Scripture

Between the Lines: Holy Week, betrayed

Steve · April 18, 2014 · 4 Comments

Jesus bound. Stations of the Cross at La Salle Retreat Center, Glencoe, Mo. SJG photo.

Matthew 26:30-56 is a deathwatch, the story of Jesus’ last night with his disciples and his time of intense prayer and, ultimately, betrayal. In between the lines of description and dialogue, I imagined what might have been going through Jesus’ mind and heart…

After singing a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives…

That was nice. I like singing with these men, like the way our voices sound together. This may be the last time we are so unified. This is going to be a long, hard night, and I could make a long list of all the other things I would rather be doing. I have become attached to this world and these people. Every step along this path brings me closer to the reality that I would rather not face.

“This night all of you will have your faith in me shaken…”

This is going to be hard on all of you, I know. Perhaps especially you, Peter. You are so sure of yourself, so confident you can withstand whatever’s coming. But you don’t get it yet, cannot begin to fathom the terror of seeing me taken away and fearing for your own life. You will emerge stronger, but not before you are taken down a few notches. It will take time and you will disappoint yourself and me along the way.

“Sit here while I go over there and pray…”

Here we go, this is the beginning of the end. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, either. I must pray, must take all this to my Father. I am grateful for those who have risked all to follow me, thankful they are here with me, even if the weight of the fear and the lateness of the hour lulls them into sleep. Take this from me…take this away if it’s your will. But only then.

“Could you not keep watch with me one hour?”

Come on, fight off the sleep. Be in prayer with me. Ask God for the strength to bear it all and stay awake. Asleep again (and again)? Maybe I picked the wrong men. Maybe. But no, they are the right ones, or they will become the right ones after a time of cleansing and rebirth. After I send my spirit they will become what I need them to be.

“Look, my betrayer is at hand…”

Oh, Judas. This has all fallen to you somehow. This is the beginning of your end, too. Have I somehow betrayed you, too? Have I given you reason to do this, shaken your safe little world with my truth?

“Friend, do what you have come for…”

I have never been handled like this before, have never felt the pull of strong arms or felt the cold of metal chains, never experienced the fear of swords and spears. You call me Rabbi, Judas, and yet I wonder what you have learned from me. Not enough or not the right things, I suppose. Where did I go wrong with you? When did you begin to interpret my lessons of love and forgiveness as threats to power? They are not that, you know. They are invitations to a new kind of freedom. For my love is inclusive, is for all, despite what others will do to my message for generations to come. Many will twist it for their own gain and power, just as you are doing now. Thirty pieces of silver or privilege or political power, it’s all the same. All blood money. You are weak, but you are not alone in that. I came for just those like you. You are only the first to betray me.

This saddens me beyond all else. This “way” I have started will continue and it will eventually splinter because so many will get it wrong, will betray me. And those who would otherwise be attracted to my good news of love will be left scratching their heads and wondering why this way is good at all, for there is nothing good in this skewing and betrayal of my words and life.

The goal for all must be a return to my words and actions, to the truth that lies at the core of my life. But many will never find that, even though they think they own the truth, because they will spend their lives hating and killing and isolating in my name. I am not in their hearts and they are not in mine. This is what makes me saddest as I stand here in chains — not that I will suffer and die but that so many will fail to understand my message. That is the great betrayal.

So go ahead and flee. I am alone anyway.

Ask yourself in silence: How have I betrayed Jesus?

Between the Lines: Holy Week, at table

Steve · April 17, 2014 · 1 Comment

Mosaic at St. Louis Cathedral Basilica. SJG photo.

In Luke 22:14-20, Jesus yearns to once more eat the supper of unleavened bread with his disciples. In doing so, in sharing the bread and wine, he both recalls the history that made them God’s chosen people and institutes a new meal, one that will forever bind him to his followers of all succeeding generations who gather around a table in communion with him and each other. He gives them something that they cannot earn — only accept and take into themselves — his own body and blood…

I am grieved to be leaving these friends so soon, these men and women who were willing to follow me based on faith, on a sketchy idea that I was something more than a guy from Nazareth. They have been good, loyal friends. One of them will deny me three times within the day and yet be the rock I need to build my church upon when I am no longer here. Another will betray me, but that’s all part of the plan, too. For without that denial and betrayal, and without my death, there is no reason for me to be here among them, as one of them.

I need them to remember me in a special way, and I think this simple and special meal is just the thing. It is sacramental ritual, of course, a physical sign of my invisible truth, but it is also ordinary. It is the most common activity of human life – eating and drinking, drawing sustenance from the fruit of the vine and the work of human hands.

This is a free gift I offer, and anyone who accepts this gift accepts me. That is how I made my way through this world — accepting and ministering to those who came to me just as they were — and I see no reason to change that now. Indeed, no one is worthy to receive me; no one can earn my presence in their lives. I come for the broken and hurting, as well as for those who seemingly have life figured out.

My presence is mine to give, and I give it freely to all who call my name. It would pain me deeply if this meal became something else, something set apart for the elite and the elect, for those who believe they have earned it. I came for the least of these, for the poor, the sick, the confused. I came for those willing to choose a different path of freedom because something deep inside them calls them to do so.

This meal is free. It is me. It is for all.

Ask yourself in silence: Where does this powerful sign of Christ’s true presence in the world sit in my life? At the center or on the edges?

—

Note: In the “third week” of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, we are asked to look into the heart and mind of Jesus during his last days, to have compassion for him (to be “with him in his passion”) and feel as if he might have felt with his world collapsing around him. We are asked to remember three things: that he was fully human in his suffering, that he could have retreated into his divine nature but didn’t, and that he did all this for us. In these “Between the Lines” reflections during Holy Week, I share some of my imaginings, contemplative glimpses into the story of Christ’s passion that are meant only to pull you further into the story and draw you closer to Christ.

Between the Lines: Holy Week, preparation

Steve · April 14, 2014 · 6 Comments

St. Augustine, Florida's "Great Cross." SJG photo.

In the “third week” of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, we are asked to look into the heart and mind of Jesus during his last days, to have compassion for him (to be “with him in his passion”) and feel as if he might have felt with his world collapsing around him. We are asked to remember three things: that he was fully human in his suffering, that he could have retreated into his divine nature but didn’t, and that he did all this for us.

In the coming days I will share some of my imaginings, contemplative glimpses into the story of Christ’s passion that are meant only to pull you further into the story and draw you closer to Christ. We begin with preparations. In Luke 22:1-13, Jesus and his disciples prepare for Passover and Judas Iscariot makes plans for his betrayal. And we ask ourselves, how might have Jesus felt?

I know the end is coming. I know my followers are faltering and one has even crossed over to the side of those who want me dead. This makes me sad, but I know it’s all part of the Father’s will. If it were not Judas it would just be someone else. But it is Judas, has always been Judas. From the day I called him, he has been moving toward this. I love him deeply, despite what he’s about to do.

So I know what’s coming, can sense what’s about to happen, and I know I need to fortify myself with the ritual of Passover, which carries with it both ancient memory and a new meaning and purpose. This is a new form of worship, an offering of my body and blood, a thanksgiving celebration that will go forward from this day, giving strength and sustenance to all who share in it.

And yet, this is my body that we’re talking about, my passion, suffering and death. There’s no other way around this. Not even my divinity, my connection to my Father, can take a way the pain of being a man facing death. I am afraid of what this will do to my friends, afraid they won’t be able to take it all, afraid that the work and way we have started will cease.

So I am unsure, but I know somehow that there is strength in this meal, this time around the table with my friends. Let’s begin.

Ask yourself in silence: What is this meal, this “last supper” to you?

Today’s Word: Calm

Steve · March 1, 2014 · 6 Comments

Calm on Rice Lake, Wisconsin. SJG Photo.

And then there was that time when we were fishing and a storm kicked up and we thought we were all going to be thrown into the sea. Jesus, as we had come to expect, was sleeping in the front of the boat. He never cared much for the actual work of fishing, although it seemed he always knew where to throw the nets to catch the most fish, so he was useful to have around. Anyway, there he was sleeping right in the middle of this raging storm and we didn’t know what to do.

I’m not sure he was entirely happy to be woken up by our screams for help, but he stood up and looked around, as if the whole thing was just a gnat on his arm. He looked at us and smiled a smile that seemed to say, “When will you believe in me? When will you have a little faith?” Then he just held up a hand and, as if speaking to one of us, whispered, “Stop. Just stop.” And then a calm came over the sea and over us. It was a calm I had never felt before and I thought, “what kind of man is this, that even winds and the sea obey him?” (Matthew 8:23-27)

Storms come and go in our lives. They happen to us and to those around us. These storms test us and shake us and sometimes break our hearts and weather our faith. People die and leave huge holes in our lives where they used to be. Our faith in God does not take away the storms, for they rain down on us all, believers and unbelievers alike.

The difference is the presence in the boat. For we who believe, Christ is there in the bow of the boat of our lives, wrapped in a blanket and waiting for us to wake him and ask for help. And he will arise at just the moment we need him most, stretching out his hands and whispering, “stop,” and calming the sea at least enough so that we can make it back to shore, a way through the storm to safe harbor. And that’s enough, has to be enough, because it is all we need.

Ask yourself in silence: When was my last storm? Am I in the midst of one right now? And where is Jesus?

Today’s Word: Offering

Steve · February 17, 2014 · 13 Comments

fish3 — Dried fish in Hong Kong market. SJG photo.

(Based on John 6:1-15)

I was sent to the market by my mother with very clear instructions: Buy five small barley loaves and two dried and salted fish. Nothing more. And come right back home. I was only 12 at the time, so I never could have imagined how much my life would change that day…

I was walking home from the market along the shore of the Galilee when I saw a crowd gathering, pointing toward a small boat just then coming ashore. As it beached, a couple of the men in the boat jumped out and hauled it the rest of the way in, away from the tide. They were fisherman, and I could smell the fish in their nets and on their clothes. People just kept coming and coming, running along the shore and from the market square, and I kept hearing one name over and over — Jesus. Jesus is here. The rabbi, the healer, the prophet. I had no idea who this man was, had never heard his name before. But here he was standing in front of me, the one that everyone else deferred to, pointed at, sought to get closer to. And I was right there, a pretty exciting thing for a kid from a small fishing village.