Navigating Darkness

Matthew 2: 1-12

One of the movies I caught over the holidays was A Monster Calls. The story is about a young boy, Conor, who finds himself just overwhelmed by life and not able to take much more of it. His parents are divorced, he’s bullied at school because he’s become so isolated, and now the one consistency in his life, his mother, is dying of cancer. He has this ongoing nightmare where he feels as if life is slipping through his hands. There’s so much uncertainly that he lives in this constant state of fear, let along the anxiety and anger he’s experiencing because of this deep grief.

But he encounters this “monster” which is the tree outside in the cemetery that comes to life. Even that distracts him from the nightmare he’s used to. He begins to call upon it. He begins to realize that the “monster” isn’t out there in the cemetery, it’s deep within him. The monster keeps assuring him that he’s leading him to healing, to this deeper truth that gets lost in the darkness of despair and this ongoing lie that he’s holding onto that everything will be alright and his mother will somehow survive. He begins to learn how to navigate through the darkness that has so often consumed his life and learns to let go. It’s not easy for us adults let along a young boy trying to navigate.

This whole season has been allowing ourselves to wander and navigate that same darkness in our lives. Christmas does not expel the darkness nor does it somehow destroy it. We seem to operate in the world that we can get rid of it which only leads to greater darkness. These Magi we encounter today are learning to do the same in their lives. Even their navigation is a bit off, leaning on their own expectations of a king being born. They find themselves a few miles outside Bethlehem in Jerusalem, in what seems to be their final challenge in learning how to navigate this great darkness, the Herod that lies within.

Fear rules Herod and the land and it’s what the Magi now must face within themselves. He was a tyrant and often believed to have been paranoid in the end of his days. He too finds himself in a position where life seems to be slipping through his fingers and losing control. However, he doesn’t let it go. Rather, he takes it out on the most vulnerable, on the children and has them killed. It’s fear, darkness, and despair when it comes to Herod but a valuable lesson for the Magi seeking life, the newborn King. it’s a struggle for many of us, the darkness within ourselves that is so often easier to cast upon the other rather than learning how to navigate it all. Jerusalem will become that same place for the disciples as the story goes on. They too won’t understand the Christ until they first encounter that same darkness. It won’t come in the form of Herod but in the form of a crucifixion by others who are plagued by darkness. Jerusalem becomes the doorway to Bethlehem.

And so they find their way to the Christ. They offer their own gifts, in someways symbolic of their own journey and the darkness that they too had to confront. The journey to the Christ took them where they’d rather not go, where we would rather not go, but like God, we are often led without even knowing, into the great unknown, into this deeper reality of mystery. For young Conor and for the disciples, it was about seeking truth and truth leads to darkness and to life. He had to let go of what he knew. It was no longer about the head knowledge that we want to cling to and how it’s supposed to be or how we want it to be, but rather a deeper knowledge. It’s deeper knowing and truth that so often is beyond words but lies deep within, ever so gently navigating us through that very darkness that we have feared.

As this season of Christmas draws to a close, the journey really just begins. We’ll hear the call of the disciples to go deeper. We’ll hear the call to enter into this journey and to begin to learn to trust something deeper within themselves as they too are led to uncharted territory, where all that they have known begins to slip through their fingers. They will be left with the same choice as the Magi as the encounter the Christ. Do they leave it all at that crib, with great humility, life and death, or do they cling to what they can see, what they know, what they are comfortable with in life? It is what is asked of us as well. With God’s grace, we can learn to navigate the darkest of times, but we can’t deal with the darkness of the country or the world until we first begin to master it within ourselves. When we do, like the Magi, we can no longer go home the same way. The seeking of and finding of the Christ changes the course of our lives where we too go home by another way. It’s no longer about going home to what we know but into the unknown, into this deeper mystery. No, and not that physical place we call home, but deep in the recesses of our hearts and souls, ever so gently teaching and guiding us, while casting light, to navigate the darkness of our lives.

