Through a Looking Glass

I’m sitting here, as I so often have on New Year’s Eve, glancing out at the ocean.  It’s been my place to be as calendar pages flip from one year to the next.  There’s been something very healing about having a place to step away to in order to reflect back while planning for a new year.  For me, there’s been no better place than the ocean, spending countless hours simply listening to its roar while silencing the chatter within myself.  The ocean, like none other, has a way of pulling me back into my own being.

It seems rather odd to even type those words, “pulling me back into my own being”.  How does one even pull away from their being?  I’m not totally convinced I have an answer to that fully, but I know it happens over time, to all of us.  I, like so many reading, are pulled in so many different directions just over the course of a day, let alone a year.  It’s easy to say we don’t let what others say or think bother us, but none of us are totally separate from the other.  Life, it seems, is a constant tug of war between my own being and what others want and expect of me.  It’s a continuous pursuit of learning to have faith and trusting myself.

If I look back through the window of 2021, I’m always fascinated by the countless memes and posts that speak of how awful the year was for so many.  It too is simply the way we view our life circumstances.  I’ve seen so many just in the past few days.  Sure, circumstances impact the way we see.  It’s easy to balk at something like Covid and the time of uncertainty which it has thrust us.  However, if we simply turn an eye to it all, we miss the golden opportunities which it tries to present.  It’s not to undermine the pain many suffer; I know of nearly a dozen people who are sick as I write these words.  I’m grateful I am not one of them. 

Its ruthless and relentless presence in our lives has exposed so much of who we are as people.  It has shown just how selfish we can become when we’re pushed to beliefs about freedom, often at the expense of the common good.  I’ll be the first to admit, I’m one to put others first more often than not.  It’s a great gift and yet a struggle for me, accepting I am just as important and valuable as the next.  This may be one of the most difficult lessons to learn especially when your life is about service and we’re conditioned to put others first all the time. 

There have been very few things which can halt life than illness.  I learned that not only with Covid, but whatever it was I had following my vaccine this year and yet none like the time when I had the flu and pneumonia at the same time.  The body has a way of stopping us in our tracks.  I’ll won’t forget the conversation I had with my spiritual director after leaving ministry.  She obviously saw a train wreck coming before I did!  As someone who counts on his ability to think, and think a lot, she said she knew it would finally be my body which stopped me.  It was sickness which pushed me so far off the cliff there was no return.

When I began the year I themed it “year of possibility”.  I must admit, I had no idea what that really meant.  It was the first word which came to mind when I was working on goals.  It seemed as if I had spent nearly half the year, as a thinker does, trying to figure it out and try to understand what it means rather than living and leaning into it.  Looking back now it seems rather crazy.  Yet, it was an experience I needed to push through for myself.  It’s so easy to overthink, worry, fear.  When you’re on time, though, you’re on time.  Learning to let go and relinquish control over life, an illusion anyway, is one of the most challenging lessons.

In these few years, it’s been the one lesson I’ve returned to countless times; letting go.  For me, it’s a pillar of faith.  Learning to trust and lean into the unknown of life has broadened the space within myself, making room for whatever presents itself.  You can have beliefs and practices, but in its truest form, faith is about trusting the unknown and allowing yourself to fall into it over and over again.  It’s not to say it gets easier.  I believe the leap is always a challenge.  Having the right people around you, though, is imperative in taking that step.  I’m grateful for the people who have entered into my life, just in the past year alone, who continue to push me to the edge and then jump.

When I was on a FrontRunner retreat back in July, while out on a ropes course, I literally took a “leap of faith”.  It was the name of the jump.  Jake, the young man working it, just let me by while friends around encouraged me.  It was no issue getting up to the top, fifty feet above ground, it was then taking that leap.  It seems from this moment forward in 2021, it was one leap after another, taking risk, and not worrying so much about the outcome nor becoming attached to it.  It’s been about the process, the journey.  I understand this better now.  I live it.  Faith means more to me today than ever but in a very unique and personal way.

No, I’ll never return to the box in which I lived for so many years.  Once you exit, there is no return unless my life was to remain about fear rather than faith.  It would certainly not be about love.  Teaching philosophy this semester reminded me just how much we box ourselves in over the course of our young lives.  It’s not until we’re aware of them that we can begin to break them down.  Life was so confining before, and some elements still need to be broken, but the space to move and be free is undeniable.  I understand freedom better now as well.  It doesn’t mean doing whatever I want.  It has much more to do with taking responsibility for my own life and the choices I make.  I get that now.

