JESUS IN THE STORM

My apologies.  A computer issue kept me from posting this on Saturday. The gospel reading on  Saturday prompted me to share this chapter from my book Faces of Easter.  

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Ever see a girl who looks like a storm cloud? That’s Mina as we sit down side by side on a bench in a quiet corner of St. Augustine’s church after mass. Half a minute of quiet, then the cloud bursts open in a flood of tears and words. Nothing to do but wait out the storm.

“My family is moving to Illinois at the end of June... That means I have to leave all my friends and everything… I’ll be in this whole new place: a new house, a sophomore in a new school where I don’t know anybody.”

“Scary, huh?” I ask. My heart goes out to her. She wipes tears with the heels of her hands, and tries not to sob.

“Yeah. Everything will be different. I grew up here, so I have a pretty good idea of how things work -- I was even gonna try out for softball next spring, and stuff like that. But now,” she shakes her black curls “I have no idea what’s gonna happen.” She turns and looks at me; she’s so young and seems so frail -- afraid of the storm clouds gathering in front of her.

Remembering the gospel story from my morning meditation, I start to picture the two of ussitting side by side in a boat at night on the Sea of Galilee, in the midst of a raging storm. Foaming waves seem about to swamp the boat. Then she shouts, “What’s that?” Peering into the gloom, I see a gray form slowly gliding toward us over the water, but I can’t figure out what this strange figure is that is emerging out of the darkness. It takes on a menacing, human shape.  I panic.

Then the figure calls out in a strong, soothing voice, “It is I! Do not be afraid!”

And, to our surprise, he walks right past us; a moment later the boat glides smoothly onto a sandy shore, landing Mina and me safely back in our pew in the rear of St. Augustine’s church.

Mina is staring at me quizzically.

“Oh! Sorry, Mina! I was just remembering a time when I was scared, the way you are now.” The two of us sit quietly, each involved in our own thoughts.

Over the years I’ve gotten a little better at recognizing Christ’s presence more quickly in the midst of life’s storms, and hearing his voice in the roar of the winds: “It is I, do not be afraid!” 

But a quick look at my young boatmate reminds me that she is still a beginner when it comes to dealing with frightening lightning storms and phantom figures that glide toward you on waves, saying “It is I, do not be afraid!”

I try to offer her some encouraging words myself: “Okay, Mina, so what are some things you can do that might make moving to Illinois a little less scary?” I try to make my voice sound strong and soothing and, maybe, well, wise.

It’s not the voice of Jesus, I admit, but it will do for now.

Reflection

A Christian tries to develop a paschal outlook on life, approaching every difficult situation with the confident conviction that the risen Lord is mysteriously present and active there, bringing about something new and good. Can you think of a time in your own life, or in the life of someone close to you, when you experienced new life arising from some painful situation?

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!