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May 31, 2008

Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time - Words, Words, Words

I sometimes find it almost overwhelming when I walk into Barnes and Noble bookstore, or, indeed, any bookstore, and gaze around at the millions (I think it is millions) of books and periodicals stacked there. Multiply that by all the bookstores around the world and the libraries as well, and you will have some choices facing you. Unless one has a pretty good notion of what one is looking for and is able to find it without appealing to the nice person at the customer service desk, one will be lost and the errand will have been a waste of time.

My own visits to Barnes and Noble have ordinarily been efforts to find out what is new and exciting (?) in the world of theology, and, believe me, there are always new thoughts and ideas coming to light from people who make this their career.. Theologians never tire of looking for answers to the Sacred. The choices are vast, so where to start?

All authors, I should imagine, write words with the intent to say something enlightening for the world, something intelligent, earth-shaking, indeed, even something that will change the world or the reader’s sense of life. Rarely does one write simply for one’s self. (I will say something in that regard later, however.)

Of course, writing words is one of humankind’s greatest gifts, our deepest human desire next to the reproduction of the species. (There may be others) From ancient times men and women have inscribed symbols or words on something that would last: Clay, papyrus, eventually paper. All this was done to speak the author’s innermost feelings or convictions about life and the way it is lived. Whether anyone actually read those words might have seemed unimportant to the writer. Something needed to be said and the author said it without being concerned what others thought of it.

Each of these writers, whether they are skilled or not, feels the need to say something fresh and new about the world. Even a casual letter to a friend would be an example of that.

Perhaps what we write will be read by someone, perhaps many, but even if it is not read, a word has been set free to do its task in the world. The writer has taken the opportunity, even with fear and trepidation to say what is on his or her mind. Not all readers might agree with the author’s position; nonetheless he or she felt the need to say it and let the chips fall where they may.

All writing of words, whether deep or superficial, makes an impact on human society and are a service to humankind. How else could people over the centuries have been expected to discover their history and interpret it without someone having written it down?

It is sometimes said the character of any civilization can be recognized best in the works of its authors and artists. (Of course, let us not forget the work of artisans as well, those who build buildings, make roads and till the soil)

At any rate, all of us, whether we are artists or artisans, have that inbred desire to leave a mark on civilization. I think, for instance of the lovely pre-historic paintings on the walls of the caves in France. (the Lascaux etchings). They are mainly reproductions of animals of that time and age: Fierce bulls and lions and tigers fighting one another. It might be safe to say that those etchings do not simply represent animals above ground. I think they might also represent the feelings of those ancient people, their concept of the power of animals and their threat to human existence. Perhaps there was even a sense of admiration for these ferocious beasts, their power and the struggle for survival. Hence, they probably felt the need to represent their feelings in “living color” on the cave walls.

So, it simply needs to said that people of all civilizations have consistently tried to say what enlightened them, what inspired them, what frightened them, what gave them a sense that there is something beautiful in the world that needs to seen and interpreted; and, of course, we are all the richer for it.

That said, we now move from the great and powerful season of Easter into the season of the year, Ordinary Time, as it is called, that long list of Sundays that last until the Thirty Fourth Sunday and we once again look forward to the dawn of Advent.

Our scriptures for this Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time predictably also speak of words and their impact on human life. Moses, for instance, that man wise in law, tells his Israelite compatriots that the stone tablets he has brought down with him from the mountain are actually meant to be considered unimportant in comparison to the words inscribed on them. He tells them that these must not be restricted to the tablet. Indeed, they will have no power whatsoever unless they find a place in peoples’ hearts where they can be remembered and reflected on each day. “Bind them to your wrists,” he tells them; “wear them as a pendant on your forehead” so that you will never have the temptation to forget them or disobey them.

The fact, of course, that these reminders were hung on wrists and foreheads did not mean that they were always obeyed. Nonetheless they remained there as reminders of something that would “prickle” the conscience if they did, indeed, disobey them. That warning in itself would be sufficient reminder.

The question that arises from time to time asking whether the commandments should be hung on courthouse walls still stirs controversy today. In an odd sort of way, it tells us that these ancient and sacred rules of life still are taken seriously..
Jesus, in the Matthew gospel we read for this Sunday has a “suggestion” for Christians of a later age who may appear from time to time saying: “Hey look my miracles, look at the apparitions, look at the cures I have done. Aren’t we so great?

In so many words, Jesus warns such followers first to listen carefully to his words, meditate on them, interiorize them and then put them into practice. Without this, all the showy miracles will mean little. He compares such persons, who look for fast and easy solutions to life’s problems, to a contractor who builds a house on sand rather than on rock. Time, nature and human whims will wash away such a house.

