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Archive for April, 2023

Psalm 23, Part 1: These Verses Are Even More Beautiful Than They Seem

Posted in Reflections on Scripture, Who Am I in God, Who is God, tagged , , , , on April 30, 2023| 1 Comment »

Photo by Catherine Kay Greenup on Unsplash

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
In verdant pastures he gives me repose;
beside restful waters he leads me;
he refreshes my soul.

Psalm 23: 1-3b, New American Bible, 2001 Edition

Last year, in the fourth week of Easter, I reflected on a verse from the Gospel of John, 10: 27. This verse comes not long after this week’s Gospel reading, and the theme remains the same. The theme is, “Who is the Good Shepherd, and how do the sheep respond to Him?” Because I’ve already taken a look at John’s answers to these questions, I’m going to sit with Psalm 23 for this post.

For most of my life, my experience with the psalm has been like watching a movie that deserves to win Oscars for set and costume design. It projected beautiful scenes in my mind. But I’ve learned in the last two years that these verses offer beauty that’s even more appreciated when I engage my curiosity with them in addition to my mind’s eye.

Admittedly, the first verse doesn’t provide as much visual inspiration as the next two do. I think this is why it’s been the verse that I sometimes felt like I had to pretend I believed. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” says the translation used in Mass today. At times, I’ve gotten into my head that if I believed the Lord was my shepherd, I had to hide that I wished some things were different. Having to do this is problematic whenever living with one’s mind, body, or external circumstances is painful. Nonetheless, I thought I had to wear a contented mask because if I believed the Lord was my shepherd, I’d be satisfied. I wouldn’t feel like I lacked anything.

Maybe the New American Bible Revised Edition translation I usually use contributed to this thinking. It says, “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack.” Not including the word “shall” in the translation suggests that I lack nothing now. The trouble with this sentiment is that it’s in conflict with my experience. I’m tempted to try to avoid the discomfort of this conflict by saying that I do lack nothing even if I feel like I lack something, that I lack nothing as long as I open myself more and more to God and move toward union with God. Any lack only seems like lack because my relationship with God is isn’t yet unobstructed.

Still, even this understanding puts lacking nothing in the context of having greater clarity in the future. The lack of clarity itself, the limitations themselves, are a lack To some extent that lack isn’t my fault, isn’t the fault of any individual alone. I’m wounded not only by my choices but by the wounds others carry, by the frailty of the human condition, and by the fact that I’m limited by time and space, and God isn’t.

So including or not including the word “shall” has a major impact on what the verse means to me. Now, it occurs to me that I might not have always understood the “shall” to promise the ideal future. It can signify a command, as in, “You shall not kill.” It’s difficult to think of God commanding me not to want anything. It doesn’t even seem possible not to want anything. And doesn’t wanting something sometimes lead me to seek God and all the justice, peace, and love that can be found in the seeking? Yes, in my experience, and I think I’m far from alone in this experience.

Therefore, I see this verse in the psalm as a whole as a prophecy and a promise that if I trust the Lord as my shepherd, the Lord will lead me to a life that lacks nothing. Sometimes this life without lack is easier to perceive than at others. It’s an experience that doesn’t always feel out of reach.

The verses that follow are reminders of these moments when God’s grace and providence fill the senses. “In verdant pastures he gives me repose” says the 2001 edition of the New American Bible that the Mass and the Universalis software use. “In green pastures he makes me lie down” says the New American Bible Revised Edition. For a long time I thought this verse was just a verse about the Ultimate Shepherd, God, leading me to find rest in beautiful surroundings.

Then a few years ago, my spiritual director gave me the perspective that it’s not normal sheep behavior to lie down in a field of green grass. Sheep would normally graze in such a field. They’d have to be so full they couldn’t eat anymore to lie down in that green pasture. So the shepherd satisfies the sheep so completely that they can’t do anything but rest.

He doesn’t just lead them “beside restful waters” either (New American Bible, 2001 Edition). The shepherd and the flock aren’t taking this path just to admire and be calmed by the view that a walk along a shore provides. Why does a shepherd lead a flock “”to still waters” (New American Bible Revised Edition)? I think so its members can drink, so they can take those “restful waters” into their bodies. No living thing can survive more than a few days without fluids, and water is the best kind for us. But the Good Shepherd doesn’t just satisfy the thirst of the body. This Ultimate Shepherd satisfies the thirst of the soul. This satisfaction gives peace a home within us. It gives us a peace that is less displaced by external circumstances. It’s so much more than the serenity we might get from the most mirror-like lake view we can imagine.

My experience is that the feeling of having a “restore[d]” soul is fleeting in this life (New American Bible Revised Edition). But less peaceful experiences aren’t permanent either. Recording for myself the moments when I’ve been a sheep made to lie down in green pastures and have been taken to drink water that restores my soul helps me hope for brighter days when I’m in the midst of darker ones.

I think Psalm 23 uses vivid imagery of nature to give himself something to lean on in difficult times. Later versus explore those difficult times more directly, but I’ve decided that is a discussion for next week’s post. Without planning on it, I’ve begun a two- or probably three-part series on Psalm 23.

For now Lord, thank you for being my Shepherd and the Shepherd of all Your creation. Help me to see unexpected developments as opportunities to see how beautifully you will provide for me if I listen to Your voice in my heart and follow where You lead. Amen.

Works cited

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm

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Where Can I Find God?

Posted in Easter, Reflections on Scripture, tagged , , , , , , , on April 23, 2023| 1 Comment »

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

The general answers that Luke 24: 13-35 is giving me are, “not where you expect” and “where you least expect.”

I relate to the pair of Jesus’ followers who come upon a stranger as they’re walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, though when I first revisited the passage, I didn’t find their experience that relatable. Why wouldn’t I recognize Jesus if I’d spent every waking moment traveling with him for months or even years? Clearly, being unrecognizable and later returning to recognizability in an instant is something Jesus’ resurrected body can do that mine can’t do yet. So this story recounts a one-time event, a specific miraculous occasion that’s been handed down to me to teach me something. And in one sense, I suppose this initial interpretation is valid.

But I think another one is valid at the same time — because, in other ways, as I wrote before, I do relate to these deflated, despairing travelers. They’re lost, even though someone watching them would say they know exactly where they’re going—Emmaus, right? Yet they can’t really get what and where they want unless they are moving forward inside as well outside.

They’d come to believe that Jesus, as the Messiah, would lead them, their families, and the united tribes of Israel (what I might think of as their “country”) to external liberation.

But Jesus has been killed, and they feel no freer than they were before they heard him teach. In fact, their situation feels more precarious. Jesus has inflamed their hope only to fail them. Sometimes I think having hopes sparked and then having the sparks extinguished feels worse than never having had them ignited.

Before they end Jesus encountered each other, God had promised the Messiah to them, but God had not yet seemed to deliver on that promise. Hope founded on words is powerful but not as powerful as hope founded on experience. In the case of this pair, the experience on which their hope had been founded was the experience of journeying with Jesus. What experience would fuel more radiant hope than that one?

But now their bonfire of hope has been deluged. Only ashes are left of it. These are the ashes of grief, confusion, and despair. Heaped upon these ashes are boulders of fear because now, not only do they seem not to have a Messiah in their midst, but also, they’re in danger if they’re recognized as two of the people who followed Jesus, who has been executed as a traitor.

Now, I’ve never felt that I could be accused and executed for treason at any moment. However, I have plenty of experience with what heavy weights emotions can be. Too many times, my expectations and emotions prevent me from seeing the blessings that are right in front of me.

I think that’s part of what’s going on with the two people who walk with Jesus in this passage. Their expectations and emotions have led them only to be weighed down by the emptiness of the tomb rather than to recognize the confirmation and hope this particular emptiness offers them.

And their reaction is no wonder. When I think of an empty tomb, I think of having absolutely nothing left of someone I love. No one else’s report of an encounter with that person can fill the hole that the loss of that person leaves in my life. Talking or hearing about what and who you long for is not the same as what and whom you desire occupying physical space in your presence. It’s not the same as being able to touch who or what I long for, or more intimately, having it offered to me and receiving it into the empty space inside me.

Hearsay is not the same as an encounter. Neither is knowledge. I think that’s why, even after Jesus “interprets everything that refers to him in the Scriptures,” the traveling pair is still no nearer to understanding what recent events mean for them, and they still don’t recognize Jesus (Luke 24: 27).

Jesus knows what the pair needs to be able to recognize that he has been restored to life and can fill their emptiness. But he won’t impose what they long for upon them against their will. He “[gives] the impression that he [is] going farther” (Luke 24:28). He stays with them, breaks bread with them only after they invite an apparent stranger to join them. Then, it’s in the concrete action of breaking bread, blessing it, and giving it to them, even as they share what they have with him, that they recognize him and are in touch with how their hearts were set on fire “while he spoke to [them] and opened the Scriptures to [them]” (24:30-31).

