Homily November 7, 2021 1 Samuel 20:1-6, 2 Corinthians 1:18-22, 2:14-16, Luke 6:1-12

 As Preached by Sister Cecelia

Holy Wisdom Church

The two incidents we heard in this morning’s Gospel show the Pharisees coming out into the open in opposing Jesus. In one story, they clearly charge Jesus that he and his disciples are breaking the Sabbath laws. But they were not breaking any law against stealing or theft, because one of the merciful laws of the Hebrew testament is that anyone was free to pluck the grain from the fields, provided they did not use a sickle, except on the Sabbath.

Jesus and his disciples had broken four Sabbath laws. They were guilty of reaping by plucking the grain. Guilty of threshing by rubbing the grain in their hands. Guilty of winnowing by flinging away the husks. By eating the grain, supposedly they had prepared the food.

Jesus defended his followers by using an example the Pharisees all knew quite well from their education in the Hebrew testament: David provided his hungry followers with the sacred bread, which generally only the priests were allowed to eat. Jesus asked the Pharisees: “Have you not read what David did?” Their answer was “yes,” but it seems they never knew what that action meant. The Pharisees considered that their codes of conduct and rituals were essential to the daily life of religious observance. Jesus’ real concern was not the external behaviors but what is in the heart.

We also have codes of conduct and our rituals, so in many ways we are like the Pharisees: we have prescribed rituals for how to celebrate the Eucharist, how to pray the liturgy of the Hours or other devotions, how to live as a Christian, layperson, or professed religious. Many of these codes and rituals can be readily seen when they are carried out or when they are broken. Most of these rituals are based on our Scriptures. It is possible to know the scriptures from cover to cover and be able to quote from them verbatim, but completely miss the real meaning of any of it.

When we read Scripture we must not say, “Listen, Lord, for your servant is speaking” but rather, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

In listening, what do we understand about the rituals surrounding the Eucharist? The Eucharist is not only the center of our worship, but the center of our concern for our quest for the value and meaning of human life. What we need is to see in Christ the model of what it means to be a human person, fully alive, and to recognize in others the image of God.

In the next story we heard this morning, Jesus knew he was being watched. Without hesitation, he beckoned the man with a withered right hand to come to the center for all to see. What do we see in the heart of Christ, and what do we make of the hatred in the hearts of the Pharisees? The absence of love is the greatest poverty. Jesus asks, “Is it a good thing to do good on the Sabbath? Is it good to save rather than to destroy?” Luke points out that it is the right hand of the man that is withered. Perhaps the man is a right-handed stonemason who cannot work because of to his withered hand. Kindness and goodwill are indispensable attributes of the heart that human beings need to be fully alive. The absence of love is the greatest poverty.

The need for all of us to pray is clearly indicated by this morning’s Scripture.  Jesus frequently went to a mountain and prayed. After one particular night spent in prayer, Jesus chose his twelve apostles from his many disciples. These were ordinary men, not an influential person among them. In fact, they were quite diverse in their occupations and personalities. Peace and harmony are attainable if we look to Jesus to lead us. In Christ even the most opposite people may be united in their love for him. If we really love Christ, we learn to love one another.

Christ is in our midst!

 

 

 

 

 

Homily: Matthew 25:14-30

Parable of the Talents    October 17, 2021
by Sister Rebecca
Holy Wisdom Church

 

In this Gospel we have the well-known Parable of the Talents. Jesus said that the Kingdom of heaven is like a man who goes on a trip and entrusts his goods to three of his employees.  The first two immediately go to work.  When the owner returns, they bring him the results: each one has doubled the talents he was given. Their work is generously rewarded because they were responsive to the master’s expectations.

The third employee does something very strange.  The only thing that occurs to him is to bury the talent he was given and keep it safe until the master returns.  The master condemns him as wicked and lazy, and he casts him out of his household.  This servant was motivated by fear, and it was this fear that had become the controlling power and influence in his life.  “What happens if I invest money and lose it all? I know the master is a hard man; what would he do to me then?”

Part of what is confusing in this parable, and others like it, is that it was not unusual for Jesus to use persons of less than admirable qualities to provide lessons in his parables. We can easily miss the point by turning the parable into an allegory in which this master would represent God, leading us to think of God as some sort of harsh, severe, and arbitrary character who uses fear as a motivation.

This servant who buries the talent given to him can’t think straight because his heart has been full of fear.  He acts out of fear. He wants to play it safe.  We can do the strangest things when we are afraid—right?  A heart of love, on the other hand, has an enlivening effect on the mind. Acting out of fear is the opposite of faith.  Faith involves risk.  To live in faith is to live with fear yet not be overcome by it. 

This fearful servant doesn’t love the master; he is afraid of him.  “I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.” He has no clue about his responsibility.  He doesn’t understand what active, creative faithfulness involves.  He is not engaged.   For many today, Christianity seems to have reached a point where the main goal is to conserve, not to courageously seek out new ways to face and accept life’s challenges and proclaim Christ’s burning desire for the reign of God. Now, more than ever, in our times we need to listen carefully to this parable.

