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!

PHARISEES' FAULT

The gospel for Saturday, August 23, 2025 shows a confrontation between Jesus and the

Pharisees. By the time the gospel of Matthew was being written down, certain members of the Pharisee party had launched a full-fledged persecution of Christians. So it’s not surprising that the gospel writer portrays them in the worst possible light. While we have to avoid going overboard in our condemnation of the Pharisees, most of whom were sincere and observant Jews, we can nevertheless learn something from the mistakes of some of them.

The great Protestant theologian Paul Tillich defines religion as “the dimension of depth in reality.“ We humans are by nature symbol making creatures. Whatever dimension of depth we experience, we usually try to express it in various symbolic forms in story, poetry, music, ritual and other kinds of metaphorical language.

In my opinion, the Pharisees put such an emphasis on those outward forms (the observance of strict laws and customs, for example) that they lost the whole idea of “the dimension of depth in life”. It’s as if they put down a floor that prevented them from going deep into the transcendent Mystery of the Divine, the sacred mystery of who we are in God’s eyes. All they had left was the externals, without the ultimate Meaning that these were meant to point to and to celebrate. The gospel today lists some of those externals.

This God of the Pharisees was quite knowable and indeed quite under their control. All one had to do was obey all the laws and perform the rituals correctly and you kept God at bay. I once heard a super-religious person described this way: “He had God in his pocket.”

What a terrible loss! To have a God who is so small and weak that he fits in your pocket! 

But before we get too smug, we should notice that  the gospel writer ends this passage with a warning his fellow Christians to beware of falling into the same trap:

As for you, do not be called 'Rabbi.' You have but one teacher, and you are all brothers. Call no one on earth your father; you have but one Father in heaven. Do not be called 'Master'; you have but one master, the Christ. The greatest among you must be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, but whoever humbles himself will be exalted."

We are warned: we may be very observant practicing Christians, but observances and religious practices will not get us into heaven any more than they did for those Pharisees.

COSMIC CHRIST IN ADVENT

 

"Could this be the Messiah?"

I was reading tomorrow's gospel (Third Sunday of Advent), from Luke, Chapter 3:10-18, when I came upon the verse that says "and all were asking in their hearts whether John [the Baptizer] might be the Christ." I confess that I'm baffled why the translators didn't use the word "messiah" instead of "Christ." The Greek uses "christos," meaning "anointed one," which in turn parallels the Hebrew "meshach" (anointed) which gives us the word "messiah." The Jews flocking into the desert knew nothing about "Christ" as we know Him, the Second Person of the Trinity, or the Risen One. They were looking for the long-expected Messiah who would deliver them from the oppressive pagan rule of the Romans. 

Disappointed as I was by the insertion of the word "Christ" in the day's gospel, I turned my meditation to the notion of the "Universal Christ" that I've been reflecting upon on and off for weeks. You should read last Tuesday's post to get a feel for what I mean by the "Universal Christ" or the "Cosmic Christ." 

So I began looking in my prayer journal for some ways of applying to my own life the notion of "the Christ," the Second Person of the Trinity, who has existed since before the beginning. My eyes fell almost immediately on this statement I'd copied some days ago: 

"Human vulnerability gives the soul an immense head start on its travels-- maybe the only start for any true spiritual journey." -Richard Rohr, "Immortal Diamond" Ch.8. 

"In the beginning was the Word."

Without a sense of vulnerability, how can I profit from the Love of the Universal Christ? My relationship with the Almighty One would be spoiled by my sense of mistrust, by my constantly looking for ways to control the forces in my life that clearly lie beyond my control.

Instead of being in competition with the Christ, what if I were to ask for his help instead? St. Paul says "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." And what a helper He could be!

"Let it be done unto me ..."  

By coincidence, the community of Newark Abbey is celebrating the transferred feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe today (it got bumped by Sunday this year). So, it was easy for me to see in the young Mary of Nazareth a perfect example of "human vulnerability,"  and how it shows itself in our loves as "humility." Mary's own dreams, her own agenda were forgotten as soon as the angel announced to Mary that God had something special for her to do. 

Without realizing the full implications of what she was agreeing to, Mary nevertheless said "Yes," and the Divine Plan moved forward. God had made use of her vulnerability and her humility, with the result that the "Word became flesh and dwelt among us."

