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.

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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.

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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.

Finished Work from "Worlds Within Worlds"

I wanted to put this up as the "finished picture" from Kerby Rosanes' Worlds Within Worlds, compared to what I put up two weeks ago or so. (cf Work in Progress) The mediums used for this picture include Prismacolor Premium colored pencils, Signo white gel pen, some Neocolor II water soluble crayons (for background water), and some white acrylic paint to enhance the Signa.

 Last night I thought I had ruined the picture and felt pretty bummed out. Except for  the background the entire picture was finished and I was really happy with it. I began the background. Awful!!  I actually considered giving up even the hours and hours worth of good work I had done; I then considered a couple of other unworkable (read "totally crazy") "solutions"! Fortunately, this afternoon I came back to the picture and continued adding layers and colors. I'm not entirely happy with it (it is not what I envisioned or wanted!), but it's not bad. More importantly, it reminds me of the need for patience, perseverance, and the importance of not judging such things until one is truly done.  

One book I am rereading parts of for Holy Week is, Triumph Through Failure, by John J Navone, sj. It's an important lesson we can take from Jesus' Passion, namely, that even human failure can be redeemed by God and become a means of Divine Triumph. That is the story of Jesus' passion; the triumph of Divine Love is the essential story of Easter.

As a Hermit Were You Prepared for Sheltering-in-Place?

[[ Hi Sister, I was wondering if your life changes much during this pandemic? Since you are already a hermit I was thinking you probably were pretty well prepared for all of this.]]

Thanks for your question. I have heard from a number of people calling to check on me or just to talk a while and they have often said something like, "Well, I guess you are used to this"! That was even truer at the beginning of the shelter-in-place requirement. In the beginning I answered, "well, yes and no!" but over time I have come to realize that while my life in Stillsong has not changed much, I have been feeling sort of disoriented. I tried to explain that to someone yesterday and it was clear I failed. So, when I was talking to Sister Susan this afternoon I tried again and I think I was a bit clearer. Let me try to explain it to you because this is the main way my own life has changed in this pandemic.

Often I have written that eremitical solitude is not the same as isolation, that eremitical solitude is a form of community --- unique, absolutely, but community nonetheless. What I have learned during this pandemic is that no matter how solitary my life is within Stillsong, I live this life against the background of a world and community I know and care about and for. When that world changes it affects my life here within the hermitage. One dimension of this is that the world outside Stillsong is an active, bustling world, and those ministering in this world are involved in active ministry. I live my life within this larger situation and context. I understand myself and my vocation within this context and against this backdrop, which includes my parish, diocese, and the Church more universally. And now, that context has changed. Everyone is sheltering-in-place. Active ministry has ceased in most ways. People are unable to live their lives in usual ways. Mass is not being said in ways I can participate in, and on the whole I find it disorienting.

I have known for a long time that my life is not only with God alone, but very much "for the sake of  others". Canon 603 says this explicitly when it refers to the "salvation of others". This has meant my solitude has been set against and within a communal background and context. What I was not so aware of is how very pervasive   that context has been -- even in a subconscious way. With this pandemic that context has shifted significantly --- and so, it is disorienting. I have  no doubt that part of this is due to the concern and even outright fear I have for those I love and care about, but again, this has to do with the communal nature of my solitude, the fact that I have been called to this from the midst of my parish community, for my diocese, for the Church universal. I suspect that most people feel that hermits shut the door on the world around them and carry on their lives without much awareness of that world --- except for limited moments of intercessory prayer. Some hermits do this. Personally I doubt the validity of such an approach in a Christian hermit and certainly in someone living eremitical life in the name of the Church.