As I stand on the threshold of another a year, a year in which I turn 50, it’s hard to imagine what lies ahead.  It’s not to say this journey has been easy.  At the same time, though, I wouldn’t want it any other way.  I can look back without regret and certainly without any resentment.  I can’t say that was always the case.  It was regret and resentment which pushed me over the edge now nearly three years ago.

I’m not convinced life is meant to be easy.  Choices can be really simple and not easy at the same time, especially when you are aware of the impact on others.  Yet, in the end, you have you and if choices aren’t made with you in mind, they will often come back to haunt you in one way or another.  No, it doesn’t mean being self-centered nor does it mean you do life alone.  We remain interconnected as human beings.  It does mean, though, you are valued and worth it and worthy of putting yourself first. 

As we flip calendars, gazing through the window of another year ending, we must remind ourselves that life is often understood backwards and yet meant to be lived forward.  The two are intertwined.  It’s allowing our experiences to teach us valuable wisdom which we take into a new year.  You can bitch all you want about what has unfolded.  The bitching though is on you.  It’s your reaction to the events of your own life.  No one has power over your life other than you so live it to the fullest in which you desire!

Happy New Year!

Out of Many, One

No matter where I’ve traveled for mission work, the common denominator was often this:  rarely are problems resolved and truth revealed.  People agree to disagree or worse yet, sit on resentment and anger which, from time to time, finds its way to the surface and disrupts the equilibrium of a people.  Even worse, when it comes in contact with people who try to profit from the pain of others.  The most stricken, a conflicted Pilate in the Gospel of John after getting nowhere with the Word, uttering, “What is truth?” as voices of mobs stand on one side and the politically charged religious figures on the other demanding to get rid of the “problem”.  Even then, a resistance to truth and reality as it was and a settling for illusions, seeing things as they wish not as they are.

America is no different.  I’m not convinced we’re capable of really digging deep to get to the heart of our pain and hurt as a people.  It’s much more natural and ordinary to inflict it upon others.  We see it in our streets on a daily basis, in constant unrest, and of course, yesterday as, We the People, stormed the Capitol of the country.  We have no need for truth and the pain which comes with reality and when we don’t, we destroy anyone and anything in our path.

As I listened to the story unfold as I was driving from Baltimore, I didn’t know if I should be sad or angry or I suppose, both.  I was surprised and yet not at all.  It was coming and the pressure mounting as resentment and vengeance make their way to the surface and spill out into the population.  I couldn’t see anything as I drove; I just simply listened and wanted to weep for a weakened humanity.

When I began to see the images of men and women climbing the walls of the Capitol, both exteriorly and interiorly, all I could see were people clinging for their lives as if on the Titanic, still believing they will be rescued, that their savior would be there to pull them up.  I wondered why they were clinging so tightly, other than, one slip could mean the ending of their lives, falling to their fate with no one there to save.  I was left wondering, “Did they think this act would be martyrdom?”  “Did they believe they can save us from ourselves?”  “Did they really believe this would accomplish something?”  I’ll never know and the questions will fall into the category of unanswered which has only grown more at length the past several years.  In the end it looked more like entitlement and a last gasp of a people who feel powerless.

What we often miss, as people, is how much we’re willing to surrender our power to others.  It’s certainly easier to blame others when life doesn’t work out the way we want it to or give us permission to “grab” for power in any way we can.  No matter who sits in the Oval Office, stands in the halls of Congress, or on the cathedra of a cathedral, we are given a deep sense of power and we either choose to embrace it and use it for the common good and the good of the world or we forfeit it to people we believe have an authority beyond us.  They can tell us what to do and who to demonize.  They can tell us the choices we make so we can sleep better at night.  Little by little, though, we know ourselves less and less, resentment grows downward, hardening hearts, as what we thought our lives to be begin to become unrecognizable.

It’s not “their” fault, unfortunately.  It’s yours.

I’m so reminded of Thoreau’s quote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”  It’s what I see when I flip through images of men and women scurrying through the rotunda of the Capitol, desperate to cling to something.  I see a people who believe they are unleashing their freedom and power, when in reality, are revealing to the onlookers, their own powerlessness, castrated from their own being.  They go, grabbing whatever they could, smashing antiquity, and terrorizing those who believe have stolen their power.

It’s not their fault, alone, unfortunately.  It’s yours.

When we have to prove our power, show our strength, and destroy, we are still boys trapped in the body of men, surrendering our power to an authority who is just as impotent of power.  The only answer we can come up with, we need to rid ourselves of the “problem” while righteously wringing our bloody hands of having nothing to do with it.

