Today the Church celebrates the 2,000th birthday of St. Paul. To pay tribute to such an event -- and the man most consider to deserve credit for spreading the Good News of Christianity from a small sect of Jesus followers to Gentiles and much of the Mediterranean world (which would spread the whole world over) -- Pope Benedict has declared this a Pauline Year.
And although we might be familiar with the story we hear in today's readings about the conversion of Paul, it's worth noting what the life of St. Paul is all about. There is no disputing the fact that it is quite remarkable that this man, a devout Jew and persecutor of the first Christians would go on to become one of the most important (if not the most important) follower and promoter of the Good News of Jesus Christ. But what is perhaps most notable is why St. Paul had this conversion and spent the remainder of his life sharing and spreading the Good News.
Although today's first reading from Acts discusses the conversion story, I would refer you to Paul's letter to the Galatians to uncover this important insight. In the end of the second chapter of this letter, St. Paul writes,
For through the law I died to the law, that I might live for God. I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me; insofar as I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me.
The key line here (for me, at least), is "I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me." St. Paul is driven not by rules, order and law, not by duty or command, but by the conviction that he knows God's love for him. The notion that Christ died on the cross not for some anonymous person or the sin of all humanity, but for the love God has for St. Paul was so utterly powerful that St. Paul could not help but spend the rest of his life traveling all around the Mediterranean Sea, enduring persecution, trying to heal the conflict and dissension in the early Christian communities, even imprisonment.
And this truth -- that God loves us -- is something we, too, ought to feel compelled to share. In today's Gospel (Mark 16:15-18), Jesus tells us,
"Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature."
The gospel ("good news") is that God loves us. God loves us so much that He sent His Only Begotten Son to save the whole world (John 3:16) to show us the way (the term Luke uses for Christianity), to suffer and die on a cross, like a common criminal. God loves us. Each one and every one. Just as we are.
St. Paul was so moved by this that he spent the rest of his life writing and preaching, trying to tell every last person he could this Good News.
Let us, like St. Paul, "go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature."
St. Francis of Assisi said, "preach the Gospel always, but use words only if necessary."
How do you show that you are loved by God? How do you show others that they -- and every human person -- are loved by God?
What will you do with this Good News?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Prayers (Especially) Today
Today is truly a historic day. During his Inauguration, President Barack Obama himself noted, just a few decades ago, men like he weren't able to sit at restaurant counters; today he is taking the highest oath in the land.
And taken together with the celebrations of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. yesterday, I can't help but feel the surge in hope that we have come so far and our future is so bright.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Yesterday we celebrated a man who gave his life working for justice. We don't have many national holidays set aside for a single man (except Columbus, and one could argue Columbus might be one of the least-deserving men to have a day set aside for): all our war heroes share Memorial Day; all our great Presidents share Presidents' Day (though it is celebrated around Washington's alleged birthday); all our irreplaceable patriots get are celebrated on Independence Day. And although Dr. Martin Luther King did inspire a great civil rights movement, he was far from perfect.
In fact, King's legacy is rife with controversy. Some might believe it uncouth to discuss them; I think it's sobering to recall the truth. Some might know his story better than others: the night before he was assassinated, Dr. King was spending the night in a Memphis hotel with a prostitute, a temptation he was often unable to overcome. And in 1990, an academic council at Boston University confirmed that Dr. King plagiarized a great deal of his doctoral dissertation from the 1950s. They just didn't feel it right to strip a national hero of his PhD.
I'm not trying to slander Dr. King. We all have our heroes. And none of them are perfect. This is something we need to remember -- even on this historic day.
I'm not saying politicians and athletes deserve the same level of respect and tribute, but my first hero (after my dad, of course), was probably Michael Jordan. Like a lot of little boys my age, I loved watching what MJ could do on a basketball court and I read just about every article and book on him I could find. But there were few stories which would divulge MJ's late night escapades and addiction to gambling (which some believe was the root cause of his father's murder). Not too long ago, Charles Barkley was arrested for a DUI with a sky-high blood alcohol level and Mr. Barkley has often addressed his own struggles with gambling. Maybe this is a reason he was so dead-set against being called a role model?
