Stop the Murmuring Have you ever received this text on your smartphone: “POS”? Probably not! Not unless you are a teen! Sometimes young people murmur against their parents when they block something the youth want to do. This text:”Parents over shoulder”, warns their friend to be careful of what they text. Parents have the wisdom of experience; they know the consequences of certain actions; “they have been there, done that”. Youth, on the other hand make judgments out of limited knowledge and a need to act on their own. Parents push young people to open themselves to deeper knowledge even though they’ve not yet had experience. In our Gospel today, Jesus pushes his hearers to go beyond their knowledge of him to a deeper experience of him The Jews in the gospel have heard Jesus speak about himself as “the bread of life” but they cannot get beyond their limited knowledge of Jesus as the son of Joseph. For them, Jesus cannot be the living bread comer down from heaven. He commands them to stop their murmuring and open themselves to new knowledge and understanding about who he is. It is not an easy task to be faithful disciples, to live the gospel message. It is an ever more difficult task for ourselves to teach as Jesus did. If we are to be true to our call to discipleship, we need Jesus’ words of life to bring us hope and strength. Our challenge is not to get discouraged, but to hand ourselves over to the nourishment of word and sacrament that God offers us on our journey. That means we open ourselves to the mystery of who Jesus is as the Bread of Life.
Give Us A Sign It was a cold, wintry day and there was a stray in our back yard. My father cautioned us, “if you feed the stray, it will remember your act of kindness. It will keep coming back for more. So what begins as an act of kindness might become a nuisance. Are you willing to put up with the nuisance?” I am reminded of this experience as I read this Sunday’s Gospel. Might the crowd be something of a nuisance for Jesus? The crowd is looking for signs that feed their hunger and address their needs. While Jesus understands that people seek him out because they ate their fill of the loaves, he urges them to seek more—“the food that endures for eternal life” (John 6:26-27). Jesus does not hesitate to challenge them and lead them beyond the signs they seek to a deeper belief in Jesus and the ultimate sign offered them: Jesus, “the bread of life” that truly satisfies. The crowd asks Jesus to give them this bread always. Do they realize that for which they ask? Jesus invites the crowd and us to believe in him; to establish a relationship, coming to him in such a way that we take on his attitudes, his mission, his life.
Give Them Yourself What are you hungry for? Really hungry for? Stop for a moment, right now, wherever you happen to be– reading these words, stop for just a moment and ask yourself this question: “What am I hungry for? And how hungry am I?” Whatever your response to that question, God cares about your answer. God cares about your hunger, your desire. God cares about whatever it is you are longing for, hunting for, hoping for. If there’s one thing to be said for certain about today’s Gospel reading, it is surely this: God cares about your hunger. Where is Jesus in all of this? And what does this story say? In John’s version, Jesus has been in Galilee healing the sick. The people have noticed the signs he’s been up to, so a crowd follows him to the place where he’s gone with his disciples. There are so many of them, and Jesus looks at Philip and says, “Where are we to buy bread for all these people? They’re hungry. So what are we going to do?” It’s telling that in John’s version Jesus asks the disciples, while in Matthew and Mark and Luke it’s the other way around. The disciples ask him. In this case, Jesus looks at his followers, looks at the likes of you and me and says, “So what are we gonna do here? How are we going to deal with this problem of hunger?” It is clear that Philip reaches for the usual kinds of categories and expectations. He begins to calculate how much money they need to buy supper for all these folks. He begins to work on logistics. “Half a year’s paychecks won’t do the trick. Our budget just isn’t big enough. Our resources are just too few.” But Jesus knows that conventional answers aren’t what’s called for here. Aren’t what’s really needed. At this point, Andrew walks up. “Well, there is someone here,” he says. “There’s this kid with some barley loaves and a couple of fish.” Andrew looks at who’s around. Who’s on hand? Looks at what’s available. And what’s available is the lunch of a boy who is clearly not a power broker, clearly not someone with rank. Because barley flour is the flour that poor folks used for their loaves, not what the rich folks used. It’s a little detail that only John mentions. Andrew sees that perhaps real needs aren’t necessarily filled by the folks that we’ve often looked to to meet them. But Jesus is saying more than that. Jesus is saying that the hunger goes deeper. The way John tells the story, it’s clear that Jesus is the One who can end real hunger–of every sort, not just the kind that makes for growling stomachs an hour before lunchtime. Because John changes another detail in the story: He makes Jesus the host of this meal, the one who distributes the food. In the other gospels, it’s the disciples who take up the work, and those stories say important things too. But, here for John, there’s something else going on. Something else we’re to hear and see and know. In this version, it’s Jesus who hands out the food. Because in John, it’s Jesus himself who will become the real food; Jesus who will say to us just a few verses later, “I am the bread of life. Those who come to me will never hunger.” Here in John, as in the other gospels, the crowds eat till they are filled, till their hunger is gone. But in John, Jesus also adds, “Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost,” because Jesus’ real purpose is to keep things from being lost. To keep us from being lost. From perishing is what the word means. His real purpose is to provide sustenance that lasts, that keeps us truly alive, that won’t feed us one moment then leave us hungry the next. Jesus is saying, “I am the real food. The most important food. Don’t spend your lives on food that spoils. Don’t stock the shelves of your life with perishables. Put me there instead. Make me your staple, the food that’s going to last. When you’re hungry,” says Jesus, “then reach first for me.” It is strange food, this food called Jesus. We consume it, take it into ourselves like ordinary bread. We begin to digest it, till it becomes part of us. But then this bread of life does something else, something the ordinary bread doesn’t do. This bread, this food, this Jesus begins to consume us, begins to make us part of him. We are used to consuming our food, but now our food consumes us. And in that consumption, we ourselves become a non-perishable. We ourselves become food for the world — living loaves. Through our Gospel living we are chosen, blessed, broken and given for the world. Jesus says to us, “Give them yourself.”