Mending What Divides

Well, it’s over. It’s the day we have waited for, seemingly for years now. If there’s one thing we can agree on, the election cycle of 2016 was taxing emotionally and physically at times. There were days when I just couldn’t look at Facebook because I knew it would suck any life I had out of me. I’ve tried to stay out of the fray except with those I knew I could have meaningful conversations with about politics and this race between Trump and Clinton, or at times, just want to joke about it. What was once a nice forum to connect with friends became a living nightmare at times over the past months. Some of the struggle was I couldn’t quite understand how people could be so certain about so much that they would see and hear and then here I am struggling with who I would vote for, even up to the moment I picked up the pen in the polling place and felt the magnitude of it all. I used to be that person, certain about what to do. Maybe it’s my own lived experience, but things just seem more grey than black and white and I’ve been awakened to my own hypocrisy more often than I care to admit through the process.
Now here I sit reflecting on what I, since Brexit months ago, knew would always be possible, whether I liked it or not or whether anyone else did either. It’s a process that needed to unfold. There’s some reality in knowing that there’s going to be negativity in the days and months leading up to an election, just as their was in Britain, but what I have often found most disheartening is the amount of negativity that persists afterwards. Just look at it. Go to Facebook or Twitter and you won’t have to search far to find it. The irony, or the paradox in it all, is as much as Trump has been bashed for hurtful words, and don’t get me wrong, they are hurtful to many people and cannot be a part of such a position as President of the Free World, my negative reaction or your negative reaction, should only make you pause and say, you know what, I’m not much different than him. It might just weigh on my heart differently than his or others.
What we often fail to miss is that the more we move the charge towards inclusivity others can begin to feel excluded. The message of Trump was not simply about going after Clinton, as some may think, it was a resonation and capitalizing on a very human reality of feeling excluded, taken advantage of, lied to, and hurt by a system. She just happened to be the sacrificial, iconic figure of it all. Some may begin to feel as if thing are out of control and they no longer matter. At the same time, some will feel as if they know better and can make decisions for others, often failing to remember the forgotten and the outcast. Before you know it, suspicion begins to grow, uncertainty, and trust wanes like never before. I find a new way to judge and exclude.
I may not be a deplorable, as has been said, but there’s a chance I may be a part of the infamous 47% or I may have become part of the elite without even knowing it, while trying to include, through my judgment, ever so quietly often begin excluding others. It’s hard, in the midst of such intensity, to separate ourselves from our own ego that gets wrapped up in the need to win and to be right. But when only one wins others lose rather than recognizing that to truly win, we all most lose and give up something as we seek a common path together. More often than not, it is my need to win and be right. I know even for myself, the way I begin to separate is only listen to people that agree with me or say what I say, inflating an ego rather than expanding ones heart.
The only way we will find this path is to recognize and accept that the other is not much different than myself. They may have different struggles, think differently, act differently, vote differently, say things I might not, but really they could say the same thing about me. The more we separate ourselves from each other the more fear takes over and grows and the ego, both my own and the collective begins to take hold and I begin to think that somehow I am better than the other, above them. If you ask me, the two that lost last night were the political parties of this country, Republican and Democrat; and quite frankly, they needed to lose and they need to break down and once again connect with the common person. When a cry is ignored or written off, people will go to extreme to be heard. The Parties have become more about the salvation of the party than about the people that they have tried to sway into believing that they held the truth in its entirety, while at the same time demonizing the other and excluding them. That’s the craziness of it all because it happens on both sides, in their own unique ways. We just become blind to our own team’s weakness and shadow.
It’s hard to include everyone and remember everyone when we enter into these presidential elections these days. It’s easy to write-off all who were a part of the losing team. It’s easy to gloat when we win. It’s almost instinctual for us as human beings. But as a man who has really wrestled with this election, it’s time more for this, reflecting and delving a little deeper into my own self, and quite frankly, as a country, asking God to break through the ego at the moment and recognize our own hurt, just as we did in the days following 9/11. It’s the only way we move forward as a country and as humans. There is a deep hurt that runs through the blood of many at the moment, and if you don’t feel it now then you probably did just a few days ago. Redemption doesn’t come through winning. It comes through healing.
That is where we find common ground, in our own hurt and in our own need for healing and stop convincing ourselves that our truest power comes from winning and from beyond ourselves, but rather lies deep within. It’s the way we separate ourselves from the ego of these Institutions that have taken hold of our lives and convince us we are nothing without them. It’s a hard path and journey to manage because pain and suffering seems to stand in the way and we want to avoid it, when life calls us to go forth through it. When we give ourselves that space in our lives, to be as we are, we will also give it to the other and only then will the divide begin to decrease and a common path begin to show itself once again.

