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
When I heard the first reading this week feelings of dread, guilt, anger, and anxiety came over me. I heard the story from Acts as a conflict between completely holy good guys — the apostles — and the totally blind and fearful bad guys — the men at the top of the Jewish religious hierarchy in Jerusalem at the time. The writer in me is bothered by stories involving flat, purely good or purely bad people.
I’m bothered by stories that are simplistic in this way because I have a hard time imagining myself and people I know on either side of the line that seems so clearly drawn between good and evil. I know I’m far from perfect. Actually, the apostles mentioned in the gospel reading were imperfect, too. Too bad the passage from Acts doesn’t record them acknowledging their weaknesses and outs to the people and how Jesus responded to these. I like to think that even though the passage doesn’t include such confessions, they were included in the apostles’ preaching. I like to think the Holy Spirit used their openness and humility as some of the qualities that allowed the message they were sent to convey to spread. After all, we read about the weaknesses, imperfections, and frailties that I just mentioned elsewhere in the New Testament. I think we know about them because the apostles knew the frailties of their humanity and the humanity of their followers were an important part of their mission.
This realization helped me consider the first reading in a different light. It also got me thinking about what other qualities and approaches help the Good News sound more like good news to me than it often does. I thought it might be a good idea to present these approaches as a series of positive suggestions, so here they are:
Do speak from your own experience.
That’s what the apostles were doing. Unfortunately, sometimes their experiences can feel distant from our own. Creeds and verses by themselves can feel so empty to someone who’s at a different point on the spiritual journey. Acknowledge all this. Consider sharing experiences of God that you’ve had. These may not feel so distant to you or to the person you’re conversing with. If you have trouble thinking of your own experiences to share, or if you’re not comfortable sharing, maybe now isn’t yet the time for sharing. Maybe it’s a time for prayer and reflection. Maybe you’re in the garden or behind the locked doors, and that’s okay. These places are stops on the spiritual journey.
Do meet the other person where they are.
Notice I’ve referred to “the person” and “conversing.” Whenever possible, talk to a person, not to a group. Sometimes even when you need to talk to a group, it can be helpful to think of the exchange in terms of talking to a group of individual people rather than to a group whose members are indistinguishable from each other. Talk to people, not at people, and take steps to learn about the needs and experiences of your audience. Get to know your audience. This involves learning and listening, sometimes for a long time, before speaking. Tip #1 can help create an environment where people feel safe sharing their experiences, questions, struggles, and doubts, and creating this environment is how we listen and learn. Once we learn about the questions and needs of our audience or of the person we are conversing with, we need to acknowledge those questions and needs and try to respond to them as concretely as possible. I think concrete responses are what gives the Gospel the most credibility. In the Gospel reading from John listed above, Jesus uses concrete verbs in response to Peter’s declarations of love, and I’ve never seen the verbs in this exchange translated as “teach.” They’re caretaking verbs.
Furthermore, we’re told that prior to taking Peter aside, Jesus reveals who he is by sharing a meal with his friends. Keep that in mind.
When we don’t know how to respond to a particular question or struggle, I think it’s important that we don’t respond with theology or a verse. There are times for sharing these inheritances, but I don’t think these are helpful when a person is hurting or has questions — unless the person is in a similar place spiritually to the one you’re in. Respond in ways that resonate with the person. Remember that the reading from Revelation says all of creation praises the Lord, so look for ways to respond with what already appeals to the person and what he or she can already take in with his or her senses and experience. And keep the conversation going in two directions, if the other person stays willing to continue it. What seems helpful in the beginning of a conversation may not turn out to be. Stay open to listening and changing directions throughout the conversation.
Do acknowledge what the other person offers.
Look for qualities and contributions you admire. Share what you appreciate about the person and what he or she has taught you. Acknowledge what you didn’t know before you met him or her, and thank the person for giving you additional perspective. To me, doing this is the foundation of good communication and a healthy relationship.
I don’t recommend rushing to tell the person that his or her admirable qualities or achievements come from God. Pushing for this acknowledgment can make it seem like you think the person doesn’t have value on his or her own or that you don’t think they have free will. Someone who has, at best, a complicated relationship with faith may shut down if he or she feels you are implying this. Gratitude to God may arise naturally in the person at a different point in the spiritual journey.
Do wait for an invitation and offer one.
Various Scriptures tell us to knock, to seek and to ask. We’re told to ask God for what we want and need, even though we’re also told that God already knows what we need. Why should we not give others the same space to ask us about our spirituality. Remember that God respects the other person’s free will and doesn’t force a relationship with the Divine on the other person. Why should God’s children be any less courteous?
