Sunday, March 9, 2025

The First Sunday in Lent C, March 9, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve
The First Sunday in Lent - March 9, 2025



Lent is the summons to renewal, repentance, and transformation.  And whether we have observed Lent for decades or this is our first time, the invitation is the same - examine ways of being that are incomplete, inadequate, dead, and go deeper.  We begin at the beginning: what is the spiritual journey?  What is life in God?  Is it the pursuit of a state of blissful separation from the slings and arrows of lesser existence?  Is it an escape plan from trials, suffering, anxiety?  Is the purpose of gathering here to be protected from all that happens outside these walls, enclosed safely and securely in God’s care, even if for an hour?  Are we escaping something or changing something?  Are we being comforted or empowered?  And as we look at the state of the country, do we circle the wagons or storm the gates?  
The life of Jesus of Nazareth was neither withdrawal nor attack, which were the dominant strategies of his day as well as ours.  He did not flee the realities of life under Roman occupation.  He did not align with the zealots who fought it.  His life is a new thing, a new template for human life as trust in God which he called the kingdom or reign of God.  His temptations in the wilderness have the power to reorient us out of the twin dangers of denial and enmeshment.  
The wilderness is the place of exposure, vulnerability, wildness.  In the Bible, the outside is often a symbol of what is going on inside.  Trust in God is summoned in the raw, untamed place of the land and the heart.  This is not a comfortable retreat that is interrupted by the pesky presence of the adversary.  Conscious and prayerful solitude in God’s presence brings up temptations. Presence is a free choice and temptation accompanies all free choices.  There is no freedom without the presence of temptation.  Compulsion is not freedom.  Authentic presence to God in myself is chosen, never automatic.  Real choice by definition includes the option of saying, “no” to that presence.  So the option of resisting God, of avoiding God, of going unconscious rather than being present to God must appear if the “yes” to God is to be authentic.  We can discern from the reading that Jesus was authentically present to God because he was tempted.  
I do not imagine that a being with horns and a pitchfork appeared to him in the wilderness and began to offer him something appealing.  The temptations came from his own conscience.  It somehow occurred to him that he could change stones to bread or rule the earth or perform some spectacular sign to impress the masses.  These ideas appealed to him.  In his wrestling with the nature of his message, the nature of authentic love and humility, of power and transformation, the alternatives appear.  Why not change the stones or worship the devil or throw himself off the temple?  Good questions.  Jesus faced the temptations as temptations.  He related to them, not from them.  He did not avoid or attack.  He discerned and made a choice.  
What is new in Jesus is the source and nature of his renunciation of the temptations.  The gospel gives us Jesus’ reply to these thoughts.  Jesus does NOT say, “I can’t change these stones to bread because that would be wrong. I am not allowed to do that. I am not bad, but good, and I must, must make good choices at all times, no matter what, no matter how hungry I am.”  In reply to this and the other two temptations, he recalls something greater than what the devil offers.  He rejects the temptations because they are illusory.  He can see that they are both appealing and illusory.  The temptations are a quick fix, but they are too small, too transitory.  Jesus is committed to cosmic, eternal things.  In renouncing temptation, he affirms who he is - he chooses to be himself.  He is the faithful and obedient Son, and from that identity he discerns and chooses.  He does not become himself because he resists the temptation. He resists because he knows who he is.
This manner of understanding the inner meaning of the story makes it applicable to us.  For those of us who are good, moral, churchgoing types, our temptations are probably not going to come as theft, robbery, assault, murder, adultery, etc…. Our temptations will usually come in more subtle and venial kinds of sin: inordinate pleasure, greed, materialism, judgment, self-righteousness, apathy, coldness of heart, failure to love as we could.  Remember that in prayer is temptation. In temptation is the awakening to the choice of our identity.
We face our temptations as temptations, not denying or running away, not averse to the wounded parts of ourselves, but facing all that we are.  You and I have sinned in part because the sin provided something that appealed to us, some means of getting something we wanted.  It worked, for some brief moment, anyway.  And so we have violated ourselves and one another and rejected God’s love.  The will to act contrary to God, which is contrary to ourselves, resides within us.  I am not wholehearted all the time.  I am good at inventing temptations for myself.  I have no problem rationalizing my way into why the temptation is actually a good idea.  The temptation sounds just fine.  I sometimes want to be someone else, with more power and autonomy, access to the quick fix and the instant gratification, especially if there is a chance I can get away with it.
We can avoid temptation - at least most of them.  It is possible, but costly.  We can choose to repress our human desires, disengage from the responsibilities of freedom and choice, find false solace in a pseudo-spirituality of legalism and denial.  This is the core temptation of good people - to fixate on our own self-image of goodness to such an extent that we lose contact with the potential for sin, and so lose our freedom.  It is possible to look and even outwardly act holy, but not be fully human.  What this dangerous path denies is the deeper truth under the temptation.  Because we become our choices, our individually custom-fitted temptations are clues into who we are and must continue to choose to be.  We do not grow in holiness by becoming less human, less free, but by freely choosing to trust God in the face of temptation because that is who we are.  
Jesus as the model fully-human One obeyed the Spirit and went into the wilderness.  He faces temptation as the obedient Son. Because he knows he is the beloved, he chooses to act as the beloved.  Our wilderness temptings will expose our false identities and confront us with the full reality of what it means to be human.  Denial and avoidance is a refusal to be fully human.  The presence of temptation does not make us less human.  Temptation awakens us to the cost of freedom.  Ignoring our sinful desires does not make them go away.  It is not sinful to think about what I could get by sinning.  A good self check-in question is, “what do I want?”  For Jesus, the answers were bread, power, and fame.  Now ask, “what do I want under what I want?”  What is the gold under the temptation?  For Jesus, the deeper commitment was fellowship and obedience to his Father through self-giving, sacrificial love.  And because he knew and was united to that, he could renounce bread, power, and fame.  Fear can be converted into faithful service.  Lust into healthy intimacy.  Greed into vulnerable simplicity.  Vengeance into prayer for enemies and wrongdoers.  What do I want under what I want?  
The wilderness is the space to undergo the stripping of our illusions and the unmasking of our false self-images.  We neither withdraw nor attack.  In facing our full humanity, we can choose to be fully ourselves.  In this stripping, God gives us back to ourselves in full divine image - made of love and blessing while also capable of hate and cursing, made to reflect glory, yet often choosing to deny that glory - and in it all never separated from the love that sees and knows us.  Give us the grace, Lord Christ, to be real and truly who we are and the power to always choose to be who you have made us to be. Amen.

Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josep Martinez-Cubero
Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025


ASH WEDNESDAY
Holy Cross Monastery
March 5, 2025
Isaiah 58:1-12      2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10      Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

Among all the creatures that inhabit the earth, we humans are unique in that we are conscious of our own mortality. And if we pay attention, we are reminded of this reality every day. Wars, natural fires, mass shootings, earthquakes, floods all remind us of how quickly things can change. We may behold our aging selves in mirrors that reflect the passing of years as we journey closer and closer to our own earthly demise. Or we may experience a nagging pain, a frightening diagnosis, the death of a loved one, or a day like today reminding us that we are made up of the stuff of the earth; dust, the same dust that was once the stuff that stars were made of. And when our life on this earth is over, we shall return to that dust. 

Our liturgy today is infused with this ancient reality, and we are invited to embrace our own mortality because death lies at the heart of what it means to be human. Life is precious because it is fragile. The reminder that we get just this one time on earth, and it is short, and then we die calls us to live to the fullest potential of who we are, and in the words of Henri Frederic Amiel to “be swift to love”, and “to make haste to be kind”. It can compel us to pay attention to where we are going, to look for paths that are grace-filled, and to be alive to all that is possible here and now. Being reminded of our mortality can also lead us to say yes to that call from God we have been missing because we are so distracted and busy trying to control our own destiny.

During the past two months I’ve had the occasion to reflect a lot on my own mortality and the preciousness of life. Back on January 16, I woke up with severe pain, so extreme that I wasn’t sure I could actually get out of bed. In true fashion, I thought: “Oh no, no, pain is not on my schedule for today. I have a class to teach, a choir practice to lead, and I need coffee.” God is infinitely patient with me, and so are my Brothers, so after teaching class that morning and leading choir practice, I made my way to the urgent care clinic while the pain continued to increase. At the clinic, I was told I was experiencing sciatic pain and would need physical therapy. In the meantime, I was prescribed some pain medication and was told I needed to be in bed for the next few days. Now, those who know me well can imagine the terror mixed with annoyance the thought of being in bed for a few days produced in my whole being. But the pain seemed to be increasing by the minute, and liked it or not, I had to stay in bed. 

