May 30, 2010 at Saint Mark in Norman, OK

People who cannot live with the experience of not knowing everything have a difficult time with the Christian faith and experience of God. I think that is why some people are so marginal with our faith tradition which is so steeped in mystery, wonder, and awe. There is a young boy in our school who delights in performing magic tricks. He is already to show me another one. Something happens between us when he is finished with his performance. I always gasp in wonder and praise at his abilities to trick my eye. Then there always comes an uncomfortable moment when I think he wants me to say, “How did yo do that?” I never do say that partly because I don’t care, and partly because I want to respect his skills. I feel as though he has every right, even at his age, to know something I do not.

There is something in our culture that abhors not knowing. There is something in our culture that insists that if there is something we cannot understand science will figure it out and if science does not, then we made it up and it is simply a projection of imagination and it is not real. We are living in a time when “mystery” is simply not tolerated nor accepted as an explanation for anything. The consequence of this is that we come to the sacred liturgy with only one expectation: to get something out of it. Standing in awe in the presence of God, moved by the beauty of music and word, the smell of incense and candle has no place in our expectations.

Our public debates about the dignity of the human person always revolve around issues of choice, convenience and cost rather than around the unrepeatable and irreducible value of a man or a woman made in the image and likeness of God. And so, we do not look at one another or even at strangers with any sense of wonder, awe, or respect until we decide they don’t want something we have or may not take something we want. Consequently, we find ourselves in the quicksand of debate over immigration and health care. We talk of rights and privileges and entitlements as though the sum of a human person was just a number of chromosomes that can be reproduced in a Petri dish. No wonder, No awe, No mystery.

I enjoy reading mystery novels, but not to figure out before the end who did it. I enjoy them because they are involving, and they draw me into the adventure and relationships,the details, and the risk of wondering and imagining. The pursuit of the bad guy is consuming and involving. There is no rest until the bad guy is brought to justice.

The mysteries of the Christian faith are just the same. There could be a way of describing the Catholic religion as a “Great Pursuit.” There is no doubt that this religion is involving and consuming. It can envelope our whole life. These Christian mysteries tease us into pursuit and raise our curiosity like the little trick of that fifth grader that bring us to awe and wonder. After all, what’s the point of faith, of believing, and of trust if we already know everything there is to know? Happily we never get t the bottom of these mysteries. If e did, our faith and the religion in which we express it would be over. Removing a sense of mystery creates an artificial sense of mastry which inevitably leads us to look around and say: “Is that all there is?

We baptized believers in Christ have been brought by our baptism in a mystery. The beauty of the earth, a sunset, the ocean or a summer breeze, the beauty of a lover’s face or a child’s smile does not need nor require an explanation: only a response of awe an love.

So it is with God on this Sunday we call “Trinity.” The being of God is best experienced and named: a mystery. our minds in this age and culture want to explain and sometimes defend this God who is revealed to us as Father, Son, and Spirit. It might be better for forget figuring it out and put our minds to better tasks of solving more immediate problems. If we did, we might recover some of the wonder and we and sense of mystery that makes life and all our brothers and sister who share this live a lot more interesting, engaging an fun.

May 23, 2010 at Saint Mark Church in Norman, OK

Acts 2: 1-11 + Psalm 104 + Romans 8: 8-17 + John 20: 19-23

John says the doors were closed “for fear of the Jews.” That strikes me as a little odd since they were themselves all Jews. It leaves me wondering what it was they were really afraid of.

The absence of Thomas on one occasion would suggest that they were coming and going, so they could not have been too afraid of the Jews outside. It would be easy and simple to suggest that they were fearful for their lives because of their association with Jesus of Nazareth. But the Gospel accounts are not flattering about their loyalty
or the strength of their companionship. They talked big now and then, but when the crises came,
they were nowhere to be found.

