Saturday in the 5th Week of Lent

Gathering the Scattered

Readings: Ezekiel 37:21-28; Jeremiah 31:10, 11-12abcd, 13; John 11:45-56

Many of us have probably heard the story of the person (we shan’t say whether it’s a man or a woman) who often confessed the sin of gossiping. Finally, the pastor had had enough and asked the person to climb a hill on a windy day carrying a pillow filled with goose feathers. Once at the top, the pillow was to be ripped open so that the contents would be carried away by the wind. The following day the person was to return to the hill-top and attempt to retrieve all the scattered feathers and return them to the pillow. An impossible task, of course!

But no more impossible than what God is doing in the readings of today. It’s quite striking how the same word appears in both readings as well as the psalm. We will also hear it later in the communion antiphon. It's the verb, to gather. I shall gather them together from everywhere and bring them home to their own soil… He who scattered Israel will gather him and guard him as a shepherd guards his flock… Jesus was to die… to gather together in unity the scattered children of God…

The immensity of this task of gathering all who have been scattered should be quite plain to us. We may consider, for example, the recent happenings in the Middle East, specifically the detention of those British sailors by the Iranian government. The Iranians claim that the British vessel had strayed into Iranian waters. The British claim that it had remained in Iraqi waters. Who to believe? How to resolve the dispute? Along the same lines, I remember listening to a recent convert share with me the pain of being a Catholic child of staunchly anti-Catholic parents. Child and parents love one another dearly. Yet they simply cannot see eye-to-eye. They only want what is best for one another. Yet they continue to cause one another much pain and heartache. And their experience is but a tiny fragment of the wider scandal of a divided Christianity. Even as we consider these examples, more likely than not, each of us will also recall our own particular experiences of being scattered and disunited. Like those feathers blown away by the wind, it seems impossible that we will ever be gathered together again.

Even so, it is precisely this impossible task that God undertakes. And we must be attentive to how God gathers. Often, in the midst of differences and disputes, the natural first reaction is to try to exert one’s own will, to flex one’s own muscles, to pressure others to do that which they are not quite willing to do, to bend them to our point of view. And we continue to do this even when we know that it often leads to further scattering. God’s tack is quite different however. God gathers not by self-assertion but by self-emptying.

In the face of division, God dies.

And it is this divine act of gathering by dying that we will be paying close attention to as we begin Holy Week, as we accompany Jesus into Jerusalem. And even as we witness how God dies so as to gather the scattered into unity, we will be praying for the grace to do the same.

How does the God who dies wish to gather the scattered parts of your life today?

Friday in the 5th Week of Lent
Keeping in Touch

Readings: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 18:2-7; John 10:31-42


Even if you refuse to believe in me, at least believe in the work I do…

When saying goodbye to friends we often use the phrase keep in touch. And it is this same phrase that comes to mind today as we ponder once again the difference between Jesus and Jeremiah, on the one hand, and their adversaries on the other. What is it that enables Jesus and Jeremiah to remain so steadfast in their mission? What is it, for example, that enables Jesus to make neither change nor compromise in his message and ministry, even when people are stoning him. And what is it, on the other hand, that makes their persecutors so stubborn in opposing them and all that they stand for?

Jesus’ words in the gospel give us a good indication. When people refuse to believe that he is who he claims to be, namely the Son of God, Jesus quickly invites them to look at all that he does. That Jesus can do this indicates that whatever Jesus says and does flows quite naturally from his sense of who he is. In all that he does, Jesus always remains in touch with who he is. We may say that for Jesus, as well as for Jeremiah, doing is always closely connected with being. In contrast, Jesus’ opponents are unable to see the connection between what Jesus says and does and who he is because their own lives are out of touch. The things that they say and do, their religious beliefs and practices, are somehow out of touch with who they are.

And we know how easy it is to fall out of touch. When we first start working, for example, we may have the idea of making a good living to support our family. But as time goes on, the work can gradually take on a life of its own. And we lose touch with the original reason for working. Gradually, the family might even become sacrificed to the work. The same can probably be said for our worship. Isn’t it possible for our relationship with God to become sacrificed to our religious practices instead of the other way around?

