Tag Archives: Christianity

You Have Asked a Hard Thing

Posted on February 19, 2012 | 22 comments

Now when the LORD was about to take Elijah up to heaven by a whirlwind, Elijah and Elisha were on their way from Gilgal. Elijah said to Elisha, “Stay here; for the LORD has sent me as far as Bethel.” But Elisha said, “As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So they went down to Bethel. The company of prophets who were in Bethel came out to Elisha, and said to him, “Do you know that today the LORD will take your master away from you?” And he said, “Yes, I know; keep silent.”

Elijah said to him, “Elisha, stay here; for the LORD has sent me to Jericho.” But he said, “As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So they came to Jericho. The company of prophets who were at Jericho drew near to Elisha, and said to him, “Do you know that today the LORD will take your master away from you?” And he answered, “Yes, I know; be silent.”

Then Elijah said to him, “Stay here; for the LORD has sent me to the Jordan.” But he said, “As the LORD lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” So the two of them went on. Fifty men of the company of prophets also went, and stood at some distance from them, as they both were standing by the Jordan. Then Elijah took his mantle and rolled it up, and struck the water; the water was parted to the one side and to the other, until the two of them crossed on dry ground.

When they had crossed, Elijah said to Elisha, “Tell me what I may do for you, before I am taken from you.” Elisha said, “Please let me inherit a double share of your spirit.” He responded, “You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it will be granted you; if not, it will not.” As they continued walking and talking, a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them, and Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven. Elisha kept watching and crying out, “Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!” But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces.  2 Kings 2: 1-12.

We are nearing the end of the season of Epiphany, a season when we mark the ways God reveals Himself in the world.  This season affords us a wonderful time to remember Elijah and his student Elisha.  As this passage begins, Elijah is nearing the end of his days.  At the Lord’s instruction, he has already placed his mantle (the symbol of his prophetic spirituality) on Elisha.  1 Kings 19: 19.

Elijah must travel to Bethel, and suggests that Elisha remain behind.  Some scholars have suggested that Elijah is testing Elisha’s loyalty.  I think something different is happening here.   Perhaps Elijah wants to spare Elisha the pain of this moment.  Perhaps he wants to spare himself the heartbreak of that last goodbye.  It’s no secret that Elijah’s death is near;  prophets along the way, at Bethel  and Jericho remind Elisha of this.  Elisha tells these voices to remain silent.   While Elisha remains committed to accompanying his friend and teacher towards his death, the tremendous sense of loss and mystery defy language.  Words simply fail at moments like these.

While on their journey, Elijah parts the river Jordan, revealing himself as the second Moses.  The progress of their journey–from Gilgal to Jericho to the Jordan–reminds us of the people’s journey as they enter into the promised land.

In the central passage of the story, Elijah asks what he can do for his student, his friend, before he dies.  Elisha asks for a “double share” of his spirit.  Under Deuteronomic law, the eldest son would receive a double portion of his father’s estate.  (Deut. 21:15-17).  Elijah responds that he has asked “a hard thing.”  Elijah knows that this spiritual inheritance is God’s to give, and not his own. More than just a student of the great prophet, it’s clear that Elisha considers himself the spiritual child of Elijah.  This meaning becomes clear when Elijah is taken up into the whirlwind and Elisha cries out, “Father!  Father!”

So, it seems to me that this passage, like today’s Gospel reading on the Transfiguration, centers on the notion of translation.  Jesus’ divinity is translated into a language the disciples can understand.  Elijah, the prophet who stood alone, is translated into a life with the Father.  And Elisha is translated into his new role as the spiritual heir of his teacher.  Coincidentally (and I really don’t believe in coincidences), these things all happen in the context of a journey.  I think Holy Scripture is making a very important point:  we cannot  be transfigured into God’s new creation by remaining in the same place.

I hope to see you on the road.

Shabbat Shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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The Good Shepherd

Posted on February 15, 2012 | 22 comments

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.   The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away-and the wolf snatches them and scatters them.  The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep.  I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me,  just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.  And I lay down my life for the sheep.  I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.  For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again.  No one takes  it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”  John 10:11-18.

This reading from John’s Gospel offers a rich passage, and those who know it well may have lost some appreciation for its texture.  First, when Jesus says “I am the good shepherd”, He presents us with one of the seven “I Am” statements.  These include “I am”: the bread of life;  the light of the world; the gate or door; the good shepherd; the resurrection and the life; the way, the truth and the life; and the vine.  Each of these statements resonates with God’s self description found in Exodus 3:14 (“I Am Who Am”).  In other words, John offers us a clear claim of the divinity of Jesus through these statements.