So, during the rest of this Advent I'll be conscious of praying with a sense of vulnerability and humility when I sing words like, "O come, Divine Messiah." Or is it "O come, Divine Christ?"

KEEP SAYING GOODBYE!

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Sunday's gospel passage gives us Jesus' instructions to his disciples about the cost of following him. It includes these verses:

“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother,

wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life,
he cannot be my disciple.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me
cannot be my disciple.....
anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions
cannot be my disciple.” (Lk 14:26, 27, 33)

The last verse interesting, especially the verb that's translated here as "renounce." In Greek, the word apotassomai means "to say farewell, to take leave of." In an earlier chapter of Luke, Jesus invites a man to follow him, and the fellow responds, "Let me go first and say good-bye to (apotassomai) my father." But in this Sunday's passage, the word is used in the extended sense of "to part with possessions."

This morning I asked myself, "What are the things that I need to say good-bye to in order to follow Jesus?" Each of us has his or her unique list, obviously, that may include worrying, trying to control other people, being preoccupied about material goods or money, and so on. The verb apotassomai  gave me pause: "unless you say good-bye to whatever you have..."  Okay, so let's say that I decide to give up my habit of trying to control everything, so that I can follow Christ. Let's say, further, that my resolution works and that I find myself walking across the wilderness with Jesus as a faithful follower. Then, I imagined the following scene this morning: As I'm following Jesus, I glance behind me and I see a little cloud of dust on the horizon, but I don't think anything of it. Ten minutes later, though, I look again and the cloud has gotten much bigger, and much closer. Clearly it's being caused by something travelling across the dusty wilderness -- something that's following us. I begin to wonder what it could be. The next time I look over my shoulder, I can make out what it is that's following us: it's my need to control all the people around me! The very thing that I left behind in order to walk with Jesus. The very thing that I "said goodbye to" not so long ago.

The problem is twofold: First, that although I had said good-bye to the habit, the habit hadn't said goodbye to me, and second, that I thought I was doing this all on my own, like spiritual a do-it-yourself project. Both of these are bad mistakes. Think of this image: You say goodbye to someone who you've come to realize is a bad influence on you; you leave them with a sigh of relief, not intending to see them ever again. But shortly thereafter, this person comes ringing your doorbell or starts texting you, clearly thinking that they're still part of your life. How frustrating! And you thought you were rid of this problem person! It seems that "saying goodbye" is not always enough to finish the job of separating from that other.

So, I've "said goodbye" to some practice or habit that could hold me back from following Jesus more closely. That's my "conversion" project. But then I begin to realize that one goodbye isn't enough: I need to keep repeating the same goodby every day, I need to be converted not just once but constantly.


Clearly this can get frustrating and tiring -- which is why Jesus tells me to keep walking close to him: After all, this isn't my project as much as it is his!

I pray for the gift of humility so that I can keep admitting that I depend on his help to keep converting every day of my life. I hope that I'll be able to accept his help and hear his words,"Do not be afraid. I am with you!"

THE ANNUNCIATION IN THE KITCHEN

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...
LET IT BE DONE UNTO ME ... 

March 25 is the Solemnity of the Annunciation; nine months from today we will be celebrating the birth of the Christ Child at Christmas. 

We are all familiar with the story of the annunciation from Luke (Lk 1:26 – 38) in which the angel Gabriel appears to Mary who says, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord, let it be done to me as you have said.” During Women's History Month, and during a time in our country's history when many Americans seem to be looking upon the poor and minorities with less and less sympathy and empathy, this seems a timely post.


THE ANNUNCIATION: A LUCAN STORY 

The first part of the following meditation is adapted from Luke Timothy Johnson’s The Gospel of Luke (Sacra Pagina Vol 3, p. 39). 

Only St. Luke would have thought to tell the story of the annunciation in just this way. He loves to give major roles to minorities (such as women) and outcasts, he emphasizes Jesus’ humble origins, and enjoys pointing out the law of divine reversal (whereby the rich become poor and the poor rich, etc.). These themes give us some new perspectives on the story of the annunciation. 

In Ch. 1:5-25, Luke tells the story of the announcement of the birth of John the Baptist: an angel appears to the priest Zechariah as he is performing his duties in the temple. This story provides a contrast with the next one, the announcement of the birth of Christ, in which an angel appears to a young girl.  

