MAGDALENE'S MISTAKE

MARY MAGDALENE'S MYOPIA

Mary Magdalene stood outside the tomb weeping, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord and I do not know where they have laid him.”

Saying this she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will take him away.

 (Jn 20:11-15)

I was giving this text a lot of thought and prayer earlier this week. What made Mary suddenly turn around before the two angels could even deliver their message? Did she sense a presence behind her? St. John Chrysostom suggests that the two angels suddenly caught sight of the Risen Lord standing behind Mary and she read their faces and so turned to see what they were looking at.

 

She may have turned only partly around, because v.16 tells us that when Jesus called her by name, “She turned and said to him, ‘Rabouni.’”   

But the phrase that really caught my interest came when she first turned and saw this figure standing there “but she did not know that it was Jesus.”

Maybe her eyes were filled with tears, or maybe she was so overwhelmed with grief that she wasn’t really thinking straight. And she certainly had no concept of a “risen Jesus” - Judaism had no such concept nor any vocabulary to express it, so she was not prepared to see a “risen Lord.”

In addition, there are other places in the Easter narratives where other people don’t recognize Jesus either ( e.g. the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and the disciples out fishing when Jesus calls to them from the shore), which indicates that there was now something different about his appearance. So we can’t blame poor Magdalene for mistaking Jesus for the gardener. “She did not know it was Jesus.”

SO, WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?

But what about you and me? We have the gospel accounts along with the hindsight and the insights of two millennia of Christian tradition, all preparing us to recognize Christ in every person we meet. But the same thing happens to you and me as happened to Magdalene: we don’t know that it is Jesus standing before us when he comes.

I’ve learned that He often comes in the guise of the person who puts their umbrella into the spokes of my life’s bicycle: he phones at an inconvenient hour looking for someone to talk to, he needs help pouring cereal into his bowl because his Alzheimer’s is bad this morning, he is a homeless woman asking for a handout on the sidewalk down the hill from the monastery. I need to be on the watch all the time for these “appearances” of the Risen Lord so that I don’t make the same mistake that Magdalene made when “she did not know that it was Jesus.”

"She did not know it was Jesus."

We’re about to start classes on Monday after a two-week Easter break. There are lots of terrific kids who I’ll be delighted to see after a two-week vacation; I’ll see Jesus in them right way and enjoy His presence. But will I be willing and able to recognize the same Jesus when he starts acting out his adolescent anger in class because he doesn’t know what else to do with it, or when he starts chatting with his classmate while he’s supposed to be taking notes in class? That will be the test for me.

Let’s pray to the Risen Jesus that He’ll give each of us the eyes of Easter Faith, that he’ll open our eyes to see His presence in every person and every circumstance.

AN EASTER STORY

Easter is happening all around us every day. In this post I'll share an excerpt from my book Faces of Easter. An Easter story that truly needs to be told.

As soon as Walter walks through the door as a freshman, it’s obvious that he’s staggering under some heavy emotional burdens. He can’t look anyone in the eye, preferring to stare at the floor instead, and if asked a question he might not respond at all, or might mumble a monosyllable; he plods through each day, hiding behind the protective barriers he’s set up and avoiding human contact as much as possible. Even shaking someone’s hand seems to be an ordeal. 

So, we convince him to live in our student residence hall, where he’s assigned to be a member of a group of ten other kids who, like him, are dealing with serious emotional and psychological issues. The eleven have their own separate hallway in the dorm and follow a strict schedule that includes a common study hall, frequent group therapy sessions and an individual conference once a week with one of our counselors. By accumulating “hours” of good behavior and acceptable grades—Walter isn’t particularly good at either—a student in this group can earn certain privileges, such as right to study in his room instead of in the study hall, and, eventually, to go home for a weekend visit.

The school year quickly shifts into high gear, and I have almost no contact with Walter for weeks at a time. I do hear an occasional comment from a teacher, however, that Walter is aloof and uncommunicative. The gold light of September cools over the weeks into the grayness of December, and suddenly it’s time for Christmas break, which means that Walter will be going home for the first time since the beginning of the fall semester. 

As all the students are charging out the door toward a two-week break, I notice Walter standing outside on the top step in front of the school, with a suitcase and a big laundry bag at his feet, peering nervously up the street. Having no idea if he’ll consent to shake my hand or even acknowledge my greeting, I step out of the door and offer him my hand, saying “Have a great vacation, Walt.” He ignores my hand (Had I made a mistake by offering it?), and stares at me. Then, appearing half confused, and half insulted, he looks me in the eye and asks: “What, no hug?” I stand there for a second, dumbfounded.

The moment is so full of mystery and grace and love that I won’t even try to reduce it to words. But you can be sure that Walter got his hug.

HAPPY EASTER!

FREEING LAZARUS

The gospel for Sunday, March 22 is the well-known story of the raising of Lazarus. 

