A House Divided –Community in Christ

(some thoughts on the Mass readings from last Sunday 10 June 2018)

“If a kingdom is divided against itself,
that kingdom cannot stand.
And if a house is divided against itself,
that house will not be able to stand.” –Mark 3:20-35

 In today’s first reading, from Genesis 3, we get the story of what happens after Adam and Eve have eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  We have that terribly true vision of how sin divides a kingdom, a house, a family.  The first division we see is of God searching for His beloved creation. God calls out to them, “Where are you?” (cf. Genesis 3:9-15) That plaintive cry is the first sign of division.  Before this, they walked together in the garden, but now Adam and Eve hide from their creator. Next, we see the crumbling of the House of Adam as he blames Eve (and God) for his actions: “The woman whom you put here with me –she gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it.” (3:12) And last we see the entire animal kingdom begin to break down into “enmity” as Eve blames the serpent. And we are left with a vision of the cost of sin: division, enmity, seemingly endless struggle: “He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel.” (3:15)

Division truly is the cost of sin. It divides us externally: socially, inter-personally, through corruption, crime, broken societies, war and greed, etc and it divides us internally; driving us into hypocrisies and double standards. We begin to not only hide the truth, but hide from the truth, until we may not even know who or what we really are. As Paul says in Romans: “I do not understand what I do. What I want to do, I do not do; but what I hate, I do.” (cf. 7: 15-20)

Think of the priest with a sterling reputation, who secretly engages in corrupt or abusive behavior or the honored Bishop who covers it up.  The award winning movie mogul who seduces young women, promising them career opportunities, then threatens them if they speak up. The socially conscious politician who takes advantage of a young intern and tries to cover it up.  We don’t do what we want to do, and we do what we hate… Though in the moment it may not seem that way.

In my own life I can see this quite plainly when I sit down to write (hoping to finish that unfinished novel) but find myself 40 minutes later eating chips and queso and watching a Youtube video of W.C. Fieldsplaying pool.  (Sloth?  gluttony?)  And when I realize, my first instinct is to hide what I’ve been doing. Not to accept it and be happy that I had some fun, but to hide it. To close the browser and open my document and spend 15 minutes beating myself up over wasting my writing time.  Or pretend I was doing research for a character who loves old movies!

Sin divides us. Satan knows that. And we should, too. Because sin is like a fault line that division runs straight through the heart of each one of us. 

The answer to this division is stated in very simple terms at the end of this gospel passage.  There is that wonderful and perplexing image of Jesus being told that His mother and brothers are at the door asking for Him, to which He says:

“Who are my mother and my brothers?... Whoever does the will of my

Father in Heaven is my mother and my brother and my sister.” (Mk 12: 48-50)

The answer to the division of sin, is very simple. It’s unity. Inclusion. It is love. We must remember that we are all part of the body of Christ –every single one of us. 

The readings from last week’s mass began with God asking, Where are you? Not because God doesn't know or can't find them, but because Adam and Eve don't know.  They are lost (and very divided). And the readings ended with that beautiful reconciling (and inclusive) answer from Mark's gospel. Jesus opens a door to all of us and assures us:  

We aren't lost. We don't have to be divided.
In fact, we are invited to be part of the family. 

Don’t hide from that.

Sin begets sin: A meditation on 2 Samuel 11

“Do not take the matter to heart;

the sword devours now one and now

another. Attack the town in greater

force and destroy it.” –2 Samuel 11:25

It is interesting to me, how David’s sin hardens his heart.  The town he speaks of destroying in the verse above is to be destroyed after it has done exactly what David wanted done. The archers of the town have killed Uriah, who David wanted killed; he has even ordered his general to arrange it. And of course, that leads us to ask: why does David want Uriah dead? Because Uriah might discover and reveal David’s sin; that David has slept with and impregnated Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba.

