Challenges of the Road Less Traveled

Being a disciple is harder than we originally thought.  When he first asked us to follow him, we thought our lives would somehow be easier.  We thought we wouldn’t have to worry about financial matters or family problems.  He seemed headed for success – for some kind of political office, and then he would assume the throne of Israel as King.  But then we, like the disciples, recalled all the talk about dying and rising and being a servant. It is not what we expected, and it’s occurred to us more than once that maybe we should turn around go back.  But we stay, regardless of our fatigue and confusion, and we keep walking alongside him.

Suddenly, our thoughts are interrupted by someone calling for Jesus, and others telling him to shut up.  But he won’t shut up. “Son of David,” he cries again, “Have mercy on me!” Jesus hears him this time and stops. “Bring him,” he says, and the man rushes toward the sound of Jesus’ voice.  “What do you want me to do for you?”

It’s not a rhetorical question.  Jesus isn’t being dramatic for the sake of the crowd, he just wants to hear Bartimaeus say it, to say explicitly what he wants. So the blind man sums up his heart’s desire in six words: “Master,” he says, “let me receive my sight,” he says, and Jesus replies, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”  Bartimaeus closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he can see for the first time. “Go your way,” Jesus tells him, but he does not leave the company of Jesus, perhaps because, like many of us, we find that once we regain our sight, we can’t go back to the way we used to be.  We can only keep following. 

This is a great story, full of courage and compassion, complete with a happy ending. It is a story about the kingdom of God, and we want it for our own – to encounter Jesus, to be called by name, to find the words to tell him what we want and to be healed, illumined, made whole. To trade in whatever blindness each of us has, to trade it for clearer vision,  so we can see ourselves, see our world, without cloud or shadow.

In her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard writes about the first people in the world to undergo successful cataract surgery. All of them blind from birth, they suddenly received their sight and were interviewed about what they saw. Their stories are surprising and moving.

One newly sighted girl was shown photographs and then some paintings. “Why do they put those dark marks all over them?” she asked. “Those aren’t dark marks,” her mother explained, “they’re shadows.  That is one of the ways the eye knows that things have shape.  If it weren’t for shadows many things would look flat.”  ”Well that’s how things do look,” her daughter answered. “Everything looks flat with dark patches.”

A second girl was so shocked by the radiance of the world that she kept her eyes shut for two weeks. When she finally opened them she saw only a world of light where everything was in constant motion.  She couldn’t distinguish objects, but gazed at everything around her, saying over and over again, “Oh my God, how beautiful!”

But not everything was beautiful for these patients. Unable to judge distances, they reached out for things a mile away, or they stumbled over furniture they perceived only as patches of color. The world turned out to be much bigger than they had thought, bigger and infinitely more complex.  Many became seriously depressed.  Others, having seen themselves for the first time in a mirror, realized how often others had seen them without their awareness. The distressed father of one young woman wrote her surgeon that his daughter had taken to shutting her eyes when she walked around the house, and that she never seemed happier than when she pretended to be blind again. A fifteen year old boy finally demanded to be taken back to the local home for the blind, where he had left his girlfriend behind. “No, really, I can’t stand it anymore,” he said. “If things don’t change, I’ll tear my eyes out.”

It’s the same with us.  We are often happy with our blindness, content to be in our own little worlds without the world’s problems distracting us or causing us sleepless nights or acid reflux or headaches.  But Jesus persistently calls to us, “Get up!” 

So what will we do? The question isn’t theoretical or hypothetical at all, because that’s what following Jesus is all about.  Do we want to see or not?  We can choose blindness and stay in our familiar dark, where all the edges are rounded off so that we will not hurt ourselves, where we need only concern ourselves with what is within our reach. We can stay with what we know.

Or we can jump to our feet, leaving our fear behind.  If we are truly willing to see, we will see the  good along with the bad, the love along with the hatred that exists in our world, the beautiful along with the hideous, the joy with the sorrow.  We’ll meet many people who were invisible to us before:  the homeless, the marginalized, those who suffer with HIV and AIDS, lesbians and gays, people who are frankly not welcome in other churches.   

Two years ago, a handful of people said, “Yes, we are willing to see and to follow” and we planted the seed that is Holy Redeemer.  We continue to grow and to bruise our shins from bumping into things, but we have created a place Jesus would be proud to visit.  We’re expanding our vision to include everyone in the mission of this parish, and even though it is all still very new, we know we are on the right path.

As we cross the threshhold into our 3^rd year as a parish community and we have much to be thankful for.  We have much more to do, beginning with renewing our individual commitment to this ministry.  “What is it that you want?” Jesus asks each of us tonight, and we say as a parish community, “Lord, we wish to see! We wish to be a place of welcome for all those abandoned by other churches.  We want to be your presence for people who are rejected and turned away.  We want to become what we believe!”  And so we move forward together, following Jesus—even though the path will not always be convenient or without obstacles.  It will interfere with our personal lives and with the way we spend our financial resources.  Ultimately, if we are truly attentive to the call of Jesus, this path will sometimes be costly and difficult, it will require inconvenience and putting our own individual needs aside.  It could also become the most rewarding work of our lives.  The People of God are waiting for exactly what we ourselves have found here:  a home of unconditional acceptance and love.  There are countless others just like us in Fort Wayne, so if you will allow me the privilege of continuing to be your pastor, I ask that you join me in seeking out these people and bringing them the Good News that God loves them the way they are.

Another Anniversary

This Sunday I celebrate the 2nd anniversary of my ordination to priesthood and also the beginning of the parish of Holy Redeemer.  Mass has been moved to 5:00 pm to accomodate the out of town guests coming from out of state.  Guests include Archbishop Phillip Zimmerman, the  Presiding Bishop of the Reformed Catholic Church.  Guest musicians include my friend, Gregory Childs, on organ; Catherine Rumschlag on guitar, and some powerful vocals by Shaneequa Cook, one of my students at the high school where I teach.  If you have been considering coming to “check out” Holy Redeemer, this would be a perfect opportunity to see and experience the love of a community that has accepted the call of Jesus to be a welcoming home to all those who feel despised and rejected by other faith communities.  We are “catholic” in the sense that we judge no one, reject no one, deny communion to no one–just like Jesus originally intended.  Please join me in praying for the continuing growth of this parish.  Thank you!

It’s NOT About You!

What if it’s really true that life is not “all about you”?  That’s the first line in Rick Warren’s book The Purpose Driven Life.  The book has sold more than 30 million copies, and although I am not a fan of the book, a lot of people seem like it.  The book attempts to answer the questions “What is my purpose?” and “What am I here for?”   And millions of readers have started their journey by being confronted with these words which open the very first section: “It’s not about you.”

