Luke 2:15-20
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Today on Christmas, I’ll share with you Thomas Merton’s words. In Seasons of Celebration, he writes about the birth of Christ. Merton is particularly moved by Christ as light, and our human need not only to receive the light within us, but more, to allow the light to shine through us. This is what Merton says:
Christ is born. He is born to us. And, he is born today. For Christmas is not merely a day like every other day. It is a day made holy and special by a sacred mystery. It is not merely another day in the weary round of time. Today, eternity enters into time and time, sanctified, is caught up into eternity. Today, Christ, the Eternal Word of the Father, who was in the beginning with the Father, in whom all things were made, by whom all things consist, enters into the world which he created in order to reclaim souls who have lost their identity. Therefore, the Church exults as the angels come down to announce not merely an old thing that happened long ago, but a new thing that happens today. For, today, God the Father makes all things new, in his Divine Son, our Redeemer, according to his words: Ecce nova facio omnia. . . .
At Christmas, more than ever, it is fitting to remember that we have no other light but Christ, who is born to us today. Let us reflect that he came down from heaven to be our light, and our life. He came, as he himself assures us, to be our way, by which we may return to the Father. Christ gives us light today to know him, in the Father and ourselves in him, so that thus knowing and possessing Christ, we may have life everlasting with him in the Father. . . .
Having realized, once again, who it is that comes to us, and having remembered that he alone is our light, let us open our eyes to the rising Sun, let us hasten to receive him and let us come together to celebrate the great mystery of charity which is the sacrament of our salvation and of our union in Christ. Let us receive Christ that we may in all truth be “light in the Lord” and that Christ may shine not only to us, but through us, and that we may all burn together in the sweet light of his presence in the world: I mean his presence in us, for we are his Body and his Holy Church. . . .
Christ, light of light, is born today, and since he is born to us, he is born in us as light and therefore we who believe are born today to new light. That is to say, our souls are born to new life and new grace by receiving him who is the Truth. For Christ, invisible in his own nature, has become visible in our nature. What else can this mean, except that first he has become visible as a man and second he has become visible in his Church? He wills to be visible in us, to live in us, and save us through his secret action in our own hearts and the hearts of our neighbors. So, we must receive the light of the newborn Savior by faith, in order to manifest it by our witness in common praise and by the works of our charity towards one another.
[Thomas Merton, Seasons of Celebration, pp. 102-105.]
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
Third Tuesday of Advent - December 17, 2019
Matthew 21:28-32
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him."
• Something feels deceptive in the misdirection of the second son, who says, “I will go” but then never goes. Perhaps he fully intended to go, but then was distracted by other things that came up. More likely, though, he never intended to go and only wanted to appease his father.
• We live in what some have called a “post-truth world,” where we advance “alternative facts,” where we can say whatever we want – true or not – in order to create our own reality.
• Spirituality has to do with living in connection with the Really Real, discovering the truth about God, ourselves, others, and the world in a way that makes a difference in how we engage life. All of us live in some state of deception all the time (we don’t perceive things as they are, but as we would like them to be), but to be intentionally deceptive is a stumbling block to ourselves and others in the quest to live true with God.
• Be aware of your words today . . . your “yes” and your “no” . . . your promises and your claims . . . your opinions stated as facts and your beliefs stated as absolute reality. Simply go through the day conscious of your words.
• At the end of the day, do a quick review of your words, your conversations, your online exchanges. What did you actually say today? And did your words line up with the person you hope to become in God? Bring whatever you learn into your prayer.
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him."
• Something feels deceptive in the misdirection of the second son, who says, “I will go” but then never goes. Perhaps he fully intended to go, but then was distracted by other things that came up. More likely, though, he never intended to go and only wanted to appease his father.
• We live in what some have called a “post-truth world,” where we advance “alternative facts,” where we can say whatever we want – true or not – in order to create our own reality.