I am not convinced that they were afraid of the Jews, or that they were afraid of what was going on outside.
I suspect that they had those doors locked to keep Jesus out. The women had already told them that they had seen the Lord. They knew he was up and around. Friends had come back from Emmaus confirming the story of the women. Wouldn’t it be more possible and even more likely given our human nature that there was more to fear than the “Jews” whoever they were. The “authorities” certainly had their chance. If they were after Peter and his friends, they would have taken them that night in the garden when Peter tried to turn the scene violent.

They probably feared facing the Lord more than anything else: facing their own failure, their cowardly behavior,
their failure to understand and believe, their failure to get started with what he had taught them and asked them to do. So, they locked the doors in fear even though or maybe because he had risen.

We could talk about the Apostles in their locked-up room all day, but all that does is leave our own doors locked against the risen Christ. Here we are, not much different from those apostles living with our fears that all too often keep the Lord locked out or at least a safe distance. Most of us are not really afraid of anyone outside.

Like the apostles, I think we are afraid of what will happen if we open up and let the Risen Christ stand before us.  We compartmentalize our lives and our faith. It’s like a lock on the door. We lock ourselves up avoiding the changes we know living our faith all day everyday demands. It’s easier to keep things in separate little compartments than face the changes living with the Lord requires. Church on Sunday – Business as usual on Monday is a locked door. Sometimes I suspect not coming to church is a way to avoid or hide from the risen Christ, it’s like sitting in a locked-up room. Refusal to consider a vocation, pushing the thought of giving one’s life in service and prayer for others is a locked door. Keep Jesus out, and I can do what I want.

This Gospel speaks of Christ breathing on his disciples. You have to get close to someone to breath on them.
In fact, it’s a rather intimate experience. This day we call Pentecost celebrates the fact that Christ can and does get through locked doors, that the Spirit of God blows where it will, and eventually even those hiding are going to experience the breath of God.

The experience of these apostles tells us that it is not a bad experience, and that opening the doors is a lot better than living with them locked; that facing the risen Christ and what he asks of us is not at all impossible, unpleasant, or frightening.  It suggests that even people whose faith is shaky, whose loyalty to Christ is questionable, who talk big and act small, who pray a lot and do a little, who cannot always be counted on when times are tough, and who are filled with doubts can still do something great if they are willing to face their fears in the company of the risen Christ.

May 16, 2010 at Saint Mark Church in Norman, OK

Acts 1: 1-11 + Psalm 47 + Ephesians 1: 17-23 + Luke 24: 46-53

The last two Sundays in John’s Gospel have found us at the table. There we feasted with the words of Jesus about love and unity, about receiving and the peace that comes from giving what we have received. It is a feast that stirs the human heart with hope  and a quiet joy that strengthens and builds courage. John puts those words in writing for a people at the beginning of an age of persecution standing at the threshold of violence.
The prayer of Jesus at the table sustains them and anyone else who faces trial and trouble with a faith made bold by the presence of one who promised never to leave them and one who had been victorious
after being abandoned, betrayed, mocked, tortured, and killed by the very people he cured, comforted, and forgave. In the language of friendship, belonging and love, Jesus describes relationship with God; and then suddenly he is gone.

Suddenly in absence there is presence: absence for those who would cling to the earthly Jesus as Mary Magdalene sought to do that Easter morning prompting his warning: “Do not cling to me.” and presence for those who continue to gather at the table to feast on what has been written, break and share what has been given, and experience the Joy of life in the Spirit.

It is this absence that provides this presence. Think of that scene at Emmaus. The discouraged disciples invite that stranger to stay with them. They sit at a table discussing what has been written. They break and share what they have been given and then suddenly there is absence, he is gone. But gone too is their sadness, their fear and discouragement. Because of a presence, they rush back to Jerusalem to share what their friends in Jerusalem have already discovered: HE IS STILL WITH US WHEN WE ARE TOGETHER AND DO WHAT HE SAID.

This 2000 year old gospel tells the story of Jesus’ return to God with images out of a 2000-year-old imagination
about where God is assumed to be in that first century mind. To go to God in their imagination was to go up in the sky.

