Tuesday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 258

So Judas took the morsel and left at once. And it was night.
When he had left, Jesus said,
"Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him.

 W hen jewelers want to set off the brilliance of a diamond, they may use black velvet. The contrast is striking and creates an effect of extraordinary luxury and privilege. When Saint John introduced the Word of God in the prologue to his gospel he set off the Light of God as it shines in darkness, the darkness which  cannot overcome it. 

With Judas's abrupt departure from the Upper Room and John's observation, "It was night," the scene is set for the Son of Man to be glorified. In the darkness of evil, his brilliance outshines the brightest stars in the universe, and is seen from beyond its most distant limits. Even the demons in darkest pits of hell must bend the knee at the name of Jesus. 

But the disciples and their spokesman Peter remained clueless. They supposed Judas had gone to secure more food for the feast, or to distribute alms to the poor. (As if...!) 

I have read that, even in 1860, few Americans expected a civil war. And when it began they expected the other side would soon capitulate. No one imagined it would continue for four years, or cost 750,000 lives. (2% of the population) And when Lee surrendered at Appomattox many supposed the conflict was resolved. We have yet to see that miracle. Like the fish in Mammoth Cave, we are blind to darkness and to light, and cannot see what should be painfully obvious. 

As we approach the end of Lent, we have already asked the Lord to reveal our personal sins so that we might repent with contrition and confidence in his mercy. But no one can comprehend the enormity of the sin which we share with all human beings. This guilt has deep roots in our infrastructures and history; its spores survive through many generations into an unimaginable, fathomless future. 

But we pray nonetheless: 

R. I will sing of your salvation.

In you, O LORD, I take refuge;

let me never be put to shame.

In your justice rescue me, and deliver me;

incline your ear to me, and save me.

R. I will sing of your salvation.

Be my rock of refuge,

a stronghold to give me safety,

for you are my rock and my fortress.

O my God, rescue me from the hand of the wicked.

R. I will sing of your salvation.

For you are my hope, O LORD;

my trust, O God, from my youth.

On you I depend from birth;

from my mother's womb you are my strength.

R. I will sing of your salvation.

Monday of Holy Week

 Lectionary: 257

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one with whom I am pleased,
Upon whom I have put my Spirit;
he shall bring forth justice to the nations,
Not crying out, not shouting,
not making his voice heard in the street.

 T o understand the drama of Holy Week we ponder the four "suffering servant" songs of Isaiah. We can suppose the young Jesus found his own vocation and destiny within these words; and the Four Evangelists certainly reflected they wrote their Gospels. All four songs appear in the second section of the Book of Isaiah, that part that was written during the Babylonian exile; and apparently by one man known as "Deutero-Isaiah." 

Today's first reading, the first of the songs, describes the Messiah's manner. He will not cry out, shout, or make his voice heard in the street. He is not a man of threats or violence. He is not angry about his destiny or mission, or the way things are. He is not a contrarian, sectarian, factionalist, or a rebel with or without a cause. 

He is a peaceful man who trusts God and, in that manner, establishes the Kingdom of God.

A bruised reed he shall not break,

and a smoldering wick he shall not quench,

Until he establishes justice on the earth;

the coast lands will wait for his teaching.

Because we have been reading the Gospel of Saint John the last two weeks, we understand the source of his peace: he knows his Father.

For just as the Father has life in himself,

so also he gave to the Son the possession of life in himself.

And he gave him power to exercise judgment,

because he is the Son of Man. (John 5:26-27)

Their relationship is peaceful. If the Lord struggled to find himself in this world, his quest began as he lay in the arms of his mother Mary and nursed at her generous breasts. He listened to her Hebrew lullabies and Aramaic folk songs. He learned Joseph's dances and jigs. When he suffered the poverty of parents who could not fulfill their boy's every desire, he learned their hope in God's promises of peace and prosperity. 

As his human brain learned to remember his experience he discovered that God had sent a protecting Angel to guide his parents as they fled Bethlehem, traveled to Egypt, and settled in Nazareth. And all the while, the Holy Spirit directed his attention to the beauty and grace of God's creation. 

When at last he set out on the Gospel Road to announce the Kingdom of God, he discovered the hostility of religious and civil authorities. Well versed in the history of God's people, he could not be surprised by official opposition.

But he also found the eager welcome of widows, orphans, aliens, and everyone whom this world despised. He knew where he belonged, and to whom he belonged. Having seen the injustice they suffered, he could not be surprised by his destiny on Calvary. 