I imagine it could be said of all of us, therefore, that words are often easy to come by, easy even to speak or write. The question, of course, is not what can these words do to change the world. (It seldom happens anyway) Rather, what have these words done to give me and you, the writer or the reader, an insight into life? How can I live in such a way that these words will change me? Do I gain any new or fresh insights into my life or the lives of my brothers and sisters? If not, perhaps all “words may turn out to be a house built of clay, situated on sandy soil. The waters of time will eventually wash them away, forever unremembered.

So, once again, I have written some words. They will surely not change the world, but the moments I have spent putting them together has been a real joy. I hope they will also be that for you, dear reader.

The scriptures: Deuteronomy 11: 18, 26-28, Romans 3:21-25,28; Matthew 7: 21-27

Posted by Cindy Lentine at 09:53 AM.

May 24, 2008

Feast of the Most Precious Body and Blood of Christ

Tables! There are all kinds of them, of course; and we use them for any purpose that meets our needs. But the one that is used most often and consistently (usually three times each day) is situated in our dining room. Some prefer to sit in an easy chair before the television and take their meals but it’s not the same as sitting with someone at a table made for eating and talking.

It all begins early in life, of course with a table called, a “highchair.” We had one in our home, as I remember it, made out of wood. All of us children used it before we were old enough to sit at the main dining table. It has long since disappeared,
ending up in an antique store I suspect. Nonetheless, there must have been many memories for our mother connected to that piece of furniture as she nourished us, one after the other, with homemade cream of wheat, oatmeal or mashed potatoes and peas. (No Gerbers in those days.)

For us youngsters, it was just a chair with a lift-up tray to catch the spoonfuls of food that did not quite make it to our tiny mouths. But for our mother this was a dining table for her young family, the place where she fed her flock.

As we grew up, each of us in turn took our place around a more proper table where we learned to wait our turn, say “please” and “thank you” as we passed the dishes of food on to one another. In some unique and simple way we were being taught the meaning of personal service, waiting on each other with patience.

How else could all this have happened except at a table where food was served and shared. It is a habit we all take for granted because it happens so consistently, so unobtrusively. We sit and eat but we do not often ask the meaning of what we are doing.

But on certain occasions sitting and eating does involve a special meaning: A birthday party for a six-year-old at Chuckie Cheese, a dinner for teenage couples at a fancy restaurant before the senior prom, a quiet personal meal a couple shares on their twenty fifth wedding anniversary, a celebration for grandparents on their seventy fifth.

Most folks would agree, of course, that all of these examples are more than meals. The food and drink, even the table is only the setting to celebrate something more important, a life-event, a human occasion, a setting for memories, toasts and cheers.

Yes, it could all be done while sitting around the living room in soft comfortable reclining chairs, but it would not be the same. In truly, authentic meals there is always something that transcends the actions of eating and drinking, something indescribable.

Meals, for the most part, of course, take place in homes or restaurants. But, odd as it may seem, holy places, churches, temples and synagogues have also become “dining rooms”, locations where our religious histories are celebrated occasions when we come together to be spiritually nourished on word, bread and wine.( It’s always bread and wine!).

Most Christian churches follow the custom and ritual of Jewish history: They gather, they listen to a proclamation of their spiritual traditions, they reflect on it. Then a table is set, bread and wine, those ancient, primordial natural elements are brought forth. A designated leader praises God for the produce of the earth and the fruit of the vine. Then a Eucharistic prayer is spoken over the elements, a formal and never changing anaphora, asking God to receive them back as a sign of human thanks.

All that having been said and done, the gathered community is invited to come and eat and drink with grateful hearts.

All this seems to be such a simple set of words and gestures, but ones that also contain sacred and ancient meaning.

For most Christians the doing and saying of all this has meaning precisely because we have a religious history that begins with Jesus of Nazareth, who himself was a man deeply immersed in his own Jewish history and sacred rites.

These were so important to him that on the night before he died, on the night of Passover, he chose to celebrate the Passover meal itself with his disciples one last time. The gospels tell us it was a sacred meal with all the elements we expect to find in the sacred meals we celebrate today: A recalling of our Christian history, a giving thanks for bread and wine and fellowship, then the sharing of bread and cup and, finally, the invitation to give thanks once more, go out and be God to the world.

Why do we do all this, Sunday after Sunday? We do it because of Jesus explicit words: “When you do this, do it in memory of me.”

And so we have been doing it for well over two thousand years without interruption. We gather faithfully on the Lord’s Day to remember Jesus and to be nourished on word, bread and wine.

