…the moment is here: a reflection on Romans 13

“The moment is here for you to stop sleeping and wake up… the night is nearly over, daylight is on the way; so let us throw off everything that belongs to the darkness and equip ourselves for the light… Let your armor be the Lord Jesus Christ, and stop worrying about how your disordered natural inclinations may be fulfilled.”  --Romans 13: 11-14

In these verses Paul seems to speak to my life directly; middle aged, worried about my appetites and inclinations, sleep-walking through my own dark woods (i.e. mid-life crisis). But Paul assures us that that night nearly over, and daylight is on the way. Consider what that might mean to you personally.  For me, the night seems to describe the darkness that comes during a particularly difficult time: a time when I feel alone, lost, afraid.  And the daylight brings hope, the ability to see clearly what now I can only see in shadows and vague shapes –as if through a glass darkly.  

On one level the darkness, the night imagery, speaks to me of a time when our faith is challenged and we struggle to see signs of God’s presence, God’s guidance, God’s love; perhaps Paul is referring to this existence –this world. A place of spiritual darkness? A place and time wherein we cannot see God clearly, but he reassures us that daylight is coming. And it seems to me that he isn’t referring just to a sunrise tomorrow morning, but the Son rise of God’s fullness and grace.  The light of Christ.

And so, Paul exhorts us to throw off everything that belongs to the darkness, and singles out drunkenness, orgies, licentiousness and jealousy for special mention (cf.13:13). And yet, I think there is much more to this “deeds of darkness” than the easily singled out: sexual immorality (and drunkenness).  In the darkness we find ourselves afraid, anxious, insecure, confused, feeling hopeless, defensive (suspicious of every sound, every shadow that passes); in the darkness we grow tired; exhausted, we huddle together in an enclosed space seeking security –and desperate to escape from life’s troubles, how often do we long to simply fall into sleep?

All this belongs to the night, along with our revels and orgies and drunkenness –we hide them from the light to avoid witness to our shame, our fear, our vulnerability –our weakness.  In the dark, though, it is too easy to get lost. To think you are hidden, because you cannot see. Like a small child who covers his eyes and imagines the world cannot see him, we can begin to imagine our weakness and our sin is hidden –because it is kept in the darkness.  However, Paul says to us: throw off those deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.  On the pious surface it would be easy to see this as simply: stop doing bad things and be a good Christian!

But, I think there is much more to it, and much less.  I think Paul is also saying: stop hiding yourselves! Put on the armor of light; on the one hand, (the spiritual hand, one might say) act like Christ! Yes! Of course! But on the other hand (on the more basic, more pedestrian day to day hand) put on the armor of light could also mean, don’t hide yourself! Don’t pretend to be something you aren’t.  And let the world accept or reject you because of who you really are! In a sense, there is no real armor except the armor of light.  As long as you have something to hide (something you are ashamed to have revealed) you will be afraid. Afraid it will come to light.  And yet Paul seems to be saying that “the light” is exactly what our darkness needs.

I don’t know that we need to wander the streets wearing scarlet letters, but perhaps the Puritans weren’t completely wrong.  For me, I am more interested in the concept of openness and vulnerability as strengths (as a kind of spiritual or psychological armor) and I am also interested in the sacrament of confession. We definitely need to admit to each other, privately and publicly, our brokenness and our need for Grace.  Wake up, Paul says. If you are a follower of Christ, then you need to start living like one.  But it is also clear that he knows we aren’t just going to just wake up one morning and suddenly be perfect. It seems to me that the message here isn’t about being perfect, but about being awake. Living intentionally and vulnerably.  Putting on the armor of light doesn’t mean we will be free from temptation (or that we won’t stumble into sin) but that we will be truly visible, we will be fully vulnerable, and perhaps that is how we will become light for the world.

Don’t ask yourself if you are ready. The hour is nigh. The moment is here. Stop sleep walking.  Wake up. Put on the light.

Keep praying

“Be joyful in hope, persevere in hardships; keep praying…”   

--Romans 12:12

Friends, how hard is it to be joyful in hope and to persevere when you are afflicted and experiencing hardships?  When everything seems to be going against you? When your friends have abandoned you? When it feels like even God has abandoned you?

We all experience moments like this, perhaps more than moments –weeks, months, even years some might say.  Where do you turn for hope when your world is falling apart?  When your boss tells you she isn’t happy with your work, or your doctor tells you that chronic pain isn’t just a simple ache? When none of the goals you’ve set seem to ever come true? And the defeats just keep piling up until it all seems hopeless. What’s the point? Who cares? It feels like life is cycling out of control. A downward spiral. Perhaps we feel like we are trapped in our own private Gethsemane. Abandoned by friend and God and the cross looming always over us.

First, we need to find a way to break the cycle of disappointment and hardship.  How do we do that?  The words are right there.  We need to be joyful and recover our hope.  How?  One of the best ways is through prayer.  This isn’t pie in the sky. And it isn’t an overnight solution. Prayer takes resolve and commitment and effort.  We feel broken and abandoned, like Jesus in the Garden.  What does He do? He prays.  And then He prays again.  And in Matthew’s Gospel, He even withdraws and prays a third time.  Keep praying.

Second, we need to find a way to get out of ourselves.  I have been wondering if Sartre didn’t get it all wrong when he said, Hell is other people.  I wonder if the truth isn’t the very opposite for many of us… Hell is being alone with no one else to think about but ourself.  Get outside yourself.  Pray that God will show you someone who needs your help. Maybe all they need is a kind word, a gentle touch, or just a smile. Maybe they need you to bring them a cup of coffee and a doughnut. Maybe they need someone to sit down with them and listen as they open their hearts and unpack their burdens –someone who will help them carry their cross. Be that person. Discover the truth behind Matthew 25:36-40… serve the hungry, the naked, the lonely, the sick… and discover that you truly are serving Christ.

One of the best ways I have found to rediscover joy is visiting the sick in the hospital or bringing food to a homeless man on Gessner.  I sit and talk with Michael and listen to his troubles, listen to his dreams, listen to his reminiscences of life in Pennsylvania when he was a boy.  Sometimes we talk sports. Sometimes he sings to me.  Sometimes we just sit in silence and share a meal.  It always renews me.

Think about this: what is prayer but coming before Christ with our entire being and offering it to Him?  And, according to Matthew’s Gospel, who do we serve when we serve the poor, feed the hungry, care for the sick? Jesus, Himself.  It seems to me that either way we are going to meet the Lord.  And that is probably the best way to renew our hope. And to regain a joyful spirit.  So, dear friends, keep praying! With your entire being, keep praying –body and soul! Keep praying.  With these simple words, Paul is giving us some pretty darned good advice. Keep praying.

Happy Easter! He has risen. He has risen, indeed.

Exulting in hardship Pt. II

  

   Why on earth should we exult in our hardships? What is the real life applicable human truth that God is revealing through Paul’s words? It sounds so weird to our human ear: “exult in our hardships,” “rejoice in our afflictions” “boast in our sufferings,” “glory in our tribulations.” How alien that idea is to our modern consciousness; and yet if the Bible is the word of God then should we not seek for God’s truth in it? And should we not be considering how to apply that truth to our daily lives?

   For me, this all ties into a year that began with me being kicked out of the diaconate program –after three years of training and many more of discernment and prayer and hope—and ended with my brother’s sudden death by cancer (almost exactly a year later).  In between there were many personal and professional setbacks and disappointments but all them were marked by the feeling that I had been rejected. I had been found lacking.  I was not the person I was certain God had made me to be. 

   Standing in the middle of all that, I felt no desire to rejoice. And I saw nothing to boast about. Why on earth would anyone exult in it? I only wanted to escape or hide—to protect myself and my family from further hardships, or tribulations, further reasons to rejoice. Physically, I was tense and anxious and emotionally I was often fearful. My back ached and my shoulders tightened as I waited –constantly—for the next blow.  I began to avoid eye contact, avoid friends, avoid even the hands that reached out to help me.

   And, I think that position I found myself in may be key to what Paul is telling us –or telling me:

Paul isn’t recommending that we should eagerly seek out afflictions as opportunities for boasting and rejoicing, --as if we might go out for a letter jacket in suffering. And he isn’t claiming that positive thinking will make afflictions go away. This isn’t pop psychology 101.  I think there are two things going on here. First, out of a natural desire to avoid pain or discomfort, I was becoming tense, isolated, defensive –my heart was hardening.  And Paul’s words certainly are addressed to that attitude. Becoming hard and isolated is self-destructive. Perhaps the spiritual practice of exulting in our hardships, is a way of learning to receive both good and bad, not as curse or blessing, but as invitation (so to speak) –as a way for God to reveal Himself in and through our life. 

Second, it occurred to me that one of Paul’s themes in this letter is the question of whose slave we are?  Do we belong to sin or God? (cf. 6:16-19) If we belong to God, then we need to live that way. Like a good slave, we need to receive whatever we are given not with whining and moaning, but with rejoicing and exulting. Not because it feels good or feels bad, but because we are God’s, and every moment of our life, every success and every failure, every joy and every hardship we give back to Him. We offer it to God as a chance for His glory to shine. 

   This doesn’t mean we don’t stand up for ourselves, or for others.  It doesn’t mean that we pull out that old trump card: It must have been God’s will.  We don’t know why you lost your job, but it must have been God’s will. We don’t know why your house burned down, but it must have been God’s will.  Exulting in our hardships doesn’t mean we hide behind “God’s will.” It also doesn’t mean we just sit back and take it.  We can praise God and exult in our hardships even as we work to help immigrants or homeless people or prisoners or even as we stand up for someone being mistreated at work. We can exult in our hardships even as we stand up for the underdog. The world may call us hypocrites and fools and all kinds of names, but the world isn’t who we are called to serve. We are slaves of the one we obey. The world abhors hardships. The world is afraid of affliction.

We are slaves of God.  And God calls us to exult even in our hardships, to rejoice even in our afflictions. Not because hardships are really blessings, but because even in those moments –God is with us. Even when we feel crushed, it is the Lord who holds us up and it is the Lord who stretches out His hand to help us bear the load. And, like Paul, perhaps we are making up in our flesh something that is lacking in the afflictions of Christ (cf. Col 1:24).  And again, what if God is using your hardship as a way to call someone else, family, friend or coworker, even a stranger, to an act of charity –calling them to respond to His presence in your pain? Asking them, through your affliction, to come closer to Him by reaching out to you.  Not everyone will respond. Sometimes no one will. That, again, is not our business. God may be using us to plant seeds to grow His holiness in someone we will never know.  Our affliction, our hardship, our disappointment, our sorrow may be an opportunity for someone else to become a saint.

    Come to think of it, that sounds like a good reason to exult.

Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls, 

 yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

--Habbakuk 3:17-18 

Exulting in hardship

“…let us exult, too, in our afflictions, understanding that hardship develops perseverance, and perseverance develops a tested character, something that gives us hope, and a hope which will not let us down…” --Romans 5:3-4

Ah, this is hard. If you want to be counter-cultural, try this.  Exult in your afflictions –boast of your hardships. Not in the woe is me, self-pitying kind of way, but with a true understanding of their worth. Try it.  Struggling at work? In your marriage? With your faith? Feeling friendless? Ignored? Misunderstood? Oppressed? Overwhelmed by health or financial woes? Do you wake up feeling like Job?  Instead of cursing God and dying… exult in your hardships! Rejoice in your afflictions. Ah… this is hard.

But that seems to be Paul’s advice for building up character and gaining hope –a hope which will not let us down.  And yet, what does he actually mean? Does he mean boasting of every affliction we suffer to our co-workers or spouse or strangers on the bus? Is that how Paul would have us witness to the glory of Christ?  I don’t think so.  I think he intends something else entirely.  I think he means in your heart, in your spirit, in your prayers –exult in your hardships, rejoice in your afflictions. Thank God for the life you have been given –including the hardships.

None of us knows why we are called to bear the crosses we bear.  None of us knows God’s plan or God’s will for our lives. We know God wills only good, and we trust that God is with us, that Christ is with us always “even unto the end of the world” (Mt. 28:20). But the thing that so often troubles us is that our afflictions seem meaningless, at best, and –at worst—almost signs of our distance from God.  We may feel like Job, but we think like his friends: that suffering is a sign of God’s displeasure.  But, what if it is as Paul says here? What if that which feels like suffering to us is in actuality an opportunity for exultation, for rejoicing. Not in a self-pitying or masochistic way, but in a sincere and faith-filled way. What if the challenges God puts in our lives, the difficulties and afflictions are the way our spirit and faith are grown? What if that is how it feels to be stretched and opened up to receive the “love of God poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit” (5:5b). 

I don’t mean to imply that God is “cruel to be kind,” (cf: Hamlet III.4 or Nick Lowe’s 1979 single), but that growing in faith and love and hope might hurt. And, that part of the process of growing in our faith and hope and love is learning to praise God for everything we receive—to rejoice not just in the good, but even in our hardships.  That in praying “Thy will be done…” we don’t actually mean only Thy will that feels comfortable and makes my family life easier.  But, instead we truly pray “Thy will be done…” because Thy will –whatever it is, and however confusing and even frightening it may appear—Thy will is what is always to bless us. I choose to submit to Thy will because I put my trust in that blessing. In You, Oh Lord. Whatever You will for us is –in fact—a blessing, oh Lord. And that is where I plant my hope. That is where I trust it to grow. And I understand that growing pains can be hard to bear, but I will rejoice in those hardships. Because I know that is how I will learn perseverance, and that is how I will be tested, and that is how I will gain hope. And all that is asked of us is a little joy. Rejoice! Open your heart. God is waiting to fill you up.

Some thoughts on Romans 1-2

“It is yourself you condemn when you judge others…” –Romans 2:1b

“…persevering in doing good…” –Romans 2:7b

During his March 5 Angelus address, Pope Francis recommended that Christians turn to the Bible when we are engaged in spiritual battle.  Even asking what if we turned to a little pocket Bible as often as we turned to our mobile phones.

Okay! I take the bait.  I’ve begun reading Paul’s letter to the Romans for my Lenten reading. The choice was very happenstance, as far as that goes. I had begun to read Jeremiah on my own, but the Bible group I study with voted to read Romans, therefore that is what I will read –partly in preparation for the study group, but most definitely for my own contemplation and spiritual growth.

And so, here is my first meditation on Paul’s longest letter.

In the opening chapters there is a striking element. Paul develops an image in chapter one of God’s wrath not as a judgment imposed upon sinners, but as a natural consequence of their rejection of God.  Because they reject Him, God abandons them “to degrading passions” and “unacceptable thoughts and indecent behavior” (cf. 1: 26-32). Chapter 1 builds to a crescendo in intensity as Paul proclaims that though these sinners are “well aware of God’s ordinance[s]” they not only choose to behave in degrading ways, but “applaud others who do the same” (1:32).   So, on some level we are being primed to anticipate a statement of how these figures should be treated by the Christian community.  And perhaps that is exactly what we get at the beginning of chapter 2, when Paul warns us: “It is yourself you condemn when you judge others…”

It fascinates me that a somewhat detailed description of sin and depravity is followed by a warning against judging. It fascinates me because it seems to me Paul is making a powerful statement not about sin and judgment, but about God’s generosity and mercy.  Where we might expect Paul to recommend casting out the sinner, or avoiding the sin, etc, he instead admonishes us to avoid judging others, lest we condemn ourselves.  And he reminds us that God’s generosity is “meant to bring you to repentance” (cf.2:4b).  This reminder and admonition, call us to humble ourselves not just before the saints, but also before the sinners. Perhaps, especially before the sinners. We must treat them generously and with compassion –if we would be children of the generous and merciful God.  If we would be the body of Christ.  Because by our compassion and generosity perhaps we will become –even for a moment-- a sign –an icon-- for someone, of God’s great love.

The last thing that struck me in this beautifully rich very early passage from Paul’s letter is his note about those who aim for “glory and honor and immortality by persevering in doing good…” in verse 7.  Coming right after his admonition about judging and his comment about God’s generosity, I was struck by the thought: How do I know who is “persevering in doing good?”  I may have no idea what the good is that you are doing? And I certainly can’t know how much it costs you to persevere in that effort.  Perhaps the good you are doing is to be gentle with a difficult boss, perhaps it is to walk away when others begin to gossip, or to quiet yourself at the end of the day and bow down on your knees before God and simply put your trust in His generous love and mercy. I do not know. I cannot know your heart. And perhaps the good you persevere in will look to the world like nothing but wasted effort and failure. But, again –who am I to judge? I’m sure that a death on the cross looked like failure to a lot of 1^st century Romans and Jews.