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August 30, 2005

SETTLING OUR DIFFERENCES - Twenty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Somewhere in the back of my mind, at the moment, I am hearing the sound of a famous song by a harmony quartet named The Mills Brothers. I suspect they are long gone by now, but one of their songs clings to my memory: "You Always Hurt The One You Love." I cannot remember any of the lyrics, but the sound of those rich voices still rings clearly in my ears. A search on Google tells me that the last of the four brothers died in 1989. A DVD version of their life is available under the title: "The Mills Brothers Story."

At any rate, the thought of that song came to my mind as I was reading the scriptures for this Twenty Third Sunday in Ordinary Time which speak so evidently about our human tendency to hurt one another: "If your brother sins against you...", the gospel passage begins.

Well, it's true, we do sin against one another, or at least we do not always find human relationships very smooth and amicable. Before laying blame for this on one person or the other, perhaps we should examine the human psychology of relationships.

It is evident, I think, that each of us is a unique individual with strong feelings, not only about one's self, but about where and how we fit in the human community. It is only natural that we should feel confident, even proud of ourselves, our talents, our gifts, our accomplishments. We guard, protect and defend our convictions, our philosophies of life. It is only natural and good, therefore, that we should do this.

At the same time, of course, there are other folks out there in the world who have these very same convictions about themselves. The problem, therefore, is that we obviously all live together in this world, not purely as individuals, but in relationships: Husbands and wives, families, brothers and sisters, members of churches and civil organizations. Hence, we have the ongoing dilemma, the problem that seemingly began with Adam and Eve and their two sons. It is the problem of how to be a unique person, how to maintain our individuality and still be able to live peacefully, respectfully and constructively with others. Obviously, this is not simply a problem for us individually: It's a universal, a world-wide problem. The fact, for instance, that we have been fighting wars since the beginnings of the human race tells us that human relationships are not easy to maintain and preserve.

Let us talk first for a moment, then, about "down-home" relationships that we have more control over: The wife-husband relationship, the intimacy of friends, family relationships of brothers and sisters: If we rub elbows and hips with one another long enough, even with our closest associates, we know that we will have our differences. We carry our humanness with us. The question, then, is this: What do you do when you "hurt the one you love" or when you feel "the one you love" has hurt you? It would be easy to say, of course, that all you need to do is to make up and go on with life. Most of us have tried that, of course, and we know that it does not always work so well; there is too much pride involved.

The answer would seem to be that we should confront the differences we have; we should talk to one another, we should forgive one another and get on with life. The problem with that too, of course, is that it is difficult to do and we don't want to do it; we have a great fear of losing the affection and admiration of the one we know we must confront. So, we put it off and in the process things get worse.

I wonder if Jesus knew how difficult this one-on-one confrontation would be? He says simply "Go and tell (your brother) his fault between you and him alone." I often wonder whether Jesus himself did this very thing in his differences with the scribes and Pharisees? We will never know, of course, and it doesn't make any difference. We have our own problems to deal with.
There is this possibility, of course: We could admit that life at times is a messy business, that we are not always operating on all 8 cylinders, that our emotions are strong and sometimes unmanageable. What would be wrong, for instance, then, with saying that we messed up? What would be wrong with telling the friend that he or she has hurt our feelings? That would surely be a better option than what is called by psychologists "passive aggression," punishing the other by refusing to talk, et cetera.

Despite the fact, however, that this one-on-one solution is always the best and longest-lasting, it does not always work. Even Jesus seemed to admit that when he suggested that if it does not work, then we should appeal to the counsel of "two others" for a solution. In contemporary language that is called an "intervention." It is often done to help people who are addicted to alcohol, drugs or other debilitating habits. It is also one of the most difficult things any person, a family or a group of friends ever has to do for another. You are being called to enter into a person's life at the deepest, most personal and most vulnerable level, the level where you run the risk of losing a lifelong friendship. The fact that you choose to do this for your friend's "own good" does not always help: Personal pride is a precious commodity.