We need to ask ourselves if our religion is seen as a system of beliefs and practices that protect us from God and from what God urges us to do: that is, to live creatively.  Status quo religion leads to sad, sterile, joyless lives devoted to safeguarding or protecting the institution rather than risk to love into action.

The inner motivation of third servant is like this: “Here is your gospel, your project of the reign of God.  We have kept it safe.  We haven’t used it to transform our life or introduce your reign to the world.  We didn’t want to take chances.  So here it is undamaged.”

The message is clear.  We cannot hand our life back to God and say: “Here, you have what is yours. I didn’t use it for anything that makes me afraid.”  It is a mistake to live a religiously, morally correct life without taking the risk to move out of ourselves, out of our comfort zone, away from predictability, to connect with persons who might not respect us, who may treat us unkindly.  Jesus urges us to love others courageously, audaciously, and creatively.

When we mostly care about saving our life in any given area, protecting and defending it, we lose it.  If we are so afraid of failure that we don’t follow the aspirations of our heart, we have already failed.  The Spirit of God speaks to us in very subtle ways, like nudges, to allow us to freely choose.  The first reading from Sirach says: “that God in creating us, left us in the power of our inclinations and to act faithfully is a matter of our own choice.” If we fail to listen, if we don’t take the initiative in areas that seem foreign to us and to our temperament, or if we are afraid we are wrong, then we are already wrong.  This is tantamount to burying our very lives.

Jesus’ life and words invite us to live with a certain intensity and the courage to make the Gospel real.  We need to stoke the fires of our creative imagination, listen to the Spirit, and invent Christian love for today.

The greatest mistake of the third servant in the parable is not that he buried his talent. Rather, he surrendered his God-given inner power to fear. He mindlessly assumed that he was responding faithfully to God by keeping his talent safe from risks.  Fidelity to God does not consist in leaving things in a state of status quo…unchanged.  Maybe we need to ask ourselves this question: Do we harbor an attitude that masks habits of passivity, fear of conflict, paralysis, comfort seeking? And at bottom: a lack of trust in the creativity of the Spirit of Christ?

When we act out of faith, we give up the need to control the outcome. It is not what we choose that matters so much, but why we choose or do not choose.   When we operate from faith and not fear, then the Spirit of God, the Energy of Heaven, flows through us. This is the spiritual challenge before us.

A word from Mary Oliver may stoke the embers in our heart: “Let us risk the wildest places, lest we go down in comfort, and despair.”

Homily July 11, 2021 Matthew 6:22-34

 

By Sister Rebecca

Today’s Gospel is a section from the Sermon on the Mount in chapter 5 of Matthew’s Gospel: “Jesus went up into a mountain; he sat down and gathered his disciples around him and taught them.” Matthew is portraying Jesus’ teaching in continuity with the Prophet Moses, who on a mountain received the Law of God. Beginning with the Beatitudes Jesus interprets the Law—also called The Way—showing what the Word of God looks like in the lives of those who are Jesus’ followers.  What follows through to chapter 8 are the teachings seen through the lens of the Beatitudes. These teachings become like beacons of God’s Light: “Let your light shine so people can see how your life manifests the radiance, the splendor of your Father.”  Jesus is not proclaiming a New Law, a different Torah.  He says his teaching does not change even the smallest letter of the Law.  He interprets and brings to light a deeper understanding of the Law.

Just prior to the section we heard today, Jesus was warning his listeners about the danger of making earthly treasures the object of their longing, and ultimately their worship. “Where your heart is, there is your treasure.”  Jesus is not telling his disciples, or us, to squelch any desire to treasure something that is outside of us. Rather, he is directing us to attach, first and foremost, our God-given soul-longing to the ultimate treasure our hearts are yearning for—God Himself. All other treasures will, in the end, break the hearts of their worshippers.

Jesus continues his warning with two more images: a healthy versus an unhealthy eye, and the human tendency to serve two masters.

“The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is sound, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is not sound, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!”

“No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

(Many commentators will mention here that at the time of Jesus’ earthly life, people believed that the eye shines light on the objects it is looking at, rather than that the eye takes in light from outside.  However, this is not important in trying to understand Jesus’ point.) Jesus is saying that the eye is the gateway to enlighten the body—the entire inner person.  To have unhealthy eyes has a profound effect on one’s whole life. Everything is affected—how you get around, your ability to engage in social situations, what you can do to earn your living, and so on.

Since this image follows immediately from Jesus’ speaking about what we treasure and set our hearts on, it makes sense to see that what we “SET our eyes” on is really our treasure. The person who has a sound eye is the one who treasures that which is beyond the small self to soul-vision. Such a person is conscious of the deep longing for God: His peace, His righteousness, God’s transforming grace, His justice, His purity, His love and joy. These people recognize the infinite superiority of treasuring God over all else. This is what is meant by having a sound eye, or literally, a single eye, a single-mindedness for God, Then, one’s whole life is full of light.

How so?