The "stricter separation from the world" I am vowed to live defines "the world" as that which is resistant to Christ or which promises fulfillment apart from Christ. The larger world is an integral part of my vocation. As is true for many religious, and for some much more intensely than for me I think, a life of prayer in the silence of solitude allows me to "hear the anguish of the world" around me. But I also hear the joy of that world. Again, eremitical solitude is a unique form of community and while whole parts of my life are left unchanged, none of it is left untouched or unaffected. At the same time, life here at Stillsong continues as it ordinarily does. I continue to pray, write, study, etc. My relationship with God is fundamental and unchanging in the way God is unchanging and foundational. I think of the Carthusians who see themselves as a still point in an ever-changing world. I look at the cross (which for me and the Carthusians) is THE still point in an ever-changing world. And I reflect that here on Palm Sunday and during Holy Week more generally, we celebrate the events which establish that Still Point.
                                                       

So, yes, in some ways I was prepared for a time of enforced solitude (as others have described this), especially in the sense of an established regularity (horarium, prayer, study, writing, spiritual direction etc), and already having my life centered in the hermitage itself, but I was not really prepared for a pandemic or the degree of suffering and chaos resulting from that. The way people have stepped up to run errands, to be sure no one is forgotten, to extend resources to those whose health is compromised in some way and must stay in even beyond what the shelter-in-place requires, has also been marvelous and I am very grateful for it; it mitigates but does not obviate the degree of suffering in the world now. Like everyone attempting to learn new ways of working, I am trying to find ways to continue teaching Scripture at my parish (the need for this is even more critical now!), and folks are stepping up to assist in that. I am able to meet with clients via Zoom or Skype (and will likely do class that way as well). At the same time, it is Scripture that is a source of support, encouragement, and consolation to me in this situation.

During this week especially, I am reflecting on the way the entire world changed with the life, death and resurrection of one Man. It took time for the disciples to come to terms first with Jesus' death, and then with his resurrection. It took time for the disciples to begin to hear their Scriptures differently, to recognize the risen Christ in the breaking of the bread, or to begin to move out of their time of seclusion and fear to proclaim the risen Christ and a new world, to write what would eventually become a new set of Scriptures, to build new communities of faith. They too were isolated, disoriented, bereft, terrified, AND they grew into a people of hope, courage, and strength who were capable of speaking boldly their own truth now rooted in a risen Crucified One. I believe the same thing will happen to all of us now suffering from this pandemic. In my own life I know that the truth is rarely either/or; more usually it is paradoxical both/and. So, now I recognize that my own disorientation will co-exist with the more usual stability of my life and reveal more vividly the meaning of eremitical solitude --- not as something that protects me from what is going in in the world around my hermitage, but as a paradoxical witness to my profound participation in the life and hope of this same world.

This Illness will not End in Death

[[Dear Sister, when Jesus hears about Lazarus's illness, Jesus replies it will not end in death. But Lazarus dies! Also, Jesus says the sickness is for the glory of God and that Jesus will be glorified through it. Is he saying God causes illness so that he might be praised or glorified? My mind is really on this pandemic and all the "why?" questions that occur. It is ending in terrible numbers of death and awful suffering. How is God praised or glorified in this?]]

Thanks for your questions. I am sure they occur to many people during this Fifth Week of Lent when we reflect on Jesus and Lazarus within the context of this epidemic. The text you are referring to reads: [[3So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one You love is sick.” 4When Jesus heard this, He said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”]] There are a couple of ways of approaching its meaning. I think the key, however is the meaning of the word "end". It can mean the termination point of something and there is no doubt the NT generally uses the word telos (τελος) in this way, both here and in texts like those speaking of Jesus as the end of the Law, for instance. But, it can also mean a goal or purpose, so that when we speak of τελος in this way, we are saying that the very purpose of something and the place or goal it leads to is not death. (When we speak of Jesus as the end of the Law in this latter sense, we are saying he is the one who embodies the very meaning and goal of Law. He is the one who fulfills its meaning, perfects it, and reveals all of this for us in a way which empowers us to "obey" or respond to and embody in our lives the law's deepest reality.)

