Preferring Nothing to Christ

Ezekiel 37:12-14
John 11:1-45

‘The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with bands of stuff and a cloth round his face. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, let him go free.’

I come to today’s Gospel with several strands which have resisted being woven together. This is undoubtedly a message for me. I offer you each strand.

This week we find ourselves standing with Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus. In their despair and loss they have called upon the help of their friend, Jesus. When Jesus finally arrives in Bethany, Martha says to him;

‘If you had been here, my brother would not have died, but I know that, even now, whatever you ask of God, he will grant you.’ 

I hear in Martha’s words both sorrow and hope. The weaving together of real anguish and hope is something which runs throughout salvation history. One of the things which shaped the people of Israel was learning to deal with disappointment and desolation.

I am put in mind of one of my favourite parts of the Triduum liturgy where on Holy Saturday, at Office of Readings, we listen to this text from Lamentations:

‘The favours of the Lord are not all past,
nor his kindnesses exhausted;
every morning they are renewed;
great is his faithfulness.’

‘My portion is the Lord says’ my soul,
‘and so I will hope in him.’
The Lord is good to those who trust him,
to the soul that searches for him.
It is good to wait in silence
for the Lord to save.

A cantor sings the descant line and the melody is played on a tenor recorder. It is a hauntingly beautiful combination. Every word is poignant. Sometimes all that is left to us is to wait in silence for the Lord to save.

If we imagine ourselves journeying with the catechumens in the Early Church, the time of our baptism is drawing very near. In baptism we will join Christ in the tomb. When we emerge from the waters our new spirit-filled life will begin. Lazarus’ story is pointing us to Christ.

Hearing this story at this point in Lent serves most obviously to foreshadow Christ’s death and resurrection. It also offers us in Martha and Mary two models for our faith journey. Their friendship with Jesus is something which has always exercised my imagination. They must have seen him at his best and at his worst. It strikes me that they are both real with him.

And now to Lazarus- unlike his sisters, he doesn’t speak at all John’s Gospel. We are left to listen to the silences. People speculate as to why his two sisters lived at home with him. Did he need their care in a particular way? Why was it that Jesus gave him such special attention?

Do we ever consider what it was like for Lazarus to come back to life? His sisters may have wanted this, but did he? I am haunted by the last line of Elizabeth Jennings’ poem:

A View from Lazarus

See he is coming from the tomb. His eyes
Need shelter from the light. We crowd and press
Towards him, some say nothing. One or two
Whisper. Others look afraid but stare,
Most turn their eyes away. Such a strange
Light is coming from behind the man   
Brought back from death and coughing in the breeze.  
One by one his senses set to work
To ease this man to us. A look of loss
Shows on his features but he does not speak.
Some begin to question him about
What dying felt like and how he did break
Back to us. He can relive our doubt,

But he seems dumb and we don’t want to make 
His rising difficult although we long
To look back at the glimmering kingdom he
Has left, if Paradise is there
But is not for the snatching. Lazarus now
Opens his eyes and it’s at us he stares
As if we all were strangers. Then it’s odd,
But we feel we should stop talking. Lazarus is,
Yes no doubt of it, now shedding tears,
And whispering quietly, God, O no, dear God.

Lazarus needs the help of those around him to unbind him. His bound hands cannot do the unbinding. Who comes forward first? Does Jesus help? Do they start with his hands or his face first?

Are there things in your own life that need unbinding? Who can help you?

Isaiah 7:10-14,8:10
Luke 1:26-38

‘Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High.’

Do you ever stop and wonder how different our faith might be if Jesus had just appeared on earth, fully grown and ready to start his mission? We would lose a great deal in terms of our understanding of the mystery of the Incarnation. There would be no need for Mary or Joseph or visits from angels.

When Luke tells the story of the Incarnation he paints a scene for us with a few sentences and over the centuries artists have supplied the things that the text doesn’t tell us. Whether it is a stylised icon depiction of Mary poised and assured or a contemporary scene of Mary in her kitchen, the artist captures this defining moment in salvation history.

Mary’s ‘yes’ is our ‘yes’ too. Our whole faith journey, begun at baptism, is an invitation to say ‘yes’ to God. Every small ‘yes’ has the potential to prepare us for a big ‘Yes’. All we can do is try to be open and ready to do what is asked.

How can you say ‘yes’ to God today?