Healing Divides

2 Kings 5: 14-17; 2 Tim 2: 8-13; Luke 17: 11-19

So often when we hear these healing stories within the gospels, the physical healing taking place almost becomes somewhat secondary to the spiritual healing that takes place. They appear to be so intertwined with one another. But it’s not just the physically wounded one that Jesus tries to heal. If you look at it from the perspective of God, healing is not limited to just a select few. It’s what causes so much of the tension with Jesus, that this God somehow seems to go beyond the boundaries that have been set by the people. Only by the grace of God will that begin to fall away and hearts begin to expand.

On the part of Israel and his Jewish brothers and sisters, Jesus tries to break down their image of who they think God is. They were the chosen people and began to believe it on all levels. They thought somehow the grace of this God was somehow limited to them where everyone else perishes. At times they probably felt that they didn’t even need this God; they had it handled on their own. There’s no doubt that there was contention with the Samaritans. That’s our first hint that this is more than just a physical healing that is going to happen. But the Samaritans as well need healing that goes beyond the physical. They were considered outsiders and often less-than-human, especially one suffering from leprosy. There had to be some feeling, for any of us, that this God had somehow abandoned them. So it all sets the scene for Jesus to bring about healing. For one it is a humbling and for another a raising up. How often does our own pride get in the way, thinking we can do it ourselves?

For Israel, as with Naaman in today’s first reading, there is a need for humility. He too had to get over himself. He just constantly fights with Elisha over what is being asked of him in order to be healed. Again, he had this idea of who God was and couldn’t understand why he was being asked to go into the murky waters of the Jordan to be healed. He couldn’t get over that. He was better than that and was insistent that he deserved better treatment from God. He questioned how this could happen to him in the first place, knowing his place. Yet, there was this one thing that he hated about himself that he couldn’t let go of. But Elisha was persistent as well. Elisha already understands the imminent God.

We see it in his response to the gift Naaman tries to give him. Elisha refuses and not because he somehow doesn’t see himself as being worthy of it. Rather, Elisha knows full well that this healing had nothing to do with him. It was all this God who leads Naaman to the murky waters of the Jordan working within and through him. Elisha the Prophet was an instrument of God’s grace and healing. In turn, Naaman comes through the experience a changed man, humbled by a God manifested in a different way, a new way than he ever could have expected. The very thing he hated about himself becomes the fullness of the grace given by God. Naaman finally opens himself up and God steps into his life.

Yet, there must be an openness on our part if we are going to experience such healing in our lives. We live with such division in our city, our country, and our world, with each side claiming to hold the truth. Yet, they’re all wrong. It’s God who reveals the truth. If we are in need of healing with anything beyond the physical, it’s a healing of God. We have a God problem. Using the imagery that Paul uses today in the second reading, our hearts remain chained. When we close ourselves off to the gospel we remain chained. Here he was in his final days of life, in prison, and yet speaks with such freedom. He has allowed himself to be open to the healing power of God, and even for him, persecutor of the Christians, the boundaries begin to fall away and God expands. Paul stands as a witness to us all of the possibility of conversion in our own lives. When we allow ourselves to be opened in that way, we become agents of change. We become agents of healing as he was and as Elisha was in today’s first reading.

In the time of such division with our politics and beyond, we must seek healing. If we feel we don’t need it, then we pray for an openness to it. We are all in need of healing from the divided lives we often live. It will only be through God that we will find such healing, such reconciliation. We can’t survive much longer as a race if we don’t find a way to seek understanding rather than living in fear and allowing our pride to stand in the way. God desires this healing for us now, at this very moment. As we open ourselves up to this healing, we begin to change the world. We become the agents of change. We become the agents of healing. It’s what this city, this country, and this world need now more than ever and God has us primed for such a healing in this very moment of our lives.