What Are You Really Pursuing? What brings us to pursue new ways of thinking or new ways of living? Sometimes the catalyst is startling and extraordinary. Mother Teresa changed her religious order and the direction of her ministry when she encountered poor people dying alone on the streets of Calcutta. Usually, though, the catalyst is more subtle and quite ordinary. Struggling with illness and suffering often leads us to change our perspective on what is truly valuable for us in life. Change in ways of thinking and living is a result of some kind of significant encounter with persons and events. In our Gospel today, the crowds pursue Jesus who teaches them and leads them to a deeper encounter with him. He reveals Himself to be their shepherd and Teacher; the One who heals and cares; the One who leads them to rest and refreshment. When our pursuits lead to encounter with Jesus, new ways of thinking and living become possible.
Travel Light, Going Two By Two If we take a short day journey, we don’t need much: a full tank of gas, a destination,money, maybe some snacks and maps. But if we want to take a longer journey,the baggage increases – change of clothes and shoes, toiletries, coats or sweaters and a laptop or tablet for unexpected business. The longer the journey, the “more baggage” we take along. In our Gospel today, Jesus sends the Twelve on a missionary journey and instructs them to wear sandals. This is not a day trip, the Twelve are in this for the long haul. Yet Jesus sends the disciples forth with no baggage, no money, not even food! This sounds more like an hour trip! Instead of the expected provisions, Jesus provides them with the one essential Resource. He gives them his authority to preach repentance, to cast out demons, to cure the sick. He also gives them each other, for they are sent two by two. The gift of his authority and the gift of one another is the gift of Jesus himself. The journey on which Jesus sends his disciples is a lifelong journey one during which our role as disciples is to make Jesus present to others. We are called to drive out demons of rugged individualism, self-centeredness and inordinate materialism. We are ton heal te ills of crippling feelings of inferiority, myopic vision and the debilitating fear of the unknown. We have the Resource we need: Jesus himself who assures us that it is his mission we carry forth and that we have what we need to come to fullness of life.
Where Does A Prophet Have Honor? It’s no doubt that one of the biggest fears of adolescents is rejection. Their need to be accepted drives the clothes they wear, the music they hear, the food they eat and the preposterous number of text messages they send every day. While most adults have learned that we must become our own person, we never quite lose our fear of rejection. It is a human drive to be accepted, respected and honored. Our Gospel shows us a Jesus who was also confronted with human rejection. After the remarkable healing of a woman who had suffered for 12 years from hemorrhages and after the raising of the dead child of Jairus, Jesus goes home to Nazareth accompanied by his disciples. He teaches in the synagogue on the Sabbath, and the people are amazed both at his teaching and at the murmured accounts of the healings. For a moment or two it would appear that a warm celebration of “hometown boy makes good” is about to erupt. But not so. What is about to happen is rejection, the same kind of rejection that would dog his trail all the way to Good Friday. “He could do no mighty work there . . . because of their unbelief.” Strange how “mighty work” and “belief” are so solidly linked. Strange how hardened hearts can cut even God off at the pass. “Where did he get all of this?” “Whence all this ‘wisdom’?” The Nazarenes respond : “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon (and aren’t his sisters in the band at Hebrew High)?” So it went, and they took offense at him. It’s easy enough to deal with this under the heading of “familiarity breeds contempt.” Jesus even invites that spin with his “A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country.” Yet there is an issue here that runs much deeper and with greater, even devastating import. The issue is the scandal of the incarnation. It hounded Galilean hearts and minds then, as it hounds us now. “The word made flesh” is both our only salvation and the greatest bugaboo of modern piety. Yes, by God! He was the carpenter. He was the brother of James and Simon. The grand wonder of the incarnation is that that is precisely how he gets to be your brother and mine. But downtown Nazareth was having none of that. And downtown Youngstown and downtown Chicago aren’t all that comfortable with it either. The mystery of the incarnation holds our greatest solace and comfort, namely that wherever we go in suffering, in hurt and sorrow and despair, God has gone there first, goes with us, shows up (!), and is glad to be there with us and for us. It is amazing that the first great heresy in the church was not the denial of Christ’s divinity, but the denial of his full humanity.. The Gospels proclaim that God was his father, and he proclaimed that God is your father and mother too, and mine and everyone’s. When we begin to really believe that, when we seek God in the ordinary, daily wash of things and find God in nothing more complicated than each other and in God’s beautiful, dangerous, gorgeous creation, “mighty works” begin to happen. Works of mercy and compassion. Works of healing and commiseration. Works of forgiveness and understanding and of great laughter. Our faith commitment is best lived out in the simple, everyday opportunities to live as Jesus did that come our way. By surrendering to the everyday ways of dying to self for the good of others we live a life of faith and rise to God’s saving life.
