The Communities of New Skete

Reflections for Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
Is. 56:3, 6-8; Rom. 6-18; Matt. 15:21-28

A good many of us have come to expect of Jesus a certain way of behaving and speaking, and to envision his life as something almost too good to be true! So when we hear Jesus giving this anguished mother a hard time, our minds seem to stall, and we might be a bit confused, because this doesn’t seem to be the way of Jesus the gentle healer and friend to those in need. After all, it just doesn’t seem fair to her, even though he finally acceded to her request and blest her.

But what is the story trying to tell us? Why is it in the same book with the Beatitudes and St. Paul’s Ode on Love? Is it simply one of those colorful miracles?

As we all know, things aren’t always quite what they seem. Matthew’s gospel story is not a still-life portrait but an intense drama: Everyone involved in it is deeply changed. It shows us a pivotal conflict at the foundation of Christianity.

As we know, Jesus was born and raised Jewish. He was tested in the desert, baptized in the Jordan, and entered public life as a witness to God’s call to Jesus’ own people. I think Jesus was aware the ordinary people needed not to return to an historical deity or find a new plan to live by or to pursue national freedom. They needed an honest prophet, and a just and compassionate shepherd. They yearned for the experience of the living God here and now, some good news for their souls. With great tenderness, Jesus lamented, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how I would love to gather you as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.

So in today’s drama the crowds are expectant. The disciples are protective of their own Galilean prophet. Everyone was filled with enthusiasm and hope. Yet even here we can see the dark clouds on the horizon; we begin to see that the actors have clashing expectations.

The action begins with this person weeping and wailing for attention. It is obvious she was a foreigner and without any sense of proper local decorum. She is making a ruckus—tell her to go.

How will Jesus moderate this confrontation, a sort of boundary dispute? Should he preach to them, set down the law, or try to argue and convince them their mind-sets are too narrow?

He follows through by putting into words everyone’s indignant thoughts and feelings, and in fact his own position as someone sent first to the lost sheep of Israel. They hear him tell her just how it is, and now even they want him to grant her request. On her part, she’s already made a fool of herself. But at this provocation and apparent denial, she rises to something bigger than them all: as she points out, she has a right to ask this and to expect a positive response, whatever they think of her or the gentiles.

Don’t you see, she says, I too seek fully to participate in the mercy and abundance of God’s gifts. With all due respect, Lord Son of David, even these little dogs, these puppies under the children’s’ table, get the crumbs on the floor. And this is just what the Greek text says, when it uses a softer word for our ever-present dog companions.

Now at last they’ve all heard it. With some surprise and joy he praises her: What compelling trust she has in him and what great faith in her own request! Where else have you seen this—not much around here—present company included. How can anyone of you object to her now, or ignore her and send her away.

You who have the truth and the grace, whether you live up to it or not, cannot restrict it to yourselves on any account. In fact it will be given to whoever desires, asks, and appreciates it. I myself cannot control it: it is a fire of the spirit. We can see her precisely as appealing to basic humanity for people everywhere.

She herself found and performed the healing, facilitated by Jesus’s being honest and finally accepting her. The two of them together entered a new world and no doubt dazzled those around with its daring.

We tend to categorize things, to set boundaries and see divisions. But unless you see as little children see, and pursue as the puppies do, with unclouded vision and the grace of rediscovered innocence, you won’t be able to live in the kingdom of heaven. Jesus stretched his mission. He demonstrated how to embrace each of our neighbors in an abundant and universal love, not just as children but as adults.

We know the story and take this for granted—but after the crucifixion and resurrection the new community had to struggle to resolve their still-limited vision. Can the gentiles have the same rights as the first followers? It finally came to severe enmity and bloodshed, even after Peter himself gave in to Paul and accepted any and all who desired Christ. Only trust in God is required, including faith in the process itself; and only the recognition of our shared birthright and relationship with the one who is the very mystery of life.

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
Is 55:1-5; Rm 10:1-10; Mt 14:14-22

There are very few episodes or stories that all four evangelists write about.  Today’s gospel is one of them.

Compassion is what struck me from all three readings this morning. In the first Isaiah reading God told his people to come and eat even though they had no money.

In the second St Paul feels compassion for his fellow Jews and encourages them to realize Jesus was the fulfillment of the law and to put their hope and faith in Christ.

In the third reading after hearing of John the Baptist’s death Jesus wanted to spend some quiet time to pray. He needed rest. He knew he too was in danger and his own death was looming in the not too distant future. Due to hearing how the sick had been cured by Jesus, the people put themselves in his path when he came to shore.   Jesus has compassion on the crowd and cured their sick.

If you notice, Jesus did not himself go around and feed the groups of people but he had his disciples take the food around. We too must let God use what meager gifts or abilities we have to feed those around us. What are the ways we might feed the hungry? Obviously there are the many food pantries, the soup kitchens and the neighbor who needs help. There are other ways, even seeming smaller, that we can do to feed another’s spirit. Have you ever been having a hard time and someone smiles at you and their smile lifts your own spirit? Or perhaps the other does not need a smile but a sympathetic listener. Being able to listen can help another get up and go on with living. When our own spirits are lifted it multiplies like the bread and fish by lifting up all the others we meet.

In keeping with the notion of our putting on the mind of Christ—how do we become more compassionate, more like Christ? There are books written and talks given that our thoughts matter. Some even go so far as to say we are what we think. For sure, what we think about affects what we do and who we are. We are always thinking about something. What is it?