In contrast to Zechariah, Mary holds no official position among the people,
She is not described as “righteous” in terms of observing Torah, 
She is among the most powerless people in her society: 
- she is young in a world that values age, 
- she is female in a world ruled by men, 
- she is poor in a stratified economy. 

Furthermore she has neither husband nor child to validate her existence. 
Yet she has “found favor with God” and has been “highly gifted.” 

Here we one of Luke's favorite themes: God acting in ways that are surprising and paradoxical, reversing human expectations. 

Finally, Luke prizes simplicity and humility; thus the most important dialogue in the whole bible, ending with Mary’s telling the angel, “Let it be done to me,” does not take place in the temple (as Zechariah’s vision does), nor in a royal palace, but rather in the obscure village of Nazareth. 

FR. KILIAN'S POEM 

Father Kilian McDonnell, O.S.B., a monk of St. John’s Abbey in Minnesota, wrote a lovely reflection on this very theme. I offer it here as a reminder that we should be ready to encounter God at any time, anywhere, especially in our everyday activities. But before reading it, first take a look at Jacopo Bellini's 1444 painting, referred to in the first stanza.
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..................                    IN THE KITCHEN 

........................Bellini has it wrong. 
........................I was not kneeling 
........................quietly at prayer, ..........................
........................head slightly bent
........................to show submission. 
.....................
........................Painters always 
........................get it wrong, skewed, 
........................as though my life 
........................were wrapped in the silks, 
........................in temple smells. 

........................Actually I had just 
........................come back from the well, 
........................pitcher in my hand. 
........................As I placed it on the table 
........................I spilled some on the floor. 

........................Bending to wipe 
........................it up, there was a light, 
........................against the kitchen wall 
........................as though someone had 
........................opened the door to the 
..........................................................sun.
 ..........................
........................Rag in hand, 
........................hair across my face, 
........................I turned to see 
........................who was coming in, 
........................unannounced, unasked. 
..........................
                              All I saw 
........................was light, whiter 
........................than whitest white. 
........................I heard a voice 
........................I had never heard, 
........................walking toward me, 
........................saying I was chosen, 
........................The Favored One. 

..........................I pushed back my hair, 
..........................stood baffled. 
..........................With the clarity of light 
..........................the light spoke 
..........................of Spirit, shadow, child 

..........................as the water puddled 
..........................large around my feet. 
..........................Against all reason, 
..........................against all rationality, 
..........................I knew it would be true. 

..........................I heard my voice 
..........................“I have no man.” 
..........................The Lord is God 
..........................of all possibilities: 
..........................with Elizabeth no flow 
..........................of blood in thirty years 
..........................but six months gone. 

..........................From the fifteen years 
..........................of my Nazareth wisdom 
..........................I spoke to the light 
..........................in the joy of truth: 
..........................“Let it be so.” 
..........................Someone closed the door. 
..........................And I dropped the rag. 

"The Annunciation" by Henry Owassa Turner

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Past or Future?

A couple of Days ago our prior Fr. Augustine caught me after morning prayer and said "Hey, aren't you supposed to say mass for the Missionaries of Charity this morning?" Oops! I had twenty minutes to go get my driver's license, hop in  a car and arrive at the convent. Besides getting there on time, I also had to come up with a homily.

As I was driving to say the mass trying to think of an idea for a homily I remembered a tiny bit of an interview I'd caught on the radio the day before. A basketball coach had said: "I tell my guys, if you make a mistake it's best to just come out and admit it. Once you admit it then it becomes part of your past. If you cover it up, though, then it's going to be part of your future."

At the time I heard it it struck me as a pretty wise bit of advice. Now it came back to me as I was parking in front to the convent -- with three minutes to spare! Next thing I knew mass had started and I was reading the gospel in which Jesus tells his disciples that when they go into a town or village that will not receive them and their word, they should shake the dust off their shoes in testimony against them and then move on to the next village.(I reflected on this gospel in a recent post entitled "Dusty Feet.")

The sisters sat down (on the floor, as Mother Teresa's sisters do) to hear the homily. What the Lord gave me went something like this:

Jesus tells his disciples that when they go on a missionary journey they will certainly meet with setbacks and defeats, and they will need to decide what to do in the face of such adversity. One approach would be to hold on to the defeats and begin collecting them, piling them up one on top of another and carrying them around for the rest of your life as you follow Jesus on the journey.