As we have set out in Holy Week to follow the Lord to Good Friday and the astonished silence of Holy Saturday, we have also learned to watch and wait with peaceful hearts and eager longing for,

the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us. (Romans 8: 18)

Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion

 Lectionary: 37 and 38

....the whole multitude of his disciples
began to praise God aloud with joy
for all the mighty deeds they had seen.
They proclaimed:
"Blessed is the king who comes
in the name of the Lord.

We study the New Testament to meet and learn about the Lord Jesus Christ. And we also ask what is expected of us, his disciples. We want to know what difference he makes in the many lives we live as members of a family, as citizens, employees, neighbors, and so forth. 

We hope, or should hope, that we are the same persons of integrity -- that is, fully integrated with our weakness and strength -- in all those different associations, and bring the same values to them all; but that is not easily done. We're often faking it. 

The Gospels has much to say about the Lord's expectation of his disciples. Upon arriving at the Holy City of Jerusalem, he was greeted by a “whole multitude of his disciples.” That was no accident. Jesus had sent two disciples to every town and village he intended to visit on his way to Jerusalem. Learning of his plans, thousands of people – the faithful, the devout, and the curious – planned to join his pilgrimage. 

Of course, there was nothing new about celebrating the Passover in Jerusalem. Everyone who could get away observed that religious custom; it was a penitential practice, an annual renewal of faith, and an opportunity to visit old friends and family. If Jesus was truly the Prophet Moses had promised, or the Messiah the prophets foretold, his arrival in Jerusalem would be the most exciting event in their lives! 

But Jesus demanded more of his disciples than curiosity and religious observance. Three times he had spoken of what would happen upon his arrival. He would be arrested, tried, condemned to death, and promptly crucified – even if it happened during the Passover. In fact, it would be perfect if it happened during the Passover because everyone could recognize him as the sacrificial lamb who is slain as a fitting sacrifice to God, and for the forgiveness of sins. 

The Twelve Apostles – the elite among his disciples although they were not obviously superior to anyone else – were willing to go to Jerusalem with him, and willing to listen to his teachings. But they didn’t get the part about his suffering and death. It was too much to believe. Why would anyone expect such a horrible death, or want it to happen to them, or plan to make it happen? 

And when he explained its personal meaning for them: that each one should be childlike; aspire to be the least of disciples; and the most willing to do the most unimportant dirty work – they ignored that too. It made no sense, and there was no precedent for it. Had anyone in history ever renounced all power and authority, or refused wealth, pleasure, and security? Had anyone welcomed disappointment, setbacks, frustration, or failure? Sure, he talked about it, and he didn’t take advantage of his obvious superiority over them; but still, what were the odds? 

Of course, they had never been told by the scholars that the Lord Himself -- the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob who had delivered them from Egypt and performed mighty works -- that very Lord had suffered their setbacks, frustration, and failure with them throughout their long history. 

Sometimes, when Jesus didn’t appear to be listening, they enjoyed arguing among themselves about which was his favorite. Even during the Passover meal, as you heard today: 

“...an argument broke out among them

about which of them should be regarded as the greatest.

He said to them,

"The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them

and those in authority over them are addressed as 'Benefactors';

but among you it shall not be so.

Rather, let the greatest among you be as the youngest,

and the leader as the servant.”

The secular world apparently has heard that teaching, and hypocritically uses it. We’re all familiar with service stations, banks, grocery stores, and merchants who are eager to serve the public.  Politicians call themselves public servants, and millions of people have signed up for military service. Invariably we suspect a hidden agenda which motivates the energy, banking, and political sectors. Service in the secular is usually self-serving with little reference to the passion and death of Our Lord. When they intend to do well they do good. 

We’re too familiar with service, but still unable to grasp the Lord’s teaching about “the greatest among you becoming as the youngest, and the leader as the servant.” He says these things after predicting his own passion and death. He seems to be building a house on sand; what’s the connection between crucifixion – which really isn’t going to happen! – and our dealing with one another? 

But, to the horror of the disciples, Jesus was crucified outside the very city that seemed to welcome him several days before. And they were left in silent despair. They had to see how ridiculous they had been in neither listening to his predictions nor accepting his teaching about becoming the least of all and the servant of all. They had to go back and reread the Prophet Isaiah, 

I gave my back to those who beat me,

my cheeks to those who plucked my beard;

my face I did not shield

from buffets and spitting. 

They had to pray in the darkness and silence of the Sabbath which began at the very moment the Crucified took his last breath,

The Lord GOD is my help,

therefore I am not disgraced;

I have set my face like flint,

knowing that I shall not be put to shame.

