Lent

The Seven Last Words: Behold

Steve · March 22, 2016 · 4 Comments

During the hours when Jesus hung on the cross leading up to his death, he uttered seven “words” (actually short sentences, as recorded across the four gospels), and these words continue to be meaningful and insightful to us today if we’re willing to spend some time in quiet with them. For they are not only remembrances of that day and of Jesus’ suffering and death, but also serve as reminders of how we are to live in our own moments of suffering. As we enter Holy Week, I offer seven short reflections on these words and ask you to consider what they might mean to you, today.

Mary — Woman, behold your son. SJG photo.

Three: “Woman, behold your son. Behold your mother.” John 19:25-27

Jesus looks down from the cross and sees what must be a son’s worst nightmare — his mother, watching him suffer and die. Standing there with her friends, close relatives and his beloved disciple (John), his thoughts turn from his death to their life, to their care for one another. Looking at his mother, he says, “Woman, behold your son.” And to John, “behold your mother.” He knew those were all the words he needed to say. He knew from that day on she would be cared for and revered by John and the early Church community. She was to be blessed indeed.

As I read and contemplated this passage today, the phrase “no mother should bury a child” kept coming to mind. I wondered to myself, where is the greater pain: in the mother watching her son die or in the son watching his mother watch him die? For us all, the pain of death can be so intense that we find ourselves asking (or screaming), “why God?” We hurt so much because we love so much, of course, because even as the life we love so much slips away we already feel the loss of relationship and presence.

Certainly Jesus knew the pain his mother was feeling, knew that she needed to be cared for in a society where widows and motherless children were often ignored or worse. So he did the best he could for her in offering her the companionship of John. Jesus neither asks nor commands John about this task; he simply and gently presents them to one another.

As we walk our Christian life, we are called to be more aware of one another. We are asked to “behold” one another, for certainly there are those in our life — whether we are aware or not — who are suffering and in need of our attention. Indeed, perhaps what they most need is for us to simply see — behold — them.

It is this same interaction of beholding that St. Ignatius uses to describe our prayer and relationship with God. When we enter into prayer, he suggests that we “consider God considering us.” As I write this the world once more is grieving over the killing of so many innocents in Belgium, so as we pray tonight we offer up a prayer especially for all those affected. We ask God to consider them, to behold them and gather them into his arms.

Ask yourself in silence: Who needs me to behold them today?

Tomorrow: Forsaken

The Seven Last Words: Paradise

Steve · March 21, 2016 · 2 Comments

Pardise — Paradise in Nicaragua. SJG photo.

Two: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Luke 23:39-43

Hanging on a cross and utterly helpless, Jesus’ torture — both physical and mental — continues. He has been in relentless pain for hours. He has plenty of reasons to be angry, to seek vengeance, to lash out at his attackers. And who would blame him? What man — especially an innocent man — would not defend himself, after all? Even one of the criminals hanging beside him, condemned to death the same as him, gets his licks in. “You’re the Messiah,” he shouts at Jesus, “save yourself and us!” But Jesus does not respond. Is this weakness or strength, we wonder? For this is how we see the world. An eye for an eye…

But in a quiet moment between the harangues of the thief, the other man speaks up, perhaps seeing for the first time the error of his life and ways. He knows, after all, that he deserves what he is getting. He calls out in anger and confusion at the one attacking Jesus, “Have you no fear? Are you a fool? We are guilty and our punishments fit our crimes. But this one — what is it about this one? — has done nothing wrong. Jesus,” he calls out in some last-minute attempt at redemption, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

What kind of response he was expecting we can only guess, but I can’t believe he thought for a moment he would hear this from Jesus: “Okay, I will,” Jesus says. “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Paradise — another world, another day, another chance.

Once again, we see the wounded, hurting, oppressed Jesus turning to love and forgiveness. He had no reason to do this and yet he is ready and quick to forgive and offer redemption. Hanging there, wracked with pain, he continues to love as if he has no choice.

The offer of paradise he offers the penitent thief is what he offers us still. In spite of our pain, our failings, our doubts, dependencies and deep-held grudges, he offers us paradise — another world, another day, another chance.

Ask yourself in silence: How can I find it in myself to be compassionate to those who lash out at me? How can I somehow find the strength to love in the very face of illness, evil, hatred or even death? How can I accept the offer of paradise?

Tomorrow: Mother

The Seven Last Words: Forgive

Steve · March 20, 2016 · Leave a Comment

One: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:33-34

We arrive at the place hauntingly called Golgotha (the Skull), where Jesus and his cross are lifted into place on that ugly hill, a criminal to his left and right. Jesus is tired, wounded and bloody from the torture he has experienced and from the long walk to Golgotha carrying his own instrument of death. He owes nothing to anyone.

Put in his situation (or one similar to it), what would our first words be to the crowd gathered before us? Perhaps something along these lines: “Stop! I have done nothing wrong! I don’t deserve this! This isn’t supposed to happen to me! You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Jesus, instead, turns away from hatred, denial and retribution and toward love, acceptance and forgiveness: “Forgive them, Father. They are just incapable of knowing what it is they are doing. As painful as this is for me, as unjust as the whole situation is, please, just forgive them.”

As we face (or contemplate) our own moments of suffering and death, we are asked to consider Jesus, the gentle healer and forgiver. Will we be able to reach deep beyond the pain and turn the situation to love? Will we be able to forgive those who have hurt us, who have left us feeling alone or with a burden that has been nearly too great to bear?

Ask yourself in silence: What will be the legacy of my suffering? Will it be more pain for someone else or a turn toward the kind of love modeled for me on the cross? Even as I exit, can I leave love behind?

Tomorrow: Paradise

Between the Lines: Holy Week, crucified.

Steve · April 19, 2014 · 2 Comments

Stations of the Cross at La Salle Retreat Center, Glencoe, MO. SJG photo.

Last night, sitting in church for the Good Friday service, what kept running through my mind were those words we are asked to shout out, as if we, too, bear some responsibility for his death: “Crucify him! Crucify him!” And I wondered what it must have felt like to hear your own death proclaimed, your fate sealed by a mob…

I suspected it was coming, I suppose, but I kept silently hoping for a reprieve, for them all to come to their senses and realize what they were doing to an innocent man. I kept hoping for the best that was in them to come out, for the spirit of God to come alive in them so they could see the truth before them. But I heard instead my death sentence, a proclamation that resonated within the people and echoed off the stone of the city.

I looked up at them as they cried out and wondered where the fear and hatred came from. What is it in me that threatened them so? These were my people — God’s chosen ones who had been promised a Messiah — and yet they were unwilling or unable to believe because I didn’t fit their expectations. When the truth of the promise stood before them, dripping with sweat and blood, they decided it was easier to fall back on what they knew for sure. Perhaps I cannot blame them for that, so I will not. Perhaps I was to them just one more failed and false prophet, threatening their relationship with a God who had seen them through some very dark and difficult times. Why rock the boat? Why believe in me?

But that word — crucify — is so vulgar and cold and harsh, so filled with a hatred that I could not imagine, so foreign from the idea of a powerfully loving God, so opposite of what I had been trying to teach them all. But even in that moment I knew that this evil and violent way would be the way for many, that the cry of “death” and “kill” in many different languages and cultures would echo down through history, depriving so many of simple joy and peace of mind and existence.

This day is so far removed and so estranged from the love that my Father has for all of these people. It is the absence of God in their hearts — even though God can never be truly absent — that fills them today, for the absence of God will always be filled by some other thing, a void that demands response, an itch that must be scratched.

O Jerusalem, I weep for you and your children.

Ask yourself in silence: What do you put in God’s place in your moments of confusion or weakness?

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?