Wisdom 2:1,12-22
John 7:1-2, 10, 25-30

As we move closer to Holy Week tension begins to mount in our Gospel readings. Today this tension is mirrored in the First Reading from the Book of Wisdom and the Psalm. The text from the Book of Wisdom lays out for us a familiar dynamic where virtue and goodness can be experienced as a threat and judgment:

‘Before us he stands, a reproof to our way of thinking,
the very sight of him weighs our spirits down;
his way of life is not like other men’s,
the paths he treads are unfamiliar.’

There’s a grim truth to be acknowledged that human beings can sometimes want to bring down the good rather than learn from them.

In the Gospel Jesus is portrayed as the archetypal ‘virtuous man’. He is sent by the Father and nothing can shake his internal conviction of the path he must follow. The strength of his conviction angers those who oppose him. It can be hard for us to think ourselves into the position of those who oppose Christ. We like to think that we would never be party to this.

Perhaps for us the dynamic is more subtle. Lent invites us to examine our hearts and our motivations and to seek God’s mercy.

Have we blocked the path that others were following? Have we subtly made it difficult for others to succeed?

Exodus 32: 7-14
John 5:31-47

In today’s reading from Exodus God challenges Moses about the creation of a golden calf. Moses tries to defend the people and makes appeal to a tradition that stretches far back in biblical memory:

‘Remember Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, your servants to whom by your own self you swore and made this promise: I will make your offspring as many as the stars of heaven, and all this land which I promised I will give to your descendants, and it shall be their heritage for ever.’

Memory plays a key part in our life of faith. On a personal level we have the memory of the gifts and promises in our own faith journey, on a communal level we come together in worship to remember and relive our shared faith story. We ritualise those key moments so that they are placed firmly in our collective memory.

There is no doubt that the experience of the pandemic will be lodged in our collective memory. In time studies will be written and perhaps theories proposed. Certain memories will fade and some will remain clear. It may be too early for us to recognise this, but God is speaking every bit as clearly to us now as he did to the Israelites in the desert.

How is God speaking to you today?

Isaiah 49:8-15
John 5:17-30

Each year in Lent the Church gives us the opportunity to revisit the story of our salvation. It’s a story of faith and great ideals, of times of bitter disappointment and the utmost courage. In the first readings in our weekday lectionary we are invited to identify with the people of Israel. God chooses a people to be the bearers of hope and light. God chooses a people to a beacon of faithful love. Their initial hope and courage is tested to its limits when they find themselves in Exile. Just when they feel that every last glimmer of hope is lost Isaiah paints a vision of a joyful return to Jerusalem. After years of soul wearying waiting God declares that now is the ‘day of salvation.’ Into the depths of their despair and fear of abandonment, God speaks words of hope:

Does a mother forget her baby at the breast,
or fail to cherish the son of her womb?
Yet even if these forget,
I will never forget you.

Given the situations in our world today it may take more than our usual courage to hear Isaiah’s words and to know that this is a message for our times. We may not be able to influence the world situation, but every small gestures of hope in God’s promise can strengthen us in heart and mind.

Where in your own life do you most need to hear God say: ‘At the favourable time I will answer you, on the day of salvation I will help you.’ ?

Ezekiel 47:1-9,12
John 5:1-3, 5-16

Along the river, on either bank, will grow every kind of fruit tree with leaves that never wither and fruit that never fails; they will bear new fruit every month, because this water comes from the sanctuary. And their fruit will be good to eat and the leaves medicinal.

This passage from Ezekiel comes towards the end of a long and complicated vision of the new Temple. Beginning at Ch 40, Ezekiel’s vision fills seven chapters and its details can be hard to follow. By the time we get to Ch 47 there is a change and the mood is one of hope and healing. Water flows out from the Temple and wherever the water flows there is life.

The idea of a tree that can both provide something good to eat and be medicinal is a very comforting image. We’ve largely lost the practice of turning to nature for our healing.

After our experience in the pandemic of having to consider the life and death implications of everything that makes up our daily lives, we need Ezekiel’s message of hope more than ever.

Where do you look for healing?

2 Sam 7:4-5, 12-14,16
Matthew 1:16, 18-21,24

We step off the Lenten path to celebrate the Feast of St Joseph. Unlike other saints in our calendar, we have no dates of his birth or death, whether from history or folklore. But what we do have is his silent belief in God’s promise.

The first reading from 2 Samuel reminds us of a turning point in Israel’s history. Up until this point God’s promises have been conditional, but now the dynasty is guaranteed in perpetuity. None of this is David’s doing. David is to be bound in relationship to the Lord: ‘I will be a father to him and he a son to me.’ The tender language of father and son always strikes me. God’s covenant is not a legal contract, but a relationship of love. As the story of salvation unfolds there are many falls from grace along the way. God’s promise remains.