Others aren't so uncomfortable with the idea. One particular man I came to respect and admire, Dwyane Wade (a classmate of mine at Marquette University), is currently undergoing a heart-breaking divorce from his high-school sweetheart. He has long been a darling of the media and NBA; just two years ago, he was named Father of the Year! And speaking of Wisconsin connections, in Packerland, we cannot forget Brett Favre's addiction to painkillers or Mark Chmura's demise thanks to (at least) one inappropriate night in a hot tub.
There is a long list of men who have accomplished great deeds but who were not always virtuous. I remember the debates in high school about whether or not President Clinton was a good president. After Monica Lewinsky, it was hard to argue on the basis of his morals; but what about his policies? Surely the instances of his sexual infidelity is not the first -- or last -- time that the great office has been tarnished. Our nation's sole Catholic President -- JFK -- is considered by some to be perhaps the worse offender.
And to be sure, our Scriptures are full of such stories, too. Moses was a murderer. David conspired to kill the man whose wife he slept with. And we have to know none of the first disciples -- or popes since -- were perfect. In fact the life of the saints just as well might be called the life of the sinners. God has no choice but to work through and with us -- earthen vessels -- to effect His grace in the world.
And that's my point: we all have our own demons; none of us are perfect. I'm not trying to sit in my glass house and throw stones. And I'm truly not seeking to sour this historic day. But I would like to inject a bit of realism into what has turned into a whole lot of frenzied idealization of this moment and this one man. We might have made Barack Obama a symbol of our hope for a brighter future, a better country, and a higher road, but he is still just a man. Just like you and me. I think there's a great danger in honoring men like JFK, MLK, or President Obama. One, we can put them on a pedastal where no man (or woman) belongs. Two, we can convince ourselves that greatness (whether in service, social justice, or even athletic achievement) is reserved for only a few, pre-ordained individuals.
Instead, we ought to look for the ways WE are called to be great. MLK once said that "everyone can be great because everyone can serve." He's absolutely right. And today, while we can celebrate President Obama's historic accomplishment and the direction our country may be headed under his leadership, we also must rally together, as President Obama called for today, to promote and provide for the common good. And above all, we must put our trust solely in God and not in this -- or any other -- man.
Today, President Obama referred to words from President Washington during the Revolution in the depths of winter when "nothing but hope and virtue could survive."
I concur that we need to turn to hope instead of fear. Desmond Tutu famously claimed that Christians are "prisoners of hope." Eschatological hope is what drives us forward and revives us in the face of finitude and sin. And finitude and sin are things none of us can escape. But it also doesn't let us off the hook in terms of our responsibility to love our neighbor, the stranger, and even our enemy.
But virtue cannot be lost on us, either. Not only is this my prayer for President Obama, but it is my prayer for each one of us (and especially myself -- again, I'm not writing this from a high horse). Aristotle's notion of virtue rests firmly on balance and moderation, and leads to ultimate fulfillment, flourishing, and happiness. Surely, in days like ours, virtue in general (that is, moral excellence), and virtues specifically (like fortitude, justice, prudence, and temperance) is precisely what we stand in need of.
So as we pray for our new president, let us also pray for ourselves. Let us ask God to bless us richly, bestow on us the gifts of the Holy Spirit, to revel in wisdom that discerns well, knowledge to do right, courage that acts and speaks with integrity, just commitment to compassion for all, humble service, and piety, praise, and awe for the Lord whom we trust in above all others. Let us see in the example of President Obama and hear in the echo of MLK that we are all called to be great because we are all called to serve.
As I wrote long ago, the election of President Obama is not about the end of racism or prejudice or injustice. It is not the end of fear or dirty politics. It is not the end of a government content with the status quo and concerned with the special interests of a few. It is not the end of anything. Instead, let it be a new beginning where we work with our government to create a world of liberty and justice for all.