The next few days were a gift- a very strange gift (God works in mysterious ways) but a gift nonetheless. A gift, because I felt the presence of God in ways I have never felt the presence of God before. It’s one thing to feel God’s presence when we are stimulated with beautiful art or music, or an awesome experience, or the wonders of nature. I have experience God’s presence countless times in those situations. It is a completely different matter to experience God’s presence in the midst of terrible pain. 

At first, I was in so much pain, I didn’t know how I would pray. I couldn’t kneel or sit in any one position for too long to do centering prayer. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read from a prayer book or pray the rosary. I finally managed to say: “God, I am in so much pain I can’t pray right now. I know I need to get through this. Please grant me the strength to do so, and stay with me, dear God.” No, I did not ask God to take my pain away. My brain does not work that way, and I know from the Gospels that when Jesus asked: “if it is possible, let this cup be taken away from me” it didn’t happen, so I wasn’t going to go there.

But, God was with me the whole time. I felt God’s presence in my pain. And it didn’t require any doing from me- sitting, kneeling, reading prayers, centering prayer, rosary, nothing. I could have asked God to forgive my sins, but I forgot, and it didn’t matter, God was with me and held me through my pain. God was with me in the form of Brothers who came to my cell to check on me, and bring me meals, and ask if I needed anything. All that was required of me was open receptivity- a spirit of yes; of welcome. The situation was the situation. It was not going to change. Now to welcome something doesn’t mean we have to like it. It just means we need to temporarily suspend our rush to judgement, and just to be open to what’s occurring, and to find some point of gratitude. I reflected with great gratitude on how thankful I am for my comfortable bed, good healthcare, adequate food, loving community. I felt great sorrow for those who may have sciatica or worse in Gaza, or Ukraine, or Sudan, or so many other places in the world, without appropriate care, or even a bed. God, please be with them.

In the reading from the epistle we just heard, St. Paul entreats the Corinthians (and us) to be reconciled to God. And he does not suggest a confession, or self-examination, or lays out a lengthy program of spiritual exercises. He tells us that we should simply accept the grace of God when the time is right, and see, now is that acceptable time. Life is short. Don’t wait. Now is the time! In the Gospel lesson Jesus tells us to go to our room, shut the door and pray to our God who is in secret. That secret place where God abides is our heart. It is a call to the kind of intimacy with God that nourishes, grounds, and sustains in ways that are beyond words. The fleeting, fragile, uncertain nature of life compels us to venture deeply into that secret place.

So today, as our foreheads are marked with ashen crosses to remind us of our mortality, may we meet the season of Lent with a spirit of welcome come what may; may we find the courage to say yes to what we know God is calling us to do; may we be swift to love; may we make haste to be kind; and may we dare to enter that secret place in our heart where we can be reconciled to God who always meets us where we are in our lives with loving grace and an open embrace that nourishes, grounds and sustains us in ways that are beyond words. ¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo! ~Amen+

Sunday, March 2, 2025

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany C, March 2, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany, March 2, 2025

