Await Easter with Confidence

Joanblog for April 14

Dear Friends,

            You and I are privileged to see Good Friday from the vantage point of Easter. We know the delirious shout of joy, Christ is risen, that has reverberated through centuries,

communities and individual lives.

            On this particular Good Friday, I invite us to step back from this side of Easter to stand in two places

            ~ to linger at the cross, and

            ~ to walk in the garden of the tomb in that time between Good Friday and Easter.

            It’s important for us to stay a while with the reality of Good Friday and not move too quickly to Easter, because as the theologian, Anthony Padavano says, “the cross is a gathering place for sorrow.” Padavano goes on “When Easter comes too quickly, it dismisses pain without healing it.” (Some of what follows is Padavano paraphrased.)

            Sometimes in life, pain needs to be held and sorrow needs to blossom.

            The psychic distance between Good Friday and Easter is immense. When we are in the Good Fridays of life, we may not want to celebrate Easter. We may need to embrace the cross and not let go.

            Of all Christian symbols, the cross is the most believable - believable because our God died on the cross. Our God does not take the easy route. Our God knows pain- the human pain of being alone, devastated, dying.

            God could have saved humanity another way. God chose this way, so that, in Christ, so that in Christ, our God could gather all the lost loves, all the lost values and shattered dreams of this world.

            God gathers all of your efforts and mine: wasted efforts, denied or destroyed efforts.

God gathers under the cross the children of refugee camps throughout the world, the betrayed and soldout sub-Saharan Africans, Syrians, Ukrainians, Venezuelans and tomorrow’s broken masses.

God gathers us as we weep and are forced to let go of life as we once knew it.

When there are no answers for our great sadness, we look upon the cross and we see Christ and ourselves, mirrored in each other.

At the cross, Paul says, we seem to be able to endure, because we, who know the cross intimately, are together with the one who makes the cross believable. And so we linger.

            But then, inexplicably, we are ready to move on.

            As salmon know when it is time to swim upriver,

            As hummingbirds know when it’s time to fly north,

            As we awaken from paralyzing sadness to greet the new day,

we become ready to walk into the garden of the tomb.

            Something in us is very sure that the cross is not the end

            The apparently vanquished becomes the victor.

            We recognize him – Christ, who reaches forward in history for us, also reaches backward into history as the fulfillment of every believer’s faith, every dreamer’s dream.

            The poet George Mackay Brown imagines what great elation lives in the great figures of Scripture on that Holy Saturday before His resurrection.

He went down the first step.

His lantern shone like the morning star.

Down and round he went

Clothed in his five wounds.

Solomon whose coat was like daffodils

Came out of the shadows.

He kissed Wisdom there on the second step.

The boy whose mouth had been filled with harp-songs,  (David)

The shepherd-king

Gave, on the third step, his purest cry.

                       

At the root of the Tree of Man, an urn

 With dust of apple blossom.

Joseph, harvest-dreamer, counsellor of pharaohs

Stood on the fourth step.

He blessed the lingering Bread of Life.

He who had wrestled with an angel,                                          (Jacob)

The third of the chosen,

Hailed the King of Angels on the fifth step.

Abel with his flute and fleeces

Who bore the first wound

Came to the sixth step with his pastorals.

On the seventh step down                                                         (Adam)                       

The tall primal dust

Turned with a cry from digging and delving.

            Tomorrow the Son of Man will walk in a garden

            Through drifts of apple blossom.

Await Easter with confidence.

                       

Prepare Your Heart for the Lord's Supper

Dear Friends,

Over the next few weeks our attention in these blogs will be absorbed by the events of Holy Week and Easter one portion at a time.

Today, let’s study lovingly the Lord’s Supper, specifically as a meal.

As I began to think of how to start this blog, my thoughts went back to an experience my friend Viktor told me about. Viktor is a Swiss Dominican priest, who in his earlier life was making his way down the boot of Italy toward Rome. His preferred method of transportation was … hitchhiking. At one point, he was picked up by a scruffy looking older man driving an even older old truck which had almost no springs. Viktor tried a few conversation starters, but they were fruitless. They drove along in silence through the hot countryside, the air in the truck redolent with human sweat. Viktor brought along no food, but when the truckdriver pulled up under a tree, this taciturn man shared with Viktor what he had: a loaf of peasant bread and a bottle of rough wine. They sat in companionable silence under the tree and polished off both the loaf and wine before resuming their journey. The truckdriver let Viktor off in the outskirts of Rome. It was only as he walked along, that Viktor realized that he had celebrated Eucharist with this man who was Jesus unrecognized.

