It’s fascinating to think about how we know what we know about the life of Jesus from those who lived in the first century CE (Christian Era), because all four were written long after the sojourn of Jesus on earth. I’m thinking about this because in the biographical information about Mark, who wrote the first and shortest of the four gospels and upon whom the authors of Matthew and Luke are said to have depended in their own writings, we find only this to situate him: (? – c. April 25, 68) Only his death date is noted.
Mark was not one of the twelve apostles but must have either known Jesus personally (evidence is not clear) or been very deeply touched by the stories about Jesus from those who did have personal experiences of him. I think about a group of people sitting around a campfire, remembering Jesus, having been inspired by him and sharing the stories that prompted them to give their lives to the search to know this Jesus the Christ more deeply.
I think about my own growth in faith and the stories that I love about Jesus. They are mostly the stories like the healings, especially of young people whose parents were bereft and upon whom Jesus took pity, or of Mary Magdalene whom Jesus loved. When he saw her in the garden weeping over his death, he needed only to say her name for her to know he was alive. Compassion is the basis of the stories I love, stories of the care of Jesus for others, like the feeding of the five thousand or of his friends on the beach after his resurrection…
My gratitude for the memories of those who shared stories and then wrote the gospels (community memories, to be sure) reminds me that we, too, have stories to tell – of family, community and our own personal lives that are worthy of sharing in hopes that what is of value will be kept in love for those who come after us.
I have started this post three times in the past two minutes and am grateful for the technology that includes a “delete” button. It’s not that I have one thought stream; rather, there are too many words rumbling around in my head with no clear way to express anything. This happens sometimes when too much is going on and especially as I prepare to travel. It’s as if I need to be sure I have everything taken care of before I leave, especially remembering (of course) what needs to go with me.
It is interesting to me that today’s psalm response from the lectionary is part of 119 – the longest psalm of all in the Bible. Fitting, I thought, after a week away that held so many diverse moments, including childhood memories as well as experiences of new places and events. Commentary says that “each segment of Psalm 119 could be read as a separate voice from individuals praying out of their various perspectives” or “one individual experiencing all the various perspectives that one knows along the path of life.” I’m not sure I have integrated all the impressions, information and feelings of the week as it was so full and far-reaching. One thing I do know is that it provided an opportunity (as most events do if we are awake) for self-reflection and gratitude. Thus, I pray this morning with the psalmist as I return to my blessed “normal” life.
The feeling in the gathering place of my 50th-year high school reunion last evening was congenial and happy, a perfect example for me of how age is related to wisdom. There were comments that spoke of what a good and caring education we received in high school, the benefit perhaps of membership in a small class of 82 students. There were some specific common memories of events and some still etched in only one or two of our minds but nothing mattered except that our shared experience was celebrated and had created a bond that was still apparent in the joy of being together. It was in the looking back, taking the long view, that the essence of “us” came to light without the necessity of a lot of words.
I have been absent this week from my daily schedule that includes this reflection exercise, present instead to my Sisters of St. Joseph around the USA and the world. I am presently in Tsu, Japan, leading a retreat for our Sisters here. Previous to coming here I shared the experience of the United States Federation of the Sisters of St. Joseph (almost 700 of us) in Orlando, Florida, where we were keenly aware of the violence that had been visited on that city and other places in our country and the world over the past several weeks.
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 