Keynotes for February 2007

March 4, 2007
Second Sunday of Lent

Genesis15:5-12,17-18
Philippians3:17-4:1
Luke9:28b-36

The soul must pass through a spiritual darkness in order to attain the light of God's presence. This seems to be a requirement sine qua non. The indispensable passage was exemplified in ancient times during a bequest of settlement land to a chosen population, and again by a preacher/apostle dreaming of the higher citizenship of heaven, and a third time by our Lord's transfiguration before three selected witnesses. In each case some darkness had to be gotten through so that divine illumination could prevail.

Each of these experiences fit the description of what St. John of the Cross calls "a soul. . .placed in the passive purgation of that dark night," which is a metaphor for God's remedy for curing what the soul cannot do to heal itself. St. John avers,

No matter how much an individual does through his own
efforts, he cannot actively purify himself enough to be
disposed in the least degree for the divine union of the
perfection of love. God must take over and purge him in
that fire that is dark for him.
The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross

Through the darkness of God's own fire the human soul is inured for the otherwise withering (incinerating?) brilliance of His everlasting light. For the Israelites that darkness came over Abraham after a long day in which God and Abraham negotiated a territory. A patria was delineated where that patriarch's descendants could multiply for generations to come, like the stars in the sky. Abraham had prepared the animal sacrifices precisely per God's instructions, slicing them in halves and laying them in separate rows. Then in the trance that came over him and the horrific blackness that enveloped him, Abraham beheld a smoking firepot and flaming torch passing between the rows. And a voice in solemn promise bequeathed a vast parcel of fertile plains, hills and valleys to his progeny for their habitat. It was as though the nomad soul of primitive man had found its first home, even though it had cost this primal ancestor a trip through terrifying, purgative darkness to obtain it.

For the Philippians the darkness that enveloped them emanated from their own physical bodies. Paul's trance was one of dreaming how his Lord Jesus Christ would bring all things into subjection to himself, a feat that Paul had absolutely no doubt Jesus could do, after the way Paul found himself brought into subjection by Jesus. Paul was enflamed with a zeal to have the Philippians adopt his dream of a community gleaming in exaltation, where their lowly bodies would be changed to replicate the glorified body of the risen Jesus. Man's "lowly, needy, hungering, flatulent body is nothing less than the real estate where the resurrection will occur"(to borrow William May's words from Four Mischievous Theories of Sex.) Imagine this realm of brightness, Paul urged his listeners, and then you will grasp how all of us earthlings are still muddled in darkness, especially those "enemies of the cross" who deify their stomachs, gorge their minds with worthless trivia, and parade around in disgraceful "glory" that actually puts them to shame. These folks, says Paul, live in a darkness so deep that they haven't a clue that "their end is destruction." St. John could add that the body's darkness that God heals is there for the sake of example, since the opaqueness of matter is, after all, a condition inevitable but temporal.

For Peter, James and John, the cloud that casts a shadow over them may have been nothing more than the adjustment of their eyes to the normal light of day after beholding the radiance of the transfigured Jesus. This one is the mildest of the umbrages in the three readings, yet again it signals the soul's passage through the obligatory shroud that precedes illumination. Notice how disoriented the trio are as they awaken to this spectacular vision, and grope to explain to themselves what is going on, what it means or what is expected of them. The cloud gives them a momentary pause to be recollected and to brace themselves for the booming voice of the Father identifying and ratifying His Son. Every cloud, we say, has a silver lining.Today we can begin to recognize in the nature that surrounds us, in our own sacrifices, yes even in the very bodies we inhabit, the darkness of that fire that cleanses and purifies us. Through the chiaroscuro of our souls' night the Lord prepares us for the overwhelming blaze of His glory.