One traditional way of meditating on a gospel passage is to place yourself in the scene and imagine yourself as each of the various characters.

Yesterday, our deacon, brother Bruno, preached a sermon using this technique. I was particularly touched by his suggestion that we put ourselves in a place of the bystanders to whom Jesus said “untie him and let him go.“ (Jn 11:44).

Here is Lazarus, who has just come out of the tomb bound in the funeral wrappings of a corpse. Jesus tells the people around him to “untie him and set him free.”

This verse sets up a powerful reflection for each of us: Who are the people in my life that the Lord is asking me to “set free?” Just how am I to set each of them free? Is it by my words? By certain acts of  kindness or compassion? Or maybe just by being present to them?

I think that from now on whenever I hear this gospel, I will automatically start asking myself, “Who does the Lord need me to untie and set free the way those bystanders did for Lazarus in the gospel?“

May the Lord grant each of us a blessed Passiontide, as well as the eyes to see people around us who may need to be set free.

GOD'S APOLOGY

You may notice that the question of suffering and the problem of evil have been favorite topics in this blog on and off for years. In the left hand column on this screen you can scroll down to "labels" that link you to posts about "God and Suffering," and "The mystery of Suffering." During the past few days it seems that I've been asked to share in the pain and suffering of a couple of friends and relatives. To be honest, it's been a heavy lift at times. Rereading the following passage was he help to me. So I'm sharing it with you.

A SURPRISING SIDE OF GOD

There is at this moment, in the back of some forsaken church, or even ordinary house, or at the turning of a deserted path, a poor man who joins his hands and from the depth of his misery, without very well knowing what he is saying, or without saying anything, thanks the good Lord for having made him free, for having made him capable of loving. 
There is somewhere else, I do not know where, a mother who hides her face for the last time in the hollow of a little breast which will beat no more, a mother next to her dead child who offers to God the groan of an exhausted resignation, as if the Voice which has thrown the suns into space as a hand throws grain, the Voice which makes the worlds tremble, had just murmured gently into her ear, “Pardon me. One day you will know, you will understand, you will thank me. But right now, what I am looking for from you is your pardon. Pardon.” 
These -- this harassed woman, this poor man -- are at the heart of the mystery, at the heart of universal creation and in the very secret of God. What can I say of it? Language is at the service of intelligence. And what these people have understood, they have understood by a faculty superior to intelligence although not in the least in contradiction with it -- or rather, by a profound and irresistible movement of the soul which engaged all the faculties at once, which engaged to the depth their entire nature… 
Yes, at the moment that this man, this woman, accepted their destiny, accepted themselves, humbly -- the mystery of creation was being accomplished in them.  While they were thus, without knowing it, running the entire risk of their human conduct, they were realizing themselves fully in the charity of Christ, becoming themselves, according to the words of St. Paul, other Christs. In short, they were saints.                                            - Charles Peguy (1873-1914)

This God who identifies with our suffering and apologizes because we cannot understand how it fits into the Divine Plan of Love for the world -- this sounds much more like the God that Jesus came to reveal to us. This is the God of Love, but also the God of Surprises and, unfortunately for us, the God of Mystery. I say let's accept the apology gracefully and keep on letting God love us in the midst of all the world's problems. And, of course, try to pass on that love to the people we are living with.
Maybe sometime I'll explore the idea of how our loving God uses adversity to strengthen us and help us grow in love for one another.
 Meanwhile, as we get closer to Holy Week, let us ask the Lord to help us to imitate his example on the cross by growing in self-giving love.

THIRSTING FOR GOD

The gospel for this Sunday is the story of Jesus and the woman at the well (Jn 4:5-42). One verse caught my attention and has kept me thinking for a couple of days. It’s a statement that Jesus makes to the Samaritan woman: 

“Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.“

As I reflected on this verse, I kept asking myself why I still wind up thirsting for more. Jesus promises me that I will never thirst, and yet it seems to me that He is never quite enough. 

It occurs to me that maybe this is the human condition, to always be thirsty for something more. There are plenty of places in the Old Testament that witness to this. Just this morning, for example, we sang at Lauds Psalm 63: 

“Oh God, you are my God — It is you I seek!

For you, my body yearns; for you, my soul thirsts,

In a land parched, lifeless, and without water.“ (vv1-2). 

A favorite psalm verse of mine is

“My soul is thirsting for the Lord,

When shall I see him face to face.”

So, there it is again: To be thirsting for the Lord is part of our human condition.

The season of lent is designed to make us experience this built-in

incompleteness. Especially the practice of fasting. During this season, when we are preparing to celebrate the great feast of the resurrection, we are constantly reminded that we are by nature incomplete, that there is, as St. Augustine puts it, this God-shaped hole in the center of our being that cannot be filled by anything except God.

So I’ve decided not be too discouraged when I find that I am still thirsty after drinking of Christ, the Fountain of life. This side of heaven, the best I can do as an imperfect human being is to keep working at drawing closer to Christ and imitating him in his obedient suffering. 

