Making Connections

 

The Church, in this Green Time has been focusing on the Bread of Life. The life won for us on the Cross is kept growing by this Bread. It is Love’s final step down into the struggle of our daily existence…to become for us what we eat.

 

Now we enter autumn. The harvest ripens. The leaves begin to show their colors. The days are a bit cooler. The Church gives us the Feast of the Holy Cross. On either side of September 14 are two Feasts of Mary, her birth and her sorrows. Is there any connection here? I think so.

 

Why did Mary have to suffer so much when she had no sin? Her sorrows are celebrated the day after the Feast of the Holy Cross. She, along with her Son, are figures for us of all those innocent ones who get caught up in the evils that plague the human family. This presents us with one of the deepest mysteries of our faith…innocent suffering.

 

In her wisdom, this may be why the Church presents these feasts before us in this harvest time. The crops we will harvest have been nourished by awful stuff we call manure. It is repulsive, rotten material. Yet from it we hold sweet corn, grapes from the vine, and countless other wonderful products. The readings this month present us with many healings. We get the sense that Jesus almost can’t keep up with the brokenness. Maybe the Cross is his solution.

 

Jesus and Mary were innocent. So are many at our borders, the people of Haiti, the people of Afghanistan. So are many children in our hospitals. I believe their suffering is redeeming us, that none of it is lost to a loving God. In looking at the mystery of the Cross we are asked to believe this. Mary invites us to give witness as she did…with little or no explanation. Suffering often makes us or breaks us. Maybe we are being called to decide now…when we are clear headed, that we will stand with these innocent ones in trust when our turn comes.

 

Nature’s beauty fades.

The leaves fade and fall.

I listen to the news and wonder…

what will those people do after the fires…the floods?

The mystery of your cross is everywhere.

The day ends, the grieving find shelter and try to sleep.

Yet we have your promise.

We hold it tight in faith…Faithful God.

 

How Big is Your Heart?

 

After challenging us to engender an ‘open world’ in chapter three of Fratelli tutti, Pope Francis now proposes that we have “A Heart Open to the Whole World.” (#128-153)

This brings before us the whole issue of migrants and refugees. Francis is not pollyanna about this crisis. To “welcome, protect, promote and integrate” these struggling people he knows that individual governments can’t do this alone. He comes right out and writes what many are thinking: we need to “develop a form of global governance” to address this issue as well as several other pressing issues such as war and weapons of mass destruction.

The US learned this long ago. The Revolutionary War had just ended. The 13 colonies were governed by The Articles of Confederation, and were suffering from huge debt from the war. Alexander Hamilton went to President Washington and told him the Articles were just not working, that the colonies needed to federate. Washington replied that the colonies would never agree to federation. Hamilton said, “Oh yes they will, Sir.” He proceeded to go to each colony and tell them that they would have a Guard, but we were going to have a US Army. And by the way, we would assume all their debt from the Revolutionary War, because we were going to have a US Treasury. They all signed on the bottom line, we had a Constitutional Convention and we became the United States of America. We Federated while simultaneously honoring state identity.

Francis is joining others globally in envisioning something similar for the nations of the world.

Something called The Constitution for the Federation of Earth already exists and is presently being considered by the United Nations. Many realize that immigration, climate crisis, poverty, health, and economic issues cry for global solutions in our day. One nation can no longer go it alone. The European Union is one effort to federate while honoring individual nation identity.

Interested? Order a copy of the Constitution named above and read it carefully, especially the Conclusion, “Our Great Hope at the Dawn of the 21^st Century,” and the Appendices. Go on line and check out “Citizens for Global Solutions.” Francis is right on target. Are our hearts big enough to envision a united world?

"See, I am making something new…do you not see it?"

The Final Step – Down

 

We have celebrated them all…all the great feasts: Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, Trinity…and now comes the capstone: Corpus Christi, or in English, The Body and Blood of Christ. It is the capstone, even though it is the final step – down. How so?

Take a wide view. We have a God who is driven by love to send its own deepest Word, its identity, into the human world to fix something that is broken. A relationship is broken. So, in the virgin’s womb he mends it. The Word creates a union between divinity and humanity that can never be broken again. Then he shows us what he intends to do with that hangover we call death…his and ours. After he brings us to life, he takes our very humanness home to the very throne of God and sends us his own Spirit to remind us what wonders he has done, to fill us with joy.

