This week’s readings are about being in exile — far from home, the place where one belongs. The first reading and the psalm teach that God can work, even through those in exile — perhaps especially through the exiled, provided that those in exile don’t lose sight of who they are and where they come from. God works through those in exile precisely because while they hopefully can live in harmony with the people native to the place they now find themselves, they stand out. They can use their visibility to be examples of authenticity and charity. Humility is necessary for authenticity, and authenticity makes room for charity, which is service toward and cooperation with others.
The third reading teaches that we can be neither authentic nor humble if we’re under the illusion that anything we are or anything we do comes from us alone. Setting aside any environmental factors that contribute to who each of us is, none of us would exist without the combined DNA of other people, and none of the people who make up who we are would exist without God’s life giving, sustaining, and restoring love. All that is exists to magnify and to be a channel for that love.
Unfortunately, the magnifying glass or prism that each of us is meant to be gets clouded by things we get tricked into thinking are God. These idols block our ability to see God’s light, to feel its warmth, through and beyond them. Blockers of God’s light that come to my mind are fear, shame, anger, and envy.
This week’s Gospel reading reassures us that Jesus didn’t come into the world to condemn us for the very human experiences that I just listed. He came into the world to bear the weight of all our sins, our weaknesses and our pain, to surrender himself entirely to these, going so far as to engage with death itself so that He could neutralize its power and along with it, the power of every other human frailty. The key to experiencing that, as evidenced by His victory over death, He’s stronger than every idol is to hand over the imposters to His custody so they don’t take custody of us. This handing over is so much harder to do than the writing about it was. The imposters still feel powerful, no matter how many times we hear that God has rescued us from them. We let ourselves get trapped by them into believing we should hide from the light because we belong to the seemingly stronger darkness, and that we’ll be set adrift and alone if we come into the light’s embrace and expose the distortions darkness creates as the illusions they are.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
It’s one thing to write about not hiding from the light and instead moving forward into its healing rays. It’s another matter to take the risk of coming out of hiding and to trust. One step toward allowing God to embrace me in my weakness and with all the I’m ashamed of is to bring what I’m tempted to hide to God in prayer. Doing this feels like coming to God and asking God to put a spotlight on me. In this situation, I may confront what I’d rather hide, even from myself. But I’ve also been known in times like this to be confused about what God wants me to bring to light. These tendencies are the reason why I need at least one other person to help me lift to God what I’d rather not acknowledge. The first three readings support my need for healing to have a relational component I can perceive with my physical senses.
And yet it’s so hard to seek this help, to put into words what fear warns me keep silent. After all, everyone else is imperfect too, and no one has the unlimited perspective of God. Will my frailty, my failings be understood if I share them? Will they be judged? Can I even put them into words? Will doing so ever bring me closer to spiritual wellness? After years of struggling in the same ways, believing I can be spiritually free and comfortable in the light is so difficult.
Nonetheless, “I do believe,” Lord, [H]elp my unbelief. (Mark 9-24). Help me not to carry burdens you are waiting to take from me. Grant me the grace to seek and to find refuge in Your light along with and in the sight of all your children. Amen.
Work cited
The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
In the first passage, I read that the Lord gives specific instructions to Moses and Aaron about what to do if someone has leprosy and what to tell the affected person to do.
The subject of the psalm is a different disease — the disease of sinfulness. The Good News that this psalm shares is that God offers treatment for the latter condition to everyone. The first step in the treatment is acknowledging I have this illness. The second is sharing with God and with a wise adviser or two the symptoms of it that I’m experiencing. The third step is acknowledging that I can get rid of neither the symptoms nor their cause of this illness on my own. The process of spiritual healing begins with my trust in the power of God to cure what’s sick in my soul and my awareness of and gratitude for what in me reflects God.
