The Problem of God

Much has been written on the problem of Evil. It’s the ageless question of how to make sense of so much evil and destruction in the world and still believe in a loving and just God. One of the most famous of books was written by Jewish Rabbi, Harold S. Kushner, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, writing of the process of trying to reconcile these seeming opposites in our lives. It’s a challenge for the most astute and keenly aware people, let alone those who have such sudden changes in their lives when it begins to feel as if everything is falling apart around us, when we feel as if we’re losing control over things, including our own lives and all that we have considered normal.

All of that is true, but I firmly believe that the struggle between God and Evil is so closely intertwined that it becomes not just a problem with evil as much as it is with God. It seems rather hard to believe that an issue in our lives is with God, but in my experience it’s so often more the reality, even in the face of evils and great suffering. Even in our political discourse in this country has a God problem, since politics and religion also have been so intertwined and institutionalized, parties often hijacking religious beliefs in order to support their own self-interest.

On the right, there is a very legalistic image of God that leaves very little wiggle room for encounter and the struggle with sin and human suffering, often leading to greater suffering but blinded by it. This view of God holds God tightly in a box, black-and-white, right and wrong, and so on and so forth. Sure, there are morals and boundaries that help us to function as society and are necessary in many ways, especially in raising future generations. However, that’s not an entirety of God. Quite honestly, whenever God is boxed in in that way there’s very little room for mystery and depth in life, God remains a distant reality that is always watching our every move. It often leads to a god of shame and judgement.

On the left, often quite the opposite. “Everything and anything goes” can rarely be sustained. There’s often more a pursuit of a utopia than of the Kingdom of God that Jesus preaches in the Gospel. It’s often a more acceptable means because at first it’s pursuit is good, equality for all and progress. However, it too has its shortfalls. In pursuing such a perfect place and institutionalizing it, we begin to lose the perfect and gradually no longer have a need for God, for the perfect is found here, in another ideology, but often at the expense of excluding others and thought that differs. We see this playing itself out in “safe spaces” and even the upheaval on college campuses of having opposing speakers come and voice opinion that differs. Again, if it’s of God, the factor of human limitation must be accounted for in our lives. It’s short-sighted in that it becomes yet another way to box God in but in a different way.

Both lack a desire for a seeking of truth and a deeper knowing, shallow in their approach when it becomes concrete and lived with such certainty. This problem exists in our politics but also in our churches around the globe, fearing a movement towards something deeper in our lives and using our own god to judge others and exclude. Sure, there is a problem with evil and we can name many of the atrocities that exist in our world, such as poverty, war, refugees, racism, and many others that have taught us to separate and to judge and to often believe in a God that isn’t even close to the deeper mystery that God truly is and can never be fully appreciated or experienced in our lives, managing to live patiently with the tension of these realities and learning to respond differently, not with ideology but with love.

What we’ve done over the past decades is to institutionalize these gods in one form or another rather than seeking the incarnate God in Christ Jesus. We have given them foundations that have become hard to break, but as time now presses on, we gradually see the collapse of the institutions on all levels, these internal structures that have defined us all for years now no longer serve the common good as gaps and divisions continue to widen. However, when it begins to happen, even in our own lives, and we are invited into something new, into deeper mystery, we fear the unknown and where it may be leading us because we have made them into gods for ourselves, giving us comfort and assuring us of some kind of known. All that we desire from religion becomes projected onto our institutions, which people no longer trust, which begin to make us feel boxed in, and become self-serving. Quite frankly, leads to an evil in and of itself. In other words, nothing to do with God but laced with godly language to cover-up. Both sides of the argument are just as guilty as the next for the death of God in this way.

If I’ve learned anything about God and myself over the years it’s that I am a hybrid of all of it. I am never, in this life, going to know and understand the fullness of this God in all God’s mystery nor myself or anyone else. There’s a lot I know from my own lived experience and suffering but there’s also a lot I don’t know. As a matter of fact, it’s that unknown that God seems to always be leading. At times I want to put up the gutter bumpers, somehow trying to maneuver a new territory and at other times desiring that utopia, where all is perfect, avoiding any type of suffering in my life but at the same time, rejecting the invitation to something more in my life. But we don’t live in a perfect world and somewhere in the middle this tension exists between the two which is mysterious in and of itself. It’s where my mind and heart are being invited to being opened to something new. But when I’ve institutionalized something that isn’t meant to be institutionalized, and quite frankly, is bigger than any institution, it becomes increasingly difficult to seek mystery, unknown, because as we hold on tight to what has been institutionalized and is in a dying form, we fear the unknown, and yet, the unknown is where God most often is and invites us.

The pursuit of truth and the ongoing call to conversion in our lives leads us to that place of tension and when we can no longer see or hear the other we’ve once again boxed not only God but ourselves in, closing ourselves off to that pursuit and a life of conversion, closed to finding not our way but a third way. I’ve seen it on both sides; we’ve all seen it on both sides. We have a problem with God because we’ve created gods we can hold onto and yet no longer trust. We have created gods that have been faithful to us to this point but now no longer serve us. Yet, rather than stepping back and allowing even a crack into our certainty, we hold on for dear life even though we know deep down that it’s not leading to life but further into darkness and death. It’s the ongoing struggle with the mystery of life and death that we all are, like it or not.

It’s not God, though, that’s dead or dying. Rather, it’s the gods, the golden calves, we’ve created and convinced ourselves of that are God, that are dying. They have been faithful to us but they’ve also helped create a sick codependency. They have brought us safety and security, in their own way, but have now stifled us from going anywhere. They have brought us certainty and total knowing, we like to think, but have closed us off to creativity and imagination. They have helped us pursue our agendas but at the same time forced us to settle form something less than we are as people. We convince ourselves that they have opened us up to freedoms and liberty, but in reality, have made us less free and bound, chained to our way of thinking. What they’ve done is closed us off to this deeper mystery we call God.

The death of something we cannot see and yet believe to be God is always a daunting reality. It’s almost easier to deal with the death of a loved one or a friend because of their finiteness. In order for us to get unstuck in our lives, as individuals and as country, then we must allow these gods to die and grieve their loss as faithful servants. Our faith, in its deepest liberating grace, moves us to that place in our lives, to let go of our addictions, not only to these tactile gods but also to our thoughts and our own institutionalized versions of these gods that have led to a deep mistrust. We are much more than it all because we are a part of this deeper mystery. We will always be limited and our ideologies will always be limited, but none of it should ever close us off to the pursuit of the limitless even in our finite world. That is not the pursuit of these institutionalized gods, but rather truth and this known and yet so unknown mystery we call God.

Freedom to Love

Sirach 15: 15-20; I Cor 2: 6-10; Matthew 5: 17-37

Despite being a rather lengthy gospel, containing probably enough for ten homilies, there are some common themes that hold the passage together, in particular, the way it begins where Jesus reminds the disciples on this continuation of the beatitudes, that he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, in the context of somehow surpassing the righteousness of the scribes and pharisees.

So what’s going on? First of all, the law has it’s place. If anyone knows this it’s us. As Americans we have a tendency to obsess about the law more than anything else. We know it brings order to chaos but it also is there to protect us from harm or if we are harmed. The problem with law, despite all it provides, is what Sirach tells us in the very first line of the first reading today where he states, if you choose you can keep my commandments. It’s not a bad thing. However, I can will myself into following the law. I don’t kill. I don’t steal. Yeah, maybe break traffic laws from time to time, but for the most part, I can will myself into following the law. At the same time, it’s not going to bring fulfillment and quite frankly, there’s not a whole lot of joy in my life if I stop at simply willing myself to following the law. It’s tiring. It’s burdensome. It takes a great deal of energy. Honestly, that was the issue with the scribes and pharisees. They were obsessed with the law and it all stopped there.

The law says…but I say, Jesus says. Sure, there’s a place for all of that in our lives but we also know, in all of his statements that follow, he specifically deals with relationships. Relationships are hard and don’t always fall into the bounds of the laws we try to follow. There are elements that rise above, such as forgiveness and love. That’s the rub when it comes to this obsession with the law for the scribes and pharisees and which Jesus warns his disciples, when you become so fixated on it, there’s no room for love or forgiveness. That will be his message that follows next week. The law may be great for keeping order and creating some kind of boundary, protecting us from harm or if we were harmed, but it doesn’t leave much room for the greater law of love and forgiveness.