So why can’t we, as Mitt Romney pointed out last night, tell the truth.  Better yet, why do we refuse to hear the truth?  There will always be “men”, and I use it loosely, who take advantage of the pain of others for their own aggrandizement.  They can spot pain miles away and attack like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and ready to pounce.  For them, they thrive in division while raising themselves up as saviors, chosen by the divine and speaking with such certainty.  Yet, with any sense of awareness and consciousness, can be seen for what it really is, shallowness and a hollowed-out soul.

We stand now at a precipice, an inflection, a threshold between one and the other.  We are, in some sense, Pilate ourselves, as noise tries to consume us from all corners.  The price, our own humanity and the integrity of our souls, mine and yours.  It has nothing to do with policy or culture wars.  It has everything to do with our humanity and its current weakened state in the face of such predators.

We may be just as conflicted as Pilate asking what is truth or one caught up in the drama of mobs and self-righteousness.  Who do we believe?  What is truth?  Why am I clinging so tightly?  Who can I blame?  Who am I, once again, going to surrender my power to rather than embracing it for the good?

It is, after all, the story of We the People, all of us.  We need redemption and salvation but the path and journey towards it is a downward one, to the depths of our own pain and hurt.  We the People have found ourselves violated and traumatized as we have at so many other points in our short history.  It is, though, the path of truth and what is real.  An avoidance and denial of pain only extends the drama all the more.  The path of truth and the real, in order to be freed from the bowels of hell, is downward in order to be raised up.  If it was good enough for Jesus, why not us?  Why on earth would we believe we’re above such a journey?

Without it we will remain powerless at our own accord.  There is great power in uncertainty and the unknown.  It’s where we find truth and what is real.  It is where we find the power we seek to grab as we cling to the walls of a failed belief.

It’s not their fault, alone, unfortunately.  It’s yours.

Now, what are YOU going to do to change?

When you take responsibility for that question, you no longer need to blame and the movement towards One is possible. 

There is our hope.

Beginning’s End

It began with an ending.

But I guess, as with many things in life, it’s true to form.

When one door closes, another opens.

And with it, maybe even more in 2020, with a twinge of sadness as I believe accompanies most New Year’s Eve’s.

As we rolled into the roaring 20’s, none of us, myself included, ever could have imagined what was going to unfold.  There may be some irony in the fact that I began the year sick, with something not called the flu but respiratory, feeling like I couldn’t breathe.  I suppose, a premonition of what was to come for me and millions of others as the year would progress.

The feeling of being unable to breathe, though, goes beyond a respiratory or asthmatic issue.  It’s a true sign of feeling overwhelmed by life.  I simply remember the early days of the pandemic, with the level of uncertainty and unknowns associated, the anxiety at times was feverish, wondering whether I had caught this mysterious virus.  Yet, still not enough.  There’s more to it for me.

So, it began with an ending, peppered with some sadness.  It would begin with a closure to my time at Bethlehem Farm and the eventual, and what seemed like, imminent, search for what was next in life would begin to unfold.  In many ways, looking back, the pandemic was a blessing in disguise.  It forced the world to stop and gave me some time to catch my breath while recognizing I was beginning at ground zero.

I have often returned to the scene from The Shawshank Redemption when Brook’s is released from prison after decades of living his own “quarantine”.  The world had changed so much during that time he didn’t know how to function.  He felt like the fish out of water.  In some ways, my time at the farm gave me an incubation and transitional time to gain some confidence after feeling as if I fell flat on my face and to begin to prepare for this journey ahead.

After sixteen years as a preacher, and a pretty good one at that, it felt as if my words of transformation, community, oneness, and so many others were finally catching up with me.  Better yet, I was catching up with my own heart.

If I’m grateful for another experience this year, it’s the young people who have given me tools to move beyond the “fish out of water”.  Many have become friends in the process and colleagues in various ways.  As someone who spent more than a decade teaching them, it was my time to rely on them in trying to make sense of technology, networking, lingo, alignment, and so many other experiences which gradually became a part of the norm for me.

It doesn’t mean any of it came easily, like most things in life.  If you truly want something, you’re going to have to work for it and will most likely come with pain and obstacles along the way.

I was putting a consistent pressure upon myself to get a job and quickly.  Needless to say, with a pandemic, a wrench was thrown into the process beyond my control.  Every time I’d hear from the church, it was as if a flare was being shot, even after the fact at times.  It wasn’t easy and led me to speak to a psychologist along the way as well as begin with a coach who understood and understands me.

If I look back, I begin to realize we have very little experience when it comes to discernment and knowing the landscape of the heart, even by an institution which claims to have a leg up in the “business”.  Like most corporations, it’s about numbers, maintaining the masses, and very little to do with understanding the radicalness of listening to one’s heart and truly discerning one’s truest path in life.  If I were going to do anything for myself, it was to find people who understand this and enter into alignment with them.