Where does your mind go when there is nothing in particular you need to think about? To put on the mind of Christ, would it not seem that I would think of God, of God’s being present everywhere, in everything and, by really stretching ourselves, in everyone?

These seeds of thinking of God we can call prayer. Just as seeds grow into plants or trees, any short prayer thought over and over again will become part of us. Likewise if we immerse ourselves in thoughts of jealousy, envy, greed, lust, hate, self-pity or malice, we become those things. It behooves us to become aware of what we are thinking about.

Today we celebrate St. Elizabeth of Moscow’s feastday. This gospel today is especially appropriate for the great compassion Elizabeth showed throughout her life. She became aware of the plight of the peasants on their own country estate and set up avenues of help for them. When she moved into the city of Moscow the many homeless and starving on the streets of the city prompted her to establish not only soup kitchens, orphanages, and homes for the aged but a community of Marthas and Marys to do this kind of mercy work. After the assassination of her husband she herself joined this community of nuns.

True wisdom gleans the meaning and the manner of achieving the well-lived life. Our lives are well-lived if we gain the wisdom to achieve a heart filled with compassion.

Sister Cecelia

Third Sunday after Pentecost

Sir. 11:1-11; Rom. 3:28-4:8; Mt. 7:1-11

Today we are gathered here again as one religious and spiritual body, either singing or not singing, praying or just listening, watching or lost in thought, memory, turmoil, or maybe some sorrow.

Our faith says we are the body of Christ, and that just as we are at this moment, we are made complete and without blemish in the eyes of God. Yet often we feel how many ways this seems not true. We might wonder why aren’t we better off, healthier, happier, more numerous or active or prayerful, and so forth.

We heard the gospel today: and we know about judging others instead of ourselves, not asking with all our heart for what we need, or seeking but not hard enough to find, or knocking once and turning away. That is not exactly storming the gates of heaven. As for motivating ourselves, St Brigid of Ireland once remarked lightly that she hoped God would have a lake full of beer, so that there would be enough for all of us to enjoy in heaven.

We also know how much humanity is burdened with the crimes, faults, weaknesses, and mistakes of the past that wreak their havoc today in us as individuals and nations. We know that our hope can falter as we age or become worn out by work and illness. We know our love is a more than a bit lacking—we are too busy about our own stuff. And my faith is so weak, as well as my trust in myself, in God, and in whatever is good. My attention is fragmented, distracted, or fearful. So many things seem not to make sense, in the world, in religion, in our lives,

But still here we are today, singing “Amen,” blessing with “Peace be with you,” and “Lord have mercy!”

We have been drawn here by our individual journeys and search and by something we may not be able immediately to put into words. We sense that we are in a sacred place, and it is made sacred because, as the Lord said, where two or three are gathered in my name I will be there.

Each of us brings who we are, and what gifts we have, to share respectfully with everyone else. Like the wind that blows where it will and passes through the empty spaces and around and about, our individual energies fill in for each others; inspiration arises there, then here. The Holy Spirit can fill what is lacking, as long as we are of good will.

We sense that although we will not always live up to the ideal we profess, we can still sing and be joyful and grateful.

Today as on any Sunday, maybe only one person will be deeply moved. Unless we chant together and talk of spiritual feelings, sentiments, and devotion, and unless we eat that bread and drink that wine—and the coffee and donuts, the cheese, and deviled eggs—then, nothing at all will happen. When I am singing and listening, I myself and each of us begin to ingest the meaning of what we are doing, we chew it and are nourished by it all. And when I am silent, I may even begin to hear the voice of my deepest self waking up.

We are God’s little flock in a terribly imperfect world that mostly we humans have made less than the best. Here an oasis of water is flowing when we think about and pray for and help each other. We are here to light at least one candle, or each of us to light a candle, rather than try to go it alone to save my life or save the world or just to live, and then inevitably end to up restless or cursing the darkness that is everywhere.

Eventually we do need to realize too that our own resentments or hurts, our anger, sadnesses, and discouragements, though they are so deep and feel all too real, are actually deceiving us. This has always been known by wise teachers, and it has often been taught with this seemingly obvious phrase, that “only what is really real is real.” The spiritual path helps us discern what is unreal and distracting and destructive.

We are not here waiting for a better life, though it is promised that in the end we will see clearly in a way we do not now. Beneath the weeds and tangles of our lives, we might realize we are looking for the very roots themselves of life, which are creative, renewing, and abundant. We are looking for love, which comes so brightly and leads us to give of ourselves until it really hurts, maybe until it seems there is nothing left to give. We want eternity to touch us—but then, maybe not just yet.

There’s a story of woman who finally had everything she ever wanted. She got sick, and eventually, when she was told she had cancer, she became more and more angry, and angry with God and the cruelty of such a development. She crawled from her hospital bed in her flowing gown, limped down the hall to the small empty chapel. She sat in the shadows up front and yelled at God. She gave God a piece of her mind. And she ended by saying to God: if you even really do exist!

She got up and as she turned to go, she fell. There with her face on the chapel floor she gradually made out a sort of design on the carpet, which had the words “You are my beloved.” After lying there a while, she finally limped back to her bed and was able to sleep through the night peacefully.

Christ is in our midst!

