Reflecting on Mt. 3: 13-17

Sometimes I find a word that seems to follow me around until I pay attention to it.  For many years now that word for me has been “yield”.

Yield.  It’s a word so full of grace that we need to just lean into it, just rest with it and let its mysterious comfort seep into us.  What would it be like if we allowed ourselves to yield in our family relationships and, mercifully, allowed each of our flawed siblings and parents and children to just be themselves?  The truth is, in a thousand ways unknown to us they have yielded in their desire to change us over the years too.

Jesus began his public ministry not by teaching or healing, but by yielding.  He yielded to the chilly waters of the Jordan, though before the beginning of time he shaped the mountains whose snows would feed that river.  He yielded to time and place and asked John to baptize him, though John was astonished that the sinless One would allow such an irony.

John had to yield too.  He would have much preferred to be baptized by Jesus, but he “allowed” it, he yielded to it, because Jesus asked him to.  He immediately received the graces from yielding, because then he witnessed the heavens opening and the announcement of Jesus as the Beloved Son of God.

Is there a chronic sadness or dis-ease in your life because you keep going over and over the mistakes you’ve made, or the injustices you’ve experienced, long ago?  Aren’t you tired yet? Try giving up the struggle.  Yield.  And then watch peace flow like a river.

Have you experienced a recent grace from “yielding”?

Reflecting on Mt. 2: 1-12

Lately, I’ve been playing some brain games from Lumosity.com. I like the one that challenges me to look at things differently in order to solve a puzzle.  When I try to solve it from my narrow perspective I lose.  But when I open my eyes to a new direction, suddenly the solution appears, and is so easy that I wonder how I didn’t see it before.

The Magi were great at that.  They were probably Persians, searching the skies for astrological signs, when they saw this compelling Star, and were so drawn to it that they left everything to follow it for two years.  And where did it lead them? Far away, into the heart of Jerusalem.  That must be why they surmised that the star was announcing the newborn king of the Jews.

Talk about openness.  They weren’t Hebrews, but were willing to change the direction of their lives in order to find this Jewish King and pay him homage.  Then, overjoyed at finding him in Bethlehem, they paid attention to their dreams and changed directions again, going back home another way in order to give the Holy Family a head start in their flight away from Herod and into Egypt.

Thirty-three years later, the orthodox, Law-abiding Saul of Tarsus encountered that same Jesus, now risen and ascended, as a Light whose blinding brilliance stopped him in his tracks.  He left the road to Damascus and changed the direction of his life, and thus the direction of the history of the world.

Are you looking for a new path for your life?  Ask him whose birth was heralded by a Star to shine the Light in your direction.

What dead-ends do you want to stop following this year?

Reflecting on Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

Rest on the Flight into Egypt Olivier-Merson 1869

Something very interesting is hidden inside that gospel story today of the return the Holy Family to “the land of Israel”.  We are more familiar with Luke’s Christmas stories, bracketed by the census that took them to Bethlehem, where Jesus was born in a cave because “there was no room for them in the inn”, and their return back home to Nazareth.

But a close reading of the first two chapters of Matthew’s gospel betrays a significant difference in the two accounts.  Here, there is no journey down to Bethlehem at all.  Joseph lives there, and has taken Mary into his home.  When the Magi find them, the Star is hovering over the “house” where they live.  They flee from Herod into Egypt, and when they return they intend to settle back in Bethlehem.  It’s only because they are afraid of Archelaus that they travel north into the Galilee.  They choose to settle in a tiny village called Nazareth.

But there is no mention of this village anywhere in the Old Testament.  The word “Nazareth”, or “nazar”, means “consecrated” or “separated”.  Might it be that the Jews who settled there in the decades before the birth of Jesus purposely named the town “Nazareth” because they believed that the Messiah would come from their ranks, that they were consecrated and separate from the others?  Consequently, might Mary and Joseph have chosen that village because they knew that, indeed, they carried the Messiah in their arms?

Luke and Matthew have different memories of when the Holy Family reached Nazareth, but the theology is the same: the Long Awaited One is here.

What family stories seem to “conflict” at your Christmas table?

Reflecting on Mt. 1: 18-24

O come, O come, Emmanuel.

When my friend Emily was a freshman in high school, she was reading Matthew’s gospel in Theology class.  When she came across the section where the angel told Joseph to name the child “Jesus” she was stumped.  Huh?  Why does the angel tell Joseph to name the Baby “Jesus” when, just one sentence later, we read that all this is to fulfill what the prophet Isaiah said, which was that the Child would be called  “Emmanuel”?

I nodded wisely and assured her that once she was older she would understand the many hidden complexities of Matthew’s gospel. Then I went home and scrambled to find a decent answer to give her.  It’s only taken me twelve years, Emily, but here’s my attempt.

