One Solitary Life

 

Here is a man who was born in an obscure village, the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in another village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant preacher.

He never owned a home. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. He never went to college. He never put His foot inside a big city. He never traveled two hundred miles from the place He was born. He never did one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He had no credentials but Himself...

While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. His friends ran away. One of them denied Him. He was turned over to His enemies. He went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed upon a cross between two thieves. While He was dying His executioners gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth – His coat. When He was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave through the pity of a friend.

Nineteen long centuries have come and gone, and today He is a centerpiece of the human race and leader of the column of progress.

I am far within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, all the navies that were ever built; all the parliaments that ever sat and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as has that one solitary life.

This essay was adapted from a sermon by Dr James Allan Francis in “The Real Jesus and Other Sermons” © 1926 by the Judson Press of Philadelphia (pp 123-124 titled “Arise Sir Knight!”). If you are interested, you can read the original version .

Let It Be Done Unto Me According to Your Word

In (Luke 1:39-45) Mary yields to the will of God and serves as as an eternal model for us. In Her words "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word," 

Mary's example reminds us that we too share in the birth of Christ. The Word speaks to us when we open our hearts and listen; when we let go of all our worldly distractions and surrender to God's will. He speaks through our senses, in words,  sounds, and often a palpable presence within us...a mere feeling. When we are open to His will we participate with Mary in his birth in us...as the Word becomes our flesh, and we  and become bearers of his light and celebrate the birth of love in the world. 

Let it be done unto me according to your word.  Let the Word that was in the beginning with God become flesh from my flesh. Let the Word, I pray, be to me, not as a word merely spoken, only to pass away, but conceived in flesh, and remain with us forever. 

Let him be, not only to be heard with our ears, but to be seen with our eyes, felt with our hands, borne on our shoulders and cradled in our arms. Let the Word be to me, not as a word written and silent, but vibrant and alive in me. Words that are not just traced with dead signs upon dead parchment but livingly impressed in human form upon my chaste womb; not by the tracing of a pen of lifeless reed, but by the work of the Holy Spirit. (Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) In Defense of Humility, Watch for the Light, p38)

Can we be Today's John The Baptist

 

In recent weeks our world news and discussions have focused on the aftermath of the elections one month ago and the  subsequent political fallout that at best can hardly be called our "finest hour." In addition, the incessant news cycles and talking heads comingled with the noise of Christmas advertisements, reminds us that all is not calm, all is not bright. 

Father Alfred Delp, a Jesuit priest writes of another turbulent time in history from a Nazi prison camp, shortly before he was hanged in 1945: 

"May the Advent figure of John, the relentless envoy and prophet in God’s name, be no stranger in our wilderness of ruins. (Luke 3:10-18) For how could we know unless someone cries out above the tumult and destruction and delusion? Not for an hour can life dispense with these John the Baptist characters These are original individuals, struck by the urgency of their  mission and vocation. They cry for blessing and salvation. They summon us to the opportunity of warding off - by the greater power of the converted heart - the shifting desert that will pounce upon us and bury us. 

The horror of these times would be unendurable unless we kept being cheered and upright again by the promises spoken. If we want to be alive we  must believe in the golden seed of God that the angels have scattered and still offers to open hearts. So many need their courage strengthened; so many are in despair and in need of consolation; there is so much harshness that needs a gentle hand and an illuminating word, so much loneliness crying out for a word of release, so much loss and pain in search of inner meaning. 

God’s messengers know of the blessing that the Lord has cast like a seed into these hours of history. Understanding this world in the light of Advent means to endure in faith, waiting for the fertility of the silent earth, the abundance of the coming harvest. Not because we put our trust in the earth, but because we have heard God’s message and have met one of God’s announcing angels ourselves. 

“The Blessed Woman… is the most comforting of all the Advent figures. That God became a mother’s son; that there could be a woman walking the earth whose womb was consecrated to be the holy temple and tabernacle of God – that is actually earth’s perfection and the fulfillment of its expectations. So many kinds of Advent consolation stream from the mysterious figure of the Blessed Expectant Mary. The woman has conceived the child, sheltered it beneath her heart, and given birth to the Son. Advent is the promise denoting the new order of things, of life, of our existence. Advent comes in these three figures. This is not meant as an idyllic miniature painting, but as a challenge. 