To Touch and Be Touched Some things defy rational thought. The composers of the lectionary taking a scalpel to Mark 5:22-43 is one of those things. In a probable attempt to keep the Gospel lesson short, the story of the healing of the hemorrhaging woman is excised from the context of the story of Jairus’ daughter, which bookends it. These are two radically different stories of healing woven together into one single story, with one single proclamation. Differences? Both women were quite obviously from different social classes and positions in society. The girl’s healing was sought after by her father, in a proper exchange, while the woman covertly took her healing without asking. Jesus healed the little girl by reaching out and touching her, and the woman in mirror image reached out and touched him. The girl was twelve years old suffering from a sudden and acute condition, and the woman was suffering from a chronic condition for as long as the girl had been alive. And while the woman was healed, the girl wasn’t technically healed. She died, and was brought back to life by Jesus: She was resuscitated. So, obviously, these two stories are very, very different. Almost inverse images set next to each other. And yet, at their core — and at their most basic level — they are the very same story. They are in fact the stories of two people who when they came in contact with Jesus, were transformed from death to life. This is pretty obvious in the case of the little girl, because she died. When Jesus went in to be with the corpse; he reached out to her, touched her, took her dead limp hand in his and told her to get up. And she did. The move from death to life is a little harder to see in the second story. Blood was such a sacred, precious, and dangerous force in Jewish belief and practice because it was what God said constituted the very life of a being. (Which of course showers meaning on Jesus’ words, “take, drink, this is my blood.”) So … when you have a woman who has been hemorrhaging — bleeding for twelve long years — she has in the Jewish sense, been ‘losing her very life’ for those twelve years. Life has been oozing out of her — seeping out of her. Like a toothpaste tube being slowly rolled from the bottom, she has been leaking life for a long, long time. In fact, you could quite rightly say, that for twelve long years this woman was … dying. So when she saw Jesus walking along the road with his entourage, and she squeezed her way through the crowd reaching out to touch his cloak, she was healed and the blood stopped oozing out of her. Her life stopped its flow out of her body. This unnamed woman who had been hemorrhaging for twelve years quite amazingly touched Jesus, and was thereby brought from death to life. Both Jairus and the woman entrusted themselves to Jesus by coming to him. They had faith. They moved beyond the known – illness and death – to reach into the unknown of new possibilities for life. Risking disappointment, they reached out to Jesus with confidence that he would respond. All of us are dying, all of us are having the life drained out of us like a toothpaste tube being viciously squeezed. — Until! — Until we encounter Jesus. Until we are touched and we touch. We must reach out and touch — an act of blind vulnerability to be sure — to receive Life. When we smile at the children even when we are bone tired or take an hour out of our day to visit the sick, we are dying to self. . When we graciously allow ourselves to be touched by other broken arms to be truly alive; when we surrender to Jesus, Jesus offers us life and in all this, we encounter the Lord of life. Do we have faith to touch and be touched so that whatever is dead within us may be restored to life?
Unexpected Wonders Complex medical and ethical issues surround both the beginning and end of life. Science can prolong or shorten life. But for all our advancements we still cannot create life. That is a gift of God. Every birth is a miracle. For parents who have long awaited their firstborn, birth is an even more special miracle. This Sunday’s gospel celebrates the birth of John the Baptist, a miracle baby boy for the aging and childless Elizabeth and Zechariah. Everything about John points to the unexpected. He was conceived by an “elderly” woman. He was not named after his father. He spent his life in the desert and not in the temple following his father’s footsteps. His life was not about himself, but he pointed to Another, the Messiah whom we celebrate as our Savior. Like John, we are called by God to announce the unexpected ways of Jesus’ presence. We do this when we help another see the healing presence of Jesus in a painful situation. When we manifest Jesus’ patient presence with a coworker who drives us nuts. When we bring Christ’s forgiving presence to a tense family situation. In all these incidents, we might say, “I wasn’t expecting that!” And sometimes we are just as surprised at how God brings forth salvation through us.
Eat the Passover We are often moved to tears when we see images of a flag-draped coffin bringing home the body of someone who has given his or her life for our country. Such total self-giving can’t help but move us. Today’s feast is an annual reminder of Jesus’ constant gift of his very life, his very Body and Blood, given for us. What is the Body and Blood Jesus gives us to eat and drink? His very self under the appearances of bread and wine, blessed and given to us as an outpouring of his immeasurable and enduring love. But there is more. Through our sharing in the Eucharist, Jesus blesses and gives us to a world in need of healing, nourishment and new life. Called to the table of the Lord, we are blessed, broken, given, transformed by Jesus so that we become life-giving bread and saving cup for the world. We experience this transformation when we lay down the frenetic pace of everyday living and take time to see and appreciate the good person Christ has nourished us to be. We experience this transformation when we pour out ourselves to bring hot chicken soup to a neighbor who is alone and sick. While Eucharist is the most marvelous and precious gift God gives, it moves us to be Christ in the most ordinary situations in life. We are called to be life- giving bread and saving cup for others. As we share in the Eucharist, we surrender ourselves to be a Passover Lamb for our world today. For the most part we don’t need to look for opportunities for total self-giving; the circumstances of daily life generously present themselves. The difference is that followers of Christ see self-giving not in terms of an inconvenience but as a means to fullness of life. Jesus’ self-giving is taken up by his disciples as a pledge of the fullness of life God offers us.
The Trinity This Sunday is Trinity Sunday – the first Sunday after Pentecost a time of year that Popes and Bishops, Councils and Synods, have, for years thought it good and wise to remind the millions of seekers – the millions of faithful – for whom they care – that God is a mystery which is best understood in three ways: as creator — or father; as redeemer — or son and as sustainer — or spirit. God is one. Yet God is three. God is here. Yet God is everywhere. God is mighty. Yet God is tender. God is just. Yet God has mercy. God is spirit. Yet God takes on flesh. God is in Christ. Christ is in Us. God is Spirit and the Spirit blows where it wills. Yet the Spirit abides in our hearts. God is one. Yet God is three. The Spirit of God, God the Spirit, is the one which guides us – the one which comforts us – the one that convicts us and conveys God’s mercy to us – the one who listens – and the one who speaks – and in speaking never asks of us that which is wrong – and never does through us – that which would bring shame to the name of God It is by the Spirit that our prayer is prayer to God and by the Spirit that our prayer is answered. God is one, yet God is three. God is a mystery — a mystery so big, so awesome, so holy that our limited minds can never grasp the wholeness of it but God has placed in us a capacity to appreciate the mystery that God is and to embrace that mystery . God has revealed God’s self , not just in the act of creation – in nature and its manifest goodness and beauty, – not just in the nudges and nods of the Spirit – in the prophet’s vision and the old man’s dreams, God has revealed God’s self in the one called Jesus the one called Christ – the one who was born by the Spirit and who worked all his works by the Spirit and who healed and forgave by the Spirit and in all that he spoke he spoke the word of God by the Spirit. In Christ, God reveals himself as the one who loves – and who does so in tangible, concrete, incarnate – in fleshed – ways. Grab hold of the mystery — appreciate it and embrace it: the mystery that not only is God one in three and three in one but the mystery that God loves you, the mystery that God cares for you, the mystery that God can and will, if you let him, use you to do great things that God can and will, if you are open to his bidding, use you to bring healing, and wholeness, and hope first to your homes, then to your neighbors and finally to the whole world through the gospel that we have received.
