Fourth Sunday of Advent: Waiting for a Messiah Out of a Surplus Longing for Life

The Christmas season has a peculiar tendency of causing the human heart to swell with anxious anticipation and a universal hope for a reality much different then the one we have grown all too familiar with. In 1984, Irish Singer Bob Geldof, moved by the suffering in Ethiopia due to horrific famine, wanted to write a Christmas song to raise funds to relieve the plight of the suffering. The song, "Do They Know It's Christmas?", sung by some of the most popular artists of the 80's, raced to the top of the charts upon it's release and occupied the number one slot for five consecutive weeks. The climax of the song that rang out over and over again on the radio airwaves was a veritable "prophetic protest" against a brutal reality that simply shouldn't be: "Feed the World! Let them know it's Christmas time!" In 1992, Amy Grant revised and popularized the song, "Grown Up Christmas List." The song speaks to the the mature longing for what the Christmas season should bring: "No more lives torn apart, and wars would never start, and time would heal all hearts. Every one would have a friend, and right would always win, and love would never end."


Where do such hopes and longings arise from? Are they simply "pie-in-the-sky" ideals, forever out of reach, or do they point to something more profound at the core of the human heart, spirit, and soul? I believe that the latter, is, of course, the case. At the heart of every person who has ever endeavored to live a truly and fully human life is a "surplus longing for life." Some have said that at the core of who we are lies an empty void that can only be filled by God. While this is certainly one way of describing the angst that we often feel when life doesn't quite measure up to our hopes and aspirations, another way is to say that at the core of our selves is a "surplus longing for life." Far from a mere "emptiness" or "void", this sacred "energy" in our heart is meant to always be unnerved by a longing that no amount of eating, drinking, drugging, debauching, or acquiring can slake. In fact, to try and slake this "surplus longing" by filling ourselves is to bring about it's vengeance. How can we possibly fill what is by definition an unyielding desire for fullness? How do we live with such an unnerving tension? I would suggest that we first acknowledge it and then, simply let it be. By doing so, this "surplus longing" yields a creative and powerful vision of what life can and should be, not only for ourselves, but for our entire world.


I would like to suggest that acknowledging the "surplus longing for life" and simply letting it be is precisely what the prophet Samuel and the Virgin Mary do in this past Sunday's readings for the Fourth Sunday of Advent. After Samuel is told by King David that David plans to build a temple for God, Samuel is gripped by an intuition and vision that it isn't David who is to build a house, but God who will build a house for David, ensuring that David's reign will never end. This is the first, explicit oracle that points to the Messiah. In the Gospel, Mary is visited by the Angel Gabriel who tells her that she will "be overshadowed by the Holy Spirit" and will give birth to the Son of God. The readings make explicit what Samuel and Mary do in response to God's oracles; however, what we can assume is that these oracles came, in part, as a result of Samuel and Mary learning to accept and live with the "surplus longing" at the core of their persons. A famous theologian once said that, "every symphony must remain unfinished." What he meant by this is that the symphony that is our lives, and the symphony that is the world, no matter how beautiful, still inspires more than what we can realize this side of heaven. The point of the metaphor, the point of this weekends readings, and the point of the surplus longing for life that drives us is to simply play the tune of Christ as beautifully as we can and leave it to God to conduct it into the final symphony of salvation.

First Week of Advent: What I Learned About Advent Anticipation in Meeting Mark

With the Christmas season in full-swing in the secular realm and record commercial sales being posted, it can be so very easy to overlook the fact that we are actually in the thick of the Advent season. The word itself is from the latin adventus, which means "coming". Wikipedia has it quite right by saying that the Advent Season is one of "expectant waiting." This implies an "active" mode of the hopeful anticipation of encounter rather than the more "passive" act of waiting to see what is wrapped under the Christmas tree. With regard to the waiting that is characteristic of the Advent Season, Henri Nouwen describes it in these words: "Waiting, as we see it in the people on the first pages of the Gospel, is waiting with a sense of promise: 'Zechariah...your wife Elizabeth is to bear you a son.'.... 'Mary,....Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son'. (Luke 1:13, 31). People who wait have received a promise that allows them to wait. They have received something that is at work in them, like a seed that has started to grow. This is very important. We can only really wait if what we are waiting for has already begun in us. So waiting is never a movement from nothing to something. It is always a movement from something to something more."


I learned a profound lesson about the spirit of Advent Anticipation in meeting Mark. I met Mark on a recent trip to the VA Medical Center in St. Cloud, MN. I went there to attend the care conference of a client under guardianship. I arrived with the "lowest common denominator" expectation of simply attending the care conference and then meeting with three other clients in residence there. I didn't anticipate or expect anything special or out of the ordinary. I had been down this road several times already and must say that I had a bit of "tunnel vision" in focusing solely on my reason for being there (rather than God's reason for my being there!) When I walked into the room where the conference was going to be, I encountered a diminutive, slightly older than middle-aged man sitting by himself. He had thick glasses on that made his eyes as big as coffee saucers and was quietly and contentedly sipping coffee. I wondered what he was doing in the room all by himself. I introduced myself and told him my reason for being in the room. At that he said that he should probably leave. I told him he could stay since the conference wouldn't begin for about ten minutes.


At the invitation to stay we began to share a little bit about ourselves. I found out from him that, in addition to being a veteran, he had earned his PhD in history. He also had a number of children and a loving wife with whom he had recently spent the Thanksgiving holiday. After sharing my theological educational and vocational background, we began talking about faith. He surprised me by saying that it was his conviction that we didn't end up in the same room as a happenstance, but, rather, that God gave us this time, and this space, to share with one another in order to encounter the living God who delights in surprising us at a moment's notice. I found in Mark what Advent Anticipation is all about. Here was a man who was not at all alone in the early morning light of the conference room. Rather, he was there with the seed of God growing within him, being nurtured by his recent experience of Thanksgiving and his total life experience. Mark was kind enough to share that seed with me and to remind me of the divine seed that I hope is growing within me and that will grow within all of us this Advent Season.