• Spirituality has to do with living in connection with the Really Real, discovering the truth about God, ourselves, others, and the world in a way that makes a difference in how we engage life. All of us live in some state of deception all the time (we don’t perceive things as they are, but as we would like them to be), but to be intentionally deceptive is a stumbling block to ourselves and others in the quest to live true with God.
• Be aware of your words today . . . your “yes” and your “no” . . . your promises and your claims . . . your opinions stated as facts and your beliefs stated as absolute reality. Simply go through the day conscious of your words.
• At the end of the day, do a quick review of your words, your conversations, your online exchanges. What did you actually say today? And did your words line up with the person you hope to become in God? Bring whatever you learn into your prayer.
Monday, December 16, 2019
Third Monday of Advent - December 16, 2019
Matthew 21:23-27
When he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” Jesus said to them, “I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” And they argued with one another, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say to us, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘Of human origin,’ we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet.” So they answered Jesus, “We do not know.” And he said to them, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”
• People who are caught up in hierarchies, ranks, and differentiating people (by any number of criteria) tend to overplay authority. They tend to love outer authority. “Who said you could do that?” Or, “You can’t touch THAT!” Or, “No one gave you permission.” Outer authority always originates from some power outside. Someone may grant it, or they may withhold it.
• Inner authority, on the other hand, is something you know to be true from the inside of yourself. Spirit touches spirit . . . God’s Spirit confirming to your spirit a thing's veracity. You don’t need an outside agent to tell you it’s true or right or wise. You know from your own inside.
• Jesus had both kinds of authority. His outer authority came from his Father. But he also had inner authority. He didn’t need the religious leaders and legal authorities to tell him what was right and wrong. He knew truth from the inside.
• Think of a time you knew from within yourself that something was true, even when it flew in the face of what those around you were saying. What courage did you have in your inner authority? Did you have anyone in your life at that time who could affirm your inner wisdom?
When he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” Jesus said to them, “I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” And they argued with one another, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say to us, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘Of human origin,’ we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet.” So they answered Jesus, “We do not know.” And he said to them, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”
• People who are caught up in hierarchies, ranks, and differentiating people (by any number of criteria) tend to overplay authority. They tend to love outer authority. “Who said you could do that?” Or, “You can’t touch THAT!” Or, “No one gave you permission.” Outer authority always originates from some power outside. Someone may grant it, or they may withhold it.
• Inner authority, on the other hand, is something you know to be true from the inside of yourself. Spirit touches spirit . . . God’s Spirit confirming to your spirit a thing's veracity. You don’t need an outside agent to tell you it’s true or right or wise. You know from your own inside.
• Jesus had both kinds of authority. His outer authority came from his Father. But he also had inner authority. He didn’t need the religious leaders and legal authorities to tell him what was right and wrong. He knew truth from the inside.
• Think of a time you knew from within yourself that something was true, even when it flew in the face of what those around you were saying. What courage did you have in your inner authority? Did you have anyone in your life at that time who could affirm your inner wisdom?
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Third Sunday of Advent - December 15, 2019
Matthew 11:2-11
When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”
Jesus replied, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”
As John’s disciples were leaving, Jesus began to speak to the crowd about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear fine clothes are in kings’ palaces. Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written:
“‘I will send my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way before you.’
Truly I tell you, among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist; yet whoever is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."
I love that the Gospels are not afraid to show us how wrong John was about Jesus.
“I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.” (Matt. 3:11-12)
John believed Jesus was bringing fire, a winnowing fork (that never sounds good!) to clear the chaff, and a burning fire to consume those who were not “right with God.”
John taught from a place of strict asceticism. He advocated a conspicuous morality, a kind of works righteousness, and believed the Messiah would come to sift the wheat and chaff, judging people on a strict moral standard.
The Gospels writers don’t have to tell us John got it wrong. They only have to let us read the stories . . . to hold up together what John said about Jesus on one hand, and then how Jesus actually lived in the world and related to people on the other hand.
The Gospels trust us to get it. John preached hell-fire and said the Messiah would do the same. But that’s not who Jesus was.