March 11, 2007

Third Sunday of Lent
Exodus3:1-8a, 13-15
1Corinthians10:1-6,10-12
Luke13:1-9

The God who appeared to Moses in the burning bush, the God whom Jesus
reintroduced to the people he lived with, the God we worship today, this same God is that most powerful yet elusive Being whose presence we sustain only by keeping a precise balance within ourselves. Paul's admonition, whoever thinks he is standing secure should take care not to fall
is more than a metaphor for our ideal spiritual posture. For us to understand God, to accept his grace, to hold Him in our hearts, is somewhat like sitting on a flagpole, or dwelling on top of a steeple. Evil, like the force of gravity, pulls on us from all sides; but the ubiquitous counterforce of His attraction also keeps drawing us upward. Like pivoting compass needles we need freewheeling allowance, but also balance, in order to point to the Truth. But the danger of a fall is ever imminent. This is why Paul is so anxious for the Corinthians to learn from the Israelites' trek through the desert. Some of those ancesters desired evil things, and they were struck down. Others grumbled over their lot, and death the destroyer took them. And here Paul finds the Corinthians eating the same spiritual food, drinking the same spiritual drink, but obviously not heeding the lessons that were written down for their sakes.

Jesus likewise cautions his listeners about the dangers of peering too deeply into God's justice. The tower that fell on the eighteen Galileans--was this incident a retribution from God? or merely a sign of every man's precarious status? And those others whom Pilate made into bloody sacrifices, were they supposedly the greater sinners? he asks. "By no means!" cautions an agitated Jesus. "You should be examining your own consciences" is the implication. In other words, center inward to attain your balance, but always reach upward to sustain it.

The God of the burning bush seems doggedly intent upon stamping into Moses' consciousness just how precious human existence is to Himself, and for all the generosity of its bestowal, how precipitously placed. God is faced with the dilemma of impressing upon these creatures of limited wit and intelligence what treasures they are to Himself, but also of making them aware of the suddenness of slipping from His favor. He predisposes them for this revelation with the non-consuming flames, then with the invitation to tread on holy ground, and then with the promise of a rescue from Egyptian slavery. Lastly He clinches their comprehension with the awesome, utterly baffling disclosure of "I am who am." He emerges from deus absconditus to this moment of self-manifestation, the most full, frank, intimate, face-to-face encounter the world has ever known. Done to show us not only how much He cares about us, but how much He wants us to care for ourselves and for one another. His full force, like that of a gigantic magnet,would seem to send Moses reeling. A divine visitation of this kind is almost more than humanity's delegate can cope with.

In the gospel Jesus, the gardner of his own parable, begs the orchard owner for more time and promises to cultivate the fig tree, ie., ourselves. Getting our spirits tuned to a fine balance does require our trying over and over. The nurturing, growth and practice of virtue must have its time allowances. Thus we are encouraged to repent by turning inward, and this way our fruitfulness will blossom upward. The alternative of indifference will coax the ax to our underpinnings. In the last analysis we must learn to maintain our poise. Like the silhouette in the popular musical, we are destined to keep playing our fiddles from rooftop perches, and God will be pleased with our music.

March 18, 2007

Fourth Sunday of Lent
Joshua5:9a, 10-12
2Corinthians5:17-21

Today Paul's letter repeats the revelation from Ash Wednesday:
For our sake [God] made him to be sin who did not know sin,
so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.

This time Paul calls it "righteousness" instead of "holiness," in keeping with the full ministry of reconciliation that he would have us enter into.Yet "holiness" is not too strong a synonym. Nor is it too lofty a goal held out to us, once we have taken to heart what the only begotten Son of God has done for us. In stark contrast to the prodigal of his parable, Jesus has acted on our behalf as the "thrifty" or "frugal" son of the Father. His mission is more like a salvage operation, one of continuously cleaning up our messes, righting our wrongs and gleaning nuggets of virtue for us. Whereas the prodigal son disgraced himself by his own shameful conduct, the opprobrium born by Jesus was brought on by an opposite excess. He suffered rejection and the ignominy of the cross for attempting to bestow more gifts, awards, favors, mercies and forgiveness than his recipients could tolerate or even grasp. Grief was heaped upon him not for any sin of his own but as payback for the gross volume of goodness needed to overcome mankind's refuse. This was a cosmic burden so staggeringly vicious and destructive that only he, with the strength "to be sin,"could embrace it.

The prodigal son, starving in a foreign land, had the good fortune to wake up one day from the depths of misery and "come to his senses," when his squandering of inheritance in all manner of vice had taken its toll. Jesus on the other hand helped us "come to our senses;" he set out to confer upon us an inheritance that we never deserved in the first place, and to raise us from our miseries to heights beyond our dreams. This he did by revealing to us a holiness in the Father that we can actually emulate. Watch closely the father's demeanor in the parable when the son declares his departure. He shows no expression of hurt, no signs of anger or bitterness.There was certainly no rejection of the son's request, no warning about his foolishness, no denunciation of this brazen demand, and--as might have been the case with so many human fathers--no outrage at being suddenly cast aside, no vow of disownership, no retaliation of the slightest The prodigal son knew what a forgiving nature his father had. Can we be any less cognizant of the same nature in our heavenly Father? Yes, it is His very holiness we are given the grace to emulate. This is the bond to which Paul would have us reconciled. But this means we cannot simply approach the Father with a dimwitted "I 'm sorry," and expect Him to haul out the robe, ring and sandals, and order up the fattened calf. No, we are being asked to lock arms with Jesus in soothing hurts, healing wounds, repairing damages and restoring losses. With his same tireless efforts we must likewise compensate for the profligacy of others.

Just as the Isrealites in Joshua's account were freed from Egyptian reproach, sustained with manna through their desert journey, and brought to a land of their own where they could again be self-sufficiently productive, so we believers today can be released from the bondage of wasteful sinfulness. We are offered the nourishment of Eucharistic bread for our journey, and eventually we will be ushered into the many mansions of our Father's house, where a stupendous outpouring of music and dancing shall greet us. And we shall be welcomed with such transports of joy as no "coming to our senses" had hitherto foretold. Then, because of His generosity so immense, so lavish and so relentless, there is where we shall at last get caught up in the song:

And now at length discerning the evil that we do,
Behold us, Lord, returning with hope and trust to you.
In haste you come to meet us, and home rejoicing bring
in gladness there to greet us, with calf and robe and ring.

March 25, 2007

The Fifth Sunday of Lent
Isaiah43:16-21
Philippians3:8-14
John8:1-11

Paul's confession to the Philippians "I have indeed been taken possession of by Christ Jesus," harkens back to the episode in Acts 9, wherein Jesus literally invaded Paul's life and took charge. The manner of his being singled out was extraordinary, we recall, in that this devout Pharisee, for his fierce persecution of the first Christians, was all at once struck low and put through a retrenchment, which turned him into the foremost champion of those same Christians, and a zealous converter of thousands more. Reflecting on how he was selected, we say to ourselves, "That never happens to other people. Paul's selection was unique." But then, when we witness how the woman caught in adultery was brought before Jesus and mercifully spared from the punishment of death, we again see someone singled out. And this time the culling does not seem so unusual. In this case we might even be tempted to say, "That could have been me." The woman's sin was indeed grevious, but her being set before Jesus for judgment was to serve a larger purpose. The Pharisees were seizing an opportunity, and using her, to put upon Jesus the dilemma of either dishonoring Jewish law or defying Roman authority. Like Paul she seems to have been fingered for a more conspicuous role in God's overall plan.

The people of Israel addressed by Isaiah the prophet are yet another party singled out. Through him God tells them, "I am doing something new" for you. Put aside your rehashing of the past, He says, and look how I refresh the wastelands with rivers for my chosen people to drink,

the people whom I formed for myself,
that they might announce my praise.

Here God's predilection is very open and manifest. With these Israelites we find an easy identification. "They are very much like ourselves; we are not much different from them," is the thought that crosses our minds. And whereas Paul might have been conscious of the historical importance of his mission, and the woman caught in adultery surely had some inkling of the higher drama swirling around her, the Isrealites appear to be less aware, even oblivious it seems, to any of the symbolic dimensions of their relationship with the Almighty. Just like us ordinary folks here in the twenty first century! The impact appears to be directly proportional to the confrontation, from severe to mild.

But if the forgiven woman's role raises the question, then Paul's resolution searches our souls for the possibility that, in God's eyes, you and I (every one of us) are each created for a purpose unique and differing from all others. Its just that that uniqueness continues to go unnoticed by ourselves as well as by the thousands who surround us. A test of this theory would be to recite Paul's letter to the Philippians as though the words were your very own. Do I dare to share in Jesus' sufferings and conform to his death so that I might attain a resurrection that is my very own? Just where within me lies the authentic distinction that God sees? Remember the old World War II recruiting poster of the bearded man in the top hat pointing and saying, "Uncle Sam wants you."?? Now focus on that countenance as it dissolves into the face of Christ Maybe its time that you and I stand forth and acknowledge that Jesus is saying: "With you, and you, I am doing something new." Should it not be among our desires to know that we are somehow being singled out?

