Knowing Jesus more and more

Matthew 16:13-20

Today's Gospel is one that makes it very easy, not to mention tempting, to get really theological. The temptation is twofold: Christology or ecclesiology. I suppose a third temptation is an apologetic for the papacy (maybe best labeled 2a).

This is not to say none those things should be left unaddressed. It's perfectly legitimate and, at times, even necessary to do so, depending on the medium and on circumstances. I'm sure at one time or another, I've done all three with regard to this passage from Saint Matthew's Gospel.

But today, I feel impelled to make it more personal. After all, the question the Lord poses to Peter on the road to Caesarea Philippi is the question he poses to you and to me: "But who do you say that I am?" (Matthew 16:15). I think that he asks this question while he and his disciples were on the way, on the road, has some significance. As members of God's pilgrim people, we're all on our way. If we're moving, our understanding of who Jesus is changes, that is, deepens over time.

Something the late Rich Mullins said a long time ago kind of gets to the point I'm trying to make: "Life and living comes from God- it comes from Jesus- not from doctrine or good morals" (Les Sussman. Praise Him!: Christian Music Stars Share Their Favorite Verses from the Scriptures: 1998). I'm going to leave good morals alone apart from saying that reducing faith to morals is very common. It's not that morals don't matter, like doctrine, they do matter. It's just, as Rich went on to say, "sometimes I think we put the cart before the horse." As far as doctrine, Saint Paul states it nicely in our reading from Romans: "Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!" (Romans 11:33). Words always fall short of the Mystery.

Jesus Walking, by Alexandre Bida, 1891

Christians know the answer to the question (it's what makes you a Christian): Jesus is Lord. He is the Messiah. He's the Savior, the Son of God, etc. But isn't reciting these titles, as accurate and truthful as I believe them to be, just saying things about him? Without a doubt, each of us, as Depeche Mode insisted, has our own personal Jesus. This shouldn't be too shocking. After all, isn't it a good thing to have and cultivate a personal relationship with the Lord? But even short of a relationship with him, everyone has an image, an idea, of him.

One risk in having a personal Jesus is that we can make him not only personal but private. This is done by making him into my image instead of letting myself be conformed into his image. At certain times in history, even the Church has made the Lord into someone other than who he is. But even during dark times, there were always those, like Saint Francis of Assisi, who came along in the thirteenth century, when the institution of the Church was at a particularly low ebb, who've not merely professed that Jesus is Lord but who lived out the radical implications of this profession of faith.

Saint Anthony, the great Desert Father, was another such figure. One day in Church, he heard Jesus' teaching about selling everything and following him (Matthew 19:21). In response, Anthony did just that. Both of these show the need for community, for the Church.

The Church isn't built on the confession of a perfect disciple who had it all figured out at that moment on the dusty Galilean road. Not only would Peter go on to deny Jesus during his passion, he would be rebuked by Paul for falling back in with those Christians who continued to insist that even Gentile converts needed to adhere to the Law (see Galatians 2:11-14).

I firmly believe that Peter answered Jesus's question both correctly and sincerely. Let's not forget, he was still on the way, as am I, as are you. Peter still has a lot to learn about what it means to confess Jesus as Messiah, as Son of God. I do, too. I am encouraged that, as Michael Card sang, "There is a joy in the journey."

Mercy unbounded

Readings: Isaiah 56:1.6-7; Psalm 67:2-3.5-6.8; Romans 11:13-15.29-32; Matthew 15:21-28

An important aspect of today's Gospel that is often overlooked is that it is a Gentile, a Canaanite women no less, who recognizes Jesus for who he is: the "Lord, Son of David!" This is a messianic greeting. We can be quite certain that in the context of this passage, her greeting is not lost on the Lord. He knows that she knows who he is, even when many in Israel, perhaps even some of his disciples, did not.

In the Gospels, Jesus employs a variety of methods to teach. This pericope is an instance when he gives a powerful lesson using a tough technique. What is the lesson? The lesson is that God's care and concern, his goodnes and mercy, extend beyond Israel, beyond the chosen people. In our day, this is as true of the Church as it was of Israel.

Many spend a lot of time and energy drawing lines to determine who is left out. But in the bizarro world of God's kingdom, there is only us, no them. You know what? This remains downright scandalous to many people.

