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believe, faith, I am the way, John, life, perseverance, show, surrender, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, through, truth, work in us
Today’s gospel picks up yesterday’s conversation (JN 14), known as the “farewell discourse.” Moving on from the extraordinary verse where Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth and the life,” Jesus is speaking now about his unity with God. “If you know me, then you will know my Father,” he says. “From now on you do know him and have seen him.” It is an enthusiastic Philip, I think, who jumps in saying, “Master, show us the Father and that will be enough for us!”
Poor Philip. We are still struggling to understand the depth of what Jesus was saying. Poor Jesus, whose frustration after all that he had tried to impart to these disciples was evident in his response. (“Have I been with you for so long a time and still you do not know me, Philip?”) The great thing about Jesus is that he never gives up on them. He tries again by talking about what they have seen: the works that Jesus reminds them are evidence that the Father functions in the world through him. Then he delivers another astounding line that could be overlooked if we are reading quickly or thinking that the words of this chapter only apply to first century followers of Jesus.
Here’s what he said. See if you can comprehend the meaning and then accept that it is possible for us. “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and will do greater ones than these.” Stop here. Repeat that sentence aloud. How might it possibly be believed?
In this case, I believe possibility resides in surrender. We will only be successful if we recognize that we are not the doer and allow God to work in us in everything we do. My guess is that it takes a very long time to come to clarity on this point, after which our knowing needs to travel from our minds into our hearts in order for God to truly take over. This is the work of a lifetime and calls for extreme faith and great perseverance. The key to all of it, it seems, lies in our trust – of God and of ourselves.
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.
When I was teaching school, this used to be an important day for me as it still is for many folks. The Wednesday after Labor Day sees our young people returning to school after their long summer vacation. It isn’t the same everywhere in our country. In some places, school has been in session for weeks but in those places dismissal for the summer also happens earlier, primarily because of the heat, I think. Right now it seems that some young people will not return to their schools at all this year; the schools are no longer habitable because of Hurricane Harvey. What will become of them, I wonder, for many reasons. Some will likely be home-schooled. Some may be shuttled to other locations. That happened in my own town after a flood in 2011. A Catholic parish school that had been closed and used for other parish functions was given back its identity for two years while a new school was built. Will the youth of Texas be so lucky as to find schooling together with their familiars?
I am sometimes awed at how much can be packed into a few verses of Scripture. What I mean is more likely where my mind and heart go after reading a short section, like today’s gospel about the rich young man who couldn’t quite “go the distance” in surrender. (MT 19:16-22)
In our conversations this weekend about Mary Magdalene and Conscious Love, we have often spoken of the need to surrender to life, letting go of our “small-self” desires in service to the greater good. In our meditation sessions, we let go of any thoughts that arise in order to allow us to be present to the Divine. I found a resonance in Alan Cohen’s reflection for today in his book, A Deep Breath of Life, that seems appropriate to share as we depart from this very valuable group experience. Cohen writes:
In looking ahead to possibilities for the autumn “semester” at the Sophia Center, I began re-reading Finding the On-Ramp to Your Spiritual Life, a little book by Jan Phillips. The impetus came from two different conversations – one with Jan and another with a member of my Spiritual Practices Circle who is considering reading the book with a group in her Church. It’s a catchy title and the idea of using traffic signs as chapter titles was, it seems to me, quite an inspired idea. It’s part of Jan’s genius, I think, to see deep meaning in the connections that exist everywhere and use everyday experiences to mine deep truth. Think about all you could say about “STOP” or “DIVIDED HIGHWAY” or even “FALLING ROCKS AHEAD.” (Actually, that’s not a bad idea. What would you say about each of those things vis-à-vis your life?)
Psalm 25 is clearly one in which we can see that the psalmist has an ongoing relationship with God. This morning, in an alternative translation of the psalm, I got the notion that God needed reminding of the responsibility of mutuality in that relationship. The lectionary only gives verses 4-8 for our consideration but I want to introduce the text with verse one because it made me smile (as in a parent saying to children who are acting up in some way: “Don’t make me come up there…”). The psalmist begins by reminding God: To you I surrender up my soul, O God. In you I place my deepest trust. May I not regret this wanton act of love; may it never be defeated by some foe.
Late yesterday after a glorious five-hour drive through the beauty of Upstate New York and then the Green Mountains of Vermont I arrived at Hallelujah Farm, a beautiful, sacred place in Chesterfield, New Hampshire, just over the border from Brattleboro, Vermont. I have come here for a week of retreat. This time with a small group of people is to be totally silent, filled with centering prayer, sacred movement, the conscious work of preparing silent meals and cleaning up after ourselves, other small household tasks that provide us with opportunities to pay attention to what we’re doing when we’re doing it…as well as our own private time to pray and reflect. I have the privilege of rising early to provide coffee for my companions. Knowing how important that is for myself, I am happy to provide it for those who share this experience with me.
I’m feeling like the weather today: gray and rainy, not much air moving…I was grateful when my doctor told me last Friday that what she found was not serious, just “a little virus” that would, unfortunately, probably hang on for awhile. My scratchy throat is gone and now distress is virtually “all in my head” but it amazes me how debilitating such a little thing can be. I think of my good friend and my sister-in-law, both suffering from pneumonia this month, and of all the people who are chronically ill, who daily have to struggle not to give in to the lassitude that has been my constant companion now for almost a week. I remember in my early days of teaching school when, during a class observation by the principal (my first), my eyes were running so fiercely from a head cold that I could hardly see and my fear was that Father Owens would think I was nervous. There was no luxury of staying home then; work was work, after all.
It appears that we will be snowed in here today. The effort of the meeting facilitators yesterday to finish early today – by noon – was futile as there is a new and complicating wind advisory in the path of most of us toward home. Up early, we have already been checking maps and forecasts on television or computer or both. Nothing changes as we watch. It is only our willingness to surrender to this first winter event that will change anything (read: us!). So what will we do with this time that will likely stretch until at least tomorrow?