Reflecting on Jn. 6: 1-15

Remember Joey on Friends? He loved women, would do anything he could think of to attract them, and was thrilled to take a beautiful woman out to dinner. Unless, of course, she tried to taste anything on his plate, or share his French fries.

I don’t share food! he would shout. This was his non-negotiable. She could have anything of his that she wanted. But she couldn’t have his food.

We live in a culture of abundance, but we buy into the myth of scarcity. So what if she shared his dessert? He could always buy another one, and they could share that too. But Joey was loathe to venture out of his unconscious fear of not getting enough.  Even if it meant insulting his beautiful date, some things were just sacrosanct. When it comes to food, what’s mine is mine.

Protecting our food source is, of course, one of the strongest drives of the unconscious. And into that primordial pull steps Jesus, who says, “Have the people recline.” For just that moment, the five thousand who crossed the lake to find him would not be forced to leave because they were hungry. They could stay, reclining on the “green grass” so reminiscent of their beloved Psalm 23, “He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

Ah. So Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Jesus feeds his flock. After he blesses the five loaves and two fish―such a miserable catch for the enormous crowd― the myth of scarcity dissolves in front of their eyes. All are fed. There is plenty of bread.

There are more than enough resources in this world for all to be fed. Only then can we truly be friends.

Have you ever noticed that you eat less when you are enjoying the companionship of friends?

Reflecting on Mark 6: 30-34

I was lucky. Unlike the majority of my peers growing up in the fifties, I learned many of the stories in scripture through a beautiful children’s bible that we took off the shelves every Friday afternoon at St. Vincent de Paul Grade School. The illustrations, the stories, the connections with real life grabbed me by the heart. That fascination has never left me.

Then I got lucky again. Sr. Macrina Scott―she of blessed memory―created the acclaimed Catholic Biblical School just in time for me to spend the rest of my life utterly mesmerized by the endless depth and breadth of the scriptures, and the insights of those who teach it.

When I started learning scripture I was just like the people longing to get close to Jesus and the Twelve. What a scene that is. Jesus tells the exhausted apostles to come away with him to a “deserted spot” so they might rest from their long journey. But the crowds, so hungry for the word of God, “hasten on foot” to meet them there. Maybe you’ve had this same experience while trying to escape your kids for just a few minutes?

When I stand in front of “great numbers of people” who long to learn the scriptures, I tremble at my great good “luck” again. But I am moved with pity for all the people who are intrigued by something they’ve  heard at Mass during the scripture readings, but haven’t known where to go, or whom to talk to, to open up the deeper meaning.

Are you starving for a more intimate grasp of the scriptures? Proceed with caution. Take it from me, once you start investigating the gospels you’ll have a hunger that never goes away.

What passage of scripture most intrigues you?

Reflecting on Mk. 6:7-13

Take nothing with you, Jesus said.  No money, no food, no walking stick. The Twelve would be completely at the mercy of those who extended hospitality towards them.

Have you ever spent a night, or even a few hours, away from home without your driver’s license, your credit card, your phone and your car keys? This “immersion experience” is employed by many religious communities as an opportunity for their novices to share, even for a very short time, the helplessness of those who live on the street.

I remember that scene from The Hiding Place, when the Nazis stormed in to Corrie ten Boom’s home. Unsuccessful in their search for the rumored “secret room,” they arrested Corrie and her family. She had anticipated this night, of course, and had her bag packed with some treasured photographs, her nightgown, a change of clothes, and some aspirin.

What a comfort that aspirin would have been. She was suffering from influenza the night of her arrest. But the bag happened to be propped up against the hidden closet. Fearful that some tell-tale article of clothing might be hanging out from the hastily closed secret door, she left her bag behind. Of all the heroic actions she took to save the many precious lives hiding in that room, that’s the one that touches me the most. She was now, sick and aging, utterly without any of the comforts she had hoped to take with her to the camps.

Except for one. She had the companionship of Christ, who gave up heaven in order to be one with us on earth. That trumps the sacrifice of a night on the street without a cell phone.

In what ways have you experienced solidarity with those who have nothing?

Reflecting on 2 Cor. 12: 7-10

Okay, St. Paul, I admit it. I’m curious. What exactly WAS your “thorn in the flesh”? I mean, you brought it up. It can now be admitted as evidence. What so tormented you that you begged the Lord three times to take it from you?

