Monday of week 12 of the year

...But they would not listen, they were more stubborn than their ancestors had been who had no faith in the Lord their God. They despised his laws and the covenant he had made with their ancestors, and the warnings he had given them. They pursued emptiness, and themselves became empty through copying the nations round them although the Lord had ordered them not to act as they did.

       2 Kings 17.14-15

Will you utterly reject us, O God,
  and no longer march with our armies?
Give us help against the foe:
  for the help of man is vain.

      Psalm 59.12-13


Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged; because the judgements you give are the judgements you will get, and the amount you measure out is the amount you will be given. Why do you observe the splinter in your brother’s eye and never notice the plank in your own? How dare you say to your brother, “Let me take the splinter out of your eye,” when all the time there is a plank in your own? Hypocrite! Take the plank out of your own eye first, and then you will see clearly enough to take the splinter out of your brother’s eye.’
      Matthew 7.1-5

.               .             .

Emptiness.

The RSV translates emptiness as 'false idols' that make 'false' those who worshipped them. But I prefer the Jerusalem Bible's rendering, though the RSV may be more faithful to the Hebrew. We are so used to Old Testament references to 'false idols.' We remember the golden calf and the unfaithfulness of the people, who turn aside to false gods. That language applies to ancient Israel, we think. We--I at least--tend not to see how it applies to us.

But we know emptiness. We know what it is to be spent, to be worn out and alone. We know about pursuing what does not really satisfy us. This language speaks to the deepest recesses of my soul in its most tired moments. I must admit that I tend to do precisely what the Hebrews did in the time of the kings: I pursue emptiness. Sometimes my emptiness is vanity, sometimes popularity or importance. Why can I not be the indispensable one or the lucky one? When I set my heart on being liked or being valued in the little circles, I am often disappointed. Empty.

The gospel reading for today reminds me what I ought to do. I find fault with others for not regarding me as they ought. But do I really see so clearly? Perhaps not. I have mistaken the covenant that gives life for the idols that drain my soul. I can neither fill myself nor clear my vision, and there is only one thing left to do. With the Psalmist I must plead with God, 'Give me help against the foe: for the help of man is vain.' I will call upon the Lord in the day of trouble--even such petty, insignificant and selfish trouble--and he will answer me.

Let me see clearly and love rightly and give praise to the God who saves.

St Aloysius Gonzaga

The prophet Elijah arose like a fire,
his word flaring like a torch.
How glorious you were in your miracles, Elijah...
designated in the prophecies of doom
to allay God's wrath before the fury breaks,
to turn the hearts of fathers towards their children,
and to restore the tribes of Jacob.

Ecclesiasticus 48


Jesus said to his disciples...you should pray like this:
'Our Father in heaven...
And forgive us our debts, as we have forgiven those who are in debt to us...'
Yes, if you forgive others their failings, your heavenly Father will forgive you yours, but if you do not forgive others, your Father will not forgive you either.

Matthew 6

. . .


The list of Elijah's miracles is much longer than what I have quoted above, of course. How could the writer not include Elijah's amazing display of God's power in the face of the prophets of Ba'al? Or his raising a widow's son from the dead? Elijah's miracles are impressive, to be sure. But the list culminates with what seems to be the purpose of all these miracles: to restore the tribes of Jacob, by the miracle of turning the fathers' hearts back to their children. This is a miracle? Are not the hearts of the fathers turned naturally toward their children?

No. The hearts of the fathers, and of the children, too, are turned away. It seems to me that the hearts of the fathers being turned away signals the breakdown of human community as God intended it to be. All our hearts are turned the wrong direction--away from God, and away from those closest to us, those whom we are expected naturally and instinctively to love. But we fail: it takes a miracle to turn our hearts in the right direction. We need to be re-oriented to give and receive love as we should.

This helps, I think, with what seem to be the harsh words following the Lord's prayer in Matthew's gospel: if we do not forgive, we will not be forgiven, and that means, well, the 'doom' prophesied in Elijah's day. We need a miracle to allay that wrath. Fortunately, God seems well-disposed to offering just that sort of miracle. And so we have Jesus to mediate and the Spirit to inspire and to strengthen. And that is very good news indeed.

St Anthony of Padua

Answer me, O Lord, answer me,
that this people may know that you are God
and are winning back their hearts.
1 Kings 18


. . .


The whole passage is worth reading, if you haven't already heard it or read it today, verses 20-39. It is one of my very favourite narratives from the Old Testament. (Yes, I was taught to refer to the first 66 books as the 'Hebrew Bible' and I do in academic settings. But this is the Mass reading for today.) As a teenager, I enjoyed the show of power: the Lord vs. the prophets of Ba'al. Elijah is heroic, the display of God's attention towards God's people is amazing, and one wonders how the people ever doubted after that.


But that's not all there is to it, obviously. One of the most memorable sermons I have heard in the past several years examined the difference in the characters of the deities being entreated. On the one hand, there is a god who asks people to mutilate themselves, to inflict self-harm. Pleading with Ba'al involved the shedding of people's blood. On the other hand, there is a god--God, the Lord is Israel--who gives freely, who asks nothing of the kind. We learn elsewhere in the scripture, especially from the psalms, that the main thing this Lord asks of the people is to trust him: 'call on me in the day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor me.'


The character of the God of Israel is more interesting even than that, though. What, exactly, was it that the Lord did that made it necessary for him to win back their hearts? The passage doesn't say, and the general plot of the Old Testament involves God saving and forgiving his people. Once again, here, God makes the first move, trying to win back the hearts of his people purely out of love. It is they who must repent, not the Lord. Like the Father who runs down the road to meet his wayward son, God goes out to bring his people back to himself.


So it is: the grace of God, running out to meet us, winning back our hearts. And all we have to do is receive him, to give in.

St Matthias

'His office let another take.' (Acts 1: 20)


* * *

Today we remember the 'calling' of the apostle Matthias, who took Judas' place with the eleven following the Ascension. Normally, I would not reckon that drawing lots was a good way to choose a church leader. How do we know it was the Spirit choosing? How do we know?

I spend a considerable amount of time thinking about that question. My theology students ask it, often, and in a variety of different ways. I wonder about it myself: I have a daughter with Down Syndrome and have walked a pretty crooked and uneven road. How do I know that God has anything to do with any of this muddle? I wonder how what I believe is of any real help--how does Jesus help the mother who lost a son a couple of weeks ago in a cold, swollen, and muddy river? How do we know that Jesus is still around? How do we know that the Spirit still works through actions as random as drawing lots?

Sometimes it doesn't seem to make a lot of difference. And today I don't have any answers. I just have this bizarre story about the apostles drawing lots. All my teaching about God doesn't seem to have gotten me very far: I still don't get it. At the end of the day I am just as short of theodicy as anyone else.

I guess some days are like that. Might as well just say so.

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.

+

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.