A Proper "Fear of the Lord": To Live Life on Earth as It Will Be Lived in Heaven

The month of November in the Northern Hemisphere brings many changes in the appearance of nature, the outside temperature, and the emotions that many people experience. Christians throughout the centuries have chosen to "go with the flow" of these changes by taking time to pause and consider the reality of loss, the waning of the vigor of life, and the inevitable end of all things. During this time of year the Church chooses to ponder loss, diminishment, death, and the end through the lens of various Gospel teachings concerning how to be prepared for such eventualities. One reason for doing this, perhaps, is to reshape our personal and collective sense of fear of the greatest unknown associated with life: death and what happens beyond it.


The first reading and Gospel for this past weekend's liturgies both explicitly mention the word fear and the role that it plays in the life of faith. However, the manner in which the word is used is quite different between the two readings and therefore offers us the opportunity to compare and contrast a "healthy" and empowering sense of fear versus one that debilitates and cripples. The first reading from the book of Proverbs speaks of the praiseworthiness of the woman who "fears the Lord." The Gospel tells the parable of the talents and describes how one of the three servants entrusted with the Master's talents (an ancient sum of money) tucks it away in the ground out of fear. Why is it that fear in the first reading is praiseworthy and in the Gospel text the fear of the servant towards his master (i.e., God) is the grounds for punishment?


The first reading and Gospel are obviously dealing with two very different meanings of the word fear. The basic distinction could be described as the fear that empowers (as in the first reading) versus the fear that incapacitates (as in the Gospel). The type of fear that we are to have of God and the mystery of God is one that empowers; however, what is sad is the fact that the Christian tradition has very often used the fear we see in the Gospel to manipulate belief in God or to cajole compliance with dogma, doctrine, or moral teachings. True "fear of the Lord" according to the Judeo-Christian scriptures implies not a "slavish" fear of punishment, but a sense of awe and wonder at the grandeur of God, God's Creation, and God's plan of salvation. Such a "fear" motivates through inspiration, not intimidation. The importance of having a proper understanding of the role of "the fear of the Lord" in the life of faith cannot be understated.


I was recently having coffee with someone of staunch Christian belief when the topic of heaven and the life of heaven was raised. I explained my reflections and musings on the subject and expressed my conviction that life here on Earth likely won't change significantly unless Christians give serious thought to the program of the Kingdom (meaning, life in the "New Creation" or "heaven") and than work to enact this program here on Earth (this is truly what it means to proclaim the Good News). My counterpart stated that she hadn't given much thought to heaven and, rather, focused more on fearing God in the sense of avoiding God's judgement and punishment. This example, I believe, throws into relief what's at stake in how we understand "the fear of the Lord". One sense of fear leads to contemplating the divine mystery embodied in God, Christ, Holy Spirit, and God's plan of salvation and than being empowered to envision and enact the possibilities of New Creation in the here and now. The other approach to fear stifles creative thought and incapacitates the imagination from being able to see and strive for the possibility of God's will being done "on Earth, as it is in Heaven".

Love of God, Love of Self, and Love of Neighbor: Reactive and Proactive, Receptive and Responsive

In the Gospel for Mass two Sundays ago, Jesus issues his most poignant and succinct teaching about how humans are to live in the world: "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Since everything in the Christian and truly human life hinges on love of God, love of self, and love of neighbor, it would be worthwhile to ponder what this "looks like" in the concrete. One way of approaching the "greatest commandment" of total love for God, self, and other, is to think of this love as an energy that is "reactive and proactive"and "receptive and responsive." 


When one thinks of the word, "reactive", one usually doesn't arrive at a positive valuing of the term. To be "reactive" can cannote being impetuous, impulsive, and "reactionary." However, this word can also refer to equally positive behaviors, especially when connected with the Great Commandment of love. When a person is reactive according to this commandment, they respond relatively easily and immediately to the needs and dignity of other persons. An example would be if someone were to buy lunch for a homeless person standing on the side of the road. To love "reactively" means being open and ready to meet the needs of others. Another way of fulfilling the Great Commandment is by loving "proactively." According to the Judeo-Christian tradition, it isn't enough to simply wait until someone in need comes across one's path; rather, the "bar of loving" is set at the height of looking, and even searching, for those in need of love. A number of stories told by Jesus in the New Testament depict God as a restless searcher for the lost, the lonely, and the needy. Chapter 15 of Luke's Gospel offers dramatic examples of how love at it's height is not only about reacting to the needs of others but proactively searching for the needy other. In a society that has gone to great lengths to create suburban enclaves of safety, security, and a facade of total well-being, searching for the needy other is absolutely imperative, especially since the truly desperate will rarely cross our paths while "holed up" in such places.  


The great command to love can also be approached in terms of being "receptive and responsive." To be receptive implies an openness toward all, especially those who are in greatest need. To revert back to the example of the homeless person standing on the side of the road, it means withholding judgement and allowing ourselves to be moved with pity and compassion. Receptivity, in it's greatest expression, is really about hospitality: setting a long and wide table within ourselves for the divine mystery and sacred story which is at the heart of every person and creature who graces the face of the earth. As important as it is to be receptive to others in fulfilling the great command to love, hospitality only deepens in it's richness and beauty when we have an abiding awareness of those in need of our service.  Just as it is necessary to not only be reactive but proactive in one's loving disposition toward God, self, and others, so it is essential that we not only provide hospitality but extend it through a responsiveness that reaches out to others both near and far. To be truly responsive requires an attentiveness to the heartbrokenness of the world. However, what makes such responsiveness exceedingly difficult in our society is our obsession with being entertained. Karl Marx once said that "religion is the opium of the masses." Today we might revise this by saying, "entertainment is the opium of the masses." To allow one's self to be entertained to the point of distraction deadens the capacity for sharing in, and responding to, the broken heartedness and struggle that is representative of the vast majority of the world's population. 


