Father , if it's possible let this cup pass from me...

He Suffered Under Pontius Pilate…

Daily experience shows us how difficult it is to stand up for those spiritual values to which we are committed even when we are at our best. Whenever we have to swim against the current or buck the trend we can relate to why Jesus suffered under Pontius Pilate. St Paul reminds us that “Indeed, all who wish to live God-centered lives in Jesus Christ will suffer persecution.” (2 Titus 3:12)

Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, among others were punished and in some cases killed for standing up for their values. 

For us no less than Jesus, history is the stage on which our spiritual convictions are put to the test. Jesus was executed by a domination system that is as powerful today as it was then. How do we in our everyday lives follow Jesus as we too stand up for our spiritual values and in our own way “suffer under Pontius Pilate?”

He Was Crucified…

Jesus’ crucifixion is a matter of historical fact. He like so many “prophets” who represented threats as subversive to Jewish law and Roman authority, were subjected to murder by crucifixion. Crucifixion was the corporal punishment of choice for political radicals, designed to kill the convicted and to send a powerful message to any followers, that his “reign” was ended. 

What then might be the spiritual implication of Jesus’ crucifixion for us? Perhaps this question is best found in our Creed, which professes that our faith in the incarnate, Jesus Christ, is one and the same with God. Our belief in Jesus who, in his humanity fully shared in God’s divine spirit, united us in Him through Him with Him. 

Thus when we profess that God’s tangible presence in the world was crucified, we express our faith that we can encounter God in the most horrible circumstances. In the midst of crucifixion—a scene that seems to scream out God’s absence…God is present. There is never anything so terrible in life or death that prevents us from enduring it with the trust in God’s presence. There is no injustice, no pain, no catastrophe that prevents us from God’s enduring love. This has given to countless men and women of faith a sense of peace and comfort in the midst of their darkest hours. Matthew 26: 14-27:66

(Adapted from Deeper than Words, Living the Apostles Creed, David Stendl-Rast).

...Jesus Wept

 

As I read the Gospel appointed for this upcoming Sunday, I happened to recall a news story from 60 Minutes a few years back. I remembered her first name, a beautiful memorable name, Gabriella and that the child had ultimately succumbed to cancer. The story made an impression on me then that continues to this day. I searched the 60 Minutes archive, linking her first name with brain cancer and found “Gabriella Miller.” I wondered what prompted my need to know, although I realized that something I read in preparing for this week’s Gospel reminded me of this child. That something I read was John’s (John 11:1-45) account of the story of Lazarus. Is there any more familiar story to us than that of “Lazarus?” Well beyond the realm of religion, the name Lazarus has become a well-known metaphor for revival and resurrection.

 So why did I connect the Lazarus story to this child, who died four years ago at the age of 10? Gabriella was diagnosed with brain cancer in November of 2012 but rather than retreat to her illness and the discomfort of all the interventions designed to reverse or halt her condition, she never lost hope. Instead, she dedicated her young, fragile life to raising awareness for cancer in children who like her, were suffering and who unlike her, had no voice…quietly retreat to waiting. She became a force for action, raising funds to support research and seeing to the “comfort” and wishes of terminally ill youngsters. To that end she raised millions of dollars and vicariously saw to the aid and comfort of hundreds of afflicted children.

The story of Lazarus shares much in common with the woman at the well and the blind man. The faith of Martha and Mary and the Samaritan woman’s belief that Jesus was the Messiah, instilled a spark of faith in all those around them. They stepped out of their comfort zones despite the risk of being criticized if not condemned.

 In many ways Gabriella is like the woman at the well. She defied her illness as the Samaritan defied convention. Gabriella did not step back in silence, reserved for the terminally ill, and was not willing to submit to her illness as she called for action… as we stand by wringing our hands in sympathy…and go on about our lives. No, the story of Lazarus doesn’t lead us to believe that God would save Gabriella from death, or raise her from the dead; after all, even Lazarus would eventually succumb to physical death. But the story makes us realize that God through Gabriella resurrects us and transforms our faith to as we see the love of God played out again and again, through the life of this 10 year old child… again and again.

Seeing is Believing

 

Spring is only a few days away, but we’re not convinced are we? Temperatures are still hovering in the winter range and although we’ve just finished with a late winter “nor’easter,” and are dealing with its aftermath, today’s forecast calls for more light snow. Yet, somehow the world around us knows what we don’t see, or perhaps refuse to see. There is more light as daylight lengthens; the lawn, wear it is visible, shows some signs of green in response to the light. The birds have once again begun to sing; they know the light, and ignore the cold. Yet I, layered in warm clothing, watch out my window as the woodpecker drills holes in my Atlas cedar, and mines the rising sap. He knows what the light reveals. And what about the crocus struggling under remnants of not-yet-melted snow, making its presence felt in response to the light. It knows despite its icy blanket. Yet I question and wonder, can it really be spring?

In our Gospel (John 9:1-41), John presents 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 in the world. In this ambivalent month: warm one day, cold another, the light warms the soil and calls the seeds to come to life. March knows instinctively what we 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, ask a barrage of questions: can he really see; is this the same man; ask his parents if he was born blind; 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 it difficult to let go of what we think we know. 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 and our hearts to open and to just let go without question? Isn’t it curious how all of nature knows the light and responds without question, and we can’t let go of winter and open our eyes to the light?


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

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

How is it That You Ask a Drink of Me?