            Personally, I think maybe it IS all about me!  Microsoft Corporation seems to think so.  It asks me on a regular basis, “Where do I want to go today?”  Visa tells me that it’s “everywhere I want to be.”  L’Oreal reminds me that “I’m worth it” and Gatorade wants to know if it’s “in me”?  Budweiser encouraged me years ago when it reminded me that “This Bud is for me and even now UPS urges me to “See what Brown can do for me.”  Then there’s my email account’s inbox which is filled with daily messages and offers to make me slimmer and sexier, get me more money, bring me more satisfaction in every area of my life.  But just when I’m starting to believe that it really IS about me, something comes my way, like Rick Warren’s book, and tells me, “It’s not about you.” 

                       Our first reading this week is from Isaiah, chapter 53, and it tells us that God is the one in charge, that even God’s Servant will be crushed in infirmity, and will surrender his life for others.  Through the suffering of this person, many will be justified.  It seems, all of a sudden, to be all about God.  It seems, incredibly, to be more about God’s plans than my own!

            Jesus has an annoyingly similar viewpoint to share with his disciples.  While they are on their way to Jerusalem, James and John come to him with a rather arrogant request, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”  The brothers explain that they want to sit on thrones on either side of Jesus when he establishes his kingdom.    Curiously, in the paragraph just before today’s passage, Jesus has taken his disciples aside and explained to them exactly what is going to happen to him when they get to Jerusalem.  First, he is going to be handed over to the religious leaders who are going to sentence him to death.  They are, in turn, going to hand him over to the civil authorities who will then mock him, spit on him, beat him and finally execute him.  He, however, will then be raised from the dead in three days.

            The disciples seem to have missed the part about the suffering and death.  They want to fast forward to the happy ending.  More often than not, I miss the part about the suffering and death and want to fast forward to the happy ending, too!  No matter what Jesus has said up to this point, they and I still have this image of the Messiah as a victorious king rather than as a suffering servant.   “Yeah, OK, mocking, spitting, flogging, we get it.  Tell us the cool part about what reward we’re going to get once you become the one in charge!”  But Jesus says, “Oh, gee, I’m really sorry, you misunderstood.  It’s not about you.  It’s about serving others.  It’s about putting others ahead of yourself.  You want to be great?  I get that.  So, be a servant.  You want to be first?  Be last.  You want to be a ruler in my kingdom?  Be a slave to all.”  The guys don’t want to hear this, and most of the time, I don’t want to hear it either! 

             I’ve read Steven Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, and I’ve seen Dr. Phil’s Seven Keys to Weight Loss Freedom.  I have read Deepak Chopra’s Seven Spiritual Laws of Success .  I own my own DVD copy of “The Secret”.  I know how to set goals for myself, how to devise strategies and I expect some nice results.  And quite often I think that attaining success IS fulfilling my purpose.

      If I could keep on believing this way my life would be less complicated, but my soul has a deeper knowledge.  The fact is that I might reach every one of my goals; I  may live out every one of my dreams.  I might be successful in everything I do and yet fail completely at living out my purpose.  Because, dammit….it’s not about me.

            Isaiah makes it clear that God will use the Suffering Servant for God’s own purposes, not the goals of the man himself.  It’s going to be God’s project from beginning to end.  The Servant, whom we recognize in the person of Jesus, is going to surrender his own purposes and embrace the path laid out for him by God. That path has nothing to do with success or money or fame, it has to do with pain and loneliness and rejection.

            Jesus tells the disciples that it’s about serving others.  It’s about recognizing our role in relation to the rest of humanity.  It’s about giving priority to the needs of others over our wants.  It’s about making sure we put ourselves in proper relationship with all of God’s children.

           I am fully aware that there are Christians who teach that living in God’s will means that we will be rewarded with fortune, health and material abundance.  Certain passages in the Bible, taken by themselves—out of context–might even lead us to that conclusion.  But the overarching message of the Bible as a whole, combined with the message of Jesus, remind us that even faithful people suffer.  Bad things happen to good people.  Like my former colleague, Virginia, who lost a son 2 years ago to suicide and just this past week lost her 30 year old daughter to heart failure.  She has survived the loss of both her children and when I saw her at the funeral home this week, she just held onto me and kept whispering, “I don’t know how I am going to get through this.”  And I was honest with her.  “I don’t understand and I am so very sorry.  God is sorry, too.”  It would have been just plain dishonest and phony to say something like, “Oh well, it’s part of God’s plan” or “When God closes a door, He opens a window!”  Unspeakable tragedy exists in our world and just because we are living according to God’s purpose doesn’t mean that we won’t have to face difficulties and heartache and disaster.

            Despite that, the comforting news is that we do have a purpose.  There is a reason that we’re here.  We have a role to play–a crucial role–in fulfilling God’s plan for all of creation.  Rick Warren begins his book by advising the reader “It’s not about you.”  But he quickly moves on then to chapter two where you are assured that “You are not an accident.”  You are a unique creation of God.  You were fashioned to play an important part in the great cosmic drama.  You have value just because of who you are, not because of how much you have or how attractive you may be or how well-liked you are.  St. Benedict writes in the 6th century that it’s not about us, that we need to cultivate a humble heart.  When we do that, when we consider ourselves less talented, less successful than others, when we put their needs above our own, suddenly we realize the greatness we do possess.

            What we need to do is to prayerfully consider our purpose: the unique reason that God created each one of us.  The parish church, I believe, is the place where we can explore our purpose together.  This is where we test our ideas, where we develop our gifts, where we seek to discern God’s purpose for us each as individuals and God’s purpose for all of us together as a community of faith.  In the final analysis, it really isn’t about you.  And, it’s not about me, either.  It is about God.  It is about being servants to all of God’s children.  As we move into the third year of operation as a community that prays and acts for justice together, let us bravely step onto the path of our future, a journey of discovery and pain, joys and disappointments, a journey of searching and finding our ultimate purpose.  I am so grateful for the support all of my parishioners and friends have shown me to this point, and the reality is I can’t do this without them.  This is their parish, not mine, although I am proud to serve them.  The future is in our  hands.

Eye of the Needle

The truth is, we are all rich, and we have a lot to be thankful for. When you compare any of us to the vast majority of the people in the world, we are wealthy beyond most people’s wildest dreams.  If we had half of what we currently own and earned half of what we are now earning,, we would still be among the richest 10% of the world’s people. And it’s not like we did anything to be in this category: we were simply born in the United States. 

