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

I am he, the one who is speaking with you.

 

The character to whom we are introduced in this week's text is a Samaritan woman (John 4:5-42), a religious and political outsider, despised by the Judeans in Jesus’ time. The split between Samaritan Israelites and Judean-led Israelites still exists to this day. Samaritans had descended from tribes primarily residing in what today is Iraq and were not considered Jews in the pure sense by Judeans of Israel.

The Samaritan woman meets Jesus at the well at noon. As if their encounter was not strange enough, the Samaritan moves outside of her religious experiences and engages Jesus in an in-depth dialogue and has no trouble reminding him of what separates them -- he a Jew and she a Samaritan -- and of what connects them -- their ancestor, Jacob, at whose well they are meeting. 

Somewhat out of character, 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?”

This story underscores Jesus’ love for what society characterizes outsiders. 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 meet 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.