Some contemporary cultural cues set in. Hmm. Did you have an eating addiction? Could you not leave the hummus and pita alone? It seems unlikely, since you voluntarily traveled thousands of miles away from the cities that were a secure source of food in order to bring Jesus to the most remote parts of the Roman Empire. I need to know where the refrigerator is at all times, but you willingly put long distances between yourself and the comforts of food for the entire second half of your life.

Or maybe you were lonely, and were tempted to leave the mission fields behind in order to have a wife and family. That’s a significant “thorn.” You worked with married couples throughout the empire, and must have envied the consolation they provided for each other. And you were always meeting and working with women who have no husbands! Lydia, for example, was a successful businesswoman and your first convert in Europe. At her insistence you stayed at her house after you baptized her. Was it love for her about which you begged to be free?

Or did you struggle with alcoholism? Were there three episodes during your missionary life when you over-indulged, and then begged to never touch another drop? If so, you are in the company of millions and millions of people who have “taken the pledge” too.

I find it immensely helpful just knowing that you struggled with something. Thanks for sharing.

What successes have you had against your own “thorn in the flesh”?

Reflecting on Mark 5: 21-43

Ah. Here it is again. Every time it shocks me to the core. St. Mark gives us a fascinating account, loaded with hidden meanings, of the healing of two females within a few moments of each other.

Find yourself somewhere in this story. I believe that is exactly what Mark intended.

Jesus meant to stay by the sea. But the synagogue official, terrified of his daughter’s sudden illness, begged him to change his plans. You’ve been there too, haven’t you? You’ve allowed your time and your plans to be changed on a dime when someone has needed you.

And perhaps you’ve also been the frantic relative, begging Jesus to heal your loved one. There is no terror like that of a parent whose child is desperately ill. Have you been there?

And I’ll bet you’ve also been that hemorrhaging woman, exhausted from chronic illness, worn out from endless doctor’s visits, still in pain, still a burden to your loved ones. Maybe it’s that nagging back pain, or arthritis, or the old football injury that makes your mornings so painful. You know what it’s like to long for healing.

And haven’t you also been the suffering child? Was there a time when you were miserable with illness, and your parents dropped everything to get you to the doctor? I will never forget the earache that came on during fourth-grade long division. (Both memories can still give me a stomachache.) Whoosh came my mom into class. Whoosh came the doctor, and the blessed shot, and blessed relief.

I think that Jesus, the Healer, has changed his plans today, and is heading your way. Go out to meet him.

How do you position yourself in order to be healed?

Reflecting on Mk. 4:35-41

Some of my happiest moments in recent memory have been during the extravagant rains and thunderstorms in Colorado these past many weeks.  Is there anything as heavenly as being snug in bed when the skies open, and thunder roars, and lightning turns the dark sky to mid-day, then back again?

It’s thrilling to stand out on the porch and watch gallons of water pour down on our green, green lawn.  The neighbors all wave and point to the skies. Nature is so cool, isn’t it?

Except when it isn’t. Except when floods roar through narrow mountain canyons, or hurricanes break levees, or tropical storms cause biblical mudslides, or earthquakes trigger tsunamis that drown tens of thousands of people.

The ancients had it right. The sea isn’t that charmingly domesticated lake where we take the family vacation. The sea is chaos, and rage, and is stunningly indifferent to the terrors one might feel, say, on a boat on the Galilee when a violent squall sends waves crashing over the side.

We can stand in the safety of our covered porches and glory in the wildness of creation, but one day our own sufferings will send the raging sea straight at us. When the tsunamis of uncontrolled pain, or heartbreaking  loss, or the indignities of lonely old age sweep over us like a bitter wave over the sides of our boats, we’ll  do what the disciples did.

We’ll call out to the One who knows our pain. He who participated in our suffering by experiencing the chaos of the cross, and through it became our safe port in the storm, is the reason we know for sure that nothing can separate us from God’s love.

In what ways do you sense the nearness of God in the midst of fear?

Reflecting on Mark 4:26-34

This is how it is with the kingdom of God. When morning dawns, with birdsong and gracious light, we say “Thank you.”  At mid-day, looking over the tasks ahead (and the health we have to perform them) we bow and say “Thank you.” At night, when the cool air and the evening rains restore us and the earth, we lift up our hearts and say “Thank you.”

And so the years unfold.  In childhood, we exult in wonder at the chick breaking open the egg, at the blade that pulls out of the earth and into the sun, at the deliciousness of swimming pools, and wet grass, and fluffy white clouds telling stories in the sky.

