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Death upon Death upon Death

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 Over the course of just under four weeks, three people who had a real place in my life died. One after a lengthy battle with a cruel cancer; one from a previously undetected heart condition; one instantly, while watching television, from an aneurysm that burst in the brain. The first I met in 1995 while studying in Spokane, Washington. The second I was introduced to by a friend back around 1966 in my hometown of Milwaukee. The third came into my life about ten years ago here in Denver. I participated in two of the funerals; the third was overseas. Death has been more central to my awareness these days.

Since a diagnosis of an unpredictable and aggressive form of cancer five years ago though, death has been closer by. Naturally, pushing into the late seventies tends to make for a shrinking circle of friends and acquaintances. The question is how to walk side-by-side with this inevitable companion. 

We know, in our heads, from a very early age that death comes sooner or later to complex living creatures. But we don’t apply this physical fact to our complicated selves. Death is always someone else’s deal. What are we avoiding? What’s the fear in this? My guess is our dread of the great unknown. What’s going to happen to me after I die?

People of faith are invited to live fully in reference to life as it unfolds each moment. Yet many of us live, probably unconsciously, in reference to death. We can spend our days running as fast as we can to fill up our ears, eyes, minds, time with noise, distraction, busyness, so we don’t need to face our mortality. We might run countless marathons, pump iron, inundate our system with supplements. Death is quite patient. We can do all the makeup, botox, lifts of various body parts, plastic surgery to try to appear to keep a step ahead of death. “Can’t you see how young we are? Death must be years away! Right?”

Jesus, becoming one with us in all things (except sin, St. Paul adds), embraced our whole cycle from conception and birth to death – a particularly horrific death at that. He’s gone before us, believing, trusting that Abba-God had more for us than this  – Life beyond life. So, the passage might be a bit rough, but what’s in store for us is an eternal loving embrace in communion with all we have loved, somehow continuing to assist others who are still on the way. Death never is the last word.

Touching the Leper

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Leprosy, aka Hansen’s Disease, was a terrifying malady. Before understanding the importance of hygiene, and the discovery of medical intervention that ameliorates the disease, those infected were shunned, excluded from society, put in isolated colonies, where they waited to die. Even today, the image of a leper stirs fears. Pariahs, the excluded, are still defined, labeled and subject to revulsion.

In Jesus’ time, anyone who had any kind of abnormal skin condition was considered a leper, and driven out of the safety of family, tribe, community. If the “leprous” condition cleared up, the proper course was to show oneself to a priest and make an offering to God as proof of cure. Then you could return to your relatives and responsibilities. And if someone, even accidentally, came into physical contact with a person with a suspicious skin condition, they immediately and automatically became unclean and outcast themselves, and were required to isolate themselves for a set period of time.

Early on in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus has been instrument of several cures and exorcisms in Capernaum. Instead of setting up his ministry there, he feels called, through prayer, to bring the Good News and to heal in the other towns of Galilee. He travels about and shares his message of the immanence of God’s Kingdom in the local synagogues. He freely exercises his gifts to restore people to wholeness with those who were ready and able to believe that God deeply desired them to be well and at peace, as Jesus taught.

In between towns, in the open country, a person with a virulent skin condition came up to Jesus and fell on his knees. (Mark 1:40-45) The leper, pleaded with Jesus, “If you want to, you can make me clean again.” Jesus, moved with deep emotion, replied, “Of course I want you to be well. Be cleansed!” And totally against all prudence, Jesus reached out and touched the suffering person, apparently not caring about the consequences for himself. Immediately the skin condition disappeared, The leper was no longer leprous.

Jesus’ concern was that this outcast return home as soon as possible, so he strongly advised, “Go, right away, show yourself to the nearest priest, and make the required offering! Don’t stand around talking about this .” What did the man do? He went around spreading the story about what Jesus had done for him and how – “He touched me.” As a result, Jesus wasn’t able to enter any town. No matter. Crowds still found him, and his mission of love and truth grew.

We too may live in fear of “the leper.” Fear of the unknown, of what might possibly happen, can pull us back from acting with compassion. We become more concerned for ourself, for our reputation, maybe for our safety, and we don’t do what we are moved in our hearts to do for the other. Jesus gives us an example that, even if something does happen to us, there are still opportunities to love and to grow, in places we didn’t expect..

Newness and Unimaginable Gift

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Christmas season and New Year are ripe for wonder and pondering. Beneath all the commerce and marketing overlays lie unfathomable questions. We celebrate newness and unimaginable gift. But what do we do with these treasures – if we recognize them at all?

Every day, every moment is new, never before experienced. And we are new also. What has been is not all we are. We have fresh possibilities to explore, if we are awake and aware. Do we have our eyes open to see them?

