The Communities of New Skete

Scripture Reading: Mk 15:42–16:8

Reflections from a Nun

Some years ago I listened to the pastor of a Protestant church speaking to a class of adult inquirers. People were asking questions about the resurrection, and he said that the most compelling depiction he had ever seen of the resurrection was the Orthodox icon that we honor today. He spoke of how the empty shroud evokes a sense of mystery, and helps us to understand that earthly matter can no longer contain the God-made-human. The body that God took on has mysteriously vanished.

Just as earthly matter can no longer contain God, so also there is no need, it turns out, for the ointments the women have brought. As we sing on Holy Saturday, and again today: “An angel greeted the myrrh-bearing women as they neared the tomb: Mortal death deserves the soothing balm of precious spices, but death’s corruption can never defile Christ!” Christ has left that state of being behind.

A closer look at the icon may give us a hint of where he has gone. In many versions of this icon, including the one here in our Holy Wisdom Temple, the angel has one wing pointing up, one down. Now, I am no iconographer, but this suggests to me an ambiguity, a duality: a space that is neither heaven above nor earth below.

Jesus is no longer in the tomb, nor has he yet re-appeared to anyone on earth, nor is he sitting in glory. Jesus is in an in-between space. There’s a word for it, liminal space. From the Latin “limen”, or threshold, it is the transition from one space to the next. The first time I encountered this concept, or indeed the very word, was in reading about the spirituality of monastic life. Monks and nuns have sought out liminal spaces for centuries. The Desert is the ultimate liminal space – between the worldly space of the city and the truly un-worldly space of Heaven. Monks and nuns seek out liminal spaces because they are seeking transformation, and any transformation includes a passage through liminal space, a stepping over a threshold.

Both the icon and our hymns seem to be drawn from Matthew’s version of the story; Mark’s version, which we read today, has a different emphasis. In reading Mark, we are left hanging at the edge of the abyss, peering into liminal space. Ironically, after so many admonishments throughout the Gospel, to “Go, tell no one what you have seen”, for once the women are told this time to “Go quickly and tell the disciples”, but they cannot. Instead, they flee in terror.

The edge of liminal space is a scary place to be. It represents the end of the world as we know it. Years ago – many years ago – I was sitting at breakfast with several of my classmates in the college dining hall. One young man started talking about a strange, terrifying dream he had just had, in which it suddenly became clear that he was going to die in two years. It was a very convincing dream, and he was clearly scared. Suddenly I thought a bit about what was really likely to happen to him in two years, and I said “Jeff, that wasn’t death, that was graduation”.

College graduation is a quintessential liminal experience, a rite of passage, a coming of age. Suddenly, everything changes in terms of what a person can expect and what is expected of him or her. No wonder it’s terrifying, and no wonder so many young people take time off to travel or engage in some very different sort of endeavor, for a limited time, to “find themselves” before moving on to adulthood. For most, it is a time in which all expectations are suspended, when one is expected to drift a bit. Properly used, this in-between time can be a wonderful gift; it can make all the difference in terms of helping a young person make a smooth transition into a successful career.

A year ago, I was taken to the edge of the abyss, to peer into liminal space, with the new diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Short of a total miracle, there is no hope of a cure (“cure” being defined as five-year survival). At first it was scary, to be sure. It took a few weeks – a few months, really – to sort out what it meant. There was sadness. Lilacs were in bloom, and I remember thinking it might very well be the last time I enjoyed the sight and fragrance of them. I had been looking forward to raising a puppy, the next time Brother John had one he wanted to keep for the breeding program, and I realized I would not be able to do that. Yes, there are lots of things I will not be able to continue enjoying or doing.

But gradually I realized I was in a new sort of liminal space. And this space has been filled with a number of remarkable gifts. First, and most important, has been the gift of appreciating each day for what it is. Once I realized there was no clear answer to the question of how much time I have left on earth, I began to visualize the time I have left as an unfurling scroll, like the scrolls used for scripture in antiquity. Fastened at each end to a stick of wood, that which has already been read is rolled up on one stick, that which is yet to be unfurled is still wound on the other, and in between is the present reading. What I have is the now, the part that is unrolled before me at the moment. Rolled up on one side is the past, rolled up on the other is – who knows? But for now, I have what is before me.

Another major gift I have found in this space has been the gift of re-connecting with old friends, and building closer relationships with family and others who have been around me all along. When you realize that all you have is the “now”, you pick up that pen and paper, or put fingers to keyboard, and make the connection. You speak the words that you have not quite spoken before. A third gift – and this is also part of building those closer relationships – has been learning to accept the help and support I need, that is here for the asking; to become Mary, to leave the Martha in me behind.