But let us also be about humility, balance and moderation, moral excellence, and hope -- even if unsavory stories are to surface about President Obama, his cabinet, or our newly-elected government. Let us, in the words of Pope Benedict, place our hope ultimately in “God, who encompasses the whole of reality and who can bestow upon us what we, by ourselves, cannot attain.”
This is because God's "love alone gives us the possibility of soberly persevering day by day, without ceasing to be spurred on by hope, in a world which by its very nature is imperfect. His love is at the same time our guarantee of the existence of what we only vaguely sense and which nevertheless, in our deepest self, we await: a life that is ‘truly’ life" (Spe Salvi, #31).
That's because unlike the high which this inauguration has brought, our hope fixed on God will never fade, because God, unlike our human heroes and idols, will not disappoint. And to be sure, we cannot make hope our golden calf, either. Instead, let us rely also on virtue to be the means and ends to this "true life" that awaits us, and in the meantime, ceaseless work for liberty and justice for all.
Today, let us celebrate a historic feat and the start of a new era. And let us also affix our trust firmly on God and ask that His Holy Spirit guide our new president, our newly-elected government, and each one of us to, in the words of Jesus who quotes the prophet Isaiah,
"to bring good news to the poor ... to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord" (Luke 4:18-19).
After all, we're all God has to work with: earthen vessels (2 Cor. 4:7). We, like MLK, President Obama, and the countless leaders before them, are still finite and sinful. Nevertheless, "those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever" (Daniel 12:3). God doesn't just call the qualified. God qualifies the called.
And all of us are called to serve one another. Let's get to work!
And taken together with the celebrations of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. yesterday, I can't help but feel the surge in hope that we have come so far and our future is so bright.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Yesterday we celebrated a man who gave his life working for justice. We don't have many national holidays set aside for a single man (except Columbus, and one could argue Columbus might be one of the least-deserving men to have a day set aside for): all our war heroes share Memorial Day; all our great Presidents share Presidents' Day (though it is celebrated around Washington's alleged birthday); all our irreplaceable patriots get are celebrated on Independence Day. And although Dr. Martin Luther King did inspire a great civil rights movement, he was far from perfect.
In fact, King's legacy is rife with controversy. Some might believe it uncouth to discuss them; I think it's sobering to recall the truth. Some might know his story better than others: the night before he was assassinated, Dr. King was spending the night in a Memphis hotel with a prostitute, a temptation he was often unable to overcome. And in 1990, an academic council at Boston University confirmed that Dr. King plagiarized a great deal of his doctoral dissertation from the 1950s. They just didn't feel it right to strip a national hero of his PhD.
I'm not trying to slander Dr. King. We all have our heroes. And none of them are perfect. This is something we need to remember -- even on this historic day.
I'm not saying politicians and athletes deserve the same level of respect and tribute, but my first hero (after my dad, of course), was probably Michael Jordan. Like a lot of little boys my age, I loved watching what MJ could do on a basketball court and I read just about every article and book on him I could find. But there were few stories which would divulge MJ's late night escapades and addiction to gambling (which some believe was the root cause of his father's murder). Not too long ago, Charles Barkley was arrested for a DUI with a sky-high blood alcohol level and Mr. Barkley has often addressed his own struggles with gambling. Maybe this is a reason he was so dead-set against being called a role model?
Others aren't so uncomfortable with the idea. One particular man I came to respect and admire, Dwyane Wade (a classmate of mine at Marquette University), is currently undergoing a heart-breaking divorce from his high-school sweetheart. He has long been a darling of the media and NBA; just two years ago, he was named Father of the Year! And speaking of Wisconsin connections, in Packerland, we cannot forget Brett Favre's addiction to painkillers or Mark Chmura's demise thanks to (at least) one inappropriate night in a hot tub.
There is a long list of men who have accomplished great deeds but who were not always virtuous. I remember the debates in high school about whether or not President Clinton was a good president. After Monica Lewinsky, it was hard to argue on the basis of his morals; but what about his policies? Surely the instances of his sexual infidelity is not the first -- or last -- time that the great office has been tarnished. Our nation's sole Catholic President -- JFK -- is considered by some to be perhaps the worse offender.
