IN TOTAL CHARGE

During the Easter season, the lectionary takes us on a journey through the Acts of the apostles every day at mass. We hear all about the very earliest preaching in the church, and how the first Christian communities were formed and grew, spreading outward from Jerusalem.

So I found it interesting that two gospel passages to the end of this week invited us to turn our gaze back toward Jesus in a particular way.

First, on Friday, we heard John’s account of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. What is unique about John’s account, making it different from the account in the other three gospels is this: the other three gospels have Jesus blessing the bread and handing it to the  apostles to distribute to the crowd. So the miracle takes place in their hands. But John’s version says simply “Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed them to those who were reclining.” The entire miracle happens not in the hands of the disciples but in the hands of Jesus. This detail, of course, fits in with John’s whole theology, emphasizing that Jesus is the Divine Word, the Son of God.

Second, at mass today, Saturday, we hear the episode that follows immediately upon the miracle of the loaves and fishes, when Jesus comes walking on the wind-swept waves toward the boat in which his disciples are rowing. “They saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they began to be afraid. But he said to them, 'It is I. do not be afraid.' They wanted to take him into the boat, but the boat immediately arrived at the shore, to which they were heading.” in this Christ-centered passage, Jesus tells the disciples “It is I.” this is clearly a reference to the book of Exodus, chapter 13, where God says of himself “I am.” It is hard to think of a more Christ-centered episode in all of the gospels. But don’t miss the second half of that same verse, “do not be afraid.” 

These two “Acts of Jesus”, it seems to me, offer a perfect balance to the emphasis on the "Acts of the Apostles" and of the other early Christians that we hear about in the first reading in the lectionary at daily mass. 

In both of these gospel episodes, Jesus is in total command of the situation:

 he takes charge of feeding five thousand people with five little loaves of bread, 

and overcomes the power of the strong wind to bring his disciples safely to shore.

I have been comforted and encouraged by the powerful presence of the risen Lord. Let us pray that we may all be able to hand over all of our troubles to the Risen One who can work such wonders in the lives of those who trust on him.

OUR EASTER TASK

This Sunday’s gospel passage makes sure that we see the full meaning of Easter for our lives.

The passage begins with a rather humorous understatement: “the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.” But the important point, it seems to me, is this: how often do you or I ourselves “see the Lord?” Do you see him easily in the folks around you? In people who need your help? And in people who you find difficult to deal with? It seems to me that this Sunday we are being invited to “rejoice” when we see the Lord in everyone around us.

As if to emphasize this point, Jesus then says “as the father has sent me, so I send you." What else could he be sending us to do if not to continue his mission on earth? Since his resurrection, Christ's mode of presence in the world is now different: he is present in spirit. Therefore, he needs our voices, our hands, our feet, and our actions to spread the Good News of the Kingdom. 

Here's a good Easter question: How do you see your task as an apostle? What is it that Jesus may be expecting you to do as a follower of his?

Then, as if to emphasize that the risen Jesus is serious about sending us out into the world, John tells us that he then “breathes on them, and says 'receive the Holy Spirit'.” This assures the apostles - and us - that we are now equipped for the task of apostles.

Easter, then, is not just about Jesus, it is very much about you and me, and our lives as Christians.

May the grace of this holy season, help us to recognize the risen Lord in our midst, and to build up the Kingdom on earth as his apostles.

THE EASTER VERB

 

"OPENING UP" - The Easter Verb

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Here is my Easter post from 2009, just as it appeared then. I trust that it hasn't lost too much of its freshness over the past 15 years.

The Road away from the Empty Tomb

As we make the transition in this blog away from our Lenten pilgrimage and into traveling together through "troubled times" we find a perfect gospel story in Luke 24:13-35 to start us on our way. Two discouraged and disappointed disciples are on the road home. Their hopes for a Messiah have been cruelly dashed by the execution of Jesus. As they left to go back to their village they even heard confusing rumors that now the body was missing from the tomb. It was all too much -- definitely "troubled times" for them. Luke tells their story by playing on the contrasting themes of "openness" and "closedness".

When we're faced with a threatening or difficult situation our natural tendency is to retreat to a safe position -- reflected in expressions like "circling the wagons" or "don't take any chances." Easter is a time, though, for opening and openness. It comes in spring, the season when the buds begin to open out into blossoms and flowers.

