Transfiguration

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high mountain, James, Jesus, John, lamp, Luke, Mark, Matthew, Peter, pray, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, transfiguration, vision

One of the extraordinary events in the life of Jesus, chronicled in all three of the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke), is known as the Transfiguration. That word when broken apart speaks to a process of changing form, which is what happened to Jesus and was witnessed by the apostles Peter, James and John one day on a high mountain where they had gone to pray. It is a familiar story. For those interested in detail, it is a great chance to question and muse about the what and why of the incident as each of the three versions in the gospels has small, distinctive differences, none of which changes the substance of the event.

I’m one of those people who likes to pay attention to the small things in order to get a feel for the underlying sense of emotions and reactions to what was happening. Today’s recounting is from MT 17:1-9 where the first thing that grabbed me was the place where they went to pray. The text says they went “up to a high mountain” and I began to ask myself: Why a high mountain? Is it symbolic of Jesus, the “high priest” – or more simply was it just a place where they wouldn’t be bothered by crowds? Then more deeply: Did Jesus know what was going to happen there on that day? Was that the only time he experienced a visitation from Moses and Elijah or others of his ancestors in such a visual way?

Then there are the three companions, not just observers but participants in the vision. I find it fascinating that in Matthew’s version, Peter (true to his usual manner of reactivity) seems not to be afraid at all in seeing Jesus transformed into a being of light, his clothes dazzling white, standing talking to two men who have been long dead! Whether or not he recognized Moses and Elijah, his enthusiasm caused him to blurt out the fact that it was great to be there and to make the suggestion that they set up tents and stay! Interesting also is that, although the vision did not frighten any of the three, the shadow that overcame them and the voice of God speaking out of the cloud the message that This is my beloved Son; listen to Him, terrified them such that they fell to the ground and hid their faces. In the end, I picture a tender scene that the gospel reports as Jesus coming over, touching them (probably leaning over to pat them on their shoulders) and telling them there was nothing to fear. The vision had passed.

What are we to make of all this? I recommend the message of Peter in his second letter where he speaks about the message God spoke on that day. “This is my Son, my beloved, in whom I am well-pleased.” We ourselves heard this voice from heaven when we were with him on the holy mountain…You will do well to be attentive to it, as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.” (2PT 16-19)

Could that be a call to our own visionary seeing? Perhaps a waiting transfiguration of our own life?

 

 

 

 

 

Becoming Love

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catholic, fire, heart, holiness, Jesus, John, love, most, sacred heart of Jesus, sacrifice, solemnity, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

Today is The Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, a designation that makes me, as a “cradle Catholic,” sit up and take notice. It’s the words Solemnity and Most that call attention to the holiness of Jesus as the model for life. In this way, my focus shifts from the beating and bleeding heart in the images of Jesus on the walls of many Catholic homes to a deeper consciousness that does not negate the truth of that devotion but expands and personalizes it in a new way. Lest the reader assume that I have left tradition behind, it seems important to mention that I have an image of the Sacred Heart in my prayer space at home. It is the totality of the symbols – the face of Jesus, the heart and fire illuminating it – and yes, drops of blood as a sign of his life’s sacrifice – that guides my prayer toward love each day.

The second reading for today speaks strongly of what I feel about this feast. Listen to John’s first letter (4: 7-16).  Beloved, let us love one another because love is of God…In this is love: not that we have loved God but that God has loved us…Beloved, if God so loved us, we also must love one another. No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and God’s love is brought to perfection in us…(Here’s the “punchline” – the crux of it all) God is love.

I read a quote once on a card that stays with me. It said, “We are not God but we are a seed of God..” I don’t remember the exact conclusion to that thought but it spoke of our responsibility to grow into God in ways that reflect God’s light, God’s love: the being of God. How might I nurture that movement today?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do You Love Me?

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focus, Jesus, John, Lectionary, love, mowing the grass, Peter, practice, prayer, serendipitous, spiritual practice, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, work

Sometimes my thoughts have a strange way of coming together. Often two or more unrelated things give me a basis for conclusion that make me scratch my head and say, “Where did that come from?” Today is one of those days – a serendipitous collision of a passing thought with the morning lectionary reading that may or may not “work” in the world outside my mind. Here goes:

On my coffee run to the kitchen this morning the few words I heard exchanged were about the lovely morning weather. The sun was full up and shining on all things green (before 7:00 am!). As I left the kitchen I heard a remark about how beautiful the new-mown grass looked and I felt the same, satisfied with the hours I spent yesterday preparing it for the group of retreatants arriving today. As I sat in my chair and prepared to write, it struck me that mowing the grass on our 11-acre property has become a spiritual practice for me. I speak about it as my leisure because it gives me a chance to be outside in nature with all the color and diversity, the scents on the breeze, the small animals scampering away at the roar of the mower’s approach. It takes focus, however, to get the job done well. I am not free just to ride around without paying attention to the pattern I’m creating. Staying with the line of what has just been cut is essential to a neat and complete result. If my mind wanders into something I see – a new wildflower perhaps – I lose my line and have a wobbly patch that needs to be corrected. Paying attention does not mean I can’t enjoy the ride, but it does mean I need to stay awake and alert.

The gospel for today (JN 21:15-19) contains that famous and often pondered over exchange between Jesus and Peter where Jesus asks Peter three times: “Do you love me?” with Peter seeming more frustrated with each repetition. By the third time he is so frustrated that he blurts out, “You know everything! You know that I love you!” whereupon Jesus tells him just a bit about what the future might look like and why Peter might want to remember the love he has proclaimed so vehemently for Jesus when events call for that measure of love.

What came to me as I read that was the repetition and the necessity of keeping the mind focused – in this case, on what the heart knows. If I forget where I am in the mowing, it all goes awry. If Peter lost the certainty and depth of his love for Jesus (and that of Jesus for him) for even a moment in the toughest times to follow, he might have lost heart. As it was, all reports are that he endured everything that came to him as privilege because of his inner certainty of Christ with him all the time.

If we practice every day – whether in prayer, relationship or mowing the lawn – it may be that we are more able when the tests come. When God asks me in the many moments of the daily routine, “Do you love me?” my answer may be all I need at some future time to stand up to the challenge of love where life or death is the result of my response.

Between the Times

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Acts of the Apostles, Ascension, crucifixion, Father, fear, John, Lectionary, Pentecost, pray, resurrection, Son, Spirit of God, The Great Commission, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

The lectionary readings for this seventh Sunday of Easter find us between an ending and a new beginning and we, in the same manner as the disciples, need to be willing to sit in this empty space, reflecting on what has been and waiting for the movement of the Spirit to call us once again to a courageous future.

In the first reading (Acts 1: 12-14) we find the apostles trudging back to Jerusalem after having received “the Great Commission” from Jesus. He had finished his mission and passed on to them what was now theirs to do: to go out to the world and teach what he had first taught them. So today they are together again as they were after the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus. Was it the same “upper room” where they had huddled in fear for their lives? What were they feeling now? Fearful still, perhaps, without the certainty now that they would be safe going forward. Bereft, most likely, because they were again without the presence of Jesus for their strength. But at least they were together in the company of those who had experienced Jesus in what we would certainly call a privileged way. And together they were praying for the Spirit of God to come and reveal to them the manner in which they were to fulfill their mission.

In the gospel for today we have a glimpse of this ending from the perspective of Jesus. John’s Gospel (17: 1-11) could seem like a son reporting to his father his completion of a project – for school, maybe – by recounting all the steps he had taken and how successful the whole enterprise had been. This scene, however, was much more. Jesus was just on the cusp of leaving those he loved, that small band of followers who had listened to him, learned from him, supported him and sometimes disappointed him, but loved him enough to stay with him through death to new life. His care for and pride in these beloved ones is clear in his recounting to God. Consider your feelings if you had overheard Jesus saying to God: They belonged to you and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word…I pray for them. What a validation of their discipleship! Moreover, these lines seem to express a deep tenderness in which Jesus holds those he called his friends.

Let us take some time in these days between the feasts of the Ascension and Pentecost to sit in this space of emptiness, preparing for a renewed outpouring of the Spirit in our lives and remembering that Jesus promises to us as he did his disciples: I am with you always, until the end of the age.