Grace infuses time and place. God has entered and permeated all creation. The slow, persistent, nearly invisible work of transformation moves on – despite us if necessary. But we can do our part to advance God’s Kingdom through our choices and actions for the good of all.

Grace is pure and simple gift, given, waiting for our response. We might refuse, ignore, ridicule, reluctantly accept, try to exchange for something we imagine to be better, or we might wholeheartedly welcome gift, using it joyfully and well. We are continually offered gifts of all types, shapes, sizes. 

 If we live one day or one hundred and two years that lifespan is given for us to learn, to grow, to make life better. But we are free to waste the gift of our life, or worse, to pledge allegiance to respectable evil. In some small way, the choice is ours.

Nothing is owed to us. Not today. Nor tomorrow. We need to make good use of whatever opportunities we are given. And if we make plans, we would do well to not hang on to them too tightly.

And the Angel Left

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“And the angel left her.” This is the final line from the story of the Annunciation of Jesus’ birth in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:26-38). The story of the Annunciation is the most frequent gospel reading during the month of Advent. A messenger from God somehow informs Mary that she will be the mother of the Son of God, whom she will name Jesus. Mary asks about how this could come about. She is engaged with all the rights of a married person, but she has yet had no “relations with a man.” The angel replies, “Leave that up to God, who alone can do impossible things” – at least impossible for our minds to comprehend. When Mary states, “Let it be as you have said, I am God’s willing servant,” the angel departs, without a further word, stage right. I find this exit very stark, even cold.

Think about it.You’ve had dreams and plans for how your life would play out. You are about to be married to a good man, a hard worker, honest and faithful. Suddenly all that seems to be turned upside down. And you’re not even able to get a hint on how this astonishing promise will unfold. You don’t question or doubt your, “Yes,” but now you are left alone to explain this potentially socially-awkward situation – unmarried and pregnant. Especially since “adultery,” when discovered, was subject to being stoned to death. The angel left.

Mary hurried out of town to visit her older, wise relative, Elizabeth, whom the angel informed Mary was miraculously six months pregnant with a son of her own (who would grow up to be John the Baptizer). Maybe Elizabeth had some counsel for her. At least the long journey and time away would give Mary a chance to reflect on how to proceed, before the pregnancy began to “show.”

Of course, everything turns out incredibly well. As happens when we give God enough room to do grace-full work. But often, it seems, after we commit ourselves to a difficult path because we understand that this is what God desires of and for us, the initial comfort and consolation disappears and we are left (so it feels) alone to work things out. This is not easy. Social pressure, short cuts, compromises emerge and offer their  wonderful solutions to “take care of our problem.” 

At this point we need to check deep inside and rediscover, or remember, those moments when we had the felt-sense of God’s powerful and caring presence, when we knew, without a doubt, that God was totally faithful, no matter what. Sometimes we need the angel to leave us to grow up in our believing, beyond anything we thought possible.

What Happened?

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When we last left the people of Judah they were feeling pretty righteous and comfortable about themselves and their God. But the First Reading for the Second Sunday of Advent starts with a cry from the prophet Isaiah, “Comfort, give comfort to my people!” What’s going on? This reading is from Chapter 40 of the Book of Isaiah. This chapter begins the second major part of the prophecy. Most likely it was written many years later than the first part, and possibly by a disciple of the first Isaiah. The people of Judah suffered the same fate as their Northern relatives. They were conquered and carried away into exile; this time by the Babylonians, who had taken over power and dominance from the Assyrians.

Now the Judeans need this comforting vision: This exile won’t last forever. There will come a restoration by God, and things will be better than ever for Jerusalem and its people. They have paid fully for their sins of infidelity and disobedience to God. Just hang in there, and prepare a way for God to work in you and in the world. Yes, you will need to pass through a wilderness time, but God rules, and will be like a gentle shepherd guiding and caring for you – not a tyrant who demands that you continue to grovel and suffer – like your captors.

Still no hint of Christmas. We are given the opportunity to maintain our quiet reflection on our lives and on who God is for us. But in the Gospel, the beginning of the Gospel of Mark, John the Baptizer appears out of the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance. “Consider the ways you have been unfaithful and care-less to and about God and God’s ways for you. Turn your head around straight and do what you know to be right and good.” The message parallels that of Isaiah. “Get your act together, because God is about to do something amazing and new – better than ever before. Everything’s about to change, big time!”

When have we been in exile? Feeling lost and distant from even our truest selves? Not sure of how to find our way back to where we belong? When have we needed to review our life and reset our course? Isaiah, and John the Baptizer, are inviting us to not get ahead of ourselves – to take care of business now, so that we can be ready for something better, soon.