They Were Filled With the Holy Spirit “What’s gotten into you?” This question usually stems from unacceptable behavior. But it is an appropriate question for today’s feast. The very people who for days, even weeks, had hidden themselves in fear for their lives, were out and about and acting in astonishing ways. They no longer lived in secret. In fact, they were calling attention to themselves by their behavior. What had gotten into them? “They were all filled with the Holy Spirit.” It is such a simple statement, a statement that may no longer startle us! These previously terrified people were all filled with the dynamic power of God—the power that refreshes and recreates, that comforts and heals; the power so eloquently acclaimed in today’s sequence. This Spirit burned within them like tongues of fire, and they went forth and proclaimed the message of God’s love manifested in the resurrection of Jesus. This same Spirit was given to us when we were baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus and confirmed in the power of the Spirit. If we received the same Spirit as did the disciples on that first Pentecost, why can’t we do the same marvelous deeds? But we can. We are assured that “to each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit.” In situations where hatred and violence prevail, kindness and gentleness are actually heroic; generosity is countercultural wherever greed and selfishness reign. And how much harm might be avoided if we had a bit more patience? The Spirit that Jesus sent us from his Father is a Spirit of reconciliation, the Spirit that prevents us from holding grudges or nurturing vengeance. It is the Spirit of truth, the Spirit that directs us into lives of honesty and integrity. The world in which we live is in far greater need of reconciliation and truth than of the gift of tongues. Nations all over the world are hemorrhaging from the wounds of war; various religious groups live in constant fear of prejudice and persecution; church leadership has lost much credibility among the members, and its moral voice has been muted within the broader society. This Pentecost solemnity brings to a climax the fifty-day celebration of Easter. Let us be careful not to put away our Easter joy. Pentecost may be the end of the Easter season, but it is also the beginning of our new life in Christ. The Holy Spirit, the dynamic power of God, is bestowed on us in all fullness. And with the Spirit come the gifts that can transform the world. The first disciples had their day, and they seized it with a gusto that has been remembered down through the centuries. This is our day. We now have a chance to show others what’s gotten into us.
Ascension of Our Lord Today is the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord. It is the day the Church celebrates Christ’s ascension to sit by his Father’s side. The mental image we have is that Christ simply “floated” into heaven. In a homily I once heard, the homilist spoke of a child’s interpretation of the Ascension. For when preaching to group of very young children on this Solemnity several years ago, he asked the children what they thought the disciples saw when he ascended. One little boy answered innocently, “I see the bottom of Jesus’ feet!” Apparently, Salvador Dali felt the same way. But today’s Solemnity is about more than the Ascension itself. We can find Jesus’ command to all of us in the Gospel reading. “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:19-20) Make disciples of all nations. Wow! What an undertaking. Yet, as baptized Christians, that is what Jesus commands of us. Are we expected to travel to the far corners of the earth and share the Good News with all God’s people? No, but there are many who do so through their missionary calling. All we have to do is begin right in our homes. If we share the passion we have for our faith with our families and then our friends, then they will go forward and share with additional friends and family. This feast is an invitation to us to preach the gospel by the way we live. The most effective preaching is the goodness of our own lives. When we reach out with comforting words that heal broken hearts, when we reach out with strong hands to lift up the discouraged, when we act with integrity that makes clear to whom we belong, we preach the gospel of Jesus. Jesus started with 12 disciples, then he commissioned the 72 (Luke 10) and so on and so forth. Our love of Christ and our faith shouldn’t leave us standing there looking up at the sky and searching for the bottoms of his feet. But we are to shout from the mountain tops with passion and love. This way of living calls us to surrender ourselves into the Father’s hands.
Remain in My Love Good friends are truly one of life’s greatest treasures. To have a friend is to have someone to turn to, no matter what, someone to confide in, someone to trust and rely on. Real friends are self-giving and not concerned with what they will get in return. They are not manipulative or two-faced. They are not judgmental or conditional. Real friends are indeed a treasure. John’s gospel is replete with Jesus’ assurances of his love for his disciples and commands for his followers to love others, but only in this week’s gospel does Jesus complicate matters by calling the disciples friends. I say “complicate” because even though we recognize friendship as something quite special, at the same time we tend to think of friendship as somehow being “less” than love — less intense, less invested — when in fact, it makes a different sort of demand on us. While love seems to be or not be, friendship implies more choice. We love our children, our siblings, our parents just because we are in relationship with them. We speak of falling in love with our spouse or partner as something that seems somehow out of our control. But friendship is different. It is rarely as instinctive as a parent’s love for a child, nor is it as involuntary as falling in love can be. Real friendship, mature friendship isn’t automatic; it’s intentional, it takes work, and requires commitment — even to be friends with those whom we love. Jesus calls his disciples friends, and in doing so, he upsets the usual teacher-pupil relationship, he breaks boundaries, and he brings a new dimension to the bond he has with his disciples. No longer are they master and servant. Rather they are “friends,” with all that entails. Friendship in the first-century Mediterranean world was a serious matter. To be considered a friend was to be in a position of honor. Being a friend meant being treated as kin with the attendant obligations. To be a friend meant to look out for the welfare of the other, to put the other’s needs on an equal footing with one’s own. Friendship implied reciprocity as well — to consider someone a friend meant counting on that person to return that level of concern and care. When Jesus calls the disciples “friends” he is investing them with this concern. He has shared with them what the Father has revealed to him, and he has given them the task of going out and sharing this revelation with the world. I’m not sure that the disciples were comforted or reassured by Jesus calling them “friends.” I’m not sure that they were ready to be friends in return. Nonetheless, in calling them friends Jesus expanded how the disciples might understand their relationship with him, and through him, their relationship with God. Not only were the disciples loved as a parent loves a child — without reservation, without expectation for anything in return, but also they were held as friends — not as children, not as servants, but as chosen ones who could be relied on, counted on, trusted. Friendship with Jesus would be friendship held to its highest level. As disciples we too can count Jesus as a friend.. To be a true friend is to care about someone’s hurts and pains without regard to the cost to oneself, without regard for any possible return on the investment, and there is no question that Jesus does that for us. What’s more, to think of Jesus as friend means that we can find Jesus in our human friendships. We can see the face of Jesus in the faces of those who care for us. To think of Jesus as friend means also that we can see in Jesus a model for what friendship at its best means. To think of Jesus this way challenges us to be intentional about our relationships in the world, to reach out in friendship without regard to the possible cost for ourselves, without thinking of what we might receive in return. Just as Jesus broke down boundaries by calling his disciples friends, so too might we break down barriers by reaching out in friendship to those who are different from us, the poor, the marginalized, the needy. Good friends are truly a treasure, and in Jesus’ friendship we have the greatest treasure of all. Thanks be to God!