The Road to Emmaus -- Opening Up

Luke wants to show us that the Paschal mystery is all about taking chances and leaving ourselves open in faith rather than losing hope and closing in on ourselves. In telling the account of Christ’s appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus on the first Easter afternoon Luke makes his point by using the Greek verb dianoigō, "to open" three separate times. [Dianoigō, (dee-an-oy'-go) comes from dia- (an intensifier) and anoigō, "to open"] Let's see what we can learn from his use of this word in the story.

The account begins with two disciples walking the seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus, sick with discouragement because Jesus, whom they had thought was the Messiah who would set Israel free from the Romans, has been executed. Jesus is dead, and so are their hopes. Then, suddenly, the risen Christ is walking beside them on the road and explaining the scriptures as the three of them travel along together.

The two do not recognize him until, as evening starts to fall, they invite him to stay with them. At this point we encounter the idea of opening for the first time. As the three are seated at table together, Jesus blesses the bread, breaks it, and gives it to them. “With that their eyes were opened [dianoigō] and they recognized him" (Luke 24:31).

When this mysterious traveler had appeared on the road, the two disciples did not realize who he was. As the Greek text says, “their eyes were prevented from recognizing him” (v. 16). Both of the men were caught off guard because Jesus, the supposed Messiah, had been executed, and so their minds had become closed to the possibility that he could still be the Messiah. While walking with them on the road Jesus had been very blunt in rejecting their hopes for a glorious, victorious military Messiah: “How stupid you are! How slow!… was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and enter into his glory" (vv. 25-26)? The risen Jesus was a stranger to them because he did not fit their preconceptions -- they were not looking for a failed Messiah, they were not open to the possibility of a suffering and crucified Savior.

The story continues. As soon as the disciples recognize Jesus, he vanishes from their sight. Then they say to one another, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened [dianoigō] the scriptures to us” (v. 32)? This time it is not their eyes that are being opened, but God's inspired word. In the same way Acts 17:3 describes Paul preaching in Thessal-onika, “expounding and explaining (literally 'opening') the scriptures," namely, that “the Messiah had to suffer and rise from the dead."

When the revealed word is “opened,” it gives us a glimpse into the single, central mystery of Christ's passion-death-resurrection; in the light of the Paschal event, suffering (the “wilderness experience” if you will) takes on meaning and becomes a deeply mysterious but integral part of God’s loving plan for the world.

Let's catch up with the two disciples one last time; by now they have run all the way back to Jerusalem. As they arrive in the room where the apostles are assembled, they are greeted with “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!” Then the two start to tell their own story. While they are still speaking, Jesus appears in their midst, greets them and tells them not to be afraid. “Then he opened [dianoigō] their minds to understand the scriptures. And he said to them, ‘Thus it is written that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day…’" (v.45). Once again, “opening” (this time of "minds") is connected with the mystery of Christ's redemptive suffering and death. This time it is the disciples’ minds that are opened. Up to this point their minds have been closed to the possibility that through defeat could come victory, that through death could come eternal life, and that through suffering could come salvation.

Open Hearts, Open Tombs

After the Emmaus episode is finished, Luke continues the theme of “opening” in his second volume, the Acts of the Apostles. He tells us, for instance, that while Paul and Timothy are at Philippi, they go outside the city on the Sabbath to a place of prayer and speak with the women who are gathered there. One of them is Lydia, a dealer in purple cloth and a worshiper of God. As she listens to them, Luke tells us, “The Lord opened [dianoigō] her heart to pay attention to what Paul was saying" (Acts 16:14). This time it is someone's heart that is opened toward Paul, so that she can hear his message about Christ.

So, Easter is a season of opening up, a time for God to open hearts, minds, and eyes, and, of course, tombs. The Lord promises through Ezechiel, "I am going to open [anoigō] your graves" (Ezechiel 37:12). And Matthew shows us the fulfillment of this prophecy at the moment when Jesus dies on the cross: "The earth quaked, rocks were split, tombs were opened [anoigō] and the bodies of many who had fallen asleep were raised" (Matthew 27:51-52).

