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Feast of All Saints Meditation

When Jesus first walked among the crowds speaking the Beatitudes, the promises he made must have seemed astonishing. But Christians throughout history have recorded their own astonishment at the amazing fulfillment of what must have at first seemed utterly outlandish.

While many people are struck dumb by the gifts they have received, others are inarticulate. They may feel the amazement, but putting it in words is the work of the poets. So Raymond Carver, who died at fifty, marveled that the last ten years of his life were “gravy.” Because of his alcoholism, he had received a terminal diagnosis at age forty. The love of poet Tess Gallagher, with her encouragement to stop drinking, bought him years he never thought he’d see.

C.S. Lewis explains the thinking behind the Beatitudes:

“If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Metaphorically, then do we settle for living in a dark, damp basement when we could be enjoying the five star resort?

Gospel for 9/21/14: Mt. 20:1-16

This weekend’s gospel is a good one to read when we get snippy about how much we’ve done for others, overlooking how much God has done for us. Before we get our hackles up over the rampant injustice of paying the Johnny-Come-Latelys the same as those who sweated in the sun all day, let’s reconsider.

While we may think we’ve done great things for God, we may need a little remedial arithmetic too. How could we put a price on our health, our faith, the simple accidents of our birth? Even those who may not have had ideal circumstances can still point to other blessings: a safe and beautiful world, a caring teacher or social worker, friends, inborn gifts. What about God’s continued care, a steady stream of goodness even in the worst situation? As we reflect on our blessings we may find ourselves in the position of someone who paid out $100, but who inherited billions. What’s the right response? Gratitude.

What we think is a huge disappointment—the job we didn’t get, the love who married someone else—may, from God’s viewpoint, be an entry into something or someone far better. God sees the opportunity in what we see as the setback. While we fret and fume over what’s immediate, God takes the long view. (We may have experienced a bit of that when, months after an event, we understand why it happened, or years later, see a wrong rectified.)

God also sees far beyond silly feuds and denominational differences. In his last testament, Father Christian de Cherge, a Trappist monk killed in 2006 by extremists in Algeria, described this perspective: “at last I will be able…to see the children of Islam as [God] sees them, illuminated in the glory of Christ…whose secret joy will always be to bring forth our common humanity amidst our differences.” A lifetime of trying to find the harmonious notes between Islam and Christianity may have taught de Cherge the perspective of One who created and loved all children equally.

Even if the tunes playing in our heads are flat, uninspiring or discordant, God’s orchestra is tuning up, God’s blazingly magnificent design is slowly unfolding. In God’s symphony, no note is amiss; each is meticulously planned. The cymbals are thrumming, the trumpets are heralding God’s beloved daughter or son—moi! We may feel stuck in a dead-end job or relationship, but God is saying in the words of Jeremiah 29:11, “For surely I know the plans I have for you…plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”

If we could see as God does, we’d marvel at the intricate design of a grapefruit or orange, the star-shaped pattern of seeds in an apple. We wouldn’t rob ourselves of our own experience through haste or inattention. Instead, we’d see as God did at creation: that it was very good. Thomas Merton writes that if the seeds God plants in my freedom take root in good soil, “I would become the love that [God] is” and “my harvest would be God’s glory and my joy.” And THAT is certainly worth seeing.

What would it be like to see the world and ourselves as God does? Of course we have only glimmers and hints of this vantage point, but it’s helpful to entertain the perspective, even briefly and dimly.

And perhaps it’s not that way-out/crazy. Some of the finest insights in scripture are expressed as ways of seeing.  “I have seen the Lord,” Mary Magdalene told the other disciples, in disarmingly simple words. (This was, after all, the Lord they had seen crucified, then entombed, lifeless.) Later, the other disciples would echo her, telling Thomas who had been absent: “We have seen the Lord” (John 20: 25). These words become the distinctive signature of every Christian, as we see Jesus in the circumstances of life, each other, and the beauty of our world. Recognizing even the faintest traces of his face, we rejoice.