So here I am, a year later. The lilacs are coming out again. This time, almost certainly, is the last time I will see them. But what an amazingly rich and remarkable year it has been.

Thanks to the greater message of this entire Paschal season, thanks to the angel’s wing pointing toward heaven in the icon, I have faith that I will come out of this liminal space into something new and better. Like other major transition points in our lives, this is the threshold into the next great adventure.

On Lazarus Saturday a fire on the other side of the mountain moved up and onto our property coming within 300 yards of the puppy kennel. The Forest Rangers and crews from four towns were on it. Brothers Luke, Marc, Chris, Ambrose and I, along with Marc’s brother-in-law and nephew who where were visiting, joined the fire line for about three hours to help halt its spread. It came within 20 ft. of the head of the hiking trail from the north east.

We thank God that the wind was in our favor, but when it occasionally whipped around with heat was so intense I had to turn my back and cover my nose with my T-shirt. Three of us watched for hot spots and missed Palm Sunday vigil. A new ranger crew came at about 7 pm and patrolled all night, cutting burning trees which might have fallen and straddled the line. No one panicked throughout the event. Brothers John & Peter had plans to evacuate the pups to the nuns if needed and a engine from one of the fire companies parked right by the church as insurance. We supplied two big thermoses of coffee and snacks for the night patrol. A couple of black bears, one with a cub fled the advance along with some fowl. The smell is still very much in evidence. The woods will recover, but it looks very spooky.

All that aside, we are enjoying the mild weather and it’s nice to see some things starting to bloom in time for Pascha.

- Brother Stavros

Scripture Reading: Zc 9:9-12, 16-17a; Ph 3:10-4:1; Jn 12:1-19

Reflections from a Monk

The boys of summer are at it again, the baseball season is here. In the spring, everyone thinks their team has a chance to go all the way. Crowds are out for opening day. Kids and adults are down on the field seeking autographs of their favorite stars. It’s a time of hope and expectation. But as the season wears on through its 162 games, those hopes fade for many of the teams and their fans. And some star players who had great success in years past may be struggling this year. When that happens the fans can turn fickle and the cheers turn into jeers. Alex Rodriguez of the New York Yankees has experienced that roller-coaster ride. Great years and wild fan support followed by leaner years and fans’ hostility.

As we enter Holy Week we are greeted in this morning’s Gospel with two public displays of love for Jesus. Both of them are dramatic. But that’s where the similarity ends. The Great Entrance into Jerusalem is a flashy joyous occasion filled with expectation and hope. It is like the springtime of the baseball season. The excitement around Jesus’ arrival is in anticipation of liberation from the Roman occupation and the establishment of an independent homeland. Jesus is seen as the one to make all this happen. I can almost see people wearing lapel buttons that say “Win with Jesus.” But Jesus’ message and mission has been misunderstood all along, even by his own disciples. The liberation, the salvation that Jesus is to usher in is not political. When this reality begins to sink in, the peoples’ great excitement turns out to be just a prelude to their great disappointment. The crowds have projected their goals and desires onto Jesus without really absorbing what his message is all about. When those hopes are dashed then Jesus becomes expendable. Love fades.

The other dramatic expression of love for Jesus in this morning’s Gospel is of Mary anointing Jesus with a large amount of expensive ointment. Oh how different is this sign of love from that of the crowd. Whether we take the version in John or that in the synoptics, the dramatic gesture carries the same message. This is an outpouring of love, a human expression of love that mirrors God’s love for us, a love that comes with no strings attached. Some commentators have asserted that the amount of ointment used was a lifetime supply. The other gospel writers say the woman was carrying this ointment in an alabaster jar, again to emphasize the value of the contents. Giving in a loving way without regard for the cost is the gospel image. And it doesn’t have to be something expensive, one day last week at Matins we read the gospel passage in Mark about the widow’s Temple offering of two small coins as compared to the large gifts from the wealthy. Jesus told his disciples that what she gave was more valuable than the gifts of the wealthy because she gave all she had.

What is the experience of love that we are to draw from these two gospel images of love? Both the crowds with Jesus at Jerusalem and Mary with her gift of expensive ointment for Jesus came away from their encounter with Jesus with some kind of experience. Members of the crowd may have left that scene buoyed with a new sense of excitement and energy around their hoped-for coming liberation. Mary may simply have felt joy at being in Jesus’ presence and contentment at being able to give him something special. For the members of the crowd, their energy will soon dissipate as their expectations fade. But for Mary, her joy was in the moment, not in anticipation of some future gain. Her joy was in giving, for the crowd it was in receiving. No wonder it could not be sustained.

To experience love we have to give it without projecting our own expectations on the outcome. As we join with Jesus in his passion journey this week, let us begin by pondering how we might learn from this week to practice detached love; love that is detached from expectations, love that is not just conveying our projections onto another but simply taking joy in the presence of the other.