The Perfect Easter Verb

Interweaving as it does the themes of suffering Messiah, death, faith, and resurrection, dianoigō is a unique encouragement to me when I'm facing the difficulty or challenge of the wilderness; it opens my eyes to see Christ's presence as he walks beside me on the road of suffering, it gives me the confidence to allow the risen Lord to open my heart to accept new possibilities, it opens my mind to embrace the mysterious paschal truth that through defeat comes victory, through suffering comes salvation, and through death comes new and eternal life.

May each of us be open to the graces of the Eternal Spring, the new life of Easter!

Reflection

MAY I COME IN?

Last year's post for Palm Sunday still holds a lot of messages for me personally, so I'm posting it for my own benefit. I hope that it may be a blessing for you as well. Let's be sure to pray for one another during this holiest of weeks.

 Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory! (Ps. 24)

Tomorrow’s Palm Sunday celebration, when the church remembers and reenacts Jesus’s entrance into the holy city of Jerusalem, centers our attention on Jerusalem, where all of the action of Holy Week and Easter comes to a head.

Early this morning I started thinking about Jesus' entering the gate, not of the holy city, Jerusalem, but of my heart. I know that sometimes my heart is like a walled city with all its gates securely closed. But Jesus wants desperately to enter my heart and dwell there. Fortunately, our loving Savior has lots of different ways of getting past my defenses. And He uses them all the time.

Sometimes, for example, while I´m praying, or maybe chanting a psalm with my brothers, He will come and ask me directly, “May I please come in?“ And that’s a beautiful experience, to consciously welcome the Lord into my heart in prayer.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory!

At other times He approaches the gate in the guise of someone who can use my help, whether that's simply a smile or a good word, or something that requires me to go out of my way for that person. If I have the grace to see that this is Jesus asking to enter my heart, then I can empathize with this person and let him or her past the gates of my heart.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory!

Much of the time, however, He slips in without drawing attention to Himself, and we recognize His presence only after He's already inside the fortified city. We're all well acquainted with the countless ways He does this. Maybe it’s through the kind action of a brother or sister, or the beauty of a sunset, or the radiance of a little child’s face. Recently I felt tremendous joy while listening to the beautiful voice of one of our students singing. And I quickly realized that I was experiencing the loving presence of Jesus.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory!

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There are two requirements, though, if I expect Jesus to slip into my heart like that. First I cannot be living blindfolded, with my heart safely secured against the world, with the gates locked. I have to at least be watching at the gate.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory!

Second, I need to be looking for the presence of Jesus all the time. It's easy enough to see Him in the beautiful and joyful experiences that are part of my life. But what about those painful, ugly experiences
of suffering and evil and death that are also part of my life? How can I see these as signs of Christ's presence? The answer liues in precisely what we are about to celebrate during Holy week: the Paschal mystery.

My Easter faith assures me that out of defeat comes victory, out of sadness comes joy, and out of death comes eternal life. This belief is what lets me recognize the presence of the Lord in my life in all sorts of people, places, and things. as a Christian I expect to find Jesus in the midst of every negative experience. In other words, if I am experiencing Good Friday in my life today, then, the Great News is that Easter Sunday is coming!

So, let us go forth to welcome the king of glory into our lives, singing “Hosanna to the son of David!“

Palm Sunday in Jerusalem

Lift up your heads, eternal gates, let him enter the king of glory!

Not Yet!

My hour has not yet come

In the last sentence of this past Friday’s gospel passage, St. John tells us that the crowd in Jerusalem could not attack Jesus “because His hour had not yet come.”

He uses that phrase a couple of times in his gospel. First, we remember the scene at Cana when his mother asks him to solve the problem of the wine running out, and he explains “my hour has not yet come.”

Then, in verses skipped in the editing of Friday’s passage, from John Chapter 7, when “his brothers” encourage him to go up to Jerusalem, he replies “my time is not yet here;” and in the following verse he explains to them “I am not going up to this feast, because my time has not yet been fulfilled.” 

And then the verse in Friday’s gospel, “no one laid a hand upon him, because his hour had not yet come.”

In each of these passages, the same word shows up in the original Greek: oupo, a very common adverb meaning: “not yet.” 

