A kind of confession, a kind of revelation

 (this is a scene from a story I am working on)

“I know. I know, my boy.  So it seems. Hopeless.  But think of this. When Abraham was about to lose everything, God sent an angel to comfort him and stop his hand. When Moses was cast into the desert, a burning bush appeared to him and when Job was utterly lost and without hope –even from his friends—what happened?”

“What?”

“God answered him.  Not in words, not in reasons, but by revelation. God revealed Himself to Job. That was His answer. Job was a good man who suffered unjustly –we would say—suffered not because he had done anything wrong, but simply because bad things happened to him.  And what was the result, my dear?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result?”

“Yes.” Henry felt his chest begin to tremble. The sense of emotion and anxiety and dread and a sudden euphoric joy overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he repeated, “Yes.”

“Oh dear. Yes. You’re right. It was something beyond. A vision of God’s splendor. You’ve heard people speak of the transcendent, haven’t you?  Yes. Dear me. I know you have. You’re not a fool. I know that.  But, do you understand? God didn’t answer Job in human terms. Not in the way that Job and his friend were thinking of an answer. No. They were all good men, so to speak. Don’t you imagine? They all had good intentions. But God said to Job: Gird up your loins, and then as… well, by way of… yes, well, then He… what does God do? He… well, He challenges Job. But, you understand. Don’t you, my dear? You understand God wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t belittling Job.  No. No. Dear me. God doesn’t work that way. He was simply, and transcendently –yes. Yes. Very transcendentally… revealing Himself in all His splendor… all His glory.  Think about those images: the storehouse of the snow, the pedestals of the earth, the great and terrible behemoth –Who can put a hook in his nose?—and the birthing of the gentle mountain goat… the womb of the seas, telling the water it may come this far and no more… Do you understand? It’s all so amazing and wonderful. It’s all so awesome in the actual sense of that word. Not like the kids would say: an awesome movie! You know? But awesome in the sense of, well… awe inspiring. Truly awe inspiring. And what happens? What does Job do?”

“He places his hand over his mouth…”

“Yes. Yes. That’s right and he says though I spoke before I will not speak again. He is truly and utterly…”

“Yes…” Henry whispered.

“Yes. Yes. That’s it.  People often think this is because Job realized he shouldn’t challenge God. He shouldn’t ask God to defend Himself.  But that’s all wrong. People often mistakenly say that the answer Job gets is that things are too big for people, even someone as great as Job, to understand. As if God were chastising Job and putting him in his place.  As if God were saying to Job: what right have you to question me?  But Job isn’t a book about an inscrutable God and His unfathomable ways.  It is a book about suffering –though ultimately, you see, not about misery—No. No.  It’s about the power of suffering. The –what does Peter call it? …the refiner’s fire. Job endures the refiner’s fire. Unjust sufferings, seemingly endless miseries, and never learns why… and yet in the end what happens?”

Henry simply stared, unable to speak.

“He gets a glimpse of the truth; of God’s glory.  Don’t you see?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“Is it possible? Is it possible, my dear friend, that God reveals Himself through His cross? Through the cross we come to understand God. Through our own part in that cross we come to understand Him; not intellectually. I don’t mean that. But to –in a way—taste a moment of His –what? Glory? I think taste might be a better word because we don’t really think of understanding a cheeseburger, but when we taste it we know what it is and we even know something of its splendor. If it’s a good one, of course. I have to say I do like a good cheeseburger. Yes. Ruby Red. Oh, the peanuts. Yes. Oh dear. Oh dear. I miss Ruby Reds.”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, Father. Me too.”