Through God’s lens, we might come to see ourselves as “friends of God and prophets” (Wisdom 7:27). God views us not as estranged relatives who live at some distance, but as close FRIENDS who share in God’s holiness. Jesus repeated this during his last supper: “I do not call you servants any longer because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends” (John 15:15).

To appreciate this intimacy, think of your best friends. With them, you can be silly, relaxed, often wrong, but OK with flubbing it now and then. Thankfully, they don’t delay friendship ‘til you’ve got your act completely together. With them, you can laugh, cry and endure a lot of Ordinary Time.

If we see ourselves as God’s friends, it removes the pressure. No longer do we fumble for the absolutely perfect wording of prayer. Do we turn to the script in a book when addressing a friend? So, with God we can be honest, outrageous, fussy, overjoyed, troubled, tired, angry, perplexed, exuberant, numb, humorous. We can stand firmly anywhere on the broad gamut of human thought and emotion, confident in a listening friend. 

Seeing as God does places our most humiliating failures, stupid mistakes and embarrassing gaffes in a new light. While we may clench our teeth and agonize over those, God dismisses them with an airy wave. “Oh, that?” God says. “Forgot it several eons ago, somewhere back before Tyrannosaurus.” 

For God’s sense of time is broad and deep. One way to appreciate it is to try remembering what we worried about three years ago. For most people, that’s a stretch. So too, God may see the formidable obstacle that blocks the path right now and dismisses it as less important than dandelion fluff.

To be continued….

This is the first time I’ve ever reviewed a book for the website, but this book deserves high praise. I’ll admit I haven’t always been the greatest Rolheiser fan, enjoying Holy Longing and his on-line columns, but finding him quite male, quite clerical.

That bias changed with the newest book. He begins with the question Teresa of Avila posed to those approaching their later years:

“When one reaches the highest degree of human maturity, one has only one question left: How can I be helpful?”

He explores many responses to that question, with one of the finest being the chapter on blessing. How often we squelch exuberance and deny joy: that’s Rolheiser’s definition of the curse (rather wittily contrasted to the abuse we heap on our computers when they have a meltdown). Instead, our response should be like God’s, blessing: “In you I take delight.”  I especially like his image of the “final picture of human and Christian development”: not the suffering martyr, but a blessing grandparent, beaming with pride and radiating the Creator’s energy, “Indeed, it is very good.”  

A practical tip I’ll remember for prayer, and include in my talks on prayer: when one prays with hurt, for instance about the death of a loved one, it’s tempting to focus on the loss. But the result will often be a greater obsession with “that from which you are trying to free yourself.” Instead, focus on God. Difficult as that is, it’s an opportunity for God to gently “widen again the scope of your heart and mind.” Rolheiser uses the lovely image of the wounded child climbing into the parent’s lap, simply content to be held. One final line I cherish: the holiest person you know is the most grateful person you know.

No beach read, this is one to savor slowly, pausing often and relating it to personal experience. I’m a bit of a cynic about much of the spirituality that appears in print now, but this one is genuinely worth a long, reflective stretch of time.

 For Good Shepherd Sunday

Gracious God, you

who sent Jesus

to shepherd your people,

send us leaders now

who guide with courage

and imagination. When

we are in leadership roles,

give us the strength of

the Good Shepherd.

And especially in spring,

help us appreciate the

beauties of green pastures,

flowing water, tiny leaves

and budding branches.

And just when we think

winter won’t end, a sliver

of light, a bird’s flute solo,

a tentative poke of green.

Thank God for sun on skin,

the pink bud opening to lilac,

rains that gild the branches.

Praise God for dandelion yellow,

pale coral, indigo, speckled petal

and new leaf tinged with red.

For warmth and bikes, ice cream

and longer light. As You transform

the earth, touch us too with

resurrection joy.