As we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus these next two weeks, we’ll want to study him from every angle.

Listen to him.
Be his shadow.
Be focused on him.

We’ll want to think back over all the meals in the Scripture that Jesus had – not only with is disciples- but with strangers, outcasts and even his enemies:

• the meal Peter’s mother-in-law mad after Jesus healed her
• the parties Jesus had with Levi (Matthew) and  Zacchaeus after each of their first encounters
• the parties at the end of the stories of the Prodigal, the woman with the lost coin, the man with the lost sheep
• the wedding feast at Cana and the feeding of the multitudes
• Some of Jesus’ most poignant encounters with people took place at meals. We have only to recall Jesus at the home of Simon where an unnamed woman washed Jesus’ feet with her tears, dried them with her hair and anointed them.

On the night before He died, Jesus' final meal with His disciples was:

The Passover meal of the exodus, when the Israelite slaves ate the lamb and unleavened  bread  before      leaving Egypt. Jesus’ unique contribution to that meal was his service to His disciples ,whose feet he washed  and gave us the example to do likewise. In doing so, Jesus asks us for two things:  to let Him serve us in this way, and to serve others in whatever way draws those others closer to God, His Father. This required that Jesus cross boundaries. We can do no less.

A farewell  meal, tinged with sadness. Jesus would part from them shortly. Yet there was something about this night that was more powerful than sadness, namely a pledge and an assurance that farewell was not forever. Jesus would feed them forever, at the altar and when the truck stops on our way to Rome. Jesus would be with them forever, though they knew not how.

Today, all week long, let’s find in our memories and experiences the presence of the Risen Jesus eating with us, feeding us, telling us stories of how others are nourished for the journey, and we also. Then, when we come to the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday night, our hearts will be ready.

~Joan Sobala, SSJ

Help Ourselves and Others to be Free

Dear Friends,
   
In the movie The Son Of God, Jesus stepped into the tomb of Lazarus, stood behind Lazarus’ head and put his hands on the shroud where the head and shoulders of Lazarus joined to breathe new life into his dead friend.

In the Gospel, Jesus did none of these things. He stood outside the tomb and wept, respectful of the reality of death symbolized by the stone rolled across the opening of the cave. 

                It is striking that, at this point, Jesus gave three instructions:
                      to the people gathered around, He said: Take the stone away.
                      (after praying,) Jesus called out: Lazarus! Come out.
                      Once again, to the people, He said: Unbind him and let him go free.

Only God could raise Lazarus, but Jesus invited the community to participate in two other significant actions. The people were invited to take away the stone and to unbind Lazarus, newly restored to life.

In this Gospel, are we bystanders?  Disinterested  spectators? Do we weep and then go away? Or do we enter the freeing of others from those things from which they can’t release themselves?

Not all binding is bad. Wives and husbands bind themselves to each other in marriage, priests through ordination and women and men religious through the vowed life in community bind ourselves to Christ and to the Church. You and I can bind ourselves to the achievement of a common purpose. But the binding of Lazarus is a binding in death. I hope we are compassionate enough to unbind others from the many deaths people experience: the death of hope, the death of a loving relationship, the death of enthusiasm.

Lent is the time to give over our energies to stand with Jesus outside the tomb and be ready to do what He asks of us. In this Gospel account, our call is clear: to unbind those unable to unbind themselves. After raising  Lazarus, Jesus went on with his journey to Jerusalem. He did not stay. Can we be ready to do that, too?  Unbind them, and then go on.

Here is a wonderful irony to nibble on all day long:  Being bound to Christ is to be free.

~Joan Sobala, SSJ

Take a Fresh Look

Dear Friends,

Call these “glimpses”- not full blown studies but opportunities to have a fresh look at biblical women and men as we draw closer to Holy Week and Easter. Two nameless people – the woman at the well and the man born blind encounter Jesus in separate stories in the Gospel of John.  We hear their stories on the Third and fourth Sundays of Lent. The fact that they are nameless is an invitation for us to take on their personas, to become the Samaritan woman and the man born blind.