But we can’t stop there. It’s easy to say that I don’t obsess over the law. I am a person of love and forgiveness. Is it really that easy? There’s another law that has a tendency to creep into our lives and that’s the law we create for ourselves and try to hold others accountable. That’s also the reality of the scribes and pharisees, again, not leaving much space for love and forgiveness, and for that matter, error as human beings. That’s a necessary reality as humans because we’re not always going to choose in a way that brings about life. It starts to creep in when I say things should be this way, or we do things this way, and we try to hold ourselves and others to these self-proclaimed laws that aren’t even realistic and quite frankly, leave no room for God and the Spirit at work.

Paul speaks of that Spirit working in our lives in today’s second reading. The Spirit often meets us in this rub in our lives between the tension and this deeper desire for love and forgiveness. Somehow, as he tells us, the Spirit scrutinizes everything, even the depths of God, trying to lead us to that deeper place in our lives. We are so often so unaware that we even do this to ourselves or others because it becomes our unconscious way and habitual that we don’t see it and can’t even begin to imagine ourselves not having it, because, like the law, it feels like we’re losing control and the law brings order and protects. In reality, it can protect and bring order all it wants, but once, we the people, are involved, there must to room for hurt, pain, suffering, and ultimately, love and forgiveness. No judge or arbitrator can ever bring that about in our lives and our relationships, only by allowing ourselves to enter into that rub, that tension in our lives, where we can be moved forward by the Spirit.
The gospel today challenges us to seek that awareness in our lives when we are obsessing about the law. As I said, it may not be civil law, it may not be Church law, although it can be, but it can also be that law we create for ourselves that acts as a way to control and protect us from being hurt, but it can also cut us off not only from others but from God. The more we are aware of our actions in that way, whether we want to admit it or not, where we make choices that lead to death and joylessness, the more we open ourselves to the grace leading us to let it go and create space for love and forgiveness. Why would we want anything less? Control can never bring it. Walls cannot bring it. Protection cannot bring it. Only the grace of God and the relationships that feed us in that way will bring us to a place where we can acknowledge the need for law but it no longer needs to define me.

Living With Uncertainty When Certainty is Expected

I question almost everything in life. No, I wouldn’t and don’t consider myself a skeptic by any stretch of the imagination, but I am a seeker and someone who’s always looking for a deeper truth in almost any place I can look. There isn’t a stone unturned that isn’t examined from every different perspective imaginable, despite the fact that the stone will always be a stone. In moments of questioning, as I do, there is always a truth to hold onto; the stone remains a stone, even if smashed. Just the same that, who I really am, in the eyes of God, will always remain, no matter how much it feels like what I have known is also falling apart.

It’s easy to analyze a stone, but when it comes to our lives, we live with a much greater amount of uncertainty, despite our most basic of instincts wanting to grab onto something we can be certain of, bringing us some sense of peace, albeit momentarily, in moments when it feels as if everything is falling apart around us. I only know it because I’ve been there in my own life, my natural inclination to return to what I am most comfortable, not wanting to live with the uncertain and the uncomfortable. It’s as if, at times, where in my life I am playing a game of ping pong between the two, not always wanting to sit in the tension of the two, in finding another way of going forward. However, more often than not, even that feels like the unknown and uncertainty in my life because we have become so accustomed to our own way of thinking, tribal thinking, nonetheless.

We all want to belong. It might be the one thing we can be certain of in life. It begins with our desire to be a part of a family, and then peers, coworkers, church, political party, for it gives us some kind of definition in our lives and also provides us a platform to stand upon and something to stand up for in our lives, especially if we haven’t found our own voice. It gives us the certainty that we want in life, that helps to keep us feeling safe, despite its very rooting in fear. What we fail to see is that so much of it isn’t worth standing for and yet we’re willing to go to the stake for it, defending something that merely lies at the surface of who we are and never moves to the deeper understanding of our soul, of our identity in Christ and who we are as people.