That is why they went to mountain tops to pray getting closer to God. However we might imagine or visualize the ascension of Jesus, this moment begins his real absence. It is an absence that could cause fear and disappointment.  It is an absence that could cause discouragement and a loss of faith. Yet it is also a moment that begins his real presence. It is a presence found in relationships of love and service It is a presence found in breaking and sharing, forgiving, and healing.

This Feast today leaves us to wonder where he goes and where God is. Hungering still for communion, searching still for God, this feast brings us full circle, back to the table, back to what has been written, and back to each other. Clues into the mystery of where God is  start in friendship, in love, and in the human heart. The interpretation of those clues, the understanding of what they mean and where they lead begins in this assembly.
Here we gather week after week, as did those apostles, to remember, share, and review again what has been written. Here upon those present comes the Spirit, the Advocate, the Power, the Wisdom, the Courage, the Prudence, and the PRESENCE that leads us to victory and peace.

In the ascension Jesus passes over into communion with God and the wide gulf between the human and the divine is bridged now in both directions. What began at Christmas with God coming into human flesh is now finished with the human becoming divine.

I have always been fascinated by the detail in Luke’s Gospel which says: “He led them out as far as Bethany.”
We must not miss the implications of this behavior. He took them out of Jerusalem, out of the seat of power, out of their home, away from what was familiar and trusted and predictable.

He took them out of all that to little old Bethany where so many awesome signs and wonders had taken place. Bethany, remember is where Martha, Mary, and Lazarus lived. He still takes us out; he still leads us away from places of comfort, from places of power and predictability for one last word inviting us into his presence after which we can return with Joy to world that knows too little of it.

May 9, 2010

Acts 7: 55-60 + Psalm 97 + Revelation 22:12-14, 16,17,20 + John 17: 20-26

(The Ordo provides the option of using Easter 7 or Easter 6 on this Sunday because The Solemnity of the Ascension is celebrated next Sunday. I have chosen Easter 7 for use here at Saint Mark Parish.)

First, he pours out his blood. Then he pours out his Spirit. Think of that in your prayer as we move toward Pentecost in two weeks. He gives what he has been given: His life, his flesh, his blood, his spirit. The glory of the Father becomes his glory so that we might have glory. While he had every right to lay claim to it, he never claimed any privilege. Never once does this Son of God act as though or even think as though he had a right to or deserved anything. Jesus clings to nothing as though it were his privilege. Everything he has and everything he is he passes on to his friends, putting them on the path to perfection and an ever-deepening unity.

Everything given to Jesus is immediately given away to others. It is this action of self-giving that creates the unity he knows is the will of God. The very essence of Jesus is the sharing of that essence with others. Those who receive it from Jesus give it to others. And so, a living chain across time and across history is established. This receiving and this giving among the friends of Jesus then creates a unity that becomes a message to the world that knows nothing of unity; a world that lives by taking and holding and therein lies the difference and the challenge.

The message of this Gospel, the message Jesus speaks to his disciples around a table is not Take and Hold. The message is Receive and Give What he leaves behind, what he prays for at that final meal is a new way of being human. Instead of being unique, individualistic, separate, and independent, the new humanity Jesus restores is one and united.

This unity is the consequence of giving and the deliberate decision not to HOLD. Those found in unity are never people who take. They are people who receive. At the very first moment we begin to give what we have received, a bond is established that is profound and divine.

When we share the sorrow or the pain of another, we are one with them. When we share the joy and dreams of another, there a bond between us begins. The experience of this unity which is God’s will for the human family
is not just emotional or spiritual. When we share what we have received, there is peace and there is unity. If we share clean water, there is a bond between nations. If we share opportunities, education, health care, the resources of this earth because we do not have some exclusive right to them but because we know we have received them as a gift, unity and peace are not far behind. But if we take and if we hold, trouble comes.

The whole life of Jesus is summed up in his final prayer in John’s Gospel. It is a new way of being human.
Two words sum it up: Receive and Give.
The old way of taking and holding is finished if there is ever to be peace. The fulfillment of the Father’s will: “That they may all be one.” is only possible through this new way of being human
which Jesus passes on to us through his body and blood and by his spirit.