There is much to fear in this world of ours. War between and polarization within countries. Violence in our streets and in our homes. Poverty, disease, the list could go on and on, and those are just the big ones. We all have our own “little fears,” anxieties, worries that keep us up at night or afraid to start the day.
Today on Easter morning the church hears in the Gospel of Matthew (28) about fear and the Christian journey.
Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed, and ran to announce the news to his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them on their way and greeted them. They approached, embraced his feet, and did him homage. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.”
This Scripture passage has been very meaningful to me over the years, one that I return to again and again. Fearful yet overjoyed covers so beautifully the butterflies in my stomach feeling I felt at various stages of my vocation journey. Fearful, because, well, I’m me. Overjoyed because, well, I’m responding to the God who loves me by opening my own heart in service of God and God’s people.
We are human and might have reasons to be fearful. Yet we also find joy on the journey that compels us to be of service and about the mission of God. And it is then, we hear today, that Jesus is present, encouraging and sustaining his friend (and us), telling us to not be afraid.
In today’s reading from Hosea we hear: “I will heal their defection, says the Lord, / I will love them freely.”
God loves freely. We who are made in the image and likeness of God are called to do no less.
In the words of this song by Joy Ike (Wearing Love).
Slow your breathing No more scheming Quit competing Just love
Silly humans that we are though, we limit our God given ability to love, whether it is ourselves, those who annoy us, those who hurt us, those we disagree with, those we just don’t particularly like.
Jesus reiterates this central call to love in today’s Gospel (Mark 12):
One of the scribes came to Jesus and asked him, “Which is the first of all the commandments?” Jesus replied, “The first is this: Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”
Love God. Love neighbor. Love yourself.
Freely and with our whole heart, soul, mind and strength.
As Joy Ike sings in her song: “All that works is the love that you bring.”
On this second Sunday of Lent, we hear the words of God, coming through the clouds: “This is my Beloved Son; listen to Him.”
Transfiguration (Jesus MAFA, Cameroon)
Moses and Elijah were apparently there on the mountain, and Jesus had already been Transfigured, his clothes a dazzling white. Understandable then that this freaked Peter, James, and John out just a bit. Or, as Mark writes, terrified them, so much so that Peter nervously started talking about building tents for the three. (Peter’s fumbling always makes me feel better.)
That is when the cloud appears and God’s voice can be heard. Seeing the light emanating from Jesus was not enough. So God made it clear for them (us). Jesus is his beloved. Listen to him. And then they saw him. Just him. Alone. With them. Their friend and rabbi who was also the beloved Son of God. They still didn’t quite get it, but they stayed with what it might mean.
“Here is the message: never divert your eyes from the light of Jesus. … This is what we Christians are called to do in the journey of life, always keep before our eyes the radiant face of Christ.”
What keeps us from seeing the light of Christ, ever present in our midst? What keeps us unable to BE the light of Christ for others? Can we echo Gos’s voice, reminding ourselves and others that we too are beloved children of God?
Pope Francis offered a tip for us all during these times, where shadows of darkness are also present and our woundedness, anxiety, and fear can prevent us from seeing the good also and always present in our midst if we but look for it:
“Here is a good resolution for Lent: cultivate open gazes, become ‘seekers of light,’ seekers of the light of Jesus, in prayer and in people.”
As I was praying with this Gospel and the Pope’s words this morning, I was reminded of a video prayer I made over a decade ago set to The Transfiguration by Sufjan Stevens.
Let us not be lost in the cloud, distracted by our fears. May we look out for the light and be the light for others.
In today’s reading from the Book of Exodus (3: 13-20) God is revealed to Moses as I AM. Years ago my spiritual director helped me to appreciate this in a particular way. God does not reveal God’s self as I was or I will be but rather I AM. Here and now in this present moment. In every present moment.
This morning as I prayed with this passage, my attention was caught by what Moses is told to tell the people.
“Go and assemble the elders of Israel, and tell them: The Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, has appeared to me and said: I am concerned about you and about the way you are being treated in Egypt; so I have decided to lead you up out of the misery of Egypt into the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites, a land flowing with milk and honey.”
