Facing

Who is this man or beast who shadows me—

or not a beast but some sheer mystery

whose presence comes both faintly and in power—

When I must turn and gaze into the dark 

and quickly turn away, forgetting what I’ve seen—

not seen at all but dimly darkly sensed.

And do I dare to turn toward your face?

That’s not a face and nothing one can know 

or feel, and yet that shadows me today 

and yesterday and every day that comes 

unwelcome guest appearing from nowhere—

decaying leaves ooze mud beneath my feet.

At once you take a faceless skull that mocks—

a blackened mask before a lightless blank

that follows after after and before  

and comes yet closer ever closer than before

enclosing me in your blank nothingness

and making me as lifeless as your formless face.  

“You are not facing me your mind is wandering

some sad and sorrowful and fearful sickenings

not standing still to see what still stands still.”

“Who are you then, or what, that speaks to me?”

“Your shadow and your life and your impending doom,

and all you ever were and ever will become.”

I see my lifeless form, a body lying still,

and feel no breath no beats but nothingness

for I am gone not I— no I that sees 

just you that gazes down on lifelessness;

for you have done your work, sheer emptying

Dissolving me into yourself, o death.

—William Paul McKane

Epiphany 2018

What is separated in time and space can be joined in consciousness, in the mind. And what is joined in consciousness is separated into stories to communicate meaning. The reality of Christ, the presence of God-in-man, is the truth of humanity. We celebrate this reality in every Eucharist. For the sake of our understanding, we separate reality into parts.  And so at Christmastide, the mystery of God in us, of incarnation, is separated into two inseparable realities:  the birth of Jesus Christ, and then the Epiphany of Christ to the Gentiles.  Even children can appreciate the parts, and can be nourished by reflecting on them.  Our adult task is to bring the parts back together in the truth of consciousness and action: God in Christ is one. Christ brings the genuine believer into a living contact with God.

You may have noticed over the years that the evangelist Luke has no need for the feast of the Epiphany, because he has the equivalent experience take place in the scene he sets for Jesus’ birth. No Magi or astrologers are mentioned coming to see what God has done for humankind, but lowly shepherds, the “poorest of the poor,” representing all those who are open to what God is doing here and now, with minds not limited to beliefs about past events. The shepherds live in the present of God, under God, and so are moved by God to find His Presence in the new-born Christ.  Open to God, we behold God by faith in Jesus. The evangelist Matthew has a different tale to tell, and wants to emphasize that Christ has come for all peoples (as the angels announce in Luke’s Gospel), and so has the Gentiles represented by three men, attuned to heavenly signs, journeying from the East.  That the Magi recognize the divine Presence in the baby Jesus is artfully symbolized by their gifts, as described in our familiar Christmas carol, “We three kings”:  incense pointing to divinity present; gold witnessing to the true ruler of humankind; myrrh foreshadowing the saving death of Christ for all. 

From beautiful stories and rich symbolic meanings one needs to return again and again to the truth of spiritual experience: This is done best by sitting still in quiet meditation.  For our foremost goal is not to tell stories or to “spread the word,” but to grow into a deeper and more lasting union with the God present to the consciousness of every human being open to receive him. Genuine openness is a demanding spiritual work, requiring prayer, study, recollection, meditation, action, love.  That many refuse God’s gift of presence is symbolized by Matthew’s bloody story of the slaughter of infants in Bethlehem, ordered by the wicked Herod, a shrunken soul jealous for his own power.  We may have obstacles in our hearts and lives that prevent us from living in the truth of divine Presence.  And so our task includes reflecting on habitual and actual ways in which we fail to respond wholeheartedly, or let our awareness of God shining into our minds be obscured by the smoke of worldly preoccupations. The task of openness to the divine light shining into consciousness is endless. The essential activity is silent meditation, and many of us are too busy to sit still.

