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Keynotes for April 2007Genesis1:1-22 Two angels are standing at the tomb to explain the absence of Jesus'
body to the women. But they are also there to recharge and energize
the collective memory of mankind. They remind the women: The apostles were disbelieving. Peter had to see for himself. At
tonight's Easter Vigil liturgy, as we ourselves may find "these
things" bewildering , you and I are invited on a searchlight
journey into the phylogenetic memory of mankind. When the Easter
fire is spread candle by candle among us, we are drawn back into
the darkness of the human race's evolution, to reexamine some of
God's monumental works, those pylons of intervention upon which
He both developed man's salvation and structured His Son's climactic
resurrection. By virtue of these deeds He continually tested mankind
and proved to us creatures that we ourselves are distinguishable,
salvageable, transformable, purifiable and ultimately resurrectable.
As we revisit Jesus' tomb, this vigil service keeps repeating the
words of the men in dazzling garments: "Remember what he said
to you.. . ." Among all the creatures, God's predeliction is for this one, of
whom Shakespeare later rhapsodized: "What a piece of work is
man. . ." What makes this one the most distinguished is his
worthiness to have a relationship with the Creator. And how amazing,
that this very fact remains so forgettable among humans! If the
distinction is that awesome, why does it make so little impression? He spreads a banquet table before them so that, with a plan far
beyond their ken, ie, the Eucharistic presence He will introduce
to a future generation, He announces to them the guarantee that
"my word shall not return to me void." And in so doing,
He enters into an involvement where He is handing himself over to
sinners. Isaiah prompts us to look for connections among the benchmark
moments, and to see how we must piece together the evidence so long
ago laid out for us. Thus, like the chosen nation of ancient times,
we too can discover that we are transformable beings, drawing others
to our Savior despite our unworthiness. At last comes Paul. He writes to the Romans, "Are you unaware?" Another way of saying: do you NOT recall? His exhortation repeats the ominous promise of Jesus to the disciples: "Ye shall drink indeed of my cup, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with."(Mt:20: 23). From these we learn that our baptisms which are our personal shares in Christ's death, are the means by which we, too, are handed over to become shareholders in his sacrifice and resurrection. Paul is fixed to a purpose that we shall not forget: "We know that our old self was crucified with him, . . . that we might no longer be in slavery to sin." Without a refreshment to our living memories, the newness of creation will go unpercieved. Otherwise, how could a suspicion of our own everlasting life be brought to dawn upon us? As the Easter fire spreads throughout the church and brightens the congregation around us, we are lifted in exultation to a realization that the Lord's mighty deeds are shining brightly in the traditions of His people, past, present and future. We listen to the deacon sing:
Easter Sunday On Easter Sunday Paul would have us regard ourselves as the unleavened ingredients for a new bread. He told the Corinthians to
He wanted them (and us) to realize that the resurrection of Jesus mandates that we put aside the old yeast of sinfulness, "of malice and wickedness." The sacrifice of the Pascal Lamb made possible a fullness of sharing in the Divine Life. No matter how seriously you and I have sinned in the past, Easter is our new life's dawning, because we begin again with a clean slate. Those tiny grains of virtue, sincerity and truth, compacted within our souls, are stimulated with the new yeast of the Lord's grace to burst open. Today's liturgy is laced with excitement, wonder and anticipation among the wide-eyed campanions of Jesus, who in telling their stories, would catch us up in the fervor of Jesus' victory over death, along with a promise of man's perfectibility previously unsuspected by even the most loyal of them. The first Easter morning began with Mary Magdelan, Peter and John
dashing about in the darkness endeavoring to examine the emptiness
of the tomb before the first rays of dawn. Then, as the day wore
on they spread the news and reflected on what it meant. And later,
after dusk, they were visited by Cleopas and another disciple. This
is when they heard how these two had walked to Emmaus with a stranger,
only to discover at their evening meal that their companion was
the risen Jesus himself. Some years later comes the account from
an exuberant Peter the missionary, still pumped up as he preaches
the good works of Jesus. He cannot contain his righteousness about
how Jesus, for all the goodness of his miracles, healings and exorcisms,
was so horribly and wrongfully punished. The Peter formerly chagrined
by his own infidelities now thunders out adamantine convictions
of the living presence of the risen Savior. He hails all the new
believers drawn to a plenary forgiveness of sin by the earlier prophecies.