In this light we are enabled to see more clearly the correct, proper place of earthly living and its various lesser “treasures.” Our relationships, our work, our wealth, the political situation under which we live—all come to be seen in God’s light.  His purpose and work are seen in their proper place. They are no longer the place where we seek our identity. Seen in this light we can take everything else in this perspective: we can receive what is proper and possible from others and from our work, and we can give in such a way as to be truly a blessing. We can give and receive with no strings attached.

In the verse “If the light within you is darkness, how great IS that darkness” what is the meaning of darkness? It is a form of blindness, subjectively felt as deception, ignorance, lack of insight or understanding.  It brings on a kind of death. It hampers foresight. It often causes extreme worry or anxiety. Darkness can be a kind of blurred vision where there is a lack of boundaries.  When our desires throw us off balance.  It also has a ripple effect on others.  They too are confused, upset, thrown off balance.

When we attach ourselves to things, to unhealthy, unrealistic ideals of ourselves, our “personas,” then our lives are in the dark. When we find ourselves “attached” we are out of balance, and nothing is in its proper place. We cannot enjoy what we do treasure because we are trying to control life rather than receive it gratefully and with a discerning eye.

Have you ever noticed that when you count on another person to be the one who gives you your identity or your life, you cannot see that person for who they really are?  Your state of mind is such that you are unable to receive from them what they are actually able to give you. You are projecting onto them your unrealistic expectations of them. As C.S. Lewis says: “When we worship what is not God, it becomes a demon that we hate, but can’t quite seem to let go of.”

It is not enough to attend to our inner selves—to pray, worship, do good. We do need others, especially in these times, when the floodgates of the media can have devasting effects on those who are not rooted in moral, religious, or spiritual milieus.

There is much Darkness in our midst: unknowing, feelings of listlessness.  There is an ancient term we often hear today: crises of ACEDIA (ah-say-dia), which I think is related to what lately I hear from certain younger people who moan, “I am in a funk.” I need help.  

 We need wise teachers, spiritual companions; we need enlightened friends, spouses, community members to mirror to us the areas of our own blindness. Not all darkness is bad. Darkness can be the space or state of mind where our deeper longings can emerge into our consciousness.  Our resistance to truth can precipitate us into this darkness. We may unconsciously set up resistances to see what really IS, that to which God is calling us, what our addictions or attachments are, and how they are sucking life out of us.  At these times, do we really want to know the truth? Are we willing to surrender to the truth?  There is no way we can shine the light of the Spirit of God on how I am to live my life if we are stuck in our opinions, our unnamed unbalanced areas of our living, our addictions no matter how subtle.  Great teachers tell us that without suffering some form of darkness, our resistances will not give way to the light that leads to fuller life.

Jesus concludes this teaching with these words, “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.” Mammon doesn’t mean money, as some translations would have it. Mammon is anything that we get attached to, cling to, or be addicted to. You cannot, Jesus is saying, have two things vying for first place in your life, as the focus of your eye. Doing that will make you a divided person, unable to be whole in the relationships and activities of your life. In the previous section, we found that we need to choose what truly is first. Here Jesus warns against trying to have two “firsts.”

We cannot set our eyes on two things, have two centers, two “treasures” that we devote ourselves to. Attempting to serve two masters will result in our coming to resent, despise, and resist one or the other—endlessly! Our whole lives will be filled with darkness, not just our eyes! Jesus continues to point out the only source of true blessing, true life, both here and now, and for eternity. He calls us to surrender in trust to the Living God who is present and offers himself to us in Jesus Christ.

I’d like to end with a few thoughts for reflection:

Through what lens am I seeing? What is the light I seek or that I am drawn to?  Is there anything in my life that is blurring my inner vision, just one thing?

“If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is: infinite.”  William Blake

“When we go to God in contemplative prayer, we wait in silence. In silence, though, all our thought patterns assault us.  Our patterns of control, addictions, negativity, anger, and fear assert themselves.  That is why many people do not persevere.  Even when Jesus is led by the Spirit into the Wilderness, the first things that show up are wild beasts. Contemplation is at first all-consoling. The precious pearl that Jesus speaks of is formed first like an oyster, through an irritant.  God is light, yet this full light is hidden in the darkness so that only the single-minded seeker is ready to receive it.”

 

Pentecost 2021 Joel 2:23-3:5, Acts 2:1-11, John 7:37-52, 8:12

 

As preached by Sister Cecelia

Holy Wisdom Church

Children of Zion, be glad and rejoice in the Lord.

How much more so are we to rejoice and be glad with the knowledge of God’s goodness to us since that first Pentecost. We do not have to wait for the Holy Spirit to come to us, because the Spirit is here now.

In the Gospel this morning, we heard Jesus pleading with his listeners to come to him and drink, meaning that they are to believe in Him and the Father God who had sent Him.  Jesus claimed that “Out of the believer’s heart living water would flow.” Scripture says that this meant that the Spirit would come to believers when Jesus was glorified.

I have pondered what it could mean that Scripture has been translated to say that there was no Spirit yet because Jesus was not glorified. I still don’t really know what it means.  We believe the Spirit has always been, just as God and Jesus have always been—the Trinity, from all eternity. 

Jesus appeared in many forms during the time from his Resurrection until his Ascension. A possible explanation for no spirit yet is that Jesus in bodily form had to leave so that we could more easily accept the bodiless Spirit coming, not only to his immediate disciples at Pentecost, but to all of us who have come to believe.

When we are open to the Spirit, are we as courageous as the early Christians were? What would make us as courageous? When we experience the Spirit within, we come to the awareness of the oneness of everything that is. What unites everything is the God that is within and without everything that is. It was Juliana of Norwich, gazing at a hazel nut, who exclaimed that she could see the whole world there.

We are much more prepared to understand this perplexing, awe-inspiring idea in a post- Einstein world—where energy is the one constant. We awaken to enjoy an entirely sacramental universe, and to recognize God’s image in all creatures, without exception. This transformation happens when we live in the now of our lives. When we allow the moment, the person, the idea, or the situation to influence us and even change us. We need quiet times and reflection to be changed. We need to be vulnerable enough to say “yes” when we sense what God is asking of us as Mary did to the Angel who gave God’s message to her.

It seems God’s goal is always to be united. That is different from any personal perfection, which is merely a goal of the ego that we might be striving for.  Life lived fully and honestly always involves joy and suffering, a path of little deaths that teach us to let go and to live in the joy of divine union. Our ego must learn to become the servant instead of the master, and even be willing to die for the sake of its union with the Spirit, just as Jesus did on the cross.

When we are capable of contemplation—non-dualistic thinking—we can forgive and accept our own imperfections and those of the world around us. With a better understanding of science and psychology, we see many new possibilities for spiritual growth and human development. Growing up and waking up are both essential to be able to attain wholeness and holiness.

When we are open to the Spirit, we can be courageous to let this same Spirit guide us to an ever more encompassing growing up and waking up.

 

Christ is in our midst!

 

M ay 16, 2021, Myrrhbearer Sunday: Mark 16:1-8S

 

As Preached by Sister Cecelia
Holy Wisdom Church

Christ is risen!

As a child with a curious mind, I did not want to know just a part of any story. I often wanted to know more about something, but would only be offered partial explanations. “Why?” I would say. My parents would answer that there was more to the story than I would be able to comprehend. “Just wait. One day you’ll understand.”

Reflecting on today’s Gospel, my perspective about many things is different than at earlier times in my life. Certainly, too, the Myrrhbearers eventually understood Jesus’ words much differently when they realized Jesus had risen from the dead. He had said repeatedly that he would rise, but none of his followers seemed to comprehend.

What had Joseph of Arimathea not understood about Jesus when he did not speak up in Jesus’ defense when the Sanhedrin had Jesus on trial? Was it only after Jesus died that he was courageous enough to ask Pilate for the body? Jesus had said that when he was lifted up, he would draw all people to himself. Perhaps the first to be drawn to him was the Roman soldier who pierced Jesus’ side with a spear and called him the son of God. Perhaps Joseph was the second one to be drawn to Jesus.

Even though the Myrrhbearers did tell the apostles that Jesus was risen—there are several versions in Mark’s gospel—they were not believed. When Mary Magdalene also told the apostles that Jesus had risen, they were starting to come around, enough to go check out the tomb for themselves. Then we know that Jesus made several more visitations before the apostles accepted he had truly risen and was alive. Jesus still had much to reveal to his followers, but he knew they needed more time to live in the resurrection reality before they could be further enlightened.

Jesus’ revelation that the Spirit would soon disclose more is a message meant for us as well. We simply cannot know everything, but we do need to pay attention to the Spirit as we go along, our sights fixed on the Risen Lord. To know God, to abide in God, to have fellowship with God has been the quest of our human spirit throughout history. Knowing God does not come just by human speculation, or by an exotic experience of emotion, but by God’s own revelation through the Spirit.

We are making our way through these 40 days of yet another Easter season. The truth will be revealed to us, but in God’s time, not ours. Be watchful. Pay attention. Be open to what life teaches us through scientific and theological knowledge and through our own experience. Be open to the Spirit of God speaking to us today.

In our universe, predictable laws are combined with unpredictable probabilities, so that nature takes on the form of a story being told. Patient waiting is essential for us to awaken to any meaning in the cosmic story, including the story of life. The biblical emphasis on the need to wait in hopeful anticipation for the self-revelation of God—or for God’s will to be done—goes along with the need to wait for a greater understanding of the meaning of our life.

There will always be more to the story.

Christ is in our midst!

