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March 31, 2007
Palm Sunday - View From the Sidewalk
I imagine most folks here this evening can remember back two and one half years ago around the time of Holy Week when Mel Gibson's film, The Passion of the Christ first hit the theaters. The very timing of its opening, of course, already tells you something. Mel Gibson is no dummy.
At any rate, it was a popular film, despite the terrible violence it depicted; people still flocked to it, including entire church congregations...at a reduced ticket rates, of course.
The Passion of the Christ was probably the first film produced that actually portrayed capital punishment in all its ugliness. As Catholics, of course, we have all seen and made our Stations of the Cross, but in terms of violence, they are nothing in comparison to Gibson's film. Perhaps, for the first time, we saw violence the way it actually took place in the days of the Roman Empire. Historians tell us that every crucifixion attracted crowds of people and the Romans made sure that it was handled as a public spectacle so that other would-be criminals might think twice before carrying out their deeds.
Why other ordinary folks would choose to come and view such a display of cruelty, however, is a mystery? The gladiator games at the Forum in Rome, of course, always attracted thousands as well. Some in the United States today say that Sunday afternoon NFL football is not much different, but at least players don't usually get killed.
At any rate, down through history public executions have attracted the curious and the prurient. Witness the executions during the French Revolution, the ethnic "cleansing", between Hutus and Tutsis and even those old black and white photos that show public hangings of African American slaves here in the United States during the late 1800's. Families, mom, dad and the kids are all present watching the Sunday afternoon spectacle!
Or, why, for instance was there so much interest worldwide at the gruesome hanging of Saddam Hussein and his cohorts?
For some reason the suffering and death of individuals has always attracted people. It seems a great mystery to me, but it happens.
The parallel I am about to draw now may not seem very appropriate but Catholics and many Christian denominations witness a public execution twice each year, once on Palm Sunday and again on Good Friday. Obviously, we do not think of it in those terms. After all, this is Holy Week, the holiest time of the liturgical year when we remember the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We do not think of ourselves as witnessing an execution. We have heard the narration of the Passion so many time that it has lost much of its original violence for us. Nonetheless, Jesus did suffer and die publicly. It was the worst kind of execution one could imagine, worse even than hanging.
What should we be thinking of then as we listen to the Passion account again this year? Perhaps the only way to get some personal sense of it is to think of ourselves as standing along the street where Jesus passed, or standing at a distance on the bottom of Calvary hill, watching the entire spectacle, an innocent and good man being put to death. But still, does that give us a sense of its meaning in terms of present day circumstances in the world?
We have all read the phrase in our catechisms and we recite in the creed that Jesus "died for us and for our salvation." Theologically, that is true: Jesus died for us, not for us as an anonymous group of people, but for us individually and personally.
There is also another way, however, one might think of the Death of Jesus, namely as a metaphor or a model for the ways unjustified suffering and death are still carried out among us today. I think, for instance, of the number of people in the United States who have been executed by mistake. I think of the history of violence against Black Americans during the civil rights movement in the South; the murder and disfiguration of the young Black man, Emmet Till. They said he had whistled at a white lady. I think of the American nuns and lay missionaries, who were murdered by military personnel in El Salvador: Dorothy Kazel, Jean Donovan, Maura Clark and Ita Ford. I think too of Archbishop Oscar Romero who was martyred as he celebrated Mass at a convent of nuns.
All of these folks and many others in modern history were crucified, not precisely like Jesus was crucified, but they died nonetheless in their efforts to bring peace and justice to others.
With all that in mind then, perhaps it will help us listen more attentively each Palm Sunday and Good Friday when we hear the gospel of the Passion read again. True, it did happen once in history but it continues to happen each time one of Jesus' brothers or sisters dies an undeserved death.
One thing for sure: We cannot passively stand on the side of the street looking on as these things happen to others. There is too much is at stake.
The scriptures: Isaiah 50: 4-7, Philippians 2: 6-11, Luke 23: 1-49
Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:27 PM.
March 24, 2007
5th Sunday of Lent - Never Too Late
There are occasions when my errands here in the city take me along a section of Third Avenue, some two miles from my office. Along that street there stands a truly unattractive building, dark grey, solidly built about five years ago. It is the municipal jail, more fittingly termed, the Anchorage Correctional Facility. Whether any of the many inmates housed in that building are being "corrected" is another matter.