The third passage, the epistle, begins by reminding me that my purpose is to reflect God. The ideal is for people to be drawn to God by being able to appreciate how others and whatever is beautiful around them reflect God. I’m called to discern what guardrails come from love of God and others and what might seem like a guardrail but isn’t. It’s a wall, a human construct that divides family members and distorts their relationships with the world around them. In this passage, Paul is able to envision a world in which members of the human family, with God’s accompaniment, can come from different places and with different experiences without being divided. He urges us to honor each other’s feelings and to respect the diversity of our human family.
The Gospel passage, I see Jesus curing a disease that has separated a man from the wider community of people affected by that illness. I also see him honoring the feelings and the gifts of that person, as well as the practices of the culture both men were born into. I read that Jesus was “moved with pity” and that “he stretched out his hand [and] touched [the man] (Mark 1:41). Jesus feels empathy for the challenges the man faces.
I also notice that when the man approaches Jesus, he doesn’t actually make a request. Instead, he makes a proclamation of faith in what Jesus can do for him. In this scene, Jesus doesn’t say after the healing that faith has saved the man, but another healing scenes, he does tell the beneficiary this. I think showing the ill man making a statement rather than a request and then showing Jesus healing is another way of recognizing the man’s faith. (Skip ahead to Beyond This Week’s Readings for an important aside about this aspect of the story. Finished the PSA break? Okay. Let’s rejoin our regularly scheduled programming that’s already in progress.)
The passage could have just said that Jesus touched the man, and the man was healed. But it doesn’t say this. It stands out to me that the passage says Jesus “stretched out his hand” (Mark 1:41). Because of my muscle spasticity, I can’t fully extend my arm, so to me, the passage is making a point that Jesus’s work takes effort and that that work is closing an often wide divide between people with this condition and people without it. Now quarantining people with this condition had a practical benefit for the wider community. What’s today called Hansen’s disease is contagious, though not as contagious as it was once thought, according to Wikipedia’s Leprosy entry. The infection can affect the nerves and the lungs and can lead to amputations as well as affecting the skin.
Jesus demonstrates knowing that communities lose irreplaceable contributions when some members are cut off from them. He also demonstrates understanding that humans are made for community, and not just conversation either, but companionship that includes touch.
Jesus’ actions after the healing also reveal wisdom, as we might expect. They remind us, for one, of the importance of letting timing shape our actions. His actions suggest he has discerned that working within the expectations of authority figures who will be challenged by his message, not giving offense, in other words, is important to fulfilling his mission at the time of this healing. He tells the newly cured man not to discuss with anyone the change in his condition or how it came about. He tells the man that instead of talking about his healing, he should go to the priest, who will see that he no longer displays the visible symptoms of the illness. Once the priest declares him clean, Jesus instructs, he should make offerings to God in gratitude for his cleansing (Mark 1:44).
I think Jesus knows the man won’t follow his instructions. Aside from Him being both fully human and fully divine at and it not being clear to us in this life how those two natures interacted, I can’t imagine the healed man being able to resist telling everyone he meets what he’s just experienced. People will no longer distance themselves at the sight of him. They’ll no longer turn away if they spot him in the distance. His appearance won’t make children scream or cry. And these are just the unpleasant reactions I imagined him receiving on account of the outward signs of his former condition. Illnesses and disabilities shape lives in so many ways that aren’t visible. I suspect Jesus not only understands that healing the man will have these effects on his life, but also he understands how tempting it is to share even a secret that is far less significant than the one the healed man knows.
Regardless of how prepared He was for the man not to follow his instructions, the reading shows Him seeking to do what He’s called to do in a way that acknowledges and responds to how the choices of others affect that calling. He responds to the news of his miracles spreading by staying in more sparsely populated areas (Mark 1:45).