When you give another a helping hand without expecting something in return, think of it as helping Jesus carry the cross, he’s too weak to return the favor.

When you take the time to offer refreshment and hospitality to another who cannot return the favor, think of it as giving the sponge to Jesus so that he can take a little sip, he can’t come down from the cross and serve you.

When you take the time to offer a word of consolation to someone who is sick or grieving, think of it as being with Jesus as he is weakening on the cross, he’s in no condition to be much of a conversationalist for you.

Think of love as the gift that cannot be returned. God gave his only begotten Son, no strings attached.
Christ is in our midst!

Scripture Reading: Mt 20:17-28

Reflections from a Monk

Cup is a three-letter word that can convey so many different meanings and images ranging from a simple unit of measurement to a sign of marital commitment. The expression “cuppa” is unmistakably referring to coffee. At New Year’s Eve we may sing the Scottish song Auld Lang Syne from a Robert Burns poem which refers to a “cup of kindness.” And let’s not forget the Stanley Cup for our ice hockey fans, the game’s famous championship trophy. So cup can be a straight forward physical object or a physical reality that can be used to point to a symbolic reality.

In this evening’s Gospel, when Jesus asks the sons of Zebedee if they can drink the cup that he is going to drink, he is not speaking literally about being forced to drink from a poisoned cup of wine, for example, an image we find in the Old Testament and the Psalms. Instead he is asking them if they are truly prepared to suffer as he is going to suffer. They immediately say yes, but they really do not realize what they are saying yes to. But they will find out during this week of Christ’s passion. And so will we. Christ is committed to us, but can we believe it?

As we journey through Holy Week we and Christ’s friends will find our commitment to Jesus and our belief in the promise of his message challenged over and over again. We will see Jesus abandoned by the once cheering crowds, disowned by his closest disciples, hauled into court and sentenced to death and then jeered at and spat upon and finally nailed to the cross to die like a common criminal. Jesus remained steadfast through it all, forgiving all.

In this morning’s Gospel we saw two public displays of love for Jesus. Both of them were dramatic. But that’s where the similarity ends. Mary expressed her love for Jesus by pouring on him expensive ointment without regard to the cost and without expecting anything in return. On the other hand, the Great Entrance into Jerusalem is a flashy joyous occasion filled with expectation and hope. The excitement around Jesus’ arrival is in anticipation of liberation from the Roman occupation and the establishment of an independent homeland. Jesus is seen as the one to make all this happen. I can almost see people wearing lapel buttons that say “Win with Jesus.” But Jesus’ message and mission has been misunderstood all along, even by his own disciples. The liberation, the salvation, that Jesus is to usher in is not political. When this reality begins to sink in, the peoples’ great excitement turns out to be just a prelude to their great disappointment. The crowds have projected their own goals and desires onto Jesus without really absorbing what his message is all about. When those hopes are dashed then Jesus becomes expendable.

How easy it is for us to fall into that same trap, both in our ordinary life experiences and in our faith expectations. Jesus is the answer to all our problems, unless, of course, the answer is not what we want, then he has failed. We may enter into prayer in times of emergency or trial hoping to escape from a tight spot, only to find out that escape is not what happens and then, when the quick fix has failed, we abandon prayer. Yet, strength in times of trial is rooted in knowing, through a life of prayer and faith, that we are accompanied on that journey. Holy Week invites us to experience with Jesus a journey through difficult times assured that we are not alone. It is a call to steadfastness that begins with Palm Sunday. Jesus passion is a journey through pain, despair, and doubt to a place of trust in God’s love that infuses the resurrection.

Holy Week is filled with contrasting symbols that invite us to ponder, through the passion of Christ, the quandaries in our own life’s journey.

This morning we saw two contrasting images of love, one giving without recompense and the other giving mainly lip service in the hope that collective expectations will be fulfilled.

To experience love we have to give it without projecting our own expectations on the outcome. As we join with Jesus in his passion journey this week, let us begin by pondering how we might learn from this week to practice detached love; love that is detached from expectations, love that is not just conveying our projections onto another but simply taking joy in the presence of the other.

When you give another a helping hand without expecting something in return, think of it as helping Jesus carry the cross, he’s too weak to return the favor.

When you take the time to offer refreshment and hospitality to another who cannot return the favor, think of it as giving the sponge to Jesus so that he can take a little sip, he can’t come down from the cross and serve you.

When you take the time to offer a word of consolation to someone who is sick or grieving, think of it as being with Jesus as he is weakening on the cross, he’s in no condition to be much of a conversationalist for you.

Think of love as the gift that cannot be returned. God gave his only begotten Son, no strings attached.