The great command to love can be approached and understood in various ways. However it is approached and understood, to be truly effective in our lives it must be appropriated in as practical a manner as possible. We practically appropriate the command to love God, ourselves, and neighbor, when we form dispositions and attitudes that are reactive, proactive, receptive, and responsive to the world around us, especially that large swath of the world that is broken, needy, and crying out for justice.

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time: "Making Room for Room"

There has been much talk in our contemporary U.S. society about the presence of God in daily life and how Christians are called to bear witness to it. "God talk" and public testimonials about people's relationship with God have become relatively commonplace, frequently arising in the U.S. sports and political arenas. Just this past weekend I heard a college football coach give thanks to God (after a victory, of course) for being blessed to be a part of his particular program. Last week a Republican party front runner for the presidential nomination and Baptist minister spoke of the need to "make room for the Holy Spirit." All of this very public God talk begs the question of God's presence in our lives and world and how to witness to it in a way that is God honoring (meaning, in a way that draws others to God rather then repel them).


The first reading and Gospel for the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time reflect different attitudes about God's involvement with the world and how we give honor and glory to God. The first reading is quite fascinating, and, even astounding because it states that God favored a pagan, Cyrus, King of Persia. The reading from Isaiah goes so far as to state that God is the one who has manipulated circumstances to ensure that Cyrus would prevail over his enemies. The attitude conveyed by Isaiah is that God is the one directly responsible for all that unfolds in history, to include military conquest and domination. In the Gospel, Jesus has a different take then Isaiah, seemingly contrasting "secular" powers with the power of God by stating, "give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God." So, which reading is correct? The first, or the second? Is God directly responsible for all that unfolds in history as Isaiah asserts, or, are there two "parallel" realities as seemingly suggested by Jesus?

This dilemma is perhaps irresolvable. There is no way of knowing for sure precisely how God is involved in the processes of the world or human affairs. It is fair to say, however, that our modern day approach to Christian theology asserts unequivocally that God is not a God who backs the powerful and ruthless but has sided with the poor, the vulnerable, and the defenseless. However, the more pressing and important question that is presented by this weekend's readings is: what exactly "belongs" to God? What belongs to God is space.


In his classic book, "Man's Search for Meaning", the famous psychologist Victor Frankl relates the following account of what he did soon after his release from Auschwitz: "One day, a few days after the liberation, I walked through the country past flowering meadows, for miles and miles, toward the market town near the camp. Larks rose to the sky and I could hear their joyous song. There was no one to be seen for miles around; there was nothing but the wide earth and sky and the larks' jubilation and the freedom of space. At that moment there was very little I knew of myself or of the world - I had but one sentence in mind - always the same: "I called to the Lord in my narrow prison and he answered me in the freedom of space."


The God of Jesus Christ is almost certainly a God of tremendous spaciousness. When we think of one of the characteristics that defines God par excellence, it is the spaciousness of God: space between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, to be themselves and to carry out their respective roles in history. Space between God and creation: so that creation can grow and flourish in and for itself. And, finally, space between God and the human person: so that humanity can find its way in history and grow in the image and likeness of God. Far from something ostentatious such as public testimony, we give to God what belongs to God when we simply give to God the same thing that God gives us: space.

The Vineyard of the World and Our Very Lives

Last week I attended a conference on professional guardianship that was chock full of useful information about this practice by experts from fields that spanned the spectrum from geriatrics to animal hoarding. As relevant and insightful as the presentations were, they were all bested by the final keynote talk given by two diminutive nuns who spoke about the importance of self-regard, self-care, and self-love in seeking to provide guardianship services to persons who are truly vulnerable and at the mercy of their caregivers. After the hour-and-a-half talk which included a number of practical exercises and a great deal of laughter, one could perceive a palpable, positive energy coursing through the room - it was truly a great way to end the conference.


The metaphor that the nuns wrapped their talk around was the notion of having a positive, loving impact on one's little corner of "the vineyard." This is a scriptural metaphor that can be found in both the Old and New Testaments. The readings for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (two weekends ago) actually focus on this metaphor. What is interesting about the metaphor is that it refers to both a place (Mt. 21:33-43) and a people (Isaiah 5:1-7). In other words, the Lord's vineyard is both the world in which we work and live and our very selves. We are not only called by God to cultivate, tend, and transform the world but to be cultivated, tended, and transformed as a part of the world. We are not mere laborers working on a project but equally a project that is labored upon.


The value of suggesting that our lives are akin to a vineyard and project that is being cultivated by God is that it can help us to approach all the events of our lives in a spirit of hope - especially the challenging ones. Just as a grape endures the intensity of the sun in order to mature and ripen, so our lives mature, ripen, and deepen when we allow them to be exposed to all that life has to offer. If one reflects on the events of ones life that led to growth, maturation, and depth, it is likely the case that the events were intense, difficult, challenging, or, perhaps, even painful. When we grow in the awareness that we are not mere laborers in the vineyard but a part of the vineyard itself, we needn't shy or back away from the intense, challenging, or even daunting aspects of life: it is precisely such conditions that will lead to the full-maturation of our lives and produce a vintage of unequaled beauty, depth, and richness.

