...The Father and I are One"

 

I grew up in Brooklyn, New York in the ‘50s. We lived in a two family house in the Bay Ridge area. I recall those years as a beautiful, carefree time of life. At this time while doors and fences marked certain boundaries, it was not always necessary to lock our doors. And when we did lock them, my father kept a key in the milk box on the porch or left one with our upstairs neighbor. Our ability to come and go was carefree and safe. However, in later years when both my parents worked, I, as the oldest of my 2 siblings, was entrusted with that key. In time concern for safety appeared to be heightened and more attention was paid to locked doors and security. I know I was older and more aware of the news of the day but times were changing. We were a little less carefree and the world was not as safe as it was before.

Gates and doors provide protection and security as they are the means for going in and out of a home or place. They also serve as boundaries to permit entry and exit. In today’s Gospel (John 10:1-10), Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is portrayed as a “gate” and a caretaker. Our frame of reference for a shepherd may not likely fit with the image of the shepherd in the time of Jesus. Is there any more powerful artistic depiction of Jesus, the Good Shepherd in our Christian heritage? For me the famous painting of Jesus with the lamb draped over his shoulder that was hung on the wall in one of my grade-school classrooms, and one of our church’s stained glass windows said it all. Yet, in Jesus time and John wrote his Gospel, shepherds were among the most disreputable and mistrusted outcasts of society. Shepherds were drifters with no fixed address and because of their occupation, they were perpetually unclean and, therefore, in violation of Jewish law. They did not own the sheep they tended; they were “mere” stewards. These outcasts are the very people John’s gospel is referencing. 

But John challenges his listeners to look past assumptions of ownership and that which belongs to God. God’s sheepfold has no boundaries and is not demarcated by any sign or symbol.  God’s sheep include any and all of us. They include those who are considered outsiders, who exist on the fringe of the community, who are despised and even a little feared. 

When Jesus proclaims that “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me” he characterizes his role as a loving protector. We are told that there was no actual gate in sheep-folds and that the shepherd would stand, sit or lie down in the opening which allowed entry and exit. In this way the shepherd could serve as protector of his sheep. He knew his sheep and they knew him. John purposely contrasts Jesus, the Good Shepherd, with disreputable religious rulers of his time who exploited their congregations for their own benefit.

Jesus clearly spells out his role as the Good Shepherd and steward when he says I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish. No one can take them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one

 

 

 

 

 

Can Religion Keep Us From Our Journey?

 

Does our religion contribute to our spiritual development? Now don’t get me wrong my religion is important to me, although over the years I have come to appreciate that religion and faith are not always mutually inclusive or “symbiotic.” And while the Church, the Bible and the liturgy are important to our development, spiritual formation is more about learning to discern the call of God in our everyday lives. Spiritual Formation is an ongoing dynamic process in which we develop the “tools” to be able to see and align ourselves with people, places and things in which God is at work. I know this might sound like heresy but in some ways religion can become a static process that lulls us to sleep in its repetitive sameness. As such, it can become an “obstacle” to our call to “bear witness” to God’s Word to those outside the “upper room.” In a real sense we are preaching to the choir!

We in the comfort and security of our Church community, are like the apostles in the upper room after the Resurrections. When Jesus appeared to the apostles and Thomas he said “... As the Father has sent me, so I send you," he beckons us as he did his disciples to leave the upper room and live our lives outside the walls of our Church as we engage in Christian practices that are fundamental to human needs, and may have nothing to do with religion but everything to do with faith and God’s will for us. As such, we join with one another, and with Jesus, and with the communion of saints across time and space in a way of life that proclaims Christ’s victory over death and our eternal life. (Luke 24:13-35Luke 24:13-35) 

Now in “bearing witness” to the Word, I'm not talking about "life-style evangelism." That term for many of us, may evoke discomfort and have a strange connotation. Yet, we “bear witness” to the great movies or television programs we've seen and want others to enjoy. We bear witness to the accomplishments (or failures) of our sports teams. We bear witness to the important events in our family or work lives. We bear witness -- that is, tell someone about -- the things that matter to us all the time. We bear witness to feelings of joy, sadness and despair. We share life, our lives, with each other. No, I mean we bear witness to the presence of God, the Love, in all things in the here and now all the time. 

Witnessing is not really all that different when it comes to faith. It does not mean shoving our beliefs down someone's throat or threatening them with eternal hellfire if they don't believe as we do. The ego tries to convince, while love shares.  To witness is simply communicating with others where we sense God’s presence -- at home or work, at church or school, or in a stranger or a friend, a doctor or teacher or neighbor, or even in a tragedy. Bearing witness is nothing more than proclaiming God’s presence in our life and  in our behavior as the Word becomes flesh in us and those we encounter as we live his Word…  by Him and with Him and in Him in the unity of the Holy Spirit.