When they encounter something new or different, my young nieces often ask, “Is it real?” Reality is determined by the five senses. If it cannot be seen, tasted, touched, smelled, or heard then it is not real – at least in this world. We tend to live with a veil that separates the exterior world of tangible, rational information from the inner world of mystery and encounter.
There are moments, however, when that veil is parted, and we stand in what the Celtic tradition calls a “thin place” between heaven and earth, the divine and the human, matter and spirit, the eternal and the temporal. In that thin place the duality of those parings disappears, and we stand in union and wholeness.
The difficulty for us is that, like my young nieces, we often limit our world and our experience to that which is understood and explainable. The senses themselves become the veil that separates us from that other world. Thin places invite us to step outside what we can know and enter the tremendous mystery of God’s presence and love. 
Every year on this day, the season of Epiphany culminates in the Transfiguration. The Church sets it before us as the hinge between the end of Epiphany and the beginning of Lent. It reveals what an unveiled life looks like. In the Transfiguration the glory of divinity is united with humanity. Jesus didn’t become something he was not before that night on the mountain. He manifested what he always was, filled with the glory of God, radiating divine light. Jesus didn’t become something new, but the disciples did. They saw and experienced life and the world as God sees it, showing in humanity the archetypal beauty of its image. Christ revealed who we are and who, by grace, we are to become. He showed the theosis, the deification of human nature.
In a thin place we and our whole world stand in a different light. Jesus led Peter, James, and John to a thin place, where human ears would hear God’s voice, human eyes could see divine light, and human life would be enveloped in the cloud of God’s presence. That experience is the great longing of humanity. They beheld the beauty of their own creation in the image and likeness of God.
This is not simply a story about Peter, James, and John. It is descriptive of Christ’s encounter with all humanity. We too are called and invited to step through the parted veil. Transfiguration is all around us. Jesus is always leading us to the thin places of our life. We don’t often talk about these experiences. Like Peter, James, and John, we keep silent, not because those encounters are not real. Rather, because they are too real for words. Words could never describe the experience and would only diminish the mystery of the encounter. Each is distinct and unrepeatable.  They are moments of pure grace. We cannot make them happen. We can only be there when it does happen. It’s a moment of complete presence and union. Everything belongs. Nothing has been lost or left out. 
It’s not so much about what we see but how we see. Transfigured eyes do not deny or ignore the circumstances of our life or world. Sometimes our life is veiled in our failures, our fears, our forgetting. Other times the veil of grief and despair, ignorance, or the choices we have made leave us in darkness. Most of us, I think, seek God in the circumstances of life. We want God to show up and do something. But it’s not about the circumstances of life. It’s about us. 
At some point we must begin to discover the God who is beyond the circumstances. Life on the surface keeps us judging the circumstances. The answer is found in depth, intimacy, and the vulnerability of the interior journey. We do not need to see new things. We need to see the same old things with new eyes. We do not need to escape the circumstances of our life. We need to be more fully present to those circumstances. This transfigured vision, is what allows us to face, endure, and respond to the circumstances of our life and world. It is why we can be unafraid. 
On the mountain Peter wants to build dwelling places, wants to preserve the experience. We often are tempted to do the same, but that would only keep us in the past. To the extent we cling to the past we close ourselves to the future God offers. Jesus, Peter, James, and John came back down the mountain, but they took the vision with them. Transfigured moments change us, sustain us, prepare, encourage, and guide us into the future regardless of the circumstances we face. When you consider recent events in our country and our world it seems our lives and the world are more disfigured than transfigured.
 These events do not negate the glory of God that fills this world. Instead, they reveal that far too often we are a people “weighed down with sleep’ like Peter, John, and James. They struggled between sleep and wakefulness. The spiritual journey is always a battle between falling asleep and staying awake, between absence and presence, darkness and light. Sleepiness is a spiritual condition. It is a form of blindness to the beauty and holiness of the world, other people, and ourselves. It is what allows us to do violence to one another and ourselves.
The Transfiguration of Christ shows us who we are. It reveals our origin, our purpose, and the end to which we must aim. It is not just an event in history, a happening that begins and ends. It is a condition and way of being. The Transfiguration reveals a present reality already within us and the world. 
The disciples experienced the transfiguration because they stayed awake despite the weight of sleep. Regardless of how our life gets veiled the light of divinity is never extinguished but only covered up. This is why we need Lent, the season of unveiling, to discover the ways in which our lives have become veiled. The veils of our life can only be removed when we first know our life to be veiled. If you want to know the ways in which your life has become veiled go to the places of contradiction. Search out the places of struggle and conflict. Look for the ways in which you are living less than who you really want to be. 
Peter, James, and John saw for the first time what has always been. Humanity can never build a dwelling place for God. It is God who makes humanity the dwelling place of divinity. The whole of creation participates in the glory of God. It is there that Christ reveals who we are and who, by grace, we are to become. Transfiguration invites us to wipe the sleep from our eyes, behold what we are, and become what we see. +Amen