So, are there any other options? Jesus tells us that if nothing else has worked thus far, we need to take the situation to the Church! The cynic among us will immediately say: "Hey, if the other two options didn't work, what makes you think that the Church can make any difference?"

On the surface, of course, it does not seem to be a good option to let the whole church know about this person's problems. He or she is already deeply embarrassed and defensive over it. My sense is that it would need to be a pretty small church for this option to work. Indeed, this was probably the case with the church of Saint Matthew. Undoubtedly, they were very small and knew each other well. So, in that case, it might, indeed, have worked.

Even in our world today, however, with our "mega-churches," it would seem to me that the church community should be called to compassion for their sisters and brothers who are at odds. (without naming names, of course.) The point is, we, as church, are responsible for one another; they are our brothers and sisters. When they need and ask for our help, we ought to be willing to intervene. There are pastoral solutions for situations like this.

Finally, Jesus seems to become "the realist" when he says "if none of these options you have tried thus far have worked, you have done the best you can; the person has placed himself outside your jurisdiction or care. Let God do the rest!

The fact that Jesus offers three options, however, should tell us that this whole business of preserving a human relationship is worth the effort. If we have saved someone's pride, saved the dignity of these two human persons, we have done well. We are not miracle workers, after all, just human beings trying as best we can to understand the puzzles of our human relationships. Even art effort at reconciliation that fails is still a sign that we have confidence in one another's goodness, and, after all, that's something.

The scriptures: Ezekiel 33: 7-9, Romans 13: 8-10, Matthew 18: 15 - 20+

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:38 PM.

August 22, 2005

DANGEROUS WORDS - Twenty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

I cannot imagine that there are very many church-going Christians today who would consider preaching a dangerous endeavor. I have been preaching for a considerable number of years and 1 must admit that I have never been publicly threatened. People have walked out on me a few times, I must admit, but I ordinarily attribute that to the oppressive heat in the church or the need to find a restroom. (a rest from my preaching!) At any rate, 1 have always felt safe on my own "turf"" behind the preaching table. If one is not safe there, where is one safe?

Let it not be said, however, that preachers have not been threatened in the past. The call by its very nature often invites serious and quarrelsome disagreement.

A priest friend of mine, who is now long retired and whose name shall remain anonymous for obvious reasons, was once "displaced" from his position at the microphone on a particular Sunday by an irate parishioner who vaulted the communion rail and took vehement exception to the pastor's comments on the progress of the Viet Nam war which was raging at that time. Let no one say, therefore, that preaching poses no dangers to life and limb. There is clear evidence to the contrary.

On a more serious note, however, one should say that if any serious preaching is worth its weight, if it follows the model of Jesus and the great prophets of history, it may very well pose a threat to life and limb.

Good (God-like) preaching, by its fundamental nature, invites thought, reflection, questioning, chewing one's cud, indeed, even serious disagreement. God's word has a way of disturbing the peace, of challenging the complacent, of provoking deep reflection, of questioning the obvious. That is what it is meant to do and that is what it has done for thousands of years of Christian history.

Sadly, we must also say that tough preaching, proclaiming God's word with courage, sometimes brings out the more violent aspects in human nature: People have been martyred for fearlessly proclaiming God's word in a political or cultural context.

One need only call to mind the courageous words of Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador who, in defense of the poor, indigenous people of his country, was shot through the heart as he celebrated Mass at a convent of sisters in San Salvador. For many months Romero had preached in his cathedral regarding the violence of the military against the peasant classes in El Salvador. He fully realized that his words were dangerous and that he might lose his life over what he proclaimed. The fact that the Salvadoran people today declare him a martyr makes it all the more clear what an impact the proclamation of God's word had on the lives of the people of that country.

