Sunday, February 28, 2016

Lent 3 C - Feb 28, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Bernard Delcourt, OHC

Lent 3 C - Sunday, February 28, 2016


Exodus 3:1-15
1 Corinthians 10:1-13
Luke 13:1-9
A fruitful fig tree. I think we'll keep it!
At the beginning of Lent, on Ash Wednesday, we are reminded of our mortality; “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” And Saint Benedict, in his rule, enjoins his monks “To keep death daily before one's eyes” (RB 4:47). These instructions are given out of love and not morbidity. They are to remind us of our need to turn around towards God and make progress in that direction while we have a chance.

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Today’s gospel reminds us that we do not get to choose either the time or the manner of our death. Death comes to us on its own terms.

In today’s gospel, Jesus also warns us that the time and manner of our death says nothing on how good we are in the eyes of God. We all shall die some day and we are all sinners. We all fall short of how we could love God and neighbor.

But as long as we are alive, we are given new opportunities to turn to God and to consent to God’s healing action in our lives.

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An “act of God” is a legal term for events outside human control, such as sudden natural disasters, for which no one can be held responsible. It’s convenient short hand in legal language to name it an act of God, but it is theologically unsound. No act of evil whether natural, political or personal can be imputed to God.

God does not cause evil or hurt. Evil causes evil and hurt. Sin happens all the time and sin, by definition, is not God’s will. So whether natural or human-caused, hurtful occurrences are not God’s retribution for our sin.

It would be tempting to want God to act as a comic strip super-hero stopping every evil act or hurtful phenomenon. But in that case, we would no longer have free will. We would no longer be able to freely do what is good. We would no longer be able to embrace God with a love that we voluntarily initiate and direct to God and neighbor. God tolerates evil because he wills that his children freely will or choose to live with him and according to his ways.

Being free children of God requires our freedom of choice and our being exposed to all the risks that being alive implies. We are not a puppet on a string and that comes with the risks of having autonomy of will; one of which is the ability to sin and even cause evil.

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So catastrophes and evil do happen. Bad things happen. The news cycle makes sure we never forget about that. And those things happen to all kinds of people. Good people and “bad people” alike are the victims of catastrophes. We do not need to ask whether they deserved what came to them. And attributing their ill fate to sin is just a way of making ourselves feel superior.

We are all sinners anyway. Victims of catastrophes are not worse sinners than we are. They are sinners as we are; on average, no more, no less. When we escape catastrophe, we are not morally better than those who perished or got hurt. We are just lucky. And we receive the grace of living a little longer to bear good fruit in our lives.

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And that is what the parable of the fig tree can teach us; bear good fruit while you can. We do not know the length of our life. In the light of eternity, our lives are short. We should use well every moment. We are called to live every day as fully as we can. If we lose sight of eternity we can be lulled into thinking that we have plenty of time, that we can reform later, and that for now we can do as we please. Procrastinating is not a good idea though.

In the end, God may not look kindly on parasites. The fig tree that year after year produces nothing good, but only takes up space, time, and natural resources is a symbol for willfully unproductive human beings. These are the takers, the consumers, the parasites. They take out of the environment, but put nothing back in. The world and people exist simply to meet their needs.

Does this paint the picture of a society we know?

The parable teaches that nothing will survive that merely takes out and gives nothing in return. That is the definition of a parasite. True, we all draw strength and sustenance from a soil not our own by God’s grace, but we are to bear fruit so that others may draw from us. The parable teaches that we may get a second chance, or a third, or more, but eventually comes the final chance.

On a personal note, I am an adept of the doctrine of universal salvation. Universal salvation, or Christian universalism, is the doctrine that all sinful and alienated human souls—because of divine love and mercy—will ultimately be reconciled to God.

I imagine that our triune Godhead, through the living experience of Jesus, has a deeply human yet infinite mercy and love.

In the end, I believe, we will be judged and found lacking, but God’s mercy will prevail. Jesus will be our advocate. He will show how we availed ourselves of his help in our life. He will point out the good fruit we bore. And he will ask for forbearance for our shortcomings.

When I was growing up as little Roman Catholic boy, I was taught about the Purgatory. I do not believe in a purgatory, where the souls of sinners suffer in expiation of their sin.

But I imagine something like remedial classes in loving like God loves. I imagine that being in the presence of the all-loving God will be enough to make us regret our sins and finally fully turn towards God; call it ultimate conversion, metanoia.

I hope, for the benefit of obdurate sinners, that God will give us our last chance at conversion even beyond death. Those who, even at that stage, will adamantly want to further reject God’s abundant and free love will indeed be removed from the presence of God. And an eternity of that will be hell indeed.

But the biblical record is mixed on this issue of salvation and there is also is plenty in the bible to support the idea of damnation of some, or even many. So conversion in our lifetime could be a prudent choice. Don’t you think?

But even more compellingly for me, we should tread the path of conversion out of sheer love for the God who showers us with his grace and mercy in this life and beyond.

So I enjoin you, repent and turn towards the God who loves you beyond all human knowing while you still have your living. It will give you full and abundant life, even now. Amen.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Lent 1 C - Feb 14, 2016

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert Magliula, OHC
Lent 1 C - Sunday, February 14, 2016

Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-13

Christ in the wilderness
The temptation narrative, a version of which we always hear on the First Sunday in Lent, is not presented as something that Jesus taught, but rather something that the narrator, Luke, tells about Jesus, and asks us to consider for ourselves. This passage puts us in mind of Deuteronomy (6-8). There we see the Lord putting the people of Israel in hard circumstances and testing what’s in their hearts. The first danger Israel faces amidst its new freedom from bondage in Egypt is the complacency of believing that God is no longer necessary to protect them from hunger and hostile threats. For us, seeing life apart from a covenant relationship with God, can be a far greater temptation to spiritual forgetfulness than any danger or hardship. In the parallel between Jesus and Israel, his response is faithfulness and obedience, and Israel’s is not. Looking toward the end of Luke’s Gospel we see another parallel in the Garden with Jesus and the disciples. Here Jesus’ faithfulness to God’s will is embraced contrasted to the unconsciousness of the disciples’ sleep.

These are tests to see whether even good things can lure Jesus from a focus on God’s will or can lure believers into following a more comfortable and convenient messiah. In Luke’s account of Jesus’ Passion and ministry the meaning of Jesus’ baptismal commission unfolds, recalling the three tests he has undergone. Though he refused to turn stones into bread, he does feed the hungry. Though he refused political power, he proclaims God’s empire of justice and peace. Though he refused to jump off the temple to test God’s care, he goes to the cross in confidence that God’s will for life will trump the world’s decision to execute him. Luke assures believers that Jesus is not separated from God’s love, for the Spirit fills him at the end of this episode as well as at the beginning.

A popular notion in Lent is that we give up something. Perhaps what we need to give up is our tendency to minimize our Lenten discipline and to make a concerted effort toward greater intentionality and receptiveness to God’s grace. As discouraging as it is for those of us who delight in instant gratification, conversion is best understood as a process, not an event. If we choose in the Lenten journey to be intentional and receptive, we will encounter a faithful God who leads us, like Jesus, not only into the wilderness but also through the wilderness.
  
Intentionality and receptiveness require mindfulness. Mindfulness is the simple practice of being present to one thing at a time. It’s living in the present moment. Such a pattern gives value to each activity and helps avoid taking things for granted. It’s being aware of the little and large things around us, encountering the naked reality of each and experiencing its unique energy.  It gives rise to an attentive openness and wonder that gives birth to gratitude. It’s also the willingness to be vulnerable and to be acted upon, helping us to discern that life is God’s gift, even with its difficulties and uncertainties, helping us see that within the work, relationships, and challenges of life are moments of wonder, beauty, and mystery, opening us to awe and gratitude. More often than not, wonder and gratitude are the threshold to love. 

Every relationship begins with presence. Being present to God is not static. It’s a mutual presence. God is continually offering invitations. God is always there present to us within. But as Augustine says, we are not present there to God, nor to ourselves. He wrote: “You were with me all along in my search and I was not with you.”  Learning this presence is the point of the desert experience. Baptismal life is a concentrated training toward this presence. It involves one’s whole being and consciousness. What is pushed out of consciousness cannot be transformed. Inner peace can only come by owning up to what is least peaceful within us. 

We have to show up and experience God in order for the bonding to begin. This simple act allows listening to take place at many different levels. We’re tempted to use prayer as a time for thinking, in the hope it will be productive, but prayer is not for thinking. It’s a time for presence. Thinking is an integral part of human nature, but it is not our highest and most essential activity. The purpose of prayer is not intense self-reflection or progress in our spiritual life so much as an opportunity to be present and alert to God and others. It helps us to see more honestly. Picture prayer as the landscape of our personal relationship with God.

It reminds us that our primary vocation, as human beings, is to enter into the very life of God. It changes our consciousness so that we see into the deeper meaning of what is going on within and outside of ourselves. It drives us to become more fully engaged with life in the same way that the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness and then into the lives of those around him. As we intentionally place ourselves in God’s presence, we eventually discover that we are becoming rooted and grounded in divine love, seeing ourselves through God’s eyes, carrying the love we experience into every aspect of our daily life, even now in the midst of our yet to be completed humanity.
  
Trusting in mystery is not easy. It’s more about faithfulness than progress, submitting ourselves to the influence and power of the One who loves us without conditions. As we die to being in charge of our own life, we discover who we really are. This is what the death of Jesus can teach us. He did not have to die to show us the nature of God’s love. His life did that beautifully. He took the risk of love knowing that it might lead to his death. It was love that led to his crucifixion. It was the authenticity of his life that led to his death, and in that death we glimpse the extent of God’s love for all. When Jesus invites us to die to ourselves he’s exhorting us to live this kind of intentional loving authenticity. Jesus’ death doesn’t change God’s mind or heart about us; it changes our minds about ourselves.
  
In the season of Lent we are invited to embrace an intentional way of life. For forty days we follow the example of Jesus, led by the Spirit in the wilderness to be tested. The Spirit doesn’t just drop him off in the wilderness to fend for himself; the Spirit continues to abide with him enabling him to grow stronger as he discerns his identity as God’s Beloved. The Spirit’s anointing of Jesus in baptism and his faithfulness to God amid testing, constitute Jesus’ preparation for his mission. Being chosen and anointed in baptism was not sufficient preparation for Jesus, nor is it for us. We must be tested, often by being led to places of hunger, loneliness, and despair. Only then do we learn dependence on God, who graciously provides for all our needs in all of life’s seasons.  +Amen