Tuesday in the 17th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Memorial of St. Ignatius of Loyola, Priest
Awaiting that Final Clarity
Readings: Ex 33:7-11; 34:5b-9, 28; Ps 103:6-7, 8-9, 10-11, 12-13; Mt 13:36-43
Do you sometimes envy the characters in the bible? I know I do. Especially today, I envy Moses and the disciples of Jesus. I envy them for the way in which they are set apart from the others. Moses is privileged to enter the Tent of Meeting, while the people have to wait in the camp, a distance away. The disciples are privileged to enter the house with Jesus, while the crowds have to remain outside. I envy them for their intimacy with the Lord and the clarity with which the divine mysteries are revealed to them. Moses speaks with God face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. The disciples have Jesus to explain the parable of the darnel to them, even as the crowds are left to puzzle over its meaning. There are mysteries in my life too. There are things I don’t quite understand: Why this and that has to happen… Why such and such hasn’t happened yet… If only the Lord would offer me the same clarity that Moses and the disciples seem to enjoy.
And yet, aren’t I a disciple too? Aren’t I set apart as well? Having been baptized into the Lord’s death, am I not blessed to share in his resurrection? Aren’t I numbered among his friends? Don’t I sometimes experience moments of clarity and vision, when things suddenly fall into place? Isn’t it true that the same intimacy that Moses and the disciples enjoyed is also regularly being offered to me? Could it be that, in order to savour the Lord’s friendship, I have only to pay more attention to the different ways in which the Lord continues to call me into the Tent of Meeting, to be alert to those privileged times when the Lord invites me into his house?
Even so, perhaps I also need to be more realistic in my expectations. Perhaps I need to consider the degree of clarity that is open to us on this side of eternity. After all, even though they have Jesus to explain the parables to them, don’t the disciples still have a way to go before they are able fully to plumb the depths of their mystery? And isn’t this clarity in obscurity they experience part of the lesson of the parable of the darnel? The last judgment, the final vision will come at the end of time. For now even the disciple and friend has to wait in faith and hope and love…
How might we wait more gracefully today?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Monday in the 17th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Your Kingdom Come…
Readings: Exodus 32:15-24, 30-34; Psalm 106:19-20, 21-22, 23; Matthew 13:31-35
Regularly, in the Our Father, we pray for the coming of God’s kingdom on earth as in heaven. But what does this coming kingdom look like? When I was little I used to imagine a huge piece of real estate – with trees and buildings on top and soil-covered roots dangling beneath – descending upon the earth from out of the clouds. Then more learned people told me that God’s kingdom wasn’t really about a physical location as much as it was about people acknowledging God’s lordship, God’s reign. Even so, we might continue to ask ourselves the same question. What does this coming kingdom look like? How do we recognize it when we see it?
And it is this same question that Jesus seeks to answer through the two parables in today’s gospel. The kingdom is like a tiny mustard seed that grows into a tree that gives shelter. The kingdom is like yeast that permeates the dough causing it to rise. But how to relate these parables to our everyday experience? How to recognize the mustard seed and the dough? The story in the first reading provides some guidance especially in the contrast that is seen between the respective reactions of Aaron and Moses.
What does it look like when God’s kingship, God’s reign is ignored? We see the effects in Aaron’s response to the angry interrogation of Moses. What has this people done to you for you to bring such a great sin on them? To which Aaron responds: You know yourself how prone this people is to evil…. I threw the gold into the fire and out came this calf… Aaron quickly seeks to distance himself not just from their sin but from the people as well. They are the ones prone to evil. He merely threw gold into the furnace at their bidding.