I have found myself struggling greatly these days, in particular for a man that does question and seeks deeper meaning in life and in the world. I have found myself struggling with our inability to see ourselves in a different light, where we have gone wrong and where the Gospel demands us to look at our own fragility and shadow side that only seems to loom larger with each passing day and week. I struggle with how we can be so certain about where we go as a country, often locked in our tribal thinking that only seeks to destroy us as a people, when, even in my own life, I am almost never certain of direction. Something is dying and yet we fear it so greatly that we must clamp down on what we know and what we’re certain of, all the signage that has defined us as a tribe, digging our heels in all the more rather than allowing ourselves to sit without reacting and learning as to what it’s revealing about me and my life and what I’m holding onto and where I need to let go, a nonviolent resistance towards myself. Whether we like it or not, we don’t need to build walls as a nation because we’ve already done it with each other and our tribes. The mere desire of building walls rather than bridges should not surprise us, for that is what and who we have become and now we reflect it outwards. For all intensive purposes, the wall has already been built and each of us has helped to lay the bricks over these years.

Sure, maybe it’s not our tribe that wants to build walls, cutting ourselves off from foreign land. That doesn’t exclude me from my own fears and building of walls in our own ways. If it’s not our bricks we can almost be certain that it’s our cement that is helping to hold it together. We become name callers and step onto the world stage with a pride that dampens my ability to see the other as myself. We demonize and put down and think less of because of my own certainties rather than questioning and opening myself up to the possibility of doubt. In this quest for deeper meaning, it becomes unsettling and raises anxiety for our humanity, and maybe because of such tribal thinking, we must always view everything as winners and losers, and yet, when we do we all remain losers, giving into our own fears and continuously reacting, out of our own fear and often self-righteousness, while gradually cementing the walls of separation, each certain of the answers and direction yet neither seeking “a more perfect union” but rather a win for my America, not ours. A win for my tribe, not the common good.

Do I see walls as an obstruction, of course, but I also believe we live in a finite world, often plagued by sin. Do I believe that when the dignity of any human person is being violated we must, if anything, be open to providing out of our abundant resources, absolutely, but I am also aware of my own mortality and fragility in always getting it right. It’s what makes me question and seek deeper understanding and meaning and to examine that stone I’m ready to throw from all different perspectives before I cast judgment, knowing I may have missed a perspective different from my own. I also believe that we must also serve our own. I see them daily from the comforts of my office window, encountering them as they go and wait, often times in the biting cold, waiting for food. They’re not moochers and lazy, they’re my brothers and sisters to whom it’s often more comfortable to journey with in life. That I am certain of; so much else doesn’t matter much anyway, many times simply seeking the necessities of life.

It’s easy to talk and it’s easy to cast judgment from behind my computer screen; really easy. I hike myself upon my high horse and cast the stones that I have accumulated, building a wall around myself, a tribe of one at times. How easy it can be to start throwing, free of reason, free of reflection, free of understanding, free of love, and yet, not free at all. That’s the irony of so much of our circumstances and the way of thinking that has plagued us. We fight for freedom for all and yet we’re not even free ourselves. I’ve learned that so much is theory, even the Gospel, until we have that personal encounter with the other who hurts and who we have walled out over time. I think of the homeless I have ignored. I think of someone who looks different that I feared. I think of someone who spoke in derogatory ways when I didn’t speak out of fear or wanting to be liked. Then the encounter. Then the uncertainty. Then the breaking down of the walls and ego. Then the change of heart. Then the comfort with mystery and unknown. Then the discernment. Then the nonviolent resistance. Then the real change that is needed.

All too often we pick and choose what it is we think is most important and what we’ll speak out against, so often as it’s been defined and spun for us, but at the heart of all of it are fragile human beings, often used and abused as consumers to get what we want for our own gratification and to stroke our own ego. Over the years, in particular since 9/11, we have gradually laid bricks and cemented them into place tightly around the heart of this country that found itself deeply wounded, an innocence lost and taken away, trying so desperately to fill that void with something, with a certainty we think we once had, the city on a hill, the beacon of hope to the rest of the world. It’s time we “tear down that wall” and no longer band-aid what has ailed us as a country. My fear is we will only continue to build the walls higher and with stronger cement; but one day Troy will fall, as every empire eventually does in time, when it can no longer sustain it’s own perceptions and illusions that it thinks it is, an illusion of strength, an illusion of superiority, especially when everyone else knows otherwise.