Tonight and then on Thursday the cup is used to convey two contrasting images. First, the bitter cup of life that reminds us of the trials and tribulations that we all experience and then on Thursday the Eucharistic cup, the healing cup of life, the source of our salvation. Like the Sons of Zebedee, to be followers of Christ, we too must drink the bitter cup he is to drink, but we also can drink the cup of life that he left with us that keeps us connected to Christ and reminds us that through it all: Christ is in our midst.

Scripture Reading: Is. 58:6-11; Js. 2:1-5, 12, 13; Lk. 16:19-31

Reflections from a Monk

Many popular Blues songs grew out of the tradition of black spirituals. They draw in everyone present, very powerfully, a lot like what happens in the churches they grew out of. I found a Bobby Bland tune from the 1960’s that seems just right after hearing the parable of Dives and Lazarus. It goes like this:

Forget about your troubles,
Forget all about your sorrows,
You’re a beggar today, a king tomorrow.
Baby, don’t you worry when things go wrong,
Lift up your voices
And help me sing this song!

You got to reap just what you sow;
That old saying is true; and again
You got to reap just what you sow;
That old saying is true;
Like you mistreat someone,
Someone gonna mistreat you.

Experience and religion and spirituality all describe this law of balance in nature: Go to one extreme and you bounce back to the other; the pendulum swings, back and forth, back and forth. Where can we find a middle way, “Stasis,” a meeting point of the opposites?

In the Gospel parable we’ve just listened to certainly none of us identify with poor Lazarus: ironically his name means God has helped, from the original El-eazar. But then, can we really identify with Dives, whose name is only a word that means a rich person. Or somehow are we partly each of them?

Sometimes maybe we do feel rich and blessed with royal abundance. Other times we might have felt like the world is against us and we can barely make it.

Maybe Lazarus felt somehow what those blues lyrics describe—not being able to do anything about life’s ups and downs—as he sat there in a heap on the ground, along with the dogs. And for his part, Dives certainly had other things on his mind. He probably was tough-minded in business and politics. Dressing formally and banqueting were part of his life-style, and he loved it, which is just fine! And maybe he felt he deserved his life of plenty and success,

When the time of reckoning came, though, he found himself begging for water. “Tell Lazarus to serve me just a drop of water!” — What is going on here? Dives is burning up and alone and isolated by his own fault because he ignored Lazarus, who was sitting there at the gate in full view. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry!” He doesn’t ask for forgiveness for his hard-heartedness, and for ignoring the word of God. Still the great manager, he thinks of his own brothers: “Tell them before it’s too late!” But they, like he, are deaf to the messages they already have.

A theologian recently said, “Sometimes it takes a catastrophe to wake us up!” Waking up means seeing how it really is, opening our eyes and minds.
It’s really up to me, as the song says:

“Like you mistreat someone,
Someone gonna mistreat you.”

Whether we experience times of abundance or destitution depends on an infinite number of things. But what do we do with what we have? When we are rich in any way in talents, skills, money, things, luck, success, and honor: do we hoard them only for our own reward and enjoyment? Do we greedily hold onto these graces and gifts only for our own security, or do we let them flow through us for the benefit and good of our neighbor, or children or stranger or alien? Do we even see these people and respect them? No more judging by appearances, or separating those who deserve our love from those whom we can ignore.

To hear the message and see means the light goes on for us, we rise from sleep, we truly live, the Holy Spirit enters, the arms of Abraham open, paradise is regained, the new Jerusalem descends, life more abundant is revealed, the butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, the mind changes, the heart is transformed.

When I hear about Lazarus with the dogs hanging around him and cleaning his sores, I think of the Psalm where the wild dogs tear at the holy prophet’s dead hands and I think of the crucifixion outside the walls of the city — not a sight for polite company.— Then I think of the purple garments of Dives, reminding me of the crimson robe of Christ during his passion and death; and the banquet of the rich man—is this a stretch—reminds me of the Eucharistic banquet but in a very different context, where everyone is invited! I think of all who became followers of Jesus and the disciples — the slaves and the poor and the marginalized, together with those who were wealthy and leaders and notables who followed him.

The Eucharist that we all have been a part of is the miracle that brings opposites together. It is the flowering of Christian community. In Christ all are meant to be united; at our Eucharistic assembly we become one body and blood. This is what takes us beyond the ups and downs of fate, because in Christ all are rich and poor, well and sick, family and stranger. This is truly living and sharing in authentic love and respect for one another.

This event enables us to say “Christ is in our midst!”

Scripture Reading: Is 59:12-20, Rm 13:8b-14, Lk 10:25-37

Reflections from a Nun

At a large soup kitchen in western Penn a business man walked in with a check in hand. He asked the nun in charge that arrangements could be made to charter buses to take all the children to an indoor water park for the day and on the way back to stop and buy them new shoes. I don’t know how many children there were or how he knew the nuns could take care of it. I would have liked to be able to question him on why this particular request and why now and how come.