We have a parallel example in the first reading from the works and life of the prophet, Jeremiah. Jeremiah never wanted to be a preacher. He knew the implications it would have among the political and religious elements in his country. Hence, he begged God to "let him off the hook." "I'm too young," he said, "and I don't speak well enough." But God won out in the end, to the point that Jeremiah protested that God had "duped" him, had used his power to get his way. It turned out, of course, that Jeremiah was right. He caught a lot of flak from both the political and religious leaders in his country, was thrown into a dry cistern and left for dead until his friends came along and rescued him.

The life and work of Jeremiah is once again paralleled in the life of Jesus. Jesus, obviously, was not crucified for saying soft things, for making peace at any price with the Romans and with the temple authorities. Jesus knew that his words would threaten the lives and careers of the temple priests. They wanted nothing so much as a quiet existence so that the Romans would have no reason to come and destroy the temple itself along with their religious leadership and its prerogatives.

Without doubt, then, Jesus was considered a dangerous person, his words were dangerous to the common welfare, or at least to certain elements of it. Of course, as we all know, this did not stop Jesus from proclaiming Justice and truth to the lives of high and low alike. There is no clearer evidence, then, than to say that powerful words, confrontational words, will get you into trouble.

Of course, if one is truly serious about God's word, whether as a preacher or as a devoted Christian, is there any other option? One would need to say, I believe, that Christians have often been guilty of scandal for not preaching and living the hard words of the gospel: The sexual exploitation of children by ministers of the Church has surely been a scandal and a betrayal of the power of God's word. Equally scandalous is the practice of saying soft things in the presence of public officials or the wealthy who might take offense. It would also be scandalous to learn that parish pastoral servants turn away the needy because they fail to come at "office hours."

Obviously, it is not only preachers who can water down the power of God's word in the Christian community. God moves among us in the actions of all Christians, not merely those who are "professionally" dedicated to such work and service.

Finally, one would need to say that the Christian life, in whatever form it takes, whether in speech or in action, is serious business. If Christian life never involves a challenge, even a confrontation occasionally, then, perhaps, we would need to say that it is hardly worth the effort to be called Christian. That does not mean, of course, that we need to go out looking for ways to deliberately disturb the peace of the community. God's word, by its very own power will do that.

In the last analysis, the role of the Christian is outlined in the caution which Jesus insists on in the gospel for today: "What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?" In contemporary words, we might ask: "Where is the profit for the preacher who softens up the word to save his reputation? Where is the profit for the Christian who dodges the tough questions of life in order to avoid criticism by his neighbors? Surely, no one expects the Christian life to be a daily struggle with the realities of the world around us. But, on the other hand, if the word of Jesus has never provoked us to think again and even fly into action, perhaps we have not really heard it, or we may have hoped that Jesus was not really talking to me personally. And that, sadly, would be a real problem. Words are, indeed, powerful.

The scriptures: Jeremiah 20: 7-9 Romans 12: 1-2, Matthew 16: 21-27+

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:11 PM.

August 15, 2005

KNOW THY SELF - Twenty First Sunday in Ordinary Time

Perhaps one of the finest, most succinct pieces of philosophy ever spoken was spoken by the Greek philosopher Thales of Miletus (640-546 A.D.) Just two words: "Know thyself" It almost sounds self-explanatory: We all know who we are, don't we? Well, we think we do and that's a start.

When I was a youngster, moving into my teenage years, I had what one could describe today as "an attitude." It got to the point one day where my mother felt compelled to say to me: "Well, just who do you think you are anyway?" Of course, I had an answer right on the tip of my tongue, but I knew that if I replied there would be some serious consequences forthcoming. Those sorts of questions are not simply rhetorical. As a result, 1 kept my mouth shut because any answer I would have given would have put me in deep trouble. Obviously, my mother really was not looking for an answer. It was her way of saying, "whoever you think you are, you'd better think about it again; you're just a little too puffed up for your own good." Good advice, even though it didn't appear very useful to me at the time.

When one reflects on it, however, the question, "who do you think you are," is a rather odd question. Rarely does anyone ask us that question. People will ask us what we do, what our profession is, but seldom who we are. The assumption, obviously, is that if we don't know the answer to that question, we already have some problems.

