What are you most afraid of…? (a meditation for the first week of Advent, 2024)

 

What are you afraid of? What is your biggest fear? I think the somewhat frightening Gospel from the 1st Sunday of Advent was asking us to turn away from our fears and look at something else... To see not with eyes of fear and anxiety, but through the eyes of Love. Here are some thoughts on fear and the first week of Advent. Please let me know what you think, and how God helps you with your own fears.

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,
and on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed
by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will die
of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world…”
--Luke 20:25-28

It seems to me a strange reading for this time of joyful anticipation, but here at the start of Advent as most of us look forward to Christmas, the church gives us a gospel reading about fear and anxiety and what sounds like the end of the world. That is a very interesting liturgical choice, and one worth pondering. Why? With everyone recovering from Thanksgiving and looking forward to Christmas, why not choose a hopeful reading from the Nativity story?

And yet, as I have spent time with this little conundrum, I have found myself wondering:

What am I afraid of?

And how does that fear eat away at my peace? How am I letting it take my life? Bit by bit, moment by moment, am I too dying from fear?

More than heights, or math teachers, I think my biggest fear is rejection.

Fear of feeling unwanted, unnecessary, perhaps even unlovable. For me, a lot of this is wrapped up in ego. Growing up, I desperately wanted to be attractive; wanted to be one of those boys all the girls called cute or handsome. Like Johnny Quest, or Davy Jones from the Monkees! And yet—that was not what fate or genetics had in store for me. Two formative moments from my younger days haunt me still: first, when I was just a scrawny little 8 year old, I was standing in a dressing room at the Craig’s store, trying on a pair of hip-huggers, and imagining I looked as cool as one of the Archies, I overheard the salesman say to my mother: He's got hips like a girl. And my mother say: Yes. I guess he does. I have never forgotten that little exchange. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant at the time, but every time I see my own shadow I glance at my hips. And the second is the time a college girlfriend told me I looked better with a beard, because I didn’t have much of a chin.

I may not be able to do much about my “hips,” but I’ve kept my beard ever since.

Even after 36 years of marriage the fear of being rejected or unwanted, still haunts me. It’s like I am constantly waiting for someone (my wife even) to say: Who invited you? Whatever we fear, small or large, it always feels like the end of the world. It may just destroy our peace of mind, but even that can feel like a mini-apocalypse.

In some ways this fear has continued to rule my life. Even without thinking about it, I continue to live in it… Afraid to make a mistake, afraid of my own shadow, always hoping to ingratiate myself, to demonstrate my worth… Hoping to be noticed and to be told I'm worthy, maybe even "cute." Yet always afraid, and always certain, what I am is never enough.

When I think about this reading, and my own fears, I begin to realize at the heart of all fear is a lack of trust. I don’t trust gravity, so I am afraid of mountain tops and air travel; I don’t trust numbers, so I am afraid of math teachers; I don’t trust my own worth, so I am afraid of rejection. I don’t trust the love of God… so I am afraid…

But Jesus has an answer to this, to the problem of fear. Actually, Jesus is the answer. The sacrifice of the cross is the true sign of our worth. Of God’s love. Jesus died because—in God’s eyes-- I was worth it. You were worth it. We –all of us—despite our failings, or maybe not despite—maybe because of… we are worth it. We are loved. This isn’t a test. Your suffering, your sorrow, your pain, your fear… It isn’t a test. You may be going through something terrible, hard, even frightening, but the truth is we know how this story ends: In love.

   “…when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads
because your redemption is at hand.” (cf. 21: 28)

Our redemption is at hand; just beyond the signs, the earth-shaking, the waves and the political turmoil, the chaos and suffering, just beyond the darkness of Calvary, there is a new day dawning. Stand erect, hold your head up… Look for it. It is there. The Resurrection.

But, of course, in the moment we may still be tempted to hide. We may still doubt our own worth, or whether we are up to the challenges ahead. That is part of our brokenness. And we must bring even that, our fears and our doubts, our weaknesses and our addictions, our ugliness and our emptiness and lay them before the Cross.

It isn’t easy, but then again neither is birth (ask any mother, or look at any newborn baby). But it is the only way… No haircut or make-up or new pair of hip-huggers is going to heal my own self-image. No matter how popular I may or may not be, the doubt and the self-image still haunt me. And so, instead of letting them control my life, I need to stand erect, look up –not down at my own shadow—but at the eye of the one who never looks away, the one who Created me, the one who sees all that He created and says: It is good.

There are bigger fears, I know, but the truth is that whatever fear we have, whatever fate we anxiously await, we are not alone, and whatever happens to us—we were made for this! I was not made to be another Davy Jones, I was made to be me. To live this life, to feel these fears and dream these dreams, even cry these tears, and finally to become the kind of blessing only I can be.

Whatever that looks like in the mirror, in God’s eyes it is always something beautiful to see.

Something like a trap--A meditation on God's love

 “…like a trap.” (Luke 21:35) 

 

Reading the ending chapter of Luke’s Gospel, I have come to the passages that have always seemed so fearful and anxiety inducing to me.  Here in chapter 21 Jesus is about to enter into His passion and He is preparing the disciples for what is to come.  There have been questions about authority and about resurrection and now He warns them about the signs and the days to come.  He warns them of wars and earthquakes, of plagues and famines and the persecutions they will suffer.  The temples will fall and a captivity will come that will make Babylon seem like a summer vacation.  And through it all, throughout this almost chapter long warning, Jesus repeatedly reminds the disciples to hold on, to “persevere” and “stand erect” because their “liberation is near at hand.” (21:19 & 28)  

 

And then He adds this odd phrase:

            “…that day will come upon you unexpectedly, like a trap.” (34-35)

 

Reading that phrase I began to wonder—why would Jesus use that image? Where or how is the Love of God to be found in that image of a trap?  Normally when I come to these passages, I read them with a bit of trepidation.  I hear warnings and I hear challenges that seem beyond my mortal strength, and beyond my humble faith.  I read them with the fear that I will fall short, not be up to the challenge; when God’s test comes, I will be found wanting--lost.  That image of God feels not just confrontational, but prosecutorial—as if God had no interest in the outcome, in my salvation. As if my life were just one more show, among the billions and billions of others, He was streaming to kill time until the apocalypse.  It is not a vision of love…

 

But, this morning as I read those words I felt a sudden tinge of hope.  I heard in that phrase “like a trap” not capture and destruction, but the love of a parent.  I heard the cry of a father playing chase in the front yard with his children and seeing one rushing to close to the street, he swoops down and snatches her up and cries out, “I got you!”  

 

And I wondered—why? What would make me hear those words so differently today?  And then I noticed the message that comes right after that trap.

 

“Stay awake, praying at all times for the strength to survive
all that is going to happen, and to hold your
ground before the Son of man.”  (21:36)

 

And I heard for the first time, the reassurance of this image—not that God is setting a trap for us, to catch us in our sin and throw us into the fire, but that God is setting something “like a trap” for us, to protect us. To gather us into His love and hold us in a safe place—a place where we can find the strength to survive—and that place is prayer.  This thing “like a trap” is not a prison or a cell, but more like a chapel, a place of security, peace, renewal and love.  

 

And it is “like a trap” because God knows we are all afraid sometimes, and that if we are afraid enough, we will flee even from the grace and love of Christ.  So, to gather His flock, sometimes God must set a kind of trap—to protect us even from ourselves, to awaken us to the love, to the grace, of that is always waiting there, at our side, at your elbow, whispering in your ear—you are my beloved.  And hoping only that we will hear, and be stirred to prayer.

 

One last word about this chapter (Luke 21).  It is almost entirely a message about the coming trials, but it begins oddly enough with a brief little observation of a poor widow and her “mite” (21: 1-5). Sitting in the temple, watching the people with their offerings, Jesus points out an impoverished widow who puts two small coins into the treasury and uses her as the example of true giving.  And that is how he begins His lesson on the end-times here in Luke. Why?  Is it possibly because she is also our model of what God asks of us? Not for some heroic gesture or grand sacrifice that will land us on the front page of the New York Times or win the Nobel Prize, but only that –like this widow—we give what we have. Even if it is just two small coins… give it all.

 

The trap is not set against us.  The trap is set for us.  This is the whispering I hear in my ear:  Don’t be afraid… The trap is love.

 

 

He is near

18 Nov 18

Some thoughts on the Gospel for the 33^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

“...when you see these things happening:

know that He is near.”  --Mark 13:24-32

The Mass readings this Sunday were full of apocalyptic language, imagery.  The reading from Daniel (12:1-3) contained distress and resurrection imagery and the Gospel tells of Jesus warning his disciples of a coming time when “the sun will be darkened, and the moon will give no light, and the stars will be falling from the sky...”  And then, using a lesson from the fig tree, the Lord tells them:

When you see these things happening: know that He is near.

During the homily our priest reminded us that apocalyptic is often mistaken for prophecy –i.e. telling us what will happen in the future—but that it was actually more like a form of commentary --telling the reader about things that were actually happening; commenting on the situation at hand.  For instance, we were taught in seminary that the Book of Revelation isn’t actually about some future cataclysm and judgment, but was actually about the Roman persecution the early Christians.  Though we commonly use it to speak of the end of the world (movies like World War Z, Snowpiercer, Mad Max, Soylent Green, The Day After Tomorrow are commonly referred to as apocalyptic), the word itself is from the Greek and means to reveal or uncover.  The Latin version of this same word—revelation—means to disclose or uncover; to remove the veil.  As Father was saying this morning; these types of writings were not intended to predict the future, but to comment on the present –to uncover or reveal some truth about the present.  And that got me thinking:  in His lesson to His disciples the Lord says:

Learn a lesson from the fig tree.  When its branch becomes tender and sprouts leaves, you know that summer is near.  In the same way, when you see these things happening, know that He is near, at the gates.

But what are these things? What are these signs?  The sun grows dark, and the moon no longer gives light, and the stars are falling from the sky.  If these signs are not meant to be signs of some universal cataclysm, signs of the end of the world, of the sun literally going dark and the stars literally falling from the heavens-- then what are they?

First—I don’t think God speaks in code. I don’t think we have to be scholars to understand His word.  But, we do have to be willing to think.  Think about a time in your own life when the sun seemed to have stopped shining and the darkness seemed to only grow darker.  The stars, the things that seemed constant and unchanging, people or situations you depended on for guidance and to help you steer your life, seemed to be falling from the sky –no longer dependable or trustworthy...  How did you feel? Afraid? Alone? Helpless? As if your world were coming to an end?

On a personal level we all experience times like that.  Times of trial and distress.  Times when our mentors and heroes fail us, or we fail ourselves.  Lost job. Sickness. Death. Even emotional disappointments can seem like the end of the world.

However, on a larger scale, something like this is happening in the Church today.  Scandal after scandal seem to rock the very foundations of the Church. Around the world. Not only priests, but bishops and cardinals (and possibly the Pope) are falling from the sky.  Once these men were stars of a kind, held up as models of holiness and piety; celebrated for their selflessness and charity, now they are suspected of being predators and hypocrites; guilty of criminal behavior of enabling and covering up horrors in order to protect the reputation of the Church.  Whatever light they seemed to offer the world has grown dark and those who trusted them, who looked to them for guidance and example, now feel lost. Afraid. Angry. Alone. Betrayed and bewildered they don’t know where to turn; where to go; and many may be asking: where is God?

In the time when the Gospel was being written, the early church was experiencing great trials and persecutions.  And so, these apocalyptic words were written not to predict distant troubles, but to help those suffering persecutions to understand that trials and tribulations were to be expected; to remind them that they were not alone; they were not forgotten; God had not abandoned them.  They were still part of the Master’s plan.

Look around today and it can seem like everywhere you gaze the world is experiencing cataclysms of a kind.  The news is full of stories about what a terrible and divisive mess our government and society have become.  During the final weeks of the elections, it seemed like everyone running for office was corrupt or criminal or both. Violence and cruelty, greed and aggression seem to be everywhere you look.  The economy is a roller coaster. The weather and the atmosphere are in tumult.  Wars and rumors of war fill the headlines. Even the Church, the one institution that some of us clung to as a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope, is being battered from within. Accusations and scandals abound. Some of the most luminous of her clerical stars—have fallen from grace; accused of horrible acts. But, despite all of this -- God is exactly where He always was.  He is the one unchanging eternal truth you can always depend on.  An uncorruptible North Star, one might say. Near the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus says:  Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.  Jesus (the Word made flesh) says this. And we can trust it.  We can trust Him.  Governments and man-made institutions may last for a while, but they will pass away.  Look around and see the signs and then know this, as the green leaf is a sign that summer is near; so are these trials, so are your trials, a sign that God is near.  If we look at our God, at the example of our God, we will understand more fully why He says this.  Look at any Crucifix you might have in your home and think about what it is you see in that figure of a man nailed to a cross.  It is an image of God’s love—fully alive.

So, the next time you feel like your world is coming to an end, know this, trust this:  He is near.  And if you are ever wondering how you can get closer to God... think about those signs.  Maybe it’s not you –maybe it’s a co-worker or a friend who is feeling their world falling apart. Know that God is there –somewhere near.  Maybe even at the gate.

If the bishops and cardinals and priests who covered up the sins of abusers had only remembered that.  Jesus isn’t in the high office, He isn’t in the good reputation, He isn’t in the honor... He’s always near the cross wherever it is found.  Waiting for us to join Him.