Homily: Luke 16:19-31 Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus

 

By Sister Rebecca

Just prior to our Gospel reading today, we are told that Jesus cried out, “You cannot serve God and money,” to some of the Pharisees and Scribes who were listening.  They were known to be lovers of money. They turned up their noses to him and mocked him.  But Jesus did not back off.  He told a very disturbing parable so that those who were possessed and blinded by their riches might open their eyes.  This story is an incredibly upsetting one.  It describes a harsh and cruel situation.  The story is about a nameless rich man and a poor beggar, Lazarus, whose name in Hebrew means “God helps.”  Saint John Chrysostom adds, “God helps the one who cries out.”  But this man’s “cry” is a silent cry; he utters not one word.  Jesus breaks the silence—but not only the silence of this man.  Throughout Luke’s Gospel, Jesus takes a stand for the silent suffering ones, the dispossessed, the sick, the marginalized—in short, those who have no voice.

            Jesus also breaks through indifference.  In our story we hear of a rich man and Lazarus, who live near one another but are separated by an abyss that exists between a life of abundance and ostentatious opulence and the extreme misery of a poor, sick man, Lazarus.

            In describing these two persons, Jesus strongly points out the contrast between them.  The rich man goes about dressed in regal purple and the finest linen, while the poor man is clothed with nothing but his wounds.  The rich fellow sets up grandiose banquets, not only on festive days but every day, whereas Lazarus, lying at the mansion gate, cannot even bring to his mouth whatever falls from the table of the rich man.  Only the dogs get to feed on what he longs for.  The dogs alone see this man and give him some relief by licking his wounds.

            Nowhere do we hear that this rich man has exploited, mistreated, or despised the poor and miserable.  He is not a bad man; there is no mention of him doing evil things.  He is simply indifferent to the needs of others.  His entire life seems to us inhuman, since he is egotistically concerned only for his own comfort.  There is a total disconnect between himself and the poor man right under his feet.  He ignores Lazarus because he is so utterly self-absorbed.  He has no conscience because he is not conscious of anything beyond himself and of his own pleasure.  He has a heart of stone.  

            We must not deceive ourselves: Jesus does not only denounce the Galilean situation of his times.  He attempts to stir up the conscience of our own Christian community.

            As followers of Jesus, and hearing this story anew today, we can ask ourselves: What words stand out in our own minds?  The readings this morning from the Book of Deuteronomy and the Epistle to the Romans give us insights into the path: “The Word is near you—it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may practice it.”  What “Word” of life is Christ striving to get through to us?  What is he stirring us to reflect upon?  The Word of God is on our lips and in our hearts so we may listen to it and practice it.  Surely, the Word of God to each one of us today is not as individuals to try to eradicate poverty or bridge the gap between the haves and the have-nots.  Even Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you.”  One of the three great temptations of Jesus in the desert was to use his gifts to turn stones into bread and do just that: eradicate hunger.  Rather, his mission was to teach and turn hearts of stone into hearts of love and compassion.

            But when we read the Gospels and the Epistles we note that there are all kinds of poverty, suffering, and misery that are not just about food and clothing.  Most of those who are listening to this Gospel today are both rich and poor.  The story depicts what is blatantly obvious of what rich and poor look like, might feel like.  This is real.  Yet, like all parables, this one needs to be unpacked at a personal level.  These stories are meant to strike our imagination as metaphor and lead us to a deeper level of listening to what Jesus is calling each of us as his followers: Listen to the silent cries of not only those close to us but of our very own hearts.

            We all have riches, different levels of riches: talents, knowledge, health in mind and body, skills that are proper to each of us.  We received them in order to steward them for the good of others.  Are we really sharing the ones that are needed by those in our midst or part of our social lives?  Are we sensitive to a particular need of the one closest to us at any given moment?  Are we so “possessed” or blinded  by one or another of our personal riches, a particular gift that might so absorb us that we fail to see the bigger picture of our community lives, whether here at the monastery or in our families and workplaces?

            What Jesus really points to is the great chasm—the sin of the world that has created relational chasms all over the place.  For example, is there is a chasm between us and God, between us and them, between us and ourselves, between us and creation?  That is what hell is like.  That is the darkness from which we are all called to realize that we need to be saved.  Is there a silence that needs to break through in our lives, or an unfeeling indifference that creates gaps among us?  Do we act sometimes like the indifferent rich man but also like a silenced “Lazarus”?  We absolutely need to cry out for God’s help as we are called to break through the barrier of an unhealthy and painful silence.  We need to communicate at a deeper level and close the gap that may exist between us and with one another.  Anthony the Great said that life and death is in your relationship with your neighbor.  Love bridges the chasm between life and death.

 

 

Homily, March 25, 2021 Annunciation

 As preached by Sister Cecelia
Holy Wisdom Church

Heb.2: 11-18   LK 1:26-38

Today we heard Archangel Gabriel greeting Mary with these words: “Rejoice, O favored one! The Lord is with you!”  Some icons of this event depict Gabriel landing like a blast of strong wind running toward Mary—a very dynamic approach. Other depictions are like a quiet still life. Perhaps we can relate these depictions to our own experiences of God’s visitations to us: Some are an overwhelming sense of God’s presence, at other times a sense is so subtle that it is easily unheeded.