We saw in last week’s Gospel that He uses time away from crowds to rest and to speak and listen to his Father. Maybe it was during one of these times away that the man who gets healed in this reading was able to approach Jesus. This week, we read that despite His efforts to give Himself that time and space, people who need help and trust that He can provide it find him anyway. God works in all our circumstances, regardless of whether our senses can detect that this is true or whether we feel like it’s true. My senses often can’t, and I often wish I felt the Spirit’s unending accompaniment more strongly.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
Olivia Cathrine Hastie reflects on what it means for God to make us clean. It means far more than removing visible or invisible dirt from us, even “dirt” as in anything that might be perceived as unpleasant or uncomfortable, either by us or by someone forming an impression about us based on what he or she can perceive. She also points out that there are different words used in different translations of how Jesus is described as feeling in the Gospel passage. As I wrote earlier, the translation used for Masses in the U.S. says he feels pity for the sick man. Ms. Hastie says other translations use the word “compassion” in the place of “pity. “
Beyond this week’s readings:
I propose that compassion makes more sense than pity in the context of the Gospel passage. I make this proposal because I’d also like to offer that pity says the person who has it only feels sorry for the person who inspires that feeling, whereas a person acts with compassion. Compassion addresses a need, whereas pity merely recognizes one. Okay, maybe sometimes pity donates a few coins or offers another temporary fix in response to a situation, but I’d like to think that compassion allows for deeper connections that extend in more directions, and it offers both material and emotional or spiritual help.
In addition to prompting me to make a distinction between pity and compassion, the Gospel passage prompts me to feel it’s important to say a bit about the relationship between faith and healing. Some believe that if a person has enough faith, he or she will be healed of whatever ails him or her physically and/or mentally. As a person who is neurodiverse and has a physical disability, this perspective is unhelpful and even hurtful. It implies, however unintentionally so, that if I had enough faith, my mind and body would work the way medical textbooks say healthy minds and bodies should.
Elsewhere, Jesus tells his disciples that a man isn’t blind because of his or his parents’ sins (John 9:3). And Jesus provides the ultimate example of faith, yet he still suffered crucifixion and died from it before rising the following Sunday.
The miracles in the Gospels teach readers and hearers about who Jesus is. He is God. That is to say that he has authority over nature and the authority to forgive sins and liberate people from the grip of them. He is sensitive to the requests and the unacknowledged needs of people who approach him. But we were reminded last week that he didn’t stay in one town and continue to work miracles there. The inclusion of this detail suggests that not everyone who might have sought healing from Jesus in a given town was healed.
I have faith that there’s not a single form of suffering in the world that He doesn’t care about, yet despite this care that I have faith in, suffering still continues, and sometimes it’s not the result of anyone’s actions. I struggle with the idea that He wills suffering. Yet my senses compel me to accept that he allows it. Why? I won’t pretend to know all the reasons.
Lord, help me to recognize what suffering I can prevent and what suffering I can alleviate. Help me to be patient with the suffering You allow that I cannot prevent or alleviate — at least not right now. Help me to recognize if my ability to help changes. Help us to experience Your presence with us in our suffering. Amen.
Work cited
The Bible.The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Plenty of events and experiences can make God’s light harder to see and to follow. Yet the power of that light doesn’t weaken, only my ability to perceive and to experience it does. This power isn’t limited by cultural or political differences or geographical borders. It’s a power that seeks to not to dominate but to offer all of itself, to guide, to reveal, and to invite everyone to find union with it by embracing its qualities.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
Nontando Hadebe characterizes the heavenly body whose light the magi followed having an impact similar to the one I imagined two weeks ago that Gabriel had on Mary when the angel announced she was called to be the mother of God. And why shouldn’t the astronomical event share a purpose and an impact with Gabriel’s message? Both announce that the union between the human nature and the Divine Nature has been and will be restored. The difference between the two events is that the first one seeks the participation of an individual in that union while the second seeks the participation of a group that represents everyone else. The magi, like the shepherds, are among the first people to accept the invitation to participate in the same union that Mary and Joseph have already given their “yeses” to.
Beyond this week’s readings:
Lord, help me to see through the eyes of the Spirit that your guiding light is as bright for me as it was for the magi. Open me to the graces of keeping my eyes on that light and of following wherever it leads — regardless of my expectations about what the destination should look like. Amen.
