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.

Of altars and sacred stones and dispossession

“You must completely destroy all the places where
the nations you dispossess have served their gods…
you must tear down their altars, smash their sacred
stones…hack to bits the statues of their gods and
obliterate their names from that place.” –Deuteronomy 12:2-3

The Israelites were being sent by God to “dispossess” other nations of their lands and to dwell there.  But in this call, they were also being called to act as a kind of purifying agent.  They were called to go to this new land and tear down the altars, smash the sacred stones, hack to bits the statues and obliterate the names of these false gods from that place. To purify that place. 

            On a literal level this call horrifies our diversity sensitive ears. We shudder at the very idea of knocking down someone else’s gods.  Instead, in the name of sensitivity and diversity, we tend to look for ways to affirm and celebrate those beliefs and acknowledge their equality and validity. All in the name of avoiding conflict and promoting peaceful co-existence.  Anyway, who am I to knock over someone else’s idols and tear down their altars? What right do I have to tell someone else what to believe?

            And yes, there is some value in this attitude. Some value in acknowledging that we do not (personally or communally) possess a stranglehold on truth.  Plus, we can’t just walk into someone else’s home and start obliterating the names of their gods from the altars and stones and walls and poles of their home; not if we don’t want to start a war, at least.

            Clearly in the time of which Deuteronomy speaks that was literally a part of God’s plan. In this story, that was definitely included as part of the dispossessing and purifying plan God was laying before His people. 

            So, if we are not being called to actual war by this passage, what does it say to us today? What “land” are we called to dispossess? What altars and statues and sacred stones are we called to smash and what false gods are we called to obliterate?

            For me, the first thing to do with scripture is to accept that if it is the Word of God, then it truly does contain eternal truths.  And second, if God truly is love and truly loves each and every one of us, numbers even every hair on our heads, then I would tend accept that God is truly speaking to us through His word and He is truly speaking to each and every one of us.  And I would definitely take His words very personally.

            So, what do these words say to me –personally?  Well, I’ve been meditating on St. Joseph lately and so I return to that contemplation and see how these words help me understand Joseph or how Joseph’s example helps me understand better these words. 

            So, here goes: Joseph had a home, a career, a sense of place in his community, a reputation as an honorable and just man, and to that he had hopes for his new bride and coming life with Mary.  There was security and comfort and safety in this life, but God had something else in mind; a very different kind of life—the life of a refugee, of a step-father, of a cuckold even, --a life of complete self-surrrendering (it seems). Looking at it from my perspective, it looks like a life of letting go; letting go of personal dreams, letting go of career objectives and life goals. It looks like God is calling Joseph to dispossess himself of the lands of comfort and safety and independence and to obliterate any personal gods such as pleasure and security, and to put himself completely into God’s hands. Let go of those gods, smash them and hack them to bits and put your trust in Me.  I will bring you into a land of dependence, and vulnerability, a land that looks to the world like shame and foolishness, and you may not even live to see the fulfillment, to understand the reason (the point) for this life.  You will simply have to trust me… completely.  Will you let go of your gods, your altars, your sacred stones and come with me?

            So –where have I built altars to my personal gods of ego and pride and pleasure and safety and comfort? Where have I set up sacred stones to honor them?  What are the personal beliefs/desires/dreams that I hold sacred? Are there certain topics I simply won’t be challenged on? Politics? Money? Morality? Poetry? Art? Thin crust extra garlic pizza? Hmmm.

You see, for me, I don’t hear God talking about someone else and their false gods, their sacred stones… I hear Him talking to me.  About my gods...  I really do take His words very personally.

Christmas, day 3: "...a just man..."

“…and her husband Joseph being a just man…”
–Matthew 1:19-21

I'm still thinking about Joseph. He was a just man, an upright man, an honorable man and a carpenter.  And, like his patriarch namesake, Joseph is a dreamer; someone God speaks to through dreams.  And, again like that other Joseph, he pays attention to his dreams.  He takes Mary into his house and becomes "her husband," and then, like the Joseph of old who was sold into Egypt by his brothers (cf. Gn. 37), this Joseph uproots his life and flees to Egypt to protect his new wife and keep her baby safe.  

            When I went to confession and was given the penance of reading Matthew's nativity and contemplating Joseph, the first thing I noticed was this: he brings Mary into his home and does whatever it takes to keep her and the baby safe. And then I asked myself: what does that mean? By doing this Joseph is bringing Jesus into his home. Yes. I can see that. And then, after he has received Jesus into his life, he does whatever it takes, makes whatever sacrifice he must to keep Jesus with him.  So, there is that lesson: we should do whatever it takes to receive and keep Christ with us. No sacrifice is too great. Okay. I like that, but...

 On a human level I have always been a little troubled by Joseph’s role in the nativity narrative. I imagine how he must have felt when he learned that Mary was expecting a baby. The sense of betrayal; the sting of his own foolishness for trusting her. How that must have hurt his ego; he was an upright man, a just man, an honorable man. Why would this happen to him? Why would God let this happen to him?  Based on the law, based on justice, he could have demanded she be lead out of the city gates and stoned for such a breach of morality --not to mention marital etiquette (cf. Lv. 20:10; Dt. 22:22; Jn 8:5). And yet, being an honorable man, he wanted to spare this young girl disgrace and planned to divorce her quietly and informally.

            What does this tell us about Joseph? That he was not only an upright man, a just man, an honorable man, but that he was also a compassionate man. And yet, even that isn’t enough for God and God’s plans. No, God wants something more than justice and honor and even more than goodness and compassion.  God wants something extraordinary; He wants a saint. And in a dream, God’s messenger comes to Joseph and tells him –Don’t be afraid. Take Mary into your home and make her your wife.  I know this isn’t what you had planned, but do it anyway.

            And Joseph does it.  He doesn’t wrestle with the angel or argue about how unfair the situation is.  He doesn’t mention that he already has reservations and plans for a glorious romantic honeymoon at the Key West Motor Lodge in Galveston. He gives up his dreams and listens to God’s.  For me, that might be the key lesson. Joseph seems to realize that the story isn’t about him. His life isn’t even about him.  It’s about Jesus. The key question in every life is this: how will you react when God offers to come and dwell with you?

Joseph was an honorable, a just, an upright man.  In other words: he paid his taxes, he went to church, he followed the rules, obeyed the laws.  But that wasn’t enough. God wanted more.  God wanted all. And I think what I learn from the example of Joseph is stated more directly in the words of John the Baptist: “He must increase, and I must decrease” (Jn 3:30).

That’s really what I meant to say in that other reflection.  But, it got away from me. Sometimes I get confused and head in the wrong direction. But, I’m trying. And I hope I am still listening.