So, if we think back to Mark’s Gospel, where Jesus says that it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of the needle than it is for a rich person to enter the Reign of God, we should realize that we are the ones he’s talking about.  It’s not about the wealthy Hollywood actors, or overpaid ball players—it’s about us, the ones who can afford to be going to movies or spending time watching a ball game.

As North Americans, we don’t like to talk about money, and we especially don’t like to talk about our own money. It’s OK to talk about taxes and inflation and the price of gasoline, but it’s another thing altogether to speak about personal assets.  By contrast, Jesus seems to talk more about money than he does about prayer, family, or even faith. (You can count the instances yourself if you think I’m mistaken.)  In fact, the only thing he spoke about more often than money was the Reign of God.

Money is more than just a “medium of exchange” as I teach my world history students in high school.  It’s a powerful force in our society and sometimes seems to be the ultimate power on earth.  “In God We Trust” is on our money, but it seems more true to say that it’s the money we trust most of all.

Those who have no money as well as those who have plenty of money can fall prey to the power of money.  Those who have no money can easily spend their lives wishing they had money or pursuing money as if having it were the solution to all their problems. Those who have money can easily spend their lives looking at the bottom line when they make decisions.  Think about those who call themselves Christian who are marching against health care for the needy on the pretext that the country  “can’t afford it”.  Think of those who oppose gay marriage rights because we “can’t afford” to be giving tax breaks to that many more people.  These are often the same people who supported the war effort, and despite the costs that continue to spiral out of control, they never say we can’t afford the war.  It’s easier to use economic excuses to support our ideas than to balance economic and justice principles on issues that we find threatening.

In both cases—the moneyless and the rich– money is making the decisions, and money thus serves as a false god.  I can confess my own guilt on this point. While I have tried to live my life differently, I can still think of times in my life – some of them have been fairly recent – when money made decisions for me.  I suspect that we are all guilty of this.

So, what are we to do? We are wealthy, but we want to serve God, and we want to be in the flow of God’s creative transforming power for our world.  “What must we do to inherit life eternal?” we ask with the young man in Mark’s Gospel.

The money we give away is the only money that has no hold over us. One of the best ways to become free of the power money has over us is to give enough of it away so we can be open to God’s will for us and our money. 

Think about when we first started using  computers.  They were billed as an important tool that would make our lives easier, but from the very beginning, there were people who became addicted to being online.   I have a Facebook account, and have a few hundred so-called friends there. I spend maybe two full hours online a week, but it doesn’t matter what time I check in on Facebook—4:30 am or 9 pm–there are always at least a dozen of my friends also online.  Sometimes there are so many, the computer won’t even list them all.  For me, the computer is a tool, and that’s how our money should be used.

When we get to the point where our money becomes only a tool in our hands, we will have arrived at the consciousness of Jesus.  AIDS research, cancer research, assistance for the needy in our own community, these are all things that urgently need our financial support. We will never inherit Jesus’ vision for a world of peace and justice if our hands are full of other things.  We’ll never grasp the meaning of the Reign of God if we’re always grasping at some finite resource without which we feel incomplete.  And we’ll never appreciate the grace that God extends to us if we are so distracted by economic issues that we forget how well off and wealthy we really are.

I have, at this writing, just returned from the 2009 International Synod of the Reformed Catholic Church, where priests and bishops, male and female, from all over the world were present.  The theme this year was on making ministry happen even in areas of the world where financial resources are scarce.  Fr. Thomas, a priest in the Darfur region of Sudan, is one of our clergy who clearly sees the real value of his life.  He and his parish have to keep changing locations for their Masses because of rogue bands of militiamen who routinely attack vulnerable people.  Recently, a band of men with machetes entered his house and told him if he didn’t stop giving aid to their targeted victims, if he didn’t stop doing his ministry, they would chop off his hands.  Fr. Thomas put both hands on the table before them and told them they may as well cut them off right then, since he had no choice but to continue helping them.  In surprise and anger, the men left without harming Fr. Thomas, vowing to return another day.

In a wealthy country such as ours, with so much focus on financial matters, it was illuminating for me to learn the story of Fr. Thomas and the Reformed Catholics in Sudan who have bigger concerns than money.  They only want to be left in peace so they can pray and build up the Reign of God.  Fort Wayne is full of churches that are always and forever having building campaigns, pledge drives, tithing programs and the like.  A local bishop makes no secret of the fact that he wants a new multi-million dollar chancery office.  An all-white Roman church in a declining neighborhood recently erected a $200,000 steeple, while poor Hispanic and Black kids play outside on the church grounds without enough food or even warm winter clothes.  Maybe we should all emulate Fr. Thomas and focus instead on our faith, and serving the children of God, instead of letting  money overshadow the message of Jesus!

Oops, I did it again…

Has this ever happened to you? You’re in room full of people, with lots of noise. You start talking to the person sitting next to you, and the two of you are deep in conversation, confident that it’s private because everyone else is talking and no one is paying you any attention. You get to the point of saying something private that you are willing to say to this person.  Maybe it’s a non-inclusive joke, or your true feelings about the former President, or the real reason you left your spouse.  And just as the words leave your mouth, everyone in the room stops talking and they hear what you had intended to be shared with only that one person.  There you sit, in the unbearable silence with your remark reverberating in the air for everyone to take in and evaluate.  Suddenly, you’re embarrassed, regretting what you had only a moment before thought you could share in confidence.   

This is exactly what happened to the disciples: they have been walking slightly behind Jesus, having sidebar conversations about who among them was the best.  I suspect they never imagined that Jesus would overhear, after all there were at least a dozen of them as well as the usual crowd of followers.  All that the disciples are focused on is who is the greatest, who is the best, the brightest, who should be lifted up as the premier disciple. Who is worthy of being the leader if Jesus is someday no longer with them, as Jesus has been saying.

And then, there it is:  Jesus asks them what they are arguing about. Suddenly, the disciples are embarrassed about something that they had been so vehemently and unabashedly arguing about just moments before.  They’re embarrassed because suddenly they see their limited sense of what is really important.  They’re embarrassed because they realize that although they have followed Jesus down the road into Galilee, they haven’t really been following him down the spiritual road he himself is walking.

They have been with Jesus, watching him as he travels along. They have been with Jesus when he has eaten with the outcasts as one of them, not merely as some generous benefactor. They have been with Jesus when he has healed the sick, comforted those who mourned. They have been with him as the crowds have grown, and they’ve seen opportunities for Jesus to use this to his advantage, to gain a position of power, or even a bit of financial security. And they have been with him, seeing how he has instead continued to live as a servant to God and to God’s people.