In the Gospel preceding the one scheduled for Sunday, 3/18/17, we are introduced to Nicodemus. This week in John 4:5-42 we encounter the Samaritan woman who Jesus meets at noon at the well. The contrast between Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman is striking: Nicodemus is a Pharisee, an insider, an acknowledged Jewish leader. He is a man, he has a name, but he comes to Jesus by night. The character to whom we are introduced in this week's text is a Samaritan, a religious and political outsider. She is a woman; is not given a name, but she meets Jesus in full daylight. As if their encounters were not strange enough, the contrast between Nicodemus’ and the Samaritan woman’s conversations with Jesus were even more extraordinary. Whereas Nicodemus is unable to move beyond the confines of his religious convention, the Samaritan moves outside of her religious experiences and engages Jesus in an in-depth dialogue. As such she has no trouble reminding Jesus of what separates them -- he a Jew and she a Samaritan -- and of what connects them -- their ancestor Jacob, at whose well they meet. While Nicodemus cannot understand that Jesus is sent by God, Jesus tells the woman at the well who he is as he reveals to her his “name,” I am he… How is it that this woman who meets Jesus briefly, dares to “wonder out loud” if he is the Messiah, while the apostles, still not quite convinced, continue to safely address him as teacher, “rabbi?” 

The striking disparity between Nicodemus and the woman at the well underscores Jesus’ love for what society characterizes as the outsider. The Samaritan woman at the well immediately recognizes the societal barriers and boundaries that keep her in her place but yet she is willing to challenge Jesus' authority over their ancestors of the faith. She is not certain that Jesus is the Christ but she does not let that stop her from leaving behind her water jar, going into the city, and inviting the people to their own encounter with Jesus: "Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?" They left the city and were on their way to him.”

The woman at the well shows us that faith is about an ongoing dialogue; about growth and change. It is not about having all the answers. If we think we have all the answers, if we are content with our faith just the way it is and are comfortable with our tried and true convictions, we may miss the opportunity to grow and be transformed and will lack the confidence to be able to ask others to "come and see." 

Another issue, perhaps for another discussion and another time, has to do with organized religions’ pronouncements on women and sexuality. At no time does Jesus condemn or judge her as society and organized religions have. Where did these rules come from? Shouldn’t we finally rise above phony moralism and misplaced misogyny that has characterized so much of Judeo-Christian theology? This is really a story about the transforming power of love and not about a story about a woman who like us is no less human. 

After all, Jesus received the Cup from this “scandalous” woman, and she shares it with us in her joy at being loved.

 

You are My Beloved...Listen to Him

Do you remember when you first felt an undeniable prompt that called you to pursue a goal or an activity?  I wonder how many of us know when we have heard and responded to God's voice. While talk of "a calling" is commonly ascribed to clergy, we don’t necessarily consider that we’re called to a career or vocation or volunteering. But, why not? I raise this question because I think that “our calling” in life is related to the Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9). Let’s face it, our attention is understandably focused on Jesus’ transformation. The visual impact of the dazzling, blinding light and brightness enveloping Jesus is unforgettable. And yet the event forces us to focus on Peter in that it signals the beginning of Peter's transformation as well.

The scene moves very quickly. Here’s Peter falling all over himself looking for something to do when a voice from heaven literally interrupts him, and in essence says, "Would you please shut up already, and just listen to him!" In fairness to Peter, it is kind of terrifying as he falls to the ground, likely covering his ears and shielding his eyes. And then it's over -- the voice, the light, the heroes of the past -- nothing is left except Jesus, who reaches out to him, James and John, and calms their fears, and asks them to get up.

In that moment everything for Peter, I suspect, was still...and clear...and made sense. But we know it didn't last very long. On the way down the mountain Jesus once again had to remind Peter of his impending death and destiny and while Peter struggles to listen, to follow, and to be faithful, he will fail. My guess is that each time Peter “fell down,” he would look back on this day and recall those words, "Just listen to him!"

Perhaps Peter's transfiguration begins when he repeatedly fails, falls, and is lifted up again and realizes that above and beyond everything else, he is called to listen to Jesus. Isn’t this the pattern that shapes the lives of every Christian? We too try our best and sometimes succeed and sometimes fail. We, too, have moments of insight and moments of denial. We, too, fall down in fear and are raised up again to go forth in confidence. We are called to listen, to discern God's will and in this way be transformed. Don’t we identify with Peter? Don’t we see ourselves in this story? This story is as much about Peter and Jesus as it is about us. We, too, have been called both to "listen to him" and to "be lifted up"?  We too, are called, but I wonder if we sometimes even recognize his voice.

Our transformation is what I think we've been working on these past few weeks: we are being called to be salt to the earth, light to the world, disciples of Jesus and to be the people of God.

“There have been quite a few times when I have felt the winds of God’s grace in the sails of my small boat. Sometimes these graces have moved me in pleasant and sunlit directions. At other times the requested acts of love were born in the darkness of struggle and suffering. There have been spring times and there have been long cold winters of struggle for survival. God has come to me at times with the purest kindness, at times with the most affirming encouragement, and at other times with bold frightening challenges. I think that all of us have to watch and pray, to be ready to say “yes” when God’s language is concrete and his request is specific-“yes” in the sunlit spring times and “yes’ in the darkness of winter nights.” (John Powell, S.J., The Christian Vision, The Truth That Sets Us Free, p147)