Isn’t this another reason for our Lenten discipline? More than simply adding more things for us to do, it’s really a time for us to get back in touch with our identity as baptized daughters and sons of the Father, and to let everything we say and do flow from this renewed sense of who we are. Lent is a time for reconnecting our doing with our being.

One is reminded of a story you probably know well, a story told by Anthony de Mello, SJ:

The rich industrialist from the North was horrified to find the Southern fisherman lying lazily beside his boat, smoking a pipe. ‘Why aren’t you out fishing?’ said the industrialist. ‘Because I have caught enough fish for the day,’ said the fisherman. ‘Why don’t you catch more than you need?’ said the industrialist. ‘What would I do with it?’ asked the fisherman. ‘You could earn more money,’ was the reply. ‘With that you could have a motor fixed to your boat. Then you could go into deeper waters and catch more fish. Then you would make enough to buy nylon nets. These would bring you more fish and more money. Soon you would have enough money to own two boats… maybe even a fleet of boats. Then you would be a rich man like me.’ ‘What would I do then?’ asked the fisherman. ‘Then you could sit down and enjoy life,’ said the industrialist. ‘What do you think I am doing right now?’ said the contented fisherman.

How do you remain in touch with who you are? Why do you do what you do?

Thursday in the 5th Week of Lent

Fluttering unto Life

Readings: Genesis 17: 3-9;; Psalm 105:4-9; ; John 8:51-59

Whoever keeps my word will never see death…

We’ve often had occasion to comment on the many changes that beset us. Some are more major than others, but together they often tend to confuse and disorientate us. At one moment, for example, we may be confessing to a priest that we failed to abstain from meat the previous Friday. And then, at the next moment, we’re told that abstinence is actually optional. It all seems quite confusing. How to negotiate the winds of change?

Jesus’ comments in the gospel today on death and life provide us with guidance. But first, we might consider what eternal life looks like in the midst of rapid and frequent change. An image comes readily to mind, one that we’ve used before. It’s the image of a kite fluttering gracefully in the breeze. It is able to negotiate the winds of change so beautifully because it’s at once firmly anchored and yet also able to go with the flow of the wind currents. If only we could all be like that. But it’s not easy. There are at least two risks involved. The kite might simply lose its anchor and be blown away by the wind and so get lost. Or, like those with whom Jesus is speaking in the gospel today, it might cling so tightly to the earth that it forever remains grounded, never quite takes off. In both these cases, the kite fails to fulfill the reason for its existence. In a sense it remains dead. Until, of course, someone like Jesus comes along. His concern is to gather the lost and to free the grounded, to help all to enjoy the fullness of life. And he does this by rooting us in his word, in the Father’s covenant.

On our part, this takes place through an act of remembering. As the psalmist tells us: remember the wonders the Lord has done. These memories include, of course, our memory as a Christian community of all that God has done for us throughout our history. But they also include the very particular and personal memories of how God has been caring for each of us in the past. When we do this, when we recall these memories, we actually find ourselves becoming firmly rooted in God’s memory, which is a very powerful thing. For the Lord remembers his covenant for ever, his promise for a thousand generations… Securely anchored in the knowledge that God never forgets us, we can then allow this kite of ours to fly, even in the midst of uncertainty and change. We can, for example, learn to discern an appropriate penance to undertake on Fridays, even when the law seems to have been relaxed and it’s no longer compulsory to abstain from meat.

Sisters and brothers, who is flying your kite today?

Wednesday in the 5th Week of Lent
Freedom in the Flames

Readings: Daniel 3:14-20, 91-92, 95; Daniel 3:52, 53, 54, 55, 56; John 8:31-42

None of us are slaves in the literal sense of the word. Neither are those with whom Jesus is conversing in the gospel today. Yet, like them, we find ourselves invited to meditate more deeply on what it really means to be free. According to Jesus, freedom has to do with the truth. And the truth has to do with a relationship with the Son as well as the Father. It has to do with making the Son’s word our home, so as to have an assured place in the Father’s house, and so that, like Jesus, we can continue to obey all that the Father wants of us.