The other approach is the one Jesus suggests here: admit the defeat, perhaps learn something from it, but then shake its dust off your feet and thus make the negative experience part of your past. No purpose is served by making it part of your future.

The homily came off pretty well. (At least I was listening to it very attentively!)

As I drove back to the monastery after mass I started thinking some more about that basketball coach's advice. He tells his players "If you screw up, you're better off admitting it, then it can be put into the past."  It occurred to me that a player would have to really trust that the coach would in fact forgive him and put it in the past. By contrast, with God I don't have to question whether or not my sin will be forgiven and forgotten: that's the promise that's repeated over and over in the Gospel.

Then it struck me that sometimes admitting to something you did will involve accepting some serious consequences that certainly will affect your future. That's, I suppose, why people try to hide their mistakes and misdeeds.

But then I remembered a little saying that the head of our Counseling Department repeats all the time to the kids: "You're only a sick as your secrets." This implies that living with the just consequences of your deeds may be very difficult and painful, but at least it isn't sick, and it leaves room for growth and healing.

This is probably why St. Benedict is so insistent that a monk admit when he's made a mistake: so that the mistake can become a lesson in humility and an opportunity for growth. Otherwise the fault just remains his own little secret, isolating him from the community and calling him to smallness and closedness instead of challenging him to openness and growth.

As I pulled into the monastery's parking lot I thanked the Lord for bailing me out when I had carelessly forgotten that I had that mass assignment. If Fr. Augustine hadn't reminded me the sisters would have sat there waiting for who-knows-how-long. It would have been pretty embarrassing. I wonder if I would have tried to cover up my mistake or blame someone else; or maybe I would have just admitted my blunder, apologized for it, and moved on?
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And what's in YOUR future?

TWO RETREAT IMAGES

This past few days the monks have been on retreat. The conferences, presented by Fr. Justin of St. Vincent Archabbey, were unique because they were based on famous a set of paintings begun 500 years ago this year by Matthias Grünewald, known as the Isenheim Altarpiece. It is a series of folding panels containing pictures from the life of Christ. The deep theological symbolism contained in the paintings would take a month to exhaust.

IDENTIFYING WITH THE SUFFERING CHRIST
When the hinged panels were closed, they revealed a scene of the crucifixion that is one of the most macabre and horrid depictions you can imagine. It’s important to remember that the piece was painted for a hospital for victims of an epidemic of a terrible disease called "ergotism" or “St. Anthony's fire” caused by the poison of a fungus that clung to rye and was inadvertently pounded into the flour used to make rye bread. It “set off painful skin eruptions that blackened and turned gangrenous, often requiring amputations. The eruptions were accompanied by nervous spasms and convulsions. Many victims died.” The sufferers were being invited to identify with the Christ hanging in torment on the cross.

At the base of the work is a panel showing Jesus being taken down from the cross. His body is covered with red lesions; these are not signs of the scourging, they are the familiar skin lesions of ergotism! The sufferer looking at the painting would easily see himself in Christ and identify with Jesus’ passion.

How good am I at remembering to identify my own sufferings with those of Christ on the cross? I’m too likely to forget that connection and concentrated simply on the commendable search for ways to make the pain stop. But this picture of the body of the crucified Christ covered with lesions can remind me to see my sufferings as part of his.

MARY'S KIND OF "YES"

Another of the panels depicts the Annunciation, in which Mary is listening to the angel Gabriel’s salutation of her as “Highly favored one” or “one full of grace.” But what struck me was not Grunewald’s depiction but rather something Fr. Justin said about the expression “Let it be done to me according to your word.” It was translated into Latin as “fiat mihi,” “let it be done to me,” as if Mary is passively resigning herself to whatever it is that God wants to do with her. But Luke’s original Greek says “genoito moi.” The first word is a verb that has lots of meanings, but “let it happen (to me)” would be pretty accurate. The interesting thing is, in linguistic terms, the verb is not in the subjunctive mood, which would carry the idea of passive resignation to God’s plan; instead the verb is in the optative mood, implying wishing, wanting, even hoping. So Mary is not a passive instrument in this scene: she is saying something closer to “Oh yes! I’d love it.” She is perfectly open to God’s invitation, and gives herself to it unreservedly.

How many times, when God’s will makes itself pretty clear in my life, do I passively accept it as God’s will, and say “fiat,” “let it be so/” thinking that I’m imitating Mary’s response to Gabriel? Nope, sorry! Mary was far more open, active and involved than that. I pray that the Lord may find my responses in the future closer to the one that Mary gave when she gladly embraced God’s will for her.