I’ve heard of the stages of grief, and after revisiting this week’s readings, I’m wondering if any professionals have ever identified stages for processing guilt. The narrator in the first reading seems to begin processing guilt by blaming God for misdeeds. Why do you allow me to sin, he asks? Come stop me.
Upon making this request, he seems wary about having it granted. And why wouldn’t he be? God’s gaze isn’t a social media filter that can erase any blemishes. It doesn’t allow him to delude himself into thinking he can escape the truth of the life he lives in its combination of ugliness and beauty. Taking an honest look at his life brings him to the next stages in the process of addressing his guilt: asking for God for the grace to become the best version of himself and being open to the possibility of receiving this grace.
The psalmist asks for these graces, and the psalm concludes with an expression of trust that the speaker will receive what he asks for.
The third reading expresses faith that those who live with Christ and in Christ receive all the graces they need to find unending union with God and with other partakers in that union.
I find it difficult to trust in the promises of the third passage. Contrary to its message, I experience that I am, in fact, “lacking in [plenty of spiritual gift[s]” (1 Cor. 1:7). Furthermore, my memory tells me that I haven’t been kept “firm” in any of them in the past, so I find it difficult to believe that I will be firm “to the end” and will be found “irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 1:8). Paul concludes the promises of the passage by reminding us that “God is faithful, and by him you were called to fellowship with his son, Jesus Christ our Lord (1 Cor. 1-9). The implication of these reminders seems to be that God will complete the journey toward union among all who are connected to the divine.
Yet we’ve seen in wedding feast parables that symbolize that union that not everyone who is invited accepts the invitation and not even everyone who accepts it is prepared for it. These parables suggest that neither those who reject the invitation to the feast nor those who are unprepared for it are able to enjoy the feast.
And even those who accept and respond to the invitation cannot prepare themselves for the celebration. They need God’s help.
I need God’s help — to accept the invitation to the feast, to light the way to it, and to make room for it within. I can trust in this help, but it often doesn’t feel like I can. I often don’t recognize it being extended, so I reject the invitation. I don’t always lead others along the path to it by letting God’s light shine through my words and actions. I let fragile imitations of that Light block its reach, its warmth and radiance. My choices and the choices of others mean that sometimes I can’t sense its radiance and warmth. At these times, I’m spiritually asleep and need the Gospel passage’s wake-up call.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
I want to share three podcast episodes that gave me additional perspective on the Sunday readings for the three weeks before today. You may want to have headphones on when you click the play buttons on the pages where the following links lead:
The third link not only looks back at past weeks’ readings but also offers some considerations for how we might look at the weeks ahead.
Lord, may the material world awaken us to Your presence and to Your coming in the past, present, and future rather than numbing us to the reality that You have come, are here, and will come again. Amen.
Work cited
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “1st Sunday of Advent: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.183, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 31 October 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm.
This week’s readings say to me that the power of faith comes not only from perseverance, as I was reminded last week, but also from humility. A person in with a humble mindset is able to trust even when he or she doesn’t understand a situation. Trust isn’t rooted in knowing all the details. It’s rooted in hope, and not speaking and acting on behalf of oneself but on behalf of God. Not speaking and acting on behalf of God as if we have God’s perspective — more like making room in and around us for God to speak and act through us, for it is God who “builds up strength within” us — if we allow the construction (Psalm 138:3). “For from him and through him and for him are all things” (Rom. 11:36). The “servant” in the reading from Isaiah understands this (Isa. 22:20). His understanding of this must be why God gives the trappings and responsibilities of authority to him, after apparently having removed it from someone people recognized as a leader (22:21-22)
From what I understand about Jewish culture when Jesus walked the earth, the family, friends, and community of the man eventually called Peter wouldn’t have seen spiritual leader material in him. Before Jesus called him, he wasn’t studying with a rabbi. He must not have been considered a skilled enough student to do that. He was working in his earthly father’s business. And yet, the Holy Spirit gives Peter the heart knowledge that Jesus is the Christ and gives him the grace, the humility, to acknowledge who Jesus is.
