St Joseph the Worker

'The sheep that belong to me listen to my voice;

I know them and they follow me.

I give them eternal life;

they will never be lost

and no one will ever steal them from me.

The Father who gave them to me is greater than anyone,

and no one can steal from the Father.

The Father and I are one.’

                          John 10.27-30

It was at Antioch that the disciples were first called Christians.

                          Acts 11.26

*       *       *

Today I read and shared two different articles (thanks to friends who posted them on facebook). The first described a minister's 'loss of faith.' The second commemorated the 79th anniversary of the founding of the Catholic Worker Movement. I posted them consecutively on my wall, as the two items seemed to me to be related, and also to offer an example of the way in which the profession of the faith and the practice of the faith sometimes miss each other. The abstract questions about God, the puzzle of evil, and the like do not admit of answers. The best 'answer' I can find to the philosophical problems is not a philosophical one: it is Dorothy Day and countless examples of faithfulness like hers. We may not grasp God--as the despair of the former minister shows--but we do see Jesus. He continues to bring light and life through the work of his disciples. 

I know that doesn't convince those who doubt. I have taught enough seminary students with these same questions (even in the relatively few years I have been teaching) to know that doesn't 'answer' the question. There was a time when I would have interpreted the spiritual journey of the former minister as a 'loss of faith.' But I don't think of faith as something to be lost: faith (as I commented on the original post) is something the church holds, and God gives. For that reason, and that reason only, I live in the hope that I 'will never be lost'--not because I am strong enough to hold onto God. Certainly not. It is because God is strong enough to hold onto me. 

Monday of the third week in Lent

I will praise you, Lord my God,

with all my heart

and glorify your name forever,

for your love to me has been great:

you have saved me from the depths of the grave.

Psalm 85 (LXX)

* * *

As I look back over the last couple of years of my life, these verses ring especially true: by grace I have been brought back from the edge, as I tottered self-destructively along. An unexpected pregnancy forced me to grow up all over again, and embrace the vocation that God has given me. I have been surprised to find that in the midst of sleepless nights and the juggling that is the way of life of any working mother, I have discovered energy and enthusiasm for writing, and I am slowly working on various things in odd moments.

But Psalm 85 is not about me, I realize as I read the verses again: the only path back from the grave for me is the way of the cross. I am saved not so much in this life, for this life (though I am grateful to have been restored to hopefulness), but in Christ, for eternal life. These verses are about the One who went down into the depths of the grave and rose again: in him we are all saved.

If Lent is about remembering and embracing the desert temptations and the way of the cross, it is also about looking forward to Easter.

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Lord, give our bodies restful sleep; and let the work we have done today be sown for an eternal harvest.

Fifth Sunday in ordinary time

Remember that my life is but a breath
   and my eyes will never again see joy.
                                           (Job 7)

The Lord...heals the broken-hearted;
    he binds up all their wounds.
                                           (Ps 146 LXX)

.     .     .

I found the dissonance between these two readings quite striking at Mass this morning. The reading from Job ends with the verse above, which reflects utter despair. Job's life is pain and sorrow, and he expects no reversal of his fortune. The words of the Psalmist counter that hopelessness with the promise of God to restore Israel, to build up Jerusalem.

And it occurred to me that the two come together in Jesus. Like Job, he experiences pain and sorrow, as sense of abandonment and the descent into hell. Jesus is the first to experience in its fullness the redemption that the Psalmist describes. In his flesh, God binds up all our wounds; in his heart our broken hearts are healed.

St John Bosco

It's worth checking out the universalis website to read a little bit about St John Bosco. He cared for hundreds of boys and young men, and founded an order that would carry on his work--the Salesians, named for St Francis de Sales. Whatever might be going on with me in the 21st century, I find the lives of the faithful inspiring. In the rough patches, I may be frustrated with God, but I never tire of the lives of the saints. So their service to the body of Christ continues long after they have gone from among us.

 

.     .     .

 

Give joy to the soul of your servant, 

   for I have lifted up my soul to you, Lord.
For you are sweet and mild, Lord, 

   and plentiful in mercy to all who call upon you.

 

                                         Psalm 85 (LXX)

 

.     .      .

 

I've been reconsidering my attitude toward David. After the encounter with Nathan, David experiences all the terrible things the prophet predicted. He doesn't get off so easily. And yet we remember him as the Beloved of God, the one from whose line the Messiah would come. 

 

Oddly, that makes me think that there's hope for me, after all.

St Angela of Merici

Have mercy on me O God, 

   according to your steadfast love;

 According to your abundant mercy,

    blot out my transgressions.

Against you, you only, have I sinned

    and done what is evil in your sight. 

                                   Psalm 50 (LXX)

.     .     .

I heard a homily once on the pair of readings (from 2 Samuel 11 and Psalm 50) that did a wonderful job of describing God's mercy to David. Despite David's sin, the Lord is faithful.