God is concerned about us, in our present, always. We are God’s concern.
Sit with that a minute.
As I sat with that realization this morning I was reminded of a video prayer I made a few years ago while on retreat, set to I Am by singer songwriter Jill Phillips.
I am constant, I am near I am peace that shatters all your secret fears I am holy, I am wise I’m the only one who knows your hearts desires Your hearts desires
Amen.
What would it be like if we knew this truth in the depths of our hearts … and acted accordingly? Sharing the concern of the Great I AM for ourselves, each other, and our wounded world?
I have an affinity for those Scripture passages where the people or disciples complain to God. Because, who hasn’t? In today’s first reading Moses is also a target, the fate of leaders throughout history. (Numbers 21)
From Mount Hor the children of Israel set out on the Red Sea road, to bypass the land of Edom. But with their patience worn out by the journey, the people complained against God and Moses, “Why have you brought us up from Egypt to die in this desert, where there is no food or water? We are disgusted with this wretched food!”
Disgusted. Wretched. Very descriptive. And real.
The story continues that God sent serpents to bite the people as punishment for their complaints! Which spurred the folks to apologize, and then God helped Moses get everyone to chill out by making a bronze serpent on a pole, and everyone who looked at it lived.
The nitty gritty reality of the complaining is what sticks with me. And makes me laugh every time this reading comes up in the lectionary. Because if I am honest, my own conversations with my loving creator sometimes fall into the complaint variety. Sometimes they are substantive and grounded in true issues. Sometimes they are of the more petty variety. Most often probably in the middle? And if I am to be real before God, I can’t stuff it down or pretend I don’t feel all the feelings.
When my Mom was dying of cancer twenty years ago, I had my first true (adult) crisis of faith. It was accompanied by a lot of complaining of the substantive variety. I had a valid beef with the reality of suffering and most particularly the suffering my Mom was going through, and how God was seemingly ok with it. Still do all these years later, truth be told. A wise priest friend encouraged me to spend some time with the psalms. They were filled not only with complaining, he told me, but even anger at God. And anger, he pointed out, is a pretty intimate emotion.
Somehow reading those ancient complaints and screeds against God brought me closer to God in the midst of the reality of suffering. Here’s the thing … while in today’s story from Numbers, God may have punished the people first, the story ends with mercy. The story always ends with God’s mercy. God listens. God is with us. And God wants to hear our complaints! As we hear today in Psalm 102:
Let this be written for the generation to come, and let his future creatures praise the Lord:
“The Lord looked down from his holy height, from heaven he beheld the earth, To hear the groaning of the prisoners,to release those doomed to die.
So go ahead. Groan. Complain…. God has heard worse. We won’t find the way through by ignoring the death dealing realities of life, real and figurative. We might miss life giving opportunities if we do. God invites us always to bring our realities to our relationship with our loving creator. And for that I am very grateful.
Yesterday I accomplished something I have not done in a long time … I got a 100% score on the Saturday New York Times News Quiz. While I am ridiculously proud of this feat, I sincerely wish the news stories were less along the lines of the lamentations of the Prohpet Habakkuk in today’s first reading:
How long, O Lord? I cry for help / but you do not listen! / I cry out to you, “Violence!” / but you do not intervene. / Why do you let me see ruin; / why must I look at misery? / Destruction and violence are before me; / there is strife, and clamorous discord. /
Discord and strife, violence and destruction. That is what filled this week’s news quiz. It is enough to make one wonder … how does it all end. It is enough to make one despair, what can I do. How to focus on the good amidst all the messiness.
Last week I was blessed to be able to spend some time on the lake. I was working remotely some and taking some down time as well. Much of the said down time was spent looking at the lake, observing its many moods.
Often in the morning, there would be a mist floating above the waters. There is tremendous beauty there in the fog. Potential and wonder, if only we look at it. Perhaps the day will end up cloudy.
Or in beautiful sun and blue skies.
Or a mixture of the two.