What has made the difference to Peter is that he is now able to
comprehend God's purpose, and to accept the means God chose for
their (and our) salvation, even while his understatement still hints
at his reluctance to put too much into words: The privilege of seeing Jesus alive again was a rare gift, not given to everyone, as Peter acknowledges. It was like the gift for understanding prophecies, like a shower of meteoric insights, that their God could be so willing to overlook all their faults and failures, that He could be so content to let bygones by bygones, that He was so eager to restore their (and our) original innocence, that He could yearn so ardently to confront them--and us--with our own wholesomeness. Yes, at the supper of the Lamb all of us took on the new condition of the bread unleavened. Jesus himself will now be the only yeast to raise us. The two disciples walking with Jesus to Emmaus were gifted with an inner light that lifted their burden and an enthusiasm that drive them to the other apostles. After Jesus elicited testimonies from the pair, he began with Moses and reviewed the prophets, interpreting all the Scripture references to himself. If we want to speculate as to which prophecies Jesus might have brought up, we can turn to Bishop Fulton Sheen for a studied summary:
For the disciples to grasp the fulfillment of such prophecies was
their assurance of a God/Enabler of salvation, of a plan far beyond
any they could have conjured up. As they did then, so we today begin
to embrace our elegibility for an eternal life we never dreamed
of. We anticipate the risen Lord, not like old dough inflated by
dysfunctional yeasts, but as a fresh, unleavened bread expanding
with the potentials for holiness. Sincerity and truth, illumined
in our souls by revelation, sprout and foment the wonder and excitement
of Easter. April 15, 2007 Acts5:12-16 After a happy festivity comes a feeling of being let down, as we
go back to the ordinary. After a celebration of high spirits, say:
a wedding, someone's return home, a victory on the gridiron, at
tournament or even in court, we all have experienced the subsequent
settling in of humdrum, not without its shadows of gloom. A torpid
mood sometimes emerges when, upon reflection, we start to feel we
missed something, or were somehow left out. Is there a letdown creeping
upon us, now that the joy of Easter subsides once again? Much later came the exile of John, the gospel writer. He testified: "I . . . found myself on the island called Patmos." Presumably he was banished for having preached too disturbingly, or maybe for having irritated too many powers that be. Here he reports a visit from Jesus, "wearing an ankle-length robe and gold sash," who commissions him: "Write down, therefore, what you have seen. . ." From this we begin to see the pattern of a risen Jesus who has never stopped returning. When we hear Jesus promise, "I am with you always," it should occur to us that if the living body of the Church is going to be extended down through the ages, it will have to be passed on by those appointed to perpetuate it. And Thomas' experience fits this very pattern. When he rejoins his fellow apostles only to learn that they had seen the Lord and he did not, understandable was the gloom that came over him. His famous declaration of doubt, his insistence of personally examining the nailmarks, was his way of surmounting the letdown. In response, Jesus returns with a specific order for Thomas:
What an enormous boost of assurance to the one whose faith was
weakest. What a profound energizing of belief in one who would subsequently
carry it to the far ends of the earth, in tireless efforts to bring
the good news to heathen nations. The novelist Morris West once
observed that "The perpetuity of the Church was an article
of faith." Yes, but only after these many Paschaltide interventions.
The early Christians had to learn to recognize the pattern, that
those relegated to the sidelines could have hopes of one day being
promoted to the forefront, for the last would be first. Stones rejected
by builders did indeed become cornerstones.
Acts5:27b-32,40b-41 This Sunday we learn a great deal about the character of Peter. Used as a verb, "to peter out" means to diminish gradually, become exhausted. Which was, ironically, the kind of Peter we knew before the Resurrection, mistaken in his judgments, always getting in the way, boastful with big promise that fades into little action. But after Jesus returns to life there emerges the Peter whom Jesus fashions for his church's leadership, Rock-solid Peter. Today Jesus puts to the test Peter's powers of recognition, his willingness to follow orders, the depth of his conviction, and the value that Peter places on his personal freedom. Today we see if Peter has the 'right stuff" to bring the countless numbers of creatures and elders to the ultimate adoration of the Lamb. Will Peter throughout his forthcoming mission have the ability to recognize the Lord no matter in what guise, venue or circumstance he may appear? The gospel says the disciples out fishing "did not realize that [the figure standing on the shore] was Jesus." But the instant that John exclaims "It is the Lord," Peter impulsive as ever dons his garment, jumps into the water and swims with all deliberate speed to greet his Master. He is the most eager to demonstrate how quickly he recognizes his risen Savior. Then he and his peers followed orders as they were accustomed. They dragged their nets full of fish to shore, as they were bid; they came and ate some of the fish they had just caught. Again, response without hesitation, rewarded with a shared breakfast. Now comes the moment when Jesus probes the depth of Peter's conviction. Why the same question three times, even to the point of provoking distress in Peter? Surely, as in Peter's triple denial before the crucifixion, Jesus is again allowing intervals so that Peter can pause. Peter must search his heart of hearts for his true intentions, and consider the long term consequences of what his answers might mean. After his third "You know that I love you," Peter is fully primed, not for any sense of relief or congratulations or glad handing, but for the total surrender of himself to his Lord. Just as Jesus' agony in the garden culminated in "not my will but yours be done," so now in what Jesus predicts, Peter has flashed before him the remainder of his life, and his death:
We recall in the past how often Peter's responses, thoughtless as they were, would seem to deflect (if not dissipate and scatter) the Lord's purposes. Notice here how firm and resolute he stands, silent, not balking in the slightest, utterly confident in his Master. To this forecast and to the invitation, "follow me," his obedience is immediate and absolute. In today's testimony from Acts comes proof of Peter's transformation. Standing before the Sanhedrin is this fierce new apologist with his mission in clear focus and conviction ringing in his voice:
Now as Jesus' vicar, Peter has assumed full leadership of the mission.