As we age, we partner with God in the re-creation of these gifts. We take careful watch over our food sources, always grateful, always conservative. We revel in the beauty of the earth.  We bring children into this radiant world, and plant our grateful hearts into theirs.

And when we come to die, when we rush through that tunnel towards the Light, we remember every delicious ear of corn, every velvet summer night, every sweet baby’s kiss, every beautiful song we ever heard. We remember the faces of all of our funny and kind friends, and, if we were so blessed in this life―for we will all surely be blessed in the next―the inexpressible bliss of our beloved’s arms around ours.

As we are embraced by the Light we melt into the warmth of the endless ocean of love that surrounds us. The fruit of our lives is an eternity of wonder.

How? We do not know. But it begins and ends with “Thank you.”

What is the most wonder-full thing in your life right now?

Is it wrong that what I most remember about my First Communion is what we had to eat afterwards? I have lots of pictures of my beautiful dress, but I wish someone had taken a picture of the great food at the party after Mass. Unforgettable!

After Mass, Sister Vivian led our huge First Communion class into the school cafeteria, magically transformed with balloons and beautiful tablecloths. There were little paper cups of mints and nuts at each place, pancakes and scrambled eggs, tiny glasses of orange juice, and even little cups of hot chocolate. Heaven.

The truth is, I remember the food at all the sacraments of my youth. At my baby brother’s baptism party, held in our garage, we had platters of sloppy joes and chips, and that most blessed of childhood memories, chocolate cake and homemade ice cream. Confirmation was spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, brownies and ice cream, and Shirley Temples for the new soldiers in Christ.

Don’t you just love sacraments? Just thinking about them makes me hungry.

I hope you feel hungry today on this great feast day of the Body and Blood of Jesus. The Eucharist is the Mother of all sacraments. And guess what? It relies on food―real Bread, real Wine―to make Jesus Really Present.  For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink (John 6:55).

I knew it at age six, walking into that lovely cafeteria with beaming parents and sweet pancakes. I’ve known it at every sacramental party of my life.

It’s all about food―real food that sustains real people, hungry for a relationship with the Real Jesus.

Sacraments make me hungry. They’re supposed to. Happy Feast Day, Church.

What is your favorite memory of food at a sacramental celebration?

The best things come in threes, it seems to me.  Let’s see. The sun, the moon, and the stars all seem to go together.  They are all beautiful, and give light, and fascinate us.

Families come in threes. It takes a mother and a father to create the third person in the family, the child, who is the combination of both of them, with about a billion individual characteristics thrown in for good measure.

The day is divided into three sections: morning, noon, and night. Our basic necessities seem easily divided into food, clothing, and shelter.  St. Paul noted that the greatest virtues are three: faith, hope, and charity. There were three magi who sought the Christ Child, and at his most intimate moments with the Father, Jesus invited Peter, James and John to be with him.

Time is divided into past, present, and future. We enjoy breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  And at those meals we generally use a knife, a fork, and a spoon.

One voice is beautiful, but add another on top and a third underneath and you’ve got a trio―God’s own music.  Think of the Andrews Sisters. The Three Tenors.  Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. Now there is some great music.

It takes three branches of our government to keep the country from imploding. And, of course, it took three ships sailing the ocean blue to “discover” this land in 1492. That’s right, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria.

This feast of the Holy Trinity just resonates with us because our human clock seems to be set for threes. When we talk about God, we somehow think in threes.

I’m hungry. How about a BLT?

Do you have some significant threes in your life?

Hey, Holy Spirit, come over here.

You created this world, and all we hold dear.

We live in deep gratitude, but just now and then.

Come, Holy Spirit, renew us again.

First, give us new eyes to see how our sin

Has helped lay the groundwork for evil to win.

We gasp at a distance at terrible things

But won’t own the deeds our own apathy brings.

The suffering in Syria, the graves in Iraq,

And so many martyrs, we try not to keep track.

Come, Holy Spirit, breathe peace to the world.

And please, Holy Spirit, #BringBackOurGirls.

We weep for the suffering lives in Nepal.

Oh hover there, Spirit, and comfort them all.

And for plane wrecks, and train wrecks, and violent deaths,

Oh Spirit, draw near with Your soul-stirring Breath.

Pour into us, Spirit, infuse us with grace.

We promise again to stay true to the race.

Hold us and mold us, create us anew.

There’s no stopping what those who live for You will do.