On the Road to Emmaus During a Pandemic: Finding New Old Ways of Being Church

As we approach today’s readings I think we all have a much clearer, more vivid sense of how it is a single Event can change our entire world so that there is simply no going back to what we once knew and perhaps even took for granted. We know what it is like to have our usual assumptions and expectations upended, to have everyday routines and priorities thrown into disarray, and -- at least for the time being -- --- to have been robbed of many of the things that gave our lives value and purpose including relationships, school, work, and even forms of ministry and ways of "being Church".

We know what it means to be frightened: frightened of illness, frightened of death, frightened even of life itself, frightened for ourselves, frightened for others, frightened the virus will leave us in a world without a meaningful future. At the same time we know the experience of "seeing with new eyes" what has been true and right in front of us all along: Family members we are, perhaps, only now spending quality time with and coming to know; friends who, in the midst of it all, are showing us new depths of compassion and caring; people we may take for granted or otherwise marginalize: they have become "essential" while we are sidelined; they are "heroes" to us and we marvel at their self-sacrifice, generosity, and courage.

Retelling the Story:

Today's gospel lection is meant to speak to people in precisely our predicament. I would like to retell it in a way that, I hope, will let us hear it afresh. These disciples have experienced the arrest, brutalization, and execution of a Man whom they loved, followed, and trusted in, a man whom they thought held the key to any real future. But the One they thought was God's own anointed one and their hope for a new and meaningful world, was instead determined to be a godless and godforsaken blasphemer and  political terrorist. He was executed in the most shameful way possible --- a way which underscored the lie his life must really have been --- and his last cry from the cross was one which pleaded with the God of Israel who had apparently also abandoned him. Like us, these disciples had experienced a world-shattering loss.

On the road to Emmaus we find them disoriented and fearful as they make their way home where they will shelter in place -- in hiding from the authorities who will be coming for them as well. On the way they take some comfort from the keenness  of their confusion and pain in conversation and debate --- yes, about the events in Jerusalem, but also they talk about the Jewish Scriptures and what they have taught and promised. Perhaps some of these stories, stories they have lived with and from their whole lives, can ease their grief a little and make sense of the tragedy they have just suffered.

When they meet a stranger who wonders why they are so distraught, so angry and uncertain, we can hear the edge in their response: "What!? Have you been living in a hole somewhere? Are you the only one in the entire civilized world who does not know what happened in Jerusalem?!! We were so sure he was God's. . . ; and, God forgive us, we were so wrong!! The One we thought was God's own Messiah was convicted by our own religious leaders and [shudder] crucified by the Romans. We know now therefore, he could not have been the one we hoped for. The God he supposedly "revealed" and taught us to believe in was powerless to save him; the kingdom he proclaimed, the realm of his God's putative "sovereignty", was apparently just another lie!!

A bit further along the road they continue to fill the stranger in on what he seems to have missed. We can hear their anger and their anguish: "You know, some women from our group told us Jesus was really alive (we had not seen the crucifixion ourselves), and they recounted stories of meeting angels --- Foolish Women! You know what kind of witnesses they make! When we checked out their story others from our group found only an empty tomb --- no heavenly messengers, no Jesus alive and well (or even alive and battered), not even his dead body --- just an empty tomb!! Some are saying the Romans stole the body to prevent the grave from becoming a focus for a martyr cult. Maybe it's true that the crucifixion of an apparently unbalanced Galilean peasant changed very little in the world at large --- but God help us!! Nothing at all is the same now. What are we to do??

In today's pandemic we face a similar journey and we know the road in front of us is long. There are great difficulties and uncertainties; neither are there easy or facile answers to the questions which haunt us. Nor, on the road to Emmaus, does the stranger provide facile answers to the desperate questions the disciples there both ask and are. Instead, he continues to accompany them on their journey. He is and remains with them. He listens and continues to listen as they pour out their hearts to him: bewilderment, anger, shattered hopes, fragile faith, and sorrow,  such immense sorrow -- he receives them all. And he challenges them rather sharply, in fact, to greater faith and continuing trust. Especially he reminds them of their scriptures and the way God has worked throughout their history.

Eventually,  in a shared meal they watch and listen as he takes bread, blesses and breaks it with and for them. And in that moment, they SEE! They KNOW! The God of Jesus, the God of the Christ has been victorious over death and death-dealing powers. He has made them his own and they are irretrievably changed by his presence. Everything Jesus told them was, no, IS true!! He has been vindicated by God, and even more astonishingly, he has been raised to new life --- not at the end of time or at the end of the world --- but right here and now in the midst of human history! Heaven, the word we use for God's own life shared with others, has broken in on and is remaking the old world into a New Creation. Nothing at all can separate us from God's love -- not crucifixion, not godless death, and certainly not pandemic. In light of all this, the disciples now see with new eyes and celebrate the truth they lamented just a short time before: NOTHING AT ALL will ever be the same again.

 On Our Own Road to Emmaus Today:

During this time of finding our way on a disorienting and painful journey, and especially as we find new ways to "be Church" when ordained clergy have been made relatively ineffective, this gospel story tells us one main story: we are being accompanied by the Crucified Christ even when we fail to recognize him and it is imperative that we learn to recognize and come to know him if we are to be people of genuine Hope. One of the reasons this gospel lection is critical for us this Easter especially is because it is clear he is not only to be found in Church, nor is he recognized only in the Scriptures as they are read there, nor only in the Eucharist itself. Because ours is an incarnational God who has sundered the veil between sacred and profane, and because, similarly, our faith is a sacramental one,  the One who accompanies us -- often unrecognized -- is found in the unexpected and even in what we might deem the unacceptable place. Sister Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB, who died just last Friday**, said it this way:

(We) live in a world of theophanies.

Holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary.

There are burning bushes all around (us).

We will say more about this as the weeks of Easter go on and the parish will help provide suggestions and resources, but it is in the reading of Scripture and the breaking of bread in our own homes that we will encounter and learn to recognize the Crucified and Risen Christ. Yes, as Vatican II emphasized, we ourselves are the church, a pilgrim people finding our way in a new and transitory world, a priestly people (Laos) in and through whom God is alive and mediated to that same world. Today's gospel asks that we return to that time when the larger faith community lived and worshipped in domestic and house churches.

Especially it asks that we make of these, places of prayer and that we become people who regularly pour out our hearts to the  God who receives us in every situation. It asks that we make our homes places where the Scriptures are read and reflected on so that our stories and those of our ancestors in faith become inextricable and God is allowed to pour himself out to us as we learn to receive him. And finally, it asks that we allow our homes to become places where the meals we eat are taken together joyfully, and attentively as we allow them to become something Eucharistic despite not being the Eucharist itself. After all, the Lord was with his disciples as they fled Jerusalem for home; He did not abandon or disdain the disciples at any point on the road to Emmaus. He will acompany us in the same way if we will only take the steps needed to encounter and recognize him! Amen.
________________________________________

**N.B., Sister Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB wrote 8 wonderful books on spirituality. One powerful theme was finding God in the ordinary and another was living in the present moment (as an ever-flowing grace empowers us to do). The quote above is taken from A Treeful of Angels. Macrina died on 24. April. 2020 of a brain tumor. Condolences to her Sisters at St Scholastica Monastery, Fort Smith, AR. She has left the home she loved to return to the one for which she most deeply yearned. Alleluia!

Second Sunday of Easter: Knowing and Proclaiming Christ Crucified and only Christ Crucified! (Reprise with Tweaks)

Today's Gospel focuses on the appearances of Jesus to the disciples, and one of the lessons one should draw from these stories is that we are indeed dealing with bodily resurrection, and especially, with a kind of bodiliness which transcends the corporeality we know here and now. In other words, it is very clear that Jesus' presence among his disciples is not simply a spiritual one, and that part of Christian hope is the hope that we, precisely as embodied persons, will come to perfection beyond the limits of death. It is not just our souls which are meant to be part of the new heaven and earth, but our whole selves, body and soul, (and in fact, the whole of creation is meant to be renewed)!

The scenario with Thomas continues this theme, but is contextualized in a way which leads homilists to focus on the whole dynamic of faith with seeing, and faith despite not having seen. It also makes doubt the same as unbelief and plays these off against faith --- as though faith cannot also be served by doubt. But doubt and unbelief are decidedly NOT the same things. We rarely see Thomas as the one whose doubt (or whose demands!) SERVE true faith, and yet, that is what today's Gospel is about. Meanwhile, Thomas also tends to get a bad rap as the one who was separated from the community and doubted what he had not seen with his own eyes. The corollary here is often perceived to be that Thomas will not simply listen to his brother and sister disciples and believe that the Lord has appeared to or visited them. But I think there is something far more significant going on in Thomas' proclamation that unless he sees the wounds inflicted on Jesus in the crucifixion, and even puts his fingers in the very nail holes, he will not believe.

What Thomas, I think, wants to make very clear is that we Christians believe in a crucified Christ, and that the resurrection was God's act of validation of Jesus as scandalously and ignominiously Crucified. I think Thomas knows on some level anyway, that insofar as the resurrection really occured, it does not nullify what was achieved on the cross. Instead it renders permanently valid what was revealed (made manifest and made real) there. In other words, Thomas knows if the resurrection is really God's validation of Jesus' life and establishes him as God's Christ, the Lord he will meet is the one permanently established and marked as the crucified One. The crucifixion was not some great misunderstanding which could be wiped away by resurrection. Instead it was an integral part of the revelation of the nature of truly human and truly divine existence. Whether it is the Divine life, authentic human existence, or sinful human life --- all are marked and revealed in one way or another by the signs of Jesus' cross. For instance, ours is a God who has journeyed to the very darkest, godless places or realms human sin produces, and has become Lord of even those places. He does not disdain them even now but is marked by them and will journey with us there --- whether we are open to him doing so or not --- because Jesus has implicated God there and marked him with the wounds of an exhaustive kenosis.

Another piece of this is that Jesus is, as Paul tells us, the end of the Law and it was Law that crucified him. The nail holes and wounds in Jesus' side and head -- indeed every laceration which marked him -- are a sign of legal execution -- both in terms of Jewish and Roman law. We cannot forget this, and Thomas' insistence that he really be dealing with the Crucified One reminds us vividly of this fact as well. The Jewish and Roman leaders did not crucify Jesus because they misunderstood him, but because they understood all-too-clearly both Jesus and the immense power he wielded in his weakness and poverty. They understood that he could turn the values of this world, its notions of power, authority, etc, on their heads. They knew that he could foment profound revolution (religious and otherwise) wherever he had followers. They chose to have him crucified not only to put an end to his life, but to demonstrate he was a fraud who could not possibly have come from God; they chose to crucify (or have him crucified) to terrify those who might follow him into all the places discipleship might really lead them --- especially those places of human power and influence associated with religion and politics. The marks of the cross are a judgment (krisis) on this whole reality.