Sunday of the Healing of the Man Born Blind
Readings: 1 Cor. 15:3-11; Acts 9:20-31; Jn. 9:1-39

Here’s a question: Which of these is more like my real self, an ordinary salt shaker or an ordinary ketchup bottle. We can laugh at this, but then we might become quiet and start to think and to wonder. If I am to take this seriously, then I have to care about the question, about the objects, and about myself. We are comparing and evaluating the aliveness of different objects; and the objects become a mirror of my self. An architect in Berkeley, California, has been asking people questions like this for over twenty-five years. And surprisingly, he found agreement and consistent results from 80 to 90 percent of those who participated.

Our answers are a key to answering other questions: How do we bridge the gap between object and person, or between machine and person? How does a building or a street become user-friendly? How can algebra and engineering provide a basis for healing the planet? Can we look into the patterns nature provides in the world around us and use them not just for making art and designing gardens but for planning buildings and even creating computer language? Why not help people design their own buildings and gardens and streets, and make these into environments that help our lives be more fully in contact with the earth’s natural environment and so more fully human?

Now in our gospel story today, the focus is also on questions about the mystery of being human and alive in the midst of both orderliness and apparent chaos.

The questions: The apostles ask—who sinned?
Later the onlookers ask—is this the same person we knew on the wayside?
Then the authorities ask—who did it, how’d he do it, is this your son, was he really born blind?
Finally the man says, Do you want to become his followers, too?
We might even wonder, Did his eyes hurt in the light? What finally became of the guy?

Answers came, a little bit at a time, to fill in the picture:
Jesus says, Yes, he is blind now but it has nothing to do with sin. Instead, together we will see the glory of God.
The man says, Now I can see, and later answers, A man told me to go and wash, and then, Jesus did it.
Jesus says, The one standing before you is He.

And throughout we hear instant judgments:
He couldn’t have healed this man.
You can’t be the same person.
He wasn’t really born blind.
He broke one of the Ten Commandments.
He can’t be of God.
He is doing the works of evil
We keep the Law and we are not blind; you were born in sin.

A bit of saliva and mud dabbed in the eyes turns all this into a threat to religion and society instead of a sign of hope and life.

Two thoughts are still absent from minds of the antagonists in this long story: First, “What if he turns out really to be from God?—Can we be so very certain of ourselves?” It seems to me this situation happens over and over again. Is it better to err on the side of the law and perhaps condemn someone who is innocent, or to err on the side of justice, mercy and humility and by chance let someone go who is guilty? The second thing missing is this: The person cured cannot find anyone to celebrate and to praise God with him, and instead people are grilling and insulting him as if he were on trial.

The bridge between theories, laws, and codes on the one hand, and the blind beggar in the streets, is beyond our ordinary senses and sensibilities, which can become so tainted. It is only through the practice of those first commandments, to love God and to love our neighbor as our self, that the very basic life-force within us comes into the light. It enters our consciousness in the form of compassion, goodness, and joyfulness.

This is the path to our enlightenment that began with Baptism, and it is not a mere indulgence of the heart.
You can be skeptical and still take chances on love and, for example, look at what we have in common and perhaps overlook how we may be different.

Have we ever been blind to the good things that do happen, even in the midst of suffering? What is blocking us? –The distorted and negative thoughts that constantly flood our minds. They are simply leftovers from the primitive needs for survival, and we don’t need them anymore. To the degree that you are criticizing, to the degree that you have anger, and are not pleased with or do not like things in people around you, you reduce and diminish love. On the positive side, as we have heard before, it is better to give love than to continually search for it, (for only in giving love to others, is it truly given to us.)

Both the structure of our brain and the presence of a certain grace affect our seeing and therefore color our choices. There is the classic example of the outline of six chalices lined up in a row. It takes while to realize that, aha! –the outlines of the chalices also form the profiles of twelve faces. We can make ourselves go back and forth between these perceptions and maybe even see both ways at once. We can train our senses and sensibilities and minds, learn to rid ourselves of negative thinking, and finally go beyond or transcend them. (It is only worth doing so for the sake of divine love.)

Finally, for now, we can continue to puzzle over the architect’s question and to wonder which is more like my real self, an ordinary salt shaker or an ordinary bottle of ketchup.
Christ is risen!

Pascha 2010

1 Pt. 1:3-4; 2:4-9; Acts 1:1-18; Jn 1:1-18

In today’s readings we heard from two of the apostles who were closest to Jesus, Peter, whom Jesus asked, after his resurrection, to feed my sheep, feed my lambs; and John the evangelist, who was the only apostle to stand at the foot of the cross with Mary.

A warm and affectionate Baptismal homily is the setting for our first reading this morning. It recognizes the need to nurse the new believers along in the faith, and gives instruction on how to behave in the hostile world of those times.

As we saw and experienced at last week’s baptism, we pledge to die to old ways and to be buried with Christ in the water of baptism so as to rise up to the new life and creation. We robe ourselves in Christ and enter the household of Christ where we can be sure God also sees and cares for us. What is true of the whole is true of the parts: the dignity we might well see in ourselves and in each other. At the same time,  we are called with Christ in love to give our own blood, figuratively speaking, or even literally, in order to gain our life and attain the flowering of our life together. When he said “Come follow me,” this is where it is headed.