Unfinished Business

Acts 5: 27-32, 40-41; John 21: 1-19

After listening to the gospels for these first three weeks of Easter, it’s hard not to sit, scratching my head, wondering what’s going on with these disciples. They never quite seem to get it, despite the fact that John tells us that it’s now the third time the Lord appears! There seems to be this continuous gap for them in that their hearts are being led in a new direction through their experience of the risen Lord and then their lives. I suppose it’s a gap we all deal with in our own lives, that faith is something we do here on Sunday and then go about our business. But with the disciples, it’s supposed to be something different. They have followed and watched and rather than seeking out and following their hearts, they return to what they know; they return to fishing.

But something is different this time around. They come to the Sea of Tiberias with a lot of unfinished business in their lives, they gather with questions, and even continue to gather with fear, maybe not knowing what all of it means. This time, quite frankly, their hearts just aren’t in it. Their hearts have already moved on and yet they remain in what now seems like old hat for the disciples. But even this is different. The gospel tells us that they caught nothing; it seems as if they’ve even lost their touch with fishing, going the whole night and not catching even a single fish, leaving them, I’m sure, with more questions and simply gazing off in the darkened sky, their hearts elsewhere, and now another encounter with the Lord. Before they can embrace the freedom that we hear from them in Acts today, they must first have another encounter with the Lord and begin to grapple with and be freed from, this unfinished business of theirs.

And so there they are. No one questions who’s on the shore because they already know it’s the Lord. The gap between them and him seems immeasurable as they sit on the boat in the water. Here they are aware of the choices that they have made over these days that have led them to this place. They’ve watched all that he has done these years but their hearts never moved until now. They’ve abandoned, they’ve rejected, the’ve fled in fear, they grieve, and now they stand before the Lord once again. Peter remains with his unfinished business of denying the Lord but given the chance to be restored and freed from his own blindness, yet probably still feels the fear of judgment.

It’s amazing how much they change by the time we get to Acts. They’re like new people where their lives have seemed to have caught up with where their hearts had been leading them. They now stand before the very people that feared Jesus and wanted to see him gone. The power of Christ crucified, now raised from the dead, has spread far and wide and so the threat to the Sanhedrin is even greater. All their self-acclaimed power and authority is once again being challenged by these men that now appear fearless, free from all that has held them back in the gospel. They know their lives are at stake but they also know that they have found something greater than the Sanhedrin and anything they try to impose upon the people. But they don’t judge the Sanhedrin because they’ve been there. All they can do is walk away with joy-filled hearts. They knew they had everything to lose at that point, if they didn’t confront their own fear. They would have given into their heads rather than being led by their hearts. The disciples have been changed for good and they can no longer return. Fishing, for them, will take on new meaning.

And so it comes down for us as it does for Peter in today’s gospel about his own commitment to the Lord and this deeper love that he is called to in life. Do you love me, do you love me, do you love me? It’s so easy to answer in the affirmative, but again, Peter understands the unfinished business he believes he has with the Lord and yet it’s not Jesus’ approach. He never interrogates or questions in that way. Rather, he asks him if he loves him more than these, whatever “these” is. Was it these disciples? Or this old way of life? What are the “these” in our own lives that we tend to love more, if we can really call it that. It’s not usually love but rather a fear that so often disguises itself as love. Whether it’s our career, our wealth, our reputation, our fear, our own way of living, or whatever it may be, we all have “these” things in our lives that prevents us from turning our hearts over to the Lord fully. Yeah, the disciples eventually do and it changes them forever. But fear is hard to break in our lives because it so often is all we know. The disciples could try to imitate all that Jesus had done in healing, curing, feeding, and all the rest, but now he’s asking for more.

At this moment, we probably find ourselves somewhere in between the gospel and Acts. We may have the desire for that freedom that they experience in Acts and yet fear continues to hold. It leaves us, like them, with this unfinished business in our own lives. But Jesus is asking more and is leading us to more to a place where it’s not just imitating actions, but rather, having a heart like his. That’s what makes the question to Peter to pivotal and important for him and us. The gospel provides the image for us to sit with in our own lives and allow the Lord to ask us the same. You have to believe Peter came with guilt and shame at what he had done, but the Lord meets him there and invites him to that deeper place, that place of authentic love that will change him forever and that will change us forever as well!

Encountering a Lamenting God

1Kings 17:10-16; Mark 12: 38-44

There are different ways we can approach this gospel this weekend. There is the obvious contrast between the poor widow and the scribes in the first half and the differences of faith. Of course the scribes are called out once again for their long robes, flashy style, and so often self-serving faith as opposed to the poor widow, whom Jesus describes as giving from her poverty, her whole livelihood. All of that is true and one approach to what’s going on.

The other is from the perspective of Jesus. Bear in mind, we missed a week last week because of All Saints so we skipped Mark’s gospel but he has now entered into Jerusalem so the whole mood is beginning to change as we quickly approach Christ the King in two weeks and wrap up Mark’s gospel for the year. In between his rant on the scribes and the image of the poor widow, Jesus is sandwiched, simply sitting opposite the treasury and observing how the crowds put money into the treasury. As we approach the end of Mark’s gospel, Jesus begins to take a more passive role than he had done before and begins to slow down. Not in the sense of how we understand passive, in terms of doing nothing or not necessarily caring, but rather as suffering with and for the world and for the reality in which he is experiencing, what becomes the norm. In some ways, another approach to the gospel and Jesus is one of lament for what he sees and turns it into a teaching moment for the disciples.

Think about it. He never scolds those putting in money, even if they are giving from their surplus, he’s simply observing it all happen. It’s something we all have a hard time doing because we’d rather react to the situation rather than step back, observe, and respond in a way that brings about grace. So here he is in the middle of it all watching what’s going on. He sees what we’d often see even in our own day, that corruption remains, abuse remains, people taking advantage remains. When humans are involved, there’s going to be suffering, especially if we aren’t observing it in our own life and responding to it in a different way, suffering with the world.

But along comes the poor widow. After all he has seen, she comes along and offers hope in the midst of what he sees going on around him. In the midst of the reality is this woman who shows faith in a different way, from the place of poverty, her own livelihood, where she can trust something deeper and yet bigger than her at work. It’s no longer a message to the larger crowds that are now gathering in Jerusalem, but rather calls his disciples aside to now begin the invitation to a deeper call. They have witnessed all that Jesus has done these past months that we’ve heard in Mark’s gospel. They have seen and witnessed to the healings and so many other things that Jesus has done. But now, as the moment begins to arrive, doing won’t be enough. That’s a good place to start for the disciples. But now, in this place of suffering with and for the world, they will be called to seek a change of mind and heart and to begin to embody the message of Jesus beyond actions.

We can say something similar in this first reading from Kings today where we encounter the other poor widow, that God is the observer, suffering with and for this woman and her son. From there, it seems rather absurd that Elijah would come and make such a demand to be fed and to be given drink. Here’s a woman who’s down to her last meal for her and her son and yet, she goes with it. There was something different about Elijah and this woman. In some sense, they respond from their own place of poverty, of the Spirit calling from within, that God will transform what can be a disastrous situation into a moment of grace for all of them.

Jesus does that with the disciples as well. Despite the fact that he observes all of this going on, Jesus takes what has become the norm and ordinary, what is to be expected, and turns it into a moment of grace for the disciples. As the now come quickly to the reality of the Cross, they are going to be led to their own place of poverty and grow in trust and a deeper faith that goes beyond action and now rather comes from that place of poverty, their own livelihood. As I have said many times, much of these readings aren’t usually about the ordinary and what can be seen, but it is taking the ordinary and the seen and transforming into the extraordinary, into moments of grace. Isn’t that what we experience each time we gather here, in ordinary bread and wine, in ordinary lives like our own?

As we approach these final weeks of the liturgical year, we move toward the Cross with Christ and in Christ, encountering a God who continues to suffer with and for us, lamenting, in what we have often called, the norm, seeking transformation and change. We pray we may step back and observe the evil in our own lives and which we participate, and pray for the abundant grace of the Lord to transform us into His extraordinary grace.

Violence, again.

I turned the television off this evening. I couldn’t handle getting pulled into another senseless tragedy in this country surrounding violence, when someone out there feels the deep pain within themselves can only be “erased” through an act of violence on other human beings. Of course, as is often typical, it’s a man that harbors such anger, depression and hostility towards others, unable to confront his own pain and frail humanity while often living a split life virtually through a computer, believing there is somehow an absence of pain there; when in reality, it only compounds the pain all the more. When will we break free of the numbness that has consumed us, seeing lives not for what they are but as something and someone other than ourselves? Another moment when we feel helpless in the face of such tragedy and how often we do when it doesn’t impact us directly.

It’s hard not to have the past week or so as a backdrop when Pope Francis visited the 9/11 memorial in New York City, less than a week prior to the shooting in Oregon this day. Some of his very first words spoken publicly at the memorial were, “The water we see flowing towards that empty pit reminds us of all those lives which fell prey to those who think that destruction, tearing down, is the only way to settle conflicts. It is the silent cry of those who were victims of a mindset which knows only violence, hatred and revenge. A mindset which can only cause pain, suffering, destruction and tears.” Although he speaks of the utter destruction of human life taken on that day back in 2001, in how many other circumstances can they relate? Parents having to make sense of their sons and daughters who will never return home from school, from the streets, from serving in another country. Sons and Daughters, brothers and sisters, never having the opportunity to fulfill whatever it is they were studying and the dreams that had still lied dormant within their souls.

That empty pit, as Pope Francis spoke of, lies deep within all of us, tears running steadily on what seems and appears to be an open wound in our country and in the hearts and souls of so many. It’s hard to fully understand the plight of another and the internal struggle that ensues the human soul. We can get stuck in that mindset that somehow we can erase the pain from our lives and that of the country by eliminating what it is that we hate, undoubtably hate about ourselves and a God that seems to have all but abandoned. Yet, the path of conversion and the descent into the soul takes us on such a painful journey within ourselves where we can move to less reaction to the world while becoming more aware of our own hurt, knowing that deep within that pain is the place of great gift that we have to offer to the world. Yet, we avoid it, shun it, hate it, bury it, try to rid ourselves of it, unable to face what has hurt us the most, leaving us with never-ending violence in our lives, on our streets, in our classrooms, in our homes, and around the world.

It’s hard to understand the call for further violence in the world once you begin to understand and learn from it within yourself, seeking healing and reconciliation rather than blame or victimhood. As a matter of fact, all you can do is cry with the world, cry with the parents, their siblings, this country, when over and over again we quickly move into debate rather than as Pope Francis had continued last week, “to settle conflicts through dialogue.” We fight about guns and we fight about mental illness, all of which is an illness within itself, shattered egos, when we fail to see the larger vision of this humanity and the divine indwelling, and the lives that are being cheated, stolen, and destroyed, unable to lament our own brokenness and short-sightedness, unable to see the face of this merciful God. It’s hard to understand that all of it takes precedence over a human life, any human life, that has been wounded, that at this time needs to be held, loved, healed, understood, listened to rather than talking over and lost in the realm of policy, self-interests, political gain. Numbers; it’s all that we are to any of that, numbers, votes, dollar signs, whatever way you look at it, the dignity of the human life is lost in the scream of violence that has become second-nature in our lives and world. We find ourselves, over and over again, lost in that bottomless empty pit within ourselves trying to make sense of the tears, trying to understand the pain and hoping that one day there will be peace.

Violence, again. And all I can do is weep.

Pushing Through the Pain

Isaiah 35: 4-7a; James 2: 1-5; Mark 7: 31-37

“Be strong, fear not!” are the words we hear from Isaiah today, a message of hope to people Israel as they push through and return from Exile. Yet, it’s a message that doesn’t always seem to jive with the reality of what we see in our world. It’s hard to forget, and maybe we’re not supposed to, the image of that young Syrian boy washed up on the shore, dead, fleeing for life. Or closer to home, a young ten year old shot this week in the city, among many others who have been shot and or killed over these past months…it seems difficult to have hope in the face of so much suffering. We somehow think that politics will, in some way, take care of these problems, fix them, make them go away, and yet we can see how far that goes. These aren’t political problems but rather deep human suffering that can’t be fixed, only healed.

Like any of us, when we find ourselves in such desperation, and maybe that’s the hard thing for people like us who live pretty comfortably, to be at wits end with life, trying to survive, to imagine what it must be like. Yet, we are all designed to know deep down that there’s something more to life. This can’t be it. There’s got to be something more to it all than such suffering. So people flee for somewhere else and something more, hoping for a better life and willing to risk it all for that, even to the point of death. Most of us don’t know such desperation nor suffering in that way.

It’s so often the motivation for people Israel, now finding themselves moving out of exile in today’s first reading from Isaiah. Even in the midst of believing God had abandoned them. Somehow God had driven them into such destruction. Somehow God didn’t care. Yet they lived with that hope that Isaiah speaks of today. There is that internal drive within them that carries them on and through some of the darkest moments and days of their lives. How can they ever forget the experience? They keep pushing through, fear not, be strong, that internal drive that takes them through the pain and into life, back to the place they call home. So often we hear Pope Francis say go to the place of the pain, the place of suffering. Now we know we must do it in our own lives as well, but he encourages us to go to it in our world. It’s not only the other who will be healed, it’s us who are changed and transformed.

It’s way too easy for us to separate ourselves from the pain of the world and our own pain for that matter. It’s so easy for us to say, all of what we see going on around us and the world, is not our problem. Yet, if another suffers, we all suffer. How can we not be so moved when we see that young boy lying on the shoreline? How can we not be so moved when we hear of ten year olds and teens being shot and or murdered in this city? Maybe it’s not them that are in exile but me and you. Maybe it’s us who are self-reliant. Maybe it’s us who, comparatively speaking, live pretty well. Maybe it’s us who are self-sufficient and without such great needs. Maybe it’s all of us that contribute and turn a blind eye to our own participation in corrupt systems that perpetuate so much of the suffering in our world and lives. Those who suffer and live in desperation have nowhere else to turn but to a power much larger than themselves, praying to pass through into the life that God calls them to now. We’ll do anything to avoid it and turn away from it rather than to learn as people Israel, to go straight into the eye of the storm of our lives and the lives around us in order to heal the other and ourselves. God wants to use that pain to bring not only us but others to life.

Jesus goes out of his way to seek out the deaf man with a speech impediment in today’s gospel. If you check out the geography lesson at the beginning of the gospel today you’ll find that he goes nearly thirty miles out of his way to reach this place of pain, to go to this place of suffering. We must keep in mind the life that this guy would have led at that time. He too would have been isolated and not a part of the community. He was seen as having something wrong with him. It’s almost as if Jesus was honing in on his pain, his own exile, separated from the community, wanting to bring him into life. He literally, as the reading tells us, touches with his hand and finger the very place that hurts to make whole again. This guy is not only one who needs physical healing but spiritually and internally as well. But again, who is it really that lives in exile; is it not again the one who turns a blind eye and have exiled him from the community?

James certainly seems to say it quite plainly and openly in today’s second reading and challenges us to recognize where we are separating those who are suffering in our lives and world. When we exile those who are poor and suffering we exile ourselves. As he says, it says more about us than it does the poor. It’s our own judgment. When we can’t confront the pain in our own lives it’s increasingly difficult to walk through it with others. James challenges us to do so in this reading today. Like people Israel and so many others in our world, there is hope in that we will pass through into life.

We will do anything to detour and separate the suffering of our lives and that of the world. We simply try to politicize it and make it someone else’s problem. Yet, the more we choose to do it that way the more we exile ourselves. That has consistently been the message of Pope Francis and I’m sure it will be when he comes here in a few weeks. There will always be that part of us that tells us there’s got to be something better but to get there, oh, it can be so painful, to the point of losing our very lives. Yet, that’s where we are led, to the place of healing through the place of pain which leads, exactly where God has always wanted us, the place of life. In the face of such adversity and suffering in our world, we pray we continue to not turn a blind eye or a deaf heart, but rather dive into the suffering of our lives and world. We will not only be changed but the world with change with us.