There are many gods and even very many manifestations of the real God available to us today (many partial, some more or less distorted), and so there were to Thomas and his brethren in those first days and weeks following the crucifixion of Jesus. When Thomas made his declaration about what he would and would not believe, none of these were crucified Gods or would be worthy of being believed in if they were associated with such shame and godlessness. Thomas knew how very easy it would be for his brother and sister disciples to latch onto one of these, or even to fall back on entirely traditional notions in reaction to the terribly devastating disappointment of Jesus' crucifixion. He knew, I think, how easy it might be to call the crucifixion and all it symbolized a terrible misunderstanding which God simply reversed or wiped away with the resurrection -- a distasteful chapter on which God has simply turned the page. Thomas knew that false prophets (and false "messiahs") showed up all the time. He knew that a God who is distant and all-powerful is much easier to believe in (and follow) than one who walks with us even in our sinfulness or who empties himself to become subject to the powers of sin and death, especially in the awful scandal and ignominy of the cross --- and who expects us to do essentially the same.

In other words, Thomas' doubt may have had less to do with the FACT of a resurrection, than it had to do with his concern that the disciples, in their desperation, guilt, and the immense social pressure they faced, had truly met and clung to the real Lord, the crucified One. In this way, and only in this way!) their own discipleship could and would come to be marked by the signs of the cross as they preach, suffer, and serve in the name (and so, in the paradoxical power) of THIS Lord and no other. Only he could inspire them; only he could sustain them; only he could accompany them wherever true discipleship led them.

Paul said, "I want to know Christ crucified and only Christ crucified" because only this Christ had transformed sinful, godless reality with his presence, only this Christ had redeemed even the realms of sin and death by remaining open to God even within these realities. Only this Christ would journey with us to the unexpected and unacceptable places, and in fact, only he would meet us there with the promise and presence of a God who would bring life out of them. Thomas, I believe, knew precisely what Paul would soon proclaim himself, and it is this, I think, which stands behind his insistence on seeing the wounds and putting his fingers in the very nail holes. He wanted to be sure his brethren were putting their faith in the crucified One, the one who turned everything upside down and relativized every other picture of God we might believe in. He became the great doubter because of this, but I suspect instead, he was the most astute theologian among the original Apostles. He, like Paul, wanted to know Christ Crucified and ONLY Christ Crucified.

We should not trivialize Thomas' witness by transforming him into a run of the mill empiricist and doubter (though doubting is an important piece of growth in faith)!! Instead we should imitate his insistence: we are called upon to be followers of the Crucified God, and no other. Every version of God we meet should be closely examined for nail holes, and the lance wound inflicted by the world of power and prestige. Every one should be checked for signs that this God is capable of and generous enough to assume such suffering on behalf of a creation he would reconcile and make whole. Only then do we know this IS the God proclaimed in the Gospels and the Epistles of Paul, the God of Easter, the only one worthy of being followed even into the darkest reaches of human sin and death, the only One who meets us in the unexpected and even unacceptable place; only this God is the One who makes all things new by loving us with an eternal love from which nothing at all can separate us.

Becoming the Priestly People We Are

Several weeks ago my pastor sent me an article by ecclesiologist Massimo Faggioli. As part of the subtitle was the phrase:  ". . . how COVID-19 is 'unmaking the Clericalist Church.'" A couple of weeks ago I met with a directee who posed questions about some of the things that were coming to the fore in recent papal and other Church documents -- things like indulgences (a devotional practice she knew little about and viewed with rightful suspicion), but also questions re how we approach a Sacramental Church that is not able to minister the Sacraments? Both Faggioli's article and my client's questions pointed directly at a  couple of linked deficiencies we have been talking about for a long time, but which have, with this pandemic, become critical, namely, Vatican II and the post-Vatican II Church identified us clearly as 1) a priestly people dwelling in a 2) fundamentally sacramental world, and living (too-often unconsciously) by extension, a liturgy of everyday life (my expression), rooted in 3) the presence of God and nourished by His Word and Spirit.

To a large extent, Faggioli argued, the Church is unprepared for this pandemic precisely because we are so seriously clericalized. I agree. When we are deprived of access to the Eucharistic Liturgy we turn (and return) instead to a devotional approach to spirituality which tends to privatize spirituality in a way which is unworthy of a truly priestly people. Let me be clear; there is nothing wrong with devotions per se: rosaries, novenas, chaplets of mercy, etc., have their place in every prayer life. But there are other forms of prayer and sources of Christian and ecclesial life which can serve not only to give a rightful sense of sacredness to the whole day, but especially, to form us as Christians in and through the Word of God. In this post I want to say a little about the liturgy of ordinary life and also  look briefly at a couple of things which might help folks make the best of their time in "lock-down" and provide ways of praying which contribute to 1) a sense of the sacredness of our days, and 2) our sense of being a priestly people living from and for the Word of God. None of this detracts from our need for ordained ministry; in fact, it will underscore our need for this even as it relativizes it. But it will also help allow us to discover the roots of our Sacramental lives in the sacramental nature of all reality and to make of our families what Peter Damian once called "ecclesiolae" or little churches -- a central image he used for hermitages.

A Little on the Liturgy of Ordinary Life: Family Meals as Eucharistic:

One of the things folks recognize when they attend Mass is the similarity it bears to family life more generally. The liturgy centers around a meal, but also involves periods of storytelling as we hear about the important people and events in our own history, lives, and ancestry. We signal how important these are by framing them within a ritual with significant gestures and symbols, and we mark their holiness and the way they call us to holiness in the same way. What is important for us to realize at this particular time, I think, is how it is the Mass participates in and reflects the larger holiness of our world, our relationships, our meals and other activities together. Yes, as the Church teaches the Eucharist is the sum and summit of our spirituality but that means it reflects and perfects our more usual moments and spirituality of ordinary life. It invites us to see meals (including preparation and clean up), and time together sharing stories, history, struggles, consolation, etc, as sacred events in an overarching liturgy of ordinary life.