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time: Remembering 9-11 By Becoming an Abyss of Forgiveness

"The enormity of this space and the multitude of names that form this endless ribbon underscore the vast scope of the destruction. Standing there at the water's edge, looking at a pool of water that is flowing away into an abyss, a visitor to the site can sense that what is beyond this curtain of water and ribbon of names is inaccessible." Michael Arad and Peter Walker, artists of the Ground Zero Memorial, Reflecting Absence


I cannot remember in my lifetime a day of remembrance as solemn as 9-11-11: ten years removed from perhaps the most horrific, and even apocalyptic, tragedy to strike America. For those of us who remember 9-11-01, the images of skyscrapers ablaze, bodies free falling, and people screaming in terror in and around New York City are indelibly etched in mind, heart, spirit, and soul. So powerful and defining was this moment that it hardly seems like ten years ago. The way that it so profoundly changed our lives and sense of security, it might as well have been ten days ago. One of the questions this ten-year anniversary of 9-11 poses is, of course: how to remember?


In posing this question, it is more than a little ironic that the scripture readings for all the major Christian denominations this Sunday focus on forgiveness and mercy. The unmistakable connection that can so easily and readily be made is that in remembering the victims of 9-11, those who survived them, and those affected by the two wars fought because of 9-11, we are called to consider the role of forgiveness and mercy in this process. The standard of forgiveness set forth by Jesus in the Gospel is not about how many times we forgive, but how deeply we forgive. Jesus turns Peter's question about "how many times should one forgive" on it's head by answering that forgiveness isn't merely about quantity but quality: we are to forgive from the heart - meaning, we are to forgive at depth. 


The human heart is very much like the Ground Zero memorial in the sense that it is akin to an abyss. The human heart is virtually unbounded in it's capacity for receiving and containing innumerable experiences along with all the emotions associated with those experiences. And, while we cannot control all that we experience in life (such as the terrorist attacks of 9-11), we can regulate what we receive into our hearts and what we let go of. 


A great example of the role that mercy and forgiveness can play in remembering 9-11 comes from many of the victim's loved ones who volunteered to read names at the Reflecting Absence memorial. As the names of the victims were solemnly read, sentiments of love, fond memories, and longing were also expressed. It is clear that many of these persons have chosen to remember 9-11 by holding on tightly to love and letting go of hatred, bitterness, and vengeance. 


Far from a mere moral or ethical teaching on the praiseworthiness of the act of forgiveness, in telling us to forgive from our hearts, Jesus is giving us direction on what to cling to in our lives and what to let go of so that our hearts, like his, can become an "abyss of forgiveness" and an abyss of love. 

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time: Jesus' Identity - "Test" or "Quest"?

In the last fifty years there has been a search in scripture circles called the "quest" for the "historical Jesus." This basically means that scripture scholars have been attempting to piece together a portrait of the Lord that is as historically accurate as possible. Many of us might say to ourselves, "Duh! Simply go to the Gospels!" As common sensical as this might seem, it isn't quite that easy! If you read the Gospels one after the other, you'll very quickly arrive at the conclusion that they aren't in perfect agreement with all the details surrounding Jesus' life. The reason why they aren't in perfect agreement is because the Gospels aren't historical documents as much as they are testimonies of faith in Jesus. This doesn't mean they don't report historical facts about the Lord, but they do much more than this. They basically relate who Jesus was and what his message meant to the people of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John's communities. This therefore makes the "quest" for the historical Jesus not as straightforward as one might think!


The quest for Jesus didn't begin with 20th century scripture scholars, nor did it begin with Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. It began, as a matter of fact, with Jesus himself! Now, I know what you might be thinking: Jesus knew exactly who he was from very early on and it was just a matter of everyone else finding this out! The problem that this poses, however, is that no human person can come into an absolutely precise awareness of his/her identity without the aid of others. No one is born with a script! To suggest that Jesus was born with one undercuts his humanity and sets him far above those of us mere mortals who have to struggle day in and out with the basic and gut-wrenching question of, "who am I?" and "what does my life mean?"


In today's Gospel Jesus poses a question to the apostles: "who do you say that I am?" (Mt. 16:15). One way to approach this question is to assume that it was a test of faith for the apostles. Either they "get it" or "they don't." However, what if this question was also a test for Jesus? Certainly Jesus was tested: he spent 40 days out in the desert prior to beginning his public ministry being tempted by the devil (Mt. 4:1-11). In putting the question to the apostles, "who do you say that I am?" Jesus may very well be looking for an affirmation of what he has long since suspected: he is the anointed one of God and the Son of Man who will ultimately lay down his life for his friends. Why is this a test of faith? It's a test of faith because once the disciples affirm what he suspects, there is no going back. It's one thing to have private beliefs about one's identity, it's quite another to have that identity reflected and affirmed in the eyes of another. Once something like this transpires, than you become accountable to someone else's beliefs about you.


This weekend I saw the movie, The Help. It tells the story of a young, aspiring, white journalist nicknamed "Skeeter" who dares to "go out on a limb" to tell the story of black maids in segregated Mississippi immediately prior to the Civil Rights Movement. However, to tell the story of the maids, she has to find some who are willing to venture out on the same precarious limb. Skeeter initially meets with resistance by many maids who are understandably afraid for their welfare. However, after hearing an inspiring sermon at a Church service, one of the maids named Abileen decides to put her faith into action by telling her story. Soon thereafter, other maids come forward to tell their story. In a very real sense, by telling their stories these maids were posing the question, "who do you say that I am?" to one another, to Skeeter, and, indeed, to the entire U.S. society. The entire movie is really a profound parable about the quest for identity, dignity, and solidarity. The movie The Help illustrates very much what today's Gospel does: to arrive at an appreciation of who we are and what our life's meaning is, we must risk ourselves by asking the question, "who do you say that I am?' and allowing the answer to be reflected and affirmed in the eyes of others. Pat

