Bela

Dear folks,

Just sitting down to write a short blog before heading off to Monarch / Raynesford for week-end duties, I heard a scratching sound about 10 feet from me in the living room. Moses, lying near me, noticed too, and looked at me to take control of the matter. I said, "It's Bela!"  I walked over to a small box with computer accessories, and there s/he was, in the box, seemingly trying to climb out. We may have awakened the creature from sleep, but bats usually sleep in high points in a home, such as a corner of a room. Taking a tip from parishioner Patrick Simpson, I put on leather gloves, handy on the hearth, and picked up Bela. Carefully cradling the bat in my gloved hands, I could not unlock the screen door, so I went to the garden door. I had to slide one hand out of the glove, unlock the door, slide my hand back in, carefully to carry Bela outside.  Zoe and Moses were with me. Bela took off inside the door, and flew to the lowest level, into the laundry. Looking up high, I found the bat on a screen, near the ceiling, and reaching up with gloved hands, gently pulled it down.  Escorted by pups, I carried Bela outside, and released the little fellow onto a high wood pile, where dogs cannot reach.  Quickly the bat sized up the situation, and took off, making a few loops around us, and around the yard, and then headed south towards the neighbor's.  Bela has returned to nature--something Rousseau could never do, despite his efforts.

I first saw him on 1 August, at midnight, with the full moon, and today, 4 August, just before 1 pm, he flew away. A three-day visit by a fascinating creature. Why some people are petrified of bats, I do not know. Bela is dark brown to black, with wings of same color.  And yes, Bela is surely a bat, and not a bird, not a mouse, not a vampire.

The Stream In The Desert (edited for the bulletin)

(The longer version of this mediation can be found here)


Many there are--millions indeed--who are living in the sun-baked, dry, nearly lifeless desert of unbelief. They knew neither their need for God, nor the truth of divine reality. They are oblivious to the spiritual movement into God which constitutes the meaning, purpose, and end of life. These are burned out souls, living in a burned out land. Their inner and outer wasteland is unrelieved by beauty, goodness, life. They live in hardened, certain untruth, and they do not know it, so great is the darkness.

In the midst of the desert there is a river of flowing water, and along its banks are lifegiving plants of all kinds. The bank where many of us in the churches are standing is the familiarity, safety, at-homeness of our institutional religions. Here is Christianity in its various churches, with their Scriptures, creeds, doctrines, rituals, clergy, lay people. On this bank many of us are standing, and enjoying the comfort, ease, pleasure of Christianity as a religion, of being “church-going Christians.” A few of us have wandered into the stream. Indeed, I see the purpose of preaching as a way to help lead people from the desert, into the water, and across the stream to the farther shore. We see no one on the farther shore, but a few have passed in silence, in a life of profound and lasting union with God. Ultimately, the farther shore is what has been called “heaven,” but I would call it “selfless life in God.” Jesus himself crossed over, and indeed lived in that crossed-over state even while on earth, while living and walking among us. And Christ Jesus sought and seeks to lead us, to lead all, across the river to the farther shore. Genuine saints have crossed over. In meeting genuine human beings such as Francis of Assisi and Theresa of Avila, we are encountering a man or woman who even in this life tastes the glories of union with the Unknown God through faith working by love. Their divine union is real and lasting, and endures beyond death into the utter mystery of God. “By their fruits you will know them,” and such saintly souls are rare, beautiful to see, and full of God.

Few of us, it seems, make the effort to cross the stream. We seem all too content with life along the comfortable bank, with our familiar Scriptures, creeds, rituals, with a fixed ministry and priesthood, with all that “just feels right,” because we have known it for years--in some cases, for our entire lives. The point of living, however, is to enter the stream, the stream of life. In the stream we are forced to live by faith, not by the familiar and comfortable; in place of creedal belief, we must exercise real, muscular faith, that costs us everything we have and are. In the stream we encounter the living God, who more than likely does not fit into the neat categories through which we had pinned God down and left him buried in a hollow, doctrinal shell. In the river we live and move by the Spirit of the living God, and we are forced to fare forward by nothing except the light which is burning in the depths of our hearts.

“Come to the waters.” We may dally along the bank of easiness and institutionalized life, but the hidden LORD would lead us into the flowing, turbulent, sometimes muddy waters of life. We need to fare forward, enter the stream, and move into the mystery called God.

The Stream In The Desert

While preparing to preach the first homily on John chapter 6, I was forced to face a number of issues.  The first is what I previously mentioned:  That although we are spending five weeks hearing this one chapter in the St. John’s Gospel, the committee that selected the readings for our lectionary saw fit to excise three passages from the chapter.  Two of the excluded passages--the one describing the scene as “when the Lord gave thanks,” and the episode of Jesus walking on the water--add essential elements to the meaning of the “Bread of Life discourse” in John 6.  One should read a text as the author intended, and surely the evangelist John knew what he was doing in his masterful construction of the chapter; slicing out parts dishonors his intention, and obscures perhaps the single most important theological truth of the entire chapter.  I was also forced to wonder why it is that church officials would omit such decisive material, especially when it throws light on the utterly profound and essential Christian question:  “Who do you say that I am?” It seems that at least too many voices in the churches are not willing to face the penetrating question of Pope Benedict:  “Has the church misunderstood Jesus?”  To this question I would add, “By slicing up the Scriptures the way we do, are we fostering a misunderstanding?”  What have we done to Christ? In preparing the first homily on John 6, I had to face yet another question:  What if the pursuit of truth about God and Christ, and my efforts to preach the truth faithfully, could disturb some of the Catholic faithful? Or more pointedly, and more poignantly, what if some persons are pulled away from their unquestioning creedal “faith” and move, not towards the truth of openness to the living God, but harden their hearts altogether, and end up in a state of unbelief?  In other words, what if preaching could contribute to men, women, and young persons turning away, not only from the God of the creed, but from God altogether, and become, in effect, atheists? The loss of faith is not only a real possibility, but perhaps the single most compelling reality of life in American society today. Many there are who are either atheists or functional atheists, and yet they do not care, or perhaps even know the depth of their spiritual disease.  They are in a sleep of death, and they are relatively content to stay in that sleep. In order to make clear some of these thoughts to myself, and then to share with with those who attended Mass to hear the beginning of John chapter 6, I conceived, or entertained, what may be a kind of allegory of the stream and the desert, or the stream in the desert.   Many there are--millions indeed--who are living in the sun-baked, dry, nearly lifeless desert of unbelief. They know neither their need for God, nor the truth of divine reality. They are oblivious to the movement into God which constitutes the meaning, purpose, and end of life. These are burned out souls, living in a burned out land. Their inner and outer wasteland is unrelieved by beauty, goodness, life. They live in hardened untruth, and do not know it. In the midst of the desert there is a river of flowing water, and along its banks are life-giving plants of all kinds. The bank where many of us in the churches are standing is the familiarity, safety, at-homeness of our institutional religions. Here is Christianity in its various churches, with their Scriptures, creeds, doctrines, rituals, clergy, lay people. On this bank many of us are standing, and enjoying the comfort, ease, pleasure of Christianity as a religion.  A few of us have wondered into the stream. Indeed, I see the purpose of the preacher as one to help lead people across the stream to the farther shore. For the farther shore, where we see no one, but a few have passed in silence, is life in profound and lasting union with God. Ultimately, the farther shore is what has been called “heaven,” but I would call it selfless life in God. Jesus himself crossed over, and indeed lived in that crossed-over state even while on earth, while living and walking among us.  And Christ Jesus sought and seeks to lead us, to lead all, across the river to the farther shore. Genuine saints have crossed over. In meeting a man such as Francis of Assisi, or a woman such as Theresa of Avila, we meet a man or women who even in this life tasted the glories of union with the Unknown God through faith working by love. Their union was real and lasting, and endured beyond death into the utter mystery of God.  “By their fruits you will know them,” and such saintly souls are rare, and full of God. Few of us, it seems, make the effort to cross the stream. We seem all too content with life along the comfortable bank, with our familiar Scriptures, creeds, rituals, with a fixed ministry and priesthood, with all that “just feels right,” because we have known it for years--in some cases, for our entire lives. The point of living, however, is to enter the stream, the stream of life. In the stream we are forced to live by faith, not by the familiar and comfortable; in place of creedal belief, we must exercise real, muscular faith, that costs us everything we have and are. In the stream we encounter the living God, who more than likely does not fit into the neat categories through which we had pinned God down and left him as a rather hollow, doctrinal shell.  In the river we live and move by the Spirit of the living God, and we are forced to fare forward by nothing except the light which is burning in the depths of our hearts. “Without other light or guide than that which in the heart was burning.” “Come to the waters.” The LORD would lead us into the flowing, turbulent, sometimes muddy waters of life, but we dally along the bank of familiarity, of institutionalized religion, of institutionalized life. Christ would have us cross over, and the only way to do so is to wade or to plunge into the stream, and begin the journey.  No doubt we will be tossed about, even scraped up as the stream presses us against rocks, but we keep going, or we perish.

On The Gospel Of John, Chapter 6: The Decisive Truth Of God

For five weeks this summer we will hear passages read at Mass from the 6th chapter of St. John's Gospel, the chapter often known as "the bread of life discourse." To understand the teaching in John 6, it is important to keep the entire chapter in mind in examining each part. Unfortunately, despite spending five weeks on the text, our lectionary omits three distinct passages from the chapter. In my opinion, these passages are parts of the whole and needed for a more careful and complete understanding. As I said at Masses last week, I recommend that parishioners closely read John 6 as a whole, and allow that study to help them benefit more from the homilies. For my part, I will refer to the omitted material as needed to aid understanding.

The first week we hear a passage often known as "the multiplication of the loaves." That is not what the author of the Gospel calls it. A few verses later, in material omitted for public reading, the evangelist refers to the incident in highly significant works: "When the LORD gave thanks..." The Greek is more telling, and highly significant. It can be translated "When the LORD gave thanks," but it could also be translated, "When the LORD eucharistized," or "celebrated the Eucharist." The story known as the "miracle of the loaves," or the "multiplication" would more accurately be known as a story showing that Jesus is present with his disciples at the Eucharist, and that Christ performs the miracle of feeding his disciples with Himself, with his body and blood, and with his divine teaching.

Also omitted from our hearing is the passage known as "walking on the water." Again, the common short-hand titles seem to miss the point. The image of Jesus walking on the water symbolizes God's control over forces of chaos, and hence over all of reality, in and through Christ. This truth is made plain in the revelatory words spoken by Christ as he "walks on the water." The poor translation in our bibles misses the point: "Do not be afraid; it is I." No, the Greek is clearly a reference not just to Jesus, but to the God in Christ, to the God of Moses: "Do not be afraid, I AM." And that this pivotal story is omitted from the five weeks spent reading from John 6 displays the fact that the decisive point of the chapter is downplayed, or neglected. What is taking place in John 6 is not only a teaching on the Eucharist, not only a teaching on Christ as having "the words of eternal life," not only teaching us that through his death Christ gives his life for the world: But in all of these points, and above all, John 6 is a revelation of the the unseen God in Christ: The I AM is the One alive and active and fully present in Jesus. And it is the unknown God, called "the Father," who is "drawing you" to faith in Christ.

We shall seek to make this decisive revelation clear in the series of homilies on John 6.

"Come Away By Yourselves To A Deserted Place"

Do you know how to relax, to rest, to take a vacation? Do you know how to make a good spiritual retreat? They are not the same thing, but each has its proper place in our lives. Some folks have told me, “We went on a vacation, and now I need a vacation.” The word “vacation” comes from the Latin meaning, “emptying,” but often people stuff all sorts of busy activities into a “vacation.” Some folks may find going to amusement parks or ice hockey games to be “relaxing,” but others of us come away from parks and hockey games feeling as though we spent the day tearing up old streets with a jack-hammer. I relax by reading philosophy, but others may find that exhausting.

Clearly, we vary in our wants and needs. So let’s ask a few basic questions: What do you do in your life that refreshes your spirit? What helps you “let go” and feel a still peace? My guess is that for many of us in Montana, we find walking in open spaces, taking a casual ride, or climbing hills, or hunting to be refreshing for the inner person. For musicians, playing their instrument or singing can be restorative of spirit; and in general for artists, doing one’s art (painting, sewing, archery, dancing, photography) helps one feel renewed. Concentrating the mind in an enjoyable activity refreshes the soul. Spending one’s energies, especially in stressful or unenjoyable tasks, dissipates the spirit and leaves one feeling tired.

Each of us needs to develop healthy, refreshing “spiritual exercises.” Many Christians (at least in yesteryear) would spend time daily reading the Bible or praying. How many of us take the time to pray, to meditate, to seek God through study? Some of us have discovered the value of making spiritual retreats once a year or so. My concern, however, is that especially our younger members know how to “have fun,” to play games, to keep themselves busy, but few discover the quiet joy of solitude, of taking time to refresh their spirits away from our busy world. On the other hand, some of our parishioners have a love of solitude and quiet, and have learned the art of accomplishing much while remaining in peace. Such an attitude and practice display the art of living well and happily.