Despite all we have said, however, the question "who are you," is still a good question for us to answer for ourselves even though we may have no ready answer. The question of self is really a question about identity: It's something that we know by intuition not by definition. Indeed, it is so mysterious that I suspect we reflect on it and puzzle with it our entire lives. Most likely, in quiet moments we ask ourselves, "How am I different from all these other people who pass through my life? Why am I like I am and not like someone else?"

The point is, there is a certain uniqueness about ourselves that only God must know and that only God had in mind when God created us.

So, the question that Jesus asked his disciples in the gospel today is somehow a mysterious one. "Who do people say that I am?" What did that mean and why was it important?

First of all, Jesus did not consider himself a philosopher. He was no Thales of Miletus. Doubtless, it never entered Jesus' mind to wonder who he was. I suspect that he really didn't much care about such questions.

So, why the question to his disciples? My hunch is that Jesus was really saying something like this? "What are people saying about me behind my back, what's the rumor mill cranking out? What do they really think about what I do?" I think this was really important to Jesus because it was obvious that people had some rather strange ideas about Jesus' character and role. They probably said to themselves: "Hey, we've never seen anyone like this: If this man can raise people from the dead, surely he can take over the military and political leadership of our country; then we'll finally have some peace and security." That's what probably ran through their minds.

And that's why Jesus finally asked Peter for his opinion, and Peter replied: "You are the Messiah, the anointed of God." Done! That was the only answer that was important to Jesus. It came about as close as even Jesus himself could have come to the question of identity. Jesus was not about to let people put masks on him, tell him who they thought he should be. He already knew that.

I think the question was also important to Jesus because he didn't want people getting the wrong impression of himself. That would destroy the whole reason for his life and his work.

But, let's get back to the question of ourselves, about who we are individually as this unique person. As mentioned a moment ago, our identity is intuitive; it's built right into our very being; we know the answer even though we cannot explain it to others or even to ourselves. We are convinced that there never has been, nor will there ever be anyone exactly like this person that I am. Now, that's not necessarily a point of pride: it's just an admission of how unique God is in the act of creation. If it's anything, it's an act of humility or should be.

So, what's the question anyway? What's the problem? Well, the problem is that, unlike Jesus, we all have some tendencies that get things all wrong: First of all, it seems to me that we often let others, culture, the world around us define who we are. We want to come away with the best public face possible.

Secondly, we have the tendency to put on layers or masks that cover up our basic self: We want to be "this way" to the boss, "this way" to our husband or wife, "this way" to the archbishop, "this way" to the person who can offer us a higher-paying job, "this way" to the boy or girl we want to date. "this way" to our math teacher.

Perhaps it would also be true to say that we often have the impression that certain material things in this world can give us a special identity (mask?): The car or truck we drive, the house in which we choose to live, the clothes we wear, et cetera. Obviously, they are only material things, but we often imagine that they can make us feel special, different; convince others that we are "special." That's a myth, of course, but we all fall into the trap. Indeed, I suspect that we may also have some religious masks that we wear, masks of "false piety," for whatever they are worth.

All in all, of course, none of these help us realize, understand, perceive who we really are. So, how do we go about finding out who we are at the deepest level of experience?

I would say that we could counter these human tendencies, put aside these masks, by occasionally taking some time off to reflect on who we are, some quiet time just to "balance the books," to restore a sense of the real person we are, the person who must be reflected in the face of God. Perhaps even the simple question: "I wonder what God thinks about me," might be worthwhile asking. "That's a little scary,” you'll say. Yes, you're right; it may be a little scary. But on the other hand, if you ask the question, you might just hear God saying something like this: "Hey, you're not so bad...not perfect, obviously, but if you keep asking the right questions, you might turn out to be exactly what I had in mind originally." Isn't that what we're all trying to do anyway? I surely hope so.

The scriptures: Isaiah 22: 19-23, Romans 11: 33-36, Matthew 16:13-26

Posted by Julie Galligan at 09:47 AM.