Nonetheless, as I drive by that building and gaze out at it, I often wonder what it must be like to be incarcerated there. Actually, I have had the occasion to visit individuals there, and each time I am escorted by a guard from the lobby into the inner "sanctum", I say to myself, "self, consider yourself fortunate that you are not cloistered here by civil decree." I do not think I have ever done anything so heinous as to deserve being placed there, but often strange and unpredictable circumstances put people in prison. Nonetheless, just being in those small cramped quarters with no exit save for a guard who is nowhere in sight makes me nervous.
I have often thought how mentally difficult it must be for prisoners to know that they will be in this place for, say, 25 years, or indeed a lifetime with no hope of reprieve. I am not sure how I would deal with such a circumstance. Some people commit suicide in prison. Perhaps it is because they have the sense that they can never be forgiven, indeed, that they cannot even forgive themselves. Conscience is a severe taskmaster and the cement block walls of the building are there to remind the prisoners of their past, twenty four-seven-three sixty five.
I often wonder how prisoners can live in such circumstances, how they live with themselves each day, knowing that tomorrow and tomorrow will be much the same as today and yesterday.
Civil society, of course, the court system, the incarceration system, the world at large pays little heed to the thoughts these men and women have regarding their situation. Perhaps society feels that this is not their task or responsibility. Everyone lives with their past.
Given all those circumstances, I have often asked myself what can give a man or woman in prison a sense of peace with their situation. The only option l can think of is "self-forgiveness." An odd word, of course, because it does not restore justice to society.
Nonetheless, if a person cannot come to understand that, despite all the circumstances of life that have put them in prison, they are still good people, worthwhile human beings, sons or daughters of God. What others may think of them is immaterial, at least in terms of their own self-image.
That long introduction was brought home to me by the lovely story (it is lovely!) about an unnamed woman in the gospel of John assigned for this Fifth Sunday of Lent. She is accused of public impropriety, prostitution or adultery. Prison was seemingly not an option. The only public option in those ancient times was capital punishment, stoning to death.
Several troubling questions have consistently come to mind when reading this story. First of all, if it was truly adultery she was being accused of, what of her partner or partners? Were they not considered worthy of punishment? Why was the woman the only one being threatened with stoning?
Secondly, why was a sexual offense considered so severe that it should deserve death? All sorts of crimes, many more serious than this, were doubtless committed in civil society in those times, but seemingly they did not deserve stoning.
The central point of this story, of course, is not the civil punishment issue but rather the human implications, the way Jesus handled it.
Obviously, the religious authorities had no concern for the woman as a human individual. They were more interested in the fact that she had publicly given religion a bad name.
Now Jesus comes on the scene and, amazingly, declares himself judge and jury, not in the civil sense, but in the personal, human realm. First of all, he deals with the accusers: He tells them that if any of them feel that they are sinless they may wish to throw stones. None did so, obviously. Then Jesus asks the woman the follow-up obvious question: "What happened to these other sinners?" They've disappeared" she said. "Well," Jesus says, "l guess that means that we are all sinners, just different kinds. Go in peace."
That's a truly wonderful piece of drama. But the best part of it is the sense not that Jesus forgave the woman, but that he gave her permission to forgive herself. Even if she was truly a sinner, she was obviously not the only sinner in the world.
Finally, an insight for this story comes from the first reading for today's liturgy. It comes from the prophet Isaiah. These are the beautiful words as he addresses them to the people of his times: "Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new...did you not notice it?" I've often wondered if Jesus might have been thinking about those very words when he told the woman to go in peace, to forget her past?
I'm sure, even though most of us (I hope all of us) have never been incarcerated, we may all have a "past." None of us are perfect. The question is, how do we live with our past? Do we continue to berate ourselves with our sins and shortcomings, or do we do what Isaiah says God does, namely to "remember not the things of the past, the things of long ago." If that is the way God thinks about us, inviting us to forget the past, perhaps that is exactly what we should do, just forget it, period.
The scriptures: Isaiah 43: 16-21, Philippians 3: 8-14, John 8: 1-11
Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:25 PM.