Pushiness and anger get attention, but they risk making the Good News not sound or feel like Good News. Is expressing anger sometimes necessary to convey the need for change? Perhaps. Jesus did turn over tables in the temple court. But that isn’t how we see him interacting with people most of the time. Often, instead of allowing its message to affect change, pushiness can garble a message. Anger that is expressed unproductively can do even more to get in the way of a message. It can be a catalyst, but it’s not a solution. I find it hard to believe that militancy can achieve long-term, positive goals.
Are there places we are invited to go by virtue of living under a representative government? Absolutely. We can be clear about what what’s important to us. But we still need to respond to these invitations with respect, humility, and courtesy.
And we need to connect with others in invitational ways. Receiving an invitation is so much less anxiety- and anger-inducing them being scolded, threatened, punished, pushed, or forced. I don’t think anxiety and anger are likely to generate the responses we want long-term.
Do open yourself to challenging conversations within your spiritual community.
In the first reading, the apostles are brought before religious authorities because of the message they have been sharing. Jesus was brought before both religious and civil authorities because of what he said and did. Nobody is perfect, and chances are, nobody involved is pure evil.
Do assume that opposition isn’t personal and is well-intentioned.
Is there opposition that is personal and isn’t well-intentioned? Sure there is. But chances are, the person has his or her perspective because of a lifetime’s worth of experiences, experiences which may be different from yours. (Remember the forgiveness we are told Jesus gave from the cross to people who caused his agony, people weren’t even asking for it. I’ll be the first to say that that’s a hard forgiveness to give. I’m not good at it God, please keep trying to help me.) Experiences alter how we see and what we see. As a result, we sometimes go about our goals in imperfect ways, totally wrong ways, in destructive ways, or in counterproductive ways. It can happen to you, and it can happen to people you disagree with. That’s why we need to work on answers that respond to individual questions and meet individual needs.
Do remember that change comes from God and from within.
It’s not our job to change someone. However, we might be able to help someone see the need to change. Often this happens not through words but actions. And I don’t mean adopting a particular prayer posture or displaying a particular image publicly. I mean doing the other things on this list.
Am I saying that only home and church are the places for expressions of faith? Absolutely not. But I don’t think the presence of a posture, or an image, or a Bible has as much of an impact without the other approaches on this list. Also, I think that even if you aren’t adopting a certain posture publicly just to be seen, to someone alienated from organized religion, it can seem like you’re doing what you’re doing only to be seen.
And maybe, in the best sense, you are praying or displaying that image in hopes of starting a conversation. But I have a question? Would you pray the same way if you knew no one could see? If the answer is yes, fine. Just don’t forget the other tips on this list, and be courteous. Pray like the sinner, not like the self-righteous man.
If we want to offer the world and everyone in it God’s love, we need to behave like everyone is created in the image of God and thus has something to offer us.
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
For me, the readings from this past weekend are a reminder to acknowledge the past. Acknowledge the lessons it teaches about where hope has been found in bleak circumstances. Acknowledge the lessons it teaches about how — today and beyond — to avoid obscuring who each of us really is: an image of God in a way nobody and nothing else can be. Each of us is a different facet of that all-encompassing, yet incomprehensibly intimate image.
This Week’s Readings:
Isaiah 43:16–21
Psalm 126:1–2, 2–3, 4–5, 6
Philippians 3:8–14
John 8:1–11
In the Old Testament reading listed above, God advises Isaiah to “Remember not the events of the past” (Isa. 43:18). The full passage reminds me, the reader and hearer, of how God led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt (See Isa. 43:16). Even this story is recounted in present tense. The use of this tense reminds me that God is always present and that I believe that, for God, everything is always present. Maybe, in some way I can’t understand, everything is unfolding at the same time for the Creator. After all, the passage doesn’t say that God will do “something new” but that God is “doing something new” (Isa. 43: 19). God is active and on the move right now. Will I allow this to be true in me and through me?
The use of present progressive tense rather than future tense also reminds me to practice not worrying as much about the future as I’m instinctively inclined to do. And if I’m tempted to daydream about the future rather than worrying about it, I pray that I can bring my mind back to the unfolding present. Because I get the idea that the following items are what’s most helpful to focus on:
how the past has affected me and others
what I can do about it right now
what I am doing right now
what I’m aware is going on around me right now
how I can respond to what’s going on.