There is no disgrace in the service of God and one another, nor in disappointment and failure when we walk with Jesus and in his Holy Spirit. 

So what does God want of the Lord’s disciples, as we strive to be people of integrity while living as members of families, churches, companies, and citizens. How do we pull those separate roles into a harmony that makes sense and feels reasonably comfortable? We must serve one another; we must play team; each one must aspire to be least of all and the servant of all. My life is not about me; my salvation is not for my sake but for God's glory.  

Whether we are parents or children, employers or employees, consumers or providers, electors or elected, shepherds or shepherded, we must serve one another. Catholics call it the common good, We’re not fascinated or controlled by our personal desires, fears, or needs –as pressing as they might be. We have seen how God provides for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field. We have seen how God provided for the Crucified Savior. He raised him up, restored him to life, and gave him all authority in heaven, on earth, and under the earth – an authority which he continues to use to serve the common good of the Earth and all its creatures. 

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 256

Now the Passover of the Jews was near,
and many went up from the country to Jerusalem before Passover to purify themselves.
They looked for Jesus and said to one another as they were in the temple area, “What do you think? That he will not come to the feast?”

 T he Four Gospels have been described as "passion narratives with an extended prologue." Each presents the singular drama of the Lord's approach and arrival in Jerusalem, and of what happened upon his arrival. Read any one of them and you know the plot of the other three. All four describe the city's welcome as disciples or a great crowd wave palm branches and his entourage passes. 

In today's reading from John we learn of the city's quandary about Jesus, "Do you think he will come?" While he has created an enormous expectation of his arrival, they know that he has many enemies and perhaps he should not come during the high holy days of the Passover. With the pilgrims crowding the city's Holy Temple, streets, markets, and homes, there is enough tension already in the restive population. Just as Americans like to stage their protests in Washington DC, preferably within sight of the White House or Capital, first century Jews could be expected to discuss the Roman occupation of their holy land and their holy city. Things could get out of hand quickly. 

Christians still celebrate and ponder the Lord's coming to Jerusalem. The man knew he was walking into a hornet's nest of trouble, and he knew he could turn back. Should we urge him to go in; or advise him to wait a while until things cool off, until the danger has passed? We might insist, "Now is not the time!" 

Isn't that the advice we press upon people who demand respect for their human integrity, dignity, and civil rights? "You're right and I agree with you wholeheartedly. But now is not the time! Let it rest. The arc of the moral universe is long..... Yada, yada, yada....

The Gospel of John has often reminded us of the coming hour and of its significance. It is pressing, urgent, and ineluctable. No one knows the hour of the Lord's second coming except the Father, but Jesus has a clear sense of time's demand that he must be in Jerusalem now. And there is nowhere on earth that he would rather be. 

And, as Saint Thomas said, we must go with him. 

Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 255

If I do not perform my Father's works, do not believe me;
but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me,
believe the works, so that you may realize and understand
that the Father is in me and I am in the Father."
Then they tried again to arrest him;
but he escaped from their power.

 W hen Jesus insists that his opponents should "believe the works I do" he appeals to their experience. They should believe their own eyes rather than what anyone has told them; because they have been told only doctrine. 

And doctrines, over time, can be corrupted by misreadings, diluted by alien notions from other religions and human philosophy, or misinterpreted by the changed meaning of words. Doctrines become frail and brittle over time and must be continually reconsidered and strengthened by graced experience. We know what resurrection means because hope, vitality, and courage have called us from the dead many times. Despite our own unworthy sinfulness, we know the Lord has never abandoned us because we have found strength, hope, and courage in prayer time after time. And if we have known long periods of God's apparent absence, we have discovered they were often brought on by our pigheaded failure to turn and return to the Lord. 

The Jews in today's reading oppose Jesus because he speaks from his personal knowledge of God his Father; and their religion has rarely spoken of God as a father, nor have they known his loving attention. With their minds continually fixed on reciting the standard doctrines of religion and insistently teaching others what they had learned by rote, they had no patience with one who knew God as a father. That persistent rehearsal of brittle teachings and frozen attitudes caused them to sin against the Holy Spirit; and so long as they persisted in that sin, there could be no grace, forgiveness, or rebirth. 

Our faith begins with our experience of God's mercy. It becomes a commitment to the Way the Lord has revealed to us. That is, our convictions are confirmed by the vows of baptism, and then strengthened by a consecrated life, often in marriage, religious life, or ordination. Where our testimony about God's mercy fascinates and draws people to the Lord, our dedication proves our testimony. We lead people to the altar of sacrifice and remain there with them. 

Neighbors, coworkers, and strangers should know us as men and women of faith. We testify to it by our manner of life, by our shunning sinful behavior and reflecting grace, by our speech, and our dependability. 

They may, at one and the same time, admire and despise us as the Jews feared but could not ignore Jesus. And, despite their insistent disinterest or open hostility, they cannot dismiss us. To use Saint Augustine's analogy, they are drawn to love like iron to a magnet. They know we are here and they know what we represent, and they must deal with Truth's intrusions.

Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 254

"If I glorify myself, my glory is worth nothing;
but it is my Father who glorifies me,
of whom you say, 'He is our God.'
You do not know him, but I know him.

 O ur knowledge of God the Father must begin with our relationship to Jesus, and vice versa. He found his entire identity in his love of God; and knew himself only within his knowledge and assurance of God's love for him. 

Those who do not know God cannot know Jesus, nor can they understand his mission and purpose. He is a stranger, and completely foreign to them. They may know their catechism answers about God, they may be familiar with the Church's teachings about God and the sacraments, but without an inner knowing of God -- that which we call the Holy Spirit -- their knowledge is lifeless, ineffective, and sterile. 

All that should be pretty obvious to believers and unbelievers alike, and yet it causes division within families, churches, nations, and one's own heart. 

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword."

The Gospel of Saint John is a gospel of crisis and confrontation. Despite the precision of his words and teaching, the Lord's critics and opponents cannot recognize him. He is an alien and comes from a strange, faraway place beyond their ken. 

To know the Lord we surrender the habits of critique and suspicion which separate us from God and others. Programs like Cursillo and Marriage Encounter often ask people to, "Participate, don't anticipate!" for the course of a weekend. Leave your wariness at home "...and if you don't like what you have learned, you can have your old attitudes back!" Afterwards, most people are very pleased with what they have discovered, and the experience may be life changing. 

Our faith begins with our experience of God and his Church. Commitments come next, and finally our doctrines. 

Ideologues, of course, see everything through the lens of their convictions, and are habitually suspicious of every other opinion. They can hardly stand someone's agreeing with them but using different words or better insights. 

Suspicion, once adopted as a manner of thinking, does not retire upon discovering other words or opinions. If it is initially delighted with its new learning, it must continually probe and poke until even the new ideas and their proponents are also discredited. Marxism wants a continuing revolution which alienates friends, transforming them to mortal enemies. It wants to atomize society, turning families into solitary, lost individuals. (...who make better consumers.) 

We have seen the same dynamic within today's ideological movements. They neither find nor expect to find peace of mind. They believe they "will be happy when...."
But that Day never comes. 

The Gospel of Saint John graphically describes the Lord's demands upon us. We must be like the royal official in chapter four who, "...heard what the Lord said to him and went home." 

Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 253

Jesus answered them, "Amen, amen, I say to you,
everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin.
A slave does not remain in a household forever, but a son always remains.
So if the Son frees you, then you will truly be free.

 S everal years after the Lord's quarrel with the Jews, Saint Paul would clarify the distinction between freedom and licence: 

For you were called for freedom, brothers. But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love.

For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, namely, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

But if you go on biting and devouring one another, beware that you are not consumed by one another. (Galatians 5:13-15)

Paul's distinction would be useful for the discussion in America today if we were free to cite the wisdom of God's word.

The philosopher John Macmurray, shortly after World War II, wrote: 

“…the essential conditions of freedom are social and the simplest answer to the question, “ Why cannot I do as I please?” is “Because other people won’t let me.”

 There is a second corollary of our interdependence which is less widely recognized, and which seems to me the most important of all. No man can secure his own freedom for himself. He must accept it as a free gift from others, and if they will not give it to him he cannot have it. This is the law of freedom…. If we struggle to achieve our own private freedom we merely frustrate ourselves and destroy its possibility; for we cannot free ourselves from our dependence upon our fellows…. 

When we profess our faith in freedom we often mean only that we want to be free. What honor is there in such a miserable faith? Which of us would not like to do as he pleases – if only he could escape the consequences? 

To believe in freedom, in any sense worthy of consideration, is to believe in setting other people free. This is to some extent within our power, and it is the greatest service we can render; even if it must be, at times, by the sacrifice of our own. 

In giving freedom to others we have a right to hope that they in turn will have the grace and gratitude to give us ours. But of this we can have no guarantee. (The Conditions of Freedom John Macmurray, Humanity Books, 1949) [Red letter highlights are my own.]