As ordinary as the word  oupo, “not yet” may be, it is crucially important in all the passages we just heard: To say that the hour has NOT YET arrived indicates that eventually the hour WILL arrive.

It implies that Jesus' life is following the plan, but as of yet not all the stages of that plan have occurred. But they will. Christ’s earthly life is following a trajectory, heading in a single direction: it has significance, it has meaning.

And if that’s the case, then we who have Christ living in us and who are living in Christ, we are also living out that plan, following that same trajectory. This is especially important for you and me to remember when things are going badly. In times of pain and hopelessness we can hold onto that little word  oupo , “not yet,” that assures us that no matter what things may look like, our lives are heading in a certain meaningful direction, and therefore, everything in our lives has meaning, even and especially the seemingly bad parts.

Father, the hour has come

At the last supper, Jesus says, “Father, the hour has come, glorify, your son.” It is in his suffering and death that he finally reaches the hour, his goal: the Glory of the father. And we who have suffered with him will one day be glorified with him as well.

Each year during Holy Week and Easter, we celebrate the “hour,”  we remind ourselves how the story turns out:  Christ’s passion and death are oupo, not yet the end of the story. We know that the Easter mystery does not end on Good Friday: we live in the assurance that Sunday is coming.

The idea of oupo, “not yet” disappears early on Easter morning, when Christ is finally raised to a new life, and then in the ascension is brought to the fullness of glory at his Father's right hand. 

And we who are still suffering here in this vale of tears are on our way to join him there. It's just that our own hour of glory has not yet come. 

A final thought: Lots of times when when it seems that "God didn't answer your prayer," the Lord did in fact give an answer to your request -- the answer was oupo. 

Oupo -- Not yet!

CHRIST LIFTED ON HIGH

 In this morning’s gospel we heard Jesus tell his disciples, 

“And just as Moses lifted up [hupsoō] the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up [hupsoō] so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life”

I’[d like to offer some thoughts about the Greek verb hupsoō,  “to lift up.” 

Most of the time in the New Testament the word is used figuratively for “lifting” someone to a position of honor or power: “Whoever exalts [hupsoō] himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted [hupsoō]” (Matt. 23:12).

But John uses it in its literal sense in this morning’s gospel when referring to a scene from the book ofNumbers In which Moses fashions a bronze serpent so that the Israelites who are being punished by being bitten by "fiery serpents" can gaze on the bronze figure and be healed.

This is what Jesus is referring to when he says, “Moses lifted up [hupsoō] the serpent in the desert” (John. 3:14a).

This literal use of “to lift up” in the Old Testament provides John with exactly the image he needs to express Christ’s being physically “lifted up” on the cross: he writes “And just as Moses lifted up [hupsoō] the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up [hupsoō] so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

With his love for double meanings, John will continue this image of “lifting up” later on, in Jesus’ambiguous promise, “And when I am lifted up [hupsoō] from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself” (John 12:32-34). 

Does this “being lifted up” refer to Christ’s being literally lifted up on the cross, or to his finally being lifted up in glory to the right hand of God? Or does it refer to both at the same time? 

John’s deliberate ambiguity points up the mysterious nature of the crucifixion and of all human suffering. 

But he also gives us a central insight about human suffering later in his gospel when he writes that by being lifted up on the cross Christ “draws all to himself” (Jn 12:32-33): 

Calvary is just the first step in a process. 

After being “lifted up” onto the cross Jesus will then be “lifted up” out of death by his Father and finally raised on high to sit at the right hand of the Father. 

And – here is the crucial point -- we too are to be lifted up along with him as he draws us all to himself!

John, by playing on the double meaning of “lifted up,”  links our human suffering with the mystery of Calvary, and then, with the cross as the starting point, describes a single upward surge in which all of creation – including our darkest valleys of sin and suffering – is embraced by Christ and lifted heavenward by him and with him in the vast, infinite and inexorable power of divine unconditional love. 

And so, Christ’s cross becomes the very means by which all of us, too, are lifted to salvation. 

Suffering is a mysterious but somehow an integral part of this ceaseless upward movement of divine love.

So, let us pray that we may be blessed with the eyes of faith when we look on our troubled world – just as when we look upon a crucifix. 