We mark this truth by praying grace before (and after) meals. But we also do it simply by treating meals as eucharistic moments where Church is created and we are nourished and give to one another in all the ways meals make possible. For families who never have the time to prepare meals or eat together, the sense that Mass is the reflection and perfection of what happens (or should happen) every time people come together for a meal may be a new idea, but in this time of shelter-in-place when attending Mass is not possible, it becomes especially important that we take the time to observe family meals for the sacred time and opportunity for creating community they really are. We  might then also take some time for sharing Scripture, reading a Bible story, and praying the Lord's Prayer, before dinner (or we could use the Lord's Prayer to end the meal perhaps). I would suggest that the Easter Season is a perfect time to begin such a practice, especially during the lock-down practices most of us are living with. Such meals are not Eucharist, nor do they replace Eucharist; even so, they are profoundly Eucharistic and point to Eucharist if we allow them to do so.

Just as Eucharist nourishes us and allows us to experience the strength of communal life and love needed for Good Friday and Holy Saturday, and so, for the variety of darknesses that assail us, such "ordinary meals" do the same and are essential for us. We must recognize that everywhere we look we see the hand of God and we use the things of nature for our Sacraments. In some ways these are the perfection of nature and Symbols (not mere signs) of the presence and power of God. Bread, wine, water, oil, and beyond these, even breath, stone and wood -- all become ways in which the sacred quality of out world nourishes and inspires. If we can allow our ordinary reality to function as the gift of God it is, if we can learn to allow God to bless us and all of reality, we will help fulfill our vocations as God's priestly people -- especially at this time when ordained ministry has been limited in the ways it can serve us.

The Liturgy of Ordinary Life: Creating Days of Balance and Regularity

We do this by making of our days something ordered and given over to the regularity of prayer, work, recreation, community, and solitude. Psychologists tell us how important regularity is, how crucial it is to have things we can look forward to even as we fully engage with the present. How much more important all this is in a time of pandemic when the truth of our vocations to serve others with our lives removes us to the relative solitude known by hermits and cloistered religious. Monastics have known and practiced these things forever and the Church herself encourages us to build such things into our lives and, in a certain way, to make a liturgy of our days. As the priestly People of God we ARE Church and we are called to be Church in our everyday routines, our prayer, our family life, our solitude, our struggles, our work, recreation, and so forth. Again, our lives are meant to be liturgies and our homes are each meant to be "ecclesiolae" (little Churches) and we are the celebrants of this liturgical life.

Liturgy of the Hours:

One of the hallmarks of monastic life we can all gain from is the conviction that all of time is sacred and marked by the presence of God. Prayer is the way we make this presence conscious and real in our own time and space. In monastic, religious, and eremitical life one of the ways we do and have done this throughout almost the entire history of the Church is with the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours. With Vatican II the Church began to promote this as the official prayer of the Church and encouraged every Catholic to pray at least Morning and Evening Prayer as well as Night Prayer if possible. It is time to renew this encouragement. Many of the laity already pray "Office" because they are Benedictine oblates, or because their parishes have been successful in fostering the practice, for instance. There are manageable resources which allow folks to pray an abbreviated form of the Office like Magnificat, Give Us This Day (print and online versions), Universalis (online source), as well as Christian Prayer (a 1 volume version), for instance.

Each of these can also be tailored by the individual. They include psalms, canticles, prayers (especially the Lord's Prayer and intercessions), and brief readings from Scripture. If one can give 20-30 minutes to pray this, one can easily choose a different hymn or song (or play a CD or even use none), select a single psalm to pray slowly alone or with others, spend some time with the Scripture provided, modify the intercessions to meet needs we know of, and finish with the Lord's Prayer and a blessing, for instance. If  families use this for Night Prayer (my personal favorite "hour"), and however briefly they do this, they could end their time together with each member being blessed (signed on the forehead as is done in Church) by a parent, or for a couple, by a mutual blessing by spouses, etc. We may not be able to "spend" time in the ways we ordinarily do, but we can certainly find effective ways to sanctify (allow God to sanctify) it. This is one way the Church does this.

Lectio Divina:

Above all, during a time when folks are unable to attend Mass and receive Communion, it becomes critical that we recall what Vatican II taught about the presence of the living God in the Word of Scripture, namely, [[The Church has always venerated the divine Scriptures just as she venerates the body of the Lord, since, especially in the sacred liturgy, she unceasingly receives and offers to the faithful the bread of life from the table both of God's word and of Christ's body.]] (Dei Verbum, 21) Divine presence is very clearly affirmed in these two very different modes. This same affirmation is found in Sacrosanctum Concilium:  [[ He is present in His word since it is He Himself who speaks when the holy scriptures are read in the Church.]] (SC,7). To take time praying with Scripture, to learn to read this under the impulse of the Holy Spirit is to allow Christ to truly be present to us in the same way he is present under the consecrated species of bread and wine. While this happens in a preeminent way during liturgy, it also happens among God's priestly people engage in the reverent reading of Scripture as part of their own liturgy of ordinary life.