A fellow might invite his friend to "Help yourself from the refrigerator," or, "...any tool in the garage;" and he could not complain if his friend did so. If the friend were not invited to "help yourself." and did so anyway, he might anticipate the misunderstanding and say, "I took the liberty of helping myself to...." and be granted an immediate reassurance, "Mi casa es su casa!" Were the friend, however, to "take liberties" with his couch, his bedroom, his wife or daughters, the freedom is withdrawn and the friendship is annulled! 

From those examples we might suppose Macmurray's definition of freedom always entails a relationship and conversation between the parties. Freedom doesn't exist in a vacuum, and it doesn't apply to isolated persons whose thoughts, words, and deeds have no bearing on other people. Cole Porter's song, Don't fence me in, may be fun to sing but has nothing to do with freedom. 

Turning to scripture and the divine dispensation, we celebrate the freedom of knowing and serving the Lord. "For freedom, Christ set us free!" Saint Paul shouts in Galatians 5: "so stand firm and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery." He was surely reflecting the Lord's insistent words, "...everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin." 

"In his will is our peace." Dante wrote. And so we discipline our aimless desires, impulsive willfulness, and errant thoughts to seek a better understanding of God's will for us. We test every Spirit, as Saint John urged us, never trusting our own impulses without trying them in the courtroom of conversation with fellow disciples. We study the Church's tradition of ethical and moral teaching, especially as rapidly developing new technologies become available. We have not thrown up our hands and retired from intelligent conversation with philosophers, scientists, and society. 

Without that deliberate, difficult conversation we are surely doomed to the slavery of sin. No one said freedom comes easily and without effort. But it is graceful, realistic, and beautiful for those who have eyes to see. It fascinates and invites those who would know God better. 

Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 252

When you lift up the Son of Man,
then you will realize that I AM,
and that I do nothing on my own,
but I say only what the Father taught me.
The one who sent me is with me.
He has not left me alone,
because I always do what is pleasing to him."
Because he spoke this way, many came to believe in him.

 A s the synoptic gospels recall the Lord's three predictions of his suffering, the Gospel of John records three predictions of his being lifted up. Only when he is lifted up on the cross do his enemies and disciples see his cryptic words fulfilled. 

That cross which Christians celebrate with joy and gratitude reveals his intense and faithful love of God his Father, as he does only "what is pleasing to him." The satisfaction of the Father and the Son is a pleasure beyond our comprehension, but it challenges us to decide. We must either stand with the Lord and his God as his mother, the beloved disciple stood by him on Calvary.  

"Because he spoke this way, many came to believe in him." 

Or we must abandon him and never speak that Name again.

Unlike many parts of the Old Testament, the entire New Testament is overshadowed and brilliantly illuminated with the apocalyptic. The word means revealing but it has also come to mean dark and threatening. It has a chiaroscuro effect of light and darkness, an effect used in many depictions of the Lord's birth, death, and resurrection. 

It is a word characteristic of the twentieth and twentieth-first centuries as we experience endless wars between nations and civil wars within nations. It is both dreadful and expectant, terrified and eager, like the young couple who await the birth of their first child and yet worry that neither mother nor child might survive the ordeal. Saint Paul spoke of all creation waiting with eager expectation for the appearance of that new generation. 

In 1953, in the wake of the Second World War and the revelations of horror in the death camps of Europe, Arthur C Clark also prophesied Childhood's End when a mysterious generation of children would destroy their own planet Earth. 

Apocalypse demands that everyone take their stand on the right or the left of every proposition, and those who will not choose are assigned to one or the other despite their hesitation, And if you lose you're only losing your life. In his godless philosophy, all human history is useless banality; its only purpose is a conception of X-men. 

With our faith in God's purposes, Christians pray daily, "Lead us not into [that final] temptation, but deliver us from evil." We hope That Day is not yet, but we know it must come. Lent prepares us and urges us to decide aright. 

[BTW -- this is the 5000th post on my homily blog.] 

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 251

But no one arrested him, because his hour had not yet come.

 W here does the Lord's admirable freedom come from? We well remember his terror in the Garden of Gethsemane, and his sweating blood as the mob approached. But even that dark terror passed and he greeted his assailants with characteristic serenity. 

Jesus was, of course, doomed to die. We sometimes say he was born to die, but aren't we all? You and I get out of bed each day and go about our business only with a reasonable assurance that today is not that day. Were it the day and we knew it, getting up would be an entirely different experience. But even as we awaken to this day we expect to see another day, and perhaps a better day, tomorrow. 

156,000 allied soldiers awoke on D-Day -- those who could sleep the night before -- and knew the long expected day had come but they still hoped to survive until the morrow. (Over four thousand died on D-Day, and another 5000 were wounded.) 