Without a doubt, the most fundamental aspect of Pope Francis' pontificate was reminding us of the scandalous way God manifests his love. El amor de Dios es para todos, todo el tiempo. You can't earn God's love. This is not true because you're so bad and God is so good (that is true of me, however). It's because you can't earn what you not only always have, but what you already always have and cannot lose. What scripture reveals we need to take to heart: "God is love" (1 John 4:8.16).

Our epistle reading today harmonizes nicely with the Old Testament and Gospel readings. In this passage from his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul lays out a great mystery. According to the apostle, it is because of Israel's disobedience that we, the Gentiles, have received God's mercy. You see, as Gentiles, we are unencumbered by the Law. For Paul, the Law exists to show us that we can't measure up to it. Only one perfectly observed the Law, Jesus.

Crumbs of Love, by Michael Cook, 2008

It is because of the mercy we have received, that Israel, whose "call is irrevocable," will receive mercy. This is what it means when you read, "For God delivered all to disobedience, that he might have mercy upon all." La misericordia de Dios es para todos.

Up until he says, "O woman, great is your faith!", including his blowing off her intial plea, the Lord's answers might seem a bit harsh. The lesson is that this Canannite woman, so desperate to find relief for her daughter, due to her persistent faith, is an example of faith even to Israel. Such expressions of faith by non-Jews is a constant throughout the Gospel narratives.

Sometimes our preconceptions, which easily and often become misconceptions, get in God's way. This not only affects us, but it can easily affect others- "Send her away." Heaven forbid!

According to the oracle from Isaiah, it is

The foreigners who join themselves to the LORD,
ministering to him,
loving the name of the LORD,
and becoming his servants

This why all the nations of the earth will praise God.

Being vulnerable

Once again this week I teetered on not posting. Maybe it's late summer malaise. If so, it is exacerbated by coming to grips with so many things that are happening.

I've been thinking a lot lately about vulnerability. Like a lot words, "vulnerability" has taken onboard a lot of added meaning. We talk about the need to protect vulnerable people, as we should. "Vulnerable" in that sense seems a straightforward use of the word.

We also talk about "being vulnerable," more specifically, making ourselves vulnerable. This is almost always spoken about as if it's something one ought or even needs to do. This rather expands the word.

As to the encouragement to make one's self vulnerable, in the first place, I would say that to be alive is to be vulernable. It's easy to argue that is vulnerable enough! How much more vulnerable do you want to make yourself?

Well, to love is to make yourself vulnerable. I daresay most of us have had our hearts broken and not only by lovers but perhaps by parents, children, friends, fellow believers. Love is a risk. If the risk was removed, would it be, could it be, love?

All of this is a wind up to stating the reality that going into ministry, when done with proper awareness and discernment, is to make yourself quite vulnerable. Like marriage, this should scare you a bit. This is also why sometimes those in ministry can seem a little gun shy.

I sometimes think I try too hard to tie things up with neat little bows. I am going to do that today, on this penitential Friday.

Our very late traditio, which I had ready on Friday, is Colin Hays' cover of Stevie Winwood's "Can't Find My Way Home."

Year A Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kings 19:9a.11-13a; Psalm 85:9-14; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33

Last week’s Gospel found Jesus trying to get away to spend time in prayer. His plan was altered when, upon his arrival on the far shore, he encountered a vast crowd. Being “moved with pity for them,” the Lord cured the sick among them. After this, he performed a miracle by feeding thousands.¹

Remember that what prompted the Lord to seek out a deserted place where he could be by himself was the death of John the Baptist. It was grief that led him to desire to be alone with the Father. Our Gospel today picks up where the feeding of the 5,000 left off.

After his interaction with the multitude, the Lord still deeply desired to be alone to pray. This time he was able to go up the mountain by himself. The inspired author of Matthew seems to indicate that Jesus was on the mountain praying for quite a while. He planned to pray for so long, in fact, that he sent his disciples on their way while he stayed behind to pray.

When faced with life’s unexpected twists and turns, especially when faced with inexplicable tragedies, unexpected disappointments, and unforeseen setbacks, which leave you grief-stricken and/or feeling vulnerable and powerless, where do you go? To whom do you turn?