Then the Lord answered me and said: / Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets, / so that one can read it readily. / For the vision still has its time, / presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; / if it delays, wait for it, / it will surely come, it will not be late. / The rash one has no integrity; / but the just one, because of his faith, shall live.
We wait. We live. We love. We work.
We don’t ignore the messy bits, but we also can’t ignore the promise and possibility. What we notice makes a difference, as does how we engage, whether it is the news headlines or the literal horizon before us. We have two eyes and a heart and God intends for us to use them for the good of the whole, for the vision still has its time. Wait for it. It will surely come. It will not be late.
“When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad, and jumped into the sea. The other disciples came in the boat, for they were not far from shore, only about a hundred yards, dragging the net with the fish.”
Peter’s reaction is so human. He has so missed his friend, his teacher. Hearing that Jesus is here, NOW, he can wait no more. He jumps into the sea, fully if lightly clothed. He abandons his task and leaves the job of bringing in the boat and the fish to his companions. He couldn’t wait.
Also of course he must have been remembering how he left things with Jesus. How he denied him not once but three times. How he abandoned him at his most vulnerable. How he lacked the strength. (Nevermind that in his excitement to get to shore he abandons his friends and his job. We are all slow learners.)
“When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, ‘Bring some of the fish you just caught.’ So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, ‘Come, have breakfast.’”
But Jesus never gives up on us, no matter how many times we abandon him or our tasks. He helps Peter remember what is his to do. And he feeds him and all the disciples.
There is a lesson there for all of us slow learners.
Yesterday’s Gospel reading (Mark 3: 20-21) was just a few lines. It spoke of the crowds that were following Jesus. The last words of the passage were that his family were worried that he was “out of his mind.” Yeah, this whole preaching the good news thing can seem a bit strange and counter cultural, apparently from the very beginning of the experiences that inspired the Gospel writers.
This morning, as I was praying with the Sunday Gospel story of Jesus calling Simon and Andrew to literally abandon their nets and follow him, to become fishers of people instead, (Mark 1: 14-20), I had a sinking suspicion that their loved ones were probably also pretty concerned.
Calling of the Apostles, from a manuscript in collections of the British Library
In the song “Abide” by Liz Vice, she sings these words:
“Jesus we will throw away our lives to follow you Struggling in your strength, resting in your truth Jesus, you’re so beautiful, you give vision to the blind You in us, the hope of glory, in You we will abide”
The call to follow Jesus by our lives, whether that is by abandoning our nets, professing religious vows, forming a family, a particular calling, just to choosing to be kind and compassionate in response to the opposite, or working for justice in this mixed up world … it can be hard to explain.
To someone else, family or friends even, it may seem like throwing away. Simon and Andrew certainly threw away their livelihoods, their nets. I shifted the trajectroy of my own life when I discerned to enter religious life and left my career to follow Jesus in a new way (and what a journey of blessings it has been by the way).
When my heart sings along with Liz Vice, it feels more like throwing my life INTO something. Into SOMEONE. Into Jesus.
The struggle is real, and there is Jesus. The promise of rest is real too, and Jesus is there. The healing is real, and life changing, and calls me to bring the healing to others. The vision of a kindom where we are each beloved community to one another is real, and makes real and present the beauty and hope of Jesus, in whom we abide.
I can’t help but think of those persons who were literally touched by Jesus. The woman who dared against all societal convention to reach out and touch his cloak, seeking healing. The folks who brought their sick loved ones to Jesus, even going as far as to drop the person in need of healing down through the roof since the doorway was blocked. The woman at the well who encountered Jesus in her daily life. The list goes on through the Scriptures, throughout our shared history, and into our day. Pretty incredible.
So what if it might seem a bit worrisome. I am reminded of another figure, who probably worried his own loved ones – St. Francis. As the story goes, he was known as “God’s Fool.” Fools for Christ. We are in good company. We are not perfect. We will stumble and fall and get back up. And Jesus will be there.
In any case, this morning as part of my prayer I made a little video prayer reflection set to “Abide” by Liz Vice, and featuring artistic depictions of some of these lovely fools. I share it here in case it speaks to you.