The suffering ends in glory!

 

LIVING THE PASCHAL MYSTERY

This was the homily I preached at the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper here on April 5, 2012. The emphasis on the unity of the events of the Paschal Mystery makes this a pretty fair reading for Easter as well.

THE PASCHAL MYSTERY

Look around this beautiful church for a moment, at the festival lights that remind us of the Last Supper on the first Holy Thursday, the crucifix that reminds us of the first Good Friday – last Sunday that processional cross was decorated with palms, and in the little bouquet on the altar a couple of small lilies offer a hint of Easter.
Then think about the events that we celebrate at this time each year in the Liturgy: Palm Sunday, the Last Supper, the Agony in Garden, Jesus’ trial, crucifixion and burial; And then the Resurrection, the Ascension and Pentecost.

We want to be careful, however, as we celebrate and meditate on each of these events separately, not to think of Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday and so on as individual stand-alone events as separate from each other as, say, the trees that line King Boulevard in front of the monastery. We need to constantly remind ourselves that these seemingly separate happenings are all parts of the single event, the “Paschal Mystery” of Christ’s suffering-death-resurrection. We want to experience all of the ritualized events of Holy Week as inter-related parts of the one single mystery.

Our solemn celebration of the Lord’s Supper this evening gives us a good opportunity to see a little bit more of how the various mysteries of Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday are all interconnected.
Tonight we are not just celebrating one stand-alone event (the last supper) or a couple of separate actions (washing of feet, institution of Eucharist) but instead the whole paschal mystery of Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection.
To see what I mean, let’s look more deeply at John’s gospel account of the washing of the feet that we just heard proclaimed. With a little reflection we can see how it interweaves several central themes. But before we reflect on this passage, though, it will be helpful to remember that we’re meditating on the Gospel of John, which means that we should be on the lookout for symbolism and especially for symbolic references to various sacraments.

BAPTISMAL IMAGERYLet’s start with one sentence in today’s Gospel passage, at the end of the interchange between Jesus and Simon Peter who doesn’t want Jesus to wash his feet. “Jesus said to him, ‘Whoever has bathed has no need except to have his feet washed, for he is clean all over; so you are clean, but not all.’” The Greek root word for “bathed” means “total immersion;” and it’s baptismal language; it shows up in lots of baptismal passages in the NewTestament. Here are just a couple of examples: “Now you have had yourselves washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor 6:11). “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word”(Eph 5:25-26). “He saved us through the bath of rebirth and renewal by the holy Spirit, whom he richly poured out on us” (Ti 3:6).

So John clearly wants us to see in this “washing” of the feet on Holy Thursday a reference to the great Easter sacrament of baptism. The first Christians were so convinced of this connection that they made washing of feet part of the earliest baptismal rite.
EUCHARIST While we’re on sacraments, what about the Eucharist? How does John make a connection with washing feet and the bread and wine? Well, the he just about hits us over the head with this one: John’s account of the Last Supper does not even MENTION the bread or cup or the words “this is my body” or “this is my blood.” Instead, at the point of the meal where the other gospels have Jesus taking the bread and the wine and instituting the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist John shows us Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. And it is this story that the Church uses, as we’ve just seen, as the Gospel reading for Holy Thursday.

Where the other three gospels have a command: Do this in memory of me” John has a command as well after the washing of the feet: “If I, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet. I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do” (John, 12-15).

So, John, in his usual fashion, gives us not the account of Jesus’ instituting the Eucharist but rather the deeper MEANING of the Eucharist: loving service of one another. And this brings us to our next symbolic reference in this passage: Loving service of one another.

JESUS’ SACRIFICE ON THE CROSSIn giving us the Eucharist Jesus said, “this is my body given up for you” and “this is my blood poured out.” So in the same way Jesus’ example of humility and service in the washing of the feet is also a symbolic giving of himself that that reflects and foreshadows his self-giving death on the cross.
So far, then, we’ve seen how John has linked together in the washing of the feet the themes of the Easter sacrament of Baptism, the sacrament of the Eucharist in which Jesus gives himself to us under the appearance of the bread and the wine, and the sacrificial death of Jesus on Calvary.

So, John shows us how all of these mysteries, Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday fit together in the one single Paschal Mystery of the suffering, death and resurrection of Christ.