Nothing else. I need the grace to remember this, not just for myself but for others as well. That’s one message to take away from the Gospel reading for this past week.
I make the above list as a reminder to acknowledge the past, yes, but not to get stuck in it. Why? Because God is “doing something new” (Isa. 43:19)! The exclamation point underscores this declaration.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
No post full this time. Everything’s fine. I’ll be in touch again next week sometime.
For now, I’ll just share a mini reflection on this Sunday’s gospel, the parable of the prodigal son. I feel like in a lot of reflections on this passage, the focus is primarily on how the sons respond to the father’s generosity at different points in the story.
I find it more helpful to focus first on what the father is like throughout the story. The father fulfills the prodigal son’s desires even though those desires don’t mesh with the father’s original plan for the inheritance. After the son leaves, I picture the father gazing at the road every day, longing to have his child come to him. And when the son does return, he doesn’t have to make it all the way back to his father’s estate. The father comes out to meet him, embraces him, and pulls out all the stops to celebrate his son’s return. The father also acknowledges the patience and loyalty of the other son.
It’s this father that we’re invited to imitate and this father that shows us how God relates to us. This image of God sure has been comforting in times when I’ve acted like each of the sons in the story. I always hope it’s an image that will help me be less like those sons in their more selfish moments. It’s the father’s image that I definitely want to imitate so I can help other people feel the way the prodigal son must have felt after being embraced by his father.
After looking ahead to this week’s readings and then sitting with them for a while, I decided they address a couple very difficult, very human and very common questions: 1) Why does suffering happen? 2) How can I prevent it from happening to me?
Each reading seems to provide a slightly different response to the first question. I’m not bothered by these differences because I think different experiences create different images of God and that each person’s image of God changes throughout his or her life. I think the Scriptures reflect these differences and experiences. I’ve had friends get upset when I express this opinion because they think I’m saying God changes. I’m not. I hope I’m not being repetitive in trying to make this clear: we change and so our perception and understanding of God changes.
The Scriptures reflect these changes because they show God inspiring and working through different writers at different times. That’s why I find prayer, discernment, and reflection so important when looking for what Scripture has to say to me each time I read it.
I used this approach to Scripture as I prepared to write this post, and some thoughts came to me in response to this week’s readings.
1) Sometimes we cause ourselves and each other to suffer. God doesn’t will us to suffer, though God clearly allows suffering as an extension of free will.
2)Greater suffering is not a sign of greater guilt, nor is less suffering a sign of greater holiness (Luke 13:1- 3) .
3) God is present with everyone in their suffering, and because of God, who is life-giving presence, we may often be able to find good in the midst of suffering and after it (See Exod. 3:9, 14; 1 Cor. 1:10 1-4). Furthermore, we can be the good in the midst of suffering if we respond by acting to reduce suffering or to direct it toward a life-giving purpose (See Luke 13: 7-9). All this is good news because: 4) No one can steer completely clear of suffering, especially not if the person wants to grow and to put down roots that connect him or her to God and to others. Not to suffer for the sake of growing these connections is to suffer, to wither, for the lack of having them. (See John 15:5; Romans 6:8). It’s the human condition to experience both suffering that withers and suffering that allows for growth.
“At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.”
1 CORINTHIANS 13: 12
I won’t call the preceding four points totally satisfying answers to the questions I began this post with. I feel like doing that would imply a certainty and a completeness of knowledge that goes against one of the messages of this week’s main readings. Rather than implying that, I want to thank God, ever-present and ever-sustaining, for any partial knowledge and vision I may have. (See Luke 13: 8-9); 1 Cor. 13:12). I also pray for the grace to let the Holy Spirit turn and return me to the image and to the work of who I am in God. This transformation is my understanding of what it means to repent.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Tabor Monastery of the Transfiguration, Tbilisi City, Georgia — Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash
Luke 9:28b-36
“Listen to him,” I hear in this week’s gospel (Luke 9:35). And sometimes I think it would be easier to follow that instruction if I could clearly see him or if I could see that everything was going to turn out all that right in the end. Trusting without seeing is so hard a lot of the time.
But this gospel passage reminds me that Peter, James, and John received the sort of vision I sometimes wish I had. The way I imagine their experience suggests to me that seeing Jesus as he is now — glorified — wouldn’t necessarily transform me for the better in an instant.
In fact, the sight might add to any feelings of being overwhelmed, fearful, and confused that I might have had beforehand. Why? Because I’d be seeing something powerful and indescribable, something I’d never seen before, something familiar and yet, quite literally, out-of-this-world.
