The Power of Love vs. The Love of Power

Every year the Roman army would come marching into Palestine during Passover. It was Pilate in the time of Jesus, who riding a white stallion, led the parade as a symbol of Rome’s dominance and oppression. It was a reminder to “nobodies” not to cause trouble during the Passover. So what does Jesus do? In a seemingly mocking parody, he rides a donkey (Matthew 21:1-11), a lowly beast of burden in the opposite direction and enters through the gate from which Pilate exited.

While Pilate needed a whole legion to demonstrate his importance and control, Jesus’ “power” was rooted in relationships and the everlasting love of God and in God’s desires for the good of the world and all its creatures. 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 what he was doing and he knew he was risking the wrath of Rome by provoking the authorities. And eventually they caught up with him.

God did not plan Jesus’ death. God did not desire it. God did not need it for God’s salvation of the world and all its creatures to work out. 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. Ironically reviled as an image, the cross became and endured as a central symbol for our faith…a symbol of a nobody who is resurrected. No one would expect a nobody to be resurrected. Contrary to some beliefs, Jesus was not ransomed for us, but rather, he takes our place, not for our sins, but for the trials of our human journey. Jesus resurrection fulfills the promise of our resurrection as our souls shed our mortal vessels and we are raised from death with Christ. 

“It is amazing how a caterpillar spins about itself a hiding place from which it emerges and takes flight as a butterfly with delicate, iridescent wings. Similarly, Christ lived as a human being who freely entered into the hiding place of death to emerge, deathless, filled with light and life, utterly transformed. Our faith proclaims that in following Christ we experience the same thing: “Therefore if any person is in Christ, they are a new creature; the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come (2 Corinthians 5:17).” (Richard Rohr, Dying Before You Die,’ Rohr Meditations, CAC, 4-3-19)

We know and have known people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, who at the very least put themselves at risk for the sake of others. This exchange is God standing with us as we face our reality and its dangers. God is in the midst of our human experience. The cross reminds us that our world is still a “risky” place, and that much will be asked of us. Yet it 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 will we. The cross reminds us to stand up for those who need to be rescued and to stand with those who work for the common good even when it seems to be hopeless or dangerous. We can live in a time of trouble with joy.

Jesus challenged the love of power and lived for the power of love. Jesus was offering a different vision of how things could be, Palm Sunday asks us: which vision of power will rule our lives? To which kingdom will we belong? Which parade will we join? (Adapted from Parades and Crosses, Holy Textures, George Hermanson)

...And Jesus Wept

As I read the Gospel (John 11: 1-45), appointed for this upcoming Sunday, I thought about a friend who died a few years ago. We were out of the country when he passed and with limited internet or phone access. I woke on Christmas Eve morning before dawn and as luck would have it, I had internet access and managed to get into  my email. My eyes went immediately to a forwarded message announcing the death of my friend. I sat motionless for a while in disbelief; then tears involuntarily welled up and eventually became sobs as the pain of loss was palpable. I thought about his widow and two young boys and felt their pain as if it were mine, wondering how they were going to manage. Then my thought went to my friends and considered  and knew their pain. I felt completely helpless because I was so far away and I had this 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, find comfort.

I suppose something about the account of Lazarus that I read  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 a well-known metaphor for revival and resurrection outside the realm of religion.

So why did I make the connection to the Lazarus story and the death of my friend? When Jesus saw her (Mary) weeping and the Jews who had come with 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 the Jews said, “See how he loved him.”

This Gospel speaks to us about many things but perhaps to me at least, at this time, I relate to the deep compassion Jesus had for Mary and Martha. The context of the word “compassion” as Jesus intended, I believe goes far beyond just “empathy.” It is virtually feeling the pain as if it was yours. Is there anything more human than the desire to want to help 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.

So, what about why we feel as deeply as we do for another’s joy and pain. Father Ronald Haney writes in the God Within You that “the God of mystical unity and pervasive harmony, dwelling within each of you will intensify your love for each other, will raise your love to a level above mere human affection; it will make your love sacred, creative and curative. The love between you is God and this is the atmosphere of your relating to one another.” He goes on to say that if the love between you and others is God may sound too profound, it’s the essence of what Jesus meant when he said Love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus was not just mincing words here.

Haney suggests that the mystery of the Divine Indwelling may be best expressed by the Pauline insight rooted in 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

Give Me a Drink

The character to whom we are introduced in this week's text John 4: 5-42  is euphemistically known as the woman at the well, a Samaritan, who consistent with her religious tradition is disdained by Jews and regarded as an "outsider." She by design, is not given a name by John. Her encounter with Jesus is strange from the outset, in that their noon day meeting defies acceptable behavior as proscribed by Jewish law. As if their meeting was not strange enough,  the Samaritan woman’s conversation with Jesus is even more extraordinary as she is able to move beyond the imposed silence of religious tradition and engage Jesus in dialogue regarding religion and her marital status. In so doing she has no trouble reminding Jesus of what separates them -- he a Jew and she a Samaritan -- and of what connects them as they meet at their mutual ancestor's well. Jesus further surprises us as he  reveals to her, this "outsider," his identity, "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, are still not quite convinced and continue to address him as teacher, “rabbi?”

Among other poignant messages in this gospel is 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 and yet she is  still willing to challenge Jesus' authority over the ancestors of their 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 back into her community, and inviting the people to come and meet 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 and 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. How will we have the confidence like the Samaritan 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 morality 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 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.

This My Beloved Son...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 reference to "a calling" is commonly associated with clergy, we don’t often consider that we’re “called” to a career or a secular vocation or even volunteering. But, why not? I pose this question because the story of the Transfiguration (Matthew17:1-9) reminds us to listen to and look for God’s will in all we do. And just like the spectacular events of the transfiguration blinded Peter, James and John, we too can be distracted by the “noise.”

The scene moves very quickly as Peter in all his excitement is eager to do something to acknowledge this transformative event even before he knows what he has seen or has transpired. We feel like saying to Peter "Please be quiet and just listen before you do anything!" While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.”

Maybe everything started to become clear and made sense to Peter as he saw, listened and heard the word of God, but as we know too well, it didn't last very long. How many times did Jesus remind Peter of his destiny? Like us, Peter may hear but are we really listening? Are we too intent to responding or reacting instead of getting out of the way and just listen."

Perhaps Peter's transformation comes about when he repeatedly fails, falls, and is lifted up again. 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. Isn’t this the pattern that shapes the lives of every Christian? 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 as we are asked to listen and to hear his voice and know God’s will for us.

In these past weeks Luke has called our attention to Jesus’ humanity in which we share a common bond. In this week’s gospel, Luke reveals Jesus' divinity. Just as we share in Jesus’ humanity, we also share in his divinity. We must listen as we are called and if we are to be transformed and become 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)