I’m grateful for the handful of people who do.  I’m grateful for my friends who do.  I’m grateful for my family who have been more than patient with me and given me plenty of opportunities in some challenging days.

I am truly of the mindset that we mustn’t just toss aside 2020.  I give a mere snapshot of what has occurred in my life, but there is this experience of which we shared in our own ways.

As I was watching a recap of The Today Show this morning, I found myself somewhat emotional and an inching in of that sadness again.  It’s easy to forget what it was like in the early part of the year, and as they showed clips of them practically sitting on top of one another, riding rides at Universal Studios, and others, it was hard to ignore the laughter and joy of the moments, of what it was once like.  We all miss the moments, but there will come a time again when we can once again unite without worry.

Here we are now, standing on the threshold of endings and beginnings, closings and openings. 

Myself included, in more ways than the ending and beginning of a year.

Thresholds are the most important of times.  They are our liminal space of in between.

If I have learned anything or become humbled by experience, it’s the necessity of dealing with the pain and obstacles.  If this is the way 2020 was viewed, then deal with it and walk straight into the pain associated with it.  It’s not all bad, no matter who you are or what you have experienced.

Gratitude is key.

Interior space is key.

It becomes nearly impossible to face uncertainty and the unknown without the due space within ourselves.  If I continue to feel overwhelmed, confined, or drowning by reality, it’s unrealistic to step into the possibility of another year with a fresh set of eyes.

It doesn’t take away the sadness associated with the journey.  We are, after all, still human and live through experiences in our own way.

However, stepping into an unknown new can be both frightening and exciting at the same time.

I find myself there as I stand here on this threshold myself.

It’s been quite a ride, recognizing life isn’t defined by a job or career. 

As a matter of fact, there is simply life and what you choose to do with it is what will empower.

I had to move beyond a small world thinking.  Better yet, I had to walk through the small world thinking before I could move to the space to see myself as a life, not a job, career, or anything else.

It’s my life and how I choose to live it which will define me in the year ahead.

I’m convinced we do life wrong all too often.  It leads to overdosing, depression, suicide, midlife crises, and many health issues.

We live to survive rather than to live.  We live to get, giving up dreams and possibility.

I’m too old.  I don’t have the experience.  It’s not what others want for me.  Etc., etc., etc.

My goal for 2021 and stepping into the new year is quite simple. 

As I continue to be birthed into my truest self, my goal is to help people give birth to themselves.  Work through the pain, remove the obstructions while expanding the walls, and holding possibility in your arms like a newborn babe.

The question is asked, “How can a person once grown old be born again?”

With a simple change of mindset from impossible to possible, anything can happen.

We have lived through a shared pain.  At times we have clung to the walls of our beliefs and thoughts as they dissipate around us.  Together, we are being given the opportunity to give birth to possibility.

Our future depends on it.  Our children’s future depends on it.

Even as we bid adieu to 2020, there is a great deal to learn from the experience.

It’s our choice whether we choose to learn.

Of course, there’s sadness.  There always is.

But there’s a hell of a lot to be grateful for as well.

Therein lies the possibility for 2021.

Happy New Year!

Unthinkably Perfect Vision

“For our faith to evolve, we need to look at the old and original in order to build something new and novel.” Richard Rohr

It’s impossible to miss all the memes and jokes that have been circulating as one calendar year closes and a new one begins. There have been plenty about dressing for the roaring 20’s, Barbara Walters uttering 20/20 as she did for years (for those of us old enough to remember), but also plenty of jokes about perfect vision. I have no such thing. The closest I come are through the progressive lenses I wear to assist in seeing more clearly. Heck, I can’t even seem to hear correctly if I’m not wearing my lenses! We make a lot of these new beginnings, facing a new year, with great anticipation, often with the expectation that somehow everything of the past year will fade into the sunset. It may be true in some sense, but really only if we are willing to work on perfecting our own vision and sense of awareness of where we have come from and where we are being led at the ringing in of a new year. If we’re honest with ourselves, we never truly know where it will lead us!

In looking back, to say 2019 was anything but monumental would be an understatement. There have been times the past few days when I’ve looked back and wondered how I was able to come to this point, the threshold of 2020, not being totally destroyed and utterly depressed. It was early in the year, when resolutions and hopes still rang true, when out of necessity of my health and well-being I needed to step away from priestly ministry. Anyone who has stepped away from any type of life commitment knows, that, once you have been pushed so far off the edge, in those moments there isn’t much chance to return. Again, for those old enough, how many times did Wiley Coyote attempt to do such a thing only finding himself falling flat on his face! It feels as if the ground has dropped beneath you and there’s nothing left to stand on at a time when you need it the most. The questions swirl, especially of the critics, including my own inner critic, as to how this is going to look, degrees of shame, hurt, kicked while you’re down, and all the rest that causes great unrest. You quickly learn who cares about you as a person or simply a persona, role, or identity of which you are associated. Your heart screams out reminding you that your worth is in you as a person, a human, but institutionally, unfortunately, not always the same.

