Pilate and the act of listening: some thoughts on the Gospel for Christ the King Sunday

25 Nov 2018 –Christ the King

“Pilate said to Jesus:
Are you the King of the Jews?"

--John 18:33B-37

Often when we are in an uncomfortable situation, perhaps a debate about politics, perhaps sitting at the Thanksgiving table --your drunken uncle is singing the praises of the Republican party and your self-righteous niece is ranting about corrupt capitalists—often—in situations like this—I find myself only half listening to the people talking.  If am listening at all, it is not with curiosity or trying to understand, not to hear what they have to say, but to hear how and where they are wrong; if I am listening at all it is to hear a misstep, a fallacy, some weakness in their argument.  I am listening, watching for a mistake; a flaw in their logic or error in their data... And as soon as I hear one, I snatch it up like a fumbled football and take off running with it: 

Now, wait a minute!... You said!!... but that’s not!!!... anyway, NPR did a report and!!!!

It is a constant theme in the media today how Americans don’t listen to each other anymore.  We are a divided nation, and thanks to technology we are only getting more divided every day. We don’t want to hear different opinions; instead we want echo chambers that echo back to us our own opinions.  Instead of sincerely listening to different voices and seeking the truth wherever it may be found, we too often simply yell over each other in an effort to shut the other person down and declare ourselves the winner! 

And yet, reading Sunday’s Gospel from John, I thought—Hmmm... this sounds oddly familiar.  Divisiveness and an unwillingness to really listen –to really hear—is one of the major themes of all four Gospels.  We are constantly being presented with scenes where the truth of Jesus is heard or accepted by some figure and often soon after that unheard (and rejected) by another.  Usually the ones who hear are the weak and the vulnerable; the poor and the sick; Jesus is their last hope and they are desperate –they pay attention. They get it. Whereas the ones who don’t listen, who don’t hear the truth of Jesus’ message, who don’t recognize the witness of the miracles happening right before their very eyes; they are usually the powerful and the respected: i.e. the religious leaders and the governing powers.  They don’t hear because they don’t listen; they don’t really pay attention.  They aren’t coming to Jesus in search of the truth, or even in search of a miracle (except for that centurion and Jairus); they are coming to try and trick Him. To trip Him up.  To find a way to dismiss Him, His miracles and the donkey He rode in on!  They are comfortable with their place in society. They like their robes and their greetings in the market and their special places at the table; they have the upper hand, and they don’t want to lose it.  They don’t want anyone to rock the boat.  Don’t want anyone to challenge them or the system that gave them power. Because, as far as they can see, everything is fine just the way it is.

And doesn’t that describe a lot of us today?  I know that too often it describes me.  I am comfortable with my ideas, my notions, my system, and I don’t want anyone to rock the boat.  I see the world a certain way and I feel like everyone else should, too.  And if they don’t, there must be something wrong with them.

On some level Pontius Pilate –in this passage from John’s gospel—could be the icon for our age of unlistening; an icon of the incurious: the willfully blind and deaf. Reread the conversation he is having with Jesus.  He is doing the exact same thing the experts say we do.  If you want to feel convicted reread this passage and listen to the way Pilate talks to Jesus.  Think about it?  Is he really listening?  He asks questions, but does he really hear the answers?  Does he really care about the truth?  No. He simply wants to get it over with. He wants to extricate himself from a difficulty and troublesome situation.  So instead of listening, instead of trying to truly hear the other person (Jesus) he simply asserts his own power, dismisses the other person as a problem, and justifies the rightness of his own position. In other words, he doesn’t care about hearing the truth –he simply wants to win.  He treats the interview with Jesus not as an opportunity to learn something important (i.e. the Truth).  But, instead he treats it as a debate; mental Greco-Roman wrestling in a way; nothing but a civic annoyance that he must partake of before returning to the pleasures of his lifestyle (of the rich and famous)!

But, what if Pilate had actually listened to Jesus? What if instead of trying to extricate himself ASAP, he had asked Jesus to explain? Tell me about this kingdom that isn’t of this world? What do you mean by that? Could you elaborate?  Then, instead of ridiculing the very idea of “truth,” asked Him to explain how the truth had brought this itinerant Jewish teacher and healer to this moment? This place? The Praetorium? With a crowd demanding His death?  What if Pilate had taken a moment and considered: What kind of truth could spark such a flame?  Perhaps there was more to this man and more to the anger he stirred up than just jealousy and hurt feelings?  If Pilate had just taken the time to listen, if he had let himself be quiet for a moment and maybe let the answer sink in – even contemplated it before responding-- would Good Friday be remembered differently? Who knows—but, what is clear from this record of a conversation from around 33CE is that divisive societies and tone-deaf leaders are nothing new; nothing particular to our age.  Or to our politics.

I also see in Pilate an example of how not to read the Bible.  He approaches Jesus with his heart and his mind closed.  In his eyes, Jesus is a problem to be dealt with as quickly and easily as possible. With as little attention and effort as possible.  Read the Word of God with that attitude and you will find it unrewarding and frustrating and more than likely you will be glad to close the covers and never open it again. Consider Pilate...

But, if you open your eyes, open your heart and open your mind you will find that the Word is alive and each time you open the Bible you will find something new; a new facet, a new depth of truth, an image or an element that you never saw before.  The truths of the Gospels grow deeper and more profound every time I read them.  For instance, usually when I read this passage, I focus on Jesus and His resolve to be true to His mission –regardless of the results.  But this time, for some reason, Pilate and his questions caught my eye.  Opened my eyes. 

The next time I find myself acting a little too much like Pilate: defensive, feigning interest, looking for a way to dismiss them, I need to remember this lesson.  I need to remind myself to pay attention.  Listen.  This doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything everyone says.  But it does mean, I need to listen. I need to be vulnerable.  I need to hear what they are actually saying. Open my heart –like the weak and the vulnerable—and watch not for a chance to shut someone out, but for the opportunity of letting them in.  I need to make sure I’m not putting up walls but tearing them down. 

There is a lot we can learn sitting around the holiday table: about family, about friends, about differences and about sharing.  And remember, a conversation isn’t about winning, it’s about learning.  But, for that to happen –you have to open your heart. You have to be vulnerable.  You have to listen, and you have to hear.  And as you do –you just might find that you begin to recognize the person sitting next to you as something more than an annoying roadblock between you and more plum pudding! Look closely, listen deeply and you might even begin to see in them a glimmer of a kingdom... not of this world.

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.