The story of David and Bathsheba and Uriah is an astonishingly complex story. And the whole thing is related in one short yet very profound chapter (2 Samuel 11).  It begins by telling us that it was the time of year when kings should be off leading their armies in battle, but David stayed home resting and strolling around the palace. One day while strolling on the roof he spies a beautiful young woman bathing, and instead of averting his gaze, he sends for her and soon she is pregnant.  To cover up what he has done, David sends for her husband who is off fighting the king’s battle (which is where King David should be).  And to cover up his own sin, he tries to get Uriah to sleep with Bathsheba, but his loyal subject won’t do that. While his fellow soldiers are sleeping on the ground, he refuses to accept the comforts of home and wife until the battle is over.   He is behaving as David should, with purity of action and intent. Commitment. Whereas David is strolling and relaxing and seducing other men’s wives while his army and the Ark of God are out in the open, risking themselves, revealing themselves. Of course, on some level, that is exactly what David does here (though unintentionally).  The more he tries to hide his sin, the more he reveals his sinfulness.

It starts with sloth, David unwilling to do his kingly duty, but grows into lust, then adultery, then the attempted cover-up (false-witness), and finally murder; all because David stayed home when he should have gone to work and grew restless with too much time on his hands and… well, in the end, because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he did wrong.

In the end, he wants Uriah killed because Uriah can reveal his sin; but the desire is only intensified when Uriah acts righteously.  For David this is a kind of prophetic witness against him.   He sees in Uriah an example of the man he should be: selfless and humble, and he cannot bear it. It only hardens his heart.  How many times have I felt the sting of my own hypocrisy intensified by witnessing the simple kindness or selflessness of another?  When we are in sin, we don’t want to see good in the world. It sickens us, in a sense, because it challenges us to rise up and be better. It bears witness against our excuses and justifications. When I am fallen into sin and I see someone else do good, not only does it bother me, but it makes me a little jealous.  And what do we often do when we are jealous of another? We try to tear them down.  And so, David tears down Uriah. He plots his murder, and plots it in such a way that it will seem that he was merely a casualty of war.

And it is in this context that this familiar story suddenly caught my attention anew. When the messenger comes bearing news of Uriah’s death, David at first “flies into a rage” over what sounds to him like a terrible military blunder: “Why did you go near the ramparts?” (11:22)  He is ready to go all Harry Truman on Joab (his personal MacArthur) when the messenger adds that there were some casualties, including “your servant, Uriah the Hittite.” (11:24)

And suddenly David is all soothing words and encouragement. He tells the messenger:

“Say this to Joab: Do not take the matter to heart…

Attack the town in greater force and destroy it.”

David’s words to the messenger sound, on the surface as encouragement to Joab to proceed with the original plan of attack.  But taken in the context of this chapter (this story) we may hear in them a kind of bitterness. Just as David has destroyed Uriah, he now will destroy the inhabitants of this town –who, quite literally, have served him quite well. One might imagine that they deserve at least a little mercy, for having rid David of his guilty conscience. Yet, no. Now he wants them eradicated, too. Sin begets sin, as the old saying goes (cf James 1:12-16), and David’s lust has lead to adultery to false-witness (trying to trick Uriah), to plotting a murder and now to wishing the destruction of a whole town.  Sin begets sin. And it grows and grows.

Often we hear in the news, that --with politicians-- it isn’t usually the crime that gets them, it’s the cover-up.  Well, that seems to be exactly what we are seeing here with David. The original sin is bad, but the cover-up is horrifying.  But why is that?

And that is how I feel about my own sins.  What I do (gossip, lust, selfishness, gluttony, cruelty)  may be terrible, but what I do to keep others from knowing about it is always worse. Because covering up our sin, trying to hide it, requires us to harden our hearts to the truth of it.  Often, it’s in the cover-up that we begin the process of justification and rationalization.  I had to do this, because…  and people won’t understand, so I should hide the truth from them…

In this one brief chapter we get this wonderful fearful story; this powerful and horrifying vision of the power of sin. We read of a good man making bad choices and how private sin that begins in human desire, and personal choice comes to completion in public horrors (murder and destruction). 