So when Jesus asks them what they are arguing about, they don’t want to answer. What was so clearly important just a few minutes ago, now, in the light of Christ, fades into nothing.  They can’t answer Jesus. They hesitate. They realize they still have a ways to go before they can say they are really living the life offered to them.

It’s the same path we are called to follow today. And let’s not try and b.s. each other: it isn’t easy, and we will fall short again and again. Like the disciples, we will find that we have missed the mark. We are called to love our neighbor as ourselves, yet we may have times when we don’t. We are called to forgive, yet we may hold on to resentment, anger,  grudges, allowing these to fester into righteous indignation, and maybe even a desire for revenge or punishment.

Then there are the daily things, the little things we don’t think about: ethnic jokes, gossipy news, the dismissing of another as not being as good as we are, those for whom we have no time to converse because we are busy with important things.  We also have those times when we want to get that bit of recognition, that feeling of being at least a little better than the person next to us.  We don’t think about these things because we want to pretend that we can reconcile them with our beliefs, with who we say we are.  And then Jesus stops us and asks us what we are about.  Like the disciples, we often find we are too embarrassed to respond.

Despite the fact that the guys are caught arguing, despite the fact that we are guilty of doing things we shouldn’t be doing, there is good news.  They and we may not have understood and followed what Jesus was saying all the time, but at least we are all there with him for him to be able to ask the question.  Like us, they hear the question, and in their silence, their hearts respond.

Jesus reminds us of a simple truth by bringing a child forward.  He tells us that to be his disciple, we need to become simpler and more honest, like a child.  If we can do that, we will be able to follow God completely, without reservation and we will become God’s agents for remaking the world into God’s Kingdom.  The disciples, like us, are not perfect, but we are all of us here with Jesus in the present tense, ready to realize the power of Grace and Love.

In the Gospel of Mark, this is neither the first nor the last time the disciples are pulled up short, when what they are doing and saying is not in harmony with what Jesus is teaching them. They are human, after all.  The important point here is that even the disciples didn’t have some kind of mystical once-in-a-lifetime conversion event that changed them completely overnight.  Discipleship is shown to be a process, a process of following the one who calls us, a process of going forward, stumbling, falling back, arguing, disagreeing, falling short, and then trying again. This is the path we are called to walk in the light of Christ.  Our path sometimes seems uncertain and dark, and we wait impatiently for some light and sense of direction.  That’s where faith comes in and although faith does not make walking the path brighter or less dark, it allows us to move forward in trust, knowing that God has not brought us to this point just to drop us on our….assets.

As we try to regroup and regain the fellowship of the disciples on the path behind this Jesus, we need to look at our actions and choices.  Would we want Jesus to catch us in the act?  What would we say if he asked us what we were doing?  This is not to suggest that God is lurking in an alley somewhere hoping to catch us in some act so He can say, “Gotcha!”  This is also not an excuse for us to beat ourselves up or dwell on negative thoughts about ourselves.  But if we take time to stop occasionally to observe ourselves, to reevaluate, to wonder if our actions and words are really evidence of our being open to God, we can be assured that our future choices will be in greater harmony with our mouth.  We will be open to what God’s Spirit still has to teach us, about right relationships with each other and with God.   We will be open to the forgiveness and grace that God offers to us in every moment.  We will be open, even in those times when we fall short, that we are still in the company of Christ, still walking beside him, still intent on building the Reign of God.

No Hell, Know Peace

Fresh off the presses, this “heretical” piece will appear in the October issue of Reality Magazine.  Enjoy!

We recently marked the 8^th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, and predictably, churches all over the country had prayers for world peace and healing.  We are quick to endorse the idea of world peace, but often fail to recognize our role in helping to create it.  Creating peace is not something we attain merely by wishing for it, by pretending to be at peace with ourselves when we are not, nor by speaking words of peace when our beliefs lead to actions of hate.

            I used to think that our personal beliefs had little bearing on anything: you were free to believe whatever you wanted, and I was free to do the same, as long as neither of us was trying to compel the other into his way of thinking.  As in so many other areas of my life, I have come to a different and, hopefully, more enlightened viewpoint..  I now contend that our beliefs have everything to do with who we are, who we are capable of becoming, and ultimately will determine the future of the planet. 

            Students are always asking me religious questions, not because they know I am a priest (most don’t know that), but because I have distinguished myself as a teacher who doesn’t lie to them or espouse opinions because I am required to.  If a school policy doesn’t make sense to me and they ask me about it, I agree with them.  They learn early on that I am honest with them, so when they ask me things like, “Are you saved?”  or “Do you believe in hell?”, I try to be honest.  I don’t want to offend them or their parents’ views, even as I want them to critically examine everything in their world, including religion.  Hell is, for whatever reason, a popular question already this school year, and it’s got me thinking.

            The question about being saved is an easy one to answer:  I believe that salvation has nothing to do with what happens to us after we die, and everything to do with the movement of grace in our hearts, when we finally wake up to the fact that God loves us just the way we are.  It’s not an event, it’s a process that happens in the here and now.  Even students can appreciate the simplicity and elegance of my response.

            The issue of hell, on the other hand, requires more processing, and I usually end up turning the question back on them, followed by questions about God’s grace and love, hopefully leaving them wondering  more about what they themselves believe than about what I believe.  The truth is that there is no hell, nor can there be a hell if one truly believes in the all-encompassing power of God’s love.  God is love—we say the words all the time—and everything God does is out of love.  This love is lavished on the rich and the poor, the gay and the straight, the good and the bad, the compliant and the rebellious—in other words, on you and me–in equal doses and at all times.  God’s love won’t allow us to be abandoned or given up on; the divine project of redeeming and restoring us is eternal because that is what God wants for each of us.

            Jesus came to bring us Good News, to draw all people to God, to set aside judgment and violence in the name of religion and the state.  He insisted that there were  no barriers to God’s love, that it wasn’t about salvation for a chosen few.  The cross and resurrection is God’s final word of victory over the power of Empire and the power of religion.  I believe absolutely that God will effect the salvation of every person, in this life or the next, no matter how we resist, no matter how much we struggle against it.  And since I believe this to be true, my whole attitude changes and suddenly there is no “us” and “them” in my world.

            I no longer believe in a dualistic reality, a universe where some people are saved and some are damned.  In fact,  I believe that a great deal of human suffering is the direct result of those who do believe this.  It’s easy to apply harsh standards on others when I believe that my way is right and theirs is wrong, knowing I am saved and they are damned..  Although I might admit theoretically that “only God can judge”, I will be quite comfortable making predictions about who is saved and who isn’t.

