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.

The law and the widow’s mite

11 Nov 2018

 “The people were all in tears

as they listened to the words of the law...”

--Nehemiah 8:9b

“As [Elijah] arrived at the entrance of the city

a widow was gathering sticks; he called

out to her: Please bring me a small

cupful of water...” –1 Kings 17: 10-16

“I tell you the truth, this poor widow

has put more into the offering box than all the

others. For they all gave out of their wealth.

But she, out of her poverty,

put in all that she had...”

--Mark 12:43-44

In my last post, I was contemplating the people and their tears (from Nehemiah). And this week, as I waited to go to confession, I was still thinking about that passage, about those people and their tears. But, standing in the line for confession, I found myself watching the Quinceanera families stage their pictures in the church and over by the baptismal font instead of contemplating my sins.  So, I took out my Magnificat and tried to focus my thoughts on something other than the astonishing dresses and tuxedos and the abundance of bolo ties.  Opening it, I turned to the Gospel for this Sunday and read  the story of the widow’s mite.  I have always liked this story; it has the wonderful Cinderella appeal of an unknown impoverished woman suddenly coming to prominence; her tiny --almost meaningless-- offering singled out for praise.  See! See her; the one with the two pennies.  She is giving more than all the rest.  I think it appeals to the inner child in me who still remembers a time when all I had were two pennies and thought it was a lot (I loved gumball machines).  And it still speaks to me today when I worry that I have so little give. And I don’t mean just money.  When I look around and see the other teachers at my school doing so many extra duties –coaching, heading up clubs, going on field trips, I feel a pang of guilt, of inadequacy, a sense of my own insufficiency, not measuring up. 

And then I realized—that is often how I feel when I think of “the Law.” I think about those regulations and restrictions and punishments and feel a sense of dread and insufficiency.  I am unable to meet that mark, to measure up to those expectations.  I am a disappointment, to myself and to God (and possibly to my principal too, though she hasn’t come out and said it).  When I look at the Law as a set of benchmarks that I need to meet to be considered “good,” then I find myself wallowing in self-doubt and dread and fear. I dwell in the certainty of my own failure; anxious about my next slip up –my next misstep or moment of weakness; gossiping over coffee about a co-worker, whining about a student on the way home in the car, hiding in the garage and eating all the doughnuts –so my family won’t know... You know, just the ordinary stuff.

But in this story of the widow and her mite, we get a different view; to some extent, we get a God’s eye view of living the Law.  In the story from Mark, Jesus is watching the people put their offerings into the treasury –something that is commanded by the Law. As the crowd puts money in, Mark notes that some rich people put in large amounts, but then comes this poor widow with her two small (almost worthless) coins. And it is her that Jesus singles out as having put in “more than all the others.” 

The rich people putting in their large sums are fulfilling the letter of the law –even quite possibly giving more than is required.  Metaphorically they are the expectations we measure ourselves against; they are the human measure of success.   Those large donations of theirs will pay for a new science building or a new sports stadium. They are the kinds of donations remembered with names engraved in stone or up in lights...

And yet, Jesus reveals something about how God sees the Law when He singles out the widow and the gift of her two pennies as worth more because out of her poverty she contributed all she had. 

From the human point of view it is very easy to look at the Law as a game of numbers; boxes we check off for and against.  Done this, done this, done this, not that... Good Lord, I’ve never even imagined doing that! Oh my! Don that so many times I’ve lost count...  Tithed -check! DSF—check! Raffle tickets –check! It’s all numbers—sums (both large and small).  

But from God’s point of view it’s not about the numbers –not about how many or how few laws we break, or keep; not about how well we measure up to some cosmic or karmic or spiritual regulation –it’s not about perfect attendance at mass or how much we put in the weekly envelope.  Perhaps the Law of God really only asks one thing—everything! That’s all.  And perhaps the value of our gift is measured not by how much we put in, but how much we hold back. 

From the outside, from the human side, the Law of God can look ominous and daunting. There are 613 laws in the Old Testament cannon; 365 prohibitions (thou shalt nots) and 248 positive commandments.  And yes, one might weep at the thought of so many laws, and so many opportunities to fail, and some of the people in that story from Nehemiah may have wept out of fear or dread... but I wonder if –in that crowd there in Jerusalem, listening to the Law—there wasn’t at least one poor widow standing off by herself listening to the words of the Law, her face warm with tears not of anguish, but of joy, because she understood exactly what the Law meant. It meant that God loved her. For her the Law was simple –in fact, it was everything.

 

The tears and the law --some thoughts on Nehemiah 8

“...the people were all in tears

as they listened to the words

of the law...”  --Nehemiah 8:9c

Are the laws of God proscriptive or prescriptive?  Proscriptive means to prohibit, denounce or condemn; to forbid.  I think traditionally I was raised with the proscriptive reading of the laws.  I believed that certain acts and desires and even words were forbidden.  And due to human weakness, we were (all of us) in desperate need of the grace of the confessional.  But this view of God’s law leads to a view of God as a judgmental figure who watches our every move.  This God has an eternal tally sheet that he keeps on each and every one of us.  He makes a hashmark every time we cross the line (break His law).  I guess when we go to confession He gets out His eraser.  This God is –in some ways—our nemesis.  He is standing apart and ever ready to accuse.

The more I read the Old Testament, the more I am beginning to see “the law” not as proscriptive, but as prescriptive. More of a guide or road map (an ideal) to help us find our way, than a benchmark we must achieve to avoid punishment or banishment or another stay in the long line outside the confessional.

And yet, the other night a friend reminded me that often the law shows up in scripture hand in hand with what often seem like hard and fast punishments. In fact, the death penalty seems –at times—almost ubiquitous:  blasphemy = death (Lv 24:10-16), contempt of court = death (Dt 17:12), incest = death (Lv 20:19), adultery = death (Lv 20:10), cursing your parents = death (Ex 21:17), etc.  And so, there does seem a kind of punitive element to “the law” which implies at the very least a proscriptive element.  However, as I read, that isn’t the picture of God that I am hearing from the Bible: a God tallying our missteps and failings, imposing or withholding appropriate punishments at His whim –that isn’t the God I meet in the Old Testament.

And all of this is on my mind because I have been reading the book of Nehemiah. This book tells the story of the restored Israelites who have returned from exile.  They are back in their homeland rebuilding Jerusalem.  When they finish their main work, they hold a massive week long celebration (8-9), and the people ask the priest Ezra to “bring the Book of the Law of Moses (perhaps Deuteronomy) which the Lord had prescribed...” (8:1-2) and he reads to them from the book –from “dawn til noon” (8:3)—for seven days straight. Then on the eighth day there is a solemn assembly and as Ezra reads, he sees that the people have tears in their eyes.  He tells them: “Today is sacred to the Lord. Do not be mournful; do not weep...” (8:9b).  But, listening to the reading, the people are so moved they are in tears.  And my first thought was what? Who weeps over a book of laws?  And my second thought was: Uhm, you know...uhm... all this law stuff is really good; great stuff! I mean it. I mean...who doesn’t like a little stoning and... all... But –uhm—I—uh-- I think I left a fleshpot boiling back in Babylon. I was in such a hurry... I uh... I just... You know... I’ll just go back and check on that. Better safe than sorry.  Be right back. And, uhm... If I uhm ...for some reason if I don’t make it... well, you just go ahead and start all that purifying and smiting stuff without me. Okay? Really.  I’ll catch up... No worries...

Like my imaginary character –I am not a rule person. I don’t like doing things because I have to. So, when I read of laws and rules, I tend to react strongly against them. Either by looking for a loophole or by simply declaring that it doesn’t apply to me.  That’s my gut reaction.  I think it is kind of an American reaction –that instinctive: You can’t tell me what to do! You can’t tell me what to say! attitude.

And so, to read that “the people were all in tears as they listened to the law” struck me as an odd paradoxical line.  Attracting my readerly attention. What would cause such a reaction?  What kind of tears did they cry? Tears of joy? Tears of consolation? Tears of dread? Fright?  What is the author telling us with this strangely stirring detail? About the people? About their relationship with God?  About their relationship to the law?

And I began to wonder about my own relationship to the law. My troubled relationship... The hours in line at the confessional trying to make right what I willfully made wrong.  Perhaps if I had greeted the law not with dread, but with tears of gratitude, I could have saved myself some pain, some hours spent in line on a Saturday afternoon at the local church. 

If, I could just remember that we have a God who loves us. A God who wants for us only what is good.  A God of mercy and tenderness. A God who brings us back from exile and offers us again and again (endlessly it seems) His love... A God who gave Himself on the cross for me, for my sins... if only I could remember that, then –instead of fleeing the “prohibitions” of the law, I too might beg for the words of the law to be read aloud, and I too might find my face wet with tears of gratitude and love for a Father who loved me enough to offer me the guidance, the counsel, the prescription of His law.

Nehemiah is a short book with lots of census information but buried in the lists of names and the brief descriptions of action is a beautiful image of a merciful God and a people returning to His love.

NOTE: I think I have more to say on this, but that will have to wait.  I know that reading Dante has inspired my reading of scripture and influenced it greatly.  Perhaps that is where I need to go next time.