March 17, 2007
4th Sunday of Lent - Always Forgiven
In the year 1992 Clint Eastwood, the movie director produced a film that he said would finally put to death the American Western as we have come to know it. It was entitled "Unforgiven." It starred Mr. Eastwood himself along with Morgan Freeman and Gene Hackman, as hardened a bunch of outlaws as you might imagine.
Basically, it is a story of two aged and "retired" gunslingers who decide to try out their "trade" one last time. They agree to take revenge on a local cowboy who had disfigured a prostitute. They were promised a thousand bucks if they took the job.
The moral of the story is that this decision ultimately destroys them. They discover that they cannot not put their past aside and turn straight; violence is too deep in their genes. Hence, they end their lives being unable to forgive themselves for their past violence.
The scene I remember best comes toward the end of the film that has Eastwood lying face down in the mud of his corral sobbing over his wasted life. He feels that he is a totally useless person. His whole life had been a waste. End of story
I think t would be true to say that there are millions of people in the world today, especially in America, who feel that their lives have been a useless venture, that they have never been able to shake violence out of their personality. Perhaps they feel that they have made too many mistakes to be able to redeem themselves. So, they are now on the street or in prison, living from day to day without any hope. The saddest thing of all is that they know of no one who can redeem them, give them another chance at life. A sad picture, indeed.
Several weeks ago a program appeared on National Public Television entitled "Generation Next." Judy Woodruff did interviews with young adults who had found their own way to pursue their goals in life in ways quite different than that of their parents. After some years of exploring religion and society in their own way, however, many find that they needed to return to their roots, family, school, church, et cetera. It was these sources that had originally given them roots, security, support, a future.
The point which Ms. Woodruff makes in her Interviews is that exploration, testing the borders, testing the waters, taking chances are the marks and qualities of youth and young adulthood. How can one find one's own character, one's own ego, and identity unless one has the freedom to seek out life's rich possibilities?
Those of us who have some years behind us and have accumulated some wisdom in the process would say: "Fair enough, but be ready to accept the implications of what you decide to do." Of course, many of us might also say, "Don't come running back to us if you have wasted your talents and gifts. You need to live with your decisions"
The beautiful story of the Prodigal Son that we hear again on this Fourth Sunday of Lent is one of those classic stories that anyone of us could say applies to us personally, the story of a young person's desire for independence and its consequences. It is a narrative of a young man (of many young men or women) who want to find their own way, follow their own instincts, dictate their own terms, to be free of the constraints of parents, home, church, society. In the process of finding his freedom, of course, the young prodigal loses his way and ultimately begins to think that there is no redemption, that he is unforgiven. Pride and independence have gotten the best of him.
But as we all know, that is not the end of the story. In all of Jesus' stories there is an out, a solution, redemption.
As we know from the story, the young man finally saw no other solution than to swallow his pride and go home, reciting his repentance as he walked along.
Then the scene switches to the father, perhaps sitting on the front porch (if he had one) shading his eyes, gazing out over the open land, wondering if his son would ever return and what he would say if he did return. Finally, the son appears on the horizon and the father rushes out to meet him, welcomes him and, of all things, prepares a barbecue to celebrate the occasion.
This is one of those typical endings Jesus surprises us with. This is not the way things usually work out in life. In our hard nosed world most of us would say: "If you want your freedom, fine, live with it, but don't come sniveling back imagining that you can take advantage of the goodness of your friends and that everything will be forgiven and forgotten."
At the same time, I think, deep in our hearts, most of us are happy with the way the story turned out. If Jesus would have had the father, say, for instance: "Sony, son, don't expect anything from me; you had your chance and blew it," we would not have been happy with that ending.
Well, as we all know from having listened to many of Jesus' stories, they are all about redemption, they are about us, everyman, everywoman. They are about our pride, our independence, our desire to have our own way, even about our difficulty in facing our mistakes, indeed, our very selves.
At the same time, in between the lines, Jesus always makes it clear that it is all right to search for our personal goals, even though they are often wrong-headed. No one is beyond redemption, no one is ever unforgiven if we want to be forgiven. That is always good to know, isn't it? Sometimes it just takes a while for each of us to grow up, but I have a hunch that God must know that too.