Remain in Christ My father, an avid gardener, told me one time about a cucumber plot he had planted:He had been very careful to select the best seeds, and plant each one at its proper depth. He fertilized and watered the plants, he worked the soil faithfully each week to prevent weeds from encroaching and he sprayed to prevent bugs and blights from afflicting the young plant. The season was a good one – just the right amount of rain and sunshine, and on the vines appeared broad green leaves and in due course the blooms. It looked magnificent. One day he noticed that here and there certain leaves were dying, certain blooms fading. Most of the leaves remained a healthy glossy green, but scattered among them were those turning brown. Why, he wondered, would some die in the midst of all the living? So he investigated. Stepping carefully among the tangled mass of vines he traced the ones on which the leaves and blooms were dying, until he found that they were all connected to a single stem. There, just above the ground, cut-worms had severed the stalk. The entire vine above that point was dying because it was no longer attached to the roots and the stem that had produced it. It is a common tale – but it is an instructive one. This Sunday’s Gospel is about pruning and bearing fruit. Bearing fruit requires pruning. The pruning tool is the Word of the Son. His word teaches us and guides us. Allowing this word to shape us brings forth a life-giving relationship with Jesus that assures abundant and good fruit. Our life flows from Christ’s life. We are grafted onto him, receive our life from him and are shaped as faithful disciples by his word. Remaining in Christ has its demands. To remain in Christ means that we live as Jesus lived-in deed and truth. Being the branch grafted onto Christ’s life is very real and demands that we allow ourselves to be pruned. This is what Easter is all about: new life in Christ.
Touch Me and See In this Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus assures the disciples that he is not a ghost: “Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.” This risen Jesus is not a ghost. He is alive! This last statement, however, is much easier said than grasped. Resurrection is outside our human experience, so we have a hard time making it concrete. This gospel challenges us to move resurrection beyond a theological concept to a life to be experienced by us, here and now. How concrete Jesus is in leading the disciples to experience and believe in his resurrection. In this gospel, Jesus comes to them, where they are, he invites them to touch his risen body and he eats baked fish! Like long ago, Jesus comes to us where we are. No matter whether we are faltering in our ability to be faithful, or are terrified at the demands living the Gospel entails, or are struggling with doubt, Jesus still comes to us. When we stray, Jesus touches us with his forgiveness and invites us to forgive others. Jesus invites us to come to his table, feeding us with his risen Body. Jesus is alive! The risen Jesus is known today in the goodness that surrounds us, the hope that encourages us and the love that strengthens us. The reality of the resurrection is known when we are forgiving people, when we are repenting people. The resurrection, then, makes a difference in our lives. It challenges us to do what is utterly basic to the gospels: repent and forgive. This Jesus is alive. This is no ghost.
Jesus Is Alive! We have seen the Lord!” Who has not longed to hear those words? Or who has not longed for the experience that gave birth to the words? Most of us are like Thomas in today’s Gospel—not that we are doubters, but that our faith is based on the words of others. Someone else has the experience, and we hear about it. But that is not exactly true. God does not favor a chosen few with an experience of the risen Christ and then require the rest of us simply to take it on their word. Not at all! The resurrection means that Jesus is alive for each of us. At the end of his book Life of Jesus, François Mauriac reminds us that since the resurrection, we are apt to encounter the Lord when and where we least expect. Today’s readings provide us with a few examples of this. The description of the early Christian community found in Acts reminds us that Christ is indeed among us, living in the community, in the members of his body. He is alive in those who are one in heart and mind, who share what they have with each other. These early Easter-people were so transformed by their resurrection experience that nonbelievers looked in wonder at them and exclaimed, “These Christians, see how they love one another.” We are no different. We too find Christ in our community. His vulnerability can be found in children and in the elderly, his courage in those who stand bravely for principle or who accept suffering with dignity. His kindness shines forth in the smiles of others, his healing power in their gentle touch. We also meet him in the weaker members of his body. Jesus invited Thomas to touch his wounds. He extends that same invitation to us. It is his fear that we see in the eyes of the mentally ill; it is his terror that grips the refugee; his need reaches out to us in those who are hungry or imprisoned. As Mauriac reminds us, this risen Christ might be just around the corner. Have we experienced him? Can our contemporaries say of us, “These Christians, see how they love one another”?