The angel’s next words to Mary were “Do not be afraid.” How often throughout Scripture we are told not to be afraid.  What do these words mean to us now? During the almost 400 days dealing with the effects of the virus on the world and more specifically our own little worlds, how often have we needed the comfort and encouragement of these words: “Do not be afraid.”

Mary was indeed puzzled by the angel’s words, but after initially questioning the angel, she was willing to say “Amen”—So be it done according to the will of God. Was Mary able to put her fears aside, or did she continually renew her Yes to God in spite of still facing her fear? What can we learn from Mary’s response? We have had to say Yes to great efforts to make our actions and surroundings it safe for others as well as ourselves. Much suffering and death, as well as constant inconveniences, have been met with many Yeses in our nation. Also some No’s.

We know from history the heroism that Mary’s Yes called for, over and over. We too, having made an absolute choice of Yes to God, must continue saying Yes when we encounter vexatious situations that we would gladly avoid. Think of life as running a race, a marathon, but not competing with others. Each of us then can be winners, crowned with the laurel of eternal life. Or we can lose the race that day when we say No to God. We must get up and start again.

None of us are utterly stupid or supreme geniuses. None of us are so poor that we could not be poorer. None are so rich that we would not like more. No one loves God so much that we could not love God more. No one is so totally destitute of goodness whose heart could not still long for God.

We are all on a journey, a pilgrimage. We have much work to do to understand what God is asking of us. Are we counting the successes of our Lenten practices? We can derive a personal satisfaction, a comfort, that comes from knowing that we are doing something to make ourselves better. Athletes do the same thing. These things are good, but they are not all that the spiritual life is about. The core values of the spiritual life are as much about the attitudes that underlie the way we go about life as they are about the regularity of our devotions.

We can use our own practices as a benchmark with which to judge—and find wanting—the religious disciplines of others. Abba Poemen, who lived in the third or fourth century, was asked by the other monks if they should pinch a brother who had fallen asleep during the services. Abba Poemen answered that he would gently put the sleeping monk’s head on his own lap to let him sleep more comfortably instead of pinching him awake.

As important as regular religious practices are to awaken spiritual consciousness, they are not the essence of spiritual life. Legalism and false asceticism are pale reflections of great virtue. Mercy, compassion, and forgiveness are the holiness that pious practices are meant to sow in us. Rigidity for its own sake can never substitute for real virtue. We are meant to prod ourselves to regular discipline so that thereby our hearts will be softened to serve those whom Jesus served. Be not afraid, and know that Jesus wants kind hearts from us, not sacrifice: deep basic commitment, our Yeses, not blue ribbons for winning the marathons we’ve run to make ourselves “feel holy.”

 A truly holy person once wrote “Be kind, be kind, be kind!” Let our own Yes be that we act with kindness each day and are open to receive kindness from others as well.

 Christ is in our midst.

 

Homily: Prodigal Son, February 28, 2021

 

Luke 15:11-32

By Sister Rebecca

The story of the Prodigal Son reflects the same theme as that of the Pharisee and the Publican. The difference is that the characters of the long-suffering and compassionate father and the self-righteous hidebound elder son bring out some deeper elements of repentance: change of heart, and forgiveness again. But now it is in the context of exile and coming home. We see the obvious sin of the younger son contrasted with the more subtle sin of the elder brother, along with the long-suffering compassion of the father, who is the uniting figure in a house torn apart for years.

The younger son who leaves his father's house is like the unscrupulous tax collector in last Sunday’s parable of the Pharisee and the Publican. Taking his inheritance early, he wastes it, becoming poor and destitute. His self-inflicted suffering finally cracks open his rebellious heart, and he returns home to ask forgiveness. Jesus points in other places to more obvious sinners, like prostitutes and tax-collectors, and tells us that they will get into heaven before the less obvious sinners, like hypocrites and Pharisees—those who are deluded into believing that they are righteous. He tells us that those who sin much turn out to love much.

The elder son is like the Pharisee who boasted of his faithfulness to the Law. The elder son boasted that he had remained loyal and upright in his father's house. Both men thought themselves righteous, and they judged other human beings.  Did they do the right things but for the wrong reasons? Enjoying wealth and security, knowledge of the Law and a kind of self-serving obedience to it: neither of them was able to recognize his own sin and inner poverty. Pride and arrogance undermined all their so-called righteousness. Like a worm in an apple, it ate away at their hearts until there was little left to draw on when the time for compassion came around.

The Pharisee and the elder brother cared only for themselves. They actually broke the Law, which says, “You shall love your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength and your neighbor as yourself.” So it is with those two and with us when we abandon compassion for legalism.

Legalism, zealotry, and extremism are always signs that indicate spiritual bypassing is taking place. Beneath these behaviors there is always anger, denial, and actually very intense suffering. The word “passion” is often defined as “sin,” but that is not what it means. The word “passion” actually means “suffering.” So, the way to a real change of mind is also the path of the alleviation of our internal suffering. We must not avoid our pain if we want to heal our pain. There is no other way to heal it than to experience it, to go there armed with compassion and courage as God leads, and actually feel what it is we have tried so hard to forget and avoid. There is no other way. That is what the scripture means that says, “Of this be certain: your sin will find you out.” Eventually, we will have to deal honestly with what it is that is eating us up inside.