Finally, what seems so significant and mysterious in all this, the liturgy, the peoples’ work, is that it all depends on the recognition and meaning of some very elemental, human realities: The need for people to gather and remember their sacred heritage, the invitation to break these open again and again and then to sit at table and remember the One who died for us so that we can continue to be nourished and grow spiritually.

So, it occurs to me that life is ultimately about simple things and simple actions which in themselves contain deep meaning. Perhaps to understand it all, we need to think about that highchair again and all those times since then that we have been seated with others to reflect on life’s meaning.

The scriptures: Deuteronomy 8:2-3, 14b-16a; 1 Corinthians 10:16-17; John 6:51-58

Posted by Cindy Lentine at 10:21 AM.

May 17, 2008

Feast of the Most Holy Trinity

Most of us could probably say that when we consider our daily existence we depend fundamentally upon such things as air and water, food and exercise. True enough. But I would also like to suggest that, in addition to those physical elements, we depend for life on mystery, not mystery stories, but rather on the sense that there is something in life beyond us, a kind of overwhelming “uexplainedness.” That may be the reason why we are never quite satisfied with life as it is or as it seems to be. We have a human hunch that there is still something more that could fulfill our deepest longings. For lack of a better word we assign that mystery to God. I suspect that even those who claim no God must still wonder whether there is anything beyond their daily human existence.

Lest we imagine that the search for mystery, the sacred, is an adult activity, I would like to suggest that it begins in childhood: A tiny baby who recognizes its mother’s face and smiles is responding mystery. When a child grabs for a colored toy in the crib, it is responding to mystery.

As children grow up, of course they begin to become aware of more abstract forms of mystery and naturally ask questions about their meaning.

A story from my own childhood history will serve as an example: Our church of St. Henry was a stately faux-Gothic structure with a high ceiling and a long nave. In the apse at the end of the nave the architect had designed a splendid stained glass window with a huge eye in the very center.

I can remember on one occasion, before the beginning of Mass, asking my mother: “Hey ma, what’s that big eye doing up there?” She said something to the effect: “That’s the eye of God and God is looking at you, so you’d better keep quiet or something will happen to you.” End of conversation (sort of). But I continued to wonder about that eye or perhaps better about the beautiful range of colors that poured out from the middle of the eye. Of course, as a six-year-old, I still had no deeper theological sense of God, but the fascination with the colors gave me a hint that beauty had something to do with God.

Perhaps, given all that, there is something deep in our psyche that tells us that we have not yet explained everything around us. Perhaps we come to realize that we are merely created beings and that a power greater than ourselves keeps us in being.

That in itself seems to speak to our dependence on the Sacred, on God. Having no simple answers to the Sacred, we wonder, we contemplate, we think, we reflect.

But throughout our life we also continue to search for clearer, more convincing answers, for a clarity that will calm our human quest and bring not final answers but a sense that we are a bit closer to what we imagine God to be.

Since the earliest days of human existence, we creatures have been fascinated by the possibility of the Other. All religions have their gods to whom they lift their eyes and offer their prayers.

From the earliest days of our own Christian faith, theologians and other learned individuals have tried to give some substance to our human faith quest. Our sources are always the sacred Scriptures which speak of God creator, of the Divine Son, Redeemer and of the Holy Spirit, wisdom and consoler. These are human words, of course, which attempt to give us a deeper understanding of all that is sacred and divine, the Holy Trinity.

But they are still words, after all, human designations. We know that God the Father is always greater, more all-encompassing than the word father. We know that the Son is always more than our human word for son. The Holy Spirit is always beyond our feeble words that can speak only of wind and fire.

In the end we admit that we are “at a loss for words.” Anything we say, any word we choose, will never compare with the reality of the Infinite One.

But if words are often inadequate to speak of God, we never tire of seeking out other sources to fulfill our eternal quest for what is sacred to us: We gaze quietly at some great piece of art and are reduced to silence. We listen to the works of Mozart or Beethoven and are overwhelmed by the sound and complexity. We listen (on a CD) to the Gregorian chant done so well by the monks at the Grand Chartreuse in France or the monks at San Domingo de Silos in Spain or, closer to home, to the monks at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. Or perhaps purely on our own initiative, we stop at a church on our way home from work and there we simply sit and let the sense of the Sacred soak into our being.

All these works of art and other human devices, of course, are not God, but each in their own way tries to speak of the God who is beyond word or art. The rest is left up to our own imagination; we call it contemplation.

In the end, perhaps we should say that each of us is left to our own devices, our personal gifts and talents. I would imagine that even astronomers and astrophysicists with their great insights must occasionally say to themselves, “we have only scratched the surface of the source of all this.”