At Pascha we once more go to the beginning of John’s Gospel with its own magnificent description of the meaning of the coming of Christ. Just as Genesis begins with the huge story of creation, the evangelist John begins with an explanation of the new creation. He does this in a way very different from the story of the birth and coming of Christ in the other gospels. In his day both Jewish and Greek philosophers respected and valued words and language as particularly sacred and powerful. So John describes Jesus in terms both could more readily understand:

From the depths of the mystery of God, from the darkest silence of eternity, the light and the word were sent out to reveal the true nature of God and the divine creator. These rational, eternal vibrations of light and sound, which first emerged at the creation of the world, finally were able to be seen by the apostles and heard by the crowds and touched by Mary and Thomas and others. He was the divine light of wisdom and the Father’s word of love made flesh as one of us.

Jesus is the only way anyone in human history has seen the one God —and it would seem only one way any human being could possibly see, the infinite, eternal, almighty intelligence and energies without being incinerated on the spot as if by a bolt of lightning. John carefully and clearly writes what he himself experienced and what motivates his own faith: that who and what God is, that is what and who the Word of God is; and that same Mind and Word of God became incarnate as this human person.

Theological descriptions of God and the Logos, the Word, the Christ, can often detract from the very intimacy Jesus wanted to bring with his presence both before and after the resurrection. Saints and theologians, bishops and monastics, and we ourselves have reflected on this and struggled to comprehend it, yet it is something that a soldier was able to see in an instant at the crucifixion, when he exclaimed “Truly this was the son of God!”.

When John the beloved disciple describes our Lord as uniquely beloved and the unique Son (only-begotten) of God, he is not isolating the Word because of the Word’s uniqueness. He is not saying God’s most beloved attention is somehow limited. In fact just the opposite is true. Far from excluding anyone or anything, the Son’s uniqueness invites and includes and embraces every human being and every created element. We see intimations of this throughout Scripture: I was there at the creation, delighting in the works of God; I am the new Adam and the dawn of a new day of justice and mercy; come to me all who labor and are burdened and I will give you rest. As St. Paul says, It is through Christ that God comes to everyone, and it is Christ who will bring everyone and everything to God.

In the spirit of the Paschal season, we can reflect on how we embody what is divine more than what the words image or likeness can signify. And so finally we are also children of the resurrection, as Jesus says: we belong to it and it belongs to us. Right now we begin to taste it through this greatest of feasts. Through the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, we already participate in the risen life of Christ without being annihilated by its power, even though we might feel it is not yet powerful enough in our own life. At times we may even be blest to catch glimpses of the beauty of the resurrection and transfigured life.
On the last day we cannot be raised without being raised body and soul—and we cannot rise to eternal life without the rest of creation of which we are a part. When the great saints, like St. Francis and St. Seraphim, celebrated and befriended the world of plants and animals, sun and moon and stars, they also healed a split in the human soul, in their own souls, an isolated part of their wholeness, of our wholeness, and in this they found a hidden joy.

As we also celebrate today, eye has not yet seen, nor ear heard, nor has it arisen in the human heart what God has prepared for those who love God in Christ, but this is what we experience a little today.

Christ is risen!

Reflections of a Nun

Entry into Jerusalem, Ze 9:9-12,16-17a, Ph 3:10,4:1, Jn 12:1-19

Palm Sunday 2010

Questions for an evening self examination mentioned recently in past homilies are: In whom have I met Christ today and where have I missed seeing Christ today.

In today’s Gospel Jesus says, “The poor you will always have but you will not always have me”.

And indeed we don’t have Jesus before our eyes as did his disciples. And yet we frequently say or hear it said: “Christ is in our midst”. How many of us really believe Christ is in the other? If Christ is in our midst, where and how is it possible? He said we would not always have him physically before our eyes, but He did give us a clue by saying: when you clothed me, when you fed me, when you visited me in prison you did it to me.

It is not such a stretch of our imagination to think when we are being just and honest in our dealings with others or all kinds of kindnesses and works of mercy, that we are treating them in this manner because we are seeing Christ in them. It is another story when we have to deal with those who seem hateful, mean, dishonest, self-seeking, lazy and so forth. It is just plain dubious that Christ expects us to see Him in these people. Or is it? How would we or how could we ever see Christ in them? It takes faith to believe that Christ is in the midst of all humanity.

In the reading this morning the crowd came out to “see” Jesus. Some had been present when he raised Lazarus from the dead and told others and they all wanted to welcome him into Jerusalem. They were looking for the Messiah who would save them from their Roman oppressors. According to historians on numerous occasions, conquerors would enter the city on the colt of an ass–after the conquering. A warring king would always ride a war horse–not a colt. Our first reading told the inhabitants of Zion to rejoice as the conqueror had brought peace to the nation. The oppression Jesus came to relieve is not in the political arena but in our hearts.

We have all probably heard the phrase God helps those who help themselves. There is certainly truth in it. However, it is something of a paradox that scripture says repeatedly that God helps those who trust in God. Our do- it- yourself mentality has to be put on hold enough to learn to trust in the God of love. Developing that trust is worth taking our time to stop and pray about it. Be quiet and listen for God.

It takes faith to see that Christ is in the midst of all humanity. As a child the mystical body of Christ was an explanation given to me for how we are all one–all part of one another. This morning‘s baptism of Evan Alexander made him part of the entire Christian segment of that Mystical body. It took faith for him to wait patiently for God to inspire him. It takes courage for him to embrace this step in his life.

It takes faith to wait patiently for God to inspire us. It takes great faith to presume that God is inspiring us, in a sense, and to go ahead and act on our own best intuition and thinking. When our actions, our thinking, our attitudes are done in a spirit of prayer, we can trust God to be with us.