            In his book, When Religion Becomes Evil,  author Charles Kimball writes, “Many religious people see religion as the problem.  By religion, they invariably mean other people’s false religion.  A substantial number of Christians, for example, embrace some form of exclusivism that says, ‘My understanding and experience of Jesus is the only way to God.  Any other form of human religious understanding or behavior is nothing more than a vain attempt by sinful people on a fast track to hell’.”

            It’s the idea of dual destinies that is dangerous and leads to violence.  Muslims declare jihad; Hindus kill Muslims in order to purify a contested temple site.  Israelis demolish Palestinian homes and Arabs bomb Israeli settlers’ homes.  It can all be justified because, they argue, God loves some people and hates others.  It’s the classic belief that there’s an “us” and a “them”, and it’s wrong.  It undergirds and motivates violence and killing worldwide and undermines peace at every turn. 

            There are still people who believe that peace is the special preserve of a person’s private spiritual life, requiring no involvment in the real world. This is somewhat understandable since it’s easier to meditate in our room and feel good about ourselves than it is to sit by the side of a young man dying of AIDS.  It’s more comfortable to make entries in our gratitude journals at the end of the day than to speak peace to a world at war.  It’s more satisfying to fast and pray than to be patient with a rude neighbor, and so much easier to hug our church friends on Sundays than to speak gentle words to our own families.  At all times, our task is to be rooted in the real world, not withdrawn from it, and our core beliefs have everything to do with how we involve ourselves.

            If we really want the peace we say we want,  we should reevaluate our belief in a universe where some are destined for hell.  It will change the way we see everything and everyone—for the better.  We will be able to live in the present, instead of pining for a different set of circumstances.  It may be that the neighborhood we live in, rather than the one we want, will really help transform us into authentic  peace-loving human beings.  It may be the job we have rather than the position we are selling our souls to obtain that will finally liberate us from our egos.  It may be the power of our private beliefs and the actions that follow logically from them that will finally be the measure of who we really are.

            God is calling us to more than our perceptions, waiting to bring us the peace we say we want.  We need to be attentive to Spirit within, to release beliefs that have brought nothing but misery to the human family, and step out into the light.  This will require the efforts of our hearts, souls and bodies.  We have spent endless millenia trying  military might, violence and revenge, persecution and isolation, hatred and killing as paths to peace.  None has worked.  It’s time to try the only path left open to us.  It’s time to love each other, to value each other as companions on the same path.  As long as our private beliefs include our religion competing for the keys to the kingdom of God, we will continue to spread harm and division.  As long as we are comfortable damning others, our words of love, peace and tolerance will remain illusions because killing our enemies, not loving them, becomes the Divine mandate.  I believe it is time, finally, to tear down our bloody altars and make peace a reality.

Another woman, not “making nice”

Jesus is in need of a sabbatical.  He’s exhausted from the work he’s been doing and he needs a little vacay.  He doesn’t know about Hawaii or the Florida Keys, so he just leaves town and goes to another area.  It’s supposed to be a quiet little vacation, away from the crowds and away from the disappointing rejection of his own family members.

Just as he’s settling into his chaise lounge on the beach, sipping his wine cooler, something annoying happens that manages to ruin his plan.  He’s recognized by a woman who will challenge him to expand his vision of reality.  He thought he was getting away from everything, but instead, this woman reminds him that God has another plan, a bigger plan than he initially imagined.  This additional work will take him beyond the boundaries of Judea.

Ever since his baptism in the Jordan River, Jesus had signed up to serve the faithful people, the Elect of Israel, but through the interruption of this woman, he comes to see that God is much bigger than any one tribe of people.  Her vision of a more inclusive world becomes his own, and both he and his ministry are changed forever.

It’s like going to a concert and finding that too many tickets have been sold, so many that you and I end up being left outside on the street, straining to hear the band from outside the building.  We would absolutely insist that we be allowed to hear the band because our ticket had entitled us to do so.  If necessary, we would even tell the security people to remind the band that they had fans outside the building, too—not just inside.  “Tell them to remember those of us on the outside”, we might tell them.

This is precisely what the woman says to Jesus: “Remember those of us on the outside!” Somehow Jesus hadn’t really seen them before.  He hadn’t really noticed their pain, their feelings of unworthiness, the heavy baggage they carried within themselves.  Jesus had completely missed these people, but when the woman insisted and held her ground, he realized she was right, and as a result, her daughter was healed.

You and I have experienced feelings of shame and blame, judging ourselves and being judged by others—often within the walls of the very Church that was created to welcome and nurture us.  We know how it feels to carry our burdens with no one noticing or caring about our situation.  We have, some of us, become accustomed to being on the outside, but some of us are still resentful and a little bitter sometimes.  We know instinctively that we didn’t deserve to be shut out and rejected.  We trust intuitively that the real God would never desire such a thing.  It’s thanks to this unnamed woman who manages to pry open the doors of God’s love that you and I find ourselves loved unconditionally and forever.  The doors this woman pried open can never be closed to us again.

Perception is reality, as you already know.  If we get up in the morning and it’s dark and rainy, and we say, “It’s going to be a depressing day”, guess what?  We have a depressing day.  If we meet someone who gives us the impression she is dishonest or calculating, guess what?  For us, that person is dishonest and calculating.

Whether we want to admit it or not, our perception of things is what makes them real for us. When I got my first pair of bifocals, I was sure that everyone was staring at me.  When I perceive that my classroom is cold, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks,it’s still cold to me.  When I think I’m the only person at home who does laundry, I only notice when I do it.  Even if others do it more often, I don’t take notice of it.  If a student makes a negative first impression, it’s human nature to make some assumptions about him.

Naseem was one of those students: more immature than normal for his age.  He came into my room as a 7^th grader, bumping into stuff like a 4 month old puppy, growing too fast for his coordination to keep up.  He talked constantly, even when I expected him to keep quiet.  He loved my class and took me again as an 8^th grader.  I was in constant contact with his mother and together we would devise reward and punishment strategies to get his behaviors under control.  He was very intellligent and because he had lived much of his life in Morocco, he had a wider view of reality than most of us.  He was passionate about social justice and the summer after he graduated 8^th grade, we kept in touch by email.  One day he sent me a PowerPoint presentation that his uncle had made of the casualties of the Israeli invasion of Lebanon that year.  The slides showed the bodies of babies and young children, clinging to their dead mothers in some cases.  It was horrible and heartrending.  He wrote, “I will never forget your class and you telling us that humans can be so cruel to each other.  I am sending you this because you are someone who cares and I will not forget what you taught me.”  I replied, “Naseem, you are one of the most exasperating people I have ever known, and I am thankful that you keep in touch.  If you need help in French or anything else, let me know.”