SO WHAT?

All of this is fine theology and certainly makes for good theater and great liturgy, but how does it affect our lives? What difference does it make in the way we live? Did you know that the earliest Christians took Jesus’ command literally, “If I, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet?” When they visited one another’s houses, the host would wash the feet of his guests.
Caesarius of Arles, a sixth-century bishop, said in a Holy Thursday sermon how sad and disappointed he was to see Christians abandoning the custom of washing one another’s feet. He regretted the loss of such a powerful and beautiful sign of Christ-like humility and service.
So if we twenty-first century Christians are not going to literally wash one another’s feet, what does Christ’s command mean for you and me? What is this gospel passage telling us tonight about how to live as better Christians?
Well, it might help if we remember that at the time of Christ, the act of washing someone else’s feet was about the most menial and humbling thing one could imagine. No wonder Peter refused to let Jesus wash his feet!
Washing feet was slave’s work. In fact, if a servant was Jewish, his Jewish master could not require him or her to wash people’s feet. You can imagine a Jew applying for a servant’s position the way a housekeeper or a maid might today: Today’s housecleaning applicant will warn “I don’t do windows.” But back then it wasn’t “I don’t do windows,” it was “I’m Jewish, I don’t do feet.”
It was such a demeaning task that he or she couldn’t be asked to perform it. Yet this is exactly what we see Jesus doing in tonight’s gospel story: Jesus “DOES FEET.”
And now we can see the practical message start to take shape for us: Jesus makes himself as humble as the lowest servant by “doing feet” at the Last Supper, and then asks us his followers to “do feet” as well. But still, what does that mean? What does that look like for you and me in our everyday lives?
Back in 1998 I wrote a book, A Saint on Every Corner, that included a chapter on the Holy Thursday ritual of the washing of the feet, and I wrote how it had become a reality in my life. Shortly after the book was published I received a letter from a nurse in Pottstown, Pennsylvania thanking me for writing the book and that chapter in particular. Here is part of what she wrote:
As a nursing supervisor I am often called to wash someone’s feet both physically and as a metaphor. Your description of your meeting with a problem student and his angry father in that chapter touched my heart.
I have just come from a difficult meeting with an upset family and, having read this chapter in your book about washing feet I was able to approach the meeting in a more gentle, Christ-like manner. What could have been awful became a time of grace!
Thank you! Sincerely …

It seems to me that she got the point of John’s message, of Jesus’ example: Every day Jesus presents you and me with people who need their feet washed in that deeper sense of needing to have someone pay attention to them, to care about them, to act like they matter, to really listen to what they are saying, to be Christ for them.

When I’m faced with an unruly student in the classroom, for example, it’s as if Jesus is coming up to me with his arm around this kid’s shoulders and saying to me, “Listen, Albert, I need a favor. This kid is very special to me, And he needs his feet washed. Could you please do that for me?”

When I respond generously and selflessly, when I take the time to wash this student’s feet by listening patiently to him and treating him with concern and respect, then it’s a beautiful experience for both of us. You’ve had that experience yourself, I’m sure.

But I’m afraid that sometimes my response falls short and the student walks away from the encounter disappointed, without having met Jesus, and with his feet still in need of washing.

DO YOU DO FEET?

And what about you? Do you “do feet?” If so, who are the people that Jesus brings to you asking for your help? Maybe it’s someone at your workplace who is always acting obnoxious. Or on any given day it may be a customer, a client, a parent or a teenage daughter or son, or a difficult relative. If you’re a teenager it may be a parent, a classmate or your Religion teacher or your brother or sister.
It doesn’t really matter who it is, because tonight Jesus’ request sounds loud and clear in the gospel: “I have given you an example so you should do this too: Love one another as I loved you.”

A FINAL PRAYERAnd now would you like to bow your head and pray with me for moment?
Lord Jesus, as we gather here on this most solemn and sacred night, we humbly ask you a special favor: When you present people to us wanting us to wash their feet, please help us to remember the beautiful and challenging example you give us tonight by washing your disciples’ feet. Help us in those difficult moments to see in our mind’s eye the image of the ancient ritual that we are about to witness in a few moments: Abbot Melvin kneeling in front of some brothers and sisters to wash their feet.

Finally, dear Lord, help us during these next few days to enter ever more deeply into your paschal mystery and let us accompany you devoutly from your washing of the feet and instituting the Eucharist tonight, through your betrayal and suffering and crucifixion tomorrow, so that we may finally rise with you, glorious and immortal on Easter Morning. You who live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever and ever. Amen!

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...................................A Blessed Easter!

A LESSON FROM PSALM 97

I wonder if writing a weekly blog draws one into undue concentration on oneself? In any case I had an embarrassing moment during my morning meditation this week.

Tuesday morning I was reading one of my favorite commentaries on the Book of Psalms, Busco Tu Rostro, by Jesuit Father Carlos Vallès (translated into English as Psalms for Contemplation)

The floods have lifted up, O LORD,
the floods have lifted up their voice;
the floods lift up their roaring. (Ps. 97:3)

Padre Vallès’ reflection on the Psalm begins (my translation from the Spanish) “I contemplate with fear the eternal spectacle of the furious waves of a rebellious ocean dashing themselves ceaselessly against the high rocks of the immovable coast.”

I was sure that the reflection was going to be about the incessant, stormybattle of my prideful, selfish will clashing constantly against God’s will for me. This was more of the same from last week’s reflection about the Kingdom that’s full of holes in the places where I've refused to do God’s will and have left certain things undone. So I was startled when the next sentence of the meditation launched instead into a reflection on God’s infinite might as shown in the power of the sea.

More majestic than the thunders of mighty waters,
more majestic than the waves of the sea, majestic on high is the LORD! (Ps. 97:4)

Padre Vallès says he never tires of reflecting on the divine power displayed by the waves and the surf. He then goes on, “Me regocijo al ver destellos de tu omnipotencia, al verte como Dueño absoluto de la tierra y del mar, porque yo lucho en tu bando, y tus victorias son mìas,” “I rejoice to see flashes of your omnipotence, to see you as the absolute Ruler of land and sea, because I'm fighting on your side, and your victories are mine.”

NARCISSUS LIVES!

I was jolted and a little embarrassed by the realization that I had completely overlooked the obvious point of the Psalm (God’s supreme power and might as shown forth in the ocean) and had immediately assumed that the Psalm was all about ME! Instead of thinking about God I was thinking about my puny efforts at rebellion against God.

LECTIO AND NAVEL-GAZING

Of course the whole idea of lectio divina is to challenge myself with the question “What is this sacred text saying to me?” and “What does this reading have to do with my life?” So you can see how I might be tempted to fall at times into a little navel-gazing. But the first step in meditating on a scripture passage is to ask "What is the sacred writer's intention in writing this? What is he getting at?" Another version of the same question is "What does this passage tell me about God (or about Jesus)?"

Only after answering these fundamental questions do you move on to "What is this passage saying to me?" or "How does it apply to my life?" And now the answers to the latter questions will make much more sense because they're being asked in the context of an all-loving and all-powerful God who is with me always to guide and guard, to sustain and help me at every moment of my life. So even when I'm asking "How does this passage apply to me" it's not really about me at all, but about God.

It also occurred to me that the psalms are never really about psalmist. He never sounds like a narcissist: his mind and heart are always lifted toward the Lord. Whether he’s marveling at the moon and the stars in Psalm 8 or simply calling on God for mercy in Psalm 51, he always seems to frame the issue much more in terms of God than of himself.

What a great model for prayer! I hope I'll remember Tuesday morning's lesson concerning prayer: It's not about me! This is of course a good lesson for living in general, but it's especially true of prayer. The Psalmist reminded me that even the most inward-looking prayer is still going to be more about God's goodness, might and love than it is about me and my brokenness and sins. ..

....Life before starting to practice humility and obedience.
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WHAT IS GOD'S WILL FOR ME?

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THWARTING GOD'S PLAN?

On Thursday of this week the gospel at mass ended with Jesus speaking about John the Baptist:

I tell you, among those born of women no one is greater than John; yet the least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.’ (And all the people who heard this, including the tax-collectors, acknowledged the justice of God, because they had been baptized with John’s baptism. But by refusing to be baptized by him, the Pharisees and the lawyers rejected God’s purpose for themselves.) (Lk 7:28-30)

I was struck by the phrase, “[they] rejected God’s purpose for themselves.”
Other translations include: “[they] frustrated God’s purpose for them (Phillips Bible)” and “[they] thwarted God's plan for them (NJB).