Mary acted on her inspiration when she anointed Jesus feet with precious nard, filling the whole house with a fragrant smell. The whole house is seen as a symbol of the whole church and her action as a sweet memory to us through all the ages.

Jesus words to Judas to let Mary be because she had done this for his burial is a reminder to us to not put off carrying out our good intentions–our inspirations. There are some things we will never do unless we grasp the chance when it comes. We desire to do something fine and generous and big-hearted but we put it off. We think tomorrow is soon enough. Then the chance is gone. The same is true of meeting Christ each day. Shall we begin to ask ourselves? In whom did I meet Christ today? Where did I miss my chance to see Christ today?

Christ is in our midst!

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Palm Sunday Evening Vespers: Mt. 20:17-28

We have just completed 6 weeks of Lenten restraint and discipline. Hopefully, our Lenten disciplines were embraced to discover what attitudes and behavior we needed to change in order to reflect the teachings of Christ. Jesus words to Judas in this morning’s gospel reading to let Mary be because what she had done by anointing his feet with precious nard was in preparation for his burial. It is a reminder to us to not put off carrying out our good intentions- our inspirations. We never know if we will get the chance again.

While Jesus might have had more chances to die, it still took courage for Him to continue on into Jerusalem knowing it would lead to his ignominious death. What courage it took for his disciples to go with him not knowing what was actually in store for him or for them.

While Jesus knew he could not give higher or lower places in heaven to any of the disciples because those types of hierarchies do not exist in heaven, they would indeed suffer by drinking from the same cup. Have you ever wondered if the other disciples were upset because James and John and their mother did not understand this or because they too wanted to be the greatest or the highest in the kingdom to come? Jesus’ parable about being the servant of all gives us another clue of how to live. Jesus describes leadership in a new perspective. Instead of using people for our own ends we are to serve others. Look for the worthiness of the other; see how to use our own gifts for the benefit of others.

When Jesus reaches Jerusalem the crowd comes out to meet him crying Hosanna. Hosanna meant several things. Generally it meant “Save, Please. As an acclamation or greeting it was praise rather than a petition. Alleluia is another phrase of praise used in our liturgical services throughout the year. Its meaning encompasses the ultimate expression of thanksgiving, all hail to the One Who Is. It says; God is Good and we know it.

How is it possible for us to say alleluia to those parts of life that weigh us down, that drain our spirits, that seem not to deserve any praise? Life is a struggle, a journey in uncharted space much like the apostles’ journey into Jerusalem with Christ. Most of our lives consist of success and satisfaction, failure and disappointment, loss and pain as well as joy. The church’s encouraging us to say alleluia at every turn of life is an injunction to praise God. It is a challenge to see in life more than is seeable in any single moment and to trust. It calls us to see every happening as life-giving, whether it is apparent or not, somehow, in some way.

What will help us to sing Alleluia daily and mean it?

What would help us to learn how to discern which of our inspirations are the good ones on which we are to act?

What will help us to learn how to serve others as Christ showed us we need to do if we are his followers?

We must learn to be quiet. We need to learn the positive and difficult art of listening, of hearing with our spirit-with our whole being. We need to set aside time daily to practice focusing our attention in order to just sit before God. We need to trust God that our prayer will be heard.

Christ is In Our Midst!

Sister Cecelia

Reflections on the Gospel story of the woman with the issue of blood.

Mk 5:24b-34; Rom. 12:6-19; Tobit 8:4b-8, 10, 13, 15-17

The popular spiritual writer Henri Nouwen, who by the way had visited here, and who died just a few years ago, once wrote, “You know…my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work.” In today’s Gospel, we hear that the Lord is interrupted on his way to see the ailing daughter of the local synagogue leader. He is detained; the young girl dies. We can recall that on a later occasion his friend Lazarus, too, died while he was waiting to go see him. His behavior and responses in both cases were both astounding and provocative!

A woman now reaches down and touches the hem of his garment, and she finds the cure that has been so elusive for her. We might wonder, who is this anonymous person interrupting Jesus’ work?

In what condition was she after twelve long years of suffering and with the anguish? She had been betrayed by her own body, by her own people and religious leaders, and even by her doctors. She could neither hide from nor embrace the society she lived in. And probably she was thought to be forsaken even by God. Now what did she have to lose that she had not lost already? In desperation here was her final opportunity. If she did obtain some relief, would this Master really take it away from her if and when he found out who had touched him, as Jesus phrased it.

Some writers have described her as meek and mild because she was ill and because she did not confront Christ directly. She knew was socially ostracized by her condition anyway, an untouchable, but the kind of person she was does not care what people think. What kind of person would spend all they had seeking a cure, and then reach out yet again? She was not unlike the Blind man who dramatically interrupted Jesus by constantly yelling out to him for mercy. As their last resort they both took heaven by storm. It certainly took some determination for her to force herself through the dense crowd surrounding Jesus and stop him in his tracks by breaking a taboo the way she did. She had nothing more to give, but she certainly was not just going to give up and dawdle along toward death!

She is able to muster up the dignity and courage to reveal her heart without embarrassment when caught out as she was.

And so in fact when Jesus does confront her, it is only to perfect what she started. He graciously receives her long-suffering faith and gently reflects it back to her. Along with her cure he opens up for her a complete healing and new wholeness of life. As the Good Shepherd he invites her now to recognize and share in what might be called the hospitality of faith. I think we might even say he revealed the kingdom of God and welcomed her into it. Finally now, she was freed of the burdens of those three betrayals to her well-being.