Summary:

Over the past almost 60 years the Church has tried to encourage the whole People of God (laos) to take seriously the ways in which they are called to be a priestly people. As we enter into this Easter Season, often without access to ordained ministry because of this pandemic, it becomes even more critical that we begin to take advantage of the sources of Christian life which do not require ordination but are central to the vocation of each and all of us as Laity. We can turn primarily to devotions which are private and may, especially in the given circumstances, tend to privatize our spirituality, or we can more primarily turn to those forms of prayer which build the Church by recognizing the sacramental character of all reality, the sacred nature of space and time, or by mediating the very presence of the Risen Christ in the Word of God. In this way we make of our own household the "little churches" of St Peter Damian. After all, this pandemic will continue on for some time and we have the time to build new habits, perceptions, and increase our own deep reception of Vatican II's teaching. We will all rejoice together when we come together with our ordained ministers (and how we miss their ministry!), but we will also do so as people who know more fully and effectively our own identities as members and representatives of a priestly people in a sacramental world.

Alleluia, Alleluia!! Christ is Risen, Indeed He is Risen! Alleluia!

Christ is Risen, Alleluia, Alleluia!!! All good wishes for a wonderful Easter Season!!

For the next 50 days we have time to attend to what Jesus' death and resurrection changed. In light of these events we live in a different world than existed before them, and we ourselves, by virtue of our Baptism into Christ's death, are new creations as well. While all this makes beautiful poetry, and although as John Ciardi once reminded us poetry can save us in dark alleys, we do not base our lives on poetry alone. Objective reality was transformed with Jesus' passion and death; something astounding, universal, even cosmic in scope, happened in these events which had not only to do with our own salvation but with the recreation of all of reality. One of Paul's shorthand phrases for this transformation was "the death of death," something I hope to be able to look at a bit more as these 50 days unfold. We have already begun to see what happens in our Church as Christ's own life begins to shine forth more brightly in a myriad of small but significant ways. 

But, it is probably good to recall that the early Church struggled to make sense of the cross, and that faith in resurrection took some time to take hold. Surprisingly, no single theology of the cross is held as official, and variations --- many quite destructive --- exist throughout the Church. Even today a number of these affirm that in various ways God was reconciled to us rather than the other way around. Only in time did the Church come to terms with the scandalous death of Jesus and embrace him as risen, and so, as the Christ who reveals God's power in weakness. Only in time did she come to understand how different the world was for those who had been baptized into Jesus' death. The Church offers us a period of time to come to understand and embrace all of this as well; the time from Easter Sunday through Pentecost is, in part, geared to this.

But, today is a day of celebration, and a day to simply allow the shock and sadness of the cross to be completely relieved for the moment. Lent is over, the Triduum has reached a joyful climax, the season of Easter has begun and we once again sing alleluia at our liturgies. Though it will take time to fully understand and embrace all this means, through the Church's liturgies and the readings we have heard we do sense that we now live in a world where death has a different character and meaning than it did before Christ's resurrection and so does life. On this day darkness has given way to light, and senselessness to meaning -- even though we may not really be able to explain to ourselves or others exactly why or how. On this day we proclaim that Christ is risen! Sinful death could not hold him and it cannot hold us as a result. Alleluia! Alleluia!!

The Crucified God, Emmanuel Fully Revealed (Reprised)

A couple of years ago I did a reflection for my parish. I noted that all through Advent we sing Veni, Veni, Emmanuel and pray that God will really reveal Godself as Emmanuel, the God who is with us. I also noted that we may not always realize the depth of meaning captured in the name Emmanuel. We may not realize the degree of solidarity with us and the whole of creation it points to. There are several reasons here. First we tend to use Emmanuel only during Advent and Christmastide so we stop reflecting on the meaning or theological implications of the name. Secondly, we are used to thinking of a relatively impersonal God borrowed from Greek philosophy; he is omnipresent rather like air is present in our lives. He seems already to be "Emmanuel". And thirdly, we tend to forget that the word "reveal" does not only mean "to make known," but also "to make real in space and time." The God who is revealed in space and time as Emmanuel is the God who enters exhaustively into the circumstances and lives of his Creation and makes these part of his own life.

Thus, just as the Incarnation of the Word of God happens over the whole of Jesus' life and death and not merely with Jesus' conception or nativity, so too does God require the entire life and death of Jesus to achieve the degree of solidarity with us that makes him the Emmanuel he wills to be. There is a double "movement" involved here, the movement of descent and ascent, kenosis and theosis. Not only does God in Christ become implicated in the whole of human experience but in that same Christ God takes the whole of the human situation and experience into Godself. We talk about this by saying that through the Christ Event heaven and earth interpenetrate one another and one day will be all in all or, again, that "the Kingdom of God is at hand." John the Evangelist says it again and again with the language of mutual indwelling and union: "I am in him and he is in me," "he who sees me sees the one who sent me", "the Father and I are One." Paul affirms it in Romans 8 when he exults, "Nothing [at all in heaven or on earth] can separate us from the Love of God."

And so in Jesus' active ministry he companions and heals us; he exorcises our demons, teaches, feeds, forgives and sanctifies us. He is mentor and brother and Lord. He bears our stupidities and fear, our misunderstandings, resistance, and even our hostility and betrayals. But the revelation of God as Emmanuel means much more besides; as we move into the Triduum we begin to celebrate the exhaustive revelation, the exhaustive realization of an eternally-willed solidarity with us whose extent we can hardly imagine. In Christ and especially in his passion and death God comes to us in the unexpected and even the unacceptable place. Three dimensions of the cross especially allow us to see the depth of solidarity with us our God embraces in Christ: failure, suffering unto death, and lostness or godforsakenness. Together they reveal our God as Emmanuel --- the one who is with us as the one from whom nothing can ever ultimately separate us because in Christ those things become part of God's own life.