The Samaritan woman came to the well at noon, at a time when other women would not be there. She could not bear to interact with other women  because her five husbands stood in the way. Jesus was different. He was thirsty and asked the woman for water. He had no vessel to get it for himself. She ended up asking him for living water, which will quench her thirst once and for all. What of our history drags us down and limits our interactions with the people of our town, city, street? What do we do when we encounter Jesus? Do we share water - ordinary water and the water of life? Do we brave our past and go to the people we know to tell them that Jesus is the awaited one?

The nameless man born blind was shepherded by his parents until this day when Jesus found him, and opened his eyes. Then, the man’s parents left him and he was, by himself,  subjected to  interrogation by the Pharisees. (Later Jesus would also be left alone, and questioned in a  cruel way.) The nameless, now-sighted man kept growing in conviction as he answered their questions. Eventually, Jesus found him again, and revealed himself as the awaited Anointed One.

It’s a very long journey from blindness to sight. Most often we carry our blindness alone, accommodate to it until Jesus stands before us, touches us, urges us to take the next steps if we want to see.
In our daily living, we can  become more remote like the woman at the well, or more comfortable In our blindness. More  intractable. Or we can become connected to others by sharing thirst-quenching water and insight.

It is not enough for us to take what the water giver offers. We need to become the water giver. It is not enough for us to see. We need to move away from social prejudice, cultural obsessions and blindspots toward a sense of connectedness with the people and with the earth.

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages;
we are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new.
And yet, it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability… and that it may take a very long time.”
( Fr Pierre Teilhard de Chardin to his cousin, Marguerite Teilhard, July 4, 1915)

~Joan Sobala, SSJ

Will You Leave Your Comfort Zone For Jesus?

Dear Friends,

    The third year of civil war in Syria is beginning. I think most of the refugees whose homes are left behind are destroyed. The homes of Moore, Oklahoma were a bundle of matchsticks after the tornado there last year. A house key is among a person’s most valuable possessions. Home is a very important part of human experience and longing.

    Home is where the heart is.

    “I’ll be home tonight,” the voice says over the phone, the electric current between speaker and listener intense.

    “Country road, take me home,” sang the late John Denver.

    The notion of home is so vital to us that we try to make homes for ourselves wherever we are, for our families, and our pets. For our God, we set apart space that seems sacred to us. There, we build altars, shrines, temples and churches.

    Peter, in the Gospel of the Transfiguration we heard last weekend, expresses the human urge to honor the Holy One by building a kind of home for God up there on the mountain.

    “Lord,” Peter says, “it is good for us to be here. Let us build tents for you and Moses and Elijah.” But it is not to be. Peter’s speech is cut short by the voice from the bright cloud which said:

    “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.”

    “Listen to him,” the Holy One says, and Peter, in his heart, listens. “No,” No, no home, no tents.
No lasting place of comfort. No place to linger.

    They would have to go down the mountain, away from this blessed moment.

    Sometimes in our 21st century lives, we too, experience the Transfigured Jesus, and we want to stay. But in the company of Jesus, we need to come down the mountain and head with Him away from our desires, our comfort zones and the securities of life, toward Jerusalem, death and, remarkably, new life.
   
“Get up! Don’t be afraid”, Jesus tells us. I will be with you, he assures us. But now, the transfigured companion of our life journey looks ordinary again. Is this really He?  Will we go with Him down the other side of the mountain and beyond? That’s the question of the second week of Lent.
   
~Joan Sobala, SSJ

Put Guilt in Perspective

Dear Friends,

We say that Lent is a time of preparation for Easter. It is, above all, that. On the other hand, so much of Lenten literature talks about sin, the forgiveness of sin, and when possible reconciliation with people and most especially, reconciliation with God. How do these ideas work together?

The way we prepare for Easter is to clean up the internal mess of the year, or perhaps, the internal  mess we have been carrying along for a long time. Whichever we work at, the job is arduous and time-consuming, so be ready. The new clothes of Easter are part of our faith tradition. We put on the new when  we’ve done away with or diminished the sinful, the destructive in us and have welcomed Christ and His way.