Maybe we should suggest to Clint Eastwood, that great movie director, that he should do a film sometime entitled "Forgiven." That would surely be a film we could all identify with. After all, it would be all about us; we've all experienced forgiveness.
The scriptures: Joshua 5: 9a, 10-12, 2 Corinthians 5: 17-21, Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32
Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:21 PM.
March 10, 2007
3rd Sunday of Lent - Holy Earth
I recently finished reading a fascinating book by Timothy Egan entitled The Worst Hard Time. It is the actual history of the great drought that left the high plains of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado a vast dust bowl in the middle thirties of the last century. I happened to hear it reviewed on National Public Radio one morning and decided to buy it right away, mainly because I too can clearly remember the dust bowl days in my native North Dakota.
The book is actually about 6 families who decided to "stick it out" on the land during those terrible years, in contrast to the people who are described in the novel The Grapes of Wrath as the ones who left and headed for California.
The book is a story of people, but even more, it is also a book about the land, the earth, specifically about the vast millions of acres of grassland across 4 states over which the Indians had roamed for thousands of years pursuing the buffalo and the antelope.
At the turn of the century the U.S. government opened up this vast pasturage to farming and immediately thousands of "hard up" farmers descended upon it, plowing up earth never meant for farming. At the outset all looked good. People raised wheat and looked forward to a life of millionaires.
But then came the hard years of the "thirties" with the lack of rain and the high winds that literally picked up the earth of the plains and sent it wheeling as far east as New York and Washington, D.C.
Herbert Hoover lost the presidency over that catastrophe. Franklin Roosevelt was able to set in motion some reclamation programs. Nonetheless, the Great Plains has never fully recovered. Whole towns have disappeared, never to be repopulated again.
I just wanted to talk a little about all that because it has to do with the sacredness of the earth, the land on which we live. In this case, the land was thoughtlessly desecrated, ripped up, torn up and so it simply blew away. A great act of disrespect upon the natural world.
I am sure that most of us do not often think much about the earth as "sacred," as holy. It is simply something natural, something from which we make a living. We think of the "bread basket" of the Dakotas or the vegetable or fruit basket of central California as being ours to do with what we choose. We think of Global Warming as a modern "myth" which won't affect our generation.
It has always seemed to me, however, that anything that gives life is inherently holy. Anything God has given us to sustain the life of the planet must somehow be sacred.
The people of the Middle East have always had a special respect for the earth, perhaps because they live so close to it and depend on it for their existence. The great patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob eventually settled the "Promised Land" because that is where there was water and one could grow things and live.
We have a beautiful story in today's first reading from the book of Exodus about the sacredness of the earth. It is the familiar tale of Moses, the nomadic shepherd out on the desert, who notices a dry bush strangely burning. He decides to "check it out", but immediately is warned not to come any closer, but to take off his sandals because he is standing on holy ground. I have never been able to figure out why wearing shoes should desecrate the earth. Perhaps it's because if you are shoeless you are in closer touch the natural elements! Just a guess!
When Moses does come closer to the burning bush, however, God begins to speak with him, reveals His name as "I Am."
The implication I draw from this experience is that God does speak out of the earth if we have the good sense to consider the earth as God's domain.
I think people have always found the experience of being close to the land a transcendental experience. Why have monasteries of monks and nuns always been established far from cities, in forested land or simply out the country? Why do people find comfort and spiritual renewal by going out into the wilderness to make a retreat or simply to be in closer touch with God? Even people who simply like to "grub" around in their garden find it a peaceful, comforting experience.
So, what does all this have to do with Lent? Well, Lent has traditionally been a time when, like Moses, we are invited to come in closer touch with our God again. It may not be possible for most of us who live in this cold, wintry environment to go out and get in touch with our God on the earth, but perhaps we could create a virtual piece of earth for ourselves where we can be quiet and in touch with ourselves. Whatever works!
At any rate, God often speaks to us in strange places, no burning bushes, perhaps, but in whatever place is already holy for us. If we go there, God will surely be ready to have a word with us.
The scriptures: Exodus 3: 1-8a, 13-15, 1 Corinthians 10: 1-6, 10-12, Luke 13: 1-9
Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:16 PM.