Advent is not about Christmas

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This year, approaching the season of Advent, I had this strange thought: Advent is not about Christmas! Advent is about Advent. Yes, it’s placed liturgically around four weeks before Christmas, but Advent is its own spiritual opportunity. If we live Advent well, there’s a good chance we’ll be ready to celebrate Christmas with all the depth it deserves, when that amazing feast arrives.

The readings of the First Sunday of Advent don’t give any hint about Jesus’ birth. They’re all about being ready for the End Times. Then during  the First Week of Advent, we have a series of readings from the prophet Isaiah. The first part of the Book of Isaiah, chapters 1-39, was written when everything was fine and dandy in the Southern Kingdom of Judah. The people were prospering and patting themselves on the back for their staunch fidelity (as they understood it) to God. And they were comparing themselves to their kin of the Northern Kingdom who had been dragged off to Assyria after they had been defeated and their main city, Samaria, had been overrun and destroyed. Those idiots in the North (obviously) hadn’t been faithful to God (like us).  And the vibe at the time was that their grand, high, and fortified city, Jerusalem (God’s preferred spot in the whole world), would serve as center of welcome when God decided those Northerners had suffered enough in exile. Then they would be one, great people again. Optimism reigned – for a time. 

On Monday of Week One, Isaiah (Isaiah 2:1-5) rolls out a vision of the whole world streaming to Jerusalem, from which God’s Law would come forth. God will judge all peoples there, and settle any disputes between nations. (There’s a terrible, painful irony in this.) They will melt down and forge their swords into plows, and they will rework their spears into instruments to prune branches of fruit. This will mark the end of the ongoing bitter conflicts among peoples. Weapons will no longer have any use. And in an astonishing claim, nations will no longer learn how to make war.  Nations will forget how to fight one another in mortal combat. At the end (verse 5), the prophet stuck this caveat: Israel come, let’s walk in the light that God gives! 

Yes, that’s the missing piece/peace in our world of divisiveness and constant warring. We refuse to walk in the Light of the World, Jesus, sent by God. Millions of people continue to suffer and die because we will not choose or act as God desires. Where is the Ho, Ho, Ho, in that? We have much work to do before Christmas.

 

 

 

For What Can We Give Thanks?

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Tis the season of celebration. To me, Thanksgiving is the holiday that we in the US of A do best. Everyone can get into it. There’s not the horrible over-commercialization as we have with other holidays. All people living in this great and wounded country are able to reflect, realize and give thanks for so much – despite imperfections and mistakes.

The opening line of Psalm 107 is, “Give thanks to the One who alone IS, for God’s steadfast love lasts for all time.” We all have experienced that life is filled with experiences that are much less than good, and people who do bad things that impact us and many, many others. Still the Scriptures remind us that, “God’s will for us is to give thanks in ALL circumstances, while praying continuously (1 Thessalonians 5:18). 

There’s the rub. How hard it is to give thanks in all circumstances! Yes, it’s easy to give thanks for all the good stuff. Yet so much goes on that seems immersed in evil. People get hurt. Creation is despoiled. Greed and injustice seem rampant. Too much looking out for numero uno. How can we thank God when these kinds of choices and acts mount up day after day?

Let’s go back to Psalm 107. It doesn’t ask us to give thanks for anything that happens, or for what anyone does or doesn’t do. It commands us to give thanks to God because God’s faithful love permeates every moment – no matter what is going down. We give thanks because God is lovingly with us in each and every circumstance that we (and everyone) live through. So, what do we choose to focus on: God’s amazing love that surrounds us, or the misery? We are never abandoned or alone. Our non-stop gratitude is right and good.

 

 

A Little Goes a Long Way

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Jesus was quite a storyteller. Not all of his parables – those open-ended stories that are designed to make you think – are original to Jesus, but he liked to put his own twist on them. One way to tell where a parable ends and commentary added by the editor who put the Gospel in its final shape begins, look for the question. It may be stated or even implied. A parable, like the geometric figure with the same name, invites us into the infinite view of God. It is meant to expand to as far as we can follow.

In the Gospel of Luke (Luke 13:18-21) Jesus tells two very brief parables that convey a united message: the mustard seed and the yeast. A mustard seed is tiny, yet in the right environment, it can grow into quite a large bush. Yeast, for anyone who bakes with it, is a powerful agent of transformation. Think of the difference between flat bread and a fresh from the oven loaf or steaming rolls.