No doubt. And that God is faithful to David after he commits adultery and murder is good news. With this I have no problem. But the homily left me with the distinct impression that because God forgave David, everything was all right. I wanted to ask, 'but what about the girl?' The working of redemption and grace in her life is hidden from us. All we see is that she is shuffled around at the king's command, and after he has her husband killed, the king takes her as his own. The sin is David's; the loss is hers. Yet there is no mention in the story that David ever asked for her forgiveness.

I ask too much, perhaps. David was a man of his time, and women were not recognized by the establishment as we are today. But it does make me think about the wrongs committed in our own day that seem irredeemable. I suppose that covers the big, political wrongs, though that's not what I have in mind. I think about the betrayal of one friend by another; breaking a promise made to a brother, a daughter, or a son; or the careless comment that causes more hurt than we could have imagined. Whichever side of the wrongdoing we happen to be on (this time), we have to trust that the making-right is God's work, and not ours. We offer our contrition or our hurt up to God, and hope for the One who makes all things new to heal and to save. Only the One who brought everything into being from nothing, and turned the darkness into light, can turn our mourning into dancing. 

And so we pray that He will.

St Agnes

O shepherd of Israel, hear us,

  you who lead Joseph's flock,

Shine forth upon your cherubim throne,

   upon Ephraim, Benjamin, Manasseh.

O Lord, rouse up your might,

   O Lord, come to our help. 

                              Ps 79 (LXX) 

.      .      .

I am somewhat behind: this, i think, is the way of things if you are me, with four children and a job as a lecturer in theology and ethics. Other people might well be able to manage to keep up.  

Several days ago I mused about the whereabouts of the Almighty God. Anyone would have expected that when the ark of the covenant was brought into the camp, that would do it. God would surely save his people, given that demonstration of their confidence in him.  But no. Somehow, the leper seemed to have done something Israel hadn't. Or had he?  

Wednesday's reading from 1 Samuel gives us the resolution of the conflict With the Philistines. David appears and offers to take on the champion of the enemy's army. What?!? Don't be ridiculous, Saul seems to say.  You're only a boy. Yes, says David, but the Almighty is on my side. (We would be forgiven for thinking 'yep, that's what the Israelites thought, and look where it got them.') Whatever it was the leper had, David seems to have had it too: the Lord gives him the victory over Goliath and through David the Israelites overcome the army of the Philistines. The Philistines had been worried by the presence of the ark in the camp; the defeat of their champion melts their courage entirely, and they flee. So also in the gospel reading for Wednesday  Jesus heals the man with the withered hand...on the Sabbath. Jesus doesn't do what is expected; God seems to have his own way of doing things.

If there's one thing I have learned from these readings from 1 Samuel and the accompanying Psalms, it is that 'happily ever after' is not a biblical concept. In Hollywood, maybe; in Scripture, no. After David experiences victory in battle and the joy of deep friendship, he returns to defeat and loss (2 Samuel 1). 

But if it is true that in the Bible we don't tend to find 'happily ever after', it is also true that the moment of defeat Is never the end of the story. David defeated Goliath, and Jesus came out of the tomb: however dark the scene appears, it cannot prevent the dawn. 

 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

St Aelred of Rievaulx

Yet now you have rejected us, disgraced us;

    you no longer go forth with our armies.

You Make us retreat from our foes;

    our enemies plunder us at will. 

                                     Psalm 43 (LXX)

.   .   .

The Psalm reflects the story related in the first reading, from 1 Samuel. The Israelites had the Ark of the covenant brought into the camp, and the army gave a shout. When the Philistine army heard the noise, they were afraid. 'Who will save us from this mighty God?' they cried; but they took courage, engaged the Israelites in battle, and won a decisive victory. The Israelites lost a great number (30,000), including the two sons of Eli who had brought the Ark into the camp. 

Some days are like that: where is that mighty God, anyway? The Israelites put their trust in God, and were terribly disappointed. It is the most frustrating theological question: where is God when the enemy is bearing down hard on us? We have trusted in the Lord, and answered his call faithfully. Why then does he not save us? Why does he not deliver our enemies into our hands, instead of letting us be trampled? 

I don't know. But the gospel reading stands diametrically opposed to the experience related in 1 Samuel and Psalm 43: Jesus heals the leper. For no particular reason. Mark just tells us that the leper said to Jesus, 'If you want to, you can heal me' (a loose rendering!). 

Why doesn't God always want to save us? I don't think we can say. But we can say that Jesus did heal that leper (and a great many others), and we can say that eventually the Israelites defeated the Philistines (but not in a way anyone would have anticipated!!). And we can--therefore--hope. 

So goes the next Psalm: 'Hope in God, for again I shall praise him, my help and my God.'