So, the statement, "This sickness will not end in death," means not only 1) there is something beyond death, but also 2) this sickness will allow the revelation of the real meaning and goal of life itself. I used this text as one of those which illustrated the place of chronic illness in my own life as part of my Rule of Life back in 2004 or 2005. I did so because chronic illness had led me to understand a number of things about my own life and the grace of God. Especially it has been tied to learning in a deeply personal way the paradox of God's power being perfected in weakness; for me illness became a source of grace. It would not end in death (that is, in a graceless, purposeless, absurd, and empty "life"), but to an almost infinitely meaningful life where God's love is profoundly redemptive and transformative. At no point do I mean that God sent this illness (either my own or COVID-19) so that a lesson might be learned; instead, I mean that the situation of sin (i.e., the situation of estrangement from the source, ground, and goal of Life itself whom we call God) produces a situation of life-subject-to-death (in this case in the form of illness) and that God accompanies us in a way which can bring life and hope out of even the worst of circumstances --- ultimately including Death (absolute separation from God) itself.

Glorification or Praise:

Sometimes people will say that "everything happens for a reason".  I am not saying this. I am saying, however, that with God everything can be made purposeful, everything can acquire a meaning or reason for being it did not originally have. No one could have believed that COVID-19 could be a source (or, better, an occasion since God is the source) of grace. But it has. Tonight I attended a "town hall" of my parish. It was a virtual meeting and I was there before most people except our pastor and pastoral associate because ZOOM opened up automatically a little before the meeting began. Suddenly the faces of parishioners began popping up on my screen, people who attend the daily Mass usually, some from my Scripture class, and more from Sunday Mass, and I felt completely overwhelmed just by the sight of them. Several people shared stories of the way people are assisting each other, the warmth with which people greet one another on walks or runs, the generosity people are meeting in others in what is ordinarily a me-first world. People shared resources for worship, suggestions for allowing Christ to be first in a strengthening and inspiring way when Mass attendance was not possible, etc.

Certainly in all of this God is being glorified. But let me be clear; the primary meaning of the term "glorified" does not mean praised but rather, "revealed" or "made real in space and time". The glory of God is God's presence made known; to glorify God is to make him real in space and time (history), to manifest God in human history. Yes, to do this is to praise God, but that meaning is secondary at best. In this pandemic --- as with the Cross of Christ -- we will see people revealing the very worst human beings are capable of, but we will also see human beings achieving the very best we are made and have the potential for -- with and through the grace of God. Whenever that happens, whenever human beings act out of a love which is (perhaps) more generous. more sacrificial, more inspiring than usual, God is glorified. In these cases our lives praise and celebrate God, not because of COVID-19, but because even here God brings light out of darkness, life out of death, and meaning out of senselessness. In this way, "this illness will not end in death." On another level, we Christians believe God will bring life out of death through resurrection as well and that too is part of what we proclaim, especially as we approach Holy Week.

I hope this is helpful! Please stay well!
Sister Laurel, Er Dio.

We're All in This Together

I saw this this morning and loved it. Against a backdrop of terrible division, tribalism, and political polarization comes a pandemic which threatens to increase our own selfishness, tendencies toward greed, hoarding, and a general inability to see the needs of others; however, we are also seeing an incredible degree of service to others, volunteering, self-sacrifice, and just generally remembering we are in this together. "Whatsoever you do to these, the least of my brothers and sisters, that you do unto me."

In all of this pandemic's turmoil, as the perfect storm it represents becomes even more threatening, we are reminded of Jesus sleeping peacefully in the boat in the midst of the storm when his disciples feared for their lives. We are reminded of our confidence that the Light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not be able to swallow it up (comprehend it). We are reminded that in this Lenten season we prepare for the feast of Life overcoming godless Death and the subsequent story of ordinary people crushed by disappointment, grief, and fear who are transformed into courageous witnesses to resurrection; they are made those who proclaim the hope and presence of God's power (Love) made perfect in weakness.

For those who can "only" stay inside and protect their brothers and sisters in this way, and who suffer acutely because of this challenging limitation, remember the less-well remembered statement from Matthew 25:45, "whatsoever you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me." Originally (and in Matt's gospel), Jesus was speaking about what we ordinarily call "sins of omission" as well as a general failure of charity; I doubt He imagined how the COVID-19 pandemic has transformed the way we must hear this now-urgent affirmation when the normal dimensions of living our lives for others (including communal worship, Sacraments, and meetings with those we serve in pastoral ministry) must be omitted to save lives. Here the counsel to charity remains primary.