The author of Matthew’s gospel (which we are now reading for an entire year) desperately wants us to know that Christ will never leave us.  The historical Jesus, the actual person who was born in Bethlehem, smuggled out into Egypt by his wise father, baptized by John in the Jordan, began his public ministry in the Galilee at thirty, was crucified by Pontius Pilate, suffered, died, and was buried in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea―that historical person, our Savior, was named Jesus (or “Yeshua”—God saves).

After his resurrection, on the day he ascended to heaven, he said these very last words to his disciples, and to us: Behold, I am WITH YOU always, even to the end of time. So, Matthew’s 28 chapters begin and end with that promise.  He is with us.  Emmanuel. In sickness and health and sorrow and joy, and yes, for all eternity.

O come, O come, Emmanuel.

In what ways do you sense that Christ is “with you”?

Reflecting on Mt. 11: 2-11

© Jesus Film Media

Waiting.  It’s excruciating.  I’m not thinking about the usual waitings: in line, in traffic, at the doctor’s office.  Those are character-building, and give us daily opportunities to pray for all the people who got to the post office ahead of us, who were daydreaming when the light changed, who were getting serious news from the doctor while we were reading magazines in the waiting room.

I’m thinking about the kind of waiting that’s truly painful.  Like waiting for the nausea medication to work when you have the stomach flu.  Or waiting for the sound of the garage door opener when your teenagers are two hours past curfew.  Or waiting for the biopsy results on that asymmetrical mole with the irregular borders.

It seems that all creation quivers in a constant state of waiting.  Chipmunks are good waiters. They store seeds and nuts under their nests in late summer, then rouse themselves from sleep during the winter to eat what they have wisely stored. Bears are expert waiters.  They store fat before winter, and then hibernate in a sleep so deep that they don’t wake until spring.  And then, get out of their way.  They are ravenous from their months of waiting.

And don’t even mention the word “waiting” to butterflies.  They are creation’s superstars of waiting.

John the Baptist, shut up in Herod’s prison, knew he was coming to the end of his earthly waiting.  He sent his disciples to see and hear the One of whom the prophets foretold.

Go and tell John what you see.  The blind see, the lame walk, the poor have the Good News preached to them.

Dark night is done.  Bright morning dawns at last.

What are you waiting for?

Reflecting on Isaiah 11: 1-10

Imagine that Someone was offering you the gifts of the Holy Spirit that Isaiah mentions in today’s reading.  Here are your choices:

Wisdom:   Those who possess wisdom will save the world.  Let this gift work in you, helping you to order your life around the things that endure.  Let the words of your mouth, and the meditations of your heart, be touched by wisdom this year.

Understanding:    What a comfort it is to have a friend who truly understands you.  We make quick judgments of people these days.  Those with the gift of understanding are never quick to judge, always quick to listen.

Counsel:    This supernatural gift works with your intuition to help you discern God’s work in your life.  God is healing and saving every day.  Use your voice and your life to be God’s co-agent.

Strength:    Strength is standing with a friend when she is losing the positive regard of your other friends.  Strength is the day-to-day showing up, at work, at home, at prayer.  As the poster of the tree, battered but standing, in my oncologist’s office says, Do not pray for an easy life.  Pray to be a strong person.

Knowledge:    There’s nothing as peaceful as knowing your own truth.  But don’t confuse this with what the culture wants you to know.  There is a Spirit-voice that will lead you in deeper peace and knowledge of how you want to be in the world.

Fear of the Lord:    When was the last time you stopped the car in mid-errand and just looked at Creation all around you?  Breathe in the crisp winter air.  Revel in the profound changes that this season brings.  Don’t go a single day without the awareness of the AWESOMENESS of God.

Which gift do you need the most right now?

Reflecting on Matthew 24: 37-44

Here’s a thought.  What if the Second Coming of Christ isn’t being held off by God, but held off by us?  What if, as St. Charles Borromeo suggests, “Christ, who came once in the flesh, is prepared to come again”, and we’re the ones who are delaying his coming?

Here are a few of the ways I’ve experienced the “drawing near” of Christ in my life:

1. When, outside of “sacred surroundings”, people share about the ways in which Christ is working in their lives.  Or, just because they want to, people sing psalms and hymns together.  Or they talk about the homily in the car on the way home.  Or they pray together, just because they saw each other in church and know that Jesus is their connection.
2. When people who were estranged join hands in friendship.  There is nothing more powerful than forgiveness, no quicker way to enter the kingdom of God than to watch enemies begin to speak to one another.  Especially if we are the ones estranged, and we are the ones to make the first move toward reconciliation.    Test this out this holiday season, and let the Prince of Peace overwhelm you with his immediate presence.
3. When we are forced out of our comfort zones and find ourselves making friends with people of every race, language, and way of life.  People, after all, are the crowning glory of God’s creation.  Find ways to enjoy the company of people different from you, and guess what?  There is Jesus, right in your midst.

The advent of the kingdom is only this: Draw near to him, and he will draw near to you (James 4:8).

In what ways will you help the kingdom draw near this year?

Reflecting on Luke 23: 35-43

Jesus, remember us when you come into your kingdom. Remember us, Jesus, in the Philippines.  You thirsted on the cross that terrible day.  We thirst.  We have no clean water, and no one can reach us in our isolated village.  We suffer with you, Jesus.

They looted your belongings and cast lots for your garment that terrible day. Here, every source of water and food and shelter has been looted.  We are not criminals.  We are trying to save our children.  We are naked, and wet, and cold, and hot.  We suffer with you, Jesus.

Remember those, Jesus, here at home, who await court trials. Their family members are terrified for them.  Console all prisoners around the world who are wrongly imprisoned through the false testimony of others.  You suffered that betrayal too.   And as you forgave the Good Thief from the cross, let all prisoners who have sinned against you deeply know the deep consolation of your saving mercy.

Your friends fled from you that terrible day.  What a comfort it would have been to have them there at the cross, praying with you.   Instead, your tormentors mocked you.  Our elderly understand that, Jesus.  They are alone in their nursing homes, forgotten by friends, abandoned by their children.  Their memories fail them, and they are the source of snickering behind their backs.  They suffer with you, Jesus.

Remember the young people around the world, Jesus, who cannot find work.  Many cannot find meaning.  Many cannot find you.  O Jesus, remember them most of all.

In what areas of your life do you ask Jesus to “remember” you?

Reflecting on Luke 21: 5-19

If you go to New York City sometime, try to get to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum.  The inhabitants of Little Italy, Chinatown, the Jewish communities, and thousands of others lived in the tenements high above the bustling saloons, clothing and jewelry stores on Orchard Street― a block that historians say was the most densely populated street in the world in the 1870s.

Listen to the babies crying.  Hear the music of the world’s languages as neighbors barter for the freshest tomatoes, or the best price for winter coats.  Get ready to sweat as you help Gerta Schneider cook schnitzel in her tiny kitchen in July.  Watch Mama Rogarshevsky light the Sabbath candles, and bow your head as Papa prays the Sabbath blessing.

They left large farms to live literally on top of one another in a crowded city.  Many escaped earthquakes, famines and plagues, or ominous pogroms that bode of the holocaust to come.  They came for a better life, and later generations found it.

Today, neighborhood carnicerias thrive next to Middle East grocery stores and Somali markets. These groups fled their homes also, where unstable nations rise against nations, and kingdoms against kingdoms.

We, too, live in a time of powerful earthquakes, famines and plagues. Hurricane Sandy came close to destroying in a day the very tenement neighborhood that housed millions of immigrants for three hundred years.

We Coloradans have our own flood narratives, too.  And Nebraskans have tornados.  And don’t even mention fires to Californians.  Is the world finally coming to an end?

Do not be terrified, says Jesus.  If we all work to heal our planet the God of all nations will secure our lives.

In what ways do you live by faith, not fear?

Reflecting on Luke 20: 27-38

What awaits us after death?  Will heaven be so radically different from earth that even the greatest joys of our existence here will fade to nothing once we are in the presence of the Beatific Vision?  That image of heaven makes me uneasy.

We cling to this life because it’s all we know.  Of course we hold close to the loves and friendships that make our lives so rich and full.  Why on earth would we willingly leave them for an eternity of the unknown?  The ancient author of the book of Ecclesiastes reflects on this in my favorite passage in all of scripture:  God has made everything beautiful in its time, and yet has set eternity in our hearts (3:11).

Yes.  We embrace and love this life, and yet we carry a deep intuition that this is not the end, that we are made for eternity, where every tear shall be undone, and death will be no more (Revelation 21:4).

I somehow sense that heaven will be more and more of all the things we built on earth.  As C.S. Lewis suggests in The Great Divorce, if we demand to cling to our resentments and pettiness and selfishness, heaven can’t give us more than what we consistently chose throughout our lives. We will flee from heaven because it’s too solid, too real, and too wonderful for us.

But, as the great John Kavanaugh, S.J. wrote:  Those who cast themselves into the arms of the living God, no matter what their shame or sorrow, will find what their hearts desired.

I choose to cast myself into those arms, and to trust in the God of the living.

What do you think heaven will be like?