OUR TRANSFIGURATION

Recently I had a serious fall on the stairs in the monastery. (I survived with minimal injury, thank God.) However, I've been reflecting a lot on the experience of lying there on the floor unable to stand up, helpless and humbled. One of the many lessons I've drawn from this experience is that I'm a very vulnerable creature who depends on God for everything, including my next breath. Imagine my surprise, then, when I came upon this ten year-old reflection on the story of Christ's Transfiguration. I'm presenting it here with no changes except today's date.

A SECOND LOOK AT THE TRANSFIGURATION

This Sunday, March 1, the gospel is the Matthew's account of the Transfiguration.

I’ve always thought of this as simply Jesus’ revealing his divine nature to his apostles, giving them a glimpse of his glory to strengthen their faith in him before they witnessed  his passion and death. And that’s certainly true, as I’ve written on a previous post in this blog; and many of the story’s details point us to that interpretation.

ITS ABOUT YOU!

But this morning I came across a couple of readings that suggested a second application as well. It goes something like this: In their glimpse of Jesus’ glory, we see where we are all heading as well. As members of Christ’s body, we are each destined to be glorified with him, to be “deified,” as many of the Church's early theologians early liked to put it.   

In this interpretation, the Transfiguration is not just about Jesus and who Jesus is, but it’s also about you and me, about the Church, and about every human being, destined to be saved through the merits of Jesus Christ. We have been created to share one day in the fullness of God’s glory, and here Jesus is offering us a glimpse of our own glory.

So the Transfiguration has now become more of a personal thing: both an encouragement and a challenge to live my life as someone who has a divine destiny.

I had minor surgery on my left hand yesterday, so I’m typing with a bulky Ace bandage on my hand, which is proving to be quite a challenge. So, let me leave you with the thought that I’ve been reflecting on: If the Transfiguration reveals something about me and the belief that I am destined for glory, then what effect does that have on how I act?  

Happy Lent!

A VISION FOR LENT

FORTY DAYS IN THE DESERT

Although the gospel for the First Sunday of Lent this year is Matthew's version of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness I'd like to revisit a post from a dozen years ago which treat's Mark's version, which is only two verses long:

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. (Mk 1:12-13)

Compared to the much more detailed versions of Matthew and Luke, Mark’s account seems disappointingly short on details. But if we concentrate on what he does tell us, we find some wonderful food for meditation.

First we should look at what Mark is saying. He surely intends (as do Matthew and Luke in their much longer accounts) that we should make the connection between the People of God who spent forty years in the wilderness, and Jesus “the New Israel,” who spent forty days there fasting and being tested. And perhaps more likely the gospel writers want us to recall the fast of Moses (Deut. 9:18) in the wilderness of Sinai, and that of Elijah near mount Horeb (cf. I Kgs 19:8).

I would like, however, to look at two interesting details in the second and final sentence in Mark: “He was with the wild beasts” and “angels came and ministered to him.”

THE BEASTS AND THE ANGELS

In the Old Testament wild beasts are associated with evil powers:

Many bulls encircle me,
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
they open wide their mouths at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion. …
For dogs are all around me;
a company of evildoers encircles me.
(Ps 22:12,13,16)

Psalm 91 has angels protecting the psalmist from wild beasts.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot. (Ps 91:11-13)

Finally, in the account of creation in Genesis the first humans coexisted peacefully with animals:
God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.’ (Gen. 1:28)

So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field. (Gen. 2:19-20)

This kind of peaceful coexistence is also part of the hope of the renewed creation in Isaiah

The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea. (Isa. 11:6-9, cp. 65:24-25).

THE VISION OF PEACE
We can see in Mark's account of Jesus in the desert, then, a hint or a hope of the new creation of harmony and peace that will one day be brought about by Him.

The season of Lent is a good time for me to work at my part of bringing the “Peaceable Kingdom” into existence in my world and in my heart. During this holy season I can strive consciously to treat a certain person with more patience or compassion, I can take a step toward reconciliation with someone from whom I’ve become distanced. The ideas for “Lenten resolutions” in this area are countless.

What about bringing about the “peaceable kingdom” inside my own heart? Well, the idea of fasting is to lessen the hold that “the tempter” has on me precisely by taming, with God’s help, the unruly passions in me that try to run my life. Sort of like calling on the angels to help me with the “beasts” that threaten me. This is not about body-hating; in fact it’s just the opposite. The goal of my Lenten fast is that the world of instincts and the world of the spirit can come together in harmony so that I can live in tranquility with myself and with others, and so help bring about “that peace which the world cannot give.”

So, what about you? What specific things will you do during these forty days in the wilderness to help bring about Jesus’s dream of a “peaceable kingdom” in your heart and in your world?

             "The Peaceable Kingdom" Edward Hicks (1780 - 1849)