BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

 

This Sunday's Gospel begins by telling us that on that first Easter day the Apostles were gathered "behind locked doors." The following reflection is taken from my book "Faces of Easter." I hope it will speak to you during this holy season.

Houses on James Street

Walking down James Street, not far from the monastery, past the restored brick rowhouses, I get this closed-in feeling. There’s wrought iron grillwork protecting the windows, and most of the front doors are blank and uninviting, and fitted with tiny peepholes so that the occupants can see who is ringing their bell. 

The iron-grilled windows and the sealed-up doors remind me of the gospel passage we heard on Easter -- the story of the twelve apostles on the first Easter Sunday evening.

They were hiding behind a locked door like one of these, afraid that the authorities were about to come and arrest them. I can imagine them staring anxiously at the door, sneaking glances at one another, expecting at any moment to hear the fateful knock that would signal arrest, torture and death. Then, just as the suspense becomes unbearable, they see the risen Jesus standing in their midst greeting them: “Peace be with you.”

Further along James Street, the wrought iron bars on a window catch my eye. When I slow my pace to study them closely, I suddenly feel uneasy for some reason that I can’t put my finger on. Then, as I keep staring, I realize that sometimes my own heart and soul must look like that. When I’m in a situation where I’m not in control, or where I’m not sure what is going to happen next, or I feel threatened, then up go my defenses -- locked doors, closed shutters, iron bars, the works.  

Too often I even put up defenses against God, afraid that he’ll ask too much of me -- that is, he may challenge me to shift the center of my life from myself to him. So, when the Lord wants to come and meet me or teach me some difficult lesson, he has to contend with my home security system, especially my protective bars.

Luckily for me, however, Jesus doesn’t seem to be put off by the barred windows and locked doors of my heart, any more than he was by that door the disciples had locked on that first Easter evening. He has lots of ways to get past my defenses. For example, I’ll suddenly realize that some person has found their way into my heart despite my carefully guarded doors, I hear Jesus’ loving greeting as he stands beside that person inside my defenses: “Peace be with you!”

I continue down the sidewalk past more sealed-up houses. A

young woman is striding toward me pushing a stroller. When I glance down at the baby’s serene and radiant face, I feel a tug at my heart; my breath catches as I glimpse God’s glory for a moment. As mother and child continue past me, I’m about to thank the Jesus for that surprise splinter of the divine presence, when I hear his voice -- he’s already inside my heart: “Peace be with you!” He’s done it again.

Reflection 

Do you ever find yourself putting up defenses against God? When are the times that this is most likely to happen? What are God’s favorite ways of speaking to you, of getting past your defenses? Think of a time when the Lord helped you to overcome your fear, and give you the gift of peace.

A BLESSED EASTER SEASON!

MAGDALENE'S MISTAKE

 

MAGDALENE'S MYOPIA

I posted the following reflection ten years ago. I hope it still speaks to each of us.

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 sraight. 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?

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 Magadelene: 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.

A BLESSED EASTER!

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LEARNING FROM THE DONKEY

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THE MEANING OF THE PALM SUNDAY DONKEY

Underlying the accounts of Jesus’ triumphal entry onto Jerusalem on Palm Sunday is a poetic oracle from the prophet Zechariah:

“Rejoice heartily, O daughter Zion, Shout for joy, O daughter Jerusalem! See, your king shall come to you; a just savior is he Meek, and riding on an ass" (Zech. 9:9). 

Only Matthew makes specific reference to this oracle, but all of the gospels have the crowds welcome Jesus into Jerusalem with all the trappings of a king: the cloaks thrown on the ground, the palm branches, the acclamation of “Hosanna to the Son of David.”

The donkey Jesus was riding is a popular part of the Palm Sunday imagery. Many churches in Europe would have a four-wheeled statue of Jesus riding on a donkey, that was the central focus of the Palm Sunday procession. (The Germans call it a "Palmesel", "Palm Donkey") The little donkey was meant to send a message but most of the people evidently missed it : a king who is going into battle rides a horse, not a donkey; Jesus’ donkey is not so much a sign of his humility as it is of his mission of peace. 

Luke even has the crowds proclaim

“Blessed is the king Who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven And glory in the highest” (Lk 19:39).

AN UNEXPECTED KIND OF KING But peace was not the first thing on the mind of most first century Palestinian Jews. They had been smarting under foreign domination for centuries, most recently the Roman Empire, and they were ready for a revolt. The figure of the new King David that had been promised them had gotten combined with that of the messiah and became a military king-messiah who would deliver the people from the power of the Romans.

The crowds who acclaimed this rabbi on the donkey as “Son of David” and “king” had not picked up on or soon forgot the message of the donkey. We’re all like that, I guess – we’re deliberately obtuse when it comes to things we ardently wish for: We don’t see things that we don’t want to see, and we see things that aren’t there but we wish were. The crowds would soon fall away from this “Son of David” when he showed himself ineffective and unwilling to rally the people to political action. What God had in mind and what God was actually doing in the person of Jesus was far greater than anything a military liberator could ever accomplish, but the people had their minds and hearts set on a political-military deliverer and so missed the true gift that the Lord was giving them. 

How often do you and I miss the gift that the Lord wants to give us because we’re not looking for it but are expecting something that fits our own plans, desires or dreams? How many times have we been unable to accept some gift from God because it was contrary to what we were hoping for? May the little Palm Sunday donkey be a reminder to us that while God’s gifts are not always what we expect, they are always what we need.

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..........A Palmesel in Puch, Germany

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ABOUT TIME

Earlier this week, the gospel reading a mass told is that Jesus was preaching in

the temple, but the Pharisees and other enemies did not arrest him “because his hour had not yet come” (Jn 7:30).  

The Greek word that is translated “hour” is the noun kairos.

I’d like to reflect in this post on this very special word.

The Greeks had two words for “time.” The first is the kind of time you measure out in months, minutes and milliseconds. That is called chronos (which gives us such English words “chronological” and “chronometer”). This is time as something measurable, divisible into quantities. In the Parable of the Talents a master goes off on a journey and returns “after a long time (chronos) (Mt. 25:19).” Paul tells the elders of Miletus, “You know how I have lived among you the whole time (chronos) from the day I first came to the province of Asia. (Ac. 20:18)" We’re well acquainted with this sort of time; but in Greek there’s a second word for time, one which is central to understanding the Gospel message.

While chronos refers to time as measured off in minutes and hours, the second

word, kairos, means time as an event, an occasion or an opportunity. This is the time we refer to in expressions such as “We had a great time.” or “It’s high time we did something” or “It’s time to start.” Chronos answers the questions “What time is it?” and “How much time is left.” Kairos, on the other hand, is concerned with much deeper questions: “What’s the meaning of this moment?” “What is the significance of this event?”

Kairos has various meanings in the NT. It is often translated “season” – that is, a time that has a purpose, such as the season for harvest. The Septuagint translation of the famous passage in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 begins "A time (kairos) to be born and a time  (kairos)  to die." Jesus walked up to a fig tree but found no fruit on it because “it was not the season  (kairos)  for figs. (Mk. 11:13)”

Kairos also has the sense of "a suitable time, an opportunity." The faithful servant in charge of the household will “distribute food to them at the due time (kairos)  (Mt. 24:45)” St. Paul encourages us, “Let us not grow tired of doing good, for in due time (kairos) we shall reap our harvest…. So then, while we have the opportunity (kairos) , let us do good to all… (Gal. 6:10)"

Sometimes kairos refers to the time ordained for the fulfilling of a prophecy, as when the angel Gabriel says to Zechariah, “But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until these things take place, because you did not believe my words which will be fulfilled in their proper time (their  kairos) . (Lk 1:20)” Jesus warns his hearers to be on watch for the final days, “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time  (kairos)  will come! (Mk. 13:33)”   

     

While we are learning how to measure time (chronos) more and more precisely, we seem to be losing our sense of kairos, of what time is for, of what our life ultimately means. For many people, time has lost its purpose. Boredom and depression haunt supposedly successful people who feel their lives are empty and meaningless, while depression and despair dog the poor and disadvantaged because they have no sense of a better future to give them hope. 

Lots of people try to fill the time as if it were an empty container by watching endless hours of mind-numbing television sitcoms, surfing the internet, or paging through meaningless magazines. Others even try to kill time as if it were a pesky weed or a threatening monster. Our world knows only chronos, how to measure it and use it, and cannot answer the kairos question, "What is this all ultimately about anyway?"   

Christians believe, though, that since the coming of Christ into time and space at

the Incarnation, there simply is no more chronos -- everything is kairos. When God came among us as a human, all of creation was given ultimate meaning, and all time became special and sacred. From that moment, every event of life is part of the unfolding story of God's love for the world. 

There is a catch, though: I still have to decide every day to live in kairos, to cooperate with God's saving plan for me. When I do this, the time I spend at the office or relaxing in front of the television or cooking supper, all of that is now sacred time, kairos. 

If, on the other hand, I insist on living in my own self-centered time, writing my own version of the story instead of God's, then I'm caught in the clutches of chronos and condemned to a life that has no real meaning. This refusal to live in God's kairos is what we call sin.

Kairos is a key to understanding Christian living. 

First, it teaches me to stay in the present moment, because this is the only time I can possibly meet God. I can't encounter the Divine in the past, because yesterday is gone, nor in the future, because tomorrow never gets here. Paul reminds the Corinthians, “Behold, now is the acceptable time (kairos), now is the day of salvation (2 Cor. 6:2).”

When I'm truly living in kairos, the joy of the kingdom will shine out in my way of speaking and acting. When my work, my play, and even my suffering are all sacred, then there will be no place in my life for work that is half-hearted or slovenly, for entertainment that is degrading to the human person, or for suffering that is separated from a sense of hope. Even the darkest and most painful hours of my life will be lived with special meaning: they are my own Gethsemane, my personal Calvary, my mysterious sharing in Christ's saving kairos of passion, death and resurrection.

If  I spend my whole life trying to live in kairos, trying to imitate Christ as best I can, then death itself loses its sting (I Cor. 15:55), and in the words of the Preface in the mass of Christian Burial, "life is changed, not ended." Dying is simply the deepening of my experience of the kairos that I've already been faithfully living on earth all this time, decade by decade, year by year, minute by minute, and, yes, to second. 

During the upcoming days of  Passiontide and Holy Week, we will celebrate alongside Jesus when His kairos has come, the "hour" of our salvation.

LENT OUTSIDE THE BOX

 

Here is a reflectiOn I posted on March 8, 2009.

                            (Do you remember it? I don't,)

Lenten Tips from the Catholic Catechism
The Catechism of the Catholic Church, first published in 1992, says practically nothing about the season of Lent. But it includes in the article entitled "The Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation" (par. 1422-1498) a section on "The Many Forms of Penance in Christian Life" which shows the original wider variety of penitential practices I alluded to in my Feb. 23 article on Saint Benedict and the "Forgotten Aspects of Lent." Notice that in the in the following two paragraphs from the Catechism "fasting" comes up only once in each. The other practices almost all have to do with our relationships. Perhaps a look at these excerpts from the Catechism can help us think of some creative ways of making Lent more than just a time for "giving things up," but a time of real conversion.

The interior penance of the Christian can be expressed in many and various ways. Scripture and the Fathers insist above all on three forms, fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, which express conversion in relation to oneself, to God, and to others. Alongside the radical purification brought about by Baptism or martyrdom they cite as means of obtaining forgiveness of sins: effort at reconciliation with one's neighbor, tears of repentance, concern for the salvation of one's neighbor, the intercession of the saints, and the practice of charity "which covers a multitude of sins." (Catechism of the Catholic Church, par. 1434)

The seasons and days of penance in the course of the liturgical year (Lent, and each Friday in memory of the death of the Lord) are intense moments of the Church's penitential practice. These times are particularly appropriate for spiritual exercises, penitential liturgies, pilgrimages as signs of penance, voluntary self-denial such as fasting and almsgiving, and fraternal sharing (charitable and missionary works). (Catechism of the Catholic Church, par. 1438)

Lent: A Call to Conversion
First, notice that the purpose of the traditional forms of penance, fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, is to " express conversion in relation to oneself, to God, and to others." This means that Lent, our season of penance, is for the purpose of conversion. But conversion is not supposed to be a temporary condition, is it? Yet many of us take on Lenten practices as self-contained projects that are designed to last for forty days and then come to an end at Easter. The emphasis on giving up certain things for the forty days distracts us, it seems to me, from the central ongoing Christian project of conversion which is, after all, never finished. In the paragraphs cited above we find other expressions of penance such as "effort at reconciliation with one's neighbor," "concern for the salvation of one's neighbor" and "the practice of charity," which do not lend themselves to the notion of a temporary effort which lasts for only forty days.

These two paragraphs with their emphasis on "conversion" (which means "turning ourselves around") and their constant repetition of the word "neighbor" encourage us to consider Lent more as a time for renewing our life-long commitment to following the Lord along a "Pilgrim Road" that doesn't end at Easter but in heaven.

Your Unique Call to Conversion
Alongside the traditional practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving, then, each of us might look at our own life and come up with some unique practices based on such things as "what I'm most grateful for" or "what I'm most passionate about." If I realize that I delight in listening to music, I might express my gratitude (my conversion) by contributing to a charity for the hearing impaired; if I am deeply grateful for my grandchildren, I might express my "practice of charity" this Lent by volunteering to sort baby clothes at a local shelter for pregnant girls. Maybe one of my great joys was a wonderful visit to Yellowstone National Park; so I offer to show my slides at a local senior citizens' home. Maybe there's a certain relative who I just can't stand -- for plenty of good reasons -- so I decide to start to pray hard for him every day.