 Let us ask for faith in the motherly consecration of life as shown in the figure of the Blessed Woman of Nazareth. Let us be patient and wait, wait with Advent readiness for the moment when it pleases God to appear in our night too, as the fruit and mystery of this time. And let us ask for the opening and willingness to hear God’s warning messengers and to conquer life’s wilderness through repentant hearts. (Watch for the Light, The Shaking Reality of Advent,”pp.90-91)"

Can we become today’s John The Baptists

Our Time in the Desert

Adversity can play a key role in honing our ability to hear what is beyond the usual scope of our ordinary consciousness. No doubt for many of us the Covid 19 pandemic that began in the winter of 2020 and endures through 2024, forced us to face stressful challenges that were outside the “norm” of our usual experience. I wonder how this time and the early days of confinement and isolation heightened our awareness of events that otherwise would have gone unnoticed. 

Many people seek so-called desert “experiences” by way of solitary retreats during which forced confinement might help provide clarity and enlightenment that otherwise might be overlooked or taken for granted in “ordinary times” during which we are surrounded by our family, friends and our "usual routine."

Unlike John-the-Baptist in Luke 3:1-6 , we don’t always get a chance to choose our desert times and places. They are often provided for us in the form of illness, social unrest, war, changes in employment, failures in relationships, death of loved ones and natural disasters. These deserts all hold new possibilities for hearing the word of God at ever deepening levels. 

Speaking personally, it’s not too soon for me to assess how forced confinement has been a transformational experience. Perhaps it’s still too easy for me to dwell on the things I missed or have been taken away. It’s not a matter of addition or subtraction or replacing what no longer is with something else. What no longer exists still does in one aspect of my being and may be a springboard to new ways of living and personal growth. One thing we all know up close and personal:  life can turn on a dime and that the present is only as certain as our last breath. It’s all we can count on in this dimension.

All Things New

Behold, I make all things new. —Revelation 21:5 

In his  Meditations Richard Rohr, reflected on his illness and on his mortality and wrote, "I’ve been comforted by others who have experienced loss and aging with fearless grace. Over the next few days I’ll share some of their thoughts. Today, join me in reflecting on this passage from Quaker teacher and author Parker Palmer’s new book, On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity and Getting Old."

I’m a professional melancholic, and for years my delight in the autumn color show quickly morphed into sadness as I watched the beauty die. Focused on the browning of summer’s green growth, I allowed the prospect of death to eclipse all that’s life-giving about the fall and its sensuous delights. John18: 33b-37 

Then I began to understand a simple fact: all the “falling” that’s going on out there is full of promise. Seeds are being planted and leaves are being composted as earth prepares for yet another uprising of green.

Today, as I weather the late autumn of my own life, I find nature a trustworthy guide. It’s easy to fixate on everything that goes to the ground as time goes by: the disintegration of a relationship, the disappearance of good work well done, the diminishment of a sense of purpose and meaning. But as I’ve come to understand that life “composts” and “seeds” us as autumn does the earth, I’ve seen how possibility gets planted in us even in the hardest of times.

Looking back, I see how the job I lost pushed me to find work that was mine to do, how the “Road Closed” sign turned me toward terrain that I’m glad I traveled, how losses that felt irredeemable forced me to find new sources of meaning. In each of these experiences, it felt as though something was dying, and so it was. Yet deep down, amid all the falling, the seeds of new life were always being silently and lavishly sown. . . .

Perhaps death possesses a grace that we who fear dying, who find it ugly and even obscene, cannot see. How shall we understand nature’s testimony that dying itself—as devastating as we know it can be—contains the hope of a certain beauty?

From Richard Rohr's Center for Action and Contemplation, Death and Resurrection, "All Things New," 11/18/18

Keep awake

 

Keep Awake for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 

These words have been repeated for over 2,000 years, yet somehow we still fear the end of our life on earth. Sure, we are comforted by the many parallels in nature that reveal death to be a precursor to new life, but the fear of death lingers in the shadows.  We have - or likely have - lived longer than our parents and grandparents.  We are better fed; we lose fewer newborn babies, and modern medicine protects us from contagion and diseases that drastically shortened the of our ancestors... and yet, we are still afraid of dying. The answer to the question why is a discussion group unto itself.