Why would Jesus invite or command his disciples to “come away by yourselves to a deserted place?” What need in them did he perceive, and was he seeking to help meet?

"They Are a Rebellious House"

So Yahweh-God tells the young man Ezekiel when calling him to be a prophet to the Chosen People:  “They are a rebellious house.’

The day I entered the monastery, 4 July 1982, this text was read during the Sunday liturgy.  I already sensed the truth of the words, and in time I saw how they fit my monastic community:  “They are a rebellious house.”

And I have long seen in the churches in this country:  “They are a rebellious house.”  And the Catholic Church:  “Also a rebellious house.”

Why is it that one hears so few homilies or sermons that tell us that we are rebellious, that we have indeed hardened our hearts and minds to the living God?  Why are so many homilies in the Catholic Church so generic, so full of “God loves you” and “God forgives you,” and so short on the stark truth:  “This is a stiff-necked people, who have turned their hearts and minds from God?”  

Why do my homilies often lack the sharpness and spirit-filled power that they ought to have, if indeed I can be an instrument of God’s truth to this rebellious house?  

We clergy often avoid being prophetic, direct, challenging for several reasons, I think:  First, many of us do not know the truth, or we do not know it well.  And that applies to me, too.  We grope in the twilight, we do not see reality clearly.  We are ignorant, although as clergy we often profess ourselves wise and understanding; we are not.  Second, our own hearts and minds are not sufficiently set on the reality of God, so we are not in a position to unmask how others are evading the truth.  We are blinded by our own evil-doings, dabbling in darkness.  Third, knowing ourselves to be sinful, we do not want to be “judgmental” of others, but we want to extend to them God’s mercy and forgiveness.  And so we blunt the word, and keep it “positive.”  Not living the truth, how can we speak the truth?  Fourth, we know that if we speak the truth more directly, we could lose parishioners.  And we do not want to lose parishioners.  Nor do we want to lose the contributions that they offer.  All too often, “it’s about the money, Skip.”  We are afraid, are we not, that if we truly “tell it like it is,” we will empty the already emptying churches, and not even collect enough money to pay the bills--or our salaries.

Is this true?

"My Grace is Sufficient for You..."

Sent to Rebels: “Son of man, I am sending you to the Israelites, rebels who have rebelled against me.... Hard of face and obstinate of heart are they to whom I am sending you...” So spoke the LORD in his prophet Ezekiel. And so must the Spirit speak to anyone who seeks to speak and to live the truth in any society, including our own. There can be no doubt, however, that before Ezekiel could confront the spiritual disease of others, he had to bend his heart and mind again and again to the Spirit. Closing one’s mind to God is spiritual disease. Each of us at times can turn away from God and be “hard of face and obstinate of heart.” And each of us must allow ourselves to be confronted internally by the Spirit--or perhaps from a messenger not of our own choosing--in order to reform us into a genuinely prophetic people. For it is easy to say that every baptized Christian is anointed to share in Christ as “priest, prophet, and king,” as we say in the baptismal ritual. But how costly it is for each of us to be challenged, confronted, purified by the Spirit so to be a priestly, prophetic people. The reorientation of the soul to the presence of God, and away from a self-centered existence, requires a perpetual spiritual struggle. No one has “arrived,” no one can justly say, “I am saved.” By faith we can say: I am seeking to cooperate with the living God in my reformation.

Weakness and grace: Today we also hear the word which Christ spoke in prayer to his Apostle, Paul. Apparently the Apostle was complaining about an ailment, his “thorn in the flesh.” In response to Paul’s prayer, the Risen Christ said to him and to us, if we listen: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (Note how Christ speaks to Paul in Paul’s own words and characteristic thoughts. How else could the LORD speak to him?) Only those who discover and admit their own limitations, deficiencies, weaknesses, can or will submit themselves to God and to His Christ. Some of the most impressive human beings I have met experienced a powerful “thorn in the flesh” in the form of an addiction, and most often alcoholism. They were ground down and humiliated by their weakness, by “the curse.” But some of those ground down not only “hit bottom,” but humbly turned themselves over “to a Power greater than themselves.” Then they really experienced, time and again, the liberating power of God at work in and for them. Admitting emptiness and futility in themselves, they called on the “Higher Power” and found a strength flowing in, and liberating them.  Those who have known enslaving addictions, and truly surrendered to the God time and again, fully understand the LORD’s words to the Apostle Paul, that “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”