As Jesus faced his opponents in today's gospel, he seemed to enjoy one advantage only some of his followers have. Responsive and obedient to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, he had a keen sense of the hour. He knew as Qoheleth had taught that, "there is an appointed time for everything." The Gospel of John alludes to the hour -- its coming and its arrival -- nineteen times. With his extraordinary sense of the hour which would come but had not yet come, he could speak with astonishing freedom before his disciples, strangers, critics, and enemies. And when the hour came he was prepared, and knew what to do. 

That knowledge of time is not beyond our comprehension. A skilled chef knows when the soup is ready; a baker knows when the pie is done. We recognize, as the Lord reminded us, the signs of the coming spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Even if we fell asleep for several months and awoke in an unexpected moment, we would probably recognize the season. "It's summer already!" we might say.

As we heard today, despite the intense hatred of his enemies, "no one arrested him, because his hour had not yet come." His disciples, we wait upon the same Holy Spirit and discern its direction as we use the time we have with the same confidence. 

Fifth Sunday of Lent Year C

Lectionary: 36
Remember not the events of the past,
            the things of long ago consider not;
see, I am doing something new!
            Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
In the desert I make a way,
            in the wasteland, rivers.

 R eligion is, by its very nature, conservative. We like our prayers, our gestures and rituals, our peculiar expressions; our interpretations, understandings, and memories the way they are. We can write our religion into rules and laws and continually remind ourselves of what we believe and how things are done. We can inscribe our doctrines on stone walls and paint it on lofty ceilings. We can preserve it in a catechism, memorize it, and teach it to our children. 

Should anyone ask us what we think, how we feel, or what we intend to do, we can answer them. We know; we've got it all worked out. Should anyone want to join us, we can show them how we do it. If they ask us why we do it this way, we can send them to the priest and he'll explain it. 

And then something happens; something unexpected, something unforeseen, something catastrophic, that was not supposed to happen, that could not happen because we always knew that God would not let it happen, even if he had warned us that it might happen. 

Something like the conquest and destruction of God's holy city Jerusalem; something like the razing of Solomon's temple, one of the wonders of the ancient world, and the deportation of Jews from their Promised Land to the faraway, pagan city of Babylon. None of that should have happened. But it did. 

Now what? What should we do? How should we feel? We always knew how to feel about our Sabbaths, holy days, and festivals. We knew the remorse of penitential days and the joy of the Passover. 

Should we just forget the past? It's over; it's done? We don't understand the present; the future we expected will never come. But what did we expect? We don't remember. We didn't expect anything except that things would never change. Our children would learn what our parents taught us.

Even the past doesn't mean what it used to mean. How do we explain everything to our children when nothing makes sense? How do we teach our children our religious history when they are speaking Babylonian and not Hebrew; and say that old Jewish stuff doesn't work for them! What doesn’t make sense is what we see all around us! It only makes sense if we stay in our rooms, turn out the lights, shut the windows, and remember the way things used to be. 

Isaiah comes to us today as he did to the Jews in Babylon, as John the Baptist came to Judea, as Jesus came to the Jews in Jerusalem, as Saint Paul came to the Jews in Rome, and says, 

Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? In the desert I make a way, in the wasteland, rivers.

 

In this twenty-first century, with the unprecedented advances of technology – we call them advances although we have no idea where they’re advancing to, or what these technocrats intend to do with them…. With these so-called advances our old religion with its stories of Jesus, Mary, and the saints; with its rituals of marriage, baptism, confession, and the Mass; with its rosaries, sacramentals, and tombstones; with its doctrines of the Trinity, the Blessed Sacrament, the Incarnation, the Virgin Birth – our good old religion can’t tell us what might come next. If there is an end to the world, does that end mean the end of time, or the end-purpose of humankind which seems no closer to peace on earth, good will to men, than it was two thousand years ago? 

In today’s gospel, Jesus did something new. No one saw it coming. By foolishly playing in the dirt and making an unexpected suggestion, he confounded a street gang of law-abiding citizens. They probably went away laughing at themselves because no one could throw the first stone. 

Because it was so clever and so unexpected we might call it something new. It sprang forth and we perceived it but what did it mean?  

The prophet Daniel had prayed:

Lord, great and awesome God, you who keep your covenant and show mercy toward those who love you….
We have sinned, been wicked and done evil; we have rebelled and turned from your commandments and your laws….

Justice, O Lord, is on your side; we are shamefaced even to this day. (Daniel 9:4-7)

But here is Jesus, the righteous, holy, and entirely innocent Son of God who is standing with this shamefaced woman. He is standing not on God’s side, on the “right side of Justice,” but by her side, with her shame, helplessness, guilt, and fear. He is not even standing over her because, at least for a moment, he stooped down there in the dirt with her. If we believe that he is the Lord of Heaven and Earth, then it’s true that God has come down to be with her. And with us in our shame, remorse, and guilt. 

And by the way, the mob in Jerusalem who were ready to stone the woman came back on Good Friday, and demanded his crucifixion – because he stood with us in our sins and not with the righteousness of God. By defending this woman and making fools of her tormentors, he all but joined the crowd in their cries for his death! 

Had he said nothing and walked away from the crowd and the woman; he might have escaped. But he could not do that because he is our savior and, as Saint Paul said to Timothy, "he cannot deny himself." 

It was a simple incident. It was so small and insignificant that some scripture scholars say it should not even belong in the Gospel of Saint John. It’s too much like one of the silly stories out of the Gospel of Saint Thomas or the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. It’s a joke, like his changing water into wine at Cana. It’s no big deal. 

But God must stand with us as our world plunges toward wherever it's going. We cannot continue on this road to ecological annihilation, the migration of billions of people, and total war. We see the world's future and it's bleak, with neither hope nor good news. But God has promised something new and God knows we need something new.

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 249 

Then each went to his own house.

 S aint John is a marksman with pithy statements like, "Then each went to his own house." At another, more critical moment in the Gospel, as Judas leaves the upper room, he tells us, "It was night." 

The expression is matched by John 16:32 -- "Behold, the hour is coming and has arrived when each of you will be scattered to his own home and you will leave me alone."

These sayings must remind us of the abandonment which was added to the Lord's intense physical suffering. Where some later martyrs would have the companionship of other martyrs; or, like Saint Polycarp, a sympathetic crowd of Christian witnesses; Jesus was entirely alone. 

Abandoned even by those who went with him to Jerusalem and swore they would never leave him, he was also condemned by a mob, despised by his opponents, and libeled by false witnesses before hostile Jewish and Roman judges. As Saint Mark tells the story, two criminals who died with him added their own taunts. And the Voice which had spoken from heaven on two occasions was silent on Good Friday. 

Etty Hillesum, a prisoner in a Nazi compound in Belgium, realized that British and American leaders knew nothing of the Nazi "final solution to the Jewish problem," nor did they care. Where many of her fellow prisoners clung to an expectation of rescue, she knew no help would come. But, as she was transported to a death camp, she managed to send a postcard to her friends, "We have left the camp singing." 

As terrible as it was, the sacrifice of Jesus could not be perfect, nor our salvation complete, without his utter abandonment before God and men. We can only stand at a distance in silent grief. 

Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 248

The wicked said among themselves,
thinking not aright:
"Let us beset the just one, because he is obnoxious to us;
he sets himself against our doings,
Reproaches us for transgressions of the law....

 T he Book of Wisdom describes the thoughts of the wicked; it sounds both accurate and familiar. But we might wonder, How is it that the Divine Author, who is apparently a wise and God-fearing person, knows the thoughts of the wicked so well? 

What I notice about this passage is how fixated the wicked are on the thoughts of the just one. "He sets himself against our doings and reproaches our transgressions... He judges us debased; he holds aloof from our paths as from things impure."

They say nothing about themselves or their own thinking. They do not call themselves more just or righteous than the good man. They're simply angry at him for what they suppose is his thinking. But they are hardly aware of their own thinking. Or rather, anger does their thinking for them, and they do not see it. 

How does the Divine Author come to such an insight about the thoughts of the wicked? Obviously, he is one of them. He knows their thoughts because he thinks, or has thought, the same way. He too is among the wicked. He knows their thinking because it is his own. 

Which of us hasn't thought that way about someone, especially if they pointed our faults and we were upset about it. And was I aware of my thoughts at the time? 

No, I can't say I was. I was pretty sure I was the just one who had been offended and had a legitimate reason -- an iron-clad reason! -- for being upset. "By God they did me wrong!" 

That offense was my proudest possession, and I wasn't about it give it up. It proved that I was a just man because I had been offended by the wicked. And in my polarized world there can be no middle, grey area; there was only just and wicked and I was clearly on the side of the just. 

The perspicuity of this passage from Wisdom demonstrates the thinking of the holy sinner, the wicked saint, the reconciled person. He knows his own thoughts and where they originate. 

There is power here, as in John 1: 12-13: 

"...to those who did accept him he gave power to become children of God....

This is a power that can say to my own wicked thoughts, "Be uprooted and thrown into the sea." As Saint Mark says,

Amen, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it shall be done for him. 

Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours. When you stand to pray, forgive anyone against whom you have a grievance, so that your heavenly Father may in turn forgive you your transgressions.”

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 247

"I do not accept human praise;
moreover, I know that you do not have the love of God in you.
I came in the name of my Father,
but you do not accept me;
yet if another comes in his own name,
you will accept him.
How can you believe, when you accept praise from one another
and do not seek the praise that comes from the only God?

 T he Lord's explanation to his first century opponents and our explanations to our contemporaries are met with the same incomprehension and refusal. Our faith begins with the Love of God and neighbor where their opinions begin with human reasoning and long histories of complex, unresolved grief. Our love and our doctrines remain the same throughout the centuries where theirs shift like quicksand under the struggle of a doomed animal. 

I rediscover our assurance as I read and reread the second reading of the Office of Readings. Whether they were written by second century bishops or the Second Vatican Council, they remain reliably edifying, evocative, and instructive. Saint Ignatius of Antioch might have sat down with Saint Ignatius of Loyola and Saint John Paul II and shared the same truths which the Lord Jesus revealed in his day.  Had they been surrounded by a crowd of critics from any century, they would have heard the same taunts. 

The world must always experiment with new ideas, and they're often pressed upon us with, "Keep an open mind about this!" But they're not new ideas! 

• The spirituality that is supposed to replace religion is the same monophysitism which was condemned by the Council of Chalcedon in 451. 
• "It doesn't matter what you believe so long as you're sincere!" is foolishness blessed and wisdom made suspect. The bible has little sympathy for fools. 
• Today's hatred and fear of immigrants is the same dualism of Gnosticism and Manicheanism. 
• Adultery always smells the same.  
• Some might hope ignorance is bliss but we cannot accept it.

We must always return to the wisdom of the cross. On Calvary we see the Love of Jesus for his Father, and the Love of God the Father for his beloved Son. Our wisdom begins in the silence of that intensely beautiful moment. 

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 246

"Amen, amen, I say to you, the Son cannot do anything on his own,
but only what he sees the Father doing;
for what he does, the Son will do also.

 B efore we go a step further into Lent and into the Gospel of Saint John, we must ponder the intense relationship of God and Jesus. It is unlike anything we have ever seen; it is far deeper and more mysterious than anything we can imagine. It is beautiful, delightful, joyous, and demanding. If it costs Mary's Son his life and every moment of his life, it also demands much of us -- more than our human flesh is willing to pay. 

But we cannot turn away from it. Having seen the revelations of his baptism, transfiguration, and crucifixion, turning away threatens violence to our human nature. We must know more. We cannot live without asking what it means for us, and how we should respond.

Jesus insistently refers to God as his father. In more intimate moments, he speaks to his Abba, a Jewish child's affectionate word for his papa. We have never heard such language. It is so unusual it must be blasphemous. And yet it's clearly not. Nothing could be more transparently right. 

And so we listen to his words and open our hearts to their meaning and import. His opponents have already decided about them: 

"...he also called God his own father, making himself equal to God."

They cannot and will never accept that. It is ridiculous and scandalous. To paraphrase Saint Paul, "a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles." (1 Corinthians 1:23) 

But his teaching fascinates us, and we're not as eager as Jews and Greeks to make sense of them. We can wait and listen, and allow the Lord to show us what he is so absolutely sure of. Clearly, he must tell us. As one of our children, he has that duty to us. And the relationship -- that is, his sonship -- gives him the right to speak of it to us. 

Quite unexpectedly, Mary's son has become the mediator between God and his creation. We already knew our privileged position as rulers and co-creators of the world. Anyone can see there is no other animal like us; none have our abilities, power, or cleverness. 

But in our sinful condition we have seen ourselves as destroyers of the Earth, an invasive species; and murderers of one another. We have felt more like scum than rightful sovereigns. When the Lord called us worms and maggots we didn't suppose he was joshing us as a father teases his frightened children. We took it literally because it seemed true! 

But Jesus has persuaded us to listen to his words about the One whom he calls my Father. God has been angry with us, but he has not despaired of us. He does not regret our creation, nor the investment of his own image in us. He has not changed his original plan of sending his only begotten son to live as a man in the splendid universe, edenic world, and blessed people he created. 

If anything, our sins have given him the opportunity to prove his goodness, majesty, and beauty far more than a sinless world might have. And so, like Mary of Bethany, we sit at his feet and wonder at his words.