In trying to explain the Cross, Paul once said, "Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more." During this last week, the Gospel readings focus us on the first part of Paul's statement.
In the Gospel for last Tuesday 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 his 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 deeper level than even thousands of such miracles.
In the last two weeks, the readings give us the sense that the last nine months of Jesus' life of ministry was 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 it is the cry of a madman who cannot recognize or admit the victory of evil as it swallows him up. We do not really know which.
In the next three days we will see what the answer is. Today, the day 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 and then handed over anyway by a fearful self-absorbed leader to those who would kill him. There is betrayal, of consciences, of friendships, of discipleship on every side. 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 can see nothing else. That is where Good Friday and Holy Saturday leave us. 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? We Christians wait in the darkness today and tomorrow. We fast and pray and try to hold onto hope that the one we called messiah, teacher, friend, beloved, and Lord, was not simply deluded --- or worse --- and that we Christians are not 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. And so, we wait. Bereft, but hopeful, we wait.
10 March 2013
Fourth Sunday of Lent: The Parable of the Merciful Father (reprise)
Commentators tend to name today's Gospel parable after the Merciful Father, because he is central to all the scenes (even when the younger Son is in a far off place, the Father waits silently, implicitly, in the wings). We should notice it is his foolish generosity that predominates, so in this sense, he too is prodigal. Perhaps then we should call this the parable of the Prodigal Father. The younger son squanders his inheritance, but the Father is also (in common terms and in terms of Jewish Law) foolish in giving him the inheritance, the "substance" (literally, the ousias) of his own life and that of Israel. His younger Son treats him as dead (a sin against the Commandment to honor Father and Mother) and still this Father looks for every chance to receive him back.
When the younger son comes to his senses, rehearses his terms for coming home ("I will confess and be received back not as a Son, but as a servant,"), his Father, watching for his return, eagerly runs to meet him in spite of the offense represented in such an act, forestalls his confession, brings his Son into the center of the village (the only way to bring him home really when homes were organized at the center of larger circles) thus rendering everything unclean according to the law; he clothes him in the garb of Sonship and authority, kills the fatted calf and throws a welcome home party --- all heedless of the requirements of the law, matters of ritual impurity or repentance, etc. Meanwhile, the dutiful older son keeps the letter of the law of sonship but transgresses its essence or "spirit" and also treats his Father with dishonor. He is grudging, resentful, angry, blind, and petty in failing to recognize what is right before him all the time. He too is prodigal, allowing his authentic Sonship to die day by day as he assumes a more superficial role instead. And yet, the Father reassures him that what is the Father's is the Son's and what is the Son's is the Father's (which makes the Father literally an "ignorant man" in terms of the Law, an "am-haretz"). Contrary to the wisdom of the law, he continues to invite him into the celebration, a celebration of new life and meaning. He continues to treat him as a Son.
The theme of Law versus Gospel comes up strongly in this and other readings this week, though at first we may fail to recognize this. Paul recognizes the Law is a gift of God but without the power to move us to act as Sons and Daughters of God in the way Gospel does. When coupled with human sinfulness it can --- whether blatantly or insidiously --- be terribly destructive. How often as Christians do we act in ways which are allowed (or apparently commanded) by law but which are not really appropriate to Daughters and Sons of an infinitely merciful Father who is always waiting for our return, always looking for us to make the slightest responsive gesture in recognition of his presence, to "come to our senses", so that he can run to us and enfold us in the sumptuous garb of Daughterhood or Sonship? How often is our daily practice of our faith dutiful, and grudging but little more? How often do we act competitively or in resentment over others whose vocation is different than our own, whose place in the church (or the world of business, commerce, and society, for that matter) seems to witness to greater love from God? How often do we quietly despair over the seeming lack of worth of our lives in comparison to that of others? Whether we recognize it or not these attitudes are those of people motivated by law, not gospel. They are the attitudes of measurement and judgment, not of incommensurate love and generosity.
At the beginning of Lent we heard the fundamental choice of and in all choices put before us, "Choose life not death." Today that choice is sharpened and the subtle forms of death we often choose are set in relief: will we be Daughters and Sons of an infinitely and foolishly Merciful Father --- those who truly see and accept a love that is beyond our wildest imaginings and love others similarly, or, will we be prodigals in the pejorative sense, servants of duty, those who only accept the limited love we believe we have coming to us and who approach others competitively, suspiciously and without generosity? Will we be those whose notions of justice constrain God and our ability to choose the life he sets before us, or will we be those who are forgiven to the awesome degree and extent God is willing and capable of forgiving? Will we allow ourselves to be welcomed into a new life --- a life of celebration and joy, but also a life of greater generosity, responsibility, and God-given identity, or will we simply make do with the original prodigality of either the life of the younger or elder son? After all, both live dissipated lives in this parable: one flagrantly so, and one in quiet resentment, slavish dutifulness, and unfulfillment.
