Sunday Readings

Thyself - Known

Oscar Wilde once said that he could resist everything but temptation. And, oh, is that not true! Despite out best judgment and strongest resolve, temptation is a magic carpet that seems to take us to a very different place. Example: that tasty desert on the menu can entice us into doing something so contrary to everything we are trying to accomplish. And we rationalize our delightful, yet poor, decision by chalking it all up to the weakness encountered in the face of temptation. Because we give in to temptation – in matters large and small – we also give in to explaining it all away.

And how do we do that? When in doubt, call in the devil. We take this powerful image in the Gospel today and see in the conflict a good enough parallel to our own experience. The primary message of this classic icon is that the experience of temptation is known to God Himself and is universal to humanity. And, yes, it is a message of hope – especially in Lent – that temptation does not automatically have the upper hand. It can be taken as a can-do Gospel that with God’s grace, we can overcome our worst character faults. All of this is true as the witness of faith has shown.

But we also go too far. When we chalk up sin to demonic provocation alone, we take leave of something much deeper within. We can treat our inclination to sin as a given or accept it as a matter of fate. These are signs of looking for excuses we’ve been reaching for since Adam first reached toward that fruit tree. And to do this diminishes a wonder within each human being.

The bread, the kingdoms and the rescue of angels speak of real need, real accomplishment and serious confidence. They are our appetites, desires, and hopes. They are a part of our fallen nature as assuredly as anything else. And in themselves, they are not always bad. It’s the role they play in our life that can create a problem.

The desire for bread was real after Jesus’ fast of 40 days. It is a natural and expected drive shared by all living beings. The promise of kingdoms was a vision of the possible born of talent and even the utopian promise of a world reborn. And falling into the hands of God’s care…well don’t we consider that a religious virtue? The temptation is not found in these; it is found is how we fulfill them. They involve the quick fix, the fantasy of power and a false idea of how God works. It confuses a situation with an outcome. Obviously, Jesus demonstrates the correct way to deal with these by relying on the word of revelation. And our hope is that we would do the same.

So why bring it up? Why concentrate Lent after Lent on this?

The Oracle at Delphi proclaimed the maxim “Know Thyself” and it is a good bit of wisdom. The Christian message is similar “Know Thyself because you are known to God.” Self-knowledge is a good thing but it is for a higher reason. This is a gift and it is a gift of wisdom.

As human beings, with all our glory and misery, we stand before God with natural appetites, desires and hopes. They are a given. And seeing them is a reflection of who we actually are. We want things and more. We hope for good and pray for better. And while most of these are good or neutral, some are not. St. Augustine noted that we never choose what we think is bad but we do choose the lesser good. From our point of view, we can have our heart set on something but it can be wrong. The best we can say of this is that we are sincere. And in a strange desire for a puritanical perfection, we are ruffed up when these show up. We are frustrated at our lack of self-control and shocked at how frail our will can be. And when those weaknesses get the better of us, we blame anything in sight or in image.

I believe that this is a Gospel that encourages us and gives us a sure footing in the mercy of God. It tells us in the barren terrain of our arid will is a place where God is more okay with us than we are with ourselves. It shows with divine love that God can see our disordered desires and frequent failure and still tell us that in Him – and Him alone – do we conquer. It gives us permission to look at those weakened tendencies and look without fear. It advises us to know our selves as we are known by God.

But this hope takes courage. It takes a stealy resolve to admit that we do not always choose the better and we give in to the easy and quick. It is brutal to give evidence that we can be wrong. It confronts us that humility is healing and little else will do. In Lent, we face this nasty reality protected by Divine permission. Our self-examination and review of life is done in the presence of a loving God. The small sacrifices we undertake are in imitation of this potent icon of Christ in the desert. Our works of charity are in homage to the God who became man so we could become like God.

Don’t let this opportunity pass. Don’t leave Lent at a first-quarter resolution revival. Know Thyself – know your most human of desires – the good and the bad – and have no fear. You can’t offend God by acknowledging that you don’t always want to live like Him. Don’t blame every fault of pride and ego on the devil or the desert menu. Take yourself – as you are – into this Lenten desert and you’ll find Christ there. And with all your shocking imperfections, He will still recognize you.

Sunday Readings

The Worth of the Worthless

A long time ago, in Diocese far, far away…a new Bishop was appointed who came from New York. The clergy of that Diocese expected ‘one of their own’ to replace the outgoing one, but this interloper came in. Waiting on the new Bishop’s desk was a letter from a prominent pastor which put – in no uncertain terms – a message that this new Bishop was not welcomed. The Bishop immediately called the pastor and said that if he had the courage and audacity to write such a letter, then this was a man he should know and rely on for honest advise. That pastor landed up playing golf every week with the Bishop and ultimately preached his funeral.

Was this a trick or technique worthy of Machiavellian politics? A cynic would say it was. The Gospel today says otherwise.

Retaliation. It’s the law of the jungle: Eye for an eye until everyone is blind. And this barbarism is couched in the convenient incantations of human virtues. We speak of it as respect, pride, dignity and self-image. Disrespect me, and I have no dignity. Deflate my pride and I have no self-worth. Hurt me, and you destroy my humanity. And when you do, I can justify anything. After all, you were asking for it.

My, how fragile we are! What tender butterflies we appear dressed in the armor of omnipotence yet underneath as frail as popsicle sticks. We exalt a feeling of self-worth that is solely dependent on its appreciation by others. It’s an oxymoron. We crave to treated like God yet are so clearly not. That new Bishop could have suspended that pastor and retaliated with vengeance. And no one would really object. The guy had it coming and the Bishop had every right by law and convention. But the Bishop saw something higher than his own ego. He saw the Gospel.

When Jesus calls us to turn the other cheek, something is very different here. He is not advising us to be doormats and take whatever is offered. No, He is calling us to action, not inaction. We are to turn the other cheek and not just roll over. He is calling us to conquer human pride by actively laying it down. Our gestures are to be spoken to the human person, not human anger. We are refusing the temporary for the more lasting. And we do not like it. We demand satisfaction from those who offend us so long as our offences are not brought into evidence. The isolated indignity is not to be held to the scrutiny of our past. We choose the black and white from the mosaic and call it justice.

Is it really that serious? You bet it is. In the inner city, people die for it. Nations fight over these, families are decimated over it. Jobs are lost, people dismissed and misery lasts for years. And the fragile, bruised and scarred egos of the combatants still launch forward into new battles seeking new conflicts over any and all manner of assault.

No wonder the world hates a Simon. No question of how obnoxious the peacemakers can be to us. Charged with the adrenalin of battle, the last thing we want is any one telling us that we are marching in the wrong direction. We are insulted by the honesty of those who can say we are really not cut out for this or lack the skill to do it. And when that speaker is God almighty, we dismiss His gospel as quaint.

The human ego says that we are god but never calls us to act like God. The Gospel says we are not God but says we have the ability – in grace – to act like Him. If God practiced the retaliation we visit upon each other, humanity would have long been wiped off the face of the earth. God’s standard is quite different but it is not inaccessible to human choice. This Divine constitution is based on the one thing over insult; it is based on mercy.

If we truly believe that God is God and we are not, we also have to admit that God’s standards are better than human. The freedom of the Gospel says that for all the reasons we retaliate and compete, they are goals already won. The dignity of the human person is found in the person not in others and their opinions. The respect we demand of each other is nice but unnecessary because we were created to be loved and not merely respected. What others may legally owe us is nothing compared to what we owe God. Our self-image is flawed at best but our souls are in the hand of God. And the dominion and authority we have in this life is limited to our selves and limited is the honest word for it.

The Christian message is one of freedom from these illusions. How we do in the audition and what the judges say doesn’t matter because we’re already in the choir. Our position is secure because we are not. It’s not about where we stand in the sight of man because we are already seated by the throne of God.

To retaliate, to strike back for the simple reason of so-called justice, is a degradation of what God has created in nature and recreated in grace. It belittles us not because it sinks to the level of the opponent but because it is in opposition to who we are. It pretends to act in a god-like fashion but is contrary to the actions of God Himself. In our skirmishes with each other, we fight ourselves.

We are preparing for another battle of another Lent. We will take on the battle cry of our appetites as we cast aside the chocolate and ice cream of these 40 days. We may even take on the burden of charity and good works. But are we prepared for the Special Forces of striking a blow at the root of our fabled fragility? Are we trained, armed and willing to go the heart of our hatreds and grudges? Can we monitor the effects of original sin as we see the battle lines we draw with each other in the fragmented outlines of our offended egos? To do this takes courage and discipline.

The human heart is often a dark cavern that does not welcome the light shining on its lowest desires. But that is the grace of Lent. It gives that light and that courage to go to those obscure placed with the strength we too often think others take from us. We are not that strong to fight with every one nor are we too weak to be crushed by them. Retaliation is useless because it is over before it began. We are approved, victorious and accepted even if others can’t see it. The grace of this coming season, the message of this hard teaching of Jesus to be merciful, is the ultimate freedom to say. “and who cares if they can’t see my worth. God does.”

Sunday Readings

Less is Blessed?

I have never gotten the Beatitudes. I have never thought that pain was good or that sadness makes us happy. Most of us would not automatically agree with any theory that says less is actually more. It’s not that we are sensualists looking for pleasure; we’re just trying to avoid pain and discomfort. Yet we hear that we not only should be happy with less, we should actually seek it. And those who have any joy are doomed to loose it. I don’t know how we can listen to the Beatitudes, especially in St. Luke’s Gospel, and come away with another interpretation.

But is that what they are saying? Are we really supposed to evaluate our lives based on how miserable we are? Are we allowed to condemn those who have more things than us because of them? For many, the Beatitudes are the foundation of class conflict and the politics of envy. But the Beatitudes don’t speak to this because that is not what they say.

The key to the Beatitudes is its audience. They are not pronouncements for a world order of government and politics. They are not intended even as a mission statement of the Church. They are addressed to only one audience. St. Luke takes this sermon and places it on level ground with Jesus surrounded by His disciples. This includes the Apostles and those who have begun to follow Him. And yet, even as I say this, I hear the objection coming from within me: “Are you saying that this is message only for a privileged few? Aren’t you being elitist and exclusive?”

Yes, I am. Now I know we live in a time when every single belief and philosophy is essentially as good as any other and God help those who say otherwise. So I guess that means I am a modern heretic because I defile this supposed equality. But there is something quite different about the grace of God. There is a radical and substantial change that the Incarnation of the Son of God has brought to the world. And this change has touched every imaginable aspect of life. If Christ baptized all things human and reconstituted creation as an expression of mercy, how do we deal with the bad stuff?

True religion has always dealt with this question. The entire book of Job asks why bad things happen even to those who seem so good. What is a puzzle to the human mind has now in Christ become an answer understood by grace. And grace can be rejected. When we ask ‘why?’ we often do not want the answer. When we see the bad we do not always raise our eyes to the good.

We have to be honest about this. Because of free will and sin, bad thing happen in life. That’s the cold, hard truth. Faith doesn’t change that. But how we deal with these is not about coping or schlepping though this valley of tears, it is a matter of discipleship. No, I am not going to be blessed by a lack of money. Nor am I going to experience unrestrained happiness because of pain. But who I am as a disciple will grow or wither when I face these. They will prove how deeply God’s grace has taken root in me. And I find my blessing not in the lack of good but in how good my God is even in the middle of that. And no one is exempt. No one is free to just believe in God without connecting that belief to life. Sure, it would be nice to have a faith that eliminates all pain or covers it up completely. Just give us the God of blessing and stop shoving the cross at us.

The disciple doesn’t buy that. Without rancor and filled with a strange peace, the disciple knows that through the bad, God is there. And while very real, it is also very temporary. The disciple knows the blessing of grace and lives it. As Churchill said, “when you’re going through hell, keep going.” The crowd Jesus addressed knew how tough it can be. They lacked so much and knew oppression and hardship. But they also knew hope. They began to suspect that Jesus was about a different way of living. And in that discovery, they still lived but with a very new perspective.

That is why we still read and sing and proclaim the Beatitudes. And we are doing this intentionally. We mean to preach to the choir. We make our creed one of blessing in this life as it truly is. We cast aside the false idols of prosperity religion and vindictive jealousy. We reject the opiate of false reality and stand shoulder to shoulder with the God who carried His own cross.

In this season before we hear so much more about that cross, we can get ready for Lent by asking if we are blessed. We can ask if we have known peace in the middle of confusion, if we have found comfort while losing. Can we say that we are blessed while we know some good and some bad? I believe that every one here can point to at least one time when they knew the presence of God even when things were falling apart. Not a mystical vision or lights in the sky, just that whisper saying it’s all going to be okay. And the repeated blessings of the Beatitudes witness that we find more and more of these as we look. The Beatitudes say that we ‘are blessed’. They do not say ‘we will be blessed’ as if they were a goal or a reward. What the disciple knows, and what we – by grace – know as well is that we are blessed not in spite of our lives but because of His.

We may be poor or rich, happy or sad but we are, above all, disciples first. And because we are by the grace of God, we are truly blessed.

Sunday Readings

Star Witness

The other night I saw the HBO program on Evangelicals in America. What stuck me, as it always has, is the role of personal experience in the evangelical movement. The experience of “being saved” is the pivot point of their lives and the content of their “testimony.” In other words, the evangelical movement is founded upon the individual and intense experience of God. And this is the starting point for so much – to the chagrin of the decidedly non-religious.

Does the sound familiar? Isaiah and Peter had one of these. They both experienced, in very different ways, the holiness of God. In fact, it is this experience that is at the heart of any lasting faith. It is the goal of what we do here because personal transformation is at the heart of the Gospel message.

But there is an element to this personal revelation that is easy to ignore. And in a world like ours where personal experience and opinion reign supreme, we too often choose to ignore this difficult aspect.

Isaiah has a vision of God’s glory and his own need for purifiction. Peter witnesses the power of God and falls to the feet of Christ. What is going on here? Shouldn’t repentance come before a moment of grace?

This, technically speaking, is not repentance like we hear throughout the Gospel. This is not just a matter of ceasing to do wrong. This is purification from the experience of God. It is a refining and a reflection on that grace. Is asks why it happened and how it did. It is awestruck by the Person of God and humbled by the human vessel chosen by grace. And above all, it is necessary.

We’ve proven that one before. Adam knew God face to face and still he messed up. Moses went beyond God’s Word even though he spent time with God on the mountains. And we have all been given so many opportunities of grace in our lives and still we fall back. Our human nature tends to take the majesty of God for granted. We have a spiritual ADD. Sunsets and scenic views soon become routine. The fleeting trends in music and fashion bespeak a boredom with even the most beautiful of things. And we go so far as to take each other - and our God - for granted.

The experience of God’s holiness is a gentle but consuming fire that is different. Isaiah and Peter knew it. We’re the same. This holy God calls all of us to live the Gospel in hope and charity. Knowing it and experiencing it ourselves is the starting point we usually begin when we are younger. As life moves on, how that takes root at the center of who we are is another matter. We let the residue of sins committed and virtues abandoned dull the impact of grace. It is the fire of this renovation that wakes us up and clarifies our understanding.

And more than that, it allows us to be the instruments of proclaiming this hope to those around us. Having known it ourselves, we have the authority and even the mandate to work with a Divine mission of hope. Isaiah and Peter could never be effective communicators of their hopeful message if they did not understand how much they needed it in the first place. Simply put, the vision of God leads to vision in a godly life.

So once again, you have been given a fail-proof formula for sanctity. And collectively, the response is a sarcastic ‘thanks for sharing.’ But there are no quick formulas or a once in a life-time experience of God. The experience of God’s holiness is transforming, but not isolated. When we taste some, we want more. What began for these two by the River Chebar or the Lake of Gennesaret was to continue long after. They could always refer to it because it took them to so much more.

The question for us is a simple one – have we known the holiness of God? Have we personally experienced the transforming grace of this God of love? And if so, how are we different? Has this wonderful grace refined us and centered us? Have we let it?

I know this sounds a bit heavy. It is. This is the heart of Christian spirituality. If our faith does not lead us this point, I’m not sure why we should be here. But faith in God does lead us to God Himself. And because it is a gift, don’t worry about how strong you think yours is or is not. Jesus said a mustard seed of faith is sufficient. Are there saints with remarkable experiences of the Divine? Are there people in our world who are ablaze with conviction? Praise God there are! But we are not in competition with them. We are called to look within, to see where have known the Presence of the Almighty. And from that point, we find the road God calls us to travel.

If this all sounds a little individualistic, it is – but in the good way. Our discovery of this personal transformation is what binds us together. The Church is composed of men and woman who know the mercy and the majesty of God. And they celebrate it together.

Go back in your minds eye to those times when you knew the holiness of God. If you can’t, ask the Lord to show Himself to you. And as you witness to the miracle of mercy, you proclaim it. Prophets and apostles are people of vision. And what we have inherited from them is the same. Because it was their’s, now it is yours.