May we continue to celebrate and support all those whose ordinary lives have become revelations of an inspiring extraordinary humanity we may never have imagined existing in them --- or in ourselves (!) --- and, in the power of Christ, may we thus remember and become who we are truly called to be precisely in our "ordinariness", littleness, and relative powerlessness.

Fifth Sunday in Lent

One of the ways our parish of St Perpetua comes together during this time of sheltering in place. Pastor, Father John Kasper, OSFS. I invite all readers to pray with us in this way. Pax et bonum!! Sister Laurel, Er Dio

Watch, O Lord, With Those Who Wait

Give Us This Day posted the above prayer today. It represents Augustine's prayer and a consoling and challenging theology. For many it will be hard to understand a God who does not reach into the situation the world finds itself in and intervene by destroying the Corona Virus and healing all of those afflicted. But that is not the way the God of Jesus Christ works. Yes, Our God is a God of miracles, a God who breaks in upon us with an unimaginable and rarely-well-enough-anticipated Love, but, as God did with Mary and with Jesus, the truly miraculous, the moments when Love breaks through and changes everything occur when human beings, through the power of the Holy Spirit, allow themselves to be fully open and responsive to the dynamic God Who is the ground and source of all of reality.

In the New Testament there is no word "miracle". What we call miracles and think of as events which break all the normal laws of nature, were called "acts of power" and were events that occurred when the deepest law, dynamic, or living dimension of all reality, the "law" or reality of Love, broke through everything separating us from it producing new life and meaning. They were precisely what happened when the God who accompanies us, who watches and waits with us, who is the ever-continuing source, sanctifier, and salvation of all reality was allowed to truly be God. Miracles in this sense are not a breaking of the natural law, but its realization in fullness.

Some will pray for God to stop this pandemic. I join them in this prayer. But I do not look for God to intervene in some sort of  Deus ex machina way. The miracles I pray for involve the God who works in and through us to change the world, to renew hearts, and to transform reality. I pray that all people will accept the requirement to shelter in place because they come to see how intertwined we all are as a human family, and because they chose self-sacrifice and generosity over selfishness. That would be genuinely "miraculous" and reveal a deep truth Christ proclaimed that our competitive, consumerist world ordinarily militates against. I pray that every one of us uses our imagination and creativity to bring people together in new ways, to love and care for the hitherto forgotten, and proclaim the Gospel of the God of Life with our own lives. I pray that our medical personnel are given every bit of equipment they need to diagnose, treat, and ultimately to defeat this virus and prepare for the next pandemic. I pray that each of us learns the truth and power of God's Love mediated in the myriad small ways human beings are called on daily to do for one another. That would indeed be an Easter miracle as Life and hope is brought out of death and despair.

Our God accompanies us in every moment and mood of our lives if only we will open ourselves to this Presence. Jesus demonstrated this on the Cross. It is the very meaning of "obedience unto death." Jesus opens himself to the One he calls Abba not only unto death, but unto godless death. His Abba accompanies him into the deepest depths of hell even when he is not aware of that presence. This same God thus brings good out of evil, meaning out of absurdity, and life out of death through this same Christological openness or obedience. This is the Good News of Easter, the mediated power of God made perfect in weakness that Christians recognize as the heart of what we call the genuinely "miraculous".  And so, in Christ, we who are God's own saints open ourselves to this God as we pray, "Watch, O Lord . . ." 