All this sounds quite abstract, until we consider the story in the first reading. Here there are literal slaves and free persons. The Babylonian king is apparently free. He is in a position of great power, able to order his subjects to worship a golden statue on pain of death. The three Israelite boys are apparent slaves. They are prisoners of the king and subject to his will. Yet, as it turns out, the story leads us to see a deeper truth. Even when they find themselves in exile and far from their earthly home, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego continue to make their home in the word of God. Even when in captivity and when faced with torture and execution, they refuse to worship a false god. Even when thrown into the fiery furnace they continue to praise and worship the only true God and no other. To you glory and praise forevermore. And their fidelity is rewarded. Isn’t this an illustration of what Jesus speaks about in the gospel, a striking image of true freedom? And doesn’t this also point to what awaits Jesus’ as he continues to remain faithful to His Father even unto the fire of the cross?

Again, none of us are slaves in the literal sense of the word. But how many of us are truly free? How many of us are able to continue praising the one true God of our Lord Jesus Christ even when the fires of our lives threaten to engulf and to consume us? Sometimes these fires are quite easily put out. Stressful jobs can be changed, drugs can cure a minor illness, and a close friend can lend a listening ear. But there are also fires that rage beyond our control, and times when the temptation is strong to give in to despair and to worship false gods. Especially at times like these we realize our own weakness, our own need for God. We realize why we need this season of Lent and the great celebration of Easter to which it leads. We need to allow God to strengthen us once again in the mystery of the cross of Christ, so that we may truly make His word our home, and so come to know the truth that alone can set us free.

What are the fires in your life? Where is your home?

Tuesday in the 5th Week of Lent
It Matters Where You Look

Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 102:2-3, 16-18, 19-21; John 8:21-30

There is a principle that has long guided the Church’s interpretation of scripture but which has sometimes been neglected in more modern approaches. The principle goes: the New Testament is hidden in the Old, the Old is made manifest in the New (Novum Testamentum in Vetere latet, Vetus in Novo patet). Our Mass readings today provide us with an especially good occasion to see this principle in action.

The first reading presents us with a highly curious, even strange, incident in the experience of the Israelites journeying through the desert. They are suffering. God has freed them from slavery in Egypt and led them into the desert, where they suffer hunger and thirst. And because they complain, their suffering is aggravated. They are killed off by fiery serpents. In desperation they cry out to God through Moses and God responds in a highly curious fashion. Instead of removing the serpents or killing them, God effects healing by making those who have been bitten gaze at a raised up symbol of the very thing which they fear, that which has brought them pain and suffering. This is not what one would expect. This is not how one naturally reacts to suffering. As the experts tell us, the usual first reaction is denial. Try to look on the bright side. Think happy thoughts. Go to a happy place. How to understand what God is doing?

The Old Testament is made manifest in the New…

In the Gospel, Jesus refers to himself as the One who will be raised up: when you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am He… And here we begin to see the significance of the bronze serpent. We begin to understand God’s chosen response to the sufferings in the world and in our lives. In a shocking way, God chooses to submit to the suffering, to be raised up on an instrument of torture and death, so as to become a channel of healing and life to all. Here too we learn the proper Christian response to suffering. Instead of looking away, instead of seeking an escape route, instead of distracting oneself through the power of positive thinking, one gazes into the darkness and cries out as the psalmist does: O Lord, listen to my prayer and let my cry for help reach you. And just as God answered the prayer of Moses in the desert, the one who prays in this way experiences a new vision, a vision of the Crucified One and all that He represents: God’s undying love for us even to the point of death and beyond. And the power of that vision is such that one might even be led from mourning to mission. One might be led to ask the questions that St. Ignatius of Loyola recommends to retreatants as they gaze upon Christ on the Cross: what have I done for Christ, what am I doing for Christ, what ought I to do for Christ…

Isn’t this what we’re about especially in this great season of Lent? We are preparing for Easter not by avoiding the dark reality of sin and death, but by gazing long and hard at it and allowing it to be enlightened by the mind-boggling symbol of Christ’s Cross. In this way, we hope to be led from darkness to light, from death to life, from pain to the fullness of joy.

But first we must look and we must pray…

When you encounter suffering, what do you do? Where do you look?