So in today’s text, John is confused. Imprisoned, he recognizes that either he got it wrong on the Messiah or else Jesus was not actually the Messiah. He has to ask, “Are you the one coming or shall we look for another?” Jesus didn’t line up with John’s expectations. Something had to give.
It’s notable that John is in prison as this consideration takes place. As is often the case with humans, this kind of crisis setting causes him to reevaluate his belief system. We hold in our hands the things we have believed and clung to for a lifetime, but no longer does the system seem fail-safe. We ask ourselves Dr. Phil’s question: “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”
I know the question well because I’ve often muttered it in life, suddenly recognizing that what I have believed and clutched about God, life, others, and myself is not really working for me. I’ve held a belief that a spiritual mentor gave me . . . I’ve clung to a notion about life rooted in a stereotype . . . I’ve thought of myself according to a script others have given me. From my own “prisons” I’ve begun to ask questions, to find my own faith, to have some sense of what I believe apart from what others have wanted me to believe.
When John the Baptist got it wrong, he did this difficult work of inner examination . . . the same work you and I must do it we are to become the people God created us to be.
• Remember something you believed as a child or an adolescent you no longer believe as an adult.
• Have you ever come to a crisis moment when you had to honestly ask yourself, “How’s that workin’ for ya?” When was that? What was the outcome?
When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”
Jesus replied, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”
As John’s disciples were leaving, Jesus began to speak to the crowd about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear fine clothes are in kings’ palaces. Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written:
“‘I will send my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way before you.’
Truly I tell you, among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist; yet whoever is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he."
I love that the Gospels are not afraid to show us how wrong John was about Jesus.
“I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.” (Matt. 3:11-12)
John believed Jesus was bringing fire, a winnowing fork (that never sounds good!) to clear the chaff, and a burning fire to consume those who were not “right with God.”
John taught from a place of strict asceticism. He advocated a conspicuous morality, a kind of works righteousness, and believed the Messiah would come to sift the wheat and chaff, judging people on a strict moral standard.
The Gospels writers don’t have to tell us John got it wrong. They only have to let us read the stories . . . to hold up together what John said about Jesus on one hand, and then how Jesus actually lived in the world and related to people on the other hand.
The Gospels trust us to get it. John preached hell-fire and said the Messiah would do the same. But that’s not who Jesus was.
So in today’s text, John is confused. Imprisoned, he recognizes that either he got it wrong on the Messiah or else Jesus was not actually the Messiah. He has to ask, “Are you the one coming or shall we look for another?” Jesus didn’t line up with John’s expectations. Something had to give.
It’s notable that John is in prison as this consideration takes place. As is often the case with humans, this kind of crisis setting causes him to reevaluate his belief system. We hold in our hands the things we have believed and clung to for a lifetime, but no longer does the system seem fail-safe. We ask ourselves Dr. Phil’s question: “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”
I know the question well because I’ve often muttered it in life, suddenly recognizing that what I have believed and clutched about God, life, others, and myself is not really working for me. I’ve held a belief that a spiritual mentor gave me . . . I’ve clung to a notion about life rooted in a stereotype . . . I’ve thought of myself according to a script others have given me. From my own “prisons” I’ve begun to ask questions, to find my own faith, to have some sense of what I believe apart from what others have wanted me to believe.
When John the Baptist got it wrong, he did this difficult work of inner examination . . . the same work you and I must do it we are to become the people God created us to be.
• Remember something you believed as a child or an adolescent you no longer believe as an adult.
• Have you ever come to a crisis moment when you had to honestly ask yourself, “How’s that workin’ for ya?” When was that? What was the outcome?
Monday, December 24, 2018
Christmas Day - December 25, 2018
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.
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.
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.
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?
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
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 2, 2015
What Rest?
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:28)
I was particularly sensitive to Jesus' words in Matthew 11:28 when I read them a couple of days ago. They caught my attention on the long end of a stretch in which I've dealt with health issues that brought several weeks of lean sleep.
Ahhh, but to be able to sleep again. Rest, sweet rest.
In my naivete', I've supposed that this was the rest Jesus promises. Rest. Sleep. A pause from the demands of work. Respite from the constant houndings of daily life. A moment free from "forced" creativity. Eight hours of non-interrupted REM sleep.
But when I read the passage this time, I asked some other questions of this rest.
What is the rest Jesus gives? Is is rest from physical exhaustion? Is it emotional rest? Is it rest from carrying the burdens others place upon me? Is it rest from health concerns?
And I began to consider other kinds of rest . . . rest from trying to control everyone else around me . . . rest from being attached to outcomes . . . rest from worry about things I cannot control . . . and rest from the control I try to exert over the way things turn out, that they should look the way I want them to look. . . .
Is it rest from my compulsions?
Is it rest from my attachment to security?
Is it rest from my attachment to good health?
Is it rest from my attachment to comfort?
I realize that so much anxiety and worry comes when any of these things are thwarted, when my attachment to them is threatened. Truly, the anxiety and worry represent "no rest", no sense of well-being. They are wearisome, draining, exhausting, pulling out my interior resources, spending energy on that over which I usually have little control.
For this season of my life, I sense that rest is not getting plenty of sleep. As always, I reserve the right to change my mind about these things . . . but for today, rest looks more like letting go of compulsions and releasing attachments.
My experience has been that only in the context of a vertical, Divine-human, I-Thou relationship, do I recognize these compulsions and attachments. The contemplative journey gives me the space to see myself more and more clearly, to see what is more true about myself, and to name the compulsions and attachments which are illusory.
Further, it gives me some language -- even if limited -- to speak to these compulsions and attachments. And it gives me some practices that are well-suited for breaking up the hardened soil of the attachments in order that I might live more freely for good and healing in the world.
Jesus, it would seem to me, is much more invested in this kind of liberating rest that heals me and heals the world than in my prospects for getting a good, eight hour sleep.
I was particularly sensitive to Jesus' words in Matthew 11:28 when I read them a couple of days ago. They caught my attention on the long end of a stretch in which I've dealt with health issues that brought several weeks of lean sleep.
Ahhh, but to be able to sleep again. Rest, sweet rest.
In my naivete', I've supposed that this was the rest Jesus promises. Rest. Sleep. A pause from the demands of work. Respite from the constant houndings of daily life. A moment free from "forced" creativity. Eight hours of non-interrupted REM sleep.
But when I read the passage this time, I asked some other questions of this rest.
What is the rest Jesus gives? Is is rest from physical exhaustion? Is it emotional rest? Is it rest from carrying the burdens others place upon me? Is it rest from health concerns?
And I began to consider other kinds of rest . . . rest from trying to control everyone else around me . . . rest from being attached to outcomes . . . rest from worry about things I cannot control . . . and rest from the control I try to exert over the way things turn out, that they should look the way I want them to look. . . .
Is it rest from my compulsions?
Is it rest from my attachment to security?
Is it rest from my attachment to good health?
Is it rest from my attachment to comfort?
I realize that so much anxiety and worry comes when any of these things are thwarted, when my attachment to them is threatened. Truly, the anxiety and worry represent "no rest", no sense of well-being. They are wearisome, draining, exhausting, pulling out my interior resources, spending energy on that over which I usually have little control.
For this season of my life, I sense that rest is not getting plenty of sleep. As always, I reserve the right to change my mind about these things . . . but for today, rest looks more like letting go of compulsions and releasing attachments.
My experience has been that only in the context of a vertical, Divine-human, I-Thou relationship, do I recognize these compulsions and attachments. The contemplative journey gives me the space to see myself more and more clearly, to see what is more true about myself, and to name the compulsions and attachments which are illusory.
Further, it gives me some language -- even if limited -- to speak to these compulsions and attachments. And it gives me some practices that are well-suited for breaking up the hardened soil of the attachments in order that I might live more freely for good and healing in the world.
Jesus, it would seem to me, is much more invested in this kind of liberating rest that heals me and heals the world than in my prospects for getting a good, eight hour sleep.
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