Listening and asking them questions... thoughts on the presence of God

 

“Where are you?”

--Genesis 3: 9

 

In the readings for Mass today we heard that profoundly important story of Adam and Eve and the Fall (Genesis 3: 9-15).  The reading begins just after the eating of the forbidden fruit.  God comes into the garden and calls out to Adam, who is hiding from Him.  There is so much that can be said about this simple and relatively brief story, so much truth to be discovered, so much insight into the psychology of sin, of shame, of scapegoating.  Adam hides because he is naked, because he is vulnerable to the view of another—because he is self-conscious and doesn’t want anyone to notice some aspect of his nature, his being (his sin).  When questioned, he tries to obfuscate: tries to deflect attention on himself by shifting it to God’s sudden appearance. “I heard you walking in the garden and hid because I was naked.” As if he has not always been naked, as if that is not the way he has always appeared before God.  Then when questioned further, he shifts the blame to Eve.  But it’s not only her fault; God is still to blame.  “The woman YOU put here with me...” (3:12) is the real problem! And then Eve, who was just thrown under the bus, turns and blames the serpent. It’s not my fault, it was that damned serpent! “The snake tempted me...” (3:14).  Ask yourself, isn’t that still the way sin works? We get tempted, we do something we’re ashamed of, and as soon as someone finds us out we start looking for someone, or something else to blame.  It’s not my fault. It’s the media, it’s the economy, it’s society, my parents, my husband, my wife... My fault (or sin) is never truly mine, but can always be explained away as the result of someone else’s choices or behavior.     

Anytime we are tempted to think of how backwards and unenlightened people used to be, how primitive they were; how they wouldn’t understand the complexities of life today, wouldn’t grasp the psychological or emotional or social ramifications of a particular action or choice---just pause and reread the first few chapters of Genesis.  It’s all there.  Modern psychology and morality have nothing to teach the ancient writers of the Hebrew Bible.

 

But there is one small aspect of this story that I want to ponder for a moment today: the way that God talks with Adam and Eve. It’s a series of questions. The first thing God does is look for Adam. Talk about a theologically profound image. Adam and Eve have disobeyed God’s command and fallen into sin, and instead of abandoning them, or smiting them, God goes looking for them.  Ponder that for a week or two.  But what caught my eye this morning was the questioning.  “Where are you?” God calls out, but why? God is omniscient and knows exactly where every hair on Adam’s head is at every moment, why does He need to ask? He doesn’t... And that, to my ear, is a clue to the reader. God doesn’t need to ask Adam where he is. God doesn’t need to ask who gave the fruit to Adam? God doesn’t even need to ask why Eve ate from the forbidden tree. God knows. So, why does God ask?  Because it is in the very nature of God to invite us into relationship. To ask us questions, and to listen to our answers.  God asks not for His benefit, but for ours. So that we can reveal ourselves to Him. So that we might freely open ourselves entirely to Him, to His love, and to His mercy.

 

Listening to this story today, I suddenly found myself thinking of another image of God asking questions and listening.  It is from the story of Jesus as a child getting lost in Jerusalem. When Mary and Joseph finally find Him, He is sitting among the elders in the temple, “Listening to them and asking questions...” (Luke 2:46).

 

This is how God reaches out to people. He asks questions, and He listens.

 

How much better would the world be today if we all acted the same?  If, instead of trying to blame someone, or shame someone, what if we acted a little more like Jesus? Instead of casting blame or shame, what if we—instead—each began asking more questions and listening to the answers?  

 

We may not agree with what we hear, but we may find that a door has been opened—both in us and in the person we listen to. And we may find that opening that door changes more than opinions, it changes the world.  Because that’s how God works.

 

What do you think?

Rise up in Splendor O Jerusalem -some thoughts on the Epiphany

“Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come,

the glory of the Lord shines upon you. See, darkness

covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples; but

upon you the Lord shines… Nations shall walk by your

light… raise your eyes and look about; they all gather

and come to you…”   Isaiah 60:1-6

Rise up in splendor, O Jerusalem!  Darkness covers the earth, thick clouds blind the people. They need a great light.  Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem.  Be that light.  Become that light. Raise your eyes and look about… the world walks in darkness.  The world hungers for light.

Rise up in splendor, O Jerusalem.  The world walks in darkness and you are being called; become the light.
 How often does God put us in a dark place and ask us to be His light? My guess is it happens every day. My guess is it happens several times every day. My guess is –it never stops. But how often do we let ourselves shine?  For many of us, perhaps every single person who has ever lived, all we ever really dream of is a chance to shine; a chance to light the earth; for the people around us to see that indeed we do shine.

As a child I longed to be famous, to be glorious, to be recognized, to be chased by hundreds of beautiful girls down a London street –like the Beatles in Hard Day’s Night. That was my vision of success, of becoming a star! Of truly shining bright.  Who could question that the Beatles were stars?  But the tennis racket I strummed never got properly tuned, and luckily the broomstick I sang into never amplified my wandering vocals, and I never became a singing star (despite what I told my 4^th grade teacher). And because I never got famous, I suspected I was –instead—a failure. It was, for me, a dichotomy I couldn’t escape. I was either John Lennon, David Bowie, or Bobby Sherman, or I was a failure. (In college the dream became more literary; then it became: I was either Faulkner, Joyce and Williams or I was a failure.) But there was no middle ground. And thinking that I had tried, only made my failure worse –because then the failure seemed more real. I tried. I tried to shine, and no one noticed. No girls chased me to the train station. No Nobel committee member called me to congratulate me on my prize. Therefore, I was a failure. My light (if I even had one) was so dim, so dull no one noticed.

But is that true? And even if it were, does that matter?  God calls each one of us to Rise up in splendor. He calls us to rise up in splendor each day.  He calls us to rise up in splendor each moment of each day.  Because the world is in darkness. There is a thick cloud that covers the people.  And they need a light, even a small one.

What if you knew the light you were called to shine today was only going to be seen by one person? And they would see it, but not be sure exactly what they had seen, only that it was a light and for a moment it gave them hope, it gave them consolation, and it gave them a glimpse of something –a sign that someone else was out there. They weren’t alone.  And what if that was it?  You were going to shine a light and maybe one person would see it, and no one else would notice? You would never be the “star” you dreamed of being, but you could give one person hope; would you count that a success? And what if that one person --because of your light-- began to shine a little more, and she lit the way for 2 or 3 others –no big crowds, no Madison Square Garden, no red carpets or Transco Tower search beacons, just a small group of people who each begin to rise up and shine a little more because they saw something –a light in the darkness—that gave them hope.  Would that be enough? Would you still think yourself a failure? What if you stopped tuning that tennis racket and instead took a match to it? And then raised it high!

Rise up O Jerusalem; rise up in splendor. Rise and shine.