August 08, 2005

CATHOLICISM WITHOUT BORDERS - Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I have heard it said that there is no better, no more instructive experience in life than to find yourself unexpectedly among a group of people with whom you think you have little in common. If you are open to it, however, they will teach you that on the level of what is most basically human; you are not much different than they. Indeed, this is probably one of the best teaching and learning experiences in life one could imagine.

I myself had such an experience some years ago when I taught theology at a Catholic university in Texas. It was an introductory class on Christian authors. After the first few meetings, it occurred to me that at least half of the students in the class were not Catholic. So, I said to myself, perhaps these young students, who are Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran, or whatever, could teach us Catholics something about their faith. Let’s not assume that the learning process must all be in one direction.

So, on that assumption, I began by presenting to the class a survey of some of our best Catholic authors in history: Gregory of Nyssa, Saint Augustine’s Confessions, Saint Theresa of Avila’s autobiography, The Life of St. Theresa, the Little Flower, St. Benedict’s Rule, the works of Hildegard of Bingen, Catherine of Siena, Julian of Norwich, Gerard Manley Hopkins and John Donne’s poetry. We talked about the legends of the saints (The Taming of the Wolf by St. Francis of Assisi, for instance) In the process of all this, I was astonished how interested the non Catholic students were in our Catholic history.

Then, more to my astonishment, I (we) learned that they could teach us something about their traditions as well: About Luther and Calvin, the Protestant Reformation, about Deitrich Bonhoeffer, the Lutheran pastor and martyr, about Saint Paul’s teaching on faith and works and many more topics which Catholic students seldom explore.

In short, it turned out that we became truly interested in one another’s traditions and that we had much more in common with one another than all the differences we once imagined that we had. As the semester wore on, and as I listened to these young people of other faiths, I became more and more convinced than ever that at the base of human reality, people share some very fundamental convictions about life. In short, there is a sort of human universalism that identifies the human community. We are really all the same, humanly speaking. It is mainly the traditions we have chosen over the centuries that make us think that we are so different.

Let us assume then that universality has been God’s intent for humankind all along. The question is can that same sense of inclusiveness (being in) be found in the Church? In other words, is the Catholic Church really catholic?

A little background from the scriptures for this Sunday’s liturgy: the prophet Isaiah (first reading) finds it necessary to remind his fellow Israelites that there are lots of non Jewish people living around them who are as sincere in their faith as they are. Let there be no exclusivism, therefore, no “looking down” on these people who are also struggling to figure out their relationship with God.

The gospel presents us with a rather puzzling but human incident in the daily life of Jesus. He and his disciples on their travels meet up with a woman, a mother, who is a Canaanite, a foreigner, i.e. a non Jewish person. She has a simple request of Jesus the healer: “My daughter is mentally ill”, she says, “have pity on her.” At this point Jesus seems to reveal a bit of Jewish exclusivist bias, telling her that he does not share his food with dogs! She is one tough lady, however: She points out in a humorous tone that even dogs pick up the scraps under the master’s table. In response to that, Jesus says: “Ok, you got me: Great is your faith. Your request is granted.”

So, with that, we have two short reminders that religious faith does not allow for attitudes of arrogance, no sense that I’m right and you’re wrong, my faith is better, more accurate, and more precise than your faith. In other words: “I’m saved, but I’m not so sure about you! It is that attitude that makes foreigners out of others.

That brings up the question then: Just how catholic are Catholics? The word, of course, means universal, or, in the words of James Joyce, the Irish novelist, “Here comes everybody.” True enough, of course, but when “everybody comes”, do we let them in or do we consider them foreigners until they prove themselves truly Catholic?

In a real sense, Catholics are scarcely different than other people in the world: For people of any specific group, there is often a tendency to “protect the borders,” to make sure that if others want to join them, they need to “prove up” first, prove themselves worthy of being part of this august group.