And to be sure, our Scriptures are full of such stories, too. Moses was a murderer. David conspired to kill the man whose wife he slept with. And we have to know none of the first disciples -- or popes since -- were perfect. In fact the life of the saints just as well might be called the life of the sinners. God has no choice but to work through and with us -- earthen vessels -- to effect His grace in the world.
And that's my point: we all have our own demons; none of us are perfect. I'm not trying to sit in my glass house and throw stones. And I'm truly not seeking to sour this historic day. But I would like to inject a bit of realism into what has turned into a whole lot of frenzied idealization of this moment and this one man. We might have made Barack Obama a symbol of our hope for a brighter future, a better country, and a higher road, but he is still just a man. Just like you and me. I think there's a great danger in honoring men like JFK, MLK, or President Obama. One, we can put them on a pedastal where no man (or woman) belongs. Two, we can convince ourselves that greatness (whether in service, social justice, or even athletic achievement) is reserved for only a few, pre-ordained individuals.
Instead, we ought to look for the ways WE are called to be great. MLK once said that "everyone can be great because everyone can serve." He's absolutely right. And today, while we can celebrate President Obama's historic accomplishment and the direction our country may be headed under his leadership, we also must rally together, as President Obama called for today, to promote and provide for the common good. And above all, we must put our trust solely in God and not in this -- or any other -- man.
Today, President Obama referred to words from President Washington during the Revolution in the depths of winter when "nothing but hope and virtue could survive."
I concur that we need to turn to hope instead of fear. Desmond Tutu famously claimed that Christians are "prisoners of hope." Eschatological hope is what drives us forward and revives us in the face of finitude and sin. And finitude and sin are things none of us can escape. But it also doesn't let us off the hook in terms of our responsibility to love our neighbor, the stranger, and even our enemy.
But virtue cannot be lost on us, either. Not only is this my prayer for President Obama, but it is my prayer for each one of us (and especially myself -- again, I'm not writing this from a high horse). Aristotle's notion of virtue rests firmly on balance and moderation, and leads to ultimate fulfillment, flourishing, and happiness. Surely, in days like ours, virtue in general (that is, moral excellence), and virtues specifically (like fortitude, justice, prudence, and temperance) is precisely what we stand in need of.
So as we pray for our new president, let us also pray for ourselves. Let us ask God to bless us richly, bestow on us the gifts of the Holy Spirit, to revel in wisdom that discerns well, knowledge to do right, courage that acts and speaks with integrity, just commitment to compassion for all, humble service, and piety, praise, and awe for the Lord whom we trust in above all others. Let us see in the example of President Obama and hear in the echo of MLK that we are all called to be great because we are all called to serve.
As I wrote long ago, the election of President Obama is not about the end of racism or prejudice or injustice. It is not the end of fear or dirty politics. It is not the end of a government content with the status quo and concerned with the special interests of a few. It is not the end of anything. Instead, let it be a new beginning where we work with our government to create a world of liberty and justice for all.
But let us also be about humility, balance and moderation, moral excellence, and hope -- even if unsavory stories are to surface about President Obama, his cabinet, or our newly-elected government. Let us, in the words of Pope Benedict, place our hope ultimately in “God, who encompasses the whole of reality and who can bestow upon us what we, by ourselves, cannot attain.”
This is because God's "love alone gives us the possibility of soberly persevering day by day, without ceasing to be spurred on by hope, in a world which by its very nature is imperfect. His love is at the same time our guarantee of the existence of what we only vaguely sense and which nevertheless, in our deepest self, we await: a life that is ‘truly’ life" (Spe Salvi, #31).
That's because unlike the high which this inauguration has brought, our hope fixed on God will never fade, because God, unlike our human heroes and idols, will not disappoint. And to be sure, we cannot make hope our golden calf, either. Instead, let us rely also on virtue to be the means and ends to this "true life" that awaits us, and in the meantime, ceaseless work for liberty and justice for all.
Today, let us celebrate a historic feat and the start of a new era. And let us also affix our trust firmly on God and ask that His Holy Spirit guide our new president, our newly-elected government, and each one of us to, in the words of Jesus who quotes the prophet Isaiah,
"to bring good news to the poor ... to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord" (Luke 4:18-19).
After all, we're all God has to work with: earthen vessels (2 Cor. 4:7). We, like MLK, President Obama, and the countless leaders before them, are still finite and sinful. Nevertheless, "those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever" (Daniel 12:3). God doesn't just call the qualified. God qualifies the called.
And all of us are called to serve one another. Let's get to work!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
One Like Us
When I was little, I hated when, after the homily, my parish priest would walk over to the baptismal font instead of returning to his seat.
"Oh, no." I thought. A baptism. That means Mass is going to be even longer.
Why couldn't these people be more considerate? Didn't they know that Mass was long enough? Couldn't they wait until after Mass to have their kid baptized?
Thinking back to how annoyed I was about baptism during Mass, I have to laugh. Not only is this pretty selfish, it's actually bad theology. The whole point of baptism, besides the remission of sins, is the entrance rite. Baptism is how we enter into the church. What better way to incorporate a new member into our faith community than during the celebration of the Eucharist, the "source and summit" of the Christian life?
I couldn't help but think about this during today's liturgy, since in the Gospel (Mt. 1:7-11), Jesus gets baptized.
Wait a second.
Baptism is a Christian Sacrament. Why would Jesus ask John the Baptist to be submerged in the Jordan River like all the other Jews who were flocking to John (remember the Gospel from the first week of Advent?) to be cleansed of sin?
This is a short but complex passage. And it's one that gives us rich insight into Jesus' identity and mission.
First of all, because Christ is "like us in all things but sin" (cf. Phil. 2:7) baptism as the remission of original sin is unnecessary for Jesus. But as we just mentioned, baptism -- then and now -- is not only about remission of sin, but also about entrance into community. This epiphany ("This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased") is not only about the divinity of Jesus, but also his humanity: Jesus himself sets the example for his disciples, both in being received into the larger community and also He "became and fulfilled all righteousness" (Mt. 3:15). This humbling and kenotic (self-emptying) gesture also foreshadows the Cross (for more about this, consult the Catechism of the Catholic Church, #1223-1226).
Secondly, it's significant that the baptism of Christ takes place in the Jordan River. In the Old Testament, Joshua leads the Israelites into the Promised Land by crossing the Jordan. This river (like the Red Sea in Exodus) represents the chaos and death that Yahweh delivers His people from. Again, this passage points to the crucifixion (the ultimate experience of chaos and death as God Who is Love gives His life for the salvation of all), in which Jesus enters the waters of the Jordan to lead us to the Promised Land: heaven.
It's no coincidence that Jesus and Joshua come from the same name in Hebrew (which means "God saves"). Joshua is a man who is faithful to God and leads God's chosen people to their destined land; Jesus is the Word of God incarnate who beckons ALL people to their destiny, which is everlasting life in union with God (heaven).
But Jesus does not do this from on high, out of reach of humanity. The Christ Hymn in Philippians 2:5-11 is likely the oldest passage in the New Testament. It is our earliest Christology, reminding us that,
"though he was in the form of God, [Jesus] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."
Finally, then, this epiphany is -- as Rahner describes the Incarnation as God's irreversible commitment to all humanity -- a sign of Jesus' solidarity with us. Yes, the appearance of the dove and the voice from heaven speak to the fact that Jesus is God and God saves. But the MAN Jesus saves through self-emptying, through self-gift, through solidarity. Jesus becomes one like us to show us in the clearest way possible how to cross through chaos on death to eternal life.
So what does this mean for us? Yes, we have been saved. But not by some high and mighty God who is too good for us, who cannot relate to us, or who is ultimately apathetic about human destiny. We have been saved by a God who is so desperately in love with us that He takes human form to become one of us and show us the way.
And as the way (and the truth and the life), Jesus' identity and mission shows us that the key here is solidarity. It's about accompanying one another on the journey because faith and salvation are not just personal concerns. My relationship with God is not private, not only vertical; it is also communal and public and horizontal. We need both transepts of the cross: the vertical and the horizontal. And Jesus' baptism in the Jordan is a prelude to his whole life and ministry which will demonstrate exactly that.
The One like us is the first one to remind us that yes, "God saves." What is more, that faith in God begins with solidarity with all.
After all, we're in this together. And that's why now, I love baptisms during Mass.
"Oh, no." I thought. A baptism. That means Mass is going to be even longer.
Why couldn't these people be more considerate? Didn't they know that Mass was long enough? Couldn't they wait until after Mass to have their kid baptized?
Thinking back to how annoyed I was about baptism during Mass, I have to laugh. Not only is this pretty selfish, it's actually bad theology. The whole point of baptism, besides the remission of sins, is the entrance rite. Baptism is how we enter into the church. What better way to incorporate a new member into our faith community than during the celebration of the Eucharist, the "source and summit" of the Christian life?
I couldn't help but think about this during today's liturgy, since in the Gospel (Mt. 1:7-11), Jesus gets baptized.
Wait a second.
Baptism is a Christian Sacrament. Why would Jesus ask John the Baptist to be submerged in the Jordan River like all the other Jews who were flocking to John (remember the Gospel from the first week of Advent?) to be cleansed of sin?
This is a short but complex passage. And it's one that gives us rich insight into Jesus' identity and mission.
First of all, because Christ is "like us in all things but sin" (cf. Phil. 2:7) baptism as the remission of original sin is unnecessary for Jesus. But as we just mentioned, baptism -- then and now -- is not only about remission of sin, but also about entrance into community. This epiphany ("This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased") is not only about the divinity of Jesus, but also his humanity: Jesus himself sets the example for his disciples, both in being received into the larger community and also He "became and fulfilled all righteousness" (Mt. 3:15). This humbling and kenotic (self-emptying) gesture also foreshadows the Cross (for more about this, consult the Catechism of the Catholic Church, #1223-1226).
Secondly, it's significant that the baptism of Christ takes place in the Jordan River. In the Old Testament, Joshua leads the Israelites into the Promised Land by crossing the Jordan. This river (like the Red Sea in Exodus) represents the chaos and death that Yahweh delivers His people from. Again, this passage points to the crucifixion (the ultimate experience of chaos and death as God Who is Love gives His life for the salvation of all), in which Jesus enters the waters of the Jordan to lead us to the Promised Land: heaven.
It's no coincidence that Jesus and Joshua come from the same name in Hebrew (which means "God saves"). Joshua is a man who is faithful to God and leads God's chosen people to their destined land; Jesus is the Word of God incarnate who beckons ALL people to their destiny, which is everlasting life in union with God (heaven).
But Jesus does not do this from on high, out of reach of humanity. The Christ Hymn in Philippians 2:5-11 is likely the oldest passage in the New Testament. It is our earliest Christology, reminding us that,
"though he was in the form of God, [Jesus] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."
Finally, then, this epiphany is -- as Rahner describes the Incarnation as God's irreversible commitment to all humanity -- a sign of Jesus' solidarity with us. Yes, the appearance of the dove and the voice from heaven speak to the fact that Jesus is God and God saves. But the MAN Jesus saves through self-emptying, through self-gift, through solidarity. Jesus becomes one like us to show us in the clearest way possible how to cross through chaos on death to eternal life.
So what does this mean for us? Yes, we have been saved. But not by some high and mighty God who is too good for us, who cannot relate to us, or who is ultimately apathetic about human destiny. We have been saved by a God who is so desperately in love with us that He takes human form to become one of us and show us the way.
And as the way (and the truth and the life), Jesus' identity and mission shows us that the key here is solidarity. It's about accompanying one another on the journey because faith and salvation are not just personal concerns. My relationship with God is not private, not only vertical; it is also communal and public and horizontal. We need both transepts of the cross: the vertical and the horizontal. And Jesus' baptism in the Jordan is a prelude to his whole life and ministry which will demonstrate exactly that.
The One like us is the first one to remind us that yes, "God saves." What is more, that faith in God begins with solidarity with all.