Shortly after that email, 3 days after his 15^th birthday, Naseem died in an accident at his home.  I sang at his memorial service, remembering the months I hand found him so annoying in my classroom, grateful for his presence in my life and for the lessons he taught his former teacher.  His father told me that everyone in Fez, his hometown in Morocco, had heard the stories of Mr.Holland, the one teacher Naseem had respected and loved.

Our perceptions define our realities. And the problem is that we don’t often question them.  We don’t perceive God at work in our world, for instance, and we begin to think maybe God is not real. We read the mythical stories about miracles in the Bible. We might even hear people at work talk about how God has answered their prayers—but then we watch CNN, and we see babies dying of AIDS, children being abused, and we wonder why they aren’t getting their miracle.

It’s not that God is on vacation, it’s that our vision needs healing so we can see how God is at work in our world, and even in our classroom.

Jesus tries to get away by going to a foreign land. An outsider reminds him of the truth he already knows: no one is outside of God’s love. And once he is reminded, he never forgets. His perceptions of people around him had changed.  Everyone was now welcome at God’s table, no exceptions.

We are all welcome here, regardless of our perceptions.  We come in the name of Jesus, who has shown us mercy, who comes with power to make us whole.  Through grace, we continually open our eyes to the reality that God’s Reign in on the move.  Thankfully, God already sees us more clearly and more accurately and in a more positive light than we can ever see ourselves.  Thank God for that!

Spaces In Between, part 1

This has been a popular post so I am reposting here.  The original article was published in March and April of 2006 in The Rainbow Reader.

Perfect spring weather, sunshine and blue skies are what I remember most about the start of that day.  I had driven into work that morning jamming to the soundtrack from Trainspotting, replaying Bedrock’s scorching techno track, For What You Dream Of.  I was a gym rat then; I looked and felt good in my skin-tight black spandex T and black baggy jeans.  Noticing my disposition as I came into the office, my secretary, Joyce, commented that I seemed very “up”.  Intoxicated by the sun, the unseasonable warmth and the infectious beat still ricocheting in my head, I replied, “Absolutely nothing can ruin this day!”

            Resting in my bed less than 12 hours later, a knock came at the door.  A policeman and chaplain were there, asking my youngest son if they might speak with a parent.  My descent from the upstairs bedroom to the front door was the longest, darkest journey I have ever made.  By the time I hit the landing, I had surmised why they were there and as they gave me a brief description of the accident that had taken Chris’ life, the ground beneath me opened and I began a freefall into blackness that would swallow the entirety of the life I had created.  Even now, 10 years of hit-and-miss healing later, the void is always one heartbeat in front, waiting for me to stumble into it.  That hole is a reminder of the agony of that spring night that brought the severest lessons about living and loving.  All time after that night is paradoxical in nature: ecstasy and sorrow, blessing and curse, light and darkness.

            Psychologists and counselors agree that the loss of a child is one of the most difficult losses from which to rebound because parents not only grieve individually but also at the “dyadic level”, meaning within the context of their relationship as parents.  It is common for grieving parents to separate and divorce following such a loss.  The loss of anyone close occasions a reevaluation of one’s own life choices and if, as in my case, the primary relationship is already seriously flawed, the termination of that relationship becomes an imperative part of the emotional housekeeping that precedes the creation of a new life.

            I did not then know that there are physiological aspects associated with grief because the brain interprets the loss primarily as a stressor.  As a result, corticotropin-releasing hormone (CRH) is secreted within the brain, impacting the pituitary gland, which in turn causes the release of another chemical, called adrenocorticotrophic hormone (ACTH).  When this substance is in the bloodstream the body produces cortisol, which helps the body cope with the stress, but with paradoxical and unfortunate consequences.  Cortisol raises blood pressure, increases heart rate and leads to a breakdown in muscle tissue and bone mass.  Research demonstrates that grief weakens the immune system and leads to a host of health issues including weight gain, hypertension, fatigue and depression.  These factors are particularly associated with men because we are, by nature or nurture, less likely to seek assistance from a social support network.  Men tend more readily to abuse alcohol and drugs and to flirt with denial than women experiencing similar grief.

            Researchers and quantum physicists have demonstrated that sustained levels of cortisol and other grief-induced chemicals impact our psychological and physical health because we are being affected not only in our larger systems (limbic, respiratory,etc…) but more importantly in our very cellular structure.  Grief–and indeed allemotions– have important effects on the individual cells that comprise the human person.  Continuing to mask, flee or disguise the reality of these emotions leads to serious physiological complications, which in turn generate additional harmful changes.  In short, there is a definite and symbiotic relationship between mind, body and soul.

            In my experience, there is only one road out of the darkness: an initial question lies at the heart of significant loss.  How one answers this fundamental question determines the success or failure in moving through the grief into a renewed life.  The question is: Do I believe in a universe that fundamentally makes sense or that is essentially without meaning?  This is the inescapable moment of choosing faith in something or in nothing and both choices have inescapable consequences.  Although I had been raised a Christian who believed in the miracle of Easter and the triumph of life, none of that mattered.  The seeming randomness of Chris’ death suggested a universe without meaning and through my drug- and alcohol-induced fog I came to the realization that I was affirming a universe of chaos.  It never really resonated with my core, however, and if I could no longer accept the simplistic faith of my childhood, I had to admit that on some (cellular?) level I needed to believe that life had some meaning, even if I hadn’t a clue what that meaning might be.

            It’s been ten years since the darkness descended and my Chris’ abrupt transition.  I’ve received so many blessings in these intervening years that I’m forced to admit that life does indeed triumph in unexpected ways.   As a musician I find that I am able to connect with the deepest parts of my audiences, often bringing them to tears, sometimes to another level in our shared journey to wholeness.  Having students from many walks of life has made me more compassionate and willing to learn from all whose lives touch my own.

             Just then, when things seem to be going so well, the spring weather returns and the anniversary of Chris’ passing draws near.  My soul and cells remember that dark night in 1997.  I am again acutely aware of Chris’ legacy and of the huge space—now empty—he once occupied in my life.  The words of Bonhoeffer echo within:

                       Nothing can make up for the absence of someone whom we love, and it would be wrong to try and find a substitute…It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap, He does not fill it, but on the contrary, He keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain.

I like to think that I’ve grown so much these past 10 years, that I’ve changed for the better and found my way through the hurt and darkness. The reality is that this journey will never end because love doesn’t end.  I am once again walking in the light, but then I unexpectedly fall into the hole he left behind.  It’s a long way down.

 

 

 

Marching as to war??