Afterward we are not told whether she later followed Jesus along with the other women and disciples. Yet it does seem right that she would begin to help in the Lord’s work with infinite gratitude and to continue to grow in her new life. On these occasions, the ones who are healed became by that very fact members of the household of the saved: they had sought for and found the pearl of great price.

It was by their faith and desire that they were finally healed, but as we see over and over again, this happened only when they approached Jesus. When they met him they clearly had to encounter their own souls. No more pretenses, facades, hiding from view, and staying out of the way. This seems to be one of the paradoxes of the experience of faith, that the kingdom of God may be within us, but we cannot access it except through someone else. Without also trusting in someone outside ourselves we cannot reach those wonders inside ourselves.

This is how the mystery of faith makes us whole, because we are not and cannot be whole alone. The poet John Donne wrote, as we all know, that “No man is an island.” Although great faith may dwell within us, in order to survive and thrive we cannot go it alone; we cannot simply remain alone and do it alone. Even as adults, we are helpless alone.

So the Lord gave these people and us, too, this good news: It is your own faith that has saved you! Without activating faith and acting on faith (as we explore the unknown), the best cure is at best a cure—and by itself it will not necessarily take us into life more abundant. Only a living faith constantly brings us into life’s new beginnings, which are truly life-giving interruptions of our old and tired ways of being.

Reflections on the Gospel story of the healing of the blind man

Mic. 7:8-10, 18-20; 2 Tim. 2:1-10; Luke 18:35-43

From everything I’ve read it seems to me that Jesus did not go around announcing that he is the expected Messiah and has come to save the world, and neither did he say, I’m here to heal your every wound or ill. Yet when the disciples of John the Baptist came to Jesus and asked whether he, Jesus, is the one they have been waiting for, he said: Tell John what you see, those who are blind see, the sick are made well, the lame walk, and the poor have the word of God shown to them.

The Lord also said this: The things you see that I do, you will do, and even greater things than these. And we can see some of this happening in the healing arts today, and through the volunteer medical people who travel around inside and outside of the US.

I can imagine that if some of us had developed the great gift of evoking spontaneous healing in others, we might want to begin, after our own communities, with visiting the clinic in Cambridge, on to the SW VT Medical Ctr., and then to Albany with St. Peter’s Hospital, Albany Med. and the rest. And what a following we would attract to assist us in this humane and godly work!

We would quickly agree that there are not enough hours in the day to do this, much less to move on to NYC, Africa, Asia, or even simply the earthquake zone in Haiti! What a fantasy this is!

Yet inevitably, and more seriously, we and they discover that we often or maybe, inevitably, value less whatever we are given for free, or what we might receive without the asking. The corresponding interior change, the inner healing, and joyful gratitude do not really come about. In the end we are no different or better off.

Almost as an answer to this peculiar situation, Jesus said that heaven can only be taken by storm, that it is better to be either hot or cold, and consequently the tepid and lukewarm don’t have a chance, to put it nicely.

We can see this illustrated in today’s Gospel story. In fact, I noticed, if I am not mistaken, that there are five accounts in the gospels of the miracle of giving sight to someone who is blind, when Jesus was near the towns of Jericho and Bethsaida or else in Jerusalem. One story is about two men who ask for their sight to be restored, and several other stories are with the poor fellow we read about today; and let’s not forget about the man born blind who had several run-ins with the Pharisees.

We can notice in these a bit of how Jesus used his gifts; somehow he was moved only by the Spirit and he did not act out of a desire for personal satisfaction. (We see that He encouraged and made it possible for a determined seeker to attain healing, and a cure, along with the word of salvation or redemption).

So here was Jesus with a band of travelers, listening and teaching as they moved along. He would say something, and those near him would pass it on down the line (hopefully hearing and repeating it correctly!) Now they approach a village and hear some loud shouting, which interrupts their conversation, and they tell the man to shut up, and probably gave him a few shekels. But he would have none of this: he didn’t want to be out there begging for food, he wanted a life! Obviously he had already heard all about the miracles and compassion of Jesus.

So with all the shush’s and insisting that he be quiet, he must have seen his chances in life running out pretty quickly: and this was just too much! From deep in his soul and his belly, he literally screamed out his request: Jesus, Master, Son of David! This was a pretty startling appeal and tribute at the same time, and finally Jesus stopped and asked him what he wanted.

Beloved Rabbi, that I might see! He certainly was taking heaven by storm! Or, as some might translate it, by violence! His desire and passion were unmistakable. The man could already see what many were blind to about Jesus. And Jesus made use of this in granting him what he wanted.

In another of these stories, the man begins to see light and shadow, with people vaguely moving about looking more like trees. So then Jesus completes the task and grants him his full sightedness.
I thought of how often we too can go through times of half-seeing, half-sightedness, with half insights half of the time, as well as with half understanding, uncertainty, and indecision.

But if this is true, at least we do have that half! We can examine what we do know, and what we have glimpsed or tasted. In this life we can only see certain things through a glass darkly, in St. Paul’s words. Might it not be that only God could know and see it all? It seems so obvious we cannot be God, yet when decisions have to be made, and choices deliberated on, it is a tough discipline to not get stuck because of what you think you don’t know.