But bending way down to become one of us was not enough for this love. He cannot bear to leave us to struggle alone to respond to the Spirit. He found a way to take one more step – down. Yes, he bent way down to hide his majesty under the veil of our humble humanness. Yes, when he was silenced upon the cross, he made his many wounds become so many mouths to tell of his love. But he was not finished. One more step. He chose to bend down to become a thing. His veil this time is bread. He became our food…on hand, anytime, hidden...so as not to frighten even the tiniest child. So now it is our turn to bow down. For it is only in bending low that we can reach this Lover, who waits like a beggar for a meager return of love.

 Down into time-space; down into flesh; down into death-which-dies.

One more step:

Down into bread; it is finished.

You feed me with your risen Life.

Then it’s up from death to life, up from grave to glory, up with you into eternal life.

You would have it no other way.

The Cross as ‘Triumphant?’

 

I’ve had trouble with this expression. Maybe you have too. How on earth can we understand an instrument of torture to be a cause for triumph? Triumph comes with the resurrection, right? But what is the ‘law of the cross’ that makes this death instrument also a cause of triumph?

 The answer hit me like a ton of bricks in reading through some old notes. The cross is the symbol of every tear, every pain, every evil, every torture, every despicable human experience we can name. It’s that part of life that we wish we could do away with. It’s physical or emotional, and yes, even spiritual suffering, all too familiar to each of us as it comes our way. The key is in what happens to it. What happens to the cross?

 This instrument of torture is changed. It has become holy. A part of our Good Friday liturgy is the ‘Adoration of the Cross.’ Why do we ‘adore’ the cross? What has happened? The Paschal Mystery has become a transformation mystery. Which means, by the way, that it is a revelation of what happens to all our grief this side of the grave. It’s not going away. It’s going to be transformed. Yes, you’ve got that right…no drop of our suffering will be lost. It is going to be transformed into something beautiful. So bite your lip and hang on.

 Manure is awful stuff. It smells. It’s rotten. You wouldn’t keep it in the kitchen. But this awful stuff, just as awful as it is, when it is put out in the field, makes the most wonderful vegetables. Life comes from that rotten stuff, and life comes from the cross, not despite it. The ‘law of the cross’ is that every evil, even death, will be transformed into something good because that is what love does. Our challenge is to believe it: that even our stubborn arthritis will be transformed. The risen Jesus carries his wounds, but they are no longer ugly. They are his badges of honor. And we? What clues will we find in these post-Easter readings of the triumph to come?

 Really?

You’re going to transform everything I’ve been through?

What can I say but “Bring it on...My Lord and my God!”

Easter Ministry

The Light of the World came to us in the Christmas Season.   That was Good News. But that infant Light grew up. As a migrant on the run, as a home-town boy, as the son of a skilled laborer, Jesus was pretty incognito. Then the people of his time tried pretty hard to put out the Light altogether. But the Love that fuels the light knew what to do with sin and death. It becomes fuel for forgiveness and mercy.

Easter is a Sonburst that will never go out. Love has conquered sin and death. It’s done. Fragments, like the cut-up pieces of a snake, wiggle their way through history putting on a show of power. But don’t be fooled. It’s a lying seduction. Don’t be deceived when it shows up on the news. Shake your head when you hear about it in government or in business. No, the battle has been won. Now, what do we, who have that baptismal cross of oil gleaming on our foreheads, do about it? We settle in for the long haul doing Easter Ministry. We ‘put feet on the talk.’

Easter ministry is reconciliation. We reconcile. Watch the readings that come our way during the month of April this year. They are bathed in Easter light. That light allows for no division. That light unifies. It brings broken things together. It heals. The apostles were shattered and scattered. Easter brings them together. There is no shaming, no blaming. There is only forgiving and forgetting. There is truth-telling. Even winter itself yields to the green bursting from buds.