One factor related to the internal mess which we don’t find discussed much is guilt. The late, great American humorist, Erma Bombeck, hit the nail on the head when she told her audience: “Guilt is the gift we keep giving ourselves.” That’s often the case. Many of us seem to have accepted guilt in our lives as we have accepted the shape of our hands or the color of our eyes.

The writer Michael E. Cavanaugh says that “Guilt is the feeling of discomfort or shame we experience when we have done something we consider wrong, bad or immoral. Guilt can be either a help or a hindrance to emotional and spiritual growth.” 

Deep down, we know that when we behave according to what our conscience says is right and good, we do not ordinarily experience guilt. Coming to grips with the many ways guilt can distort us is useful and hard. We don’t want to admit that friends, spouses, children and parents can feed the guilt that threatens to overwhelm us. It goes the other way, too. We can add strength to the guilt others experience.

At times, we want to suppress guilt. Other times we wallow in it. Will guilt rule us or not? Sometimes , we use God as a club.  “If you don’t do what I say, God will get you…” we say,  or something similar.
How can we handle guilt in a constructive way? Three things are important:

1.Acknowledge the feeling of guilt. “I feel guilty when… I feel guilty that…”
2.Determine whether the guilt is appropriate or not. (Get help to sort out whether it is or isn’t.)
3.If it is, make amends, so that you can feel at one with yourself and at one with others.

If it is not appropriate, let go of it. Send it away on the winds and be clean.
Our communities, other individuals, our God can help us in the process of dealing constructively with our guilt. But the first step in the process is ours.

During this Lenten season, put guilt into perspective.
God did not save us only for us to overwhelm ourselves.

~Joan Sobala, SSJ

The Homeless Jesus (Timothy Schmalz)

Dear Friends,

The Son of God opened last Friday at a theatre near you, the latest version of the life of Jesus Christ. I haven’t seen it yet, so I can’t speak about it as one who has. I plan to, for the sake of talking with parishioners who will also see it. The film producer Mark Brunett  is quoted in last Friday’s Democrat and Chronicle ,pointing out that “people now more than ever feel ‘a big desire for Jesus‘ and the ‘need to reconnect.’”  Do you?

Then there is The Homeless Jesus, a life size bronze statue of a homeless man, lying on his side on a bench, apparently sound asleep. There’s room on the bench to sit next to him. The first time you notice the man is Jesus is when you see his uncovered feet which bear the holes of the nails. The sculpture is the work of artist Timothy Schamlz. Find him and his work on the net. Do you know this Jesus?

Which of these art forms draws you to God? Neither? Both?  Something  else? The liturgies of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil are worship , that’s true. But they also embody the artistic. Do they draw you to God?

My hope for your Lent and mine is that we use Lent as a time to draw near to God, become intimate with God, using whatever biblical, cultural, life tools are at our disposal.

Intimacy is a word we either like and use, or we don’t. If we don’t like it, it may be because the word “intimacy” has some negative connotation in our minds, e.g. illicit sexual relations or familiarity with a crime. But in its best meaning, intimacy is characterized by friendship or pronounced closeness, and it’s in this sense that we can talk about intimacy with God.

Intimacy with God is not something we have to create. It exists as soon as we exist. Our life’s work is to discover  or rediscover it.

“You are more inside me than my most intimate part,” Saint Augustine wrote. “You are the interior of my interior.”

Not me, you say.
I’m not good enough, valuable enough, important enough.

We want to run away, and sometimes we do.

But God says to us, over and over again:
   
I’m here.
I love you.
I want you.
Will you walk toward me even as I run toward you?

Why is it so hard to move toward God?

Maybe this is the work of Lent this year, to move toward  God . In order to do that work, we need to remember a couple of things:

•We don’t have to find God. God is always in touch with us,
even when  we don’t want to be in  touch with God.
•We don’t need to be wordy with God.  Think about the times when you and a loved one are in the car together,not talking but aware of each other. “Being  with” is all that’s needed.

This Lent, pray, fast, give alms, as you have, perhaps, done for many years already.
But this year, let these important practices come from a heart deeply in touch with God, a heart deeply attuned to God, a heart  intimate with God.

This year, sit with the homeless Jesus on the bench. Touch His foot. Make your commitment to Christ then and there.
~Joan Sobala, SSJ