Outside of the grace of humility, he can’t acknowledge needing a Messiah — the Messiah — knowing him, or trusting in him. When Peter doesn’t have room for the gift of humility because his fear and/or pride crowds it out, Jesus doesn’t refer to him as “the rock on which [He] builds [His] church” (Matt. 16:18). Instead, Jesus tells Satan to “get behind” Him (16:23). At these times, he knows Peter is relying on his own mind to make sense of the world around him — not God’s — as the Holy Spirit allows him to do when his fear and pride don’t get in the Spirit’s way.
When he doesn’t start to think that his fear is more powerful is than God is, he not only can recognize Jesus as the Christ, but also he can walk on water, and he can share the message of Jesus’s ministry and his resurrection despite the risk to his earthly life, a life that he will eventually hand over as a result of the mission that Jesus gives him. It’s a mission that, thanks to the work of the Holy Spirit in him and his spiritual siblings and descendants, we can be bound together by what gives life and freed from what doesn’t.
What someone else is sharing about this week’s readings:
While this week’s readings spoke to me about humility as another fuel for faith, for the ability to recognize Christ, along with perseverance, Mary Margaret Schroeder invites us to explore how each of us recognizes Christ personally. She invites us to recognize Christ in our everyday experiences rather than by relying only on knowledge and ways of talking about that knowledge that have been handed down to us.
Beyond this week’s readings:
So who do I say Christ is:
the ultimate storyteller, the hero of that story, and the author of my story within that master story.
the One who walks ahead of me, beside me, stands behind me, and lives within me.
the One who carries me
The experience I have when I read a book and
relate to what we find there — pain, joy, fear, and every mixture of emotion
don’t relate to what I read, but what I read makes me appreciate what I have
long for the friendship, love, transformation, and growth I find there
the experience of driving alone in my neighborhood — not in a car, but in my wheelchair — and I feel the sun warming my neck, back, and shoulders. I feel the breeze, too, and I see roses blooming in front of my neighbors’ houses. Flowers spill over the brick retaining walls between the sidewalks and the streets.
the experience of my family and my neighbors throwing a surprise party for my birthday
the experience of wanting to say something that, at best, won’t help a situation, and might make it worse and actually succeeding in not saying it.
the experience of seeing a task through rather than putting it off for another day and instead playing games on my phone
the experience of not pretending to be somebody someone other than God wants me to be
The relief of being able to acknowledge to myself and God that I’m not the person God plans to love me into becoming, and yet experiencing that God loves me anyway
Now I have this list. Maybe I’ll revisit these memories when God feels distant. Maybe I’ll think of things to add to this list over time. Help me, Lord, Amen.
Who is Christ to you, personally? Maybe you’d like to journal or to pray about this yourself. Share your thoughts here, if you’d like.
Work cited
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday 27 August 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.181, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 8 Aug. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm.
Fortunately, I suppose, unlike Jeremiah, I don’t currently “hear the whisperings of many saying . . . “Let us denounce [her] (Jer. 20:10, The New American Bible, 2001 Edition). But at times, I’ve perceived myself as surrounded by such “whisperings.” (Jer. 20:10). Was I more hurt because I felt someone was rejecting me, or because I thought that person was rejecting God? I suspect that more often than not, the answer was the former. “[Z]eal for [God’s] house” doesn’t “consum[e] me” as I assume it did Jeremiah, though Jeremiah isn’t the name given for the narrator of this week’s psalm (Ps. 69:10).
Jeremiah’s emotional response, his anger, is understandable. But in contrast with what Jeremiah seems to request of God, I don’t want God to “take vengeance” on anyone, or to witness anyone taking vengeance on anyone else (Jer. 20:12). After all, the Webster’s New World College Dictionary defines vengeance as “the return of an injury for an injury, in punishment or retribution” I want to see wrongs made right. In the many situations where what’s lost cannot be recovered, I want to see efforts made to prevent the same harm from happening again. I don’t want to see “the return of an injury for an injury in punishment or retribution.”