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time: The Whispering Wind That Coaxes Us From Our Caves

First Kings, 19:9-13 tells the story of how the prophet Elijah, "on the lamb" and running from his persecutors, tucks himself safely away in a cave at "God's Holy Mountain" (Horeb). While taking refuge, God comes-a-searching for him and asks, "why are you here, Elijah?"After Elijah issues his chief complaint (namely that the Israelites are seeking to take his life), God tells Elijah to prepare to meet him outside of the cave. A strong and heavy wind passed by, crushing rocks to smithereens, but it wasn't God's calling card. Next an earthquake rattled Elijah's cavernous cage - but still no God (apparently, tumults aren't God's style!) Than a fire erupted - but still, no God. Finally, the tiniest "whispering wind" softly swept by the mouth of the cave. It was this that announced to Elijah the presence of the Lord of Hosts. When Elijah came to the mouth of the cave, again God asked him, "Elijah, why are you here?"


What stands out about this, "thick-with-implications-about-God's-revelation" exchange with Elijah are two things, one obvious and one not-so-obvious. Let's start with the obvious: God doesn't announce God's presence in an impressive, awe-inspiring manner in order to put Elijah at ease and dispel the difficulty. Now on to the not-so-obvious: God asks Elijah the question, "why are you here?" twice in the space of only four verses. Interestingly enough, Elijah responds with the exact same answer to God's question both times: "I have been most zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts, but the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they seek to take my life." It's important to note that earlier in Chapter 19, Elijah nearly gives up by laying under a broom tree and praying for death. Therefore, if we read between the lines of Elijah's response, we could rightly discern a tone of incredulity and the implied question of, "why don't you do anything and why am I struggling for my life?"


Elijah may very well be speaking to the guttural, primordial question that has tormented the human heart for time immemorial: "why doesn't God do anything and why do we have to struggle so hard for life?" The answer to this angst-laden question really isn't the direction or "moral" of the story (no matter how much Elijah, or we, would like an answer!). The key to unlocking the importance of this story and what it says about God and humanity has less to do with addressing the question of "why" and, rather, considering the issue of "where." When God asks the question, "why are you here?" God isn't interested in the reasons Elijah has for hiding in the cave, God is really asking Elijah, "why the heck are you in a cave at all!" Very little, if anything, can be resolved from inside a cave!


There are many and varied reasons for why we may want to hide in our "caves" and pose the circular, never-ending question of "why" with regard to so much suffering and struggling that beset our lives and world. However, God knows full well that the most difficult questions about life cannot be addressed in isolation and seclusion. So, what does God do when we withdraw? God coaxes us from our caves with the whispering wind of the Spirit who nudges us softly, gently, but firmly into the truth that the most difficult questions of life are meant to be grappled with in the light of day and in partnership with others. Pat

Contemplation: The "Blade" That Tills the Soil of Our Lives for Receiving the Word

On the Fifteenth Sunday in ordinary time, I attended Mass at St. Joseph's parish in Plymouth, MN. The pastor, Fr. Terry Rasmussen, focused his homily on the Gospel of Matthew (the famous "Parable of the Sower and the Seed"), and, more specifically, how we are called to till the soil of our lives with the "blade" of contemplation in order to receive the Word of God fruitfully. I'd like to elaborate a bit more on how contemplation, as a "practice" and a "disposition", can open us to God's Word and "bear the fruit" of a Christ-like life.


Contemplation as a practice involves etching out time on a regular basis simply to be attentive and present to life, God, relationship, and one's self. It is a practice that is both a matter of "mindfulness" (reflectiveness) and "mindlessness" (simply "being"). Mindfulness is a state of awareness of one's self and one's interactions with the world beyond the self. It is a manner of "being in the world" with a concentrated and focused awareness on one's own make up and an openness and receptiveness to one's surroundings. Mindfulness is a mode of heightened awareness of self and others. Recently I took a walk outside and practiced mindfulness by imagining that I was reaching out and touching every thing that I could see. To my surprise, I actually "sensed" what everything that I reached out to felt like! The experience that I took away from this exercise was a heightened sense of oneness and communion with my environment. Mindlessness, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. It is less a mode of experiencing than of being experienced. Mindlessness doesn't mean a lack of awareness or mental functioning but a "suspension" of the primacy of the ego and self as the final court of appeals with regard to experience. In other words, it is a way of forgetting the ego and self and an openness to simply being experienced by another without judgement or analysis. An example of this would be allowing one's self to be gazed at with appreciation and affection and simply accepting this as embrace and gift.


Practicing contemplation as "mindfulness" and "mindlessness" "tills the soil" of our body, mind, heart, spirit, and soul (or, "disposition") in such a way that we become contemplative in our fundamental way of being in the world. Contemplation is an orientation of curiosity, interest, and intrigue. In other words, it means being radically opened to experience, others, and, ultimately, God. When we strive to practice contemplation and live contemplatively, we become the fertile soil that accepts and embraces the Word of God, allowing it to humbly take hold of our lives and bear the fruit of the belief that life, God, and others are ultimately worthy of our faith, our hope, and love. Pat

Ascension Sunday: "The Lord Now Comes to Us 'Out of the Blue'"

"Blue often seems to stand at a mysterious angle to human sensibility and intention. When something absolutely unexpected visits our lives, we say: it came out of the blue. Of the unexpected that in all probability will never occur, or at most happen rarely, we have the phrase: once in a blue moon. These unnoticed phrases in our language confirm blue as the indecipherable source from where the unexpected sets out towards us. All the while we continue with our lives, never suspecting that we have become its destination and target." John O' Donohue, Beauty


This past week I received a request from, "out of the blue," to call a gentleman who had contacted us through our community's website. The man, whose name was William, wanted to talk about his Mother's terminal illness and how he and she were dealing with it. What made this request so unexpected, and therefore even more, "out of the blue," was that William is Jewish and from New York City. Given the difference in religion and given all the persons he could have no doubt contacted in his immediate area, I was quite beside myself with the surprising nature of this request! When William and I connected via phone, he was struggling with how to deal with the seriousness of this illness and what it meant for him and his mom. He chose to contact a priest because he thought that I'd be much more familiar with how to process such things. In a nutshell, William wanted to make the most of the time that he had left with his mom. He wanted to talk with her about her memories, her hopes, her fears, and the love they had shared.  In a word, William wanted to get to the heart of what life should be about and wanted to reach and be reached out to by God. 