The choice before those living the latter kind of Christian life is no less significant, no less one of conversion than the choice set before the younger son. His return may be more dramatic, but that of the elder son demands as great a conversion. He must move from a quiet, embittered, exile where he cynically identifies himself as a slave rather than a free man or (even less) a Son. His own vision of his life and worth, his true identity, are little different than those of the younger son who returns home rehearsing terms of servility rather than sonship. The parable of the merciful Father puts before us two visions of life, and two main versions of prodigality; it thus captures the two basic meanings of prodigal: wasteful and/or lavish. There is the prodigality of the sons who allow the substance of their lives and identities to either be cast carelessly or slip silently away in mere dutifulness, the prodigality of those who lose their truest selves even as they grasp at wealth, adventure, duty, role, or other forms of security and "fulfillment". And there is the prodigality of the Father who loves and spends himself generously without limit or condition. In other words, there is death and there is life, law and gospel. Both stand before us ready to be embraced. Which form of prodigality will we choose? For indeed, the banquet hall is ready for us and the Father stands waiting at this very moment, ring, robe, and sandals in hand.
08 March 2013
Followup Question: Resistant to Canon 603 in one's Heart of Hearts
[[Hi Sister Laurel, I am shocked that anyone who feels the way the person does in the post about Bishops requesting they become a canon 603 hermit would even consider such a thing. But aren't there stories about superiors asking people to do things like this despite their not wanting to? True, they don't happen so much anymore but I know I have heard some. What would happen if the person became convinced that God was calling her to this because her Bishop asked her to accept profession?]] (cf, Sickened by being Called)
Hi there yourself! Of course it is very unlikely today that a Bishop would do as you describe. Most dioceses have at least a handful of people who really desire to be professed in this way and a Bishop would be far more likely to discern a true vocation from among these before he would turn to someone who speaks about the vocation itself in such negative terms or who truly feels sickened by the thought of being professed in this way and personally having such a vocation. To be frank, were a Bishop to act in this way it would be a slap in the face of those who deeply desire such profession and have presented themselves in good faith for discernment with the diocese only to be deemed unsuited for an extended discernment process or for admission to profession itself.
It would be insulting to those dioceses who have professed candidates in good faith or to diocesan hermits who both love their vocation and are committed to canon 603 as a legitimate and significant instance of the development of such. Further, it would not be the healthiest thing for the person being professed and could well lead to a failed vocation, compromised conscience judgments, and thus too, to actual sin. Finally, it would set a terribly destructive precedent regarding how discernment takes place, how we gauge the presence of a vocation, how the Holy Spirit works in these matters, how we conceive of authentic obedience or the theology of grace, and a number of other issues including the question of the validity and edifying quality of such a "commitment" or the vows used to embrace it. So let's be clear that on any number of grounds, spiritual, theological, pastoral, and canonical, Bishops and their curia would generally find such an arrangement completely inappropriate and even offensive.
A Change of Mind and Heart?
But your question shifts things a bit. What if the person truly became convinced she should do this because of the Bishop's desire to profess her? In such a case SOME of the problems would drop away or at least be diminished. For instance, we would not need to be as concerned about the validity of the vows, of creating a disedifying situation for the diocese, nor so much about potentially creating or colluding in a situation where the individual could be compromising or violating her own conscience judgments. But to really be sure of the truth of her conviction, other things would also have to change. The individual would need to accept whole-heartedly that the vocation was the work of the Holy Spirit in the Church; she would need to esteem it and its developing nature. She would need to reject the idea that any variations present generally indicate an abuse of the canon and come to clarity that variability from diocese to diocese may well indicate the result of the Church's response to the Holy Spirit.
She would need a correlative change of heart as well. She would really need to be convinced that this was the way God was calling her personally to achieve human wholeness and holiness. She could not only not be "sickened" by the vocation but would probably need to evidence some personal enthusiasm for and imagination regarding its place in and possibilities for fruitfully addressing the contemporary church and world. In other words she would need to appreciate the gift or charismatic nature of the vocation both personally and generally. Flowing from this she would likely need to demonstrate a sense of responsibility, gratitude, joy, and freedom at being called to this. Finally, she would absolutely need to give every evidence that she believed all of this in her heart of hearts and was truly desirous of committing her whole self for the rest of her life to God in this way and to the vocation itself as an inspired way of serving the Church and the world. In other words, she would need to give evidence that petitioning for admittance to profession as a diocesan hermit was an act of profound discernment and obedience, not simply a matter of doing what someone else thought was a good idea --- even if that person is the Bishop of the diocese.
Discernment and Obedience in the Past and Now
Today we recognize that discernment is a complex or at least demanding process of hearkening (listening and responding) to the presence and will of God; in ecclesial vocations (Religious life, ordination, consecrated virginity, diocesan eremitical life) it is truly a mutual process where the Bishop and his staff listen carefully to the candidate, to those who know the candidate well including psychologists, physicians, pastors, directors, to their own minds and hearts, to God and his Church (tradition and history) while the candidate listens carefully to God, to her own mind and heart, to the Church (especially on the tradition and history of her proposed vocation), and to those she is working with at the chancery. Obedience too is not a simple matter of merely "doing what one is told". Because it is a serious form of hearkening to the voice of God one needs to truly honor all the ways that voice comes to us. In a profession of vows there must be a sense that every person actively involved in coming to this has listened attentively and is responding to the voice of God in this situation. Otherwise the result will not be edifying (it will not build up the Church in love --- much less the Kingdom!) and may even become a scandal.