Perhaps one of the greatest problems we face as Catholics is that we have a tendency to make certain assumptions about people even before we know very much about them, at least about their interior dispositions, their faith, for instance, about their sincerity as Christians. We coin words for those who may believe or live differently than “we” do, who take a slant on life different from us.

We had such a situation in the last months before the general election in 2004: Individuals were refused Holy Communion because of their political position on abortion. They may well have been sincere and intelligent and trustworthy Catholics in every other way, but on this one issue they were refused the grace and nourishment of Christ in the Eucharist.

We might pose other examples of exclusivism: Gay and lesbian Catholics do not always find a ready acceptance in the Church even though our bishops of the United States have publicly written they are also our brothers and sisters in the faith. Divorced and remarried Catholics also find themselves “ousted” until they straighten out their “situation.” Catholic teachers in some dioceses are expected to sign a “loyalty oath” before they are allowed to teach the faith of the Church to children.

In short, James Joyce’s words, “Catholic means here comes everybody,” may be true only to a certain point: Everybody may come, but not everybody gets in.

There always needs to be laws and guidelines for human and Christian conduct, course, but the critical question in the end is always a personal one: What is my feeling, my personal conviction regarding those who are not “like me?” Do I make judgments (even privately) about their character, about their personal or public lives?

Truly, I think we need to believe, like Isaiah the prophet whom we just heard speak: “let there be no foreigners among you. My house shall be called a house of prayer for all people.” In the end, it is God’s decision to say “who’s in and who’s out.” That should keep us happy, of course. Our own record has not always been that great.

The scriptures: Isaiah 56: 1, 6-7, Romans 11: 13-15, 29-32, Matthew 15: 21-28

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:32 PM.

August 01, 2005

LIFE IN SOLITARY - Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Newsweek magazine recently published a lovely human interest article by one of its writers, Lisa Miller. It was a story about a lady who is a Roman Catholic hermit. Her name is Agnes Long. She lives on Madeline Island in northern Wisconsin. She was once happily married, affluent, raised three children. Her husband is now long deceased, her children grown up. So, now she has chosen to live in a one-room cabin in the woods, no indoor plumbing, none of the accoutrements she once enjoyed in “another life.”

Her day is filled with a schedule she made up for her self, but which is styled mostly on the traditional life of monks.

She lives sparsely, eats little meat, drives to the nearest town in her pickup truck occasionally for groceries and the mail, and she is totally and deeply happy in what she is doing. Her day is filled with work, chopping wood, carrying water, praying the psalms, reading the scriptures, doing spiritual meditation and simply being quiet in the quiet of the northern woods and in the presence of God. In short she is living the true life of a hermit. She chooses to live outside of any community, civil or religious and she’s happy.

It’s not such an odd life, really. People have been following this vocation for many centuries. Indeed, Christianity has a long tradition of the hermit life dating back to the third and fourth centuries when St. Anthony and thousands like him fled the noise and confusion of the large cities of the Middle East and went out into the desert to live in caves. Mostly, they prayed and meditated, but also supported themselves by making straw mats from palm branches. It is also said that eventually people in the cities became fascinated by this life style and came out in droves to visit them. So, out the window went the hermit life!

At any rate, the hermit-tradition has never really disappeared. Every generation has a history of individuals, lay people like Agnes long, who choose solitude, celibacy, silence and the ascetical life to focus full-time on God.

Perhaps the most well-known hermit of our own time was Thomas Merton (Father Louis), the Trappist monk, who lived in the monastery of Our Lady of Gethsamane in Kentucky for many years until he finally decided that the monastic life was too busy, too noisy, and too fussy for him. So, he convinced his abbot (head of the monastery) to let him live apart in a cinderblock hut on the grounds where he could be completely happy. In truth, it must be said that Merton, because he was so famous as a writer, was not able to live the hermit life as strictly as he might have desired: People from the outside world were always coming to him for interviews or just to take photos of him.
So, the hermit life had to take a more modest form.