You can only avoid your own pain and hurt for so long before it catches up with you. That I am certain of and have experienced. The greatest challenge is, that when that uncertainty and doubt begins to creep into our lives, as it always will, that we don’t quickly react to it, laying yet another brick and stone; rather, to respond to it with love, for it is only love that begins to crack walls and move us forward and inward to our deepest identity that promises life and death, always uncertain and yet seeking, discerning what is necessary to lead not to more certainty to hold onto, but rather, the wings needed to fly above and beyond while descending me to greater depths of meaning and understanding while encountering my own deeper humanity in the other.

It’s not about our tribes and this reptilian brain that wants to trap us into our way of thinking and this need for certainty. Rather, it’s about our consciousness of it happening within me and setting it free. Then, and only then, do I begin to find the space necessary in my life for certainty and uncertainty, known and unknown, fact and mystery, superficiality and deeper meaning, tribal and yes, our truest identity, all of us, that holds all things together in Christ. That is why I question. That is why I seek. And for me, that is what it means to live with faith, with uncertainty, when all too often people demand certainty. If I’m so certain, I then question where God is in my life.

If You Are…

This feast, Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, is a fairly new feast in the Church, only 91 years. It began in 1925 by Pope Pius XI as a response to a rising secularism, especially in Europe. Of course, it doesn’t seem to have somehow altered that history. If secularism were a religion, and it is in some ways, it would probably be one of the largest on Earth. Pius XI saw the separation of religion from government that was worrisome. Today, though, it goes even further and maybe a step backwards to individualism. It’s now individuals who are separating themselves from something and someone larger than themselves not just governments. It seems to even escalate here in the States and in Europe this sense of separation, that nations become the center of their own universe. Only time will tell where it will lead us. In the past it has often led to war due to separation and this sense of isolation that causes speculation and mistrust.

When we do begin to separate ourselves from something and someone larger than ourselves is often when we find ourselves getting into trouble. We start to make selfish choices that we think only impact us and forget about those around us. David was such a person whom we hear from in Second Samuel today. He was considered the ideal king. He was young and had lots of energy. But it eventually goes to his head. He eventually begins to believe that he’s all that and not only the King of Israel but also the king of his own life. It begins to impact his relationships and will bring about a fall, a sense of humility has he’s put in his place in life and once again reconnects with the true King and he truly does go onto be one of the greatest. He comes to the realization that he can’t do it on his own and must keep his eye on the true Kingdom.

This tension that exists in our lives as well, between individualism and the reality of the greater Kingdom, plays itself out in today’s gospel from Luke. It’s the last we’ll hear from Luke this year as the liturgical year comes to a close. Jesus finds himself hanging between these two realities. He’s faced with the same temptation that he does in the desert that we heard back in Lent. There’s the crowd and the one thief that puts pressure on Jesus to prove himself. They’re so closed in on their own pain that they miss what’s really going on. There’s the temptation to do it yourself, in somehow I’m able to save myself and no need of a God or anything or anyone bigger than myself. Of course, though, on the other side hangs who we often refer to as the “good thief”. There’s an acknowledgement on his part that he is in need of something bigger, a need for mercy and forgiveness. And there’s Jesus, hanging smack dab in the middle of the two and standing in the middle of our own tension with that reality, that sense we can do it ourselves and don’t need God and a place within us crying out for something more, mercy and forgiveness.

