“He revealed himself in this way…”

We are in the full glow of Easter as this month begins. What has been occupying my mind are the words of John Chrysostom: “He is no longer now where he was; now he is where we are.”

This may explain the words of scripture about how Jesus revealed himself. Now you see him, now you don’t. There is the supper table, then the seashore with breakfast cooking. There is the journey to Emmaus. There are the sudden appearances when they are all gathered together. Are we missing something here?

I don’t think so. Jesus seems to be getting them used to a new way he will be around. No longer the old historical way, but wherever they are. Then this is where we need to expect to find him today too: glimpses; appearances in the darkness of our faith especially when we are with one another.

Our Ministry Assessment this year spotlights our Mission/Charism and Focus Statements. Both call for a kind of presence; in other words, how we appear. So we might ask ourselves, “What kind of presence do I bring among others? How do I appear?”

In Chapter Four of his letter on holiness in today’s world, Frances gives us five expressions that help to flesh this out for us. He writes of being present with an attitude of perseverance, patience and meekness; next he highlights joy and a sense of humor; third he names boldness and passion; finally he locates this in community and in constant prayer. Now this is well and good, you might say. I’ve been working on these for a long time. But it’s a constant battle!

And that it is. It’s a struggle. True to his Jesuit charism, Francis calls for vigilance and discernment. Now discernment can be a loaded word. What is really means is a type of attunement, the way a violinist checks that the strings of a violin are vibrating in tune with one another. Discernment comes from being in tune with the Spirit, not merely my egotistic need. It’s as if my whole soul vibrates in harmony with the Spirit on an issue and it just feels right. It has more to do with feeling than thinking, although once we check if something harmonizes with our prayer, we’d better check if it makes sense.

We make an appearance as surely as the risen Lord did. When we come we shine, we emit a magnetic field, we bring our perseverance, our patience, our meekness; our joy and humor ripple through the room; our boldness and passion pour out in the face of injustice. And make no mistake, the fragrance of our prayer and community compassion also come floating in with us. He assures us, “I am risen and still with you.” He reveals himself in this way. In this way

in him, we too reveal ourselves.

Glory in the Cross of Jesus Christ…

What a strange statement. The cross is humilitation and torture, victimization and execution, violence and dehumanization…everything I want to avoid. Glory?  I don’t know about you, but at first glance I find this a hard saying. Maybe that’s my problem. It’s a first glance. Maybe I haven’t looked long enough. Maybe I just don’t see.

These first weeks after Easter are all about appearances. They are gathered, and suddenly he is there. Then he is gone. They are walking, and he joins them. They are fishing and suddenly he is there cooking breakfast. The Church will give us readings from the Acts of the Apostles, showing us what the early Church is doing. Maybe this is what John Chrysostom meant when he said, “He is no longer where he was; now he is where we are.” They had to get used to this new kind of “presence,” and so do we. It demands a leap of faith, and a trust the Eucharist reaffirms over and over. “I am risen and still with you.” Faith is a dark light…and no, I just don’t see…unless I believe.

But this new presence is not fun and games. We struggle; we hurt even while watching the news; we are humiliated; we are insulted. Sounds like the cross to me, and that just may be the point. As he came into his glory through the cross, so shall we. There is no blaming from the cross. There must be no blaming from me. There is no violence from the cross. There must be none from me. There is forgiveness from the cross. So must it be from me. There is no explanation for this suffering from the cross. There is no explanation for what I am asked to endure either. There is trust from the cross. Aye, there’s the rub. Can there be trust from me? Can I trust that God will come through? That from his suffering and mine comes new life? Will God deliver for me the way God delivered for him? If I say no, I will sink into my bitterness. If I make the leap and say yes…glory will be mine just like his? “…now he is where we are…I am risen and still with you.”

Is this what you are asking of me?

Is this what my baptism has plunged me into?

Is this how you easter in me?

You are not kidding.

To be honest, I am repulsed by the cross.

Were you?

What did you have to do to bend your human will to embrace it?

Help me bend mine.

Help me to shine.

Mary, this month is yours.

Pray me into his mercy and help me to shine.

Your own Brand of Perfume…

As this reflection reaches us we are moving steadily toward the wonder of Holy Week, and what God has done… We’ve been alerted as to the temptations we will face; we’ve been to the mountaintop and heard “Look to me and be radiant…”; then we were shown that we should be like fruitful trees; and finally in March we were shown the heart of “the Plan”: reconciliation. God and me. God and us. Our presence is to be one of bringing things together. We are to be reconcilers.

The third chapter of Francis’ letter on holiness shows us what this looks like – or maybe smells like. Beatitude living can be described as the “odor of sanctity,” an image that has always delighted me. Some people just smell good. There is that faint odor of flowers or cleanliness about them. It’s a physical thing. But those who emit beatitude living truly emit a certain spiritual energy that is wonderful. They project a positive energy, an attitude of gratitude and joy. They might be blind or mute or in a wheelchair, but in their presence we are ministered to. They are not demanding; they have learned to keep a reign on their anger; they listen; they are concerned about the people they hear about on the news, even though they have problems enough of their own. We are uplifted in their presence as if we got a good whiff of lavender or apple blossom.

Francis has it right. Beatitude living is a refreshing presence for anyone coming into contact with it. It is the result of tough practiced virtue: the armor of faith, the expectation of hope, and tough love; the wisdom of prudence; the clarity of justice; the determination of fortitude and the balance of temperance. Mix in the spirit-gifts and the fruit and fragrance start to show.

Spring is around the corner. We look for its signs: the crocuses, the daffodils, forsythia blooming. As worded women and men, we will present a presence wherever our feet take us. We will be known by our own brand of cologne.

The Plan….

There is a Plan. Yes, most of the time things look pretty haphazard, but really, there is a Plan. It becomes quite clear if we see the Sunday readings connected with each other week to week. Let’s take a look.

We began the first Sunday of Lent by being confronted with the temptations that are sure to be part of our lives. Then we were taken to the mountaintop and shown a Jesus that dazzled us. The message? “Look to me and be radiant…” On the third Sunday we were told we need to be like fruitful trees, drawing up the love-sap that allows us to offer something delicious to our neighbors. Then with the fourth Sunday we are shown the bottom line: we are to be reconcilers. We need to be ready to show the greatest fruitfulness of all: forgiveness. Yup...it looks like a plan alright.

April dawns, and with Lent’s fifth Sunday we are given an explosive message to keep on track: “…neither do I condemn you.” Sometimes when the going gets tough and we’ve not really kept to our Lenten resolves, and we feel we are just bungling along, this is like a shot in the arm… or better, the soul. No condemnation? After all my mistakes? All my outright sins...? Yes, there is a plan, alright…just keep going. Remembering all the stupid mistakes does no good. God is doing something new alright…and it is beyond me and my foolishness.

Then comes Holy Week, and we watch in astonishment as the Plan unfolds before our eyes. The One who loves us dips down into our betrayals, our rejections, our desolation, our abuse, and our violence. Like some magnificent lightning rod, he absorbs it all, takes it on so the buck stops with him. He grounds it so it can do no more harm. It stops with him. And us. That’s the Plan. And where does that energy go? It gets transformed into life, like some foul manure. The Plan is a victory over sin and death…mine, ours, and all of us. As Lent continues, get with the Plan.

 

Holy One,

You never cease to amaze me.

In my blindness I watch the news and sink into hopelessness.

But you will have none of it!

You call me to keep my eyes on your radiant face,

Once so swollen and disfigured.

You pin me to yourself and carry me through the keyhole

I so fear.

What choice do I have

But to hope in the darkness.

Help!