In his healings, and teachings, Jesus was bringing God’s invitation to us. Jesus welcomes us with the hospitality of faith into the house of God, into the kingdom of God. This is now an invisible spiritual state, a country not of this world, and not subject to the laws and corruptions of this world. The eyes of faith open up for us the possibilities of new life, renewal, dreaming and envisioning and foreseeing, and the knowing of the heart. This call, sometimes joyful and fearful at the same time, opens to us a new way of seeing the world, in the light of God’s grace and love, rather than laboring to see God through the distorting prism of the world and its attitudes, as one writer put it. The first is an opening of our eyes and the second a blind futility.

All of us can at least half see, and this is the beginning of the healing of human nature and of our souls. For now, we can see to our fullest extent though our faith and devotion.

Reflections on Christmas

Jer. 23:3-6; Gal. 4:4-7; Mt. 2:1-12

These days it seems Christmas is referred to more as the Yuletide or the Holiday Season, with cards and banners saying Seasons Greetings and Happy Holidays. Some of this is probably an attempt to be socially sensitive, or maybe even unreligious, but somehow friendly and full of good will toward all.

Good old Christmas, like Thanksgiving, certainly brings to mind, for us who are a little older, the nostalgia and customs of the past. Many of us had special Christmas Eve foods, like the lush Italian-style seafood dinner, or the plain caraway seed and sauerkraut soup. Now Christmas is overwhelmed with it a full gamut of decorations from traditional to snowy winter-festival images – but these are usually a lot more tasteful than some recent Halloween extravaganzas. Today the main focus is the exchange of gifts, something that seems so important for our own self-respect, at least, and for our image in the eyes of others.

Those of us who attend church and listen to the stories surrounding the birth of the Christ might reflect that we may have been imitating the wise men from the East in our gift-giving. More likely, of course, our tradition of gifts is based on the pastoral example of the great bishop St. Nicholas, who has now morphed into good old St. Nick and Santa.

Fortunately, Santa’s “making a list and checking it twice whether we are naughty or nice” has largely become irrelevant, though it may provoke slight twinges of guilt in us. But we always have that warm feeling when we reflect that, yes, we do receive gifts, so we’re nice after all! On this occasion we are more outgoing in our social rituals, and even pleased with ourselves, for not being a Scrooge. Thankfully, unless we are out of a good job, most work has closed down, and it’s time for families and friends to make contact and gather together. Then at New Year’s we sincerely vow to continue doing all the right things for ourselves and each other in the days and months to come.

These great moments of widespread holiday celebration are a needed break and distraction from the chaos, drudgery, and bad news that surround us. Here in the Western world we take this time for granted, even as the holiday becomes more consumer oriented and the economy goes sour.

Yet we also need to be able to step aside from the celebration activity for a moment, if only for our own sanity. What gives give balance to all the energy spent, and the sentimentality that easily arises now, is the birth and presence of the child. St. Francis knew this when he set up the first live Christmas crèche. The child opens its arms to us and we are hooked. It is so natural and instantaneous that we respond immediately. Any child does this to us, and every child is special, but today the services, the list of prophecies and the repetition of carols, point to this particular child.

Where does this child lead us, as Isaiah says? To places beyond what is needed in getting our daily bread and the rush to make a living. We don’t have to go far to discover this right there in Jesus’ own words. The gospels proclaim the message, or call, and the answer is revealed, we can read it. Yet it is so hard to put it all together—my life, our lives, the Lord Jesus, politics, illness, suffering and death.

There are and have been people who handle this a lot better than we have. Sometimes maybe the answers they find exceed what is even possible at this moment for you or me. The holy or noteworthy people whom we can recall, whether on the church’s calendar or not, portray a deeper experience and understanding. They knew and felt the meaning of the child’s presence, who Christ is, and how God is his and our Father. As for ourselves, we might notice or be drawn to the kinds of people who seem to have that light, that energy. Sometimes we meet someone who is honestly compassionate and kind. We say, O yes, I see — that’s what I want to be like, at least a little bit more.

But sooner rather than later the shadowy negativities of our routines, our genes and health, our society and feelings snag us. Or a sneaky resistance moves in like a fog regarding our good intentions; distractions, procrastination, or a certain forgetfulness follows our initial rousing attempts to remedy our everyday plight and respond to needs of our neighbor and even ourselves. I constantly fall back into old unproductive or overly self-indulgent habits.

Even more serious, we might not realize how we avoid looking at ourselves. Unconsciously we can easily be hiding certain distasteful but crucial realities, alongside our warmth and friendship, love, and concern for those in need. We remain unaware of those hidden, tyrannical attitudes of what we might call our inner Herod, which become visible for brief moments when we least expect.

There is a way forward when this happens (if we are not totally asleep). First is to jump back to our new ways with confidence. Get back into our canoe we fell out of. Like a child who falls over when learning to walk, it just cries and gets up or just stands up again with a huge smile. Trust that this is the only thing to do, rather than lament or feel sorry for ourselves and give up. The grace of the Holy Spirit that is abundantly present always and everywhere is just waiting to work with us.

The help we ultimately seek uniquely tailors itself to each of us as individuals. The grace of divine life in us is reflected in the living mirror of our soul as the daystar and dawning sun that is Jesus. This child still pierces through 20 centuries with open arms to shake us out of our old routine ways! He resonates with that hidden but innocent and trusting child hiding here in our hearts waiting and ready to cry out for our attention and a respected place in our daily lives! The Lord wants to help us feed our own inner being and care for our heart beating beneath our personalities and job descriptions. To be a healthy person entails nurturing and listening to what is hidden inside us.