Jesus comes to the cross ostensibly having failed in his mission. Had he succeeded there would have been no betrayal, no trial, no torture and no crucifixion. Jesus had spoken truth to power and in the events of the cross, the powers and principalities of this world swallow him up. But even as this occurs Jesus remains open to God and trusts in his capacity to redeem any failure; thus even failure, but especially this one, can serve the Kingdom of God. Jesus suffers to the point of death and suffers more profoundly than any person in history we can name --- not because he hurt more profoundly than others but because he was more vulnerable to it and chose to embrace that vulnerability and all the world threw at him without mitigation. Suffering per se is not salvific, but Jesus' openness and responsiveness to God (that is, his obedience) in the face of suffering is. Thus, suffering even unto death is transformed into a potential sacrament of God's presence. Finally, Jesus suffers the lostness of godforsakenness or abandonment by God --- the ultimate separation from God due to sin. This is the meaning of not just death but death on a cross. In this death Jesus again remains open (obedient) to the God who reveals himself most exhaustively as Emmanuel and takes even the lostness of sin into himself and makes it his own. After all, as the NT reminds us, it is the sick and lost for whom God in Christ comes.

As I have noted before, John C. Dwyer, my major Theology professor for BA and MA work back in the 1970's described God's revelation of self on the cross (God's making himself known and personally present even in those places from whence we exclude him) --- the exhaustive coming of God as Emmanuel --- in this way:

[[Through Jesus, the broken being of the world enters the personal life of the everlasting God, and this God shares in the broken being of the world. God is eternally committed to this world, and this commitment becomes full and final in his personal presence within this weak and broken man on the cross. In him the eternal one takes our destiny upon himself --- a destiny of estrangement, separation, meaninglessness, and despair. But at this moment the emptiness and alienation that mar and mark the human situation become once and for all, in time and eternity, the ways of God. God is with this broken man in suffering and in failure, in darkness and at the edge of despair, and for this reason suffering and failure, darkness and hopelessness will never again be signs of the separation of man from God. God identifies himself with the man on the cross, and for this reason everything we think of as manifesting the absence of God will, for the rest of time, be capable of manifesting his presence --- up to and including death itself.]]

He continues,

[[Jesus is rejected and his mission fails, but God participates in this failure, so that failure itself can become a vehicle of his presence, his being here for us. Jesus is weak, but his weakness is God's own, and so weakness itself can be something to glory in. Jesus' death exposes the weakness and insecurity of our situation, but God made them his own; at the end of the road, where abandonment is total and all the props are gone, he is there. At the moment when an abyss yawns beneath the shaken foundations of the world and self, God is there in the depths, and the abyss becomes a ground. Because God was in this broken man who died on the cross, although our hold on existence is fragile, and although we walk in the shadow of death all the days of our lives, and although we live under the spell of a nameless dread against which we can do nothing, the message of the cross is good news indeed: rejoice in your fragility and weakness; rejoice even in that nameless dread because God has been there and nothing can separate you from him. It has all been conquered, not by any power in the world or in yourself, but by God. When God takes death into himself it means not the end of God but the end of death.]] Dwyer, John C., Son of Man Son of God, a New Language for Faith, p 182-183.

The Work of Holy Saturday (Reprise)

The following piece was written for my parish bulletin for Palm Sunday 2012. It is, therefore, necessarily brief but I hope it captures the heart of the credal article re Jesus' descent into Hell. It also represents a brief explanation of the significance of Jesus' experience of abandonment by God which itself is an experience of hell or godforsakenness. For us Holy Saturday marks a time of waiting, but it also is part of Jesus' work as, in his obedience to God even in the midst of godless death, he brings the Love of God to every dimension of God's creation including what we identify as "godforsaken".

During Holy week we recall and celebrate the central events of our faith which reveal just how deep and incontrovertible is God's love for us. It is the climax of a story of "self-emptying" on God's part begun in creation and completed in the events of the cross. In Christ, and especially through his openness and responsiveness (i.e., his obedience) to the One he calls Abba, God enters exhaustively into every aspect of our human existence and in no way spares himself the cost of such solidarity. Here God is revealed as an unremitting Love which pursues us without pause or limit. Even our sinfulness cannot diminish or ultimately confound this love. Nothing, the gospel proclaims, will keep God from embracing and bringing us “home” to Himself. As the Scriptures remind us, our God loves us with a love that is “stronger than death." It is a love from which, “Neither death nor life, nor powers nor principalities, nor heights nor depths, nor anything at all” can ultimately separate us!

It is only against this Scriptural background that we make sense of the article of the Apostles’ Creed known as Jesus’ “descent into hell”. Hell is, after all, not the creation of an offended God designed to punish us; it is a state of ultimate emptiness, inhumanity, loneliness, and lovelessness which is created, sustained, and exacerbated (made worse) by every choice we make to shut God out --- to live, and therefore to die, without Love itself. Hell is the fullest expression of the alienation which exists between human beings and God. As Benedict XVI writes, it is that “abyss of absolute loneliness” which “can no longer be penetrated by the word of another” and“into which love can no longer advance.” And yet, in Christ God himself will advance into this abyss and transform it with his presence. Through the sinful death of God’s Son, Love will become present even here.

To say that Christ died what the New Testament refers to as sinful, godless, “eternal”, or “second death” is to say that through his passion Jesus entered this abyss and bore the full weight of human isolation and Divine abandonment. In this abject loneliness and hopelessness --- a hell deeper than anyone has ever known before or will ever know again --- Christ, though completely powerless to act on his own, remains open and responsive to God. This openness provides God with a way into this state or place from which he is otherwise excluded. In Christ godforsakenness becomes the good soil out of which the fullness of resurrection life springs. As a result, neither sin nor death will ever have the final word, or be a final silence! God will not and has not permitted it!