Greater Things

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do greater things, extraordinary things, farewell discourse, greater good, healer, Inspiring America, Jesus, John, Lectionary, Luke, miracles, NBC Nightly News, ordinary people, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

There is a line in John’s gospel, showing up in the lectionary readings for today, that I would wager most of us would claim as impossible to believe. Jesus is in the early stages of his “farewell discourse” and trying to impress upon those closest to him that they really will be able to carry on without him because he will remain close to them in Spirit. In JN 14:12 we hear the following promise: Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever believes in me will do the works that I do and will do greater ones than these…

Let’s think about this for a moment…How could we even think of doing greater things than Jesus?! Well…take the fact that there are millions more people around now than in the time of Jesus. Most of them are within our reach because of air travel and the internet. These inventions have expanded communication far beyond what could have been possible in the first century of Christianity. And Jesus was a healer. Think of the advances of modern medicine that allow “the blind to see, the lame to walk…” and even new hearts – physical ones – can prolong a person’s life. Keep thinking and you may come up with something you are, or have been, a part of that could never have happened in the far distant past.

Jesus didn’t say, “You will be greater than I am.” What he said was: “You will do greater things than I do.” That allows us to dream big while still keeping our humility intact, always knowing that our abilities and talents ultimately come from God and not from us, but through us – with our consent and participation. The thing that redeems the Nightly News on NBC for me is the last segment that began on Monday nights but now seems to happen more frequently – maybe because we need it more – called Inspiring America. It tells the stories of ordinary people who are doing what began as simple things that have grown to extraordinary works – many of them coming from young people. Take for example the 7 year-old boy who asked his mother why someone was standing on the corner with a sign that said, “Will work for food.” When he heard that there are many poor, often hungry people in our country he started an organization of people his age that now feeds hundreds – maybe thousands of people. When asked if parents help in his organization, he says, “Of course. They help with our taxes and stuff. And they help with deliveries. We can’t drive: I’m only 14!”

Ordinary people doing extraordinary things cannot help but become extraordinary disciples. The one common element in almost all of these stories is relationship. First, of course, there is a recognition of a need that most often includes people in need. Next there is the sense that “I can’t do it alone” so (especially with children) there is the request for others to join in the effort. And then, miracles can happen. It’s like when Jesus wanted to feed the 5,000 people but said instead to his disciples, “You give them something to eat yourselves.” (LK 9:13) And so they did!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Questions

Tags

bread of life, gratitude, John, leave, Lectionary, psalm 116, reflection, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

There are two significant questions in the lectionary readings for today. One would have been enough for a day’s worth of reflection (or more) but it seems only right not to choose between them. The first measures our “gratitude quotient” – perhaps for days when things are going our way, but not necessarily if we are in the habit of deep reflection. The second concerns the depth and content of our faith. I offer both in hopes that they may come to be seen as two components of unified whole.

1. The refrain of Psalm 116: How shall I make a return to the Lord for all the good he has done for me?
2. A question of Jesus at the end of chapter 6 of John’s gospel, following his declaration that has come to be known as the “Bread of Life” discourse in which Jesus said, “Unless you eat my body and drink my blood, you shall not have life within you…” After that, the gospel says, “many of the disciples remarked, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?’ As a result, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer walked with him. Jesus then said to the Twelve, ‘Do you also want to leave?'”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Testimony

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Acts of the Apostles, energetic current, honest sharing, Jan Phillips, John, life experiences, Scripture, talking story, testifying, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, trust, truth-telling

Yesterday I was speaking with someone who had participated in last weekend’s workshop at The Sophia Center for Spirituality about how simple, and yet how effective, the activities were. We concluded that it was a combination of the engaging manner of Jan Phillips, the presenter, that engendered trust by her honest sharing and the resultant willingness of the group members to act in like manner that carried the day. The focus of the sharing, a consistent energetic current that undergirded such success, was the life experiences of the participants and how those experiences had been transformative in some way. The genius of the process was that the transformation came from the simple exercise of speaking our truths aloud. Happy or sad, difficult or easy, long past or recent, we recounted our life events as we saw them and recognized ourselves in the eyes and hearts of the willing hearers in our midst. We found our creativity in the extraordinary poems that we wrote in 10 minutes, prompted by a series of necessarily included words like a color, a location, a body of water, a person…We moved our bodies in a  simple circle dance and found it easier to do in the singing and connecting of hands and smiling eyes. In short, we realized our common humanity and celebrated our desire to reach out from that place to a world in need of our blessing and gifts.

Today’s Scripture readings are all about “talking story,” as our brothers and sisters in Hawaii call it. Philip engaged with the Ethiopian court official on the road to Gaza, explaining the words of the prophet Isaiah that led to the immediate baptism of the foreigner. (ACTS 8:26-40) The psalm response was a perfect follow-on to that experience, proclaiming: Hear now, all you who fear God, while I declare what the Lord has done for me. When I appealed to God in words, praise was on the tip of my tongue! (PS 66) In the gospel, Jesus took a risk testifying to his mission when he said, “I am the living bread that has come down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever…” (JN 6:44-51) Can you imagine accepting that revelation in openness? It must have been his manner of speaking and his outpouring of self that allowed the listeners’ positive response, even if understanding had to come later.

Whether “truth-telling” comes naturally to us or not, whether our life stories are peppered with ups and downs (whose are not?), my recommendation is that we take our cue from the Scriptures and risk on occasion, finding a space and a companion or two whom we trust and place ourselves into their hands. I would hope – and would wager – that the benefits will outweigh the risks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hard To Believe

Tags

believe, big love, Corinthians, doing, Great Commandment, John, love, loving, loving God, received, remind, St. Paul, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, whole heart

From the first clause of the first sentence of the first lectionary reading this morning (1COR 15:1-8), I sat up straight as it felt like an important message was coming. Here’s what Paul said to the Corinthians – and us. I am reminding you, brothers and sisters, of the Gospel I preached to you, which you indeed received and in which you also stand. My thoughts went like this: “So, it seems even those first Christians had to be reminded, even with the witness of Paul’s fiery preaching, what they’d already been told! That makes me feel better!” Then I think, “But…I’ve had 2,000 years of reminders and lots of evidence…” I then considered how well I have received the Gospel and whether I stand straight and tall in it each day…

As if that wasn’t enough, the gospel followed with Jesus saying, Amen, amen I say to you, whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and will do greater ones than these…(JN 14:12) Now there is a very difficult piece of news! How could I possibly do what Jesus did? And more besides??? Well…(besides the fact that I’ve been on earth twice as long as Jesus was) my mind goes to the Great Commandment of loving God with my whole heart, mind and strength…Maybe I ought to flex my spiritual muscles a bit more vigorously and often and remember to do the same as I love my neighbor as myself – my “other self.” It seems to me it isn’t a question of doing more in that loving, but rather of loving with more of myself – not missing chances to be loving or leaving someone out of my view.

Looks like there will be a new reminder on my mirror or the door leading from my bedroom to my every day: REMEMBER LOVE – BIG LOVE – TODAY!

Gone Fishing

Tags

breakfast on the beach with Jesus, disciples, fish, fisherman, fishing, Gospel of Thomas, John, Nag Hammadi Codex, The Sophia Center for Spirituality

Today’s gospel recounts the wonderful beginning of John’s 21st chapter that takes us from an early morning fishing experience to breakfast on the beach with Jesus. In this post-resurrection story, seven of the disciples were together at the Sea of Tiberias in Galilee, probably still wondering what to do now that the bottom had fallen out of their world. Peter, leaning into all he had known before meeting Jesus, said to the others, “I’m going fishing.” They all jumped at the chance to do something familiar so off they went. Unfortunately, they caught nothing all night. It was at dawn, John records, that Jesus yelled to them to try again with the nets in a new way. In his version, they didn’t quibble with the seemingly ridiculous dictum that just moving the net to the other side of the boat would be a good solution; they just did it. And the rest, as they say, is history: 153 fish in a net that should have torn under the weight of so many but didn’t. Even stopping right there in the story gives a great deal of food for thought.