Now Joseph enters the story of our salvation. He is perhaps the archetypal silent man. All that he needs to know God coveys to him in a dream. Dreams are sometimes spoken of as God’s forgotten language. Paying attention to our dreams is writ through our spiritual DNA. So many key biblical characters come close to God and God’s will through their visions and dreams.

Pay attention to your dreams this week.

How is God speaking to you?

1 Samuel 16:1,6-7,10-13
John 9:1-41 

Today’s Gospel of the man born blind had me searching for an article by liturgist Maxwell E. Johnson, entitled, Back Home to the Font: Eight Implications of a Baptismal Spirituality. He explores the liturgical year through the theology of Baptism and sees Lent as a time when we can imagine ourselves as catechumens in the Early Church:
‘Lent is about our annual retreat, our re-entry into the catechumenate and order of penitents in order to reflect on, affirm, remember, and re-claim that baptism.’

So, this week as we find ourselves by the pool of Siloam, we do so as catechumens seeking to re-engage with our baptismal calling. We stand and watch as the man born blind washes in the pool. Unlike the pool of Bethesda, this pool is not associated with miracle cures, it was simply a means of protecting Jerusalem’s water supply. But it is at this ordinary water source that an extraordinary journey begins.

We watch as the man washes and his sight is restored. Jesus disappears from the storyline and the man must now give an account of what has happened at the pool. His neighbours, the Pharisees and his parents all have questions. With each encounter there is a subtle progression in the man’s witness and faith.

We listen as the man moves from acknowledging that ‘a man called Jesus’ has cured him, to declaring that ‘he is a prophet’ and finally to a profession of faith, ‘Lord, I believe.’ Through the washing with water and his encounter with Christ the man is drawn into new life.

We too are drawn into new life each Lent. Our baptismal calling was not once and for all. It is renewed each day and most especially in Lent. We are invited to see anew.

Preaching to the newly baptised, St Ambrose says;

‘Go to Siloam.’ What is ‘Siloam’ It means (says the evangelist) ‘Sent’. In other words, then: Go to the fountain where they preach the Cross of Christ the Lord; go to the fountain in which Christ has paid the ransom for the sins of all.
You went, you washed, you came to the altar, you began to see what you had not seen before. In short, your eyes were opened in the fountain of the Lord and by the preaching of the Lord’s Passion. You seemed previously to be blind of heart; now you began to see the light.’

Where is Christ calling you to see anew this Lent?

Hosea 5:15-6:6
Luke 18:9-14

The prophets were all called to deliver challenging messages to people who found themselves in crisis. It was largely a crisis of faith. One question occupied the hearts and minds of the people: Has God abandoned us? As political alliances failed and the prospect of exile loomed, Hosea speaks to the injustices present in daily life and worship.

His message is uncompromising, but there is always a glimmer of hope. God promises to be faithful and that he will come to their aid is ‘as certain as the dawn.’ Israel has its part to play. The covenantal relationship relies on their co-operation. It relies on a type of love that is deep and true. But Israel is half hearted:

What am I to do with you, Ephraim?
What am I to do with you, Judah?
This love of yours is like a morning cloud,
like the dew that quickly disappears.

It’s all too easy to become half-hearted about so many things in our lives. Lent offers us the opportunity to look closely at our hearts. The promise of the dawn is God’s pledge that all we most deeply need and desire is held in his love. For those places in our lives where love seems to quickly disappear, Lent offers the chance to change our hearts.

How is God calling you to deepen your love this Lent?

Hosea 14: 2-10
Mark 12:28-34

‘One of the scribes came up to Jesus and put this question to him, ‘Which is the first of all the commandments?’ Jesus replied, ‘This is the first: Listen, Israel. the Lord our God is the one Lord, and you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and all your mind, and with all your strength.’

heart
soul
mind
strength

It’s in the person of Jesus that we see what this commandment means. As we journey with Jesus towards Jerusalem we will see the depth of his love and just how much his heart, soul, mind and strength are focused on his Father.

Whenever I hear these verses from Mark I think of words I read by Sr Joan Chittister osb:

To live a religious life takes all the life we have.
To live a religious life takes the heart of a hermit,
the soul of a mountain climber,
the eyes of a lover,
the hands of a healer,
and the mind of a rabbi.

What would it mean for you to love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength?