Isaiah 29:17-24
Shall not Lebanon in a very little while
become a fruitful field,
and the fruitful field be regarded as a forest?
On that day the deaf shall hear
the words of a scroll,
and out of their gloom and darkness
the eyes of the blind shall see.
The meek shall obtain fresh joy in the Lord,
and the neediest people shall exult in the Holy One of Israel.
For the tyrant shall be no more,
and the scoffer shall cease to be;
all those alert to do evil shall be cut off—
those who cause a person to lose a lawsuit,
who set a trap for the arbiter in the gate,
and without grounds deny justice to the one in the right.
Therefore thus says the Lord, who redeemed Abraham, concerning the house of Jacob:
No longer shall Jacob be ashamed,
no longer shall his face grow pale.
For when he sees his children,
the work of my hands, in his midst,
they will sanctify my name;
they will sanctify the Holy One of Jacob,
and will stand in awe of the God of Israel.
And those who err in spirit will come to understanding,
and those who grumble will accept instruction.
• This is another “On that day . . .” reading. Since the birth of Jesus, every day is “that day” . . . a day in which God is present in the events of our lives and in the larger design of the world. Isaiah says, “On that day the deaf shall hear . . . the eyes of the blind shall see” (vv. 17-18). We are each “the deaf and the blind.” Spirituality is about opening ourselves to hear with the ears of the heart and to see with the eyes of the heart. How might you reflect on these words from Isaiah?
• The Isaiah texts used throughout Advent consistently speak to the reversal of fortunes for those on the underside of life. This passage is no different. Notice the parts of the passage that speak to those whose way is difficult.
• What invitation is God extending to you through the words of this passage? Spend some time in silence as you consider God’s Word to you.
Showing posts with label seeing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seeing. Show all posts
Friday, December 6, 2019
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.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord -- December 25, 2011
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.
You know as well as I do that simply showing up in a place does not guarantee an experience of what is happening in that place. It is possible to be there, but not really be there.
For example, I've sung hundreds of Christmas carols in my lifetime. Most of the time I get to the end of a carol without any thought whatsoever of what I've just sung. The words pop out automatically, without thought or consideration. I've sung them so often that I have to force myself to drop into them if I want to hear their message.
Or, to take another example, I've said the Lord's Prayer thousands of times. It's possible to get to the end of the prayer and not have any consciousness of a single thing I've just prayed.
I do believe there are things we should do simply because we should do them. And most of us don't have the wherewithal to give intense mental scrutiny to every parcel of life, to every word or sight or sound. We would be exhausted from such intensity.
But many of us live at the opposite extreme. We give little or no attention to things that happen in the present moment. We're living in what has already happened in the past . . . or we are planning for some anticipated moment in the future.
Here's my problem: God-orchestrated sounds are all around me, but I don't hear them. God-shaped sights appear to me constantly, but I don't see them.
The text for today comes at the end of the traditional texts about the Nativity of Jesus. It hinges, not on the proper nouns that name the people involved in the scene (angels, shepherds, Mary, Joseph, baby), but on the verbs that describe the action post-birth.
The verbs that catch my attention (and thus, draw the action) are the simple action words, "see," "hear," and "tell." You'll find several occurances of them in the text.
You can show up in a place, but not see the miracle or the revelation.
You can show up in a place, but not hear the message or the angel chorus.
And if you don't see or hear, you have nothing to tell.
"The shepherds praised and glorified God for all they had seen and heard."
So I'm taking a moment today, this Christmas Day, to ponder what I have seen and heard in recent days. I've heard lots of honking on streets and in parking lots. I've seen bright multi-colored lights on houses and lots of red-taillights on streets and highways. I've heard lots of frustrated people in stores. I've heard tired children and seen frustrated parents.
But if I filter my hearing and seeing through a God-lens, what sounds and sights am I aware of then? What people have I seen that have become gift to me? And what people have I seen who have received my gift?
What have I heard that brought me joy and life? What sounds filled me with peace?
What I have seen and heard gives me something to tell: "Jesus Christ lives within us and around us! The mystery of God is real and lives among us! Thanks and praise be to God!"
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.
You know as well as I do that simply showing up in a place does not guarantee an experience of what is happening in that place. It is possible to be there, but not really be there.
For example, I've sung hundreds of Christmas carols in my lifetime. Most of the time I get to the end of a carol without any thought whatsoever of what I've just sung. The words pop out automatically, without thought or consideration. I've sung them so often that I have to force myself to drop into them if I want to hear their message.
Or, to take another example, I've said the Lord's Prayer thousands of times. It's possible to get to the end of the prayer and not have any consciousness of a single thing I've just prayed.
I do believe there are things we should do simply because we should do them. And most of us don't have the wherewithal to give intense mental scrutiny to every parcel of life, to every word or sight or sound. We would be exhausted from such intensity.
But many of us live at the opposite extreme. We give little or no attention to things that happen in the present moment. We're living in what has already happened in the past . . . or we are planning for some anticipated moment in the future.
Here's my problem: God-orchestrated sounds are all around me, but I don't hear them. God-shaped sights appear to me constantly, but I don't see them.
The text for today comes at the end of the traditional texts about the Nativity of Jesus. It hinges, not on the proper nouns that name the people involved in the scene (angels, shepherds, Mary, Joseph, baby), but on the verbs that describe the action post-birth.
The verbs that catch my attention (and thus, draw the action) are the simple action words, "see," "hear," and "tell." You'll find several occurances of them in the text.
You can show up in a place, but not see the miracle or the revelation.
You can show up in a place, but not hear the message or the angel chorus.
And if you don't see or hear, you have nothing to tell.
"The shepherds praised and glorified God for all they had seen and heard."
So I'm taking a moment today, this Christmas Day, to ponder what I have seen and heard in recent days. I've heard lots of honking on streets and in parking lots. I've seen bright multi-colored lights on houses and lots of red-taillights on streets and highways. I've heard lots of frustrated people in stores. I've heard tired children and seen frustrated parents.
But if I filter my hearing and seeing through a God-lens, what sounds and sights am I aware of then? What people have I seen that have become gift to me? And what people have I seen who have received my gift?
What have I heard that brought me joy and life? What sounds filled me with peace?
What I have seen and heard gives me something to tell: "Jesus Christ lives within us and around us! The mystery of God is real and lives among us! Thanks and praise be to God!"
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Second Saturday of Advent -- December 10, 2011
Matthew 17:10 - 13
The disciples asked him, “Why then do the teachers of the law say that Elijah must come first?”
Jesus replied, “To be sure, Elijah comes and will restore all things. But I tell you, Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but have done to him everything they wished. In the same way the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.” Then the disciples understood that he was talking to them about John the Baptist.
We are trained to see what we see. We see what we expect to see, or what we want to see. We miss subtle changes or shifts, sometimes things that have been right before our eyes for a long time.
A few years ago I read something Helen Keller shared. One line in particular stuck with me.
“Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.”
"The seeing see little." That's the line.
"Elijah has already come, but they did not recognize him." Teaching about Messiah included the understanding that an "Elijah" would precede Messiah in order to prepare the way. John the Baptist was "Elijah" in the sense of preparing the way for Jesus, yet people did not recognize him. They missed him.
Spirituality is about seeing, recognizing, noticing. It begins with seeing what is evident before us. Certainly there are times when we might see invisible, subtle things, but we don't have to begin in that deep water. Begin by seeing what is already visible in you and around you. Begin by noticing what shows up on your doorstep, what manifests itself in your life-world.
You don't have to possess x-ray vision to see, or put on 3-D glasses. Just pay attention.
A sunset will catch your attention.
The flock of birds will call your name.
Suddenly one day you'll notice the specific words or attitude of a particular person who triggers your anger.
You'll recognize a piece of wisdom intended for you . . . after you've heard it five times from five different sources over a 24 hour period.
Begin there. Of course, there are other things, more subtle things, more invisible things to pay attention to. But you have to start somewhere.
Spiritual practices like prayer, spiritual reading, silence and solitude help us learn to see with our hearts.
Find a spiritual friend or a spiritual guide who sees just a bit more than you do, and invite them to help you pay attention. Or just hang out with them. Seeing doesn't happen by osmosis, but we do learn to see from those who are already seeing.
The disciples asked him, “Why then do the teachers of the law say that Elijah must come first?”
Jesus replied, “To be sure, Elijah comes and will restore all things. But I tell you, Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but have done to him everything they wished. In the same way the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.” Then the disciples understood that he was talking to them about John the Baptist.
We are trained to see what we see. We see what we expect to see, or what we want to see. We miss subtle changes or shifts, sometimes things that have been right before our eyes for a long time.
A few years ago I read something Helen Keller shared. One line in particular stuck with me.
“Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.”
"The seeing see little." That's the line.
"Elijah has already come, but they did not recognize him." Teaching about Messiah included the understanding that an "Elijah" would precede Messiah in order to prepare the way. John the Baptist was "Elijah" in the sense of preparing the way for Jesus, yet people did not recognize him. They missed him.
Spirituality is about seeing, recognizing, noticing. It begins with seeing what is evident before us. Certainly there are times when we might see invisible, subtle things, but we don't have to begin in that deep water. Begin by seeing what is already visible in you and around you. Begin by noticing what shows up on your doorstep, what manifests itself in your life-world.
You don't have to possess x-ray vision to see, or put on 3-D glasses. Just pay attention.
A sunset will catch your attention.
The flock of birds will call your name.
Suddenly one day you'll notice the specific words or attitude of a particular person who triggers your anger.
You'll recognize a piece of wisdom intended for you . . . after you've heard it five times from five different sources over a 24 hour period.
Begin there. Of course, there are other things, more subtle things, more invisible things to pay attention to. But you have to start somewhere.
Spiritual practices like prayer, spiritual reading, silence and solitude help us learn to see with our hearts.
Find a spiritual friend or a spiritual guide who sees just a bit more than you do, and invite them to help you pay attention. Or just hang out with them. Seeing doesn't happen by osmosis, but we do learn to see from those who are already seeing.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Tuesday of the First Week of Advent -- November 29, 2011
Luke 10:21 - 24
At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.
“All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows who the Son is except the Father, and no one knows who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.”
Then he turned to his disciples and said privately, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I tell you that many prophets and kings wanted to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.”
I think of the times when I've seen or heard something that seemed fresh or new to me . . . something that seemed like a brand new insight, a new awakening, or a deeper connection to something I had been longing for.
Often in the aftermath, I realize that the awareness or the awakening had been knocking at my door for a long time, and that I had merely been asleep every other time it had appeared at my door. It was not a matter of the slowness of God's revelation, but a matter of my inability (or unwillingness) to listen or to see.
I have come to see that the world is alive with God, "charged with the grandeur of God," as Hopkins said. But my capacity to see is distorted or stunted or in some way deficient. So time after time, I have to be invited to see and to hear. My lens gets foggy, dusty, and I must clean out the system in order to fully participate in what may already be there.
The desire to see and the longing to hear is not enough. I have to put myself in a position to see and to hear. I have to ask God to help me cultivate in my heart an openness, to be trained in attentiveness, so that when God speaks or shows, I am able to hear or see.
When I am able to hear and see, then I can respond.
At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.
“All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows who the Son is except the Father, and no one knows who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.”
Then he turned to his disciples and said privately, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I tell you that many prophets and kings wanted to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.”
I think of the times when I've seen or heard something that seemed fresh or new to me . . . something that seemed like a brand new insight, a new awakening, or a deeper connection to something I had been longing for.
Often in the aftermath, I realize that the awareness or the awakening had been knocking at my door for a long time, and that I had merely been asleep every other time it had appeared at my door. It was not a matter of the slowness of God's revelation, but a matter of my inability (or unwillingness) to listen or to see.
I have come to see that the world is alive with God, "charged with the grandeur of God," as Hopkins said. But my capacity to see is distorted or stunted or in some way deficient. So time after time, I have to be invited to see and to hear. My lens gets foggy, dusty, and I must clean out the system in order to fully participate in what may already be there.
The desire to see and the longing to hear is not enough. I have to put myself in a position to see and to hear. I have to ask God to help me cultivate in my heart an openness, to be trained in attentiveness, so that when God speaks or shows, I am able to hear or see.
When I am able to hear and see, then I can respond.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The First Friday of Advent -- December 3, 2010
Matthew 9:27 - 31
As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed him, calling out, “Have mercy on us, Son of David!”
When he had gone indoors, the blind men came to him, and he asked them, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?”
“Yes, Lord,” they replied.
Then he touched their eyes and said, “According to your faith let it be done to you”; and their sight was restored. Jesus warned them sternly, “See that no one knows about this.” But they went out and spread the news about him all over that region.
Many of the texts for the early days of Advent are about seeing, hearing, entering and obeying. The season begins in the darkness of Old Testament Prophets who longed for the promised Hope of God, who cried out expectantly for God's intervention in their world, but who did not live to see the Promise with their own eyes.
The theme is carried out in the Gospel readings as well. The prototypical story involves Zechariah, who sees and hears the angel's pronouncement, but doesn't believe the message. He becomes mute for the entire course of his wife Elizabeth's pregnancy, before the birth of their son John.
The Gospels often use seeing and hearing as metaphors for spiritual perception. Blindness and muteness describe the inability of persons to perceive reality at a spiritual level. There may or may not be sight on the physical level. Sight on the spiritual level is not guaranteed.
So when two "blind" men follow Jesus, crying out for "mercy," who are they and what exactly do they want? Mercy is the characteristic attribute of God, who generously lavishes mercy on the world. God is endlessly self-giving, and what God spends in the world is mercy, compassion, love and healing.
It may well be that the most merciful act of God with these men is not restoring their physical sight, but bringing them to a point of spiritual sight, a place where they see underneath things, where they see with the eyes of their hearts.
"Do you believe I am able to do this?" Jesus asked them. Certainly Jesus could heal their physical lack of sight. But the more important healing is the opening of spiritual eyes, allowing God to shape in us the capacity to see God, others, and the world with new eyes. We can believe that this is the work Jesus is eager to do.
Personally, my hunch is that these men didn't learn to see through their blindness at a spiritual level. They may have experienced a physical healing of their eye's physical maladies, but their souls were unchanged.
I live in a time and in a Western culture that does not see well. We are busy, obligated, over-committed and hyper-responsible people. It is easier to overlook than to see.
Our Advent invitation, though, is to see, to notice and to be aware. That kind of seeing is really what Christian spirituality is all about. This seeing puts me in new relationship with God, others, the world, and myself. It allows me increasingly to see what is real, not what is illusion.
Basically, Christian spirituality is about God healing our blindness -- at Advent and always.
As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed him, calling out, “Have mercy on us, Son of David!”
When he had gone indoors, the blind men came to him, and he asked them, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?”
“Yes, Lord,” they replied.
Then he touched their eyes and said, “According to your faith let it be done to you”; and their sight was restored. Jesus warned them sternly, “See that no one knows about this.” But they went out and spread the news about him all over that region.
Many of the texts for the early days of Advent are about seeing, hearing, entering and obeying. The season begins in the darkness of Old Testament Prophets who longed for the promised Hope of God, who cried out expectantly for God's intervention in their world, but who did not live to see the Promise with their own eyes.
The theme is carried out in the Gospel readings as well. The prototypical story involves Zechariah, who sees and hears the angel's pronouncement, but doesn't believe the message. He becomes mute for the entire course of his wife Elizabeth's pregnancy, before the birth of their son John.
The Gospels often use seeing and hearing as metaphors for spiritual perception. Blindness and muteness describe the inability of persons to perceive reality at a spiritual level. There may or may not be sight on the physical level. Sight on the spiritual level is not guaranteed.
So when two "blind" men follow Jesus, crying out for "mercy," who are they and what exactly do they want? Mercy is the characteristic attribute of God, who generously lavishes mercy on the world. God is endlessly self-giving, and what God spends in the world is mercy, compassion, love and healing.
It may well be that the most merciful act of God with these men is not restoring their physical sight, but bringing them to a point of spiritual sight, a place where they see underneath things, where they see with the eyes of their hearts.
"Do you believe I am able to do this?" Jesus asked them. Certainly Jesus could heal their physical lack of sight. But the more important healing is the opening of spiritual eyes, allowing God to shape in us the capacity to see God, others, and the world with new eyes. We can believe that this is the work Jesus is eager to do.
Personally, my hunch is that these men didn't learn to see through their blindness at a spiritual level. They may have experienced a physical healing of their eye's physical maladies, but their souls were unchanged.
I live in a time and in a Western culture that does not see well. We are busy, obligated, over-committed and hyper-responsible people. It is easier to overlook than to see.
Our Advent invitation, though, is to see, to notice and to be aware. That kind of seeing is really what Christian spirituality is all about. This seeing puts me in new relationship with God, others, the world, and myself. It allows me increasingly to see what is real, not what is illusion.
Basically, Christian spirituality is about God healing our blindness -- at Advent and always.
Monday, November 29, 2010
The First Tuesday of Advent -- November 30, 2010
Luke 10:21 - 24
At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.
“All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows who the Son is except the Father, and no one knows who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.”
Then he turned to his disciples and said privately, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I tell you that many prophets and kings wanted to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.”
You'll notice that today's passage from Luke is full of the language of seeing and hearing, hiddenness and revealing. These words represent an underground current that runs through the Gospels. It is a current that is especially strong during Advent.
For all of us there are things hidden. The basic condition of our humanity is that we don't see what is real. We live in illusion. We don't see what is most true about ourselves, others, the world, and most of all about God.
Furthermore, since this condition of un-seeing and un-hearing is fundamentally a part of our condition as humans, it is completely unfair to chastise persons for not seeing what they cannot see. Yet, so much of traditional religious expression holds people over a barrel for not knowing what they don't know or for not seeing what they are not able to see.
So if chastisement for not seeing and not knowing is out of bounds, what should be our posture?
The prophets of old may not have seen the fullness of God, according to Jesus' words, but they spoke what they did see. And beyond speaking what they saw and proclaiming the experience of God they had, these prophets pointed to a time when the incompleteness of seeing and knowing would be fulfilled.
They spoke with confidence and faith about what they knew and experienced of God. But there was also a humility about the prophets. They did not know what they did not know; however, they knew that they did not know. It makes all the difference.
Strange as it may seem, the beginning place of seeing is to acknowledge that you don't see. The beginning place of knowledge and wisdom is to confess that you don't know.
During Advent we confess that we live in darkness. Like the Hebrew Prophets, we testify to what we have experienced of God. We also acknowledge that we don't see totally. The illusion with which we live darkens our sight, clouding both our seeing and our knowing.
The light embodied by Jesus illumines our lives, enables our seeing, enlivens our knowing.
This is how Thomas Merton speaks of seeing and knowing in the spiritual life:
In the spiritual life there are no tricks and no short cuts. . . . 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 oneself 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 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.
At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.
“All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows who the Son is except the Father, and no one knows who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.”
Then he turned to his disciples and said privately, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I tell you that many prophets and kings wanted to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.”
You'll notice that today's passage from Luke is full of the language of seeing and hearing, hiddenness and revealing. These words represent an underground current that runs through the Gospels. It is a current that is especially strong during Advent.
For all of us there are things hidden. The basic condition of our humanity is that we don't see what is real. We live in illusion. We don't see what is most true about ourselves, others, the world, and most of all about God.
Furthermore, since this condition of un-seeing and un-hearing is fundamentally a part of our condition as humans, it is completely unfair to chastise persons for not seeing what they cannot see. Yet, so much of traditional religious expression holds people over a barrel for not knowing what they don't know or for not seeing what they are not able to see.
So if chastisement for not seeing and not knowing is out of bounds, what should be our posture?
The prophets of old may not have seen the fullness of God, according to Jesus' words, but they spoke what they did see. And beyond speaking what they saw and proclaiming the experience of God they had, these prophets pointed to a time when the incompleteness of seeing and knowing would be fulfilled.
They spoke with confidence and faith about what they knew and experienced of God. But there was also a humility about the prophets. They did not know what they did not know; however, they knew that they did not know. It makes all the difference.
Strange as it may seem, the beginning place of seeing is to acknowledge that you don't see. The beginning place of knowledge and wisdom is to confess that you don't know.
During Advent we confess that we live in darkness. Like the Hebrew Prophets, we testify to what we have experienced of God. We also acknowledge that we don't see totally. The illusion with which we live darkens our sight, clouding both our seeing and our knowing.
The light embodied by Jesus illumines our lives, enables our seeing, enlivens our knowing.
This is how Thomas Merton speaks of seeing and knowing in the spiritual life:
In the spiritual life there are no tricks and no short cuts. . . . 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 oneself 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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)