I’ve written before about the level of angst I have lived with over the years, an angst that was norm. The consistent message was to fit into the proper place, but because of my own lack of awareness and deeply-rooted fears, it was easier to not fit than to have to confront what I was running from myself. If the experience has given any glimmer of hope it’s that the angst of trying to fit into what’s not and the necessity to run is no longer the name of the game. They are, though, a part of the story of moving towards that more perfect vision, unexpected as it is. They are moments I will never forget and will even take a great deal of time to heal. I have lost people in my life but have also become much more aware of the people who really matter. If I can offer 2020 anything of myself and the vision that has become more fine-tuned over the past year, it would be a restoration of humanity. We’ve lost touch with our humanity as a society, including many proclaimed Christians who forget it’s the foundational message of Christmas. I suppose it’s easier to dispose of people when we see them as something less, whether some image, their political affiliation, their way of living rather than a part of the human family they are.

The irony in the whole situation, for me, was that I had to step away in order to understand what faith was really about. Taking that step, as for anyone facing change, is to take the first step without knowing where you’ll land or if life really will go on. We have a tendency to get stuck right there, on the cliff, but never willing to step for fear of falling. Of course, there is a fall! There’s a fall from grace and yet into grace. There’s a fall into fear and yet excitement at the same time. There’s a fall into deep sadness but one that leads to great joy! I’m not sure I’d be the man I am standing on the threshold between years and decades without that fall. I can sit and write and find gratitude for the fall because the fall allowed me to reconnect, or maybe simply connect, with my own humanity and no longer shadowed by a role or identity. There have been plenty of times in the past year where I have sat at Mass and wondered how I was able to keep it up for as long as I did. It was about pleasing, all while grumbling within. Of course, there have been plenty of times where I have sat there, left before it ended, and saw for the first time why people don’t return. It felt like I was being fed stones in a moment when, in my own poverty, I desperately needed bread. Vision. How easy it is to become clouded standing atop a sanctuary, looking down, but looking at the wrong thing (that will be the next blog).

After returning from a month-long retreat at Saint Meinrad, I realized that it would be impossible to return at that time; more time was needed more. It was then I was pointed to Catholic Volunteer Network and came across a place close enough, yet far enough way, Bethlehem Farm. It was going to be another act of trust, as much of this experience had been, to keep moving towards rather than running. I began to notice the difference. When they agreed to take me on, another piece of the story, which was unknown just a few weeks earlier, was my dad being hospitalized just four days prior to my arrival date, was also beginning to unfold. After leaving active ministry in January I had started spending more time back where I grew up, not knowing what was about to evolve or devolve for that matter. I hadn’t realized, of course, that the weekend before Easter would be the final time I’d see my dad at home, sitting at the head of the table where he often did.

While his life was unraveling, slowly and quickly at the same time, the farm was beginning to give me what I needed and what was missing in my life, connection to myself and a grounding in the real and in love. For the first two months there, when there was a break from groups, I’d drive up to visit my father in the hospital, slowly watching life escape him. Each time there seemed to be another machine or gadget that was keeping him going. We should have known then, that, when so many artificial means are necessary to live there’s not much longer. It too would be a test of faith. In all reality, death is the ultimate test of faith and trust, not only for the one passing but even more so for those who grieve, despite never leaving. I can only imagine what was going through his mind or anyone in his situation, possibly questions I was asking of myself in those moments. How will I be remembered? Will I be forgotten? Will it be as if I never existed? In the moments of great unraveling lie these existential questions and thoughts of regrets and given but this one life to address them, hopefully before our final breath.

The final breath eventually would come in 2019. It was something not on the radar screen when I had left in January. It was something not on the radar screen when a 50^th Anniversary was being planned, or for that matter, an impending wedding, all of which would fall during these months and days. The final breath is that moment of ultimate faith and has a way of perfecting our vision like nothing else. There it was, before our very eyes. After six months of my own tumultuous unraveling and grounding, and despite the sadness associated with death, all I could do was stand in awe. By the end of May I knew the moment would arrive. I could just tell that there was no recovering. Similar to my situation, once you are so far off the cliff, there’s nowhere to go but down. At some point in our lives, the only down is six feet but at others, seemingly a freefall. Little did I know that such an event would solidify that grounding that began at the farm a few months earlier. It was a grounding that would stand the test of the greatest of hurricanes and yet still remain tethered to the real. The vision became clearer and all I could do was continue to walk and walk forward.