Here I would like to share a story that happened many decades ago and made a deep impression on me.  A particular family was celebrating the 18th birthday of the oldest of three daughters.  Upon return from Sunday mass, the family gathered together for their usual brunch.  When the gifts were being offered to the birthday girl, the middle sister, scowling as shoved her card over to her older sister, said in a nasty tone, “Here’s a card for you—if you even care!”  The older sister stifled her knee-jerk reaction: to shove it back to her, tit for tat. That would be the usual reaction. This time, however, she kept silent and opened the card.  Reading it, the older girl felt deeply moved, since this was the first time her sister had ever expressed positive, kind sentiments to her.  She got up from the table and hugged her sister, thanking her with all her heart.  Shocked, the younger sister suddenly burst into tears: “Oh! I am so sorry for being so mean to you…”

 

This was a real transformative experience for both of them. They had been always at odds with each other.  The younger sister was quiet and studious. She manifested a religious persona, always doing the “right thing.” She was a stay-at-home kid, cared little about her appearance, saved her allowance, and habitually criticized her older sister, who bore the traits of the young son in the gospel: impulsive, spending money thoughtlessly, fun-loving, with a passion for fashionable clothes, adventurous, and independent, not to mention uninterested in things religious. This sounds like small stuff, but often life presents the likes of such details that spark off a budding transformative experience. The two sisters became close friends. Both began to appreciate their differences and see what was hidden from their eyes about each other’s qualities.  This was an event, a transformative one for both. It reminds me of what Leonard Cohen wrote: “There is a crack in everything; that is how the light gets in.”

 

I would like to believe that the story of the elder son ends with the father’s gentle heart-warming words piercing the elder son’s heart. That he sees his own self-righteousness, his mean critical attitude toward his wander-lusting brother, toward whom he harbored such deep resentment and jealousy. That the father’s love cracked open his heart and ignited compassion to enter in.

Great Lent is only two weeks away. The call is always to a deeper and deeper gut-wrenching change of mind and heart.  Transformation is not an easy process, since it demands our cooperation as the searchlight of the Holy Spirit goes into the dark places where we do not wish to go. But, as the spiritual dictum tells us, “The way in is the way out.”

That is why how we treat others is so important to Jesus. Our ability or inability to love is the only true sign of spiritual health and the only criterion on which we will be judged on the Great and Last Day. It begins when we learn to have compassion on our own suffering. Only those in touch with their own suffering, who have taken the path of repentance, are able to see and experience God’s ever-encompassing unconditional and patient love.

I’d like to end with Lenard Cohen, again: “Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. It is through the crack that light gets in.”

 

Note: I would like to thank Fr. Antony Hughes of St. Mary of the Angels Church in Boston for his insights, some of which I have included in this homily.

 

January 24, 2021

 

Homily by Sister Cecelia

Isaiah 6:1-19, 1 Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 4:16-24

How quickly a person’s mind can change!  When Christ uttered the words that the prophet Isaiah had said, the people of Nazareth were delighted and amazed. When he warned them that a prophet is not accepted in his own town and proceeded to give examples from their history of others than Jews being helped, their delight turned to fury, and they determined to throw Jesus off the nearby cliff.

What was in their minds that would prompt such a response? Yes, Jesus was criticizing his people. Perhaps they understood from his words that he was not going to do all his good works of healing the blind, freeing those in prison, and preaching the good news to the poor, as he had in other locales. But, instead of trying to understand why Jesus had said this, they hardened their hearts even more and determined to kill him.

When we look at our own lives, do we recall any similarities to the Nazarenes’ reaction when we are criticized? There must be reasons why we react sometimes with hurtful defensive anger rather than look at ourselves to see if we could do better. Then, even be thankful someone had the courage or audacity to vocalize their thoughts to us. It takes patience to come to know ourselves. It takes patience to appreciate every easy or difficult step along the way. Perhaps the first steps are easier, then comes the hard, wearying repetition of the process of learning. Learning to know ourselves with both patience and bravery.

The Spirit teaches us if our hearts remain open.

I’m reminded of my early years in the monastery in Indiana. Though we received some teaching, learning to live the gospel in community was done more by example than by words. I learned by the example of others in two ways. Some nuns behaved in what I judged to be very saintly ways, and I tried to make my behavior like theirs. With some others, I judged their behavior to not be what I thought was pleasing to God, so I promised myself I would not be like them. Since then, I have learned that judging others is not the most wholesome approach to life. We do judge or see the exterior behavior of others, but we cannot know what is in their hearts. Taking the attitude that if others don’t do what is expected, then I don’t need to, is not a wholesome approach either.

 Knowing my own values, and living up to them, rather than comparing myself to any other person, is a much better approach. 