God is working to fill their emptiness before they realize what’s going on. They realize how God is working in them through Jesus only after that work is shared among the group of three in a tangible way. They realize it only after they enter into a concrete offering of thanksgiving to God. They realize it only when they receive the Eucharist. In fact, “The term “Eucharist” originates from the Greek word eucharistia, meaning thanksgiving.”

This is a story to remind us that Jesus offers himself — God — tangibly to me and to you through creation, especially under the appearances of bread and wine as we gather with our needs and our gratitude. This story also reminds us that unless we have space within and around us for God, and we have gratitude for the ways God is already filling our emptiness, emptiness will only feel like lack and loss instead of the vessel for gifts that it can be.

Creator, Sanctifier, and Redeemer, help me to keep an open mind about Your plans. Help me to trust that I can see You at work everywhere so that I will see You at work everywhere. Help me to have and to express gratitude for Your work within and around me.. Amen

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm

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The Signs and Wonders of Faith, Joy, Gratitude, Sincerity, and Generosity

Posted in Easter, Reflections on Scripture, Social Justice, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on April 15, 2023| Leave a Comment »

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

This week’s readings:

  • Acts 2:42–47
  • Psalm 118:2–4, 13–15, 22–24
  • 1 Peter 1:3–9
  • John 20:19-31

As I rejoin Jesus’ first followers, they have been praying behind locked doors, huddling in fear. In their time with Jesus, they’ve experienced hope, joy, grief, and fear. These experiences are repeated and shared in Christian life, and indeed, in human life.1 Peter reflects this reality, acknowledging, “now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith . . . may prove to be for praise, glory, and and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ,” the perfect union with others in Him that is Heaven (1 Peter: 7). This union in its fullness won’t be revealed now, but is “ready to be revealed in [that] final time” (1 Peter: 5).

There are times, even prior to that perfect union, when the pouring out of Divine Love becomes apparent in overtly supernatural ways. One such occasion is when Jesus comes through that locked door into the room where the apostles are praying and breathes the Holy Spirit onto them. (To read a story based on John’s account of when the apostles received the Holy Spirit, follow this link to a post I wrote around this time last year.) Another comes later in the same chapter when Jesus comes again through the locked doors and shows Thomas his wounds (John 20: 26-28).

The other account of the descent of the Holy Spirit is in Acts. In Acts 2:4-11, The Spirit allows the apostles to speak languages they haven’t previously known. In my my imagination, they not only speak these languages but do so enthusiastically, animatedly — to the point where observers think they must be drunk (Acts 2: 13).

But they aren’t. What’s happened is the Holy Spirit has given the disciples what they need to fulfill their calling. They have new skills and greater understanding of what they’ve experienced. The Holy Spirit has replaced their grief and confusion with faith, joy, and generosity. The reading from Acts tells me, “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their property and positions and divide them among all according to each one’s need” and that “[e]very day they devoted themselves to meeting together in the temple area into breaking bread in their homes” (Acts 2: 44-45). The reading adds, “They ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart, praising God and enjoying favor with all the people” (Act 2:46-47). This description doesn’t paint a picture of a reserved or sedately appreciative people. These people are overflowing with qualities that draw others to their community.

I read that “many signs and wonders were done through the apostles,” but it stands out to me that I read this after I read that the first Christians “devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles . . . to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to the prayers” (Act 2:42-43). It’s after I read this summary of what early Christian life was like that I’m told “Awe came upon everyone, and many signs and wonders were done through the apostles” (Acts 2:43) The passage doesn’t focus on these “signs and wonders” (Acts 2:43). Instead, it focuses on the wonders that come forth from the soil, along with the gifts of generosity, sincerity, faith, community, and joy. These qualities are just a few of the facets of God’s mercy. It isn’t made visible only through a single supernatural event. It “endures forever”(Psa. 118:4). It works in acts of sincerity, faith, gratitude, generosity, and joy and has immeasurable power to bring people along on a journey toward God.

Lord, I ask that the gifts of your Holy Spirit shine forth from me and from the communities in which I share so that they may draw everyone to You. Amen.

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm

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To Honor One of the Patron Saints of Sitting with the Sacred

Posted in Patron Post, Reflections on Scripture, tagged , , , on April 11, 2023| Leave a Comment »

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

Today, the Gospel reading is John 20:11-18. I’ve written here before that John 20:11-18 tells my favorite of all the Easter stories. The story of what happened when Mary of Magdala wept outside the tomb is my favorite not just among the Easter stories but in all of the Bible for several reasons:

It’s a story readers and listeners can see, hear, and feel with the eyes of their and hearts. It’s a story readers and listeners can see, hear, and feel with the eyes of their and hearts. Not all Bible stories provide such concrete sensory details, so this one that does has a special place in the storyteller’s heart that is mine.

It’s a story that paints a picture of profound love and loss, of grief and reunion. It’s emotionally intimate, from Mary’s weeping to her relatable experience of recognition when Jesus calls her by her first name (John 20:11:16 and 17). I like to imagine he’d addressed her in that same gentle yet that somehow still attention-grabbing way many times before. This time, when he calls her, she clings to him, and he has to tell her to let go (John 20:18). To me, it’s no wonder she responds this way. He healed of a lot of suffering. (See Luke 8:2 and Mark 16:9 for more about this.) And then she was among the women who offered him what care they could while he was being tortured and later, after his death, when he could no longer comfort them in return.

Now, I think if I lost someone after going through with him what Mary had with Jesus, and then I got that person back, I don’t think I’d want to let go either. I think someone would have to pry my arms away from him.

But Jesus doesn’t want Mary to live in the past, and he knows neither of them can stay in the present–not while they are both on this earth, where a new present constantly replaces old ones–so he gives her a mission that will carry her and the rest of the family he has gathered around himself into the future, and indeed, into eternity:

Go and announce that I’m “going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (John 20:17). Another part of her message will be “‘I have seen the Lord'” (20:18).

Sharing my personal encounters with the sacred is one of the missions of this blog. That’s why Mary of Magdala is a fitting patron saint for this endeavor. That’s also why I’m linking here today to a Scripture Story I wrote inspired by John 20:11-18.

By the way, I decided the other patron saints of this blog are Mary the Mother of God (Jesus), and Mary and Martha of Bethany, the sisters of Lazarus. It’s the mission of this blog to be open to the will of God, to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to him, and to serve others. I plan to show love to the other models for this blog when they are mentioned in the readings for the day.

Lord, help me be like these women. Help me help them in their ministries to You and to Your beloved ones – everyone. Amen.

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm

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Happy Easter 2023! What It Does [and Doesn’t] Mean to Me

Posted in Easter, Reflections on Scripture, tagged , , on April 9, 2023| Leave a Comment »

Photo by Pisit Heng on Unsplash

As I wrapped up this year’s reflections on the Way of the Cross, I started to think about Easter and the sights and sounds the word “Easter” brings to mind.

I imagined a stone rolled aside and and a cave-like tomb lit from an unknown source. The light is so bright it’s painful to the eyes — or maybe it ought to be painful but isn’t somehow. I can’t describe the light or explain it. I can’t describe how I can make out the outlines of a figure within its brightness. The figure is discernible, but I can’t see most of its features amid all the radiance.

The voice that comes from it is clear, however. It asks, “Why do you search for the living among the dead?” He is not here, for he has been raised.” It turns out that by including this quotation, my imagination is quoting Luke 24:5 almost verbatim but not quite. Matthew and Mark start their final chapters with similar scenes and related quotations. These accounts are dramatic, so it’s no wonder that movie scenes depicting that Sunday morning look and sound like the one I just imagined.

But what the Gospel reading for this Easter morning, John 20: 1-9, prompts me to see, hear, and think about is different from the other accounts of the ways Jesus’s first followers initially experienced the resurrection.

John 20:1-9 doesn’t present me with a story that is as obviously miraculous.

Mary sees the stone that had guarded the entrance to the tomb moved aside, and she runs to get Peter and “the other disciple whom Jesus loved,” announcing that Jesus’ body has been stolen (John 20:2-3). I learned somewhere that “the disciple whom Jesus loved” was John, so I’m going to refer to that person by this name to make this post easier to read, even though I don’t remember where I learned to identify the disciple this way.

In response to this news, Peter and John run back to the tomb. John gets there first but doesn’t go inside (20:5). Apparently, he just bends down and sees the burial cloths. I wonder why he acts this way. I wonder if some part of him was telling himself that if he doesn’t look any closer, he doesn’t have to see anything he doesn’t want to see. He could tell himself Jesus’ body hadn’t been stolen, that it was still hidden by the darkness. If he can’t yet face the memories and the reality of Jesus’ death (a reality that would’ve been difficult enough to grapple with had he not stood at the foot of the cross), he can go through the motions of looking without really seeing. Maybe he wants to show deference to Peter, or to let Peter be the one to confirm the worst. Peter seems ready to do that. He goes in and sees the cloth that had covered Jesus’ head rolled up in “a separate place” from the other burial wrappings (20:7). I always thought the details about the separate and apparently careful placement of the wrappings were meant to point to the resurrection. And maybe these details were included in hindsight to do just that, but on this reading of the text, I realized that in this scene, Jesus’ followers don’t yet believe he is risen. John 20:9 says “they [don’t] yet understand the scripture that he had to rise from the dead.”

This realization reminded me in a new way that the resurrection doesn’t erase all confusion or pain from the present or the past. The burial cloths haven’t disappeared. They’re still bloody, too, because in verse 19, Jesus shows his disciples the wounds in his hands and his side.

But that moment is for revisiting in future weeks. In this week’s reading, I’m not shown the words themselves, but I’m given reminders of them in the wrappings that no longer bind Jesus. If I take John 20:1-9 without the stories that follow it, I’m not reminded that pain doesn’t have the final word. Yet the Good News is that pain doesn’t have the final say, even if some of life’s experiences tempt me to think it will. Because Jesus is risen, I’m offered future resurrection. I’m neither promised resurrection now (though there are signs of it everywhere in nature’s spring awakening), nor am I to let the past behind me as the burial wrappings bound Jesus.

Photo by Chetan Kolte on Unsplash

The experience of reading John 20:1-9 without the stories that follow these verses remind me of what it’s like to celebrate Easter present. It will take time to understand a lot of things in this life. I won’t fully understand or experience what resurrection means while I’m here. My time-bound experience of Easter won’t feel as extraordinary as the one I imagined at the beginning of this post. It won’t mean forgetting things I don’t want to remember. It won’t banish disappointment or grief. And now I remember I’m not alone in this reality. The experience Jesus’ earliest followers had before sunrise that first Easter morning was not one of perfect clarity and joy.

You were risen, but neither You nor Your loved ones were in Heaven yet that first Easter. Neither am I on this Easter. Thank You, Lord, for the reminder from John 20:1-9 about what it means to practice patience and to hope. Amen

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.

Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm

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The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Stations: Surrendering to Find Rest

Posted in Prayer, Reflections on Scripture, Way of the Cross, tagged , , , , , , on April 7, 2023| Leave a Comment »

This post is a continuation of my Lenten reflections on the Scriptural Stations of the Cross. The station titles and scripture and verse citations, except where otherwise noted, are published on USCCB.org.

Thirteenth Station: Jesus Dies on the Cross

(Luke 23: 44-46)

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash —Crucifix in the alleyway next to St. Patrick’s Church in Belfast (Jan., 2020)

Jesus, You began Your journey to the cross, in one sense, in the desert at the start of Your public ministry, and in another sense, in the Garden of Gethsemane. In both places, You let the Spirit lead you away from other people and from material comforts so that You could nurture Your relationship with the One who created You and sent You on Your mission. Times of retreat such as these allowed You to seek and to find the strength You needed to offer Yourself to Your brothers and sisters in the human family despite their spiritual blindness, weakness, greed, lust, fear, and impatience. You were able to surrender Yourself to others because You trusted Your Father would use their sins and frailties to accomplish the work of redemption. You knew that, ultimately, You were surrendering not to evil but to the Good of Your Father. For that purpose, You gave back to Your Father everything You received — Your desires, Your will, Your body, Your blood — every drop of it — and, in the moment to which I now turn my attention, Your spirit. You knew that only by dying, only by commending everything You had received to the Father, would You be free from the grip death had on You.

I, too, must embark on a lifelong journey of surrendering everything I have to Divine Love in order to receive Divine Life. I couldn’t travel this path if You hadn’t done so before me and didn’t continue to do so beside me and within me. I forget the sight and the feel of Your Way again and again, and You are with me to guide me back to it. Thank You for doing for me, with me, and in me what I cannot do by myself. Thank you for creating me for relationship in all its forms. Amen.

Fourteenth Station: Jesus is Placed in the Tomb

(Matthew 27: 57-60)

Photo by Jeremy Mura on Unsplash

Jesus, in honor of the care Joseph of Arimathea showed You when You could not express Your gratitude, I offer prayers of thanksgiving.

  • for those who share what they have
  • for those who give of themselves and their possessions without expecting compensation or a reward
  • for those who cannot express their gratitude for the care they receive
  • for those who look after the dignity of the dignity of members of the human family who have died.

I’m grateful that You call to Yourself people from all walks of life.

I pray for those who have died, for those who mourn, for those who wait, and for all of us who grapple with anxiety amid the uncertainty of life. I bring to You Your beloved ones who face situations that seem hopeless.

And I pray for the virtues of patience and charity. Help me to recognize and to accept opportunities to practice these virtues. Teach me to rest in You. Amen.

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