The reality of Epiphany is now—for you, for me. Our Christian and human duty is to enkindle in our hearts a flame of the fire of God’s love, which means allowing his love to flood in.  What good is it for us to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus, as we did on Christmas, and refuse to live in the light shining in?  We live in the light by letting it enlighten us in meditation and wonder. If God is not here, then where could he be sought?  The stable and the manger in Bethlehem are gone, or just rebuilt monuments to what God has done.  But God is here and now; living in his light, love, peace is indeed the constant gift and burden of our lives. 

                                            Blessed New Year to each and to all.

Christmas: The Eternal Now

Zoe and Moses thanking God

 Most of us love Christmas. We all have so many joyful memories of Christmases past, hopes for Christmas this year, and for years to come, God willing.  We delight in so much—or most of us may take delight in these things:  cold, fresh air; snow that blankets and quiets the earth; bright stars twinkling—or dancing if we drank some nog—in the icy-cold December sky; sleigh bells and Christmas carols; trees and homes decorated with lovely lights; children’s faces aglow with expectation and wonder; Santa traveling far and wide in a single night or two (for the Orthodox, he comes for Epiphany in early January); scented candles, cookies and breads baking; delicious dinners lovingly prepared and eaten among family and friends; a baby waiting for milk and loving hugs.  And Mary and Joseph, now in humble statue form, surrounded by their resting creature-friends, receiving with sheer delight the infant Jesus; and the shepherds, the poor of the land, hastening to the stable to behold the Savior who will be “great joy for all peoples.” And for more than 1500 years now, Christmas has been for Christians the Mass of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, humankind’s Savior.

Christmas is all of this, and more: more than words can readily or well express, but which we may feel, or sense, because the More is always pressing in on us.  As T. S. Eliot put it so well in his poetic masterpiece, “The Four Quartets”: “The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.” Not only the Incarnation of God the Word as Jesus of Nazareth, but the process of Incarnation in every moment:  God infusing human beings with his divine presence.  This process is at least as old as recorded human history, for the awareness of this process forms the decisive spiritual experience of millions of human beings over many centuries and in highly diverse cultures.  The ways to express the inbreathing of God into human consciousness vary highly, but the fundamental experience is what it always was. And what is this experience that we celebrate on Christmas, and at every Mass, and in so many prayers and meditations throughout the world?

The Apostle Paul expressed the fundamental experience of divine Incarnation very well:  “Now I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me.”  A human being who can embrace and do evil is also capable of receiving God into his heart and mind.  “Have I been with you so long, and yet you do not know me?” Jesus asks his disciple, Philip.  Mystics throughout the ages, and mystical philosophers, have spent hours in silent meditation to experience and then to share in words, in literature, or in art, the incarnational reality: “I AM with you.” 

The birth of Jesus by no means exhausts the meaning and gift of Christmas.  Rather, in Jesus we see the fullness of what every human being is and can be. We see humankind in the light of divine reality:  here, now, in every moment, “I AM with you to deliver you.”  Our hearts can take renewed hope, our spirits soar with joy, because the LORD God is dwelling in and with His people.  What has been true for centuries, now reaches fulfillment and bursts into God’s promise for each and for all.  The senselessness of life apart from God is overcome, as God enters into the life of every human being—even in the unbeliever, the “infidel,” the unworthy, the unscrupulous, the “untouchable,” the “unredeemable.” God has taken into himself every human being, from the moment of conception through death, into eternity.  “God loves us, not because we are good, but because He IS.”  The lover and the beloved become one in Incarnation. This sacred marriage of God and human being is what we celebrate, not only on Christmas, but in every breath we take—whether consciously or not.

Our thoughts return to the manger—the scene first described by the evangelist Luke, then made physical for us in the crèche introduced by St. Francis of Assisi—a man in whom God’s presence could be seen, heard, touched—a man whom animals loved to be near, because they, too, know their LORD:  O magnum mysterium: “O great mystery, and wonderful sacrament, that animals should see the new-born Lord, lying in a manger!  Blessed is the Virgin whose womb was worthy to bear our Savior, Jesus Christ.  Alleluia!”

                                      Merry Christmas, and God bless and fill us, everyone!

The End Of Advent

We have entered the final few days of Advent, which ends on 24 December with Masses of Christmas Eve and the Christmas Day—which is actually eight days long.  The season of Advent ends in time, giving way to Christmastide.  But the end of Advent—the goal of Advent, its fulfillment—is in God alone. Advent ends in God. What is in God never ends in the sense of passes away.  It is and becomes, and never ceases to be.

Every creature has an end in time, because we have bodies; but our End is God.  Our life’s story ends as the body dies, and is laid to rest in a cemetery, or at sea, or as ashes buried on a mountainside, beneath a lonesome pine.  The story of our life, in the sense of a body enlivened by soul, ends in time;  but in the mind of God, one is alive forever.  In the One who brought us forth from nothing, we who lost ourselves in time, find a home forever.  What else could be the end of our human longings, hopes, knowing, loving, but in God? 

In time, Advent blends into Christmas.  Waiting for God is ultimately fulfilled in eternity, but even as we wait, we do so not in the void of nothing, but in the human condition of in-between.  Into our human lives God is ever sending Himself forth, living in us and with us.  If it were not so, our human lives would be essentially empty and futile, or rather, nothing at all.  All that lives and breathes, and all that exists, does so in God, not in and for itself.  In every moment of one’s life, God is taking flesh, incarnating Himself.  Christmas shows us the essential nature of each moment of our lives:  God being with us, in us, and for us.  Advent ends in God beyond time; Christmas is the celebration of God in time:  “And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.” 

Together, Advent and Christmas mark our human condition as the in-between:  the time of longing for God, and the time for partial completion.  Christmas is God’s gift in time, for time and for eternity; our celebrations of Christmas pass away in time.  And yet, God’s action is eternal, and the One who becomes flesh in time, is the One who inbreathes each creature for all eternity.  The inbreathing is not of breath, for non-physical beings do not need breath; God’s inbreathing is of life, love, wisdom, peace, and joy.  All of these we celebrate at Christmas in time, and share in forever beyond the limits of time in death.  The One for whom every being hopes, the One in whom all beings have their beginning and their blessed end, is the One who is ever and forever giving Himself freely to each and to all.  This is the true gift of Christmas, and it is for now, for tomorrow, and for ever. 

The One for whom we long and hope is ever the One who is more present, more alive, more real than we are ourselves.  We beings are the little ones whom the Almighty is ever indwelling.  “And when this earthy dwelling turns to dust,” our home is where it always was:  not here in this passing world, but in the heart and mind of God. So bury the body of your loved one where you will, and honor the site where his or her life came to its end in time, but know with wonder and love that the one whom you love is not there, not in that grave, or confined to ashes and dust in the earth, but is forever in God alone, where all begins, and all ends, and begins ever afresh. 

                                            LORD, say to my soul, “I AM your salvation.”

ADVENT: Ready or Not

As soon as Thanksgiving is past, we all know that Christmas is near at hand, and then New Year’s.  These special celebrations all flow together in our minds in what we call “the holiday season,” probably forgetting that “holiday” comes from “holy day.”  Most of us are probably too caught up in time to be mindful of what is genuinely holy, and what is merely passing away, or “secular,” “profane.”  Now it is December, and the Church would have us celebrate the season of Advent, the season of waiting for the “Coming of God.”  God comes and does not come.  Advent is here now, and will be gone in a few rapidly fleeting weeks.  And we may wonder, “Where was God?”

As time flies by, and Christmas draws near, the prayers and Scripture readings at Mass tell us to wait in patience “for the Coming of the Lord,” to wait in prayer, to wait in silence.  Nature itself tells us to be silent and still, as we in the Northern Hemisphere are in the darkest eight weeks of the year.  But our consumer culture, our families, our duties, our habits tell us not to be quiet or still, but to enter into constant busyness and “celebrations.”  We probably do not even consciously feel this tension:  be still and wait in silence; get hyper-busy shopping, celebrating, drinking, eating…. Time just keeps flowing, carrying all things in its wake.  Quoting from Eliot’s “Four Quartets:”   “When is there an end to it, the withering of withered flowers?”  “Ridiculous the waste sad time, stretching before and after…”