So I don’t actually know what motivated this man but hearing about his action reminds me of the Samaritan story. We don’t actually know what motivated the Samaritan either. Nevertheless, Jesus used the story to illustrate who one’s neighbor might be and what lengths one can go to, to love.

Of interest to me is the original question of the lawyer of “What must I do to gain eternal life?” The lawyer’s motivation, Scripture already indicates, was to test Jesus to try to trip Jesus into answering in such a manner as to be able to find fault with him. But Jesus has him quote the Mosaic Law to answer his own question. Loving God with all our heart, soul, strength and mind pretty much describes every part of us. It is with our entire being that the Mosaic law indicated one must love God. Whether it is a law or not, why do we love God?

Can we, as humans, love God for no other reason than that God is Goodness itself and not for any particular thing we might get out of it, like eternal life or wealth or health? Can we love God with our whole being and love our neighbor not only as well as we love ourselves but as Jesus said at another time, more than we love ourselves?

For some of us the promise of eternal life or a long life or a happy life might cause us to love. For some of us being told that God loves us prompts a loving response in return. For others, looking at the world around us might cause a response similar to God’s own as we read in Genesis. “God saw that it was good”, the it being creation. Though suffering and evil seem to be part of creation there are so many other aspects of creation that we cannot help but be inspired by, lifted up by and grateful for the universe. There is a consciousness of the needy in most human hearts. All the evil in the world does not begin to match all the good we find.

You have all no doubt heard the saying, “How can we say we love God who we do not see if we do not love our neighbor who we do see.” The Greek word for neighbor is plesios and literally means ‘one who is close’. A German word Nachbar refers to ‘one who is near’. Nowadays we hear the phrase global awareness and an aspect of that is the awareness that all humans share the same nature. That awareness can help us to view everyone and anyone as our neighbor. All people on the globe can be viewed as near or close.

The criterion for the depth of our love for God, no matter what we feel about how little or how much we love God, is the measure of our charity, our compassion for our neighbor. Charitable people see another in pain or need and make a contribution to assuage it. Compassionate people see pain and take it on as their own. These people see a problem and give a part of themselves to try and resolve it, as did Luke’s Samaritan and the business man in PA.

Let us strive to listen with our whole being to the real needs of others.
Glory be to Jesus Christ!

Scripture Reading: Luke 1:26-38

Reflections from a Nun

We think we have been given “free will”, that we can choose, make decisions for ourselves, but at some of the most critical junctures of our lives, it sometimes seems that this is not the case. Consider these messages, that people receive all the time:

“The company is downsizing, and we’re going to have to let you go.”

“It’s cancer.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“We did everything we could, but his injuries were too great. I’m sorry, he’s gone.”

When we are handed news like this, we know it will be life-changing. We don’t have a choice about that. We do have a choice, though, about how the news changes our lives, and that choice is about attitude.

I recently read about a study that had been made on the development of children who were the result of wanted versus unwanted pregnancies. Two groups of children were followed over an extended period of time. The children were alike in all respects (socio-economic status, and so on), with the only difference being that one group was “wanted” by their mothers, the other “unwanted”. The unwanted group fared worse on an overwhelming scale. Not only did they do more poorly in school from an early age (despite performing equally well on intelligence tests), but they also consistently had difficulties in interpersonal relationships: less popularity with their peers in school, and later at work; difficulties with parents and teachers, and later with supervisors; disappointments in their love lives, and greater mental health problems as adults.

I found this study fascinating. Of course, you can argue that women who bear children against their wishes are going to make worse mothers – especially if the negative attitude continues – but it seems as if the disadvantages in the unwanted group were so overwhelming, and the other differences between the groups of mothers so slight, that there was something going on beyond good or bad parenting. It had something to do with the initial attitude of the mothers toward giving birth, and it continued throughout the lives of their children.

Mary’s acceptance of her motherhood sets in motion an outcome that has similarly far-reaching consequences – in this case not only for herself and her family, but for all humankind. It is sometimes said that Mary chose to take on the role of mother of God. I don’t think so, really. It doesn’t sound to me as if she had much choice in that matter. The angel says pretty clearly what is going to happen, regardless of Mary’s wishes. Her initial reaction, quite understandably, is one of incredulous amazement. After this, though, comes her response: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Willing acceptance of what is going to happen.

If we continue on in our reading of Luke’s gospel at this point, what follows is stunning. Mary goes to visit her relative, Elizabeth, who has recently become pregnant with John the Baptist, and we have the remarkable account of the baby “leaping for joy” in Elizabeth’s womb at Mary’s greeting; and then Mary’s further response of the “Magnificat”, beginning with “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord” and going on to praise God for fulfilling his promise to Abraham and his descendents. It is as if the children in these two wombs are communicating with their mothers, prophesying to them.

Suddenly we have a miracle that goes beyond God’s simply sending a messiah to humankind; there is a further miracle in the way this happens. It happens through a confluence of divine will and human acceptance that opens up a dialogue between the divine and human participants – a dialogue that begins with Mary’s initial response. Heaven and earth are collaborating to bring about an outcome that turns the universe upside-down and inside-out – that allows the uncontainable to be contained in the young girl’s womb, to come forth in fully human form, and to lead the way for all of us to move toward the divine.

The news that Mary accepted, and the dialogue that she opened, made a difference for the entire human race. Few of us will ever be in such a position. But we can, perhaps, change the outcome for ourselves and those around us, through the attitude with which we accept messages such as some of those I mentioned at the beginning. Easier said than done, of course. When the perfectly human reaction is to recoil from the words in horror, how do we move beyond this to respond, as Mary did, with an attitude of acceptance? Perhaps the best first step is simply in realizing that an accepting attitude is what we need, and praying for help in reaching it. We can begin the dialogue with prayer.

I recently got back in touch by email with an old friend whom I had not seen or spoken with for decades, and I was telling her about the deepening spirituality that had led me here to New Skete. She had lost her husband, a physician, just a year or so ago (she’s about 15 years older than I), and she responded, somewhat wistfully, “Steve would have liked a more spiritual life before he passed away last May, but he had too much engineering and medical training to be able to take a step like that.” I thought “how sad”. But how can a person will himself to believe, to have faith? How can we will ourselves to approach what is thrown at us with the attitude that all will be well – the attitude that will make it all come out well? In Steve’s case, I think, the answer lay in letting go of what he thought he knew, through his science and engineering, about how the world works. Those disciplines can take us so far, but to go beyond that requires letting go of the idea that we can know everything. And, perhaps, his very wish for the spiritual was a first step in getting there, a silent prayer that he might begin a dialogue with the divine. Those of us who already have a habit of faith are one step ahead of the game, in having greater access to prayer. I’d like to suggest this prayer for all of us: Let it be with us as it was with Mary; let us be filled with an attitude of acceptance.

Scripture Reading: Js 3:13-18; Ep 4:22-32; Mt 6:5-15

Reflections from a Monk

This is Forgiveness Sunday. As we look around the world, forgiveness doesn’t seem to the preoccupation of many nations or peoples. Payback, revenge, settling scores, retaliation: these are all too often the hallmarks of international relations. Actions triggered by these motives are reactions to grievances, grievances that remain unresolved by peaceful means. This can all be very disheartening, especially when we have sons and daughters and friends caught in the middle of these conflicts far from home. But lack of forgiveness isn’t just manifested in other regions or societies. If we look around our country we see that forgiveness can be absent from private life and public discourse here too. In this election season don’t expect any candidate to forgive the other during the heat of electoral battle. Everything is framed in black and white, I’m right, they’re wrong, I’m honest, they’re not, I’m qualified they’re not, they attacked me unfairly so I’ll attack them unfairly. All of this can engender a feeling of hopelessness around glaring inequities that we seem helpless to change. It can lead us to raise our voices to heaven and cry out to God asking why these conflicts persist. The answer is closer to home.

Rather than despair about the great issues that we seem powerless to affect, what about examining those unsettled issues in our daily lives? In families “Cold Wars” break out: silences around hurt feelings can persist for months, even years. Cold shoulders in the work place can become walls of enmity. Taking an approach to life that is always critical of others: “constantly finding fault, forever nursing our anger” as the Psalmist laments, puts us in the same place as the world around us. None of this is new, it is very human and part of the human condition from the beginning of time to the present. The Great Lent gives each of us an annual opportunity to look into our own hearts to see what unforgiving attitudes and emotions are lurking there and to take this to prayer and even apply some ascetical practices to begin to break down some of these walls of enmity that prevent the growth and deepening of healthy relationships. To pass through the Door of Repentance requires forgiveness and that is why we begin the Lenten Season with a liturgical celebration that focuses on forgiveness.

Forgiveness is about relationships, but so is hate, they are just opposite sides of the relationship coin. We are free to choose either, but Jesus Christ gave us a prayer to show us a way to bring about change in the place where it must always begin, in each individual heart and soul. A few weeks ago I was reading a meditation in French on a paraphrase of the Lord’s prayer: “forgive us as we forgive others.” The meditation began by asking: what does the text mean by “as”. Is this some kind of quid pro quo? God will forgive me if I forgive others? Can I buy God’s forgiveness by forgiving others? Not at all. The phrase is showing us the example of God’s forgiveness so that we might adopt the same approach ourselves. The French meditation on forgiveness described God as a pardonnant chronique, as one who constantly (or chronically if you will) forgives. The Gospels speak of forgiving 70 times 7 or in other words, forgiveness without end.