The credal article affirming Jesus’ descent into hell was born not from the church’s concern with the punishing wrath of God, but from her profound appreciation of the depth of God’s love for us and the lengths to which God would go to redeem us and to bring creation to fulfillment. What seems at first to be an unreservedly dark affirmation, meant mainly to terrify and chasten with foreboding, is instead the church's most paradoxical statement of the gospel of God’s prodigal love. It is a stark symbol of what it costs God to destroy that which separates us from Love-in-Act and bring us to abundant (eternal) Life. It says that forgiveness is not about God changing his mind about us – much less having his anger appeased or his honor restored through his Son’s suffering and death. Instead, it is God’s steadfast refusal to let the alienation of sin stand eternally. In reconciling us to himself, God asserts his Lordship precisely in refusing to allow enmity and alienation to remain as lasting realities in our lives or world.

Madman or Messiah? In the Darkness We Wait and Hope

Silence and a sense of loss will mark today and tomorrow not only because this is the day on which we solemnly mark the betrayal and death of Jesus, but because there is a significant period of grief and uncertainty that we call Holy Saturday still standing between Jesus' death and his resurrection. Easter is still distant. Allowing ourselves to live with something of the terrible disappointment and critical questions Jesus' disciples experienced as their entire world collapsed is a significant piece of coming to understand why we call today "Good" and tomorrow "Holy." It is important for appreciating the meaning of this three day liturgy we call Triduum and a dimension of coming to genuine and deepening hope. I have often thought the Church could do better with its celebration of Holy Saturday; spending some time waiting and reflecting on who we would be (not to mention who God would be!) had Jesus stayed good and dead is something Good Friday -- beginning last evening after Holy Thursday Mass -- and Holy Saturday -- beginning this evening after the passion -- call for.

                                      *   *   *   *   *   *   *

In trying to explain the Cross, Paul once said, "Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more." During Holy Week, the Gospel readings focus us on the first part of Paul's statement. Sin has increased to an extraordinary extent and the one people touted as the Son of God has been executed as a blaspheming godforsaken criminal. We watched the darkness and the threat to his life grow and cast the whole of Jesus' life into question.

In the Gospel for last Wednesday we heard John's version of the story of Judas' betrayal of Jesus and the prediction of Peter's denials as well. For weeks before this we had been hearing stories of a growing darkness and threat centered on the person of Jesus. Pharisees and Scribes were irritated and angry with Jesus at the facile way he broke Sabbath rules or his easy communion with and forgiveness of sinners. That he spoke with an authority the people recognized as new and surpassing theirs was also problematical. Family and disciples failed to understand him, thought him crazy, urged him to go to Jerusalem to work wonders and become famous.

Even Jesus' miracles were disquieting, not only because they increased the negative reaction of the religious leadership and the fear of the Romans as the darkness and threat continued to grow alongside them, but because Jesus himself seems to give us the sense that they are insufficient  and lead to misunderstandings and distortions of who he is or what he is really about. "Be silent!" we often hear him say. "Tell no one about this!" he instructs in the face of the increasing threat to his life. Futile instructions, of course, and, as those healed proclaim the wonders of God's grace in their lives, the darkness and threat to Jesus grows; The night comes ever nearer and we know that if evil is to be defeated, it must occur on a much more profound level than even thousands of such miracles.

In the last two weeks of Lent, the readings give us the sense that the last nine months of Jesus' life and active ministry were punctuated by retreat to a variety of safe houses as the priestly aristocracy actively looked for ways to kill him. He attended festivals in secret and the threat of stoning recurred again and again. Yet, inexplicably "He slipped away" we are told or, "They were unable to find an opening." The darkness is held at bay, barely. It is held in check by the love of the people surrounding Jesus. Barely. And in the last safe house on the eve of Passover as darkness closes in on every side Jesus celebrated a final Eucharist with his friends and disciples. He washed their feet, reclined at table with them like free men did. And yet, profoundly troubled, Jesus spoke of his impending betrayal by Judas. None of the disciples, not even the beloved disciple understood what was happening. There is one last chance for Judas to change his mind as Jesus hands him a morsel of bread in friendship and love. God's covenant faithfulness is maintained.

But Satan enters Judas' heart and a friend of Jesus becomes his accuser --- the meaning of the term Satan here --- and the darkness enters this last safe house of light and friendship, faith and fellowship. It was night, John says. It was night. Judas' heart is the opening needed for the threatening darkness to engulf this place and Jesus as well. The prediction of Peter's denials tells us this "night" will get darker and colder and more empty yet.  But in John's story, when everything is at its darkest and lowest, Jesus exclaims in a kind of victory cry: [[ Now the Son of Man is glorified, and God is glorified in him!]] Here as darkness envelopes everything, Jesus exults that authentically human being is revealed, made known and made real in space and time; here, in the midst of  the deepening "Night" God too is revealed and made fully known and real in space and time. It is either the cry of a messiah who will overcome evil right at its heart --- or the cry of a madman who cannot recognize or admit the victory of evil as it swallows him up. In the midst of these days of death and vigil, we do not really know which. At the end of these three days we call Triduum we will see what the answer is.