Feast of the Annunciation 2020 (Reprise)

Sometimes I reprise articles because they fit the feast and I have nothing really new to say, but today I am reprising this because it fits the unprecedented pandemic in which we find ourselves. It bears a message we each and all need to hear. And it comes with my prayers for your comfort and encouragement. Blessings, Sister Laurel

* * * * * *

I wonder what the annunciation of Jesus' conception was really like factually, what the angel's message (that is, God's own mediated message) sounded like and how it came to Mary. I imagine the months that would have passed without Mary having a period and her anguish and anxiety about what might be wrong, followed by a subtle sign here, an ambiguous symptom there, and eventually the full realization of the inexplicable fact that she was pregnant! That would have been a shock, of course, but even then, it would have taken some time for the bone deep fear to register: "I have not been intimate with a man! I can be killed for this!" Only over more time would come first the even deeper sense that God had overshadowed her, and then, the assurance that she need not be afraid. God was doing something completely new and would stand by Mary just as he promised when he revealed himself originally to Moses as: "I will be who I will be," --- and, "I will be present to you, never leaving you bereft or barren." (Both are good translations of the name sometimes translated, "I am who am".)

In the work I do with people in spiritual direction (and in my own inner work as well), one of the tools I (ask clients to) use sometimes is dialogue. The idea is to externalize and make explicit in writing the disparate voices we carry within us: it may be a conversation between the voice of reason and the voice of fear, or the voice of stubbornness or that of impulsivity and our wiser, more flexible selves who speak to and with one another at these times so that this existence may have a future marked by wholeness, holiness, and new life. As individuals become adept at doing these dialogues, they may even discover themselves echoing or revealing at one moment the very voice of God which dwells in the deepest, most real, parts of their heart as they simultaneously bring their most profound needs and fears to the conversation. Almost invariably these kinds of dialogues bring strength and healing, integration and faith. 

When I hear today's Gospel story I hear it as this kind of internal dialogue between the frightened, even bewildered Mary and the deepest, truest, part of herself which is God's own Word and Spirit (breath) calling her to a selfhood of wholeness and fruitfulness beyond all she has known before but also that stands in harmony with her people's covenant traditions and promise.

This is the way faith comes to most of us, the way we come to know and hear and respond to the voice of God in our lives. For most of us the Word of God dwells within us and only gradually steps out of the background in response to our fears, confusion, and needs as we ponder them in our hearts --- just as Mary did her entire life, but especially at times like this. In the midst of turmoil, of events which turn life plans on their heads and shatter dreams, there in our midst will be the God of Moses and Mary and Jesus reminding us, "I will overshadow you; depend on me, say yes to this, open yourself to my promise and perspective and we will bring life and meaning out of this; together we will make a gift of this tragedy (or whatever the event is) for you and for the whole world! We will bring to birth a Word the world needs so desperately to hear: Be not afraid for I am with you. Do not fear for you are precious beyond imagining to me."

Annunciations happen to us every day: small moments that signal the advent of a new opportunity to hear, embody Christ, and gift him to others. Perhaps many are missed and fewer are heeded as Mary heeded her own and gave her fiat to the change which would make something entirely new of her life, her tradition, and her world. But Mary's story is very much our own story as well, and the Feast of Christ's nativity is meant to refer to his being born of us as well. The world into which he will be brought will not love him really --- not if he is the Jesus our Scriptures and our creeds proclaim. (We bear this very much in mind during Lent and especially at the approach of Holy Week.) But our own fiat ("Here I am Lord, I come to do your will!") will be accompanied by the reassuring voice of God: "I will overshadow you and accompany you. Our stories are joined now, inextricably wed as I say yes to you and you say yes to me. Together we create the future. Salvation will be born from this union. Be not afraid!"

For the Beauty of the Earth

Many thanks to my Director for sending this video on to me this morning. In the midst of our struggles, insecurities, and the terrible uncertainties in front of us, we are called upon to recognize and praise God who dwells amongst us and in creation. For those, especially, who are shut in as part of a shelter-in-place arrangement, enjoy!