He Is Risen Anyone who has ever been to a burial service in a cemetery knows how gaping the six-foot hollow in the earth is. If we peer into the empty space, it seems to go down forever. It is deep, foreboding, not just a little bit frightening. We are much more comfortable when the casket is lowered, the earth has been replaced and cultivated and planted, and living green grass replaces the gaping hollow. Death and tombs have a finality about them. No doubt so Mary, Peter and John believed as they raced to the place where the lifeless Jesus had been laid. They simply did not yet understand. They sought a lifeless body and found an empty tomb. They queried about “where” and discovered “what”. They simply did not yet understand. They simply did not understand that he had to rise from the dead. Our belief in the Resurrection must begin with the empty tomb. It is the empty tomb that brings us to raise the question about where they put Jesus’ lifeless body. It is the empty tomb that sends us searching for what we thought was lifeless. It is the empty tomb that brings us to belief: Jesus is alive, he is risen. Only as the risen Lord comes to us does our own belief in the meaning of the empty tomb continually grow. Easter faith is never still. Jesus’ risen presence can be found where we least expect it – in the gentle smile, in the unexpected extension of a helping hand, in the goodness and generosity of oyr family and neighbors and friends. And even perfect strangers. Easter teaches us that we must give ourselves over for others in total love. This is the paschal mystery. Easter faith is never still. The risen Lord is always active. In our Easter faith. In our acts of love.
Palm Sunday Our reflections today are from Diane Bergant: We see on TV the many times a soldier returns home to surprise his family. It is thrilling, despite the fact that this hero comes home possibly broken. I wonder what the people of Bethphage and Bethany thought as Jesus processed toward Jerusalem. It seems that their enthusiasm would quickly turn to disdain when he was captured, tried and put to death. Hero worship does not seem to enjoy a long shelf life. We don’t usually think of Jesus as a hero, but hero he is. He is our savior; the one who handed himself over for our sake; the one who was abandoned so that we might belong. Today when the excitement of the parade is over and the waving of the palms ceases, we should spend some time reflecting on the character of our hero. On this first day of Holy Week, we should try to understand why a week of betrayal and denial, of mockery and bloodshed is called holy. Today’s readings paint pictures of terror and viciousness. Isaiah speaks of a beating and derision; the psalmist staggers under the burden of abandonment and assault; the Gospel describes each excruciating episode of Jesus’ passion. How can such horrors be endured? But they are endured. In fact, for some incomprehensible reason, they appear to be embraced. Traditionally during Holy Week we focus on the sufferings of Jesus. But it is not suffering, not even the suffering of Jesus, that makes this week holy. Rather, it is holy because of the inexplicable and immeasurable love that prompted that suffering. Genuine love often empowers, even transforms, us. We know that love of family can engender unselfishness, and love of country can inspire heroism. This week we see that driven by love for all, Jesus willingly accepted the consequences of his messianic role. This week is holy because of love, but it is love misunderstood. Jesus is a hero, but not in the traditional pattern of heroism. He actually looks more like a victim. He is not triumphant as we understand triumph. Instead he appears to be a failure. Judging by one set of standards—standards not unlike those of many people of his day— he has not met our expectations. But according to another standard—the standard of unconditional love—he has far surpassed our expectations. We will make it holy if we can begin to realize the depth of God’s magnanimous love. We will make it holy if we can bring unconditional love into the lives of those around us. We will make it holy if we live according to the paradoxical standards of Jesus who, though disgraced, is still our hero.
Dying to Self My father was a wine maker. He knew the answer to the question: How much time does it take for grape mash to be fermented into good wine? He always answered: it takes time! But the time involved was less critical than the change this time brought about! My dad’s wine making was real transformation! And it was a real experience for our family for over 60 years! The transformation Jesus speaks about in our Gospel today takes a lifetime of time. We learn only slowly to accept the demands of discipleship. We embrace the Gospel challenge because Jesus has promised that those who serve lose their life, and die will be given fullness of life and a share in his glory. And this transformation is worth all the time it takes. Our human instinct is not to die but to cling to life. So what Jesus asks in this gospel is counterinstinctual. To be faithful disciples we must hand over our life by serving, by putting others’ needs ahead of our own, and by dying to self-centeredness. Through such serving and dying God transforms us and gives us a fullnesd of life and glory that we canot even imagine. And this transformation is worth all the time it takes.
Darkness and Light Confusion. Times we’re clueless. Subjects in which we pray for “enlightenment,” a journey away from “darkness.” It’s easy to use the analogies of “light” and “darkness” when academic notions are discussed. “Light” is mastery of the subject. “Darkness” is ignorance. However, when we apply these analogies to the faith and morality, we can no longer speak of “light” as mastery, but as commitment. “Light” becomes faithfulness. “Darkness” becomes rejection.In Jesus’ discourse to Nicodemus, he spoke of “light” and “darkness.” But, the light was not the believer’s commitment to God. The “Light” was Christ, the Father’s commitment to his creation. This Sunday’s gospel presents Jesus’ final comments to Nicodemus, who visited the Master at night. John used this opportunity to contrast light from dark, salvation from condemnation. He saw the “world” as those who hid from the light (dishonorable) and those who act in the light (the honorable). When this Sunday’s gospel declares that God so loved the world, this is not saying love, but doing love. God remains patient with us while we struggle with choosing between darkness and light. In the midst of our struggle, it is God who brings us greater belief and leads us to eternal life. Such is the depth of love God has for us. We experience God’s unbounded love through our forgiving one another, through our care for those who are demeaned, and through our protection of te weak and mistreated We experience God’s unbounded love through the joy we feel in loving family life, through a greater realization of our own goodness. We experience God’s unbounded love in the overwhelming grace of salvation. What does God ask of us? God asks for the total gift of our lives. We are to love as God has loved us.