When I was reflecting on this passage about the people who “frustrated God’s plan for them” and applying it to myself I decided that instead of looking at the hundreds of ways I frustrate God’s plans for me, I would take a more positive approach and look at what happens when it DO cooperate with God’s plan for me. The exercise was tremendously gratifying.

I discovered that the events or periods in my life that have been most satisfying usually show one of two characteristics: risk-taking or putting myself second. And these just happen to be the characteristics of the two principle personalities of the Advent season: The Virgin Mary and John the Baptist.

THE VIRGIN MARY’S COURAGE

The Gospel for the Fourth Sunday of Advent (Dec. 18) is the story of the Annunciation, when the Angel Gabriel gets Mary’s consent: “Mary said, I am the handmaid of the Lord, let it be done to me as you have said.” Mary is the perfect example of willingness to cooperate with God’s plan. But of course, Mary had an angel appear to her and tell her what God expected of her. That made it a lot easier, right? We keep wishing that God would just send US an angel the way He did to Mary, and tell us what he wants. Then we’d be able to do God’s will much more easily.

But Luke makes it pretty clear that Mary was in fact uncertain about what was happening and what she was getting herself involved in. Think about it: She was saying yes to something that was unheard of, unthinkable in fact, that she would conceive through the Holy Spirit 'the Son of the Most High God." This makes her “Let it be done to me” that much more impressive. She had to keep “pondering all these things in her heart,” trying to discern God’s will for her. She is actually a good model for us who are living with uncertainty in our lives and who have to take risks without the security of knowing for certain if this is the right thing to do.

So, in my own reflections I found that two of the most blessed times of my life involved risk-taking, venturing out of the comfortable circle of the given into alien, unknown places. Specifically, when we decided to re-open St. Benedict’s Prep in 1973 we were leaping into the dark because it seemed to be what God was asking us to do at the time. The second life-changing event was when I left the security and routine of monastery for an eleven-month sabbatical, traveling to completely new places both physically and spiritually. There’s no doubt in my mind that these two decisions were part of “God’s plan” for me.

JOHN THE BAPTIST’S HUMILITY

As I reflected on how I’ve managed to “follow God’s plan for me,” I found that often this involved putting myself second. This seems, in fact, like a universal property of life at least in my experience, like one of Newton’s three laws of motion: the less self-centered I am, the more satisfying my life becomes. When I go out of my way to stop and pay attention to a little child who wants to say something to me, that is always rewarding – and it’s clearly God’s will for me. When I skip my afternoon walk to talk with a troubled student who needs a sympathetic listener and a word of encouragement, that is always a rewarding experience – and it feels like God’s will for me.

The Advent model for putting myself second is, of course, John the Baptist. The gospel for the Second Sunday of Advent (Dec.11, 2011) tells of how John bore witness to Christ. “I am not the Christ,” he told those who asked him. His job was to decrease so that Christ could increase, to point out to people “Look! There is the Lamb of God.”

John is the perfect model for “It’s not about me!” If I want to follow “God’s plan for me,” then, I need to follow John’s lead and remove myself from the center of the stage so that Christ can become visible to people through my actions, words and attitudes.

ADVENT ADVERBS

“Does God want me to put the house on the market now?” “Does God want me to start looking for a new job?” “Does God want us to take our daughter out of the school she’s attending and transfer her to another one?” We shouldn’t expect help from God in the form of answers to these questions. (Sorry!) The answers are simply not going to come.

But we can be sure of THE WAY in which God wants us to approach those questions. We get two good adverbs from the example of the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist.

The first adverb is “confidently:” “Does God want me to trust in his goodness as I try to decide to accept this job offer?” “Does God want me to wait in joyful hope as I wait for the results my medical test?”

The second adverb is "humbly:" “Does God want me to grab the limelight and make myself the center of attention as the family is grieving over the death of my aunt, or does He expect me to help people meet Christ through my humble loving words and my quiet sharing in their various ways of dealing with their grief?”

It’s clear HOW God expects me to act in these cases even if I don’t know exactly WHAT I should do. But it’s the “how” that I'm going to be judged on, it seems to me. Did you act humbly? Generously? Openly? Considerately? These ways of acting are without any doubt “God’s plan for me.”

And I’ve found that they are also the keys to living a life that is rewarding, fruitful and life-giving..


,,,,,Henry Owassa Turner "The Annunciation"
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