One might even come to the point where we could say that the God who exists from all eternity is also the God we have “created” for ourselves, out of our own rich gifts of insight and imagination. In that sense each of us must speak for him or herself when we speak of and to our God.

My hunch is that each of our efforts to speak to our God, if honestly made, reaches the heavens, the very throne of the Sacred One, and we are left with the deep consolation that, as St. Augustine once wrote, ”Our hearts are created for you, O God, and restless are they until they rest in you.”
The scriptures: Exodus 34: 4b-6, 8-9; 2 Corinthians 13: 11-13; John 3: 16-18

Posted by Cindy Lentine at 09:44 AM.

May 10, 2008

Pentecost - Remembering the Way it Was

Occasionally I will be driving to or from work on a weekday and I will notice a new building or a business going up. I know what will soon follow: Big signs announcing “Opening Day.” Following that there will be advertisements in the local newspaper or on television offering special deals. There may also be brightly clad individuals waving signs at the door or on the street corner. It’s all about letting us know that this is an important day for these people, for this company. They are not ashamed to let the whole world know about it.

I’m sure that a lot of planning went into this project of theirs, lots of money and effort as well. One thing for sure: They want us all to know how they feel about their new venture. There will probably never be another day like this in their history.

People find it important to celebrate special occasions: Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, new jobs, first-time accomplishments, et cetera. For the most part, the persons celebrating want the whole world to know about it too, even though much of the world could probably care less. For these people it’s all-important. First time events have special meaning.

I have a hunch that this may have been the case with a group of folks who had just recently followed the leadership of a man named Jesus of Nazareth who, much to their distress, had only recently been killed by the Roman authorities.

So, here they are then, gathered in fear behind locked doors because they were only a small minority in he midst of a powerful empire. I can imagine them all sitting there, scared out of their wits, wondering what was going to happen next.

Well, you know the story: We’re all familiar with it. There was a strong and forceful wind whipping through the house. All of them gathered there felt the warmth of fire settling over them. But what happened next was even more important. They probably said: “Hey, something important is happening here; we have to talk about this to whomever will listen.

And that is exactly what they did: They couldn’t keep their mouths shut. They just had to tell people that this Jesus of Nazareth, the Messiah was still with them and that his grand project he called God’s Good News was now meant to be preached throughout the world (or a least what there was of it in those days.)

So, what’s this all about? Well, any of us with a sense of history knows: It is the story of the beginning of the Church of Jesus Christ. Obviously, there was no record of it in Roman newspapers, no one standing on the street corner waving banners or signs.

So, how did the folks who experienced all this describe it? They remembered two signs, two phenomena: There was wind and fire. There is meaning and symbolism in those two events and it has all to do with spreading, scattering, dispersion, diffusion.

We all know the power of tornadoes or hurricanes. We know what happens when fire gets out of control: Whole city blocks are often destroyed. Forest fires wipe out thousands of acres of prime timber.

But in this instance wind did not destroy, fire did not destroy. Wind and fire were symbols of the power of Jesus’ Good News being spread throughout the land to bring something completely new into existence.

And all this happened, of course, not through the power of wind and fire alone, but through the courage and giftedness of some very ordinary people who just could not hold themselves back. They had to speak out.

So, what should we make out of all this? Here is my sense of it: Throughout the entire history of our church, from Pentecost to this Sunday in the year 2008, the power of Jesus Good News has been spread abroad in a very simple and ordinary way: By word of mouth! Given today’s means of communication, word of mouth does not seem very efficient, does it? But think of this: There is no mode of communication more powerful or more effective than the word that is shared between two people, two friends, nothing more powerful than the faith we share with each other. That’s the way it has been done since the first Pentecost, amazing, as it may seem.

What I think this also mean is that Pentecost is never over: We can’t simply fall back on the efforts of those few early Christians. Nor can we fall back on the words of the pope alone or the local bishop alone, we can’t fall back on the efforts of the preacher here today. All that will not get the Good News of the Church of Jesus Christ very far. Every one of us counts, every conversation we have with our brothers and sisters about what our faith means to us; all that is important for the spreading of the Good News of Jesus Christ.

So, what all this comes down to is this: There’s no stopping the effects of the wind, there’s no stopping the effects of the fire that comes from the faith we all profess as Christians. Above all, don’t be afraid to speak up. The future of your Church depends on you.

The scriptures: Acts 2: 1-11; 1 Corinthians 12, 3b-7, 12-13; John 20: 19-23

Posted by Cindy Lentine at 04:11 PM.