What does forgiveness really achieve? The benefits of forgiveness are not always immediately apparent. This is because we do not often think of forgiveness as the foundation stone of relationships. Yet, it is the very foundation of God’s relationship with us. The strongest bonds are between people who know each other most deeply, who challenge each other to grow, who forgive each others offenses and who never give up on one another. This is God at work in us. This is the kind of relationship forgiveness forges. This is the relationship St James writes about. When personal relationships are right then wisdom from on high, which is pure, peaceable, considerate, willing to yield, full of mercy and of good fruits, undivided of mind, without hypocrisy, can break through into our lives and make a difference.

St Paul tells us not to hesitate to act; not to let the sun set on our wrath. He’s warning us that the longer we postpone mending a quarrel the less likely we are ever to mend it. So what we have to work on is the inner tendency to let the passion around an issue blind us to the need to forgive and mend the relationship. But it is so easy to fall back into old habits, even around seemingly small things:

Someone gave me feedback I didn’t want to hear:
Unforgivable!
Power company made a mistake on my bill:
Unforgivable!
I asked her to pick up something for me but she forgot:
Unforgivable!

If we don’t forgive, punishment follows. The punishment is the world we see around us where strife destroys live. It is punishment we visit upon ourselves by our own failure to build relationships as God has showed us how to do. It is the punishment we inflict on ourselves when we cannot forgive ourselves. And forgiving ourselves may be the hardest type of forgiveness of all.

One’s relationship with God is initiated by God’s unending forgiveness of us, but that forgiveness cannot bear the necessary fruit if we withhold forgiveness from others. Just like the parable of the servant who owed a great debt to his master which the master forgave only to have that servant fail to forgive a much smaller debt owned to him. He was deemed a “scoundrel’ and banished into outer darkness, that darkness where we live if we cannot forgive. This Lenten Season, every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer may we strive to ever more fully put into practice its call to forgive.

Glory be to Jesus Christ!

Scripture Reading: Job 2:1-11; 31:16-23, 29-37, Col 3:5-17, Mt 25:31-46

Reflections from a Monk

Recently, against the wishes of Mother Theresa of Calcutta, a follower of hers published her private diaries. There she admits to God how desolate and empty she has felt for years, while serving the despairing and dying people in the darkest holes of Calcutta.

Today in the Old Testament reading, during Job’s trials and his crisis of suffering, he argues that his life speaks for itself. He has not just said “Lord, Lord!” during prayers and worship done at the proper times. He showed his true nature when he acted with kindly consideration and right conduct toward every sort of person—he gave his assistance and protection to those who were in any kind of need—and they were his witnesses before God and against those who were testing him.

When I first read today’s readings, I found I had to read them again, one phrase at a time. It soon dawned on me that these selections contain a key road map to right living, joyfulness, and yes, even enlightenment and peace. It’s here in a nutshell—something very much needed today. It’s sought after by believers and many non-believers alike. I felt how truly inspired by the Holy Spirit these authors were!

So now there is no excuse! The readings make it pretty clear what our life’s work is and God’s challenge to us since our baptism. It is also an ancient call, of course. In fact, it is the true vocation and the fulfillment of every human being.

In the Gospel of the Final Judgment, the message is clear and dramatic: we all know about the goats and the sheep, to the left and to the right, each group confronted with and surprised at its own possession or lack of moral insight. This is the teaching: Our actions show our humanity or lack of it. We display our blindness when we separate love of neighbor from the love of God.

Christ lived on earth not only 2000 years ago. Christ becomes our living teacher when we ask “What can I learn from this person or this circumstance, especially when the individual or event makes me uncomfortable or pushes my buttons?”

We know this in our deepest hearts and souls at the twinge we feel when we hurt someone or ignore or forget someone. But when we do step up to the plate, even grudgingly, and take a chance on a good impulse, it is because we trust that little voice within us! Excuses don’t cut it. This is the crisis and the judgment! Just do it!

Recently I visited Fr. James at his Georgia parish in their newly consecrated church. Since several members are now in Iraq, the parish has made it a practice to send each of them a package every week.

I can only imagine the great effort it is to collect all this stuff. One young girl regularly brings in bags full of lollypops, those small ones with lots of colors and flavors. When asked where she gets them, she said the banks have jars full of lollipops to hand out to kids and customers, so she was going around to the area banks and reciting to the tellers what she needed and why, and they would grab large handfuls for her to bring back.