Given that we came from different religious backgrounds that don't share the same views on Resurrection and eternal life, I couldn't dig deep into my bag of Christian faith and symbols in order to offer counsel or comfort along these lines. However, as William spoke and I listened intently for an "in", what came to me "out of the blue" was the book "Tuesday's with Morrie." This book tells the story of a journalist named Mitch Albom who reconnects with a college professor friend, Morrie Schwartz, after Morrie has contracted Lou Gehrig's disease and is on the last leg of his life's journey. The book chronicles the beautiful, profound, and poignant conversations they have over the course of 13 Tuesday's preceding Morrie's death. In an ironic twist, what made this book such a good recommendation for William is that, like William, Mitch Albom is a journalist, and, like Morrie, William is Jewish. William told me that he hadn't heard of the book but would indeed pick it up and read it. After exchanging well-wishes and assuring William of my prayers, our conversation came to an end. 


It occurred to me that what took place between me and William has much to do with Ascension Sunday. On the Feast of the Ascension we celebrate how Jesus was "taken up" into the beautiful blue heavens and how we anticipate his return in the very same way, from "out of the blue." (Acts 1:11). The significance of Jesus ascending to God and being seated "at God's right hand", means that now God the Father and God the Son can come to us from the depths of our lives, world, and relationships from "out of the blue" through the presence of God the Spirit. I believe that what William and I experienced in our very brief conversation was nothing less than Christ visiting us from "out of the blue", inspiring William to contact me and inspiring me with what to share with him. This is what it means for Christ to return to us in the same way that he left us: he comes to us from "out of the blue" to touch our lives with inspiration, depth of connection, and, ultimately, transformation. Pat

The Gospel of John: "Palanca" for the Heart

Over the last several weeks in the Catholic Sunday liturgy, we've been hearing Jesus teach on two major themes in the Gospel of John: mutual love and relationship. More than any other Gospel, John focuses on these two themes and makes them the centerpiece of his entire testimony to Jesus. John's version of Jesus gives long treatises to his hearers on the theme of the mutual love that God has shared with him and that he, in turn, has shared with his followers. Furthermore, if his disciples abide in his love by keeping his commandments, he will abide in them, they will abide in him, and they will know the Father. This teaching highlights the type of relationship that Jesus is calling his disciples to: the self-same length, depth, height, and breadth that Jesus himself has with God and has shared with others. 


The Gospel of John in it's entirety is a veritable "palanca" that is meant to ever-so-slowly-but-surely open our hearts to the richness of God's love. "Palanca" in Spanish means "lever", "handle" or, "crowbar." Those who have attended Cursillo retreats or TEC retreats (Teens Encounter Christ) would be familiar with this word. These "immersive" retreats attempt to create an environment conducive to experiencing God's love at depth. "Palanca" are those notes of affirmation or other small tokens that the Cursillo or TEC staff share with the retreatants in order to help them "open" their hearts to an experience of God. The staff on these retreats are very deliberate in regularly giving out palanca because they no doubt know how difficult it can be to open one's heart and risk it in love.


We live in a world that makes it difficult at times to take risks for the sake of mutual love and relationship. If one tunes into the American media, there is a great deal of focus on all the reasons why people should be afraid and live in a protective shell in order to avoid taking excessive risks. When one is traveling by plane one is constantly assailed by the message that the current "threat level" is "orange" and one should therefore be diligent and ready for a possible terrorist attack. How is it possible to open our hearts to mutual love and depth of relationship when we are constantly encouraged to be on the defensive?


The book, "The Courage to Heal," chronicles the stories of women survivor's of childhood sexual abuse. The first part of the book shares one heartbreaking story after another of various women who were victimized as children by the persons who should have protected and nurtured them. As difficult as these stories are to stomach, if one can make it through the first one hundred or so pages, the rest of the book tells how they transcended the horrors of their childhood and learned to once again become open, vulnerable, and available to mutual relationship and loving at depth. Their stories are profound testimonies to the healing power and victory of love that is all around us but that rarely gets the media attention it deserves. Two quotes from the book are especially relevant to this reflection: "there's enormous power in speaking your truth. As poet Audre Lorde wrote, "your silence won't protect you." Although there are risks in speaking out, there are dangers in staying silent. Never doubt your right to speak your truth. The second quote is from Henri Nouwen, a renowned Catholic Priest and author: "When we ask ourselves which people in our lives mean the most to us, we often find it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand." The healing power of speaking one's truth, and the beauty of having our wounds salved through a gentle and warm touch, can only be experienced if we allow the "palanca" of God's love to open our hearts to the world around us. Pat

The Peace of Christ (John 14:27)

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you" (John 14:27).


If you ask me, John's version of Jesus is much more cryptic than Matthew, Mark, and Luke's! If one were to read all four gospels one after the other in rapid succession, one would very definitely come to the conclusion that John's Jesus is very different. He talks more, he shares more about his relationship with the Father and his disciples, and he is far more cryptic in his speech. So, what might Jesus have up his sleeve in saying, "not as the world gives [peace] do I give it to you"? First off it may be tempting to think that Jesus is setting his peace in total opposition to the peace that the world offers. This may be true in one sense but not necessarily in another. On the one hand, John's version of Jesus is in opposition to the "world" that is purely focused on the bottom line of getting ahead at whatever cost and at whomever's expense. On the other hand, John's Jesus tells us that, "God so loved the world that he sent his only son to save it." (John 3:13). 


The point being made here is that the world is not totally anachronistic to God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. The peace that the world offers also is not totally evil and corrupt; it is, however, often misguided. The peace the world offers usually has to do with getting rid of tension and settling into a steady-state of relative "ease." Many conflicts and problems with relationships very often have to do with the fundamental unwillingness or inability to deal with tension or dis-ease. Think about how many persons in our world are taught to deal with conflict: stuffing, running, drugging, fighting, escaping, etc, etc. All of these responses have to do with fleeing from tension and succumbing to a "lowest common denominator"approach to peace as an absence of tension. But is that what true peace is really about? 


The peace that God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit give as a gift is quite different. It comes rushing upon us and takes hold of our lives when we, ironically, face the tension of our lives, relationships, and world as matter-of-factly and head-on as possible. The peace of God isn't about resolving tension or trying to do away with it in an artificial and temporary way. The peace of God is the gift of comfort, consolation, and the awareness of the abiding support of a God who will strengthen and bear us up - especially when we make choices not to take the path of ease but to travel along the path of dis-ease in order to be stretched to live and love in ways we never imagined. Pat

Jesus, the Sheepfold Gate and Gateway to New Life and Love

Christians are so accustomed to viewing Jesus as the "Good Shepherd" that we overlook other metaphors for Jesus that can have a tremendous impact on how we live our daily lives. In last Sunday's Gospel from John (John 10:1-10), Jesus announces that he is the Sheepfold gate and that whoever enters him will have eternal life. This metaphor suggests two things: 1) Jesus is a type of "gateway" and 2) Jesus is also someone, and, his pattern of life, something, to be entered into. Jesus is a gateway in the sense that through his human and divine life, he opens up new and unparalleled possibilities for connection between humanity and God. When a person enters the gateway that is Christ, they essentially open themselves to allowing God and the divine presence (Holy Spirit) to come flooding into every nook, cranny, and experience of life, giving it purpose, meaning, and ultimate value. However, we don't merely enter through Jesus into this way of living, by passing through the sheepfold gate we enter into Jesus. Christ is more than a mere gateway to new life and love, Christ is new life and new love. Therefore, this metaphor of Christ as sheepfold gate suggests not just a journey but a mode of companionship in which we enter ever more deeply into the person of Christ and Christ ever so slowly, subtly, and humbly penetrates the depths of our lives and the sum total of all of our experiences to infuse them with depth of ultimate meaning and affirming love. 


With Jesus as our Sheepfold Gate and Pasture of New Life and Love, we needn't be afraid to throw ourselves entirely into the project of loving life and, above all, loving others. Yet, why is this such a difficult thing to do? There are many reasons why it is hard to risk ourselves in love. Perhaps the greatest obstacle to entering into Jesus and throwing the whole of ourselves into the adventure of life and love is fear and the fear of loss. Our culture is imbued with many fear based messages: fears of terrorism, poverty, "right" or "left", crime, dying, death, etc, etc,. All of these fears basically have to do with some threat of loss. Entering the Sheepfold Gate of Jesus means letting go of our fear of loss and resolving to love life and others even as it or they slip away from us. 


Karl E. Peters, in his book, "Dancing with The Sacred," gives an excellent example from his own life about what it means to enter into the Sheepfold Gate of Christ and love despite the threat of loss. He relates the story about how he and his wife of 33 years, Carol, endured the cutting short of her life by cancer: "Because we had no hope of life, we experienced a strange kind of freedom. It was the freedom of knowing that the worst was going to happen, so we could do whatever we wanted. We did all of our favorite things and more. Most important, we talked. We reviewed our life together. We enjoyed remembering the good times and we came to terms with all the trouble we had caused one another. We talked, we listened, we forgave. As life was ebbing away, love was growing. I learned to love and be loved - in ways I never thought possible. Because I knew it could not last forever, I gave myself totally to caring for her. In the end she aged twenty years in fifteen months and my love for her became like that of an adult child for an aged parent. In the end she became dependent, even for walking, and my love was like a parent for a toddling child. And even as she became more dependent physically, she remained emotionally mature - expressing love to all whom she met, and especially to me. Every night, before she went to sleep, she looked into my eyes and said, "Thank you for everything!" Her deep gratitude lovingly consoled me in the midst of our loss. I do not wish these experiences on anyone. But I know that when life goes, love can flourish. I know that love is more important than life." 

The "Work" of God: Believing in The One He Sent (John 6:29)

In today's Daily Mass Gospel from John, Jesus is approached by a crowd of people who ask him "what can we do to accomplish the works of God." Jesus responds with, "this is the work of God: that you believe in the one he sent" (meaning, believing in himself). This sage counsel of Jesus always struck me as a bit strange, after all, how can "belief" be considered "work"? Belief hardly seems like labor: either you believe in something or you don't, there certainly isn't much labor that goes into our beliefs! Unless, of course, belief in Jesus is something not-so-quite-matter-of-fact, which, of course, it isn't!

Belief in Jesus is so much more than parroting the tired, over-used phrase of, "Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior." This is NOT the kind of belief in Jesus that equals "work." Nor is belief looking to Jesus, the Gospels, or the New Testament for some secret formula for living the good life. I recently heard a televangelist preaching on belief in the power of Christ's blood and abstracting from the metaphor of the Lord's Blood (meaning, his sacrifice) four principles for a successful spiritual life and also seemingly a successful life in general. The work of God very definitely does not consist in believing in Jesus (or his blood) so as to gain material reward. The Son of God, the apostles, and all of those faithful disciples profiled in the New Testament very definitely did not lay out a path for reaping material rewards in this life, as a matter of fact, they laid out quite the opposite!

Belief in Jesus equals work when we make the "paschal pattern" or "paschal mystery" of Jesus' life the reason, rationale, and rhythm of our own life. It means being incorporated into the life of Christ ever more deeply and progressively over the whole of our lives. Now THIS is work! The "paschal pattern" or "paschal mystery" that we are invited to be drawn into is very basically a life focused on allowing God to bring redemption from all the circumstances that make up our lives, especially circumstances of struggling, vulnerability, suffering, and striving to be authentically human in a world that would have us do otherwise. Belief in Jesus ultimately has less to do with professing Jesus as Lord as it does making Jesus' presence felt by pouring out our lives so that others might live. However, as much as belief in Jesus is rough sledding and difficult work, the more we do it, the more it becomes a labor of love for the life of others and for the life of the world. Pat, TOR

Good News Proclaimed by the Apostles: We Are Saved and Are "Being Saved" in Christ

Today's Feast Day in honor of the apostles Philip and James gives us pause to consider the "apostolic ministry" of proclaiming the Word, or, Good News (Gospel) of Jesus Christ. The psalm response from today's Mass declares, "Their message (the Apostles) goes out through all the Earth." What, precisely, is this "message"? The message, of course, is the Gospel, or, "Good News" of God's saving action in Jesus Christ. This is straightforward and simple enough. What isn't so simple is "parsing" out from the New Testament witness what, exactly, the Good News is all about.

Is the message simply that God saves us from sin in Jesus? Is the message that Jesus is "our personal Lord and Savior"? While both of these testimonies are true, they certainly are not the whole truth, nor even the most important part of the depth of the truth which lies at the heart of the Gospel. To get to the heart and soul of what the Good News is more richly about, we can take our lead from today's Mass readings. To begin with, in Paul's Letter to the Corinthians, he declares that the members of the Corinthian Church are "being saved" through the Gospel (1 Cor. 15:2). This is a present progressive verb formulation, suggesting that salvation is very definitely not a "once and for all" deal in Christ but an ongoing reality. What Paul's writings consistently bear witness to, just like the lives of the Apostles and the message they declared, is that salvation is not merely from sin, but, more importantly, salvation is for God. In other words, we are saved from sin so as to live in God! This comes across in today's Gospel from John when Jesus declares to Thomas that, in having fellowship with Jesus, he knows God (John, 14:7). This knowledge of God isn't a "head" knowledge, but speaks to a deep, intimate knowing and experiencing of God's heart. This is a knowledge more on the order of two lovers who's bodies, hearts, spirits, and souls are intertwined in a communion of total self offering and gifting of one to the other. Such is the power of the Gospel: it frees us from sin and guilt so that we might more freely and totally receive and be received into the very heart, spirit, and soul of the living and loving God. Pat, TOR

Second Sunday of Easter: Belief without Seeing as Transformation in the Spirit

The Gospel of John is wholly unique in the way that it depicts Christ's Resurrection and his first appearance to the disciples (John 20:19-31). Unlike the other Gospel writers who have Jesus rising, spending a period of time with his disciples instructing them, ascending to heaven, and than sending the Holy Spirit to them (Pentecost), John conflates the Resurrection and sending of the Spirit into one event occurring simultaneously. To conflate two things or ideas is to "bring them together; to meld or fuse them." What is the significance of conflating the Resurrection and the sending of the Spirit in John? To begin with, it's important to bear in mind that John was written 30-40 years after the other Gospels. Hence, the Christian community had the opportunity to mull over, reflect on, and experience the power of Christ's Resurrection for some time. Therefore, we can presume that the point isn't a historical one but a theological one. The Christian community has come to understand the Resurrection not merely as God's "antidote" to death, nor even sin, but, as the "doorway" to new life in Christ through the Holy Spirit. "Belief" in Jesus no longer is a matter of seeing the risen Lord, nor even professing faith in Christ's with one's lips, but, even more, by being transformed through the Spirit. Jesus tells Thomas after appearing to him, "blessed are those who have not seen and believed." (John 20:29). We are indeed blessed in not seeing the Lord because we must rely, rather, on the presence of the Spirit in our lives as a guiding and empowering force which transforms us, our relationships, our communities, and, even our world ever slowly but surely into a "Christ-like" environs that is more open to God's Kingdom.

To see an example of what it means to believe in Christ as transformation through the Spirit, take for example the aftermath of the horrific storms that ripped through Alabama, Mississippi, and a number of other southern states this past week. Despite the apocalyptic-like carnage surrounding the survivors of these storms, many have spoken of how fortunate and blessed they feel to be alive, of having a new appreciation for life, of relationships that are being strengthened through this tragedy, and of communities that are drawing together more closely in mutual support, care, concern, and love. The bonds being formed among members of these devastated communities and those who are reaching out to them both near and far speak to similar dynamics that were at the heart of the early Christian communities mentioned in today's first reading from the Acts of the Apostles: "They devoted themselves 
to the teaching of the apostles and to the communal life, 
to the breaking of bread and to the prayers.
 Awe came upon everyone, 
and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles.
 All who believed were together and had all things in common." (Acts 2:42-47). The Risen Lord is indeed at work every bit as much today as he was immediately after the Resurrection, forming disciples whose faith is grounded not in seeing but in transformation through the Spirit. Pat, TOR