The most relatable conception I can come up with for what this experience might be like is an eerily realistic dream. It transcends the experience of waking life, yet it feels somehow just as real, if not more real than everyday experiences do. Maybe that’s because this kind of dream would tap into a deeper part of ourselves that we can’t — or don’t — access when we think we’re in full control of our senses and our consciousness.
I don’t see being witnesses to the Transfiguration as a circumstance in which the three apostles needed to “Do whatever he tells you” (See John 2:5). Instead, I see the circumstance as a situation in which their defenses were lowered so they could go to sleep and be awakened, refreshed and ready to listen. (See Luke 9:32). The spiritual life includes times for talking and doing, but that period on the mountain wasn’t one of those times (See Luke 9:36).
An experience like witnessing the Transfiguration needs time to sink in and to be understood better. An experience like that one doesn’t provide immediate answers, so it’s not entirely comforting. Yet wouldn’t an experience like that get the people witnessing it out of their own way for a moment and allow God to work in them?
Could witnessing the Transfiguration be said to share additional characteristics with other life-changing experiences? I mean other experiences that jar us out of our comfortable routines, that leave us speechless, or cause us to see the people around us in a different light. Such experiences may provide us insight into our previous experiences or give us a glimpse of possibilities we hadn’t imagined before. They may make our lives flash before our eyes. They may involve a mix of intense emotions, and they take time to process, but we may also see God in them.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
I’m breaking away — just a little bit— from a couple of patterns I usually follow on this blog.
1) From last weekend’s Scripture readings, I’m going to focus only on the gospel reading. 2) I’m going to bring in Scripture that wasn’t included in the weekend readings. I guess the second choice isn’t entirely foreign to this space. I brought in Scripture not included in the weekly readings in my second post, but it seems like I haven’t taken that approach in a while.
It occurs to me that breaking away from unhelpful patterns and returning to helpful approaches that I’ve gotten away from are what Lent is about. Since “now is a very acceptable time,” here I go on this week’s exploration of breaking away and returning (2 Cor. 6:2).
Verses 4 and 5 of 1 Corinthians Chapter 13 remind us that among its other qualities, “[love] is not pompous, it does not seek its own interests. This famous passage in the first letter to the Corinthians provides a challenging, yet rather abstract description of the nature of Divine love. Luke’s account of Christ’s temptation in the desert, in contrast, provides a concrete picture. It shows me Divine love lived.
Luke tells us that when he was tempted, Jesus didn’t stop trusting that his father was caring and would care for him — even when it wasn’t clear how —and he didn’t use the gifts he received from his father to serve himself. In the temptation scene, he doesn’t turn the stones into bread as the devil urges him to (Luke 4:3). Instead, he leans on his father in his weakness, saying, “‘One does not live by bread alone'” (Luke 4:4). Here, Jesus quotes the Torah, where the rest of the verse is “but by all that comes forth from the mouth of God” (Deut. 8:3). The pastor reminded us this weekend that this verse acknowledges Jesus’ and our need for bread. It reminds us that bread comes from God’s creation, as does everything good.
I would add that Jesus doesn’t say “One does not live on bread. He says, “One does not live on bread alone. The word “alone” is the key to what Jesus’ response means. The response says our needs are emotional, intellectual, and spiritual as well as physical. We’re not totally self-sufficient. Instead, deep down, we long to extend beyond ourselves to God and to others. We need bread, but our nourishment goes beyond the physical when we share bread. When we share it, we open ourselves to leaning on God and each other and to learning from God and each other. And sometimes it takes not having these forms of nourishment to appreciate having them. That’s why alone time and forms of fasting sometimes allow for the growth and increased clarity we need to draw closer to God and each other so that we can work with God.
As we look at more of Luke’s temptation scene, we read how the devil works against this spirit of communion and cooperation. The devil promises Jesus
“all the kingdoms of the world,” saying “I shall give you all this power and their gloryin a single instant, for it has been handed over to, and I may give it to whomever I wish. All this will be yours if you worship me (Luke 4:5-7) [italics mine].
Those are a lot of words of ownership — and ownership right now, mind you. Those are not words about being family, about sharing, or about being patient. And Jesus knows his father is about being family, about sharing, and about being patient. He knows the devil is feeding him a lie. He knows that power rightly used is used to serve, not to dominate, and he knows the devil can’t give him this power to serve because his adversary is not its source. The devil doesn’t own the kingdoms of the world either, so he can’t give them all to anyone — not that Jesus would take them if they were the devil’s to offer. Jesus came among the people to draw them to God, to help them to see and to choose God, not to drag them to God. I’d venture to say that no one can be forced to find God. No one truly finds God except freely.
My belief is that God doesn’t want to control us and our world because if God did, we couldn’t be in a loving relationship with God. And because God doesn’t want to control us, we encounter the consequences of our own actions and the actions of others. I think that’s why Jesus doesn’t jump off the parapet of the temple as the devil tempts him to do (Luke 4:9). I believe God shares in our suffering, and that somehow, in some way, God saves all who “call upon him in truth” — though I can’t always see how (and I’d like to be able to see how a lot more often) (Psalm 145:18).
But I also believe that because my actions have consequences, I shouldn’t invite trouble — especially not to prove something about myself or about God. We all face enough troubles and challenges in life without inviting it for reasons other than love. Inviting trouble for reasons other than love is my understanding of what it means to “put the Lord… to the test” (Luke 4:12). To do so would be to throw away the love, safety and security God has given me. I don’t want to do that.
Sometimes the path love leads me along is comfortable. Other times, it’s not comfortable, but it’s familiar. Still other times, it’s neither. Regardless, I want to follow where love leads. Thank goodness, Jesus knows how hard that can be.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
“Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye” (Luke 6:42). This sentence makes the process of seeing clearly or helping someone else see clearly sound so simple and linear. All I have to do is hoist a “beam” out of my eye, and then I will see clearly and be able to help others see clearly. It sounds like a single step, a one-time action – at least when I look at the sentence as a whole.
My perspective shifts when I focus on the translation “beam” (Luke 6:42). A beam sounds like something that would trap my whole body under it, not just block my vision. The negative behaviors and thought patterns I get caught in definitely feel like burdens that imprison my mind and weigh down my body more than something I could rub out of my eye would.
A beam is something I need someone’s help to free myself from. Yet everyone else is being stabbed in the eye by splinters or trapped by beams as well. Even when a person doesn’t struggle with a particular thought pattern or behavior, everyone gets wounded. Everyone faces uncertainty. Only God who knows all and has the power to break me out of confinement and to lift what weighs me down. Because I live in a world where the beauty of creation is visible alongside the suffering that pride, fear, and the human condition carry with them, this process of freeing and unburdening is one that will last a lifetime — and beyond. Again and again, I’ll have to entrust my burdens and limitations to God, asking God to lift them, and if not to lift them, to help me bear their weight.
Knowing this doesn’t let me feel like I’m losing spiritual weight or like I have more room to breathe and the Spirit. In fact, I feel more like I’m sitting in a room with the door open only a crack. The window blinds are closed. It’s daylight, so the room isn’t black, but it’s gray. Light barely slips in around the door and between the slats of the blinds. The door is too heavy for me to pass through on my own, so on my own, I can’t lead someone else out of the same room, and certainly not out of a room different than the one I’m in. This “dim room” metaphor is a visualization of what Luke 6:42 says to me this week.
I have no way to know how the amount of light in my rooms will change throughout my life. I know that neither will they reach full brightness, nor will the doors be fully open while I journey on this earth. My prayer as I write this is that I’ll relate to others with an awareness that I’m as unable to see clearly as they are. There are more obstacles blocking my path to the sources of natural light than I realize, so others can see things I can’t, even as we’re all looking for light and making our way through dim rooms. Therefore, I suspect that If I want to help others, the first step forward is to acknowledge the limitations on my vision of and movement through life’s rooms. The second step might be to acknowledge any ways I benefit from walking with them.
As we journey together, I hope my fellow travelers will find more to trust in my accompaniment than I recognize. After all, I’m “corruptible” but “clothe[d]” with the “incorruptibility” of God. I’m “mortal” but “clothe[d] in immortality (1 Cor.15:53). It’s hard to see that clothing through the “beam[s] in my eye[s] (Luke 6 42). The result is that I don’t see myself or others as clearly as God does. The good news is that I’m wrapped in God anyway. What I need to do is remember I’m wrapped in God’s reflective clothing and not shrug off those clothes. They will keep me from getting lost and going in circles in low light. They’re why “It is good to give thanks to the Lord” (Psalm 92:2).