April 1, 2007

Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion
Luke 19:28-40
Isaiah 50:4-7
Philippians 2: 6-11
Luke 22:14-23:56

The entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, riding upon a colt, must have been a rowdy and boisterous scene.The gospel says, "the whole multitude of his disciples began to praise God aloud." The processional hymn relates that "the children of Jerusalem carried olive branches and loudly praised the Lord." Some accounts report hand clapping, trumpet blasts and shouts of joy. "Hosanna in the highest,"was their raucous chant while waving olive branches. Fearing an uprising, the Pharisees wanted these masses quieted down. They urged Jesus, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." His reply was, "I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out."

But once the clamour of that event subsided, who continued to raise his voice for Jesus? Throughout the rest of today's liturgy, after Peter has made his three denials, it appears that ALL of Jesus' followers: believers, disciples, his friends, even his family lapsed into an eerie silence.

During his public life it was often the adversaries of Jesus who were struck dumbfounded.Yes, when the elders were ready to stone the woman caught in adultery, he issued a challenge, and one by one they shut up and went away (Jn8:9). Upon hearing his command for separate renditions to Caesar and God, "they kept silence and leaving him went off."(Mt 22:22). Every time they tested him, they would run out of inquiries. To the Scribe who recited the two great commandments, he gave an assurance of being not far from God's kingdom, "and no one after that ventured to ask him questions," reports Mark (12:34). Another time he quizzed them on how David's descendent could be "Lord" to David himself. Once more "no one could answer him a word. Neither from that day forth did anyone dare to ask him any more questions." (Mt 22:46). Time after time his opponents retreated into muteness, and this we understand. But in today's gospel, it is those most loyal to him who are struck speechless. Surely these hours of Jesus' trial and tortures are the ones that demand the loudest cries of protest. You would think that those closest to Jesus would know that the Lord gave them well trained tongues. Surely they would rally Jesus friends and others healed, consoled, cured by his miracles. Surely they would take a cue from Isaiah to stand up and "speak to the weary a word that will rouse them." So what happened to all these supporters?

Actually there were a few who spoke out in his defense, but these were strangers and hitherto unknown sympathizers. On his cross the second convict is a newcomer to the scene, yet he is embolden to rebuke the first convict with: "This man has done nothing criminal."(41) On the other hand, what do we hear from the beloved John who was always at Jesus side and who is still hovering nearby? The centurion witnessed Jesus' last breath and blurts out "This man was innocent beyond doubt,"(47) but where was Peter? Simon the Cyrenian was cuffed and pushed into helping tote the cross down the road (26). Volunteer or not, here is a belated recruit who puts his muscle into it when the other apostles are nowhere in sight. And while there is an outpouring of wails and laments from the daughters of Jerusalem(27), from Jesus' mother who stayed faithfully at the scene, even from her we hear not a sound. During his trial Jesus himself is tight lipped in his own defense. But his enemies have come roaring back with a vengeance. "With shouts at the top of their voices they persisted in calling for his crucifixion, and finally their shouting succeeded"(23) reads the account. The implication is that had their demands been less strident, or had there been some counter-protest, Pilate might have released him. Finally on the cross when the screaming agonies in his body have all but killed him, Jesus fights his way through the pain to muster his remaining strength for one last loud cry: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

In sum, what have we heard from his allies and defenders? The account says only:

all his acquaintances, including the women who had
followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance and watched(49).
The drama unfolded before us has now revealed its design from time immemorial, a mystery that the Philippians later heard from Paul when he uttered that most baffling enigma:
Christ Jesus did not regard equality with God
something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
. . . . .
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.

Faced with the world's supreme injustice, a loyalty needed most desperately was muted. When confronted with the mindless slaughter of Innocence himself, no one objected.

Ours, too, must be a whispered plea of no contest, for like all of the above we are guilty of complicity in abandoning him. Meanwhile his wordless victory is buying back our worthless selves. In the end we are left to listen for the cry of the stones.

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