We live in an age when, even among people of faith, prayer easily becomes the last resort- what one does when there is nothing else s/he can possibly do. But the Lord’s first impulse upon learning of the violent death of the Baptist at the hands of Herod was to find a deserted place where he could be alone with the Father. Yet, even in his grief, he took time to serve others, even though that meant delaying his own plans.

More than healing the sick among the vast crowd, Jesus gave thanks to God, blessed it, and then broke the bread before distributing the food. This reminds us of something we hear each week in the Preface of the Eucharistic Prayer: “It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Lord, holy Father. . .”²

Out of prudence, we normally tend to avoid absolutes like “always” and “everywhere.” Yet, when it comes to giving thanks to God, we are exhorted to have no such reluctance, no such reticence. Sometimes this is more of a provocation than it is a consolation. Yet, this is exactly what the Lord models for us.

Saint Paul sums this beautifully in his Second Letter to the Corinthians:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement, who encourages us in our every affliction, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any affliction with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God. For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow³

My dear friends, as hard as this can be at times, this is what living out our baptism, living the Paschal Mystery looks like! As our Collect for today indicates, it is through Christ and “taught by the Holy Spirit” that “we dare to call [God] our Father.”⁴

After his time in prayer, Jesus set out to join his disciples, who’d already set sail across the Sea of Galilee. As they made their way across the water in the dark of night, they saw Jesus approaching them, walking on the water. Understandably, this frightened them.

The Lord assured them that it was indeed him and exhorted them, “do not be afraid.”⁵ Looking at this allegorically, the sea becomes the great mystery of life, wide, deep, often unpredictable, and at times quite scary. The boat is what we build to keep ourselves provisionally safe from the vicissitudes of life. But even in the relative safety of the boat, we know the power of storms at sea.

As long as the waters are calm, the boat seems a safe place. Those in the boat accompany one another during this sometimes-perilous crossing. As the wind whips up and waves start to rise and crash, here comes the Lord, improbably walking toward us. It is Jesus who transforms the waters into the vastness of God's love and mercy. He says to you, "Come."

Peter’s stepping out is what Paul wrote about when he insisted that it is by receiving God’s encouragement in our afflictions that we are able to encourage others experiencing affliction. It is by sharing in Christ’s cross that you already share in his resurrection. You need not even fear death. God, who is love, is stronger than death!

Peter knows full well that he cannot walk on the water on his own. He needs the Lord's help to do so. Jesus is all too happy to say to his eager follower, “Come.”⁶ Lo and behold, Peter steps out of the boat and begins to make his way across the water to Jesus.

Losing his focus on Christ, Peter suddenly becomes all too aware of himself. He begins to sink. But even then, Jesus immediately stretched out his hand and caught Peter. Fear, which is so tied up with focus on self, is often what holds us back.

The Lord repeatedly says to his disciples, “Do not be afraid.” In Saint Matthew’s Gospel alone, he says it three times. Besides today’s passage, he says this to Peter, James, and John after his Transfiguration, when they saw Moses and Elijah and heard the Father’s voice.⁷ Finally, the Risen Lord tells the women who came to the tomb, “Do not be afraid! Go tell my brothers to leave for Galilee, and they will see me there.”⁸

True prayer, the kind of prayer Jesus no doubt engaged in while on the mountain, results in self-forgetting. The consolation we offer to those who are afflicted in the midst of our own afflictions also requires self-forgetting, which arises from true prayer.

The sea of life is wide, deep, and unpredictable. We never know what tomorrow may bring, good or bad. And so, like Peter stepping out of the boat, let us squarely face reality by making an act of faith. Let’s do it by borrowing words from a famous prayer of Thomas Merton:

I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone⁹

And so, with Peter, we implore: “Lord, save me!”¹⁰

---

1 See Matthew 14:13-21.^↩
2 Roman Missal. Preface VI of the Sundays in Ordinary Time, sec. 57.^↩
3 2 Corthinthians 1:3-5.^↩
4 Roman Missal. Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time.^↩
5 Matthew 14:27.^↩
6 Matthew 14:29.^↩
7 See Matthew 17:1-8.^↩
8 See Matthew 28:1-10.^↩
9 Thomas Merton. “The Merton Prayer,” from Thoughts in Solitude.^↩
10 Matthew 14:30.^↩

Interior renewal, being grounded in Reality

It was touch-and-go as to whether I was going to post a traditio this week. Needless to say, it's been a fairly draining time. The good thing about this show is that it need not go on.