“A little child will lead them!” says Isaiah. Jesus says “Unless you become as a little child!”

Finally, the epistle gives us that precise step-by-step plan of life for fulfilling our human vocation, the same path monks and nuns and other Christians, those who are awake and searching, have followed since the beginning.

St. Paul says, put aside your anger and shame, your guilt and revenge, your fear and cravings, your hardness of heart toward others and even toward yourself. Though we are no longer guilty of the extreme vices he mentions before this, our own harmful thoughts still rule us and lead us to dead ends and betray our own judgmental attitudes.

Instead, he says, stand upright as icons of Christ: immediately replace these thoughts and their destructive emotions with gentleness, patience, kindness, and compassion, by over-looking insults and faults and hurts, and by treating others as we would to be treated.

The next steps of our journey are clear now! This is the asceticism of Lent and the Christian life. Keep an eye on our self, but care for one another, with generous give and take.—I remember Brother Elias saying to me, when I was complaining, to allow room for someone to grow. This is dying to our ego-centered self while we are alive. This makes room for the healing and the love of Christ.

Not that it’s easy! But it is a proven way! Be thankful for every step we can take, and that we are not traveling alone. Just as when we sing together in church, we can always encourage each other in harmony and unity. Every time we succeed or even try, we have something new to celebrate, to live for, and to die for in so many small ways.

For Christ is in our midst.

Scripture Reading: Hosea 11: 1-11, Col 2:16-3:4, Lk 15:11-32

Reflections from a Nun

How profligate the love of the father was for his sons who seemed so imperfect as in the gospel this morning. Perhaps the father saw in his sons a goodness that is not apparent to us. Or perhaps, as in our first reading from Hosea indicates, the love of the father was more like God‘s unfailing love for Israel no matter how much they turned away from God.

We talk about and like to believe in God’s unconditional love but it is so hard to believe that we don’t have to do something to deserve this love. Is the “doing something” our believing in Christ and Christ’s message that makes us lovable? Rather God wants us to know there is no debt to pay back, no grudges to nurse, no wrongs to right nor future resentments.

The middle reading, the epistle, speaks of Paul’s wish that the Colossian community would grow in faith in Christ and learn that Christ had taught how they should live and grow spiritually. St. Paul seemed very opposed to those who thought or taught that all these special ascetical feats of fasting and observances of the levitical laws were going to make them more spiritual. Their exalted self-regard and contempt of others because they did these things were the exact opposite of genuine spiritual growth.

Last week we heard about the Publican and the Pharisee. I have seen myself as the Pharisee feeling I have done what I should be doing or am being as I should be. Many more times it was seeing myself as the Publican asking for God to be gracious to me as I had flubbed up again.

It is interesting that today’s reading follows on the heels of last week’s Publican and Pharisee because in a way, it finishes the story. It shows us what God’s response is to one who humbly asks for mercy, realizing that terrible choices have been made not just a little flubbing up.

The older son, like the Pharisee, has followed all the rules. He’s been “good”. Surely, he can expect to be rewarded with the father’s love and even given a fatted calf or two in the bargain? The younger son, like the Publican, has acted on his own behalf, turning his back on those closest to him and even indicated he wished his father had died so he could inherit part of his father ‘s wealth.. But, like the Publican, he recognizes this and comes to the father with true repentance. The response is immediate and overwhelming. The father rushes to meet him, arms outstretched, with complete and unquestioning forgiveness. It is a graphic picture of what we were told last week would await the humble Publican.

The father’s arms, like God’s arms figuratively speaking, are always stretched out to receive us. God has never pulled back, never stopped considering us the Beloved ones. Neither could the father compel the son to stay home - any more than all the laws God doled out in the Old Testament can keep us “home” with him spiritually. The father could not force his love on his beloved. He had to let him go in freedom, even if he knew it would cause pain to all. It was love itself that allowed him to let his son find his own life, even with the risk of losing it. And that is the story of humankind’s relationship to God - time and time again, turning away, and time and time again being brought back, as in today’s Old Testament reading, because that is the nature of God’s loving mercy: God IS “home” to us.

In today’s words from St. Paul, though, we have a glimpse of something new. It is an end, perhaps - or at least the hope of an end - to the repetitive cycle of turning away. Christ’s death and resurrection mean that we may finally stop placing all our hopes on our adherence to a list of rules and regulations about what we should and shouldn’t do, and turn rather toward “the things that are above”. What could be more indicative of the things that are above than those outstretched arms of the father? We know now that God’s love and forgiveness will always be there - if, like the Publican and the son, we can approach with true humility. So let’s keep these things in mind as we enter into the Lenten journey this year. Let us make that journey be a journey home, knowing that at the end of it we will find the open arms of the father, welcoming us.

Glory be to Jesus Christ