What do we need to reconcile? Do we need to speak with someone we’ve avoided? Can we disagree with someone and still respect them? Can we give them a sense that there is room for them in our heart even though we disagree with them? What is broken that we can mend? It’s time for Easter ministry. It’s time for healing, for mending, for binding up what is broken.

 We’re in pieces, Lord.

Broken hearts and broken relationships.

Broken cities and broken borders,

Counties that can’t be home anymore.

Women against men,

White against Black.

Asian bullying.

Shine on us

In all your risen beauty

Where every wound is healed.

Bind up our brokenness, Risen Lord,

Help us to shine.

The Victim

 Pope Francis gives us a pretty dismal picture in Chapter One of Fratelli tutti. In Chapter Two he offers us a familiar parable, that of the Good Samaritan. “A Stranger on the Road” is about a Jewish traveler on the road to Jericho, who gets mugged and left for dead. Jewish ritual leaders see him, look the other way and pass by. Along comes a despised Samaritan, a ‘mixed blood’ Jew who has intermarried with pagan heretics, and he stops and tends to the victim, all the while knowing full well that the victim probably hates him.

Aware that Francis has written this text for all the people of the world, we can only imagine its effect on peoples of other faiths who have never heard this parable before. Yet all of us know the Golden Rule: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” But there’s the rub. Each of us has to decide whether to pass by or help what we see going on around us each day, says Francis. (#79) He wonders why “it took so long for the Church unequivocally to condemn slavery and various each day forms of violence.” He wonders why some Christians continue to “support varieties of narrow and violent nationalism, xenophobia and contempt, and even the mistreatment of those who are different.” (#86)

But for those of us who probe the Word, there is even more going on here. The ‘victim’ is humanity itself, wounded by the sin of the world and the violence of centuries. The Samaritan is another kind of ‘mixture:’ the One who has joined humanity to divinity in a union never to be broken. The beast of burden that carries the victim to the Inn is our humble humanity, the instrument of the world’s healing. The Inn is that beloved community, meant to be open to heal all the victims of the world. We’ve all been paid for with a precious coin. The beloved Samaritan has taken care of that. As Lent unfolds, this story leaves us with a knowing little smile. We know how the story ends. We know what happens to the victim.

Preview of Coming Attractions

We’ve just come down from the mountain. The Second Sunday of Lent presents us with the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mount Tabor. But what goes up must come down, and this event is no exception. From Mount Tabor they go to Jerusalem. Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem where he will suffer and die. Why would the Church present us with the Transfiguration just as we begin the season of the passion?

 

I think it’s because we could never survive the rest of Lent if we didn’t know how the story will end. We’re given a preview of the ending. Jesus shines. He shows himself as the Light of the World. But all hell is going to break loose to snuff out that Light. These three poor apostles have no idea what they are in for. What they experienced on the mountain will be eclipsed: The Son will be darkened by death.

 

There is a method in the Church’s madness. Like the Beloved in the Song of Songs, she will go searching for her Lover. The sight of his face is fixed in her memory, and despite the darkness she will go looking for him. She will not be disappointed. She will find him, cling to him, and not want to let go.

 

The Church turns to John’s Gospel during these weeks of Lent, as it does each year. Ever wonder why? John writes as ‘the disciple that Jesus loved.’ Perhaps the Church is trying to say, “That’s you…put those glasses on as you read these Gospel texts.” The cleansing of the temple, the one so loved, ourselves as that little grain of wheat…how is this me?

 

If we look a little deeper, this really is our story…not just for Lent, but for life. In the first fervor of our newly found relationship with Christ Jesus, we too want to stay on the mountain and build our shrine there. But then all the lights go out, and he is gone…no sweetness in prayer, no emotional highs. Just the drab day-to-day slugging it out. Our faith is sorely tested. Maybe it was all an illusion…maybe I’m just fooling myself…

But we remember that face full of light, and we hang on, whistling in the dark of our faith. Now and then we have our little Easters. But for now we too will have to set our faces toward Jerusalem, and the horrors of Holy Week. What keeps us steady is the preview of coming attractions.

 

Jesus, you shine!

I need to take a long loving look.

The roller coaster of my life takes a downward dive,

often when I least expect.

Will I survive?

Yes.

Your face is a mirror of what I shall be.