In 1522 a 7 year old girl convinced her brother to run away with her from their home in a tiny Spanish village. Her name was Teresa and she is said to have had the heart of a warrior. Intrigued by the legends of King Arthur, she dreamed of being a Knight. Knowing that this would be impossible for her as a girl in the 16th century, she devised a Plan B.  She talked her brother into going with her to be martyred by the Moors, Muslims who had recently been driven out of Spain into North Africa by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. Fortunately for the children, an uncle found them outside the city walls and brought them back home.

Teresa never realized her dream of becoming a knight, but many of her biographers claim it was her warrior’s heart that allowed her to do the work she felt called to accomplish.  She is known today as Saint Teresa of Avila and she is admired still for her passionate and steadfast service, her writing ability and for the founding of many Carmelite convents.

As Christians, in our efforts to follow Jesus’ teachings as closely as possible, we emphasize the need to love our enemies and we reject the violence we sometimes find in the Bible. In our own time we see all too often that religion and violence are comingled in unwholesome and unholy ways.  So when St. Paul tells us, in Ephesians, that we are to put on the armor of God and prepare for battle, this probably makes us a little uncomfortable.

Ephesians is a letter written to a community who lived in a fairly violent time: many of its readers had survived the Roman invasion of the area only a short time before.  Some in the community would have suffered persecution as Jews while others would have suffered it as Christians. Armor was something every one of them would have appreciated.

Here’s my (perhaps lame?) attempt to update the reading: “Therefore, take up the standard issue uniform of God, so that you may be able to withstand the evil day, having done everything to stand firm. Fasten the gun belt of truth around your waist, and put on the Kevlar vest of righteousness. Put on your combat boots, which will make you ready to proclaim the Gospel of peace. In addition, take the gas mask of faith, to survive the poison gas of the Evil One.  Put on the helmet of salvation, the automatic weapon of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.”

I am not any more comfortable comparing the Spirit or Word of God to firearms than any of you are, and yet, it seems to me that this is the image Paul sets before us.  And when I hear this language it makes me think of all the holy wars of the past as well as the holy wars being waged by religions today. To me, the very idea of a ”holy war” is the best argument against organized religion! Finding a passage that could be used to justify killing is not what I look for in the Bible. So, we have to ask, is that what this passage is about? Is that what God intended us to understand? Because whether or not we like it, we have to deal honestly with the message if we really are following Jesus.

You will not be surprised to learn that I do not consider this passage a justification for war, on the contrary, I think it is essentially an antiwar passage. It is the armor of God we are to wear instead of the armor of human institutions or governments. This passage was not written to a military superpower, it was written to those who were being persecuted. It was written to those without any human power, reminding them that they had an even greater power than their foes. Let’s also remember that this passage tells us that our enemies are not flesh and blood: in this struggle, it is our moral choices, our willingness to speak truth and our insisting on the way of peace that matters. It is our realization that God has saved us from a pointless existence of violence and revenge, and we will have the strength to endure and not be consumed by the evil around us.

In the news we still hear of refugee camps in the Sudan  and Cambodia, for example. We could fight on behalf of the victims by killing as many of their oppressors as possible, but an evil spirit would survive.  We  name that evil spirit “genocide”, and when it invades a group, individuals act and react in ways they previously would have rejected.  It is the power of an idea, one that leads to actions based on fear.  The evil created by genocide grows exponentially and takes on a life of its own.

So if military might won’t work, we might look to St. Paul to help us craft our response to this kind of evil.  Instead of fighting flesh and blood soldiers, we are to use truth, to tell the real stories and expose the reality of what is happening.  We are to live responsibly and morally ourselves so that our words of truth will be in harmony with our actions.  It is God who saves, and in the meantime, it falls to us to wage peace, inside ourselves and in our world.  Our trust in God’s care is the armor we are to wear.

From our limited perspective, it can feel weak or ineffective to wage this kind of war.  We talked ourselves into invading Iraq and Afghanistan for this very reason.  After 9/11 there was a widespread belief that it would be better to do something—even the wrong something—than to do nothing at all.  So we allowed ourselves to be lied to and willingly believed that we were “defending ourselves”, which makes almost anything justifiable.  But as the wars drag on, every poll shows increasing dissatisfaction with those initial emotional choices.  We wanted action,  and in a crisis prayer and faith are often seen as doing nothing. 

So let’s think about that belief.  Is telling the truth doing nothing? Is it nothing for victims of sexual abuse and domestic violence to tell the truth to someone and then for that someone to tell the truth to others?  Although it was more common 20 years ago, there are still women (and some men) who risk their lives by coming forward.  Some are beaten.  Some have died.  And yet, every counselor knows that speaking the truth to oneself is the first necessary step to becoming whole again, and this leads to a change in society’s attitudes.

As a direct result of telling the truth and taking the risk involved, today’s laws exist to protect victims of abuse.  There are safe places in almost every city where they can go, and societal attitudes have evolved to the point where abuse is everywhere found unacceptable.  Peace is not for the faint of heart, as Gandhi pointed out when he said that nothing worthwhile can be accomplished by cowards.  He also believed that a violent person could find the path to transformation from violence to nonviolence, and in fact, early in his work with people, training them in the ways of nonviolent resistance, he suggested that people first join the army and then come to him to have that training completed in the ways of nonviolence. While he did not continue this practice as he moved further and further from the powers of violence, it is true that he insisted that anyone who was committed to peace and justice had to possess the heart of a warrior.

This brings us back to Teresa of Avila, who saw the struggle in much the same way.  She writes in her work, Interior Castles, “Let the soul be manly, and determined to fight…and realize that there are no better weapons than those of the cross.”  She spent her life passionately dedicated to service for Christ and in so doing was both loved and despised. She worked tirelessly until her death at the age of 67 when her warrior’s heart beat its last.  Teresa believed that unless we perceived the stakes involved in the cosmic and personal war on behalf of truth, we would become complacent.  Her weapons were not swords, but rather the willingness to act, to speak truth and to accept the consequences, even if that meant personal suffering.  She knew, as we are just beginning to realize, that peace is not a position of weakness or impotence.  It requires courage and trust in God over and above our reliance on our own strength and weapons of destruction. This is as true in our outer world as it is in our inner world.

We have spent the 20 centuries after the death of Jesus claiming to follow him, insisting that we have even built our civilization on his teachings, and yet we have continued to make war and inflict violence in direct opposition to our stated beliefs.  The consequences of those choices surround and threaten us even now.  Ephesians reminds us of another possible path for humanity, and maybe now that we have come to this juncture in our history, maybe we are finally ready to consider another future for our children.