In contrast, even though he had no direct part in their sin – he was up on the mountain conversing with God and receiving the Ten Commandments – Moses refuses to dissociate himself from the people. Although he is livid with rage, although he fiercely rebukes them, the very next day, we find him coming before the Lord to make atonement on the people’s behalf. Isn’t this what the coming kingdom looks like? Isn’t this what it looks like when people begin to acknowledge God’s kingship? In his fidelity to God and to the wayward people, Moses becomes a branch in which the people find shelter. With his own hands, he kneads and leavens the chosen people entrusted to his care with the yeast of God’s mercy and compassion. And in his actions, we are reminded of Jesus, the new Moses, the One who, though innocent and without sin, submits himself to the terrible consequences of our treachery, so that out of his sacrifice, the tree of life in its fullness might provide shelter for us all.
What does the coming kingdom look like in our lives? How might we cooperate in sowing the seed and kneading the dough today?
Your Kingdom Come…
Readings: Exodus 32:15-24, 30-34; Psalm 106:19-20, 21-22, 23; Matthew 13:31-35
Regularly, in the Our Father, we pray for the coming of God’s kingdom on earth as in heaven. But what does this coming kingdom look like? When I was little I used to imagine a huge piece of real estate – with trees and buildings on top and soil-covered roots dangling beneath – descending upon the earth from out of the clouds. Then more learned people told me that God’s kingdom wasn’t really about a physical location as much as it was about people acknowledging God’s lordship, God’s reign. Even so, we might continue to ask ourselves the same question. What does this coming kingdom look like? How do we recognize it when we see it?
And it is this same question that Jesus seeks to answer through the two parables in today’s gospel. The kingdom is like a tiny mustard seed that grows into a tree that gives shelter. The kingdom is like yeast that permeates the dough causing it to rise. But how to relate these parables to our everyday experience? How to recognize the mustard seed and the dough? The story in the first reading provides some guidance especially in the contrast that is seen between the respective reactions of Aaron and Moses.
What does it look like when God’s kingship, God’s reign is ignored? We see the effects in Aaron’s response to the angry interrogation of Moses. What has this people done to you for you to bring such a great sin on them? To which Aaron responds: You know yourself how prone this people is to evil…. I threw the gold into the fire and out came this calf… Aaron quickly seeks to distance himself not just from their sin but from the people as well. They are the ones prone to evil. He merely threw gold into the furnace at their bidding.
In contrast, even though he had no direct part in their sin – he was up on the mountain conversing with God and receiving the Ten Commandments – Moses refuses to dissociate himself from the people. Although he is livid with rage, although he fiercely rebukes them, the very next day, we find him coming before the Lord to make atonement on the people’s behalf. Isn’t this what the coming kingdom looks like? Isn’t this what it looks like when people begin to acknowledge God’s kingship? In his fidelity to God and to the wayward people, Moses becomes a branch in which the people find shelter. With his own hands, he kneads and leavens the chosen people entrusted to his care with the yeast of God’s mercy and compassion. And in his actions, we are reminded of Jesus, the new Moses, the One who, though innocent and without sin, submits himself to the terrible consequences of our treachery, so that out of his sacrifice, the tree of life in its fullness might provide shelter for us all.
What does the coming kingdom look like in our lives? How might we cooperate in sowing the seed and kneading the dough today?
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Solemnity of St. Ignatius of Loyola (Anticipated),
Priest, Religious, Founder of the Society of Jesus
Of Ronin & Samurai
Readings: Isaiah 43:1-5; Psalm 1; Ephesians 3:14-20; John 1:35-39
Sisters and brothers, do you like action-movies? Today I’m reminded of one that was released in 1998. It has all the standard ingredients of a good action-movie: fight-scenes, car-chases, shootings, murders and even some romance. It also has a pretty interesting storyline and its cast includes Robert De Niro. But what I find most intriguing about this movie is its title. It’s called Ronin.
As you probably already know, ronin is a Japanese word that literally means drifter. According to Wikipedia, ronin were masterless samurai who lived in feudal Japan (1185–1868). Samurai became masterless either when they fell out of favour with their Lord or when their Lord was ruined or killed. Once that happened, samurai were supposed to commit ritual suicide. But some chose to become ronin instead, wandering mercenaries, selling their services to the highest bidder. Some even became bandits in order to survive.
But no, this is not a Japanese movie. Neither is it set in feudal Japan. But it does tell the story of a band of modern-day ronin of a different sort. Most of them are ex-employees of various secret service agencies, the CIA, the French Secret Service, the KGB, and so on. No longer employed by their respective masters they choose to free-lance. They sell their services to all the wrong people, to terrorist organizations mostly. And the movie highlights the pain and suffering that results. Sadly, most of them end up dead.
But what has an apparently depressing action-movie like that got to do with us, especially as we celebrate this solemn feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the patron of our parish and founder of the Society of Jesus? I think quite a lot, actually. Although St. Ignatius, or Inigo, if you prefer, was not Japanese, like the ronin and the samurai, he was born into a feudal society. Much of his early life was spent searching for a Lord worthy of his allegiance. Although he was not a tall man – I’m told that the height of that statue in our Gathering Space is probably not too far off the mark – he had dreams and desires of immense proportions. He wanted to spend his life as a gallant knight performing glorious and heroic deeds. He served various Dukes and even fought bravely for Spain against the French at a place called Pamplona. But it was only while recovering from the wounds that he sustained in that battle that Ignatius eventually encountered the One he had been searching for all his life, the only One truly worthy of his loyal service, the One he later referred to as the eternal Lord of all things. I’m not sure if others will agree with me, but I think St. Ignatius was something of a samurai.
We, of course, no longer live in a feudal society. We are modern people who value our individual freedom. We don’t like people to tell us what to do. In this day and age, it is not unheard of even for children to bring their parents to court. In many ways, it often seems like we prefer to live the lives of ronin. We wish to be free to travel wherever we like and to sell our services to the highest bidder. We want to be answerable to nobody but ourselves. In the latest issue of Time magazine, for example, we find the following quote from Wang Ning, a 27-year-old Chinese national and owner of an advertising company: We are more self-centered. We live for ourselves, and that’s good. We contribute to the economy. That’s our power.
And yet, we may wonder how truly free and independent we actually are. Isn’t it striking, for example, how young people may get into heated arguments with their parents about the style of their clothes and the length of their hair only to end up looking pretty much the same as their friends? And, of course, we can say this of grown-ups too. Ever notice how people in the business district dress more or less the same? And on a daily basis, don’t we find ourselves listening to what various advertisements tell us are the things that we just have to acquire: a faster internet connection, a snazzier cell-phone, high-definition TV, better complexion, no split ends… The list is endless.
Even as we may dream about and try to live the lives of ronin, don’t we often find ourselves submitting to very unworthy Lords, who use and abuse us, and who can make us very unhappy? Don’t we often find ourselves struggling to measure up to what society expects of us? Don’t we find ourselves scared to death of failure, afraid that we might be found unacceptable and be looked down upon and laughed at by everyone, or at least by the people who matter?
What does all this tell us about us? Could it be that, although we may seem to enjoy the apparent freedom of ronin, deep down in our hearts, we all long for the life of the samurai? Could it be that although we no longer live in a feudal age, like St. Ignatius, there remains in each of us a deep desire to spend our lives in the service of someone truly worthy of our loyalty?
Instead of the different lords of this age, who stress us out with all kinds of unreasonable demands, don’t we long to encounter the eternal Lord of all things whom Ignatius encountered while recovering from his wounds? Especially when we feel lost and afraid, don’t we long to hear this same Lord speak to us those words from the first reading today: do not be afraid… I have called you by your name, you are mine… you are precious in my eyes… and I love you?
Instead of continuing to listen to the masters of this world tell us what we need, don’t we yearn instead to hear the Divine Master ask us the same question that he asks the first disciples in the gospel today? What do you want? Don’t we dream of meeting Jesus and having him help us to discover the answer to this question? And when we do finally encounter him, will he not lead us onto the path that Ignatius walked so many years ago, the same path we heard about in today’s psalm, the path of the one who ponders God’s law day and night, the path that leads us to appreciate more and more, the breadth and the length, the height and the depth… of the love of Christ for us?
Sisters and brothers, isn’t this what we are celebrating today? As we remember the patron of our parish, aren’t we also celebrating the fact that the same Lord whom he encountered and served in the 16th century, continues to console us and to call us into his service in the 21st? Even if we may still be unsure of what we really want, in this Mass, the eternal Lord of all things is asking us to give him a chance. He’s inviting us to come and see, to come and see if he is indeed the One we are looking for, the One truly worthy of our loyalty and our service.
Sisters and brothers, which do you prefer to be, ronin or samurai? Whom do you serve?
Priest, Religious, Founder of the Society of Jesus
Of Ronin & Samurai
Readings: Isaiah 43:1-5; Psalm 1; Ephesians 3:14-20; John 1:35-39
Sisters and brothers, do you like action-movies? Today I’m reminded of one that was released in 1998. It has all the standard ingredients of a good action-movie: fight-scenes, car-chases, shootings, murders and even some romance. It also has a pretty interesting storyline and its cast includes Robert De Niro. But what I find most intriguing about this movie is its title. It’s called Ronin.
As you probably already know, ronin is a Japanese word that literally means drifter. According to Wikipedia, ronin were masterless samurai who lived in feudal Japan (1185–1868). Samurai became masterless either when they fell out of favour with their Lord or when their Lord was ruined or killed. Once that happened, samurai were supposed to commit ritual suicide. But some chose to become ronin instead, wandering mercenaries, selling their services to the highest bidder. Some even became bandits in order to survive.
But no, this is not a Japanese movie. Neither is it set in feudal Japan. But it does tell the story of a band of modern-day ronin of a different sort. Most of them are ex-employees of various secret service agencies, the CIA, the French Secret Service, the KGB, and so on. No longer employed by their respective masters they choose to free-lance. They sell their services to all the wrong people, to terrorist organizations mostly. And the movie highlights the pain and suffering that results. Sadly, most of them end up dead.
But what has an apparently depressing action-movie like that got to do with us, especially as we celebrate this solemn feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, the patron of our parish and founder of the Society of Jesus? I think quite a lot, actually. Although St. Ignatius, or Inigo, if you prefer, was not Japanese, like the ronin and the samurai, he was born into a feudal society. Much of his early life was spent searching for a Lord worthy of his allegiance. Although he was not a tall man – I’m told that the height of that statue in our Gathering Space is probably not too far off the mark – he had dreams and desires of immense proportions. He wanted to spend his life as a gallant knight performing glorious and heroic deeds. He served various Dukes and even fought bravely for Spain against the French at a place called Pamplona. But it was only while recovering from the wounds that he sustained in that battle that Ignatius eventually encountered the One he had been searching for all his life, the only One truly worthy of his loyal service, the One he later referred to as the eternal Lord of all things. I’m not sure if others will agree with me, but I think St. Ignatius was something of a samurai.
We, of course, no longer live in a feudal society. We are modern people who value our individual freedom. We don’t like people to tell us what to do. In this day and age, it is not unheard of even for children to bring their parents to court. In many ways, it often seems like we prefer to live the lives of ronin. We wish to be free to travel wherever we like and to sell our services to the highest bidder. We want to be answerable to nobody but ourselves. In the latest issue of Time magazine, for example, we find the following quote from Wang Ning, a 27-year-old Chinese national and owner of an advertising company: We are more self-centered. We live for ourselves, and that’s good. We contribute to the economy. That’s our power.
And yet, we may wonder how truly free and independent we actually are. Isn’t it striking, for example, how young people may get into heated arguments with their parents about the style of their clothes and the length of their hair only to end up looking pretty much the same as their friends? And, of course, we can say this of grown-ups too. Ever notice how people in the business district dress more or less the same? And on a daily basis, don’t we find ourselves listening to what various advertisements tell us are the things that we just have to acquire: a faster internet connection, a snazzier cell-phone, high-definition TV, better complexion, no split ends… The list is endless.
Even as we may dream about and try to live the lives of ronin, don’t we often find ourselves submitting to very unworthy Lords, who use and abuse us, and who can make us very unhappy? Don’t we often find ourselves struggling to measure up to what society expects of us? Don’t we find ourselves scared to death of failure, afraid that we might be found unacceptable and be looked down upon and laughed at by everyone, or at least by the people who matter?
What does all this tell us about us? Could it be that, although we may seem to enjoy the apparent freedom of ronin, deep down in our hearts, we all long for the life of the samurai? Could it be that although we no longer live in a feudal age, like St. Ignatius, there remains in each of us a deep desire to spend our lives in the service of someone truly worthy of our loyalty?
Instead of the different lords of this age, who stress us out with all kinds of unreasonable demands, don’t we long to encounter the eternal Lord of all things whom Ignatius encountered while recovering from his wounds? Especially when we feel lost and afraid, don’t we long to hear this same Lord speak to us those words from the first reading today: do not be afraid… I have called you by your name, you are mine… you are precious in my eyes… and I love you?
Instead of continuing to listen to the masters of this world tell us what we need, don’t we yearn instead to hear the Divine Master ask us the same question that he asks the first disciples in the gospel today? What do you want? Don’t we dream of meeting Jesus and having him help us to discover the answer to this question? And when we do finally encounter him, will he not lead us onto the path that Ignatius walked so many years ago, the same path we heard about in today’s psalm, the path of the one who ponders God’s law day and night, the path that leads us to appreciate more and more, the breadth and the length, the height and the depth… of the love of Christ for us?
Sisters and brothers, isn’t this what we are celebrating today? As we remember the patron of our parish, aren’t we also celebrating the fact that the same Lord whom he encountered and served in the 16th century, continues to console us and to call us into his service in the 21st? Even if we may still be unsure of what we really want, in this Mass, the eternal Lord of all things is asking us to give him a chance. He’s inviting us to come and see, to come and see if he is indeed the One we are looking for, the One truly worthy of our loyalty and our service.
Sisters and brothers, which do you prefer to be, ronin or samurai? Whom do you serve?
Friday, July 27, 2007
Friday in the 16th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
The Soil, the Seed and the Sower
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalms 19:8, 9, 10, 11; Matthew 13:18-23
There is great power in the word of God. Like the seed in today’s gospel, it has the potential to yield even a hundredfold harvest. Quite incredible! But whether or not that actually happens depends to a large extent on the receptivity of the soil. Today’s gospel makes it quite clear that however powerful the seed might be, it can still be prevented from reaching its full potential by resistance on the part of the soil. Good seed but poor soil still result in a poor harvest. We seem then to find ourselves grappling with the same issue we faced yesterday. What to do when, for some reason, we find ourselves resistant to God’s word? What to do when, perhaps because of bad experiences in the past, our hearts have become coated with a thick layer of doubt or despair, of skepticism or cynicism, making it difficult to listen to and to trust in the power of God’s word? What to do, when the powerful seed seems to be rendered impotent by the stubborn soil?
Perhaps at such times, we might benefit by extending our attention beyond the seed to the sower. Consider the first reading today. We are all familiar with the Ten Commandments. How do we feel when we listen to them? Taken on their own, they can sound quite off-putting, especially to ears conditioned by the modern emphasis on individual freedom. Why must we be told what to do and what not to do? Why should we listen? And yet, it’s important to appreciate when and by whom these words are spoken. It’s important to remember that the Ten Commandments do not stand in isolation. We have been listening to a story, the story of the Exodus, a story of how a people in slavery were liberated by a God as powerful as God is loving, a story of how this same God wishes to form these one-time slaves into a glorious nation, set apart for eternal happiness in God’s sight, a God who wants nothing but what is best for the people. Isn’t this why the first reading begins with this reminder: I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery…? And this is our story too. We are the ones enslaved by various forces, both without and within us. And God desires to free and form us. God is the prodigal sower who flings the precious seed to the mercy of the different types of soil. God is the powerful, all-compassionate One, the Creator of all things, who humbly begs entrance into our hearts.
What difference might it make for us if, even for a brief moment, we might ponder the wonder-working presence not just of the seed but also of the sower today?
The Soil, the Seed and the Sower
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalms 19:8, 9, 10, 11; Matthew 13:18-23
There is great power in the word of God. Like the seed in today’s gospel, it has the potential to yield even a hundredfold harvest. Quite incredible! But whether or not that actually happens depends to a large extent on the receptivity of the soil. Today’s gospel makes it quite clear that however powerful the seed might be, it can still be prevented from reaching its full potential by resistance on the part of the soil. Good seed but poor soil still result in a poor harvest. We seem then to find ourselves grappling with the same issue we faced yesterday. What to do when, for some reason, we find ourselves resistant to God’s word? What to do when, perhaps because of bad experiences in the past, our hearts have become coated with a thick layer of doubt or despair, of skepticism or cynicism, making it difficult to listen to and to trust in the power of God’s word? What to do, when the powerful seed seems to be rendered impotent by the stubborn soil?
Perhaps at such times, we might benefit by extending our attention beyond the seed to the sower. Consider the first reading today. We are all familiar with the Ten Commandments. How do we feel when we listen to them? Taken on their own, they can sound quite off-putting, especially to ears conditioned by the modern emphasis on individual freedom. Why must we be told what to do and what not to do? Why should we listen? And yet, it’s important to appreciate when and by whom these words are spoken. It’s important to remember that the Ten Commandments do not stand in isolation. We have been listening to a story, the story of the Exodus, a story of how a people in slavery were liberated by a God as powerful as God is loving, a story of how this same God wishes to form these one-time slaves into a glorious nation, set apart for eternal happiness in God’s sight, a God who wants nothing but what is best for the people. Isn’t this why the first reading begins with this reminder: I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery…? And this is our story too. We are the ones enslaved by various forces, both without and within us. And God desires to free and form us. God is the prodigal sower who flings the precious seed to the mercy of the different types of soil. God is the powerful, all-compassionate One, the Creator of all things, who humbly begs entrance into our hearts.
What difference might it make for us if, even for a brief moment, we might ponder the wonder-working presence not just of the seed but also of the sower today?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Thursday in the 16th Week of Ordinary Time (I)
Memorial of Ss. Joachim and Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Facing the Wall
Readings: Exodus 19:1-2, 9-11, 16-20b; Daniel 3:52, 53, 54, 55, 56; Matthew 13:10-17
Someone said to me recently that spending time in prayer felt like sitting before a brick wall. Ever have that kind of feeling? At some level you know you need God, you have some desire to encounter God. But when you do try to pray, nothing seems to happen. God seems to remain stubbornly silent, painfully absent. It’s not an uncommon experience. The reasons are various. But what, we might wonder, can we do about it? The experiences of the people in today’s readings offer some suggestions…
Led by Moses, the people of Israel arrive at the foot of Mount Sinai. We are told that they pitched their camp facing the mountain. In other words, quite literally, they find themselves facing a wall, not of brick but of stone. And yet, the cool impassive mountain face soon becomes for them a privileged place of encounter. There is fire and smoke, the blasting of trumpet and the rumbling of thunder, as God descends on the mountain to meet and speak with the people. But before this happens, before the wall of stone becomes a place of meeting, isn’t it striking how the people are told to prepare themselves? Let them wash their clothing and hold themselves in readiness… They are to make space for the Lord and then they are to wait, to wait for the third day, for God’s own appointed time to make an appearance.
The lesson is clear. When we find ourselves facing the wall of God’s silence, perhaps what we need to do is to prepare, to make space, to wait… And this waiting is not just for God to appear. Sometimes (always?) it is also for us to learn to recognize God’s ongoing presence. Consider, for example, the people in the gospel reading. Here is Jesus, the Emmanuel, the God-with-us, walking among them, teaching the ignorant, healing the sick. And yet there are those who refuse to recognize him. They listen and listen again, but not understand, see and see again, but not perceive. The wall that hinders them is the solid surface of their own hardened hearts.
And what does God do? When more direct speech evokes resistance, Jesus responds by speaking in parables. He uses metaphors. He tells stories. He does this because, as we all know from experience, such indirect speech has the power to catch us unawares. It can suddenly slip through our defenses and pierce our hardened hearts with unexpected meaning. An important lesson for the times when we might find ourselves resisting God. When it’s difficult to gaze upon the radiance of God, when for whatever reason we prefer to linger in a place of darkness, perhaps we can yet carry and ponder some of the Lord’s parables in our hearts. And these helpful stories are to be found not just in the bible, but everywhere around us – in the newspapers, in the cinema, in the people we meet… Perhaps these can keep us company even as we await the dawning of the third day.
How might we prepare to encounter God at the wall today?
Memorial of Ss. Joachim and Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Facing the Wall
Readings: Exodus 19:1-2, 9-11, 16-20b; Daniel 3:52, 53, 54, 55, 56; Matthew 13:10-17
Someone said to me recently that spending time in prayer felt like sitting before a brick wall. Ever have that kind of feeling? At some level you know you need God, you have some desire to encounter God. But when you do try to pray, nothing seems to happen. God seems to remain stubbornly silent, painfully absent. It’s not an uncommon experience. The reasons are various. But what, we might wonder, can we do about it? The experiences of the people in today’s readings offer some suggestions…
Led by Moses, the people of Israel arrive at the foot of Mount Sinai. We are told that they pitched their camp facing the mountain. In other words, quite literally, they find themselves facing a wall, not of brick but of stone. And yet, the cool impassive mountain face soon becomes for them a privileged place of encounter. There is fire and smoke, the blasting of trumpet and the rumbling of thunder, as God descends on the mountain to meet and speak with the people. But before this happens, before the wall of stone becomes a place of meeting, isn’t it striking how the people are told to prepare themselves? Let them wash their clothing and hold themselves in readiness… They are to make space for the Lord and then they are to wait, to wait for the third day, for God’s own appointed time to make an appearance.
The lesson is clear. When we find ourselves facing the wall of God’s silence, perhaps what we need to do is to prepare, to make space, to wait… And this waiting is not just for God to appear. Sometimes (always?) it is also for us to learn to recognize God’s ongoing presence. Consider, for example, the people in the gospel reading. Here is Jesus, the Emmanuel, the God-with-us, walking among them, teaching the ignorant, healing the sick. And yet there are those who refuse to recognize him. They listen and listen again, but not understand, see and see again, but not perceive. The wall that hinders them is the solid surface of their own hardened hearts.
And what does God do? When more direct speech evokes resistance, Jesus responds by speaking in parables. He uses metaphors. He tells stories. He does this because, as we all know from experience, such indirect speech has the power to catch us unawares. It can suddenly slip through our defenses and pierce our hardened hearts with unexpected meaning. An important lesson for the times when we might find ourselves resisting God. When it’s difficult to gaze upon the radiance of God, when for whatever reason we prefer to linger in a place of darkness, perhaps we can yet carry and ponder some of the Lord’s parables in our hearts. And these helpful stories are to be found not just in the bible, but everywhere around us – in the newspapers, in the cinema, in the people we meet… Perhaps these can keep us company even as we await the dawning of the third day.
How might we prepare to encounter God at the wall today?
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