It by no means diminishes the grief that needed to be felt; there’s always grief in life’s changes and unraveling. If the year has taught me anything it’s a constant reminder that I can’t think my way through everything, as much as I sometimes try. Some things about life just need to be felt. That’s not easy for a thinker. When the dust finally settled, I landed at one of the great spots for healing in my life, Acadia National Park, and would spend countless hours near the water. There was not only the grief of losing my dad, but the grief of losing relationships and a life once lived. The place which was my escape for so many years, in order to catch my breath, was once again a place of healing. We all have those places in our lives, where we can simply go and find solitude. They are not only the places to encounter the divine but also ourselves. I write these words sitting near the ocean once more, simply allowing myself to slow down and be with myself and hear the roar of the water that stands before me. It is the same roar that lies within me, a roar for life.

I sit here now as the sun begins to rise on a new day (preferred to midnight!). It would be easy to say it’s all behind me but I’m not sure a new year means simply dumping what was and starting new. Sure, there is a sentimentality that accompanies it but the year that now stands behind will be teaching me for the rest of my life. No one can experience life in such a way, and begin to see more clearly, without it being carried the rest of life. If anything, it has taught about what faith is really about. After studying about it and preaching it for years, it finally caught up in my own life and made me eat my own words. Life is all about trust and faith. Yet, nothing is desired more than integrity in an age when it is all but absent. Nothing is more desired than faith in a day when we put more trust in failing institutions than we do in ourselves and the eternal. Nothing is more desired than hope in a culture that demands instant gratification and the absence of death. Nothing is desired more than life when it’s what we fear the most that prevents it from happening.

As a new day dawns, with a morning chill still in the air, I sit, still, in awe of a year gone by. It is a year without regrets. It is a year when I connected and reconnected with the people that matter most. It is a year when I faced death in more ways than one. It is a year that taught me about faith in the absence of what was thought to have given it to me. It is a year that taught me all will be well and all will be well. It is a year of new birth, baby steps to a new way of living. It is a year where fear was taken head on and confronted. It is a year that allowed me to be me and experience the freedom associated with it. It is a year of which I will always be grateful for having the courage to take one step a year ago this month, taking that last breath in order to breathe again, cut from an umbilical cord that poisoned. It was a year when I closed my eyes, jumped, and yet saw more clearly than ever. It is a year that taught me to live without while recognizing I had it all. It is a year I can’t simply let go of, but as I stand now on this threshold, I continue to take very little with me for all I need I have. It is, after all, ending as it began and beginning as it ended, in a moment to trust and to have faith in my own birthright and that, in seeing more clearly, all really will be well. With that, I bid adieu to a year that was and welcome a year of possibility, filled with teachable moments of faith allowing the unthinkable to be seen more perfectly.

Living the Tension of Life and Death

Acts 3: 13-15; 17-19; I John 2: 1-5a; Luke 24: 35-48

As we listen and journey through this Easter Season from Acts and today’s Gospel from Luke, we have to imagine ourselves straddling a threshold, in some sense, because it’s the view and perspective that the disciples give us. We also have to be mindful to read them backwards, understanding that the events of the gospel precede what we hear in Acts. Imagine them, and us for that matter, straddling the threshold of the tomb. The disciples perspective is still within the tomb whereas Acts has them stepping out and so we find them in the readings, where we often find ourselves, somewhere in between.

They experience this power struggle within themselves between life and death. One foot remains in the comfort of the tomb while the other begins to venture out and the desire God has placed within for life begins to flourish, so by the time we hear the events of Peter’s speech in the first reading, that desire for life and living it is already flourishing and growing within and is bringing about life within the community. Peter minces no words in this speech, though, of where they came from and how so often they chose the comfort of the tomb over life, and in particular, the Author of Life. When they were called to face another power struggle, this time with Pilate and the pressures of the call to conform and not denounce the political or religious leaders, the disciples caved and gave into the pressure of the tomb. They chose death over life. They chose slavery over freedom. They chose fear over love. They chose not to straddle that threshold, but allow themselves to be thrown into the arms of death as they they watched, out of ignorance Peter suggests, the crucifixion of the Christ now raised from the dead. When push comes to shove and facing the adversity of the power struggles within ourselves, we’re left with the same choice and the same reality. But now they’ve tasted life. They have something to compare it to! What they thought was life and love, who they thought God and Jesus was, were not from the Author of life rather caught up in the throws of death.