What is Jesus trying to get across? He compares each of these (the tiny seed and the bit of yeast) to God’s Kingdom. The sense that I pick up is that whatever little action we take that  builds up God’s Kingdom (and makes our world better for everyone) has a potential way beyond what we might expect or imagine. Any act of kindness, compassion, integrity,  reconciliation, peacefulness, love has a lasting and powerful effect, because God is with us in the doing. And we may not even know how people have been touched, or how our world has been made more human.

One Foot Out, One Foot In

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We are immersed in a society that thrives on exchanges, trades, and deals. Everything gets an assigned value – whether this is conscious, said out loud, or only calculated within. It’s great if you can come out ahead (at least a little) of whomever you’re dealing with. But, whatever you do, don’t you dare get taken, cheated, or come out on the short end of any transaction. And it doesn’t matter if the transaction involves money, goods or even in the ebb and flow of personal relationships. We think that this is how the world works. Of course it isn’t.

Matthew has the most parables, and they’re packed into one of the five sections of his Gospel in what has been designated as chapter 13 (since the original had no chapters or verses). The Gospel has a pair of these stories back-to-back, which is meant to drive home the same message: the treasure hidden in the field and the pearl of great price (Matthew 13:44-46). They imply a question, “What is God’s Kingdom worth?”

Matthew speaks of God’s reign, which begins with Jesus’ life and work, as the Kingdom of Heaven. Mark and Luke use the phrase, the Kingdom of God, which is perhaps more likely what Jesus called it. Matthew is always super attentive to the sensibilities of his Jewish audience. He doesn’t want to give offense, where possible, while clearly presenting Jesus as the new Moses, the Messiah, the Promised One. For Mathew, Jesus did not come to do away with the cherished traditions and the Law, but to bring them to the fullness that God intended. The Jewish people had developed a practice of not using the name of the Most High, whom they commonly referred to as Lord. Jesus, on the other hand,  had no qualms about talking very personally and directly about God.

In the parable of the treasure hidden in the field, it seems that the one who comes across it is not looking for it, but kind of stumbles upon (or over) it. The field just happens to be the shortest distance between here and there. But, the finder immediately understands the immense value of the treasure, covers it up again, and hurries off to locate the one who owns the field in order to buy it – using all the money the finder has. Jesus says that God’s Kingdom is like that hidden treasure. We are to keep our eyes open to recognize God’s Kingdom waiting to be discovered along our daily path. And (this is the tough part) we are to give all we have, all we are to God. Like Jesus, holding nothing back.

The parable of the pearl of great price has the same message. The main difference is that the merchant is in the pearl business and is systematically seeking the finest pearl possible. There is nothing casual or accidental here. The merchant knows what he or she is after, and recognizes THE pearl when finding it. Like the finder, the merchant gives all to have her or his heart’s deepest desire.

The Kingdom of Heaven, the Kingdom of God, is God’s loving presence and action among all creation, bringing about that which is truly good, beautiful and of true value. We might call this free gift of God, grace. In order to build up this Kingdom, we are invited to freely give our whole selves. Isn’t that the core of love, self-gift, with no reservations? But it’s so hard to escape the market mentality that pervades so much. We are constantly tempted to withhold something, just in case. We don’t want to look like fools, easy marks, patsies. So the coming of God’s Kingdom slows, because we are not all in.

Fear of the Lord – Is This What God Wants – Really?

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The people who claim all or part of the book known as the Bible are fascinated with the number seven. Seven, among some ancient peoples, was considered a number of perfection, in the sense of completion. It refers to the combination of the totality of the spiritual realm, symbolized by the number three, and the totality of the physical, symbolized by the number four.

There is a Christian tradition around the gifts which come directly from God’s Spirit, namely that there are seven of these. The list of the sevenfold qualities comes from two versions of the Book of Isaiah the prophet (Isaiah 11:2), the older Hebrew and the (relatively) newer Greek. They are: wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, strength and fear of the Lord, which comes out as piety in Greek. Piety in the Grace-Roman world was a highly prized gift. Piety gives us a pretty strong clue as to what “fear of the Lord” means. 

In the classic Latin poem, the Aeneid, the protagonist, Aeneas, is given the designation, pious. It is the consummate praise. Piety expressed a person’s total commitment to his or her responsibilities – to God, family, country, creation… Being pious had nothing to do with a saccharine, devotional appearance or behavior. Christians added piety to Isaiah’s original six.

The Scriptural sense of fear of the Lord is to regard God with awe, reverence – as sovereign and supreme in our life.  Our actions are to be directed toward whatever God indicates to be true and right and good. All our responsibilities flow from this. Fear of the Lord is not about being scared of God, or of what God’s going to do to me if I mess up. God knows us better than we know ourselves, that we are funny, little, imperfect and fabulous. God doesn’t want us to live in, or out of, fear. Fear, in this sense, is not a gift of the Holy Spirit.