 

 

 

My Lord and My God

In many ways we are just like Thomas; aren’t we? We really don’t want to come by our faith second hand (John 20:19-31). Our parents taught us that something worth havi
ng was something worth working for? So, we ask; is there really such a thing as “blind faith?” Blind faith does not encourage us to probe; it denies us the opportunity to question, to know what we believe intuitively, in our “core.” Blind faith requires minimal spiritual investment and permits those inclined to cruise through their spiritual journey without the opportunity to really live life’s joy and danger. True faith requires knowing what we believe…beyond any doubt. So, Thomas in refusing to say that he understood what he did not understand, or believe what he did not believe, exhibited an honesty that prompted his need to know.

Thomas wasn’t the faithless doubter. The so-called faithful disciples remained locked up in the upper room hiding in fear. Fear not doubt gets in the way of our letting the Holy Spirit take charge. Where did Thomas go while others were in hiding? What prompted him to return to his community? Was Thomas “working” at trying to know what he was asked to believe? Thomas wanted the experience of a deeper vision or sight. He was unwilling to blindly accept; it had to be real for him.

True faith is based on trust in God. True faith knows we can deepen our faith by asking critical questions of our traditions and our “inherited” belief propositions. We do this by leaving our comfort zones and living in new ways. Thomas’ encounter with the risen Lord challenges us to know what we believe so for us as, with Thomas, we too can personally acclaim “My Lord and my God.”

The Lord Has Risen

 

It’s only natural to think of Easter and the Resurrection as a miracle; after all Christ’s rising from the dead is extraordinary and solely in God’s realm. Yet, calling Easter a miracle makes the event exclusively God’s and removes us from having anything to do with it. I don’t believe that this is God’s intent since God’s incarnation in Jesus and Jesus’ death and resurrection were for our salvation and did not benefit God. God did not need Jesus' death or resurrection. God performs miracles but man celebrate sacraments. While God works a miracles inderpendent from man, man is essential to the presence of a sacrament. A sacrament requires our participation for its very existence. 

Easter is never more "sacramental" than when one man gives his life for another. Christians seek to make Easter sacramental in their lives by their memory of Jesus through their words and deeds.

John Calvin wrote that becoming Son of man with us, he made us sons of God with him; that by his descent to earth, he has prepared an ascent to heaven for us; that by taking on out mortality, he has conferred his immortality upon us; that accepting our weakness, he has strengthened us by his power; that receiving our poverty unto himself, he has transferred our wealth to us; that taking the weight of our iniquity upon himself (which oppressed us), he has clothed us with his righteousness. (Kruger, The Shack Revisited, p. 197)

Jesus became incarnate to teach us how to live our lives and to reside in Him through Jesus. Each time we celebrate the Eucharist and say “in him through him and with him,”  we are reminded of our participation in his birth, death and resurrection. (John 20:1-9) (Adapted from Dawn without Darkness, Anthony Padovano, p78)

The Power of Love vs. The Love of Power

 

Every year the Roman army would come marching into Palestine during Passover. It was Pilate, the governor in the time of Jesus, who led the parade riding a white stallion, a symbol of Rome’s dominance. The parade was a reminder to the Jews not to cause trouble during Passover. As if to challenge Roman oppression, Jesus rode a donkey, a lowly beast of burden, in the opposite direction, entering through the gate from which Pilate exited. (Matthew 26:14—27:66)

 Pilate needed a whole legion to demonstrate his importance and control; however, Jesus’ “power” was rooted in the love of God. It was the power of love vs. the love of power on parade. The gospel writers tell us that this event was not accidental. Jesus planned it ahead of time. He knew he was risking the wrath of Rome by provoking Pilate. 

Contrary to some long-held beliefs, Jesus was not ransomed for us, but rather, he took and continues to take our place for the trials of our human existence. So then, why the cross? The cross was used by the Romans to not only destroy the identity of the one who was crucified, but to erase his mission and send a warning to any of his followers to “cease and desist.” Ironically, in the first century AD the cross was reviled as an image to be kept out of sight as it, on the surface, was a grim reminder of the despicable event on Good Friday. In time, however, the cross became the central symbol of our faith…a symbol that reminds us that the journey does not end with Jesus’ death but we, along with Jesus are resurrected to eternal life. The cross reminds us that death has no power over us because we live in the light of the resurrection of a “nobody” who was raised up as we will be. God is in the midst of our human experience. 

