see what is, not beat yourself up for what you missed.
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