So, the next time someone tells you something is only a small sin (a white lie, so to speak), remember this story of David and his seemingly small sin: sloth… he just didn’t want to do his job. It all began with a king feeling a little restless, lazy… slothful.  Even the smallest of sins, can open a door that leads to destruction.  And as this chapter ends we get that final frightful line that tells us the real import of all David’s actions; not that he has done evil or destroyed lives, but that he had damaged his relationship with God:

“What David had done displeased the Lord…”  (11:27b)

David, Israel’s hope, God’s beloved, has turned away from the Lord.  And though that may seem just another matter of personal choice, a matter of personal beliefs, a matter that may have some personal repercussions, but what this little chapter teaches us is that no matter how personal or private our sin seems, it always ends up with very public repercussions, not because people might find out or might hold us accountable, but, because:

Sin begets sin and the fruit of sin is destruction. --James 1:15

The Perfection of Love

“God is love

and whoever remains in love

remains in God

and God in Him.

Love comes to its perfection

in us when we can face

the day of judgement fearlessly.”

--1 John 5: 16b-17

Two of my daughters graduated this past weekend; one from high school and another from college. At the same time, on the same day, two daughters graduating.  Quite a time for celebrating and, if it were only possible (Padre Pio...), bi-locating.  Instead to make sure we were present for both, my wife and I had to split up and each take one.  She did the high school and I did the college. It was quite a week (and weekend). 

Two things about the graduation experience that stood out to me:  first, the crowd of people arriving before the ceremony; almost all of them smiling.  Despite the fact that a graduation is a tedious and painfully drawn out event, most people seemed truly happy to be there. And somehow (of course) it all reminded me of Dante.  Second, afterwards I ran into a woman that I knew in college.  Her daughter was graduating too. Meeting her, I had the awkward experience of hearing something of the person I used to be.  And though this old friend spoke only kind words and greeted me eagerly, I was left with a sting of shame and the sensation of being haunted by the ghost of Herman past.

In canto II of Dante’s Purgatorio, Virgil and Dante witness the arrival of souls hopeful to climb the mountain of Purgatory.  As the joyful souls step onto the shore, they look around for some sign or guide, looking “like those whose eyes try out things new to them.” (53-54). They are confused and excited and happy and filled with wonder. But not sure which way to go or what to do next.  Like parents and grandparents at a graduation ceremony. Excited about the reason they are there, but uncertain which way to go and where to sit, and a little anxious about what lies ahead (a few speeches and 2 hours of names).  We all wandered those halls of NRG arena with a little trepidation.

And just like in Dante, as I was standing there waiting for someone, a soul approached me –an old friend.  Walking past with her daughter, she noticed me holding up a wall and came over to give me a hug.  Her oldest daughter was graduating that day as well. She felt a need to explain to me that this daughter had taken a bit longer to graduate: 8 years. And that the last few she’d worked for the university full-time to get her classes for free, and I said: Just like me.  I was on that same 8-year track and ended up working for the registrar’s office for 4 ½ years to finish my degree. Heck, that’s where I met my wife (when she came to get her diploma).  We laughed and she asked me if I still make great pizza.  Not as often, I said. But, I still dream of it.  As she left, she told me to watch for her husband --but I didn’t. I took a book out of my pocket and started reading instead.  Crowds can be a bit overwhelming to me, and hiding in a book seems like a safe coping mechanism: it’s legal, not too addictive, and if anybody asks, because I’m a librarian, I can always say: it’s okay. I’m a professional.

But, in reality, I only pretended to read. My eye kept rising from the page to watch the people. Parents carrying small children, laughing excitedly; dressed in their best. A small child clutching flowers and balloons looks so proud, a little boy wearing a fedora and suspenders wiggles about like he can’t wait to start dancing, and the elderly move with delicate, cautious steps; slowly and with great solemnity, intent on not missing this momentous day. 