In his letter to the Colossians, Paul, in one of the oldest hymns in the New Testament, tries to give community after community this same perspective in their lives. He speaks of not a Christ of the Universe but rather a cosmic Christ that has always been and continues to be to this very moment, unfolding within and yet beyond us. It’s a hymn that expresses the deepest desire of our hearts, this desire for expansion. But it is only the one who stands as mediator that can expand hardened and hurting hearts. The more hardened they become the more we rely upon ourselves, not in need of any God. Our own pride gets in the way. We want to blame everything under the sun as to why people don’t need God or want Church, from soccer fields to wanting to be spiritual and not religious, but there is always a deeper reality at play, that often goes unseen. It is often our own struggle with the two thieves in our lives and often giving into the one that steals our freedom and convinces us that I am enough for me and that salvation is up to me rather than seeing salvation as a communal reality.

This feast will hopefully continue to give us pause in our lives, not only today but with each passing day that we are given, not only as individuals but as community, nation, and world. The more we separate ourselves from the source of life the more we become hardened and no longer feel the need for something or someone bigger than ourselves. Not Christ but I become the center of the universe. We begin to fear expansion like globalization and try to hunker down and isolate ourselves as fear takes root in our hearts. What we truly desire is the expansion of our hearts, to embrace all we encounter and recognize the need for the other and the Other. There will always be that part of us that thinks we can do it alone, the rise of individualism in our own lives, but we must recognize the tension and the desire for connectedness and oneness, the seeking of that Paradise that is promised, not by me, but by the mediator, the one who stands at the center of this tension in our lives and world, Jesus Christ, the true King of the Universe.

Increase Our Faith

Habakkuk 1: 2-3; 2: 2-4; Luke 17:5-10

Increase our faith. It seems like a rather simple request coming from the Apostles in today’s gospel, but when we speak of any of these virtues, we seem to have a tendency to use them rather loosely. We can often throw them around without ever recognizing the magnitude of the request being made, as it is with the disciples in today’s gospel. We tend to limit faith to dogma or doctrine, something we can hold onto, but that doesn’t even begin to come close to the biblical faith that they truly desire or the faith that Jesus is going to lead them to in their journey.

It’s safe to say, though, that they’re primed for something. If you think about all that we’ve heard the past weeks and months, they really are aware of the tension that is building between Jesus and so many of the leaders. They’ve witnessed it in their interactions and in his story telling, only seeming to escalate things, allowing the drama to unfold until we come to an encounter with the Cross. It’ll be in that moment when they finally come up against something they can’t explain or rationalize, and certainly can’t control, before they can finally be pushed through and begin to make sense out of what they are asking today when they ask for an increase in faith, a faith that can move mountains.

It may be the anonymous programs where we find a deeper meaning to what it means to be faithful. It’s not something that can be taught. It’s only where we can be led in our lives and be open towards. Step one of the programs, and probably the most difficult of all of them, is to recognize and accept that we are powerless and that there is a higher being than ourselves. It’s so hard but it’s such a movement towards the faith we desire in our lives and the faith given to and show to us by Jesus.

There may be no others in Scripture where we see it exemplified than in the Prophets. Today we hear from the prophet Habakkuk. For the entire chapter Habakkuk does nothing but lament to God for all that he has seen and witnessed. All the violence, the injustice that has unfolded, the vast amount of darkness that seems to rule the land. It’s not much different than our own lives and the world in which we live. It can push us to a place where we begin to feel helpless and even lose hope, wondering why God can ever let such things happen. At times all we can do is also lament to the Lord. Finally, God gives some response to Habakkuk. The Lord hears his plight and the plight of the people, but simply assures him that it’s in God’s hands and will occur in God’s time. It’s so often at those moments of surrender when we can finally begin to let go of our own need to try to control and fix things and simply place them in the hands of God. I am powerless to so much of it and all I can do is surrender it to a higher being. It’s trust. It’s faith.

For the disciples it will come in the form of a Cross. It’s going to be the pinnacle moment of tension in their lives when they recognize that what they are truly seeking is not something they can hold onto. As a matter of fact, dogma and doctrine isn’t worth a hill of beans if there’s no faith in a higher being and a mystery always trying to reveal before and within us. Quite honestly, we can practice religion our entire lives without ever going to this deeper place, this vast place within ourselves, where we truly learn to let go of that which has power over us, and so often it’s the way we think and it is what we have believed. There’s no final point to the journey. Faith is always leading us deeper and yet beyond ourselves, into mystery with another opportunity to let go, surrender to this ever-manifesting God.

Increase our faith. It does seem so simple a request asked by the disciples in today’s gospel, but there’s nothing easy about it. It is an invitation that remains with us throughout our lives to once again be pushed where we’d rather not go, to the place of great suffering where we will once again need to give up control and our need to know and simply learn to trust. It’s God who will push us through and lead us to this place. It’s God who will push us through to this place of faith, where we once again surrender and let go, and in God’s time, allow our hearts to grow to greater depths of faithfulness.

Humbling Connectedness

Sirach 3: 17-18, 20, 28-29; Hebrews 12: 18-19, 22-24; Luke 14: 1, 7-14

I don’t need to tell you that Jesus has this tendency to create tension wherever he goes. It’s as if conflict follows him into all these different situations. Today is no different. He stands, as the writer of Hebrews tells us today, the Mediator, between these two opposing realities.

There’s first the reality of the Pharisees. They are the center of religious power and a power that often went far beyond religion. They saw themselves in many ways as gods and the keeper of the law. Here he is in the leading Pharisees house on the Sabbath so naturally there’s going to be tension. He heals a guy which already counts as a strike against him and then begins to observe the actions of the Pharisees, who, on many levels, are oblivious to what’s going on and how their actions appear and speak to others.

Then there’s this other reality that he presents to them through the telling of parables and who should be invited to dinner. It’s the poor, the crippled, the lame, and every other outcast of society. It’s the people that have been ostracized by the pharisees for one reason or another. Yet, they are the ones that Mediator raises up in humility. So what makes their reality so unique? I’m not saying everyone because they too are human but the difference often comes in this deep connectedness that they have that goes beyond the community that they’ve been ostracized from, a deeper connection with what is bigger than themselves. They’ve had to learn because of their lives to have faith and put trust in the One that is bigger than themselves, as opposed to the pharisees whom often saw themselves as the ones that are bigger than the other.

All of this is the realities that Jesus steps into as Mediator and tries to find another way, a third way as it is often called, to bring together these opposing opposites. But we know not only from the time of Jesus but our own time as well that it just doesn’t seem to happen. When the people in authority and who hold the power are put into such a position they don’t want to budge. The buckle down and try to hold onto their power, which isn’t even real in the first place. Jesus brings up fear and uncomfortableness in their lives and of course becomes the scapegoat for their fear and uncomfortableness. He is a threat not only to them but to the system, the institution that they represent, and they become self-serving. It’s no longer about the people who are in touch with this deeper reality, it’s about holding on and trying to save something that isn’t real in the first place.

Now we know how it turns out. Eventually these systems even today must die. They know longer have the purpose they once had but that requires all of us to change. The pharisees isn’t just these guys back in the time of Jesus but they are me and they are you. We don’t like things to change but when the system no longer serves the most vulnerable and becomes self-serving, it’s lost it’s purpose. Like them, there is that part of us that wants to hold onto it. It’s the critic in ourselves that will do everything to prevent change and to try to sabotage anything new. When we don’t, we have what we have today, this sense of disconnectedness that exists between the ruling class, as it is with the pharisees, and become blinded by their own behavior, and what’s most importation, this deeper connection that we hold, this inherent dignity that comes from the Eternal Mediator that tries to reconcile these parts of ourselves to makes us whole, as individuals, community, city, and even country.

None of us can deny that the systems are broken in our Church and government. They may have had their place in a time but not anymore. Heck, even a few weeks ago Jesus threw the family institution into the mix as well. All of it is a voice crying out to be heard that is being ignored. Those in power want to continue to keep others at bay, to keep that disconnectedness, creating the violence we see in our own lives and beyond. The readings, though, today speak of humility. Humility is when we become aware of how we have allowed the pharisee in ourselves to lead us and disconnect us from our own humanity and the One bigger than ourselves. It’s is a dying to self and giving up that self for a greater good for the people, especially the most vulnerable. If we don’t take care of those that have been ostracized we have truly lost our way. We pray today for that humility in our lives, in our city, and certainly in this nation.