We cannot stop the flow of time, although some foolishly try to do so by wishes, dreams, and sundry magic acts.  Time is not our enemy, or evil.  For Time brings ever new possibilities; yes, and in time every moment and every thing passes away.  Time leaves one little time for consciousness, just time to rush around in a dizzying flurry.  How can one break through the passing of time?  Not in time, not in the world—“not in this twittering world.”  How can one become conscious, and live a more wakeful life?  How does a human being break through the chains of bondage to time and passing away?  How does one on his or her way to death enter into life?  These are the great questions of human spiritual life, and they are implicitly raised in Advent, but rarely addressed carefully.  For even the prayers and celebrations of Advent pass away too quickly, leaving but a few fleeting moments for consciousness—if we dare to attend at all.  In the familiar words of St. John of the Cross, “Muero porque no muero.”  “I die because I do not die.”

Letting the waves pass over one’s head, sitting in silence, is the way to die well before dying.  Only by choosing not to attend to the fleeting grindings of time, does one become conscious, awake.  There is no other way.  Or is there?  Pain can be so intense that one has no choice but to have one’s consciousness filled up with pain.  Agony does this:  it rips one’s mind to mind nothing but the overwhelming agony.  And certain mind-altering drugs have the same effect:  they fill one’s consciousness with imagined realities, and make all of the real world seem dull, stale, flat, and unprofitable.  I wish neither pain, grief, nor drugged realities on anyone.  There is a far better way to be ready, to enter into life, even as the body ages in time.  It is a way that celebrations alone, however sacred, cannot do for us.  Not even the most beautiful Advent and Christmas Masses can wake us up, as long as we do not learn to sit still in the emptiness of silence, awake and alert.

"Whatsoever You Did To My Brothers And Sisters"

 

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory…then He will say, `Come, you who are blessed by my Father, and inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world….I was hungry and you gave me food, thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, sick and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’” 

These words of Jesus, and similar words in this parable or story, are rich in meaning, and deeply appreciated by many of us.  “I was hungry, and you fed me.”  Christ identifies himself with all of humankind, with every one of us, in our sufferings, and in our kindnesses towards others.  And he warns us that he does not find himself in those of us who turn our back on a fellow human being in need.  How clear the words, how life-changing the meaning.  “LORD, when did we see you hungry?”  “Whatsoever you did to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did to Me.” 

This passage, only found in St. Matthew’s Gospel, presents a glorious image of Christ as ruler of humanity.  But unlike our human rulers, he is not part of an elite, removed from our daily lives, and sending out his commands for us to obey.  On the contrary, He rules from within us, from being one with us, because in this vision of humanity, every human being is a member of the Body of Christ.  If this is what we mean by “the kingship of Christ,” know this:  it is utterly unlike any political ruler you or I have seen or read about.  This is the rightful Ruler of humankind, because He is us, He is not only our “head,” but is present in and with every member, from the greatest to the least.  Here is the true human Ruler, who let’s our sufferings be his sufferings, and our needs be his needs.  Compared to Christ the true Ruler, every human authority and power is shown to be inadequate—not evil, not to be destroyed, but all are wanting, and sometimes to be pitied in their being “all too human.”  Not so with Christ Jesus:  He alone is the true Ruler, because He is Everyman written large, in each and every one of us from the moment of conception into eternity. 

The title “Christ the King” is misleading, because it falls far too short of the reality of Christ.  Jesus Christ the rightful Ruler, because He is one with each and with all of us.  He makes Himself one with us.  He has assumed our nature, and is taking us into God.  In other words, Christ is divinizing us from within, and transforming us into the Kingdom of God.  “Who are my brothers and sisters?” 

“Whatsoever you did to the least of my brothers and sisters, you did to Me.”  Those words must echo and resound in our hearts, until they form us anew.  Do you want to know what God’s will is for you, for the rest of your life?  “Whatsoever you did to the least…you did for Me.”