Cleansing the Temple Is faith in God reasonable? What reasons do people have for faith? How do acts of scandal detract from faith? Each time and each culture has its reasons to believe. In the past, philosophers asserted God’s existence and reasonable nature of faith. Today, psychologists propose faith as a means to mental health and personal fulfillment. We Christians want faith to fit into life, answers our questions, and give us comfort, assurance, strength . . .But what happens when faith causes scandal? How do people react when people of faith commit unreasonable acts? On a typical day during business hours, Jesus overturned a marketplace in a very unreasonable manner. And through his rage, he revealed himself as the Messiah. This Sunday we turn to an incident in John’s gospel that revealed Jesus as the Messiah: the cleansing of the Temple. This violent act led to a prediction of his Passion and Resurrection. And a statement that Jesus did not trust his contemporaries. What a mess Jesus made! He spilled coins, overturned tables and even destroyed the temple as God’s dwelling place. He declared that the place of God’s presence among the people was no longer a building but the temple of his body. “Temple” to “the house of my Father” to “body.” These were all titles for the dwelling place of God on earth. These were titles for Christ’s body. These were all titles for the Christian community. The common thread throughout this changing set of terms was the Christian community in relation to its Master. Through the Risen Christ, God dwelt in the community. Through Christ, God is making a new creation in us. Our relationship with God is measured by how well we pattern our lives after Jesus in dying to ourselves for the good of others. New, risen life is ours when we destroy structures of prejudice, self-righteousness,, selfishness, materialism, arrogance, social and economic status. Like Christ we become living signs of God’s love and fidelity. Faith will always cause scandal. Do we waver in the face of scandal? Or, do we redouble our efforts in faith? In the end, a faith that survives scandal is the toughest faith of all.
Listen What was your last experience of awe? What stopped you and caught your attention? Why did this event have such power over you? Life is full of surprises. Around every corner, in every part of life, experiences of wonder await us. We only need to open ourselves for the possibility of the different, the unexpected. But the rote and routine of life dull our sense of awe. We become too familiar, take people for granted, make too many assumptions. The disciples lived with Jesus throughout his ministry in Galilee. Even the closest of Jesus’ friends walked with him as he made his way to Jerusalem blinded by their daily routines. They thought they knew Jesus. They thought they knew what to expect. Were they in for a shock! Peter, James and John not only witness Jesus’ transfiguration, they themselves, undergo a transfiguration. Some change occurs within them so they are able to hear God’s voice announcing Jesus’ identity and the clear terms of their discipleship –Listen to Him. Lent is our time of transfiguration. We are changed when we take the time to listen to what God is saying to us through Jesus. This kind of listening leads to acting as faithful disciples. What change needs to occur in us so that we grasp the clear terms of our own discipleship? What change needs to our in us so that we truly listen?
Need a Lift? God always heals. God always heals. God always heals. Today’s Gospel is a graphic illustration of that principle. What a scene we have today in the gospel. It is amazing. It turns everything upside down. Jesus was teaching the crowd. Jesus was teaching something new. People were excited. They wanted to learn. They packed the place. And Jesus taught them. There were five friends. One of them was paralyzed. They had heard about Jesus. He could cure people. They started for Jesus. They couldn’t get to Jesus. The room was full. They couldn’t get to Jesus. They still wanted something for their friend. What did they do? They refused to take impossible for an answer. Think about that. There was no way they could get their friend to Jesus. There were too many people in the way. They didn’t care about the obstacles. They wanted to get to Jesus. No one was at the side of the building. They went there. From there to the roof. Still no way to Jesus. And so they made a way. Jesus looked up. He saw their faith. He saw their need for their friend to be healed. And so he looked at the man. He said, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” The paralyzed man was healed. His sins were forgiven. Why? The faith of his friends. So where is healing needed? In our relationship with God? In our relationship with love? In our relationships with each other that will last for eternity? Whether we are broken in body or burdened by sin, Jesus heals and forgives. We have only to come. The four men acted in this gospel to bring the paralytic to Jesus. They were hardly narrow-minded – they had hope and expectations that Jesus would do for their friend what he had done for so many others. This kind of faith demands dying to self. We must die to excuses for why we are powerless to act, to paralysis in face of obstacles to forgiveness, to our stubborn view of how things should be. The healings touch the deepest part of our woundedness. Jesus brings wholeness and offers integrity of life.
Jesus Touched Him Once upon a time, far away and long ago, there was a sales person traveling down a very rural road. Feeling lost, and spotting a girl of about 12-years-old by the roadside, he asked, “How far is it to the Robinson Farm?” “Well sir,” said the bright young lady, “if you keep going the way you are headed, it’s about 24,996 miles. But if you turn around, it’s about four.” Once upon a time, far away and long ago….” That’s what it sounds like in today’s Gospel. At that time people made a direct connection between a physical ailment and sin. If a person was afflicted with an ailment, in this case leprosy, it was presumed to be punishment for some sin the person or parents had committed. So sickness – especially a sickness like leprosy, carried with it a double whammy – not only were you and all that you touched presumed to be physically contagious – and those to be avoided – but also you were seen as morally or spiritually inferior – as cursed – and therefore to be dealt with cautiously indeed…. So it was, once upon a time, far, far away and long, long ago those with leprosy or any skin disease that might turn out to be leprosy, were expelled from the community. Lepers were to “dwell apart”, that they were to live outside the camp of the people. To live where they are not allowed to touch, to hug, to embrace those they know and love. To live in such a way that anything that they touch, or carry, or work on, can only be shared by others in the same position as they. To be utterly dependent on the charity – provided at a safe distance – of others. To have to announce their presence to others, their danger to others, by crying out “unclean, unclean” whenever they draw near. Imagine the sense of desperation that drives this leper to kneel before Jesus and beg to be made clean. Jesus responds with deep feelings of his own and then does the unimaginable – he reaches out and touches the leper! By touching the leper, Jesus takes on the leper’s uncleanness. Consequently, Jesus must remain an outcast, living in “deserted places”. But even this does not stop the people from coming to him from everywhere. In Jesus, they recognize someone who freely and fearlessly touches everything that is human. They cannot stay away from someone who draws this close to them. Can we?