“I just… oh dear, me.  But. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I am trying to say that perhaps the story of Job isn’t about the suffering itself but about the experience; and in the end --do you see?—it’s about what comes of it.  Is it possible, dear dear Henry. I know I’m not supposed to know who you are, but you know I do. I’m sorry.  I do.  Is it possible that what you are going through, and of course it is a kind of crucible, I know that. I know. Yes. I know.  Oh dear… But is it possible that God is trying to reveal Himself to you? through this? Through your wife’s suffering. Through your job? Through your struggle? Even and maybe especially through your brother. Oh, dear Henry. You are Job.  If ever I knew one, you...  I pray for you often. Daily. I do. But, am I just like one of Job’s friends? Am I just a foolish old priest making pompous statements about things I don’t understand? Oh, Henry. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Don’t listen to me. What do I know about wives and sufferings. I was an only child and now I’m an old priest. And you, you my son… I think you are a saint. In the making, at least. Oh dear. Dear. Dear, me. I’m sorry. Sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why.  Do you pray to Joseph? Pray to Saint Joseph. If anyone will understand your troubles, it will be him. Pray to him now. As your act of contrition. Please. Let us do this together. Both of us.”

Pharaoh’s hardened heart: Another look

“[the Egyptians]…whose hearts He turned to hate His own people,

To treat His servants deceitfully…”

--Psalm 105:25

Psalm 105 is a brief history of ancient Israel, with several verses on the exile and Exodus story.  And in it we come again upon this idea of God making someone obstinate or hateful –for some purpose known only to God. In this image from the Psalm we see God paradoxically turning the hearts of Pharaoh and the Egyptians against His own beloved people. In some unspoken way this turning of the enemy's heart to obstinacy and hate and deceit is presented as necessary for the fulfillment of God's plan; it seems somehow essential for the building up of Israel.  God makes Pharaoh’s heart hard and obstinate, against Pharaoh’s own good and the good of the Egyptians. And God does this (it seems) so that Israel’s ultimate victory can somehow be recognized as even more astonishing; more miraculous.  Israel overcomes her foes who are powerful, obstinately bad, persisting in evil, and who  far outnumber her –but who, in the end, are defeated through God’s miraculous intercession.

But I am left pondering: How is the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart necessary to God’s plan?  Even if this is just a myth (or hyperbole), why did the ancient story teller feel it necessary to put it in these terms? What lesson was God imparting by having His scribes write His story in this way?  If (for instance) God’s hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is a metaphor –then what is it a metaphor of? And what lesson (or insight) was it supposed to teach? What psychological (or spiritual) insight was it intended to reveal?

1.       That God is willful and can do whatever He likes?  Even make our hearts hard and turn our ways to deceit? Sin?  -OR

2.       That God’s plan, the work of a loving God, may even be found in the hardened heart and deceitful ways of our foe…

And, in the end, the key question is: What does a loving God accomplish by changing the hearts of Pharaoh, the Egyptians, all of Israel’s foes “so that they hate His own people?” What is it that He accomplishes through this hardened heart that He couldn’t accomplish otherwise? Why didn’t He change their hearts so that they loved His people?  What part does this hardening of the heart play in God’s plan?  How does it reveal His loving presence?  Those are the questions, the paradox, I am pondering these days. 

Next I want to spend a little time considering this passage, this image, through the lens of the four-fold method; seeking in it the four levels of reading: literal, allegorical, moral & anagogical.

  

The blessing of vulnerability --further reflections

“Go from your country, your kinsmen

and your father's house to the land
that I will show you... You are to be a blessing.”

–Genesis 12:1-2

What are the Beatitudes but a call for us to leave our place of security and comfort and go to a foreign land –a place of vulnerability, of risk and of blessing.  In Genesis, God calls Abram to leave his homeland, his kinfolk and his father’s house to go forth to a land that God will show him.  In that place and by becoming vulnerable to the curses and blessings of these foreign people, by leaving behind his security and earthly support system and putting his trust wholly in God Abram becomes a blessing. 

“Blessed are you who are poor…”

“Blessed are you who hunger…”

“Blessed are you who mourn…” –cf. Luke 6:20-21 & Mt. 5:3-11

Is this not a call to us to leave behind our homeland of culture and identity, our kinfolk of support and insurance, our father’s house of security and comfort and go to a foreign land that Jesus is showing us: a land of hunger, poverty, mourning, meekness and abuse?  Go not where we are safe and feel secure and accepted, but where we feel some risk of rejection and martyrdom even.  What greater love is there than to give up your life for another? 

But how do we live this out?  What does it mean in our daily life?  For me, there was a wonderful incident the other night that assured me that I had stumbled in the right direction.  I was volunteering at the hospital with the chaplain’s office. The chaplain tapes a list of names to his door for me. It is usually a longish list, but he will highlight the ones that he wants me to visit. Usually I just visit those highlighted names; I tend to be a rule follower. But as I was heading to the elevator I noticed a name --someone I had visited before–not highlighted. And something inside me made me feel that I should visit that patient.

I imagined that I would go up, say hello to him, perhaps offer a prayer and be on my way.  But when I got to his room on the 4^th floor, he was asleep.  So I was about to go back to my assigned list when I noticed a man who looked a little troubled in the room next door. So, I poked my head in and asked if there was anything I could do for him.  He was very hard of hearing, but he was also quite clearly agitated and needed someone (or something).  So I struggled to talk with this elderly man, but I listened as he told me that he was anxious about his daughters and confused about why he was being left at the hospital. After a while I offered to pray.  He didn’t understand at first, but as I began to pray the Our Father, he fell right in with me –as if suddenly something clicked.  A nurse arrived while we were praying and when we finished, she began her business with charts and scans, but she also began to ease his worries by reminding him why he was in the hospital. 

I left and tried the other man again. He was still asleep.  As I turned to leave and go back to my assigned names, another nurse approached me.  He wanted to know if I was the chaplain, because a patient had just died and his family needed someone.  My first reaction was a start of fear. I’m not a chaplain and I wasn’t sure what to do.  But, instead of hiding behind my lack of qualifications. I explained that I was a volunteer, and asked him to show me where the family was.  Standing at the door to the room, I asked God for a blessing and went inside to be with a family in deep and unconsolable mourning.

That was a place and a moment where I felt weak and slightly afraid. I hungered for the security and safety of the “right words,” but I had only my presence and a selection of psalm to offer them. I felt fearfully vulnerable. But, it was the place God lead me. And so I trusted. I trusted that whatever happened –this wasn’t about me. It was about their sorrow and their need to have someone come and pray with them in their time of mourning.  And so I went. And praying with them, sharing psalm 42, listening to their memories and their pain, hearing what a loving father the deceased was, all of it –I believe it was a blessing for them, but I am certain it was a blessing for me.

And it all started with me reading a name on my list that wasn’t selected for me by the chaplain, but (I guess) was by the Holy Spirit.  The first step was leaving the safety and security of the highlighted names, to go somewhere God was leading me.  Then, visiting the man who was almost deaf was a second step. He wasn’t the one I felt an attachment to, and I only stepped into his room because I could see him through the window and saw what looked like fear and confusion on his face –in his eyes. It was uncomfortable and awkward trying to talk with him –but because I tried, because I didn’t just give up and walk away, I was still on the floor when the other man died and because I left his room when the nurse started her work I happened to be walking out the door just as the other nurse came looking for a chaplain. 

And by being vulnerable what did I find?  An opportunity to become a blessing.  And an opportunity to be blessed.  And you know, I think in that moment of blessedness I had a brief glimpse of another foreign land: Heaven. Perhaps what Jesus is telling us in the beatitudes isn’t just that being poor, or meek, or hungry or thirsty or suffering for Christ is good for us; perhaps what He means when He says “blessed are…” is that to offer ourselves in this way is truly blessed; it is a taste of Heaven. 

Think about your own life. When did you feel most blessed? Was it in a moment of earthly success (a 100 on a test, a new job, successfully completing a project or getting an award for some achievement) or was it when you offered yourself completely (in all your brokenness and insufficiency) and found that you were received and you were a blessing to someone who needed you?

To become a blessing is to be doubly blessed.