Becoming God’s Instrument

“How do you find time to do all the things you do in your complicated life?”  People ask me this all the time, and every time I hear the question, I remember other times in my life when I have been busy and still managed to find time for stuff.  When I was younger, I was once involved in 4 simultaneous theatrical productions as an actor, and only one of the roles was a minor one.  I remember working 3 jobs after my house burned in 1992 and I had so many things to replace for my boys, who were all still living with me at the time.  The answer is simple enough: it’s a matter of priorities.

We make time for the things we think are important, and the other stuff is simply left undone.  Like homework.  Like visiting cranky family members.  Like cleaning the basement.

So, as I thought about today’s second reading, the one from Ephesians, I thought, “I wonder what my schedule reveals about my real priorities?  Do I live my life according to the priorities I profess?  Or do I live my life according to other priorities, some of which I may not want to confront?  Am I still making music in my life, the way I was called to do?”

Each of us has managed to live the past week his or her own way: we’ve all had the same 7 days, the same 168 hours, the same 10,080 minutes.  How wisely did we spend that time?  Do we know how we spent the time?

My own calendar reflects a variety of well-spent time, wasted time, and some time spent on the wrong (or at least less important) issues.  I can name some things I did; I can report the details of some of the meetings I’ve attended, the lunches I’ve had, the people I’ve ministered to directly.  But it’s summertime, and I’m away from the rigid schedule of the academic year, so things tend to move a bit slower.  After all, to whom do I report in the summertime?  Who is there to help set my priorities for my use of time and energy?

We come to church; some of us come to the weekly study sessions in the summer; we take time to meditate or pray or read our bibles or other spiritual books.  Much of what we do has an intellectual element to it, and so we have to remind ourselves that our belief in God isn’t just an academic pursuit, or an intellectual exercise.   It is about continuing to evolve into the people we were intended to become from before the foundation of the world.  To return to an earlier metaphor, it’s about making our lives into the music of God.

It’s easy to think that our world is moving much too fast to keep up with. It’s easy to think that the 21st century is somehow fundamentally different from every other century in human history.  Paul’s letter to the Ephesians suggests that we are not all that different from the people he knew and addressed. They too needed to live their lives wisely and make the most of their time. He understood this and reminds us to keep alert and not let time slip away.

First off, he says we should live soberly, which means living in full control of our lives, not allowing drugs, alcohol, emotions or our personal histories to drive our actions or make our decisions. To really make this work, however, we need to surrender to the Holy Spirit.  When we do that, when we make room for God in our life, when we get our egos out of the way so that we are free to become instruments in God’s orchestra, we find we have the strength and power to accomplish what needs to be done.

But how do we get to that point of surrender?  First, we discipline ourselves to pray.  Maybe it’s just a few minutes at the beginning and end of each day, where we allow ourselves to come into the presence of God and to become conscious of God’s love and grace in our lives.  It’s simply a conscious surrender to the moment, forgetting everything else.

Some of us understand that we have been called to a particular vocation, whether that be parent, teacher, health care provider, defender, or even pastor.  Others have been called to serve in elected office or by waiting tables.  Some of us know that we have been given talents by God and are finding ways to use those talents, as a way to honor God.   Each of us, whatever our vocation, needs to be grateful for every moment God gives.

Paul also suggests that we can live our lives wisely if we spend time singing together, “making melody to the Lord.”  As someone who has spent most of his life performing music, this is a great comfort to me.  Those of you who are also musicians know that the gift is something we cannot take credit for, it has been placed within us and simply needs expression.  By allowing ourselves to become instruments of the Divine Music, we find ourselves transported into a deep mode of prayer.

The paradoxical nature of God is that sometimes we are called to make hard choices, things we don’t want to do, whether that be to change a job where we are well paid and secure, or to sell our comfortable house and live more simply, or to detach from a relationship that we know is holding us back from being who we are called to be.

From the earliest centuries, Catholics have understood that Christianity is not a solo project.  We need the community to help us grow, which is why we come together for Mass every week, to offer our gratitude and petitions, and to sing our praise to the God who sustains us all, and also to honor our obligations to each other.  In the Reformed Catholic Church, we don’t have a legalistic “Sunday obligation” to attend Mass because we see ourselves as a more adult interpretation of the Catholic tradition.  That does not mean that there is no obligation to attend Mass and support the parish, but unlike the Roman church where the obligation is to submit to the authority of the Pope, here we come to Mass because we have an obligation to the community.  The community is depending on each of us to do our individual parts so that all of us can grow and mature in the Spirit. 

And so, for about an hour every week, we come here to Mass.  We come to be here for the person sitting next to us who is struggling.  We come for the one who is barely holding onto sobriety this week and your smile and hug is what will carry him through one more day.  We come for the young people who are looking for a way to make Jesus part of their decision-making process as they encounter social pressures that old people, like myself, can hardly imagine.  And sometimes, we come because Father needs our prayerful support and encouragement.  It’s about being committed to something bigger than ourselves.  It’s about being a willing instrument in God’s orchestra.

Itzak Perlman, the world famous violinist, has performed magnificently throughout his decades long career.  If you’ve ever seen him in concert, you know that he walks with crutches and two braces on his legs, due to the fact that he had polio as a child.  When he walks on stage one step at a time, slowly, painfully, it is an unforgettable sight.  He makes his way to his chair, sits down, puts his crutches on the floor, and undoes the clasps on the leg braces. Then he bends down and picks up his violin, places it under his chin and nods to the conductor that he is ready to begin.

One night, however, something went wrong.  Just as he finished playing the first few measures, one of the strings on his violin broke.  You know the sound when you hear it, it’s like a pistol shot.  There is no mistaking what it means, so everyone knew he would have to get up, put the braces back on, pick up his crutches and slowly make his way off stage to replace the string.  But this time he didn’t.  Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes, and signaled the conductor to begin again.

The orchestra began and he played again with such passion and power, that both the other musicians and the audience were stunned.  You see, everyone knows that it is impossible to play violin with only three strings.  Mr. Perlman refused to accept that, and so he modulated, transposed, recomposed the piece in his head as he played.  Those who were there said it sounded like he had somehow completely retuned the remaining strings to the point where the piece never sounded better.  And when he finished, there was a stunned silence in the opera hall.  Then people were on their feet, cheering and screaming in appreciation.  Mr. Perlman stood and motioned for the audience to quiet down, and then he said in a humble voice, “You know, sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.”

And so, as we ourselves struggle to make sense of our lives, as we wrestle with our addictions, as we try to manage our time and support the people of the parish and make good choices, perhaps it is instructive for us to remember his words.  Right now, while we are in the prime of our lives, we are able to make music for God with all the gifts at our disposal.  But someday, when some of those gifts are no longer ours, we will continue to make music with whatever we have left.  And it will be magnificent.