To God be glory and honor, now and forever, with thanksgiving, for He has made us One with Him.  Amen.

"Give To Caesar What Is Caesar's, And To God What Is God's"

Few of Christ’s words are so well known by Christians and non-Christians alike, and few of the sayings attributed to Christ have had such an enormous influence on Christian understanding of life, politics, and personal obligations.  In its context in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke), the saying is even richer and more profound than is generally realized. For most of the so-called “Christian centuries,” however, Christ’s words were used to bolster the Gelasian “doctrine of the two swords,” asserting that each human being must give respect and offerings to both the Emperor and to the Church.  According to this teaching of long standing in the Church, human beings must obey and pay tribute to the Roman Emperor and to the Church, represented above all by the Pope in Rome.  But Jesus did not say, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to the Church what is the Church’s." Simply put, the Church is not God, the Pope is not Christ, and placing the institutional Church or hierarchs in the position of God is spiritually and politically wrong and dangerous.  Nor did Christ intend to fossilize the Roman Emperor into an authority to be ever respected and obeyed; he knew well that all human powers and authorities pass away in time.  Jesus was not impressed with the power of Rome, nor with any human authority, civil or religious. So what is the intent of this gospel passage, and what might Christ be saying to us through it?

 To interpret these words of Christ, or anyone’s words properly, one must always take into account the context in which they were spoken.  In the case of “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s,” as presented in the Gospels, the context is that of a trap being set for Jesus by Pharisees and Herodians—that is, by the super-pious, self-righteous ones and by the cynical, secular souls of the power elites.  These groups hated Jesus, and sought ways to destroy him.  Why?  He provoked them by his wisdom and his radical reliance on God alone, and Christ challenged everything about their empty lives.  Jesus was more than a thorn in their side; they experienced him as a source of destruction for all that they held dear:  for the rigorous interpretation of the Law exalted by Pharisees, for pious self-righteousness, and for the power-loving spiritual emptiness of the “powers that be,” represented by the clique around King Herod (“Herodians”). Their question is a genuine search for truth, but a clever trap set to bring down the naked power of Rome on the head of Jesus—to have him killed as a political revolutionary:  “Now, is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”  If Jesus answers affirmatively, “Yes, one must pay taxes,” then the masses who revere him as a true Man of God will be turned off by his conniving with the hated Roman oppressors.  If Jesus answers, “No, do not pay taxes to Caesar, a false god,” then these clever connivers will turn Christ over to Rome for teaching open disobedience and rebellion. And Pilate was all too eager to crucify another rebellious Jew to protect Roman power.

I will save for this week’s homily some fuller comments on Christ’s brilliant answer, and how he side-stepped their trap—and trapped them. Suffice it to note now that Jesus turned the tables onto his slick-wicked opponents, and trapped the rigorous Pharisees in their false-consciousness:  they were not truly worshipping God, but money, power, Caesar, and self.  For he asked his would-be trappers to bring him a coin, and they produced one quickly, perhaps out of their money bag.  Then Jesus asked them a question:  “Whose image is this, and whose inscription?” They knew well:  “Caesar’s.” These men could readily recognize the image of the Emperor, and his name on money, but they could not recognize the Image of God standing right in front of them.  The reason these men hated Jesus and sought to trap him was because they were spiritually blind and wicked:  their shrunken souls could recognize Caesar and his image on money, but they could not recognize the Presence of God in Jesus Christ—God’s Image in Christ, and in every human being they met. “Blind guides” indeed.

Practical upshot:  If the Emperor or the “powers that be” demand your money, pay your taxes.  It is just money. And cheating on taxes is wrong and immoral.  But give to God what is God’s—your heart, mind, and soul.  And one’s faith and love of God are genuine if and only if one recognizes and respects the Image of the living God in every human being one meets. “And who is my neighbor?” asks a man trying to avoid God’s Image in human beings.  To whom do you owe respect, kindness, charity, and truth?  To Christ, and to every member of his Body—that is, to every one you meet.