All the Christmas story images beckon us to look for the wandering star within, to feel the still point of desire, as did the magi and the shepherds kneeling in deep feeling and respect, or the prodigal son kneeling with tears, and vulnerable, after returning to himself from his mindless travels. At least once, we might gently pay attention to the silence there, but then again, and yet again: it is not a dark emptiness, and it’s not a scary version of who I really am, but rather the embrace of divine presence and fullness, God as if a little child yet wise beyond ourselves.

Those wise men returned East as enlivened prophets of the good news they had sought; the shepherds excitedly ran and spread the word; the returning son found his home, in his joy at seeing the light.

We can look outwards with that light on our faces as well, and more than just once in a while. We can easily be kind as Christ was, for that is truly our own deepest self.

Reflections on the Feasts of the Entry into the Temple and St. Cecilia

Sir.24:9-12; Heb. 12:11-18; Lk. 2:41-52

This weekend we celebrate the feastdays of the Theotokos Entering the Temple and of St. Cecilia. We switched the Feast of the Theotokos on the calendar for yesterday, with the feast of St. Cecilia on the calendar for today. St. Cecilia is the classical and even archetypal patron saint of musicians, especially lute players, organists, and singers, and also of poets. Dozens of churches are named after her around the world, as well as one of the largest and most successful independent chorales in New York City, which happens not to be associated with any church.

St. Cecilia was born into a wealthy Christian family in the persecuted church of the city of Rome in the third century. She was married and lived in her family’s villa across the Tiber from the center of old Rome, in the district of Trastevere. She was visibly active, burying the bodies of martyrs and supporting the community there who made use of the church and secret catacombs on her property. The warmth and intensity of her love of Christ was instrumental in converting her husband at the very beginning of their marriage, and she continued her work even when he and his brother and a close soldier friend were arrested for being Christian. Eventually the local government prefect placed her under house arrest, and then in the face of her outspokenness and continual—and maybe defiant—singing of Christian hymns a soldier was ordered to execute her. He botched his attempts at suffocation and beheading and finally fled the scene in a panic. She was left bleeding to death, and as she lingered on, the story is that even then she heroically continued with her well-known singing along with those who came to her assistance. She was buried with the other martyrs in the catacombs along the famous Appian Way leading out of Rome.

Ten years ago some of us visited the church that has been rebuilt several times over her home, and you can go down into the catacombs beneath it and even view the steam bath where she died. She is portrayed prostrate as she lay dying by a famous and stunning statue in white marble located beneath the altar in the basilica.

St. Cecilia has been painted so often as a sweet young maiden and musician, but her strength in attracting people to Christ along with the threat she posed in the face of persecution suggest that she was also someone much more formidable than this and a person to be reckoned with in the early church.
Her status as the patron and inspiration of music are evidence of her education in one of the fundamental bodies of learning in the ancient world. She portrays the energy, spontaneity, and healing powers of music. But more than this, she became a powerful and radiant icon of transformation through her devotion and her experience of the love of Christ. We can see her as they have generations for fifteen centuries as the embodiment of an ancient archetype, or a built-in pattern we each have, that of someone who initiates and guides us deeper into the mysteries of the spirit, along with the active work of love of neighbor.

It so happens a woman also named Cecilia was my godmother when I was baptized as a child. Our connection was not close after that, but as I grew up I slowly became aware of St. Cecelia’s iconic energy growing in my subconscious. Especially since I loved music, art, and poetry, she eventually emerged within me as a sort of wise mentor. In a way I began to see her as a strong invitation to go further in trying to develop an adult sense of responsibility and spiritual work.

Along that same topic we see in today’s Gospel story how Jesus had to walk the path of growing up just like anyone else, and already as a twelve-year-old how he sought out the wisdom and experience of the great Temple teachers. It seems he was probably not all afraid to speak his mind and to ask some good questions. This initiative and energy obviously pushed him through adolescence and into manhood, and we can see it dramatic demonstrated during the rest of his life. He became aware now that his life and inspiration lay with his Father in heaven. At any rate he returned home for now with his parents, and as he got older it says he continued to grow not only in the learning of the Torah but in a deeper wisdom and grace.

Today is also the 46th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, our thirty-fifth president. A lot has been written about the background and formation of his character and charismatic personality. Aside from what we may think politically, he did take up the job of his vocation and destiny in remarkable ways and was inspired by an extraordinary brilliance in spite of his human failings and some huge suffering. Recently it’s been said he became a model especially for men in this country at the time, another sort of archetype that was soon eclipsed when we really needed it, and which is still needed for both men and women in our culture of narcissism, as it is sometimes described. It’s kind of telling that some more recent book titles are, “Men Growing Up To Be Boys”, and “Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Male”.

I suspect Cecilia, too, and the other martyrs and saints, must have had their own human failings and, in her case, were thorns in the side of the Emperors. But in the case of the Theotokos, she embarked on, or and entered into, her spiritual journey at a very young age, which may say something to us about the spiritual life of children. She did not die before her time but matured through all the joys and sorrows that we commemorate in Holy Week and the Great Feasts. Sometimes it has been said that her example was misunderstood and misused, either in the name of a skewed piety or from a rigid sense of traditional social order and religious subservience. But there is no doubt throughout two millennia of her centrality in Christian devotion and the profound and magnificent effect her immense greatness has had on religion, spirituality, music, art, and poetry.

All these people leave a rich and wonderful legacy to celebrate and a spiritual model to somehow, in some little ways at least, to emulate and use of for the sake of our life in Christ.

Christ is in our midst!