Long and Short of It There is a growing concern among some of us about the phenomenon of texting. It is not unheard of for adolescents to be in one part of the home, texting their parents, or sitting right across from each other and texting back and forth rather than actually looking at each other and having a conversation. Texting may be efficient, however, it is so impersonal. Is life about efficiency? Our Gospel for today suggests otherwise. The Gospel speaks about the personal touch which characterizes Jesus’ ministry. For Jesus, people are not just numbers or projects to be taken care of in an efficient manner. No, there is something incredibly personal about approaching Peter’s mother-in-law. Jesus approached her, grasped her hand and helped her up. Jesus’ healing is a sign of salvation and salvation is always personal. In reaching out Jesus responds to the universal human need for healing. Jesus’ ministry is about our experiencing the transformation of hopelessness through a personal encounter with Jesus. Through personal encounters with Jesus, we experience the Kingdom now and not yet. We experience the Kingdom is at hand. The healings performed by Jesus inaugurate salvation. We know what Jesus did: encountered people and offered them wholeness. As his disciples, this is our work-we must be as up close and personal as Jesus.
Come After Me In 1960 the off-Broadway classic “The Fantastiks” debuted in front of widely approving audiences. The best known song from that popular musical was “Try to Remember,” a sentimental ballad written by Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt, which is still a crowd favorite at sing-along piano bars and among any of us who consider ourselves to be Broadway divas. Perhaps you remember that song: “Try to remember the kind of September when grass was green and the grain was yellow….” You remember. I love that song. It’s a beautiful reminiscent melody. But do you remember how that song ends? The ending, to me, always seemed awkward. Try to remember and if you remember, then follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow. It’s a song with a lot of follows. If I had written that song, I would have just stopped with one follow. Try to remember and if you remember, then follow. Period. After all, less is more. But the composers evidently liked the word follow so they included a whole lot of them. Follow, follow, follow, follow. Sometimes when I hear the Gospel, I experience the same reaction because the Bible is not shallow on follows. Jesus was always calling on people to follow. A good chunk of the stories end with those familiar words and Jesus said, “Follow me.” He said it to Simon Peter and Andrew while they were casting nets into the sea. “Follow.” He said it to James and John while they were mending their nets, “Follow.” Matthew was sitting in a tax booth; paralytics were sitting on their mats. Saul was sitting blinded on a dusty road. Follow, follow, follow.But at other times, it was implied. “Come and see,” Jesus would say. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus would say. “Go into all the world,” Jesus would say. No matter how you phrase it, the haunt is still the same. Follow, follow, follow The words ring in our ears, follow, follow, follow, even long after our initial decision to follow him. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the martyred German Lutheran pastor who was hanged by the Nazis in 1945 for resisting their ideology of terror and hatred, wrote extensively during his lifetime about the dangers of what he called “cheap grace.” Instead of cheap grace, he said God’s love is a costly grace. Grace comes to us with a steep price attached to it–the death of Jesus, and, therefore, it costs something of us in return. It cost Dietrich Bonhoeffer his life and it should cost us our life as well. Our faith tells us that when we hear and respond to Jesus’ call to follow, to come to the cross, we do not walk alone. We walk with Jesus, we walk with him to the cross; we walk with him to the resurrection and that is Good News.
What Are You Looking For? The Gospel reading is a whole sequence of people telling each other they have seen Jesus and who they think Jesus is. John tells two of his disciples that Jesus is “the Lamb of God,” and what did they do? They run off after Jesus. They want to see for themselves. They catch up and have an odd conversation with Jesus, and then Andrew runs off and finds his brother Peter and brings him to meet Jesus too. When Jesus meets Peter, Jesus gives him a new name, “Rock.” Peter will do so much telling that he’ll be a foundation on which the church will be built. To read this story is to get caught up in the cycle of listening, telling, and re-telling that is the story of discipleship. The question is Why are stories of meeting this man Jesus told again and again? There are at least two answers. One is the answer in Isaiah. God wants the story of salvation told and calls people to tell it, calls them before they are born. That is the prophet Isaiah’s own story and Jeremiah’s too. For the other answer we have to go back to the middle of what we heard today in John, to the point where two men, who have no names yet, are running after a man on the street, pointed out by someone else. “What are you looking for?” Jesus asks the two disciples. Now, “What are you looking for?” is a fairly strange question when you think about it. The logical question would be, “What do you want?” Maybe this isn’t a story about what people want. Twice John says the Spirit came to Jesus and remained. The two disciples asked, “Where are you staying?” They go and see “where he was staying and they stayed with him that day.” Remain. Remain. Stay. Stay. Stay. Could this story be telling us something the disciples don’t know yet themselves? What people are looking for is not information, answers to questions such as “Who is Jesus?” or “Is this the one?” Or “Am I right about this church business?” Not even the answer to the question of why stories of meeting this man have captured the human heart for generations. What we are all looking for without even knowing it is a place to stay, a place to remain always. Jesus is that place, a person who is himself a home, a place to belong, a whole way of life. Jesus knows that what the disciples really want is a place to belong. Whatever he sees on the faces of these two men panting in front of him after running down the street, whatever he sees, what he says to them is just right and wonderfully inviting: “Come and see.” They do go with him. They end up staying, and his story becomes their way of life. “What are you looking for?” says Jesus to people who were told by someone else where he could be found. “Come and see,” he said to people who wondered if they had a place in his story. The thing that moves people from one question to the other, from “What are you looking for?” to “Come and see” is the story we have been called to tell. It’s the only story we have to tell, the story of our home, the place from which we draw hope and strength and power. That place is a person, and the best way to tell his story-perhaps the only way-is with our lives.