Yet, we find great comfort there. When we find ourselves standing at that threshold of life and death, and accepting that both are a part of us in their fullness, we’re left sometimes startled, troubled, and afraid as the disciples are in the gospel today. They’re not there yet. Heck, they’re not even straddling! But it is comfortable in the tomb. We become used to it. It feels safe and we know it. Yet, if we find ourselves still trying to control our lives or others or our environment, we’re most likely there and for that matter, not experiencing life in the fullness. We find ourselves trapped in Jerusalem with no where to go, wondering, terrified, anxious about many things, questioning where God is in the midst of it all. We’re not there yet. Some may be straddling. Others may be stuck in the tomb. Yet, God and the Crucified Christ is calling us out, just as he did the disciples.

But there’s a price to it all and for the disciples, especially in those days following the death of Jesus, it seems too much to bear. Despite Jesus appearing to them today, breaking bread, eating with them, showing them his hands and feet, they still question and doubt. They’ve seen living proof of the Risen Crucified Christ, but they weren’t there yet. They still questioned the price that it would cost to believe and to follow even to this point. Yet, to accept this tension of life and death within our own lives is to accept that a part of us must die in order for God to free us from slavery, live love over fear, life over death. It is the mystery that remains central to who we are as people and believers, but maybe we’re not there yet.

The message today is to repent and be converted. Be converted…allow it to be done to us, allowed to be called forth from the tomb to an experience of life. Imagine if the disciples simply continued to fall back into the tomb, never experiencing life, never living the life they were given out of fear, enslaved to their own sin, and yet desiring freedom and love. When we pray for the grace to be converted and to change our ways, to let go of what was and no longer living for yesterday and in the past, but rather living life to the fullest today, we no longer have to straddle but rather consciously choose life. It doesn’t mean that we never face death anymore. We will; there is always a life to be let go of and to die in order to grow and deepen into the person God created us to be and to accept that call. The disciples are even told to stay in Jerusalem; stay until you’ve learned what it is death needs to teach. We pray today for that grace to repent, change our ways, to be converted, so that when and if we find ourselves straddling the threshold of our tomb, we too can choose life. It may not be the life we ever thought of. It may not even be the God we imagined. But by the grace of God, we too are called forth from the tomb to live life to the fullest, not just in the life to come, but this very day!

Threshold to Life

Numbers 21: 4-9; John 3: 13-17

It’s always good when these Feasts like we celebrate today, the Exultation of the Holy Cross, fall on Sunday’s because it shakes us out of the normal routine of Ordinary Time. There may be no greater feast for us to spend some time reflecting on than the gift of the Cross! We’ve also, however, used it casually. We talk about the crosses we have to bear or it’s my cross that I carry and so on, and that’s not to minimize anyone’s suffering; suffering is real and painful, but the Cross is something more than that as well. There’s also the risk of making it simply a historical event of the past or a future reality hoped for, but it must speak to us today, at this very moment of our lives. I’d like to consider it from the perspective as a doorway to an authentic way of life. The cross stands as the threshold to an authentic life as individuals and as an authentic relationship with God.

Although the Israelites would not have understood the language of the cross when this first reading is written, they certainly knew about standing on thresholds to something new. It’s a great reading because I think we can all relate. They love to complain about everything. Nothing is ever good enough for them. They always expect more. They complain that they have been led out into the desert. They complain because of the food they have to eat. I dare say, what holds them back the most from crossing into the Promised Land is their own history. They become victims of their own history, their past. They hold onto who they think they should be. They hold onto who they think God has called them to be. All of it holds them back from crossing that threshold to salvation, the Promised Land, the fullness of life that God truly desires for them. But they can’t do it and won’t do it until they pass through the Cross and are stripped of what holds them back. The irony of it all, once you cross over, there’s no turning back. Life in the Promised Land is too big now for going back. The old way will never suffice; it will never be big enough compared to where God has led them.

It’s also the journey of Nicodemus. This is one of three times we encounter him in John’s Gospel with Jesus, beginning in the darkness of night. He will gradually go through the desert of his own life and come out into the light. He will be the one left with Joseph of Arimathea taking Jesus to the tomb. But until then, he too holds onto to the known, unwilling to take the risk we call faith. He’s afraid of what the Pharisees will think of him going to seek out Jesus. Obviously something about Jesus is drawing him from the dark of night into the light of day. Gradually in the Gospel he will take the step out, taking the risk of stepping over the threshold of the Cross into an authentic way of life. First stepping back and forth but eventually an experience of salvation in this moment unfolds in his life and in ours.