And even if I had an experience that changed my mind and my heart about vengeance, it wouldn’t bring back what I’d lost. Also, I have a hard time believing that a God whose very nature is a self-emptying love that we humans struggle to imitate would want to take vengeance on people who hurt me. Why? Because God is the source of their lives as well as mine, God wants to remove anything that might distance them from himself. Now that removal might be painful and difficult for a person to go through, just like breaking oneself of a bad habit or putting distance between oneself and toxic people might be extremely hard to do. Still, I wouldn’t think of actions such as these as vengeance. I would consider them lifesaving in the long run. On the other hand, in the long run, the rejection of such life-saving actions would be its own punishment.
It helps me to put the Old Testament passage into perspective if I consider that the words are attributed to Jeremiah. They aren’t attributed to the voice of God. I believe that God speaks to us through the Scriptures, but so do the other people in them. Not everything in the Bible is God’s will because the people whose stories the Bible hands on to us are subject to rash judgment and limited understanding just like we are. I believe Jeremiah is not excluded from these human weaknesses, and that’s why he asks God to let him witness God taking vengeance on the people who persecute him. He’s likely in grave danger, and he wants to get out of it. I would want the same “rescu[e],” were I in his situation (Jer. 20:13). Perhaps the only way he can imagine God alleviating his suffering is for God to take vengeance on the people causing it.
Despite whatever ways Jeremiah’s spiritual vision may be limited, he’s ahead of me in the faith department because he can say, ” . . . Praise the Lord,/for he has rescued the life of the poor/ from the power of the wicked (Jer. 20: 13)!
This declaration is, more often than I would like, difficult to make my own. I hear too often of those with trusting natures being defrauded of their savings by strangers. The world over, the rich get richer while the poor face food insecurity or even famine, and some leaders sacrifice truth and countless lives on the altar of holding onto and increasing their power.
Does “the LORD [hear] the poor,” as the psalm says (Psalm 69:34)? Undoubtedly, but Jesus died not only so that his brothers and sisters could have eternal life through Him but also so that they could have a clearer understanding of their own dignity and live for more than themselves, becoming conduits of His justice and mercy (qualities that are intertwined with each other) generation after generation. It is receiving and sharing these gifts of Christ’s sacrifice that give eternal life to a soul even though a body can be killed. This receiving and sharing also allows Paul to declare, “For if by the transgression of the one, many died, how much more did the grace of God in the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ overflow for the many” (Rom. 5:15).
Lord, I often struggle to share Paul’s faith in the gifts you have given me and anyone open to them. And yet, “I do believe; help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24, The New American Bible Revised Edition). Help me to remember that “[e]ven all the hairs on [my] head are counted (Matt 10:30, The New American Bible, 2001, Edition). Everyone’s are. Nothing happens without [our] Father’s knowledge. Even though so much that happens is unpleasant or unjust, the final victory is not doesn’t belong to these events. Guide me as to how to make this truth tangible for myself and for others. Help me and others to be conduits for more of what you are offering us. Amen.
Works cited
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday 25 June 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.
The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
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
But you have mercy on all, because you can do all things; and you overlook people’s sins that they may repent. For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; . . . . [y]our imperishable spirit is in all things!
Wisdom 11:23-26 and 12:1
I’m starting with these verses because it would be helpful to me if they were permanently engraved into my mind. If your Bible doesn’t include the book called Wisdom, look it up. It’s an offering of poetically presented but practical advice and encouragement, just like Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes are.
These verses are part of the Old Testament readings for October 30, and for good reason, it seems to me. Why? Because the New Testament reading for that day, Luke 19:1-10, tells the story of Zacchaeus and his neighbors. It’s a story that, for me, inspires a lot of questions. It says Zacchaeus was “seeking to see who Jesus was,” not that he wanted to listen to Jesus or talk to Jesus or even see what Jesus looked like. No, he wanted “to see who Jesus was” (Luke 19:3). [italics mine]. This says to me that he was curious about Jesus’ character and identity. Why does he think he can find what he seeks using nothing more than his eyes?