There are desolations aplenty. In his goodness, God also provides consolations. Among the consolations over these past several days have been continuing to read Jane Foulcher's Life Here Together: The Prophetic Gift of the Tibhirine Monks and listening to the episode of John Dear's "The Nonviolent Jesus" podcast with Jim Finley on God and the mystics.

The monks of the monastery in Tibhirine, Algeria

For six years immediately following high school, Finley was at Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky. Pater Tom served as his novice master and provided him with spiritual direction. Jim also wrote what remains one of the best books on the spirituality of Pater Tom.

First published in 1978, ten years after Pater Tom's death, Finley's Merton's Palace of Nowhere is still worth reading. In fact, I am going to re-read it in September.

I plan to also read How Far to Follow?: The Martyrs of Atlas, by Bernardo Olivera, OSCO. Not be confused with the famous soccer player of the same name, at the time of the kidnapping and murder of the seven Cistercian monks from Our Lady of Atlas Priory in Algeria in 1996, Father Olivera was serving in Rome as Abbot General of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OSCO).

You may ask, to whom or what do these monks called "Cistercians" strictly observe? It's a great question. They seek to strictly observe the Rule of Saint Benedict. Dating to the twelfth century, the Cistercians are a Benedictine reform movement.

While I have had the book for several years, I will probably also (finally) read The Rule of Saint Benedict: Initiation into the Monastic Tradition 4, which contains Merton's teaching as novice master at Gethsemani on Saint Benedict's Regula.

Anyway, kind of a data dump and a Cistercian one at that. Maybe should institute "Media Monday." I really feel the need for interior renewal. I have also started listening to the first season of Finley's podcast Turning to the Mystics. Pater Tom is the main focus of this first season.

Our traditio for this First First Friday of August is a chant of the Jesus Prayer. This is chanted in "Church" Slavonic. This seems appropriate both given what I wrote above and that Fridays remain penitential days.

It occurred to me on Wednesday that I missed last month's anniversary. 19 July 2006 was the date I began posting regularly here in this cyberspace. While I started blog nearly a year earlier with a few posts written over a few days, it wasn't until nearly a year later that this endeavor really took off. So, it's been 21 years in total, but 20 as far as this being a real effort.

Tragedy challenges God's love

No sooner did I finish my reflection on this week's second reading from Romans chapter 8 about the all-encompassing nature of God's love yesterday than I received some very shocking news. Some long-time friends of ours, while in Idaho for a family reunion, were shot. One was wounded and the other friend killed.

I have to be honest and admit that the reality of this senseless tragedy has not really sunk in. Our friends were not shot by someone they knew. It was a random and very senseless act of violence, the kind of which is all too prevalent in our society.

I suppose those who are interested can find news reports coming out of Twin Falls, Idaho (see here). They had merely stopped to recharge their electric vehicle when their assailant shot them. After his shooting spree, the man responsible for it killed himself.

In the face of something like this, there are no satisfactory explanations, no good answers. There is only shock, grief, and, certainly, anger. Instead, such horrific events prompt many, many questions.

First and foremost, the question "Why?" For those of us who believe not just in God, but in an all-loving, all-caring, benevolent God, a God who is also omnipotent, "Why does God allow these things to happen?" All I can say is, I don't know. It makes no sense to me.

To attempt to answer these questions in any satisfactory way is to dismiss the pain and anguish that prompts them. During his visit to Spain, Pope Leo warned against the danger of well-meaning efforts to “spiritualize pain, superficially attributing it to 'God's will' or to some mysterious plan of his.” To do this, he noted, runs the risk of minimizing or silencing suffering, thus hurting people. God neither wants nor wills human suffering (see here).

Yet, suffering happens. But Christ, Pope Leo insisted, “carries [suffering] with us and invites us to trust in him with perseverance,” hopefully noting that “with God, life is always reborn." At least this is our hope.

Our Gospel today offers some insight (see Matthew 14:13-21). On learning of the Baptist's death, Jesus headed to a deserted place. It appears he does so to mourn and grieve John's death.

But word apparently got out that he was coming. As he stepped onto the shore, a "vast crowd" awaited him. Far from being self-pitying and reproachful, the Lord was "moved with pity for them." And so, he healed those who were sick. Beyond that, enlisting the reluctant help of his closest followers, he miraculously fed them all.

This is Jesus Christ. Meek, gentle, merciful, and caring. Rather than be a heavenly puppet-master, he became one of us, entered fully into our human condition, thus humbly subjecting himself to all that is human, including the grief of death. We see this, too, in John's Gospel, when he weeps at the death of his friend Lazarus (see John 11:1-44).

Anguish, disttress, the sword, even death cannot separate us from the love of God given us in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. But sometimes in the face of reality, God, who is love, seems notably absent. But he's not.

God suffers with us and, in Christ, suffers for us. By his wounds, we are healed. Healing is often a long, slow process. Of course, we look forward to that ultimate healing. As I wrote this, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind this beautiful song written and sung years ago by Wayne Watson: "Home Free."

There are times when the walk through valley of the shadow of death is a very long and dark one. But Christ is with you every step of the way. Like the discouraged disciples Jesus accompanied as they made their way back home to Emmaus, it is often the case that we recognize him only when we look back.

When dealing with grave tragedies with which life is at times sadly fraught, God's love is scandalous in a different way, meaning he can seem absent or even non-existent. Cling to hope. Cling to Christ.

The scandal of God's love

Romans 8:35.37-39

Once again, I am reflecting on our reading from Romans. These inspired passages are vital for Christian faith. The beauty of reading Saint Paul is that he is no mere theoretician. He writes from experience. Hence, his short exposition on the heighth, width, and depth, that is, the infinitude (meaning "unbounded," infinity has to do with space and eternity with time) of God's love is no abstract discourse. These are insights born from experience.

Taking the infinity of divine love as a given, Saint Thérèse of Lisieux was fascinated with the burning intensity of love flowing from Jesus' Sacred Heart. This is how she realized that “If I had committed all possible crimes, I would always have the same confidence [in Christ's saving love]; I feel that this whole multitude of offenses would be like a drop of water thrown into a fiery furnace” (Footnote 133 in Pope Francis' encylical Dilexit nos, indicating this is found in Last Conversations. Yellow Notebook, 11 July 1897, 6.). Did you get that? Your worst sins are like a drop water in the "fiery furnance" of God's all-consuming love! Yes, "our God is a consuming fire" (Hebrews 12:29).

For many Christians, Christ's love remains a scandal (from the Greek skandalon, meaning a trap or snare). Let's face it, while we like to identify with the prodigal, we can sometimes be more like the pissed off older brother. It was Henri Nouwen who thought that perhaps the Parable of the Prodigal Son should be called the Parable of Profligate Father. "Profligate" means "recklessly extravagant."

God's love provokes. Herbert McCabe, OP was a great provocateur in this regard. In a collection of writings entitled Faith Within Reason, he insisted:

God’s love does not depend on what we do or what we are like. He doesn’t care whether we are sinners or not. It makes no difference to him. He is just waiting to welcome us with joy and love. Sin doesn’t alter God’s attitude to us; it alters our attitude to him, so that we change him from the God who is simply love and nothing else into this punitive ogre, this Satan (italicization mine)

The importance of this point cannot be overemphasized.

Try as you might, you can't make yourself "right with God." This does not imply that God can't or even doesn't choose to sometimes reward meritorious acts. But only Christ can make you "right" with the Father. Your confessions, penances, reparations, works of mercy, etc., are not done to change God's disposition towards you.

Remember, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever" (Hebrews 13:8) Such things can only ever be responses to God's love, done to alter your attitude to God and neighbor. Projecting human finitude, fickelness, and pettiness onto God is a reversion to paganism, with its tempermental and tempestuous gods.

A few chapters earlier in his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul writes, "God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8- italics mine). Soteriology is a fascinating part of Christian theology. Over two milennia, quite a few atonement theories have been set forth.

Among the classic atonement theories, each seems to me to capture one dimension of a multi-dimensional reality. However, try as many might these days, there is an ineradicable substitutionary aspect to Christ's death.

There is nothing more real than divine love. "God is love" (1 John 4:8.16). This is not reversible (i.e., love is not God). Think about how your life might change if you lived in the awareness of God's unchanging, never-ending love for you.