Today, the Friday we call "Good," the darkness intensifies. During the night Jesus was arrested and "tried" by the Sanhedrin with the help of false witnesses, desertion by his disciples, and Judas' betrayal. Today he will be brought before the Romans, tried, found innocent, flogged in an attempt at political appeasement and then handed over anyway by a fearful self-absorbed leader whose greater concern was for his own position to those who would kill him. There will be betrayals, of consciences, of friendships, of discipleship and covenantal bonds on every side but God's. The night continues to deepen and the threat could not be greater.  Jesus will be crucified and eventually cry out his experience of abandonment even by God. He will descend into the ultimate godlessness, loneliness, and powerlessness we call hell. The darkness will become almost total. We ourselves may see nothing else because this is where Good Friday and Holy Saturday leave us.

And the question these events raise will haunt the night and our own minds and hearts: namely, messiah or madman? Is Jesus simply another person crushed by the cold, emptiness, and darkness of evil --- good and wondrous though his own works were? (cf Gospel for last Friday: John 10:31-42.) Is this darkness and emptiness the whole of the reality in which we live? Was Jesus' preaching of the reality of God's reign and his trust in God in vain? Is the God he proclaimed, the God in whom we also trust incapable of redeeming failure, sin and death --- even to the point of absolute lostness? Does this God consign sinners to these without real hope because Divine justice differs from Divine mercy? The questions associated with Jesus' death on the Cross multiply and we Christians wait in the darkness today, throughout the night and the whole of tomorrow. In our grief we will fast and pray and try to hold onto hope that the one we called messiah, teacher, friend, beloved,  brother and Lord, was not simply deluded --- or worse --- and that we Christians are not, as Paul puts the matter, the greatest fools of all.

We have seen sin increase to immeasurable degrees; and though we do not see how it is possible we would like to think that Paul was right and that grace will abound all the more. But on this day we call "good" and on the Saturday we call "holy" we wait. Bereft, but hopeful, we wait.

Nothing Can Make Up for the Absence of Those We Love

I first posted this piece several years ago, but it is particularly significant today for two reasons:1) this Holy Thursday is the anniversary of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's execution by the Nazis at Flossenburg, and 2) we are experiencing a time of learning to be Church in new ways during a pandemic which separates us from those we love, as well as from much of the ministry and other activity which also make our lives meaningful.  Still, the Holy Spirit is with each and all of us and we are joined as the Body of Christ in that Spirit; as we begin to celebrate the Triduum, each in the relative solitude of our own homes, let us hold onto that truth in whatever ways we can.

                                      * * * * * 

A couple of years ago or so I wrote an article about Jesus' cry of abandonment on the cross; I suggested that it was the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of the mutual love of Father and Son  that maintained their bond of love while keeping open the space of terrible separation  experienced as abandonment and occasioning the suffering of both Father and Son which reached its climax on the cross and Jesus' "descent into hell". Both connection and separation are necessary dimensions of the love relationships constituting Trinitarian life characterized by the Divine mission to our world and thus, by the kenosis (self-emptying) eventuating in the cross.

Similarly, in writing about eremitical life I noted that stricter separation from the world was an essential part of maintaining not only one's love for God, but also for God's creation, because without very real separation we might instead know only enmeshment in that world rather than a real capacity for love which reconciles and brings to wholeness. In everyday terms we know that the deficiencies and losses we experience throughout our lives are things we often try to avoid or seek to fill or blunt in every conceivable way rather than finding creative  approaches to genuinely live (and heal) the pain: addictions, deprivations and excesses, denial and distractions, pathological withdrawal or superficial relationships of all kinds attest to the futile and epidemic character of these approaches to the deep and often unmet needs we each experience.

While we may expect our relationship with God to fill these needs and simply take away the pain of loss and grief, we are more apt to find God with us IN the pain in a way which, out of a profound love for the whole of who we are and who we are called to become, silently accompanies and consoles us without actually diminishing the suffering associated with the loss or unmet needs themselves. In this way God also assures real healing may be sought and achieved in our separation and suffering. It is a difficult paradox and difficult to state theologically. Paul did it in terms of the God of all comfort who comes to us and resides within us in the midst of our suffering. Today, I found a quote by Dietrich Bonhoeffer written while he was a political prisoner of the Nazis and separated from everyone and everything he loved --- except God; it captures the insight or principle underlying these observations --- and says it so very well!

Nothing can make up for the absence

of someone whom we love,

and it would be wrong

to try to find a substitute;

we must simply hold out and see it through.

That sounds very hard at first,

but at the same time

it is a great consolation,

for the gap --- as long as it

remains unfilled ---

preserves the bond between us.

It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap;

God does not fill it

but on the contrary keeps it empty

and so helps us to keep alive

our former communion even

at the cost of pain.

from  Letters and Papers From Prison

 "Letter to Renate and Eberhard Bethge: Christmas Eve 1943"

by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

As a hermit embracing "the silence of solitude" I know full well that this charism of eremitical life is characterized by both connection and separation. It is, as I have written here many times a communion with God which may be lonely --- though ordinarily not a malignant form of loneliness! --- and an aloneness with God which does not simply fill or even replace our needs for friendships and other life giving relationships. Sometimes the pain of separation is more acute and sometimes the consolation of connection eases that almost entirely. Sometimes, however, the two stand together in an intense and paradoxical form of suffering that simply says, "I am made for fullness of love and eschatological union and am still only (but very really!) journeying towards that." This too is a consolation.

Today I am grateful for the bonds of love which so enrich my life  --- even when these bonds are experienced as painful absence and emptiness. I think this is a critical witness of eremitical life with its emphasis on "the silence of solitude" --- just as it is in monastic (or some forms of religious) life more generally. I also believe it is the terrible paradox of relatedness-in-separation Jesus' almost-inarticulate cry of abandonment expressed from the Cross.  Thanks be to God.