After all, we're in this together. And that's why now, I love baptisms during Mass.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
The First Step
A new year brings thoughts of a clean slate, new beginnings, new outlooks, and new promises. I always love hearing what people resolve to do differently -- and then watch how long that lasts. We really aren't that comfortable with change. And boy are we bad at incorporating it into our lives.
Experts (well, at least people who study this kind of thing -- I don't know what would qualify someone to be an expert in change) say that to make something a habit you have to do it 21 times. I'm not sure how accurate that is, but it is interesting to think about what our minds and bodies need to develop new routines or perspectives or commitments.
But sometimes we are changed without trying. Most of the time this is due to some external event which is either catastrophic or so completely compelling that we cannot bear to return to our old way of life. I know people who have quit smoking or drinking or even speeding because of a single event in their lives. It's almost as if they had a "Eureka!" moment, saw the light, and were converted -- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
These are rare but effective experiences of conversion. And when I think of conversion, I think of the life of the saints, people who, like Paul or Augustine, can pin-point a single incontrovertible "God experience" which turned their hearts toward faith in Him.
But most of us are more like James than Paul. We were born in the faith. We were raised in the faith. And more often than not, we attribute our faith more to comfort or routine or identity than anything else. The trouble is, once faith becomes a routine, it has lost the centrality of its meaning. Faith is about our "Yes" to God and to living out the Greatest Commandment: to love our God with all our heart and all our soul and our mind. It's hard to do that when we compartmentalize faith into one hour on Sunday or find ourselves just going through the motions.
So what do we do about this? Especially now, in this time of year when we envision big, impressive ways to change our lives.
I think that's what today (the Feast of the Epiphany) is about. Today we celebrate the magi tracing the star in the sky to find Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. And boy, the Holy Family must have been surprised to have the magi find them -- they were hanging out in a manger in a field outside a village they didn't even live in. But thanks to the magi's attentiveness to the sky, they were able to recognize the discontinuity in the pattern, the break in the routine, and do something about it.
It's what some people call a "Moses moment," as in when Moses saw the burning bush. The biblical text suggests that Moses was physically drawn to the bush when he says, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush does not burn" (Ex. 3:3).
In this instance, God used the burning bush to get Moses' attention. In the case of the Gospel today (Mt. 2:1-12), God uses the star in the sky to draw the magi toward Christ. Last week it was Simeon and Anna who were drawn to Christ in the temple, faithful people who went out of their way to acknowledge God in their midst.
And that's what epiphany means: to appear. God shows up and is made present to us. This is what we call revelation: God's self-communication to us. We treasure its record in Scripture and in the tradition, through the lived experience of the communion of saints.
But the key here is that this epiphany requires something of us. Moses could have walked past the burning bush; the magi could have ignored the star; Simeon and Anna could have been so focused on worship in the temple that they merely missed the Christ child in the crowd. But they didn't. Why?
First, because they were attentive. Watchful. Ready. And open. And even though, as we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany in 2009, we might feel well-removed from the original experience, the ritual of re-reading the story of the magi and sitting with this passage from Scripture urges us to be attentive today.
Second, they were moved to act. And I don't mean in some radical way -- at least at first. Moses just walked over to the bush. This would eventually lead him to liberate the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, but it just started with a closer look. And a closer look is exactly what the magi wanted, which is why they traveled thousands of miles to the shepherds' fields outside Bethlehem. So whether God's communication of God's self requires a few steps -- or a gigantic journey -- the point is to take that first step.
This is because God's self-manifestation is an invitation to a more intimate relationship. It is not only drawing us towards, but drawing us in. We are called to share in the mystery of the Divine Life, a communion of love. I have written before that God is wildly in love with us and desperately seeks to be in a relationship with us. But this requires us to make use of our free will and enter this relationship. That means being attentive (so as not to miss the invitation), and then taking the first step to get a better look.
It's the start of a life-long journey, one of countless steps. But, as Confucius said, even the journey of a thousand steps begins with just one.