The Newsweek article also mentions that lay people today (not many) are choosing to give up their civilian lifestyles and live alone. Obviously, this will never become a huge movement of any sort, but it tells you that there must be a deep longing in many people’ hearts and psyche to simply break away from the “normal” stresses of the business world and find a place where they can discover God. One does not need to be a Catholic to do this, of course, but traditionally, at least in the Western world, hermits have come out of the history of the Catholic Church.

So, what is behind this desire for the monastic or the hermit style of life? I don’t think it is so odd, really. I think there are many of us (myself included) who, if it were practically possible, would like to be able to break from the tremendous stresses of the world as we know it. In the deepest recesses of everyone’s soul, I think there is a longing to be more in touch with one’s self, to have the time and circumstances just to live in touch with nature with God, with one’s self. Perhaps the daily rush-rush routine, the pressures of most peoples’ lives is not the normal pattern of human life. There is just too much distraction if one is truly interested in communing with God

The fact, for instance, that many lay people choose even to make a retreat every year, or simply to get away for a weekend by themselves tells you that this longing for silence and peace is real.

In our Christian and Catholic tradition there is a long-standing belief that God is found in silence and not in noise. Indeed, the scriptures for this very Sunday have some interesting examples of that basic human desire. The first reading, for instance, from the First Book of Kings tells the famous story of Elijah the man who lived in a cave on the side of Mount Horeb. One day, God appeared to him and invited him to come outside the cave and stand in the sunshine because God was about to pass by there. Elijah stood there and suddenly there was a strong and violent wind, but it turned out that God was not in the wind. After that, there was an earthquake, rocks went smashing down the mountainside, but it turned out that God was not in the destruction of the earthquake. After that there was a violent fire, but that too soon passed and God was not in the fire. Finally, the story relates that that there was a tiny whispering sound, and Elijah hid his face because God was passing by. In other words, God was in the silence.

I think that is a great metaphor for the desire that many people have for the experience of God. They know instinctively that God cannot be easily experienced in the craziness and the noise of twenty-first century business and industrial life. So, the only other option is that God must be in the silence.

Ah, but the trick is to find God there, to stand outside one’s cave and wait for the noise to pass so that the quiet of God can take over. That’s the trick if one can find the time and place for it.

The gospel of this Sunday also has a similar story about violence and power. Jesus’ disciples are caught out in a sudden storm on a lake. They are about ready to give up when Jesus suddenly walks toward them on the water. Peter decides to go out and meet Jesus, but loses his courage once out of the safety of the boat. Jesus simply says to him: “How come you were so scared? Don’t you have any faith?” Then suddenly the wind dies down and the disciples recognize Jesus as the Christ in the quiet calmness of the night.

I wonder if that could be another metaphor of how God chooses to be present to us, not in the storms of our workday world, perhaps, but rather in the moments when we choose to find quiet and be quiet, to be by ourselves so that we can truly hear God speak all the more clearly.

Well, given all this I am not expecting many of us to go running off to find a hut in the woods and try out the hermit life. It would probably take too many radical changes in our present commitments. But if the longing for quiet is an authentic human experience for God, a Christian experience, and I think it is, then I think we would do ourselves a disservice if we did not pursue that longing in whatever way available to us.

All the so-called modern technologies and inventions have been thrust upon our lives. We even have a sense that we can’t get along without them. But, truly, our human psyche never gives up longing to have some space, some peace to live the way we were born, the way we were as children, peacefully, without a care in the world.

So the “ball is in our court.” Perhaps we are challenged to listen to the heart and discover that personal hermitage we long for so much. Even if it only happens to be our bedroom with the door closed, or out on the deck early in the morning when no one else is up yet to disturb our peace, that may be a sort of “hut in the woods.” Whatever it takes, it will be worth the effort. God will surely be there in the silence.

The scriptures: 1 Kings 19: 9a, 11-13a; Romans 9: 1-5; Matthew 14: 11-33

Posted by Julie Galligan at 02:30 PM.