That solemnity, that exuberance, that was a sign of true love. Graduations aren’t fun for the audience (or the graduates, usually). But these people were excited and looking forward to being a part of this special day –not because it would be fun for them, but because it was important to someone they loved.  Their very presence in the NRG arena was a physical manifestation of their love for someone.  It was a love so overpowering that it wouldn’t let them stay home in bed; it wouldn’t let them just send a card; it was too big to stay put; it had to get out and go. It had to become flesh, so to speak, and dwell among us (among the beloved).  Like Jesus, the word made flesh; God’s love made flesh; God so loved the world that His love became flesh and came to dwell among us, to live with us, to share our lives with us (all of it, the boring and the beautiful) and to bless it by His presence.  That’s what all those parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors, were doing; they were (in a sense) sanctifying the moment by their presence.

And what was the other experience? It was a more intimate moment. At the end of the ceremony there was a brief yet very moving talk given by one of the graduates.  As I listened, I sensed an odd familiarity in her voice.  On the big screen over the stage, I could see her face and it too had a strange familiarity to it.  Then she mentioned her mother’s name and suddenly I saw. Wow. That is the daughter of someone I used to see almost every day.  Someone I would visit and drink tea with and talk with; we’d discuss literature and music and why neither one of us had a date --ever. 

Afterwards, as I looked for my daughter, I kept an eye out for this old friend; wondering if I would even recognize her.  Looking for her, I was greeted by other friends and old familiar faces (mostly professors I knew long ago).  Even though very welcomed, I began to feel shy and a little anxious,  lost; began to try and call my daughter, though my phone wasn’t working very well, and neither were my trembling fingers.  I was ready to give up on finding anyone when suddenly I saw her. My old friend.  I hadn’t seen her in over 30 years, but there she was and I knew it the moment I saw her.  My first thought –sadly, I must admit—was to turn and walk away. I was afraid. All those people, all that joy, all that noise, and exuberance; I felt an urge to withdraw and go hide in my car. And I was a little nervous that she wouldn’t even remember me.  But, instead I walked toward her; telling myself I needed to at least let her know what a great job her daughter did. When I spoke her name I immediately saw that old familiar light flash in her eyes:

Herman! And she pulled me in and gave me a wonderful big hug and then turned to the young men standing nearby and said: This is Herman.  The guy who taught me about Max’s Kansas City and the Velvet Underground! And then looking back at me, exclaimed: These are my sons. They love the Velvet Underground. This one sings just like Lou Reed. He sings that song: shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather…

For a moment I was a little embarrassed. This was the mark I had left on my friend’s life? A song about… leather? But, as she continued to tell me of her family and tell them of me, I realized it was something more. It wasn’t about the music or the tea or the literary talk. It was the community that we had shared. We had –for a time—helped each other carry our crosses. We had given each other time, encouraging words, and most of all: presence. Our (very platonic) friendship had been a true self-giving. Whether it was sitting at her table sipping Celestial Seasons, or going for a jog at Hermann Park, or running over to Cactus records, we had dwelt together, borne each other’s burdens, and shared not a few moments of sanctifying laughter (and Velvet Underground songs). 

And perhaps the key to God’s love becoming perfected in us is that simple; perhaps all it takes is our willingness to become flesh, to dwell physically (and sanctifyingly) among others and give ourselves fully to them. Don’t be afraid, just be present to the moment and place wherein you find yourself.  God’s word, God’s love becomes flesh every time we give ourselves fully (and un-selfconsciously) to the person next to us –whether it is our spouse, an old friend, a child, or a complete stranger.  Let us bear witness to God’s love, let us become God’s love and let us bear that love to the world –one person at a time. Make it your mission today to let someone feel that they matter, that they are wanted, that they are loved. Wherever you are, even if it is only at some boring old graduation ceremony.  You may never know how much that will mean to them, or what details (or songs) they will remember, but be certain of this: it will matter. In fact, it will probably be the most important thing you ever do.