The epiphany is to get our attention, to get us to notice that God IS present. But unless we look for it and take that first step, we'll just keep minding our own business, miss the whole point, and remain content in our mundane routine. And a lot of people do that. Thank God Moses and the magi didn't.
Experts (well, at least people who study this kind of thing -- I don't know what would qualify someone to be an expert in change) say that to make something a habit you have to do it 21 times. I'm not sure how accurate that is, but it is interesting to think about what our minds and bodies need to develop new routines or perspectives or commitments.
But sometimes we are changed without trying. Most of the time this is due to some external event which is either catastrophic or so completely compelling that we cannot bear to return to our old way of life. I know people who have quit smoking or drinking or even speeding because of a single event in their lives. It's almost as if they had a "Eureka!" moment, saw the light, and were converted -- no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
These are rare but effective experiences of conversion. And when I think of conversion, I think of the life of the saints, people who, like Paul or Augustine, can pin-point a single incontrovertible "God experience" which turned their hearts toward faith in Him.
But most of us are more like James than Paul. We were born in the faith. We were raised in the faith. And more often than not, we attribute our faith more to comfort or routine or identity than anything else. The trouble is, once faith becomes a routine, it has lost the centrality of its meaning. Faith is about our "Yes" to God and to living out the Greatest Commandment: to love our God with all our heart and all our soul and our mind. It's hard to do that when we compartmentalize faith into one hour on Sunday or find ourselves just going through the motions.
So what do we do about this? Especially now, in this time of year when we envision big, impressive ways to change our lives.
I think that's what today (the Feast of the Epiphany) is about. Today we celebrate the magi tracing the star in the sky to find Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. And boy, the Holy Family must have been surprised to have the magi find them -- they were hanging out in a manger in a field outside a village they didn't even live in. But thanks to the magi's attentiveness to the sky, they were able to recognize the discontinuity in the pattern, the break in the routine, and do something about it.
It's what some people call a "Moses moment," as in when Moses saw the burning bush. The biblical text suggests that Moses was physically drawn to the bush when he says, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush does not burn" (Ex. 3:3).
In this instance, God used the burning bush to get Moses' attention. In the case of the Gospel today (Mt. 2:1-12), God uses the star in the sky to draw the magi toward Christ. Last week it was Simeon and Anna who were drawn to Christ in the temple, faithful people who went out of their way to acknowledge God in their midst.
And that's what epiphany means: to appear. God shows up and is made present to us. This is what we call revelation: God's self-communication to us. We treasure its record in Scripture and in the tradition, through the lived experience of the communion of saints.
But the key here is that this epiphany requires something of us. Moses could have walked past the burning bush; the magi could have ignored the star; Simeon and Anna could have been so focused on worship in the temple that they merely missed the Christ child in the crowd. But they didn't. Why?
First, because they were attentive. Watchful. Ready. And open. And even though, as we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany in 2009, we might feel well-removed from the original experience, the ritual of re-reading the story of the magi and sitting with this passage from Scripture urges us to be attentive today.
Second, they were moved to act. And I don't mean in some radical way -- at least at first. Moses just walked over to the bush. This would eventually lead him to liberate the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt, but it just started with a closer look. And a closer look is exactly what the magi wanted, which is why they traveled thousands of miles to the shepherds' fields outside Bethlehem. So whether God's communication of God's self requires a few steps -- or a gigantic journey -- the point is to take that first step.
This is because God's self-manifestation is an invitation to a more intimate relationship. It is not only drawing us towards, but drawing us in. We are called to share in the mystery of the Divine Life, a communion of love. I have written before that God is wildly in love with us and desperately seeks to be in a relationship with us. But this requires us to make use of our free will and enter this relationship. That means being attentive (so as not to miss the invitation), and then taking the first step to get a better look.
It's the start of a life-long journey, one of countless steps. But, as Confucius said, even the journey of a thousand steps begins with just one.
The epiphany is to get our attention, to get us to notice that God IS present. But unless we look for it and take that first step, we'll just keep minding our own business, miss the whole point, and remain content in our mundane routine. And a lot of people do that. Thank God Moses and the magi didn't.
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