Today is our CSJP Community Day of Thanksgiving – marking our 137th anniverary. It is also the day after the shameful insurrection at the U.S. Capitol. I shared the following reflection on today’s liturgical readings during our word and communion service today.
During the many tumultuous moments of 2020–the coronavirus pandemic, political upheaval, the beginning of our belated recokoning with white supremacy, and so much more — I found myself wondering what things would be like if people truly understood themselves, and everyone else, as beloved children of God.
In today’s first reading, John tell us it is so. “Beloved, we love God because God first loved us.”
Morover, John says, “we know that we love the children of God when we love God and obey God’s commandments.”
Is it really that simple?
God loves us. We love God. God loves everyone. We love everyone. God loves all of creation. We love all of creation.
It really is that simple, and yet, we humans make it so much more complicated. Just look to what happened yesterday in our Nation’s capital.
The Gospel gives us a clear roadmap for our response in times like these as we follow Jesus. Jesus calls us to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free. Jesus calls us to love as we seek peace.
Even amidst the chaos of political events, even in the difficult moments of our own lives, we, God’s beloved, are called to love one another and hold fast to the path to peace.
Our Lady Chapel St. Barnabas Cathedral
137 years ago today, in Nottingham, England, Bishop Edward Gilpin Bagshawe presided in Our Lady Chapel, St. Barnabas Cathedral, as the first Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace professed their vows. This is a day for which we give thanks for the gift of community and God’s blessings for our community.
Listen to the words that Bishop Bagshawe shared with our first Sisters:
“Our Divine Lord is called the Prince of Peace, and He gave peace to his disciples as his special gift, saying, ‘Peace be with you.’ … To secure this divine peace for ourselves, to procure its blessings for others in the midst of the sin and strife and turmoil and restless anxiety of this modern world is the object of your institute.”
He said those words on January 7, 1884.
Just imagine what Bishop Bagshawe would have thought of the turmoil that unfolded yesterday in Washington, D.C., or the restless anxiety so many felt as they watched our democracy be threatened like never before in our lifetimes.
We, the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace, are called to procure the blessings of peace in the midst of times such as these.
The psalmist apparently knew about the type of turmoil that happened at the Capitol Building yesterday.
“From fraud and violence he shall redeem them and precious shall their blood be in their sight. May they be prayed for continually; Day by Day shall they bless them.”
We are blessed with our charism of peace, not in spite of the restless anxiety and turmoil of our modern world, but because of it, for it.
And we believe that peace is possible, that peace points beyond itself in time.
Let us join our hearts and prayers for our community, church, nation, world, and Earth. That we may spread the blessings of peace, in faith, hope and love. That peace may come. That we may truly understand ourselves, and help others to understand themselves and everyone else, as beloved of God.
I was reading the Urbi et Orbi message that Pope Francis gave today in an empty St. Peter’s square. He reflects on this time of Covid-19 in light of the story of the storm in Mark’s Gospel (4:35-41).
“Like the disciples in the Gospel we were caught off guard by an unexpected, turbulent storm. We have realized that we are on the same boat, all of us fragile and disoriented, but at the same time important and needed, all of us called to row together, each of us in need of comforting the other. On this boat… are all of us. Just like those disciples, who spoke anxiously with one voice, saying “We are perishing” (v. 38), so we too have realized that we cannot go on thinking of ourselves, but only together can we do this. …
Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives. Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them. Like the disciples, we will experience that with him on board there will be no shipwreck. Because this is God’s strength: turning to the good everything that happens to us, even the bad things. He brings serenity into our storms, because with God life never dies.” -Pope Francis
More than once in my life I have echoed the disciples refrain… do you not care that we are perishing?
Imagine their consternation, frustration and fear that he is, of all things, asleep!
We are terrified … we think we are alone.
But Jesus is with us in the storm.
A few years ago I created this video prayer reflecting on this passage, set to “How to Sleep in A Stormy Boat” by singer songwriter Amy Speace. The Pope’s message reminded me of this video, and so I share it here in case it is a helpful reflection for others in this time.
Peace. Be not afraid. We will weather the storm together.
At the Corner of Susan and St. Joseph 