March 03, 2007
2nd Sunday of Lent - The Hunger for Contemplation
It has often occurred to me that most of us are naturally born and destined to be contemplatives, that is, searchers for silence. That may sound like a rather odd suggestion because the fact is all of us live in another world, the world of work, of recreation, of noise and responsibilities which makes contemplation, if not impossible, at least rather difficult to find.
Nonetheless, if you were to ask the ordinary blue or white collar person if they would prefer to have some opportunity for silence in an ordinary day, I'm sure they would say, "sure." Of course, we live in a world of noise and distraction simply because we have to. There is no other option if we want to make a living. But paradise, according to Genesis, was never like the world we live in today.
I have often thought to myself that if I had not been born and raised a Catholic and if I did not have so many years invested in the Catholic Church, I might think about joining the Quakers or the Amish. Alas, it's too late at my age. Nonetheless, I long for some quiet every day. It's available to me, but I seldom make use of it the way I should. The question is, where to find it?
I have told this story before, but when I was a youngster, living on a farm, the land around us was predominantly flat, but near our house there was also a rather impressive hill. No mountain, mind you, just a bump on the plains. But it was one of my favorite places to go when I wanted to be alone. Sometimes I would go there and watch for my father coming home from the fields in the evening. But mostly, I would go there because it was quiet. I could see for miles, I could feel the sun and the wind on my face. It just seemed good to be there. Actually, I was not old enough to imagine that I was in touch with God on that hill, but if someone asked me why I spent so much time up there, I would probably have said, "It's just quiet, that's all."
Actually, I have always been fascinated with hills and mountains. Later in life I enjoyed many experiences climbing truly big mountains. That same feeling of peace always overwhelmed me when I reached the top.
I have often had the sense that Jesus must have been torn between a life of contemplation and action. We all know from the gospels how much time he literally spent among the crowds, healing and preaching. But once in a while when it became too oppressive for him, he would say to his friends, "Let's get away from here and go to a quiet place where we can pray."
That seems to be what happened on a day Jesus invited Peter, James and John to accompany him to a high place to pray. Notice, the text specifically says that Jesus wanted to pray on a high and quiet place. He wanted to literally be in touch with God. So, it is described as a transcendent experience, a divine experience. The symbols are all there: The cloud that envelopes them, the meeting with Moses and Elijah, the voice out of the cloud designating Jesus as God's chosen one.
The interesting point is that we do not know whether Jesus and his friends actually prayed or not, prayed as we usually pray. They just experienced God. Even Jesus disciples seemed to know that this was something special that they should preserve for posterity. Therefore, they suggested to Jesus that it might be a good idea to set up three altars in remembrance of the occasion so that they could return again some day and
Pray.
I imagine most of us would not choose to climb a mountain to pray, but if we had the option, I imagine we would choose some quiet place where we would be undisturbed and be with our God.
Perhaps we could say that each of us already has a place of that sort where we pray: Our parish church, a grotto somewhere, a local convent or monastery. The point is this: We all long for a prayer- place and we will take time off occasionally to go to it.
The additional question, of course, is to ask why are we hearing this gospel of the Transfiguration on this Second Sunday of Lent? Here is my suggestion: Lent is a special time of self discovery, a desert space experience, a time when we are invited to make a special effort to find ourselves, re-find our direction in life.
Every season of the year, of course, is "prayer- time", but Lent is a special time, a desert time or a mountain time when we might want to learn how to pray more sincerely, to be in touch with our God.
Contrary to the way we have traditionally thought about Lent as being a "give up something" time, I would suggest that it could be much simpler: If we did nothing more than make the effort just to be quiet so that God could make God's way into our life, that would be enough for Lent. If nothing else, we should be able to come out of this Lent being able to say that we have been looking for a place where we could be thinking about God. I doubt whether we would be ready to say that we came away transfigured like Jesus was. But that's not the point. The point is that God will meet us some way, somehow wherever we try to set aside some place and time for Him. It doesn't necessarily have to happen on a mountain, or even on a modest hill unless you think you are actually ready for some strenuous exercise, which, by the way might not be such a bad idea either.
The scriptures: Genesis 15: 5-12, 17-18, Philippians 3: 17-4-1, Luke 9: 28b-36
Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:13 PM.