 

Now, I understand what you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.

…And Jesus Wept

As I read the Gospel for this upcoming Sunday, I thought about a dear friend who died a few years ago while we were out of the country. I awoke on Christmas Eve morning before dawn and despite limited phone or internet access, I managed to get into my email. My eyes went immediately to a forwarded message from John Marione announcing the death of Steve King. I sat motionless for a while in disbelief; then tears eventually became sobs as I felt the pain of loss. I thought about his young widow, Kathy and his two boys, Matthew and Andrew and felt their pain as I wondered how they were going to manage without Steve. Then I thought of the guys in the men’s group and our colleagues in Scripture study and considered their pain. It troubled me to be so far away and unable commiserate with them. I felt a need to be near them, not that my presence would have changed anything, but just being together and sharing our loss would at the very least, bring comfort.

I suppose something about the account of Lazarus in our readings (John 11: 1-45) prompted me to relive this friend’s passing this morning. Is there any story as well-known as that of Lazarus? His very name has become synonymous with revival and new life even beyond the bounds of religion.

So why did I make the connection to the Lazarus story and the death of Steve? This Gospel speaks to us about many things however, this time, I was drawn to the compassion Jesus had for Mary and Martha and especially Mary as she wept inconsolably. The meaning of “compassion” as depicted by Jesus in this story, eclipses “pity” or “empathy” in that it implies the actual pain of the mourner, as if it was his. Is there anything more human than the desire to want to console a loved one who is suffering? And while we wish we could take the pain from them and make it “all go away,” we cannot. Jesus in all his humanity wept. But Jesus in all his divinity was able to “make it better” and raise Lazarus from the dead.  

When Jesus saw her weeping ...he became perturbed and deeply troubled, and said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Sir, come and see.” And Jesus wept. 

So why do we feel as deeply as we do for another’s joy and pain? Father Ronald Haney writes in God WithinYou that “the God dwelling within each of you will raise your love to a level above mere human affection; it will make your love sacred, creative and curative. This love between each other is God...it’s the essence of what Jesus meant when he said Love one another as I have loved you.” 

Haney says that the mystery of the Divine Indwelling may be best expressed by Jesus’ prayer, “just as you Father, live in me and I live in you, I am asking that they may live in us, that they may be one as we are one.” God Within You p 164

Seeing is Believing

Spring is only a few days away, but are we really convinced? Temperatures are still hovering in the winter range and although we’ve had a mild winter with a blessedly snowless January and February, March reminds that it’s still winter, true to form with its freezing temps and biting winds. Yet, there is more light as daylight lengthens, as the lawn shows some signs of green in response to the light. The all-knowing birds have once again begun to move about busily at the feeder, as their “calendar,” not ours, is precisely aligned with the universe. They know it’s spring. Yet here I sit, layered in warm clothing, watching as the woodpecker drills holes in the Atlas cedar, and mines the rising sap. He knows what the light reveals. And what about the crocus, making its presence felt in response to the light. What do these beacons of nature know that I don’t know?  I question and wonder, can it really be spring?

In our Gospel (John 9: 1-41), John reveals Jesus as the light in the darkness, calling forth life. And as witnessed by the world outside my window, all life springs from the light as it lengthens on its way to summer. In this ambivalent month: temperate one day, cold another, the light warms the soil and beckons dormant seeds to “life’s” renewal. March knows instinctively what we intellectually know but find hard to believe.

We can deny the season but we cannot deny the light’s return. Seeing is believing…right? In our Gospel, Jesus restores a blind man’s sight. Yet, the Pharisees are unwilling to accept what they see, and ask a barrage of challenging questions: can he really see; is this the same man who was just blind? They ask his parents if he was born blind; and how did Jesus open his eyes. What more can the man say; he was blind, Jesus gave him sight and now he can see. Still not wanting to believe what they have seen and heard, the Pharisees drive the man away…out of their sight.

Perhaps the unwillingness to believe in the obvious may seem an exaggeration by John to make a point, but is it? Sometimes, despite what we see and hear, we find difficult to embrace. The inability to let go and put our egos aside is part of our human condition. It can be argued that believing and understanding are the Provence of the intellect, while knowing is an intuitive part of our being. We know air, we don’t believe in it. So, what does it take for His light to penetrate our hearts and to just let go and accept without question? Isn’t it curious how all of nature knows the light and responds without question, and yet we can’t let go of our wintered-over hearts and just open our eyes to the light of new growth and life?

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

And the riverbank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart