The holy family returns to Nazareth after the death of Herod

As preached by Sister Cecelia
Holy Wisdom Church 
December 27th, 2020

1 Samuel 19:11-17, 2 Samuel 5:1-3; Matthew 2:19-23; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Christ is born! Glorify Him!

This week we have again seen news reports of the lines of cars and people coming to receive boxes or bags of food were amazingly long—stretching for miles. There are so many in real need. The epistle this morning speaks of love as being the greatest, the only long-lasting virtue or capacity we have. Think of how many are responding with love for so much food to be available to fill this need.

There is also the man who experienced many years ago the choice he had to make for his family of four—the choice of which bill to pay. He lived in Florida, so he chose to not pay the utility for heat. That was the year Florida had the coldest winter ever. Many years later, he had made a success of his own business. Remembering his own difficulties back then, when he had to choose which bills to pay, he contacted several utilities and requested how much they would need for their customer’s delinquent bills that would necessitate stopping their service. Imagine the surprise when many families received a notice that their delinquent bill had been paid by this man. Hearing of this man’s creative generosity, many others are following in his footsteps and helping others in the same way in other locations.

These are just some of the stories we have heard that epitomize for me the presence of the love that God has put in our hearts. I have been amazed at the creativeness of the many endeavors across the nation. Many commented on how much joy it gives them to be able to help in so many ways. Then there are the medical personnel who feel joy when their patients get better, but they are also facing sadness and sorrow when so many succumb to their illnesses and die with their own loved ones not able to even be present.

In today’s Gospel, we hear that Joseph learned in a dream that it was now safe to take Mary and Jesus back to Israel. While he was joyful about the ability to return home, he also faced the fear and sadness of what could still happen, with Herod’s son Archelaus, who was worse than his father, ruling the area. Witness the love that Joseph had for Mary and Jesus and the faith and trust in God that he showed by listening to his dreams. We don’t know what creative ways Joseph chose to care for his family, but we do know they survived.

I recently read We Belong to the Land, written by a Byzantine priest living in Palestine, Father Elias Chacour. His family had lived in Palestine for umpteen generations. While a lot of the book spoke of the extreme difficulties the native Palestinians have experienced since Israel became a country, what I am amazed at is the creative love Father Elias displayed over and over again, in bringing disparate groups together.

 When he was ordained, he was assigned to a village that had not had a priest for some time. There was an elder of the parish who let the young priest know he was not wanted and to go away. Since Father Elias opted to stay, the elder showed him to his awful accommodations, gave him no food, and for years made his life quite difficult.

 In the village were members of his Byzantine church, members of the Orthodox church, Muslims, atheists, communists, and Jews. None of them spoke to or associated in a friendly manner with those in the other groups, though they sometimes had to work together. After several years, Father Elias’s creative ways with all the people in the village eventually brought them together. Now there are daily examples of real co-operation and love among all the different groups in the village and even beyond. Father Elias realized that the Palestinians needed to have available higher educational opportunities for them to ever get beyond their poverty level. Overcoming many difficulties by his creative loving work, he has fulfilled his dream to build a school for both high school and accredited college levels for both Jewish and Palestinian youths together.

What have we been able to do to help others? Many phone calls and zoom visits have been made just to give those who are shut-in a chance to talk and know someone is thinking of them. Creatively managing the safety precautions for the work areas so that our businesses could keep going and our employees employed has been no small task. Making extra donations to food banks does not take any creativity but is a work of love.

Being creative in how we show our love to those we live with or come into contact with—always at a distance these days—is a gift of God that takes the same faith and trust that we see in Joseph.

May we always remember God’s love for us so that we may find our own ways to love in return.

Christ is born!

 

Homily: Luke 13:18-21

December 12, 2020

As preached by Sister Rebecca
Holy Wisdom Church

This morning we read two parables from the Gospel: one about the mustard seed, and the other about the yeast in the dough. Both are metaphors for the Kingdom of God—the Divine presence here and now.  The fact that the three evangelists (of the synoptic Gospels) all included these parables indicates their importance to the Christian communities. Through these parables, Jesus strives to awaken what is potential and most often dormant in the hearts and minds of his listeners.

Very frequently, Jesus uses familiar God-in-Nature metaphors—such as the mustard seed and the yeast in the dough in today’s Gospel—to describe the Kingdom of God: the Realm of God right in our midst.  The image of the mustard seed emphasizes the reality of the Presence of God in our midst in Nature.  The second image, the yeast in the dough, points to the rising of our spiritual instinct into our consciousness, which perceives the Kingdom of God right now.

Here is the question I pose: How is it that Jesus uses the stories of a mustard seed and yeast in the dough to describe both the kingdom of God and our nascent glimmers of inner sight and faith? Where is the connection? What are these stories trying to get through to us?  The following thoughts may shed some light.  In the third century A.D., when St. Anthony the Great was asked how in the desert he managed to be such a learned man without the aid of books, he replied: “My book is the nature of created things, and as often as I have mind to read the words of God, they are at my hand.” A little over a century later, St. Augustine would echo this experience in one of his sermons: “Some people, in order to discover God, read books. But there is a great book: the very appearance of created things. Look above you! Look below you! Note it. Read it. God, whom you want to discover, never wrote that book with ink. Instead, He set before your eyes the things He had made. 

The Book of Nature speaks of the realm of God here and now. The poet Saadi Shiraz also wrote about this experience: “Every leaf of the trees becomes a page of sacred scripture; that is, once the heart is opened and it has learned to read.”

Recently I stumbled on a story that spoke to me. This is how I recall it: “A certain fellow, four or so months ago, was planning to make a solitary retreat in Colorado.  He expected to bring along some of his favorite books that speak about God in Nature. That did not happen.  The pandemic interrupted his travel plans, and he was forced to spend the summer at home alone.  He had been so looking forward to the dry, crisp Colorado dawn at a retreat house surrounded by awesome beauty. The only thing ‘crisp’ facing him now was the drying brown grass in his backyard. Then he stepped back and began to wonder. Maybe I can open the Book of Nature around me now, starting with my own backyard?  After all, Augustine did not say, ‘Go to Colorado and look above you! Look below you! Notice it. Read it.’ The Book of Nature was already open and before me, in my own backyard, waiting to be read. Then I read the rising sun as the gift of a new day and wondered what it might offer or ask of me. I read the stars as light shining in the darkness of my night sky. I read the silence and stillness of the grass as an invitation to learn to just be. I read the mystery of growth and life in the seeds planted in my garden, and in the green peas, tomatoes, and cucumbers that rose up from the depth of the earth. I read chattering squirrels as a reminder to lighten up and not take myself too seriously. I read the huge oak tree, as Rumi says: ‘returning me to the root of the root of my soul.’ I read a hungry kitten as a foreigner waiting to be welcomed. I read the birds splashing around in rain puddles and recalled Julian of Norwich’s ‘all shall be well.’ I read the falling leaves and the first cool morning as a reminder that there is a season for everything.  I read the wind as God breathing new life into this world and encouraging me to trust when I cannot see. I read the colors of the setting sun as a palette of awesome beauty lifting my soul. It was a good read. It was a very good read.” 

Another metaphor was included in today’s Gospel: the narrow gate.  What does this mean in the context of understanding the metaphors of the seed and the yeast? I believe it is a word of caution and warning: the passage to the heart’s vision is very narrow.  We need to unload the stuff in our minds, such as troubling anxious thoughts and negative musings; we need to pare down our fragmented ego tendency to try to figure things out with our brains and, instead, surrender and move to naked trust in God. 

I would like to offer a reflection by one of Rumi’s poems that may inspire you as they have me, especially in these times of the overwhelming disheartening daily news of millions of people sick and dying of the Covid-19 virus, not to mention millions who are suffering from the consequences of the virus.  The parables are about life and growth.  Can I be open to Life as it is presented to me now? Can I rise up like the “yeast in the dough,” to be God’s agent in bringing about love and life in the face of so much fear, suffering, and hopelessness?  (To Rumi’s lines I have added a few thoughts for reflection):

 

Don’t go away, come near.  (Let us not bury our heads in the sand like the ostrich)
Don’t be faithless, be faithful.
Find the antidote in the venom.  (Venom? What is poisoning my mind now?)
Come to the root of the root of your soul.

Molded of clay, yet kneaded   (Like the woman who adds the yeast to the flour and kneads it)
from the substance of certainty,
a guard at the Treasury of Holy Light —
come, return to the root of the root of your Self.

Once you get hold of selflessness,
You’ll be dragged from your ego 
and freed from many traps.
Come, return to the root of the root of your Soul.

You are born from the children of God’s creation,
but you have fixed your sight too low.
How can you be happy?
Come, return to the root of the root of your Self.

You were born from a ray of God’s majesty
and have the blessings of a good star.
Why suffer at the hands of things that don’t exist?  (This too will pass!)
Come, return to the root of the root of your Soul.

You came here from the presence of that fine Friend,
a little drunk, but gentle, stealing our hearts
with that look so full of fire; so,
come, return to the root of the root of your Self.

(My gratitude to Rev. Michael Marsh and unnamed others for offering access to Rumi’s poetry for inspiration and providing me here with words to express the inexpressible.)