Well, Wisdom 12:1 tells me it’s not just his physical eyes that are at work. More is already going on here than meets the physical eye. That “imperishable spirit that is “in all things” is already at work in him. Maybe he knows it. I imagine he longs for the days when he was a valued and respected member of the community. I imagine he longs for the days when he didn’t see his reflection in a puddle and find looking back at him a man dressed in finery he had obtained by not sharing with his less fortunate neighbors, by extorting his them even, and in doing so, by betraying the call and community he had received as “a descendent of Abraham” (Luke 19:8-9).
I wondered what had caused the behavior that cut him off from his people. I began my quest for possible answers by looking “extort” on m-w.com and found it defined as “to obtain from a person by force, intimidation, or undue or illegal power.” I wonder why he got started down unjust paths. Maybe he was just prone to greed and selfishness. Or maybe as he was growing up, his family barely had enough to survive. Maybe he had felt powerless and as he came of age, greed and selfishness were the shields he put up to protect himself from the fear of repeating the struggles in his past. Maybe Roman authorities were extorting him, requiring him to meet certain quotas to protect himself and to be able to continue protecting and providing for his family. Regardless of why he had become the person he had become, I get the feeling that giving “half of [his] possessions… to the poor and paying back “four times over” anyone he has extorted would cost him more than material goods (Luke 19:8).
If Zacchaeus keeps his promises, he’ll have to face people he has badly hurt — probably not just in ways that affected them in the short term. He may have to face that he has made others suffer in ways that still others once made him suffer. Facing such a reality would reopen old wounds as would giving away the possessions he may have used to help himself feel secure. And these costs don’t take into account that Roman authorities may not appreciate his generosity. Their lack of appreciation could bring another level of hardship — or worse—to him and his family.
Perhaps the Roman authorities would bear appraising if they didn’t allow Zacchaeus to keep his promises of reparation and so they wouldn’t punish him. But I have my doubts. I remember the decisions I’ve read that authorities made during Jesus’s final pilgrimage to Jerusalem. If I had cost like these and the material ones Zacchaeus has promised to pay on my horizon, I have a hard time believing I’d have the faith to follow through. As I write this, however, I pray for that kind of faith. Faith aside, maybe Zacchaeus’ own fear the crowds and what they could accomplish will encourage him to keep his promises. The Lord works in all kinds of ways.
Maybe when Zacchaeus keeps his promises, his neighbors will forgive his unjust behavior toward them. But I bet the forgiveness will take time, and the time between fulfillment of the promise and the forgiveness will be difficult. Who knows what the people have lost as a result of Zacchaeus’ actions that cannot be paid back. Poverty has many ways of taking lives.
I imagine that some of the people in Jericho that day may have hoped Jesus would provide them relief from their poverty — for example, by healing a sick or injured family member so that person could return to contributing to the well-being of the family. And I imagine that while Jesus was in their midst he did work miracles. Yet other Gospel stories suggest not everyone who clambered after Jesus received what they had hoped to. When I consider this likelihood and that Jesus spent part of his time in Jericho having dinner with a person who contributed to the suffering of people who sought Jesus’s help and guidance, the Lord’s invitation to himself is challenging as much as consoling. I empathize with the people who call Zacchaeus out as a sinner.