With those eyes and with the help of John’s beautiful image, we may be able to see that we and our dark valleys, and the whole world and its struggles, are continuously being “lifted up” by Christ in that single inevitable heavenward motion when all creation has been transformed, and every tear wiped away, and when every evil has been overcome and every pain forgotten amid the eternal joys of heaven.

YOU THINK GOD IS LIKE YOU?

There is a verse in Psalm 50 in which God asks “do you think that I am like you?” This question deserves some careful reflection. The parable of the Prodigal Son (read at mass this morning) is a great challenge us, because it shows us a God who is infinitely merciful and forgiving. I have to ask myself, “Am I like that, or do I set limits on my forgiveness?”

I can certainly find plenty of quotations in the Old Testament, and some in the New, that portray God as vengeful, petty and angry, “punishing the children to the third and fourth generation for the sins of their parents.“ I can show you a God who demands that the Israelites destroy their enemies, including the babies. This God does not mess around! 

At the same time there are plenty of passages in both the Old Testament and especially in the New Testament, that portray God, as the loving father, forgiving and gentle toward all his children, including sinners. So we seem to be left with a god who is schizophrenic! Which is it? Which God is the real one? It  seems that we are stuck with this question.

THREE STEPS FORWARD

Let me suggest an approach that I have pointed out before in this blog. The Bible is a single story, beginning with Genesis and ending with the last chapter of the Book of Revelation. It is the story of God’s love for creation In the earliest chapters of Genesis God promises to set things right one day, and in the final chapters of Revelation we have the vision of a new Jerusalem coming down from heaven, a Kingdom of joy and peace for everyone in the world. The story goes in only One Direction: moving towards the culmination of God’s love at the end of time.

But the Bible is written by human beings; although they are inspired by the Holy Spirit, they are writing at a certain time, in certain culture, and with their own personal talents and shortcomings. So sometimes we get passages that reflect the values of people in, say, the bronze age, and their attitude towards warfare. But these passages are going in the wrong direction! They are not heading us toward the fullness of the kingdom, but rather away from it. 

On the other hand, we have lots of passages in the old testament, and certainly in the New Testament that bring us forward, in the direction of the eventual culmination of God’s loving plan for the world. 

Think of it this way: the Bible is ultimately heading in the one direction, but the pattern is this: three steps forward, and two steps back. So it makes progress, but the progress is not perfectly smooth. There are beautiful passages that bring us three steps forward in the right direction, but then, because of human weakness, there are passages in the Bible that bring us two steps back in the wrong direction, toward vengeance, selfishness, violence, and so on.

Three steps forward, two steps back.

Many of us find those “two steps back” passages kind of attractive. They show us a god who is vengeful, who punishes until his anger is satisfied. This is a God that we can understand. There’s no mystery involved. We all know people who are angry, or who can be vengeful; and we know how to deal with them, how to stay on their good side. The fact is that this gives us some control over such a God, right? 

But God reveals himself to us in Jesus Christ as a God who is Love itself, a God who loves us no matter what, just the way we are. We cannot understand everything that happens to us in our lives because ours is a God of mystery, a God of surprises. And we don’t necessarily like mystery or surprises. 

So the parable of the Prodigal Son shows us a God who is surprising, a God who is totally forgiving. This surely is a mystery. A beautiful mystery, but still a mystery.

[NOTE: I was just interrupted to hear a confession in French. I was pleased to hear the opening words of the Act of Contrition in French : "Mon Dieu, j’ai un très grand regret de vous avoir offensé parce que vous êtes infiniment bon, infiniment aimable..." How beautiful": "My God, I am very sorry for having offended you because you are infinitely good and infinitely lovable..." There is the God, the Abba, that Jesus came to reveal to us.  END OF NOTE]

Let’s end by returning to God's question from Psalm 50: “Do you think that I am like you?” Maybe a good answer would be “No, Lord, I surely hope that you are not like me! I hope that you are infinitely good and infinitely lovable.” In our traditional English version we don't get to the "you are all good and deserving of all my love" until we first do the "I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell." Take your pick.

As Lent moves forward toward the Easter mystery, let us be looking forward to the greatest of all God's gifts: resurrection and eternal life. Let’s concentrate on those three steps forward, because that is the direction that we are all heading in.

Let us pray for one another on our Lenten journey.