Work in Progress from Worlds Within Worlds

The above picture is a work in progress (WIP); it is side 1 of a double page spread in Kerby Rosanes', Worlds Within Worlds.  Some have asked me if I have a hobby or what I do when I am not reading, writing, studying, or praying. About a year ago I put up some pictures I had done with colored pencils. Here is the one I am currently working on and started three days ago. (This represents about 8-10 hours of work.) I began coloring as part of the inner work I am doing, and it has become an important creative outlet for me which is both strengthening and healing -- especially since I cannot yet play violin. It is also very helpful in terms of contemplative prayer (I recommend folks desiring to learn to pray contemplatively engage in some activities which are genuinely engrossing for them) and in dealing with any anxiety related to this pandemic -- because yes, I definitely experience some despite a faith that trusts that ultimately, everything is in God's hands!

I like Kerby Rosanes' later work, but especially some of the drawings in Mythomorphia, and now in his new book, Worlds Within Worlds. This is the first one I have done in WWW. One of the things Rosanes does is the morphing of images into new ones; he is very imaginative. In this book the pictures include more than one world combined. Here the fins and tail of the fish morph into waves and there are surfers on those waves. Each picture is an invitation to see reality in new ways --- something those of us believing the Kingdom of God is already part of our everyday life and world will understand! The colors shown above are a little redder than the real thing (there is more yellow in the fish, in some of the greens, and there is greater variation in tones than my camera captured).  As you can see the page on the right side is similar to this one; together they form a single "full spread" picture which, when complete (at least two to three weeks), I'll post.

Can Diocesan Hermits Become Diocesan Priests -- and Remain Hermits?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I have read on your blog about priests becoming Diocesan hermits. My question is could a Diocesan hermit become a priest? and remain a Diocesan hermit. ]]

The answer is no. One would need to make a choice as to whether one is called to be a diocesan priest or a diocesan hermit. It is one thing for an older priest to discern a call to eremitical life in the second half or late in his ministerial life and quite another for a hermit to decide he wants to become a priest. The first is actually allowed very very rarely. Remember that the training and education in seminary for diocesan priests is ministerial; moreover seminaries accept those who psychologically and personally feel clearly called to active  ministry. Dioceses foot the bill for the education of such seminarians and, in a church now marked by a serious shortage of clerics it makes no sense at all to educate a diocesan hermit as a priest when what they really want is to remain a hermit.

There is a second dimension to this negative answer, namely, a diocesan hermit is professed and commissioned to live stricter separation from the world, a life of assiduous prayer and penance, and the silence of solitude according to a Rule of life written by the hermit and approved with a Bishop's Decree of Approval. None of this could be maintained while studying full time in the seminary, doing appropriate pastoral work, etc. This means again, a choice needs to be made and if one chooses to enter the seminary (and is accepted for this), then one's vows would need to be dispensed. Another problem crops up here even if the hermit is not accepted or even found suitable for seminary: a diocese would have a very significant reason to doubt the validity of the person's hermit vocation if he took serious steps to discern and follow a call to diocesan priesthood. Dispensation from vows might well be a prudent step in such a case. If a person wishes to be a hermit and a priest he would do better to enter a semi eremitical congregation or community.

One of the questions bishops ask a would-be c 603 hermit is why this vocation and not another? At this point a person is being asked to be entirely honest regarding their own discernment and desires. Were a person to accept profession and consecration according to c 603 and then request admission to a seminary within a few short years, their honesty in accepting profession and consecration might be questioned and the validity of their vows as well. (This would be especially true if there was evidence they had questioned the matter in the external forum.) In any case, in the situation you describe, one would never admit a diocesan hermit to a diocesan seminary. The two vocations are different and, in this situation, even incompatible because either one will never work or serve as a diocesan priest (and may never be suited to it) or one will not live (for at least several years or more) as a hermit. In any case, there is no intrinsic reason for a hermit to become a priest, no essential need for this. Yes, we do need access to the Sacraments, but there is no indication hermits must (or even should) be made priests in order to have such access. Better their ecclesial vocations call them to be part of the Church community in a way which allows these needs to be met by others.

4th Sunday in Lent

Sunday's Gospel, homily, prayer and blessing. John Kasper, OSFS (Fr John is pastor of St Perpetua's Catholic Community, Lafayette, CA.)