Then there’s the reason I do find the story consoling. The narrative doesn’t tell me whether Zacchaeus kept his promises. Jesus announces that he’s coming to dinner at the tax collectors house before the promises are fulfilled. Now that’s mercy. That’s “overlook[ing] people’s sins so they may repent [italics mine] (Wis. 11:23). Jesus seems to know that Zacchaeus is going to keep his promises (Luke 19:9). I imagine that Jesus wants to reassure the crowd and Zacchaeus of this. Moving forward in time, I also heard somewhere — where I don’t remember — my apologies if you are the source — that names are mentioned in the Gospels when a person was known in the Christian community at the time the gospel was written. That says something about how things might have turned out for Zacchaeus. But as I go back to experiencing Luke’s story of Zacchaeus as if it currently unfolding, the message I get is this: Jesus knows — and wants to remind us and the extorted crowd — that Zacchaeus, like all the rest of us, needs to know that, no matter what a person has done, God wants his or her company. Zacchaeus needs to know God’s unconditional love before he can give it back to God and share it with the people around him. All of us need the same.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible, Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc., 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.174, Universalis Publishing Ltd.,7 Oct. 2022, https://universalis.com/.
I almost never serve God entirely willingly. Starting to draft this post is a drag. The thought of going back to watching a baking competition is much more pleasant than the thought of having to come up with my own content. Yet I always enjoy having written here, and the thought that someone else might be encouraged by something I’ve written keeps me coming back.
Too often when I’m at church, my mind isn’t there with my body. My mind is either on a hamster wheel of anxiety or wandering in a daydream. I’m most inclined to pray alone, outside, and in my own words—the fewer the better.
Yet I recognize that while some moments of practicing faith can and should be solitary, faith isn’t living if it’s not a group activity as well as an individual one. Liturgies and formal prayers are part of that group activity. The more fully I engage in such group activities, with their ancient, traditional prayers, the more they have the power to put the movements of my heart, mind, and will into perspective and to unite them to the mind, heart, and will of Christ. To the extent that we all experience this transformation into communion, we’re united to each other. This communion spanning time and space and joining God and creation is what liturgy offers, Showing up for it each week is part of my commitment each week to wrestle with getting out of my own head.
Do I think God doesn’t hear my prayers because I struggle with being present in the moment and with choosing to participate in life? No. God doesn’t need me to pray. Prayer is for my benefit and for the benefit of all creation. The more space I have in my mind, my heart, and my will for this benefit, the better I’ll able to receive it and the more good it can do me and the world around me. This is what the verse from Sirach means to me.
But I’m far from being able to fully receive this benefit — and not just because my faith often isn’t as alive as it might appear. I don’t feel as courageous as friends seem to think I am. My default approach to life is not to rock the proverbial boat, not to bring disapproval on myself, and not to disrupt my routines — because disruption triggers anxiety. My default approach is to follow my inclinations. I don’t write this blog because my faith, hope, and love are mature. I write this blog because I want these virtues and others to mature in me.
I constantly fall into the trap of comparing myself to others. I either focus on how my life doesn’t measure up to theirs or how their lives fall short of the ideals I wish we both lived up to. This tendency toward comparison makes me sinful and unwise, and it steals my joy, the very joy God brought me into being to share. And for that reason, the prayer of the tax collector in Luke 18:13 is also my own: “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
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
The Old Testament and New Testament readings from this weekend offer reassurance for those times when we face helplessness, hostility, injustice, despair, and discouragement.
In Exodus 17:8-13, Moses, by himself, can’t send the army attacking his people into retreat. He can pray, but even that gets hard to do without stopping. That’s why God works through relationships, so others can support us when the balloons of our faith, which are inflated with persistence, deflate. In Exodus 17:12-13, support takes the form of Aaron and Hur holding up Moses’ arms whenever they grow fatigued from being extended in prayer.
The next time I’m the person whose balloon of faith is deflated, I’ll take comfort in Luke 18:1-8. It tells me that just making a habit of talking to God will open me to closer union with God, to doing God’s will, and to receiving God’s gifts. Even when the balloon of with my faith is no larger than a mustard seed, when my faith is more about being consistent than about growing in love, it has the power to shape me for the better, little by little, like a creek carving a canyon. Even when my faith is far from bottomless and my love far from unselfish, both virtues can sculpt me into my best self. They’ll grow in me — as long as I don’t give up on them.
Work cited
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Sitting with the Sacred 