He and the apostles walk out of that earthly tribunal "rejoicing
that they had been found worthy to suffer dishonor for the sake
of the name." This and the persecutions to come will only confirm
their vision of the heavenly tribunal which validates their new
work upon earth, which is the saving of those countless numbers
who must, in the end, gather at the throne and shout: April 29, 2007 Acts13:14,43-52 Today, as we recomemorate the victory of our Pascal Lamb, (and would like to picture ourselves among that throng which surrounds his throne), few of us, I think, are willing to reconsider the price our Victim had to pay. Today we listen to John repeating the words of Jesus: "My sheep hear my voice. . . .No one can take them out of my hand," and we tend to ignore the fact that without his consent to BE the Lamb, none of us could have secured safety within that grasp, whether we were his sheep or not. Today, when John echoes the teaching of Jesus that "no one can take them out of the Father's hand," we should recall the Father's inexorable will in Isaiah's prophecy, where
Yes, that was the same Lamb who broke his silence with the tortured outcry from the cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me." Today, you and I are unable to fathom what toll those agonies took upon that Lamb, until we are ready to acknowledge our own hand in that torture. Today, if we are to be locked hand in hand with the Father and the Son, our hearts must plumb the sorrow of deepest contrition. It may have been some lack of atonement between the Jews of Pidisian Antioch and Paul that caused their rift. Paul and Barnabas, we are told, "spoke out boldly" accusing the Jews of rejecting the word that God had first addressed to them. It is understandable that these religious people would turn jealous, that they would contradict the challengers with violent abuse, that they would even persecute them. Understandable, but not inevitable. Could these worshippers perhaps have taken a more tolerant posture? Could Paul and Barnabas have evidenced a more humble, more suppliant, more penitential approach? Suppose they had opened with a plea of their own guilt to the sufferings of Jesus? As Christianity sprouted and burgeoned from its Semitic roots, certain emphases on ethnic differences became an unfortunate deterrent to the growth of them all. In his Book of Revelation John envisions a mixed "multitude. . . from EVERY nation, race, people and tongue." The issue is no less urgent today, that we disregard whether one is American, Armenian, Gentile, Greek, Jew or Syrian. ALL are being called "to stand before God's throne, and worship him day and night in his temple." The ultimate reward is too highly prized to brook any attention to differrences. Eternal life is what Jesus promised to the sheep who hear his voice and follow him. Eternal life is the destiny that Paul preached to those neophyte believers. Nothing less than eternal life, said Paul, were the stakes his fellow Jews condemned themselves as unworthy of. How do humans dare to persist in discriminations that threaten something so absolute? The great mass of people in John's vision is a homogeneous multitude. Their only mark of distinction is that
Could it be that all of us who participate in the slaughter of
the Lamb are at first its perpetrators, then co-sufferers? Perhaps
it takes our seeing the blood stains on our own hands to make us
accept our guilt and shoulder our portions of responsibility. The scourging of Jesus in the courtyard had mounted to an intensity so savage that his mother, Mary, standing there as witness with Magdalen, could bear no more. So tearfully she drifts along an exit corridor as the subtitle reads: "how, where, when will you choose to put an end to all this?" meaning (I took it) that you, God's Son, have the power to stop this insane brutality that humans do to one another, but you yourself just kept clinging to that pillar and taking it. Why? Some reflections yield answers to Mary's questions. For her "when," we still hope for a day when all men abolish violence to their neighbors. Her "where" can be anywhere on earth, but the most appropriate venue would seem to be the same Jerusalem where Jesus was flogged. And "how" will it be stopped? By the RESOLVE of perpetrators--you and I-- to be transformed into co-sufferers! Why did Jesus keep pitting himself against that flagellation? Because he was clutching in his own blood smeared hands our very souls, as they hung suspended above the jaws of hell. The screaming lashes of severest pain could not make him let go. No one could take us out of his hand. No one can take us out of the Father's hand. Is our determination to stand with him and take the same abuse of any less strength? Time has its own way of healing the human heart to its pristine condition: humble, suppliant, penetential. Hopefully we shall come, each by his own path, to a deeper sorrow for the mayhem we have inflicted upon the Pascal Victim. Only then shall we be admitted to the serenity that John promises:
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