May 03, 2008

7th Sunday Ascension - Going it Alone

I would never have called my father a liberal, at least in the context we use that term today. He was always a careful and conservative man. He managed to get his family through the great depression of the Thirties which means, of course, that he managed his money carefully.

I can remember receiving only two “major” gifts from my father as I was growing up: He bought me a wristwatch for my high school graduation. On the train station when I was headed off for basic training in the U.S. Army, he shook my hand and I found there a fifty-dollar bill! Now, mind you, fifty dollars was no small change in those days, but I remember him saying: “Here’s a little something just in case you need it.” Then he gave me a hug, something he rarely did. He was conservative, of course!

Nonetheless, I learned something from my father on that day at the railroad station: He was ultimately a softhearted, sentimental person. He also knew that this was the last time I would be part of the family. It turned out to be true. I never returned home again for any long period of time.

So, as I recall it, this was an important moment for my father. Difficult as it was for him, he managed to say goodbye, even with a few tears in his eyes.

This recollection reminds me of the line from one of Shakespeare’s plays (I think it was Romeo and Juliet) “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Well, I don’t know how sweet parting is, but I think all of us would agree that parting is something we do not eagerly look forward to.

The problem is that at this point in our life many things will change, nothing will ever be quite the same again. We will be on our own, for good or ill. Perhaps we could honestly say that at a parting we are all a little scared, especially if this is the first time we have left our family. What if we flunk out of college? What if our first job turns out to be more than we can handle? Could we ever go home again without embarrassment?

By the way, that phrase came from the title of a book by Thomas Wolfe: You Can’t Go Home Again.
It seems to be true: Once you leave the familiar confines of the place where you grew up, you will find that it is never the same even if you decide to go back. What is fundamentally different, of course, is you. You have changed in the meantime. So, if we do go home again, it will not be the same person who goes there.

I wanted to talk a little about leave-taking because that is what we are asked to think about today on the feast of the Ascension of the Lord.

Perhaps the word we use to identify this day is in some sense deceptive because implies a “going up,” Jesus’ going up to heaven, back to His Father. I have no doubt that at some point after Jesus’ resurrection He did indeed leave his friends. Whether Jesus “went up” is a question. But for the early disciples, “up” meant the place where God was. This was their sense of cosmology, their sense of the world. If Jesus went anywhere, it had to be up.

But we can set cosmology aside and simply ask about the implications of Jesus’ leaving. What is really clear is that Jesus, in the last few years of his ministry, developed a very close relationship with some very ordinary people, men and women, mostly working class folks. What is also clear is that he depended on them to help him fulfill his ministry. They were to be his trusted confidants. They traveled with Him; they preached as best they could, they took the responsibility of sharing bread with people. In simplest words, they were a “band of brothers.”

I can’t help but think, therefore, that after Jesus’ death and resurrection he must have come to the point where he needed to say goodbye to this band of brothers and sisters and that this must have given him a sense of sadness. After all, they had all gone through a lot together, some good times and some bad times.

So, it is interesting to notice that on the day he “headed for home,” Jesus wanted to make sure that his disciples would not be in complete despair over his going. He says to them: “Behold I am with you always, even until the end of the age.”

He did not say here how he was to be with them, but, for sure, this was not to be the end of the great adventure: Jesus gives his friends a task to continue working on: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The logical question to ask, therefore, is this: What did Jesus expect would happen at “the end of the age,” at a point when the last disciple had passed on? Was this to be the end of the great adventure of preaching the kingdom of God?

Well, I have to believe that Jesus was smart enough to know that at some point his disciples would not be able to carry on his work. So, the only conclusion I can come to is that Jesus meant for his work to be carried on to the end of every age, throughout all of history. That has to be the only sensible way to understand Jesus’ work, namely that it now belongs to us, to his Church, with the help of the Spirit to carry it forward.

Of course, this work is more than about baptizing. It’s about all the ministries that we have learned to take upon ourselves as Catholic Christians: Lectors, Eucharistic ministers, catechists, visitors to the sick, comforters of the dying, et cetera. In short, there are pastoral leaders of all sorts available, depending on our unique gifts.

So, in the end we must say that we do not know whether Jesus was sad that he had to “go home.” Given what we do now know from history, we would have to say that He doesn’t need to worry. We’re trying our best to “keep things together.” Sure, we’ve made some mistakes, but, after all, we’re human, the Church is human, but we can still depend on Jesus to keep his word. “I will be with you until the end of the age.”

The scriptures: Acts 1: 12-14; 1 Pt 4:13-16; John 17:1-11a

Posted by Cindy Lentine at 04:22 PM.