We, like those Israelites, will do everything to try to avoid that threshold and passing through that doorway. We are comfortable with the known, even if it means bringing about suffering in our own lives. We will hold onto our ego, thinking that’s where it’s at. We will hold onto our past, our own history, being the victim over and over again, each time not recognizing the invitation that lies before us to crossover. It’s hard. It’s painful and it requires great risk on our part to let go, let things die, a necessary part of the journey, in order for new life to take shape on the other side of that threshold.

My friends, as we celebrate this great feast of the Holy Cross, we can exclaim our gratitude. We can be thankful that Jesus died on that Cross and shows the way. We can be thankful that salvation has been won for us. But it doesn’t mean we can sit idly by, waiting for things to happen, reclaiming our victimhood, which just comes down to our unwillingness to trust, and doing the same thing over and over again in our lives. We pray this day for the grace to take a risk, as individuals and a community, to step out and cross that threshold. It’ll be hard. It’ll be painful at times, but when we pass through, we will know how much it was worth it. We pray for that grace today to cross the threshold, let go of what must die and be stripped at that cross, and celebrate the new life that has been promised for the ages to come.

A Story for the Ages

 

One of the greatest baseball films ever made is Field of Dreams.  One of the scenes calls on Doc Graham to cross over from the field of play to save the life of Ray’s daughter who had fallen and is choking.  The problem for Doc, though, is once he crosses that threshold in this life, there will be no turning or looking back.  He has to give it all up, all that he wants out of life and in playing baseball, to serve a greater purpose, his greater purpose; and not even his own desires and passions could stand in his way.

Much of our lives is about crossing those thresholds, even though we are not always aware of it because we’re in such a hurry to get to the other side; more to get away from one thing in order to get to something else, something that we perceive is better, without ever reflecting on what we’re doing, where we’re going, or better yet, who we are called to become, to find the greater purpose in our lives and then serve God by doing it!

Both readings today give some outline on that purpose and the need in life to cross the threshold.  We hear it to the community of Philippi, to whom Paul writes, and to the disciples that Jesus continues to prepare for the great threshold they too will soon embark on in their lives.  Like Field of Dreams, and us for that matter, the disciples will be called to build something–for Ray it is a baseball field in the middle of a corn field in Iowa, but with a greater purpose in mind, not his own self-interest.  The disciples will be called to build the Kingdom of God here on earth, as are we, and we see how that unfolds in Acts of the Apostles.  It was the same purpose that Paul was called to in his life, but he too had to cross a significant threshold, from one who was responsible for the death of the early Christians to becoming one of the most beloved leaders, attributed much to his ability to surrender to that higher purpose and painfully cross over.

He writes the letter today to the Philippians from prison, but because of this transformation and greater calling in life, not even the circumstances in which he finds himself will prevent him from living out that call.  Even in prison, he continues to live with purpose, and even goes on to tell them not to live with any anxiety in life; only someone with deep trust can live with such freedom!  He challenges us to seek out our own purpose and who and what gives us meaning, and our lives and hearts will attain the peace that is desired.

The disciples, too, will make that necessary leap as they move towards Jerusalem where God’s great threshold unfolds from death to life.  Jesus will go onto say to the disciples that they should rejoice that he will no longer be with them in the same way–not because he won’t be missed, but because when he leads them across that great threshold, they will begin to become aware that His presence is with them always because he too had fulfilled life’s purpose and now transcends it all.

Today you all take a courageous step, off into the unknown future of life, and quite frankly, one of the greatest times to spend finding yourself and what gives you meaning and purpose.  If you do it well and allow yourself to be open to the process, you will eventually, in time, become a story for the ages.  Which of us wouldn’t want such greatness?!?  It will come with many joys and great struggles, but by staying true to who you are, you will cross that threshold of life boldly in the years to come.  But like Jesus, you won’t be forgotten.  Your spirit as individuals and as a class will now live eternally in the walls and halls of Goretti; that is what we are assured of as people of faith.  You now become part of something that is even larger than Goretti; like Jesus, the spirit of this class ascends to the ranks of all who have gone before you off into the threshold of life.

Crossing these thresholds can be painful not only for you, but also for those who now have to let you go in order to do that.  So be patient with your parents and others; it will be a big adjustment and a big change because they know from their own experiences that once you leave, there is no coming back to this moment or to who you are at this moment, still their little sons and daughters.  You are forever changed because of them and all of us are forever changed for having you in our lives.

As you leave, and cross the threshold from where you can no longer return, we who are left behind assure you of our prayers that you will have the courage of the countless people of faith that have gone before you and have crossed over in seeking out a fulfilling way of life, a life of meaning and purpose, and to give back to God all that has been given.  If you continuously find the time to give thanks to God for all the gifts and even the burdens of life, meaning and purpose will follow.  I wish all the best to each of you as you take this leap into the great mystery of your life.