Shortly after 9/11 the words “Fear Not” rang hollow and seemed a little out of place.  Surely we had every reason to be afraid.  After the three devastating attacks, the country held its breath wondering if there were there more to come. During the first few weeks following the attacks, the country was suspended in a state of watchful waiting. We were led to believe that it wasn’t a question of “if” but “when.” We carefully listened to those in authority speak of preparedness, but the summary statement always was, “we just don’t know.” It took a while but in time we began to live our lives with the knowledge that life must go on… but we were implored to remain vigilant and the words “If you see something, say something” became a national mantra. 

 It doesn’t take much to see the connection between our gospel (Mark13:24-37) and that fateful Tuesday which followed a stormy, rain-soaked Monday, leaving the infamous next day with skies so blue and air so clean. What could possibly have gone wrong on such a beautiful day? 

How could we have been prepared for what happened? Had we ever sustained ab enemy attack within our Continental borders during war time, much less peace? How do we begin to replace fear with living fully and please God, joyfully? 

We have learned that Christ's death and resurrection is the answer to our mortal fears. He relinquished his humanity as the divine Incarnation was complete so that we could share in his resurrection and in so doing, remove our reasons to fear death forever. Knowing that God loves us and that there is nothing we can do to ever lose His love is a matter of faith, not intellect. So, we live out our lives enriched by Christ’s example when we resist the impulse to live for ourselves instead of others. It means being prepared to die again and again to ourselves, and to every one of our self-serving opinions and agendas. But about that day or hour... no one knows. But death will have no dominion over us.

As a caterpillar, having come to the end of one blade of grass, draws itself together and reaches out for the next, so the Self, having come to the end of one life shed all ignorance in its faculties and reaches out from the old body to a new. (Upanishads III.4.3)

She gave from her sustenance

 

As the educated class of religious leaders the scribes were regarded as the "professionals" of their time. As such they expected to sit in a reserved place in the temple. In addition to doing nothing for the oppressed, much of their wealth was derived from the poor and the oppressed. This was part of an ongoing much larger criticism that Jesus levies against the temple-based authority that began with the clearing of the Temple earlier. Note, the money referenced is used to fund the Temple’s treasury; it makes no mention of its use to comfort or feed the needy. 

Jesus denounces the scribes for their hypocrisy, as they are seen in all their pompous finery and feigned reverence, and the way in which they amass their wealth.. While the scribes are acknowledged for what they contribute to the treasury from their abundance, the poor widow is blessed for what she contributes from her own need.

Do we need to ask whose contribution is greater? 

I wonder how this message relates to us today. Over the centuries many explanations have been proposed to explain Jesus’ anger with the merchants in the temple and in this reading, the hypocrisy of the scribes. And what about today? I wonder what Jesus would have to say about the church-governing bodies, the high priests, church councils and vestries whose public piety often runs counter to the sharing God’s love. Their focus on the adherence of rituals of worship often serve as distractions for what Jesus wanted for his "church."

Jesus was a radical whose focus was preaching the love of God and not about the man-made rules associated with misguiding the faithful in the name of God. Jesus sought to overturn “the tables” and rid the temples of all the false piety, the purity codes and social rules created in the name of God for the sole purpose of control and power.

The Church does play an important role in our lives primarily because it provides for a communal gathering in which we can proclaim the Gospel and share God’s grace through the sacraments. But the real "church" exists in the "pots and pans" of our lives. It is a dynamic amorphous entity that has no fixed walls and whose very existence is based on doing. In this church we are sent out to look for God in those who need our love and support, as we partner with him to feed the needy and comfort those who are oppressed. Isn’t that the image we should hold for Church?  

Jesus’ anger in this Gospel Mark12:38-44 is directed toward those who use the love of power to control their congregations rather than the power of love to create an environment that sets the stage for the sharing of God’s love. Do we have the courage to overturn the tables as Jesus did and tear down the walls that exclude, and become the Word as the Word become flesh in us?