Pride has quite the way of taking hold of our lives and not wanting to let go, blinding us to those being called to the banquet as Jesus speaks of today. We have become so blinded by that in our own country and our hold to nationalism and other pharisaical ways that we become attached to in our lives. We pray for that humility to be able to sit with the tension in our own lives and to meet the Eternal Mediator in the heart of it all, calling us to let go and to connect with our deeper identity, our inherent dignity in Christ.

Freedom

Acts 2: 1-11; I Cor 12: 3-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23

This feast we celebrate today, Pentecost, whether known or not, ranks in the same category as Easter Sunday and yet it never quite has the same flare and excitement that Easter brings. It’s the bookend of the season, it seems that we’re winding down, and then it’s Pentecost. As hard as it is for us to begin to grasp what we celebrate on Easter and the mystery of life and death, Pentecost is probably at least a hundred times more difficult and misunderstood. We can’t see this Spirit. We can’t control the Spirit. Heck, most times we’re probably not even aware of this Spirit. The Spirit is something we just can’t seem to get our minds or hearts around. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t carry the same weight.

As human beings, possibly our greatest obstacle to the Spirit is our need or desire to control. We love to control our own destiny and our lives. We even at times love to control other people’s lives. We know the Institution of the Church is no different. We like to keep order and control. Yet, this Spirit we speak of seems like chaos and disorder. The Spirit makes we speak of seems out of control. And so we find ourselves so often in between. We have the desire to control and at the same time the desire for the Spirit to set us free, the freedom that we know deep-down is what we’re called to in life.

It’s where God invites, leads, and meets us in our lives and always has. The chances of always living in the Spirit is probably nil. There’s always that ego of ours that wants to control. It’s what Paul confronts with the people of Corinth in the second reading today. This, for some, would be the beginning of the culmination of this letter. He’ll go onto to write about the metaphor of the body and then the section we’re all familiar with on love. But here he is today speaking about the one Spirit that comes in many forms. Yet, as I said, it’s coupled with people in power who want to control and dictate. He criticizes them for thinking and identifying gifts by ranking them, as if some were better than the others. That’s not the case for Paul. Paul works on leveling the playing field, especially when he speaks of the metaphor of the body, that all are necessary for the life of the community. One is not more important than the other. When they work together rather than against one another, the community will flourish and grow.

But it doesn’t come easy and we’ve heard the challenges that the early communities faced in Acts of the Apostles all season. They seemed to be in this constant tension of control and the freedom offered by the Spirit. There is some need for the structure that they were creating until it begins to stifle. We’ve heard the conflict and confrontations that they faced, even between Peter and Paul, seeming to pull in different directions, and yet, in the middle of it all lies this tension. It’s where God continuously led them to struggle with their differences. In the end, they are set free even with the structure to create something new by learning to let go and trust in the ever-gentle call of the Spirit leading them to something new. The community grows and flourishes rather than getting stuck and dead to sin.

And so we end where we began, then, with the Easter Gospel from John. There they are, the disciples locked in the upper room as we had heard on Easter. Desiring to be free and yet controlled by their fear. What seemed like an enormous task ahead of them only became daunting because they thought they had to control it. Then there is the moment of freedom. Jesus breathes life into them, entrusting them with the Spirit and freeing them from sin. In this moment of intimate encounter, their hearts will begin to open and crack and life will begin to change.

As we celebrate this great feast, the feast of the birthday of the Church, we gather now looking back at this season and the moments of growth and change that have called us forth. In the tension of life and death, individually and as community, the Spirit is forever at work leading us to the eternal. Yeah, we will always want to control. But that gets old after awhile. We begin to get cranky with life. We become cynical and begin to feel as if the weight of the world is on our shoulders. So often, in a moment of weakness, our desire for control begins to break down and we are led to something new, a different place that we may not even know. The box we had put ourselves in, others in, and for that matter, put God in, begin to break down, and like a strong driving wind, life begins to change, the way we see begins to change. That’s the Spirit at work in our lives. We pray for that Spirit to not only come upon us but to break into our hearts and to free us from our need to control and be set free to live life more fully, a life filled with the Spirit.