These practices definitely fall under the definition of "fraternal charity" in the church's traditional list of penitential practices. But in addition, when I come home from the senior citizens' residence my fasting and Lenten devotions will take on a new dimension, one which points me further along the Pilgrim Road of constant conversion well past the end of Lent and toward the eternal Easter where all of us, rich and poor, friends and enemies will be united in the risen Lord's boundless victorious Love.

Reflection:

In the past I've definitely tended to spend my Lent "inside the box;" what about you? Does "Lent outside the box" make sense to you? Or are you more comfortable with the fasting and prayer approach? Have you ever tried some non-traditional, more personalized expression of conversion during Lent?

LENT WITHOUT SANDALS

MOSES IN LENT

The first reading at mass today gave us the story of Moses and the burring bush. Here's a reflection from a few years ago.

The biblical accounts of Moses’ life tell us that it was divided into three periods of forty years (summarized in Acts 7:20-43); rabbinic literature was also fond of meditating on these three periods: forty years in Egypt, forty years in Midian, and forty years serving Israel. So Moses, often depicted as a figure of Christ, becomes a good subject of meditation during our forty days of Lent. I am indebted to Carlo Martini, S.J., (Through Moses to Jesus, Ave Maria Press, 1988, pp 334-34) for many of the following thoughts.

The middle period was spent in the wilderness tending the sheep of his father-in law Jethro. At the end of this period of forty years Moses has his famous vision of the burning bush.

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.’ When the LORD saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’ (Ex. 3:1-5)

Moses goes to investigate the burning bush to try to understand it, to put into one or another category of phenomena that he is familiar with. But the voice tells him “Take off your sandals, this is holy ground. You’re not going to approach this mystery on your terms but on mine!”

When was the last time you tried walking barefoot over rocky ground? It’s always a tentative operation, because you never know what’s coming next. Ouch! Martini paraphrases it this way: “Take your sandals off, because you are not going to come to me by enclosing me in your own ideas. You are not the one to integrate me into your personal synthesis. Instead, I want to fit you into my plan.”

AN EARTHQUAKE IN MY POCKET

I once heard someone make this remark about a fellow Christian: “His problem is that he thinks he has God in his pocket.” Having God in your pocket is dangerous business, as the Pharisees found out. They’re a perfect example of it, in fact. The God that they worshiped obeyed all of their laws scrupulously, including their Sabbath regulations! Some Christians have God safely trapped between the covers of their bible, others have God imprisoned securely in the tabernacle. Dangerous stuff!

With God safely in my pocket I quickly run afoul of the initiatives of the Lord, who always wants to fit me into his plan for the world. Maybe this is part of what the old rabbi meant when he said

"God is not nice, God is not your uncle; God is and earthquake."

As I was reflecting on these ideas recently, the father of one of my students died of cancer. If I showed you the faces of our hundred-some sophomores, you could probably pick him out easily. He is numb, devastated, swimming hard to keep his head above the flood waters of grief. He certainly does not have God in his pocket! I pray that he’ll soon come to realized that he is being carried around safe in God’s loving pocket.

THIS IS HOLY GROUND?

Back to Moses. God tells him to remove his sandals “for this is holy ground.” Imagine Moses’ confusion when he heard those words! He’d been living out in this deserted area tending sheep for forty years, this untamed, trackless abode of jackals, a place of desolation and aridity where no one would want to settle down and live. This desert where he had felt so lonely and wretched and frustrated for four decades – is he to believe that this is holy ground? This is God’s presence? This is the place where God reveals himself?

But it has to be that way. Why? Simply because God seeks Moses where Moses is, even if it is a place of desolation, the midbar, a wildermess devoid of all resources. For Moses, precisely this is holy ground! Had God gone looking to encounter Moses in Pharaoh’s court or in Goshen, the encounter would never have happened. God met Moses where he was living and working, where he was feeling sorry for himself and wondering if his life had no more purpose than tending sheep. But because God appeared in the burning bush, Moses’ wilderness became holy ground, the place of encounter.

I’m going to concelebrate the funeral in the abbey church this afternoon for my student’s dad before the body is shipped back to Nigeria for burial. I want to be there for the family, especially for my student, and to pray for them that as they stand there in the wilderness of grief and loss, that they will somehow hear the voice that Moses heard in the wilderness reassuring them: “You are on holy ground!”
Maybe I'll take my shoes off, too.
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