Something different for our reflection today can be found perhaps in Logion 8 from the Gospel of Thomas, probably the most commonly known text from the Nag Hammadi codex – the treasure trove of manuscripts found in the Egyptian desert in 1945, a Coptic version of what may be some of the earliest teachings of Jesus. This gospel is comprised of 114 sayings (logia) of Jesus and, while at least two-thirds of them overlap the four canonical gospels, some give a different twist to the message Jesus was hoping to impart. Such a message is contained in Logion 8.

Yeshua says, “A true human being can be compared to a wise fisherman who casts his net into the sea and draws it up from below full of small fish. Hidden among them is one large, exceptional fish that he seizes immediately, throwing back all the rest without a second thought. Whoever has ears, let them understand this.

Reflection on both versions of what has been written above might deepen our comprehension of what Jesus was trying to teach his disciples regarding the mission that was now theirs. What new thoughts come to you from these words or your Spirit-filled silence in their presence?

 

 

 

 

 

Recognition

Tags

grace, grief, Jesus, John, kenosis, Mary Magdalene, Passion, relinquishment, restoration, resurrection, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, weeping

I’m always happy in the Easter season to hear the Sunday gospel readings repeated in the daily lectionary; it can help us to go deeper and maybe allow us to pick up nuances that have previously escaped our notice. Take for example this morning’s text from John 20:11-18 – my favorite of all.

Mary Magdalene has finally achieved her rightful place in the story of Jesus, especially in the events surrounding what we have come to call the Paschal Mystery – the events of Christ’s passion, death and resurrection. Her fidelity is clear as she is mentioned in all four gospels, not only as the one who appears at all these events – from the foot of the cross, through the burial, to the garden of the resurrection. And she is the one who announces to the other followers of Jesus that he has risen from the dead. We know all these things.

What catches my attention this morning (as it often does) is Mary’s state of heart in that garden. I try to put myself in her place: half crazy with grief at the horrible death of the one who has not only loved her but has virtually saved her life – turned it around and given her new meaning. That’s a lot to be thankful for, of course, but there is also the mutual deepening of their relationship over the time since they first met. So when she comes to anoint his body one more time and finds the whole scene disrupted, her mind cannot hold the possibility of grave snatchers or worse so she doesn’t recognize that the “guards” at the tomb are angels. (How did that happen? Where did the human guards go?) To compound her grief, no one will give her information about where he is; they all just keep asking why she’s weeping. Even Jesus, who must have been changed in a way that made her mistake him for the gardener, asks her the same question. (How could she not recognize him? How different might a resurrection body appear?)

The most wonderful and telling moment in the whole drama is when Jesus simply says her name. When we are called by name, be it by a relative, a special friend or the person most closely related to us in love, it sounds different from any other time we hear it. Mary recognized Jesus at the sound of her own name. How thrilling that moment must have been! But that moment also had it’s price; the relationship has changed. The moment of restoration also becomes the moment of relinquishment. In order to experience the fullness of their connection, she must not cling to him. In the same manner that Jesus emptied himself to become human, he now resumes his place in the divinity of God and it is Mary who is called to reconcile the meaning of kenosis in her life now. Therein lies the fullness of the mystery of Easter, I think.

Just as Mary had to “let go” of Jesus in order to become the apostolic presence needed in her world, so we also must come to the maturity of faith that recognizes the depth of commitment called for by the Christian path in our day. It couldn’t have been easy for Mary to relinquish the Jesus that had brought her so far in order to gain the Christ whose divine fire was capturing her heart in a new way. Perhaps it is the repetition of the question, Why are you weeping? that is a clue to this “difficult grace” being offered to Mary and to us. If Mary were not ready for this jump in consciousness, she would, most likely, have dissolved in tears and missed the moment. We grieve our losses – some more tearfully than others – but are we willing to dry our tears so that we can see with new eyes what might be right in front of us? Can we identify our name as it is being called toward a new way of being? Can we let go of what might be holding us back (even if what has been in our lives has been good and meaningful) in order to take the next step toward the fullness of the Christ life?

Let us pray for the grace to see in new ways and then to let go into the heart of God.