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
1 Samuel 26:2,7-9,11-13,22-23 Psalm 103:1-4,8,10,12-13 1 Corinthians 15:45-49 Luke 6:27-38
“For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you” (Luke 6: 38). I struggle with the previous statement, for one because if it’s true of God, it doesn’t seem possible that God gazes at me with love. Past experience tells me that I can forgive neither as completely nor as often as I hope God forgives me. A second reason I struggle with the sentence is that it seems to contradict the message of the psalm for the day and as well as words attributed to Jesus a few verses earlier. Verse 12 of Psalm 103 says, “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us,” and in Luke 6:35, Jesus says, “But rather, love your enemies and do good to them, and lend expecting nothing back; then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.” These words don’t describe a divine parent who has a tit-for-tat relationship with me. I’m getting the message that, on the contrary, God responds to my weaknesses and failures with more love and generosity then I can’t contain. Luke 6:38 says, “Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap.” The verse doesn’t say to hand God a metaphorical jar and that God will pour until the sand reaches to the rim, but he won’t pour any further. No, the verse says God is going to shake the jar of divine generosity sand so that as much as possible can fit into the vessel, and then God is going to keep pouring past the point where the jar overflows. God’s going to pour, not into a container with sides, but into my lap, where the generosity sands can spread out and be carried beyond me by the winds of the Spirit. I find the image in Luke 6:38 helpful. I’m calling what’s being poured “sand” because I know sand can be “packed together, shaken down, and overflowing . . . poured into [a] lap (Luke 6:38). I also know how its grains interact with each other, and I know the effects of water and wind on it.
Each grain of sand is a tiny, distinctive component relative to all of creation, yet it so often looks like it forms a smooth, unified body because each grain connects to those around and helps to form the body we call sand. Water smooths the rough edges of the body of sand and binds its components together, just as one might say baptism does to the Christian community. Faith community aside, water and wind move through all of us, so that we all form a body in that way. No matter how solid the body of sand might seem, it’s fragile and porous. Water and wind constantly rearrange it. Wind blows individual grains in different directions, just as the Spirit moves different people in different ways.
Maybe it’s key not to forget that I’m a grain of sand and to let the water and wind blow through me to the next grain and from other grains to me. Maybe it’s key not to imagine that I can cling eternally to myself, to other grains or to things that don’t belong to the beach, — such as buckets or shovels — no matter how useful or attractive these tools might be. I’ll always dry out, get blown around, and need to find the beach and to be wetted again so I can make something new. I can’t create something larger than myself on my own, and I can’t see the whole beach because I’m a mere grain.
Though I’m only one grain (and I can be irritating, to say the least, if I get caught where I’m not supposed to be), Luke 6:38 begins, “Give and gifts will be given to you. Maybe this phrase isn’t referring to God’s response to me. Maybe instead it’s referring to how others will respond when I give. After all, the phrase doesn’t identify God as the giver. Maybe Luke is using this phrase to remind us about the human experience. It seems only logical that the more someone gives, the more he or she gets back from others, and this shared generosity between people is one of the ways we experience God’s generosity in our lifetimes. Some people pass along the generosity they receive, even if not everyone does. Maybe the first person in an intricate web of generosity is blessed in unanticipated and/or immeasurable ways as giving is reciprocated from the ever-increasing numbers of lives the initial giver touches. If generosity works this way, it might be something we want to spread.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Me: Taken at face value, the passages seem to suggest I should be wary of trusting anyone or of taking advice, that it’s bad to be happy, to laugh, and to have enough to eat.
God: But you know that’s not the message. The message is a warning not to make happiness, humor, food, or the opinions of others into addictions. Pain medicine, in the literal sense, or in the other forms it can take, is not bad in and of itself — as long as it isn’t dangerous and is used judiciously. Use it sometimes so you can keep going, so pain doesn’t keep us from working together, so pain doesn’t feel stronger than hope and trust. Just be careful that getting the effects it offers doesn’t become the focus of your life. Don’t settle for being numb more often than not. To be alive is to be open to my reality, which encompasses joy, pain, uncertainty and everything else. My reality, which is reality itself, looks at everything with trust, faith, and love. It is spiritual expansion. My reality is the opposite of being closed and stagnant.
Me. My brain makes me feel closed and stagnant, stuck in indecision and anxiety. I wish my trust in you felt greater than that stuck feeling.
God: I know. Just know that I’m with you wherever you are. That’s a start, and if you know that, you’re not closed. The door of your soul is ajar, at least. As long as it isn’t closed so that you lock yourself away from the rest of creation, you’re not lost. Just let me be with you. (Rohr 80). Look with me at that reflection on the Beatitudes you wrote in your journal a few months ago.
Sitting with the Sacred 