An aspect of the good news Jesus was not able to give to the Nazarenes because of their hardness of hearts is exemplified in another parable-the goats and the sheep- of those who will be chosen and those who will not at the end of life. The parable could be shock therapy to get us out of any complacency we might have about our own goodness or despondency about the lack of it. What we do for others, or do not do, is what we are doing to Jesus. The surprise of the people involved in the parable of not knowing when they had done or not done those things to Jesus was they perhaps were thinking too big.  It is good to run the soup kitchen, but it is also good to take a sandwich to your next-door neighbor or to make one for your own hungry child. It is not good to rob a bank, but also not good to swipe a scarf from your friend. To get a glass of water for someone you think could be thirsty is an act of love or is not if you do not do it. It does not have to be big feats that Jesus is commending or terribly wicked things he is condemning. What we do or not do for or against another is what we are doing for our Lord.

Let our own hearts be open so that the Spirit can teach us to know ourselves, so that the Spirit can teach us to know God who is love.

Christ is in our midst!

 

Homily: Theophany

January 06, 2021

As preached by Sister Rebecca
Holy Wisdom Church

            Today we celebrate Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan. Last evening at Great Compline we heard the Gospel where John the Baptist was called by God to proclaim a baptism of repentance. There was something incredibly charismatic about John’s voice in the wilderness that drew people to him in droves.

            Maybe most of those people were filled with an expectation for some kind of change in society. After all, the Jordan was viewed as a national symbol, the memory of God’s leading his people through the Jordan River to the promised land of freedom and prosperity. Instead, they were suffering under the political and economic power of Rome. There was in the air a nostalgia for the past promises of God that led the Israelites from servitude to freedom. Some people, or even many people, thought that John was the awaited-for Messiah or the one who was ushering in this kind of Messiah. And they were even willing to change their ways, but that willingness did not go deep to the roots of inner conversion.

Prior to our Gospel today, we heard that John saw his mission as precursor of the one who was to come, who would baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire: Whose winnowing fan was in his hand…and he would purge his floor and burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire. Earlier, John cried out, “Oh you vipers…now the ax is laid to the root of the trees, and every tree that does not bear good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.” John had it right—to strive to awaken people to repentance—but he had it wrong as to the way God sees sinners and salvation. People do not really change from their inward being by fear. Yes, one can conform by will power, to avoid punishment, but the inward heart is not touched.

Jesus’ understanding of God’s Spirit is different.

In Luke’s Gospel we learn that when all the people had been baptized, Jesus came to John to be baptized. Only after all the people had shed their sins into the waters did Jesus go into those sullied waters to be baptized. He was in solidarity with all people. Jesus did not see his call in the same way John saw the Messiah. John was even shocked that Jesus was asking to be baptized by him, and he objected. But Jesus insisted. He knew deep down what he needed to do: “Let it be for now in order to fulfill all justice.” All justice? The Old Testament shows us that for humans, justice is bringing order into our temporal lives, but justice for God is compassion; it is understanding the ignorance and brokenness of human beings. And Jesus embodies this Spirit of God—not the mind of John. Jesus allows himself to be plunged down into the waters, and when he rises the heavens open up, and Spirit in the form of a dove alights on him, and a voice is heard: “This is my son, with whom I am well pleased.”

            It is at this moment that Jesus becomes conscious of his deepest identity: the Beloved Son of God. Here and now, God’s eternal time breaks through into chronological time, with Jesus’ realization and consciousness of his deepest identity: “I know by experience that am God’s child and deeply loved.” In the wake of this experience, he knows he has a mission, and his heart burns to perceive God’s direction.

Jesus embodies God’s Spirit: He is to reveal to people who they really are—that all human beings are sons and daughters of God. For him, love is his message. When people experience love, are conscious of being the beloved, of being good, then their lives are changed. When we know we are loved, we desire to act in goodness and kindness, and we find our purpose in life.

We are all at times called to our own “Jordans.” Sometimes life itself throws us into the dark waters of our weaknesses, where we have a sudden awareness of our need for conversion in some area of our lives. Jesus shows us the path: we need to go into those dark areas of our lives and feel our need for God. As the Psalmist says, “I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heartfelt understanding.”(Psalm 119) This happens when we know we cannot by sheer willpower change our selves, cannot be transformed into who we are called by God to be. The very yearning itself is God’s own desire for us to awaken, to be God-conscious in our own minds. This urgency is all the more essential now, when millions of people are struggling, suffering in this time of the plague of suffering and death. In our present brokenness and darkened world, we can be renewed in the Spirit, who tells us to go out into the darkness with love—not from our own limited self, but from the Spirit here and now, desiring us not only to be beacons of hope and trust in God’s goodness, but to embody God’s very compassion in our daily thoughts and actions.

I’d like to end with a few lines inspired of a favorite author of mine, the German poet Rainier Maria Rilke:

God speaks to each of us as God continues to form us; God walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear:

“You are sent out beyond your recall, beyond what you can remember; go to the limits of your yearning. Embody me. Flare up like a flame. And make big shadows I can move in. Let everything happen to you: beauty and fear. Keep going forward. No feeling is final. Don’t let yourself lose me. Give me your hand.