Jesus’ description of himself as a good shepherd also resonates with God’s announcement in the Old Testament:  “For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out.  As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep.”  Ezek.  34: 11-12.    From his deathbed, Jacob declared that God had been the shepherd “all of my life to this day.”  Gen 48:24.  Jesus’ description of himself further calls to mind the 23rd Psalm.  Thus, Jesus locates himself firmly within the Davidic line:  a shepherd king.

We also need to grasp just how startling Jesus’ understanding of himself as a “good shepherd” would have been to a first century audience.  At that time, shepherds would have been considered am ha’aretz (people of the land or people of the dirt).  Shepherds were considered dirty, coarse, boorish, and uncivilized.  Rabbinic Judaism looked down on shepherds, who did not regularly keep the commandments.  Because of their work, they may not have even kept the Sabbath.

The shepherds of first century Palestine were also a rough lot, solitary men of tremendous courage.  They had to protect the flock from lions, bears, wolves and other predators.  Rather than the gentle, pastoral image we may have inherited from the Romantic poets, shepherds were fierce fighters who were prepared for dangerous combat when necessary to protect their sheep.  For example, David learned about battle by protecting his father’s sheep from predators.  1 Sam. 17:33-37.

So, there’s something in Jesus’ description of himself as “the good shepherd” that subverts our understanding and upends our expectations.  Jesus also contrasts himself with “the hired hands” who run away in the face of a wolf.  He thus begins to teach about his commitment to us, a commitment that disregards his own safety, that disregards his own life.  This commitment, this covenant, finds its root in love, and in the Father’s love for Jesus and in Jesus’ love for the Father.  Jesus teaches not only about the nature of His love for the disciples, but also about his love for every one of us.   In essence, Jesus tells us:  “I will not abandon you.”

Jesus then tells us that his sheep will listen to his voice.  I wonder how well we do that today.  Setting aside the question of listening, do we even recognize Jesus’ voice when he calls?  Christ then offers a remarkable insight that speaks to our fractured Church today.  He speaks of unity:  “So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”  When we encounter discord, schism, and fracture in the world, we can rest assured that at least one party (and perhaps all) are not listening to Jesus.

I believe this remarkable passage ultimately centers upon the overarching Christian commandment:  love God and love each other.  As Desmond Tutu once observed, “Nothing is too much trouble for love.”  Love binds the sheep to the shepherd, and binds the shepherd to his flock.  We understand the risks inherent in the practice of love, risks that will ultimately lead to Golgotha.  Despite these risks, in the final analysis, the Gospel teaches us that nothing else really matters.

God watch over thee and me,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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If You Choose, You Can Make Me Clean

Posted on February 12, 2012 | 21 comments

A leper came to Jesus begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.  Mark 1:40-45.

At some point in our lives, most of us have experienced the pain, shame and loneliness of being an outsider.  In today’s Gospel reading, we find a man who knew that isolation intimately.  At that time, leprosy and most skin diseases were treated as a kind of plague.  Because of his illness, the community shunned him, and the Mosaic law justified and condoned their fears.  He had no right to approach Jesus, and Jesus had no business having anything to do with him, let alone touching him.

This man lived the life of walking ghost, or perhaps more accurately, a walking corpse. As a leper, this “unclean” man could not enter the Temple; he could not even enter any community other a community of other lepers.  Jesus enters into this ostracism by touching him and sharing in his uncleanness.

This man’s statement (“If you choose, you can make me clean”) carries a number of messages within it.  First, we can hear the pain in the voice of a man who simply doesn’t have the power to help himself.  We also hear a remarkable affirmation of faith in Jesus’ healing power.  And perhaps we also hear just a hint of a challenge to Jesus’ willingness to reach out to this man.

Jesus then tells the man something that God’s been trying to convey throughout the Old Testament:  I choose to heal you.  The text thus illustrates an important idea of divine freedom, reaching out to restore God’s creation.  As He did with Sarah and Abraham, as He did in the Exodus, and as he did on the Cross, God instinctively exercises His freedom to redeem our broken lives.  I think Jesus is telling us:  “This is what the kingdom looks like.”

Mark describes Jesus as “moved with pity”.  The phrase suggests a very deep emotional response, the sort of reaction that you feel deep within your gut.  It has also sometimes been translated as “moved with anger”.  I suspect that Jesus felt a certain anger at all those things which separate men from God, and perhaps at the lack of depth or vision in the priestly interpretation of the holiness code.  Perhaps Jesus was angry  with the very notion, embedded into this man by a life as a lonely outcast, that God would choose anything other than to heal him.

Regardless of whether Jesus was moved with pity or anger, we shouldn’t miss the important point:  His immediate response to this emotion was to reach out, to redeem and to restore.

Jesus then gives this man a strict warning not to tell anyone, but to simply present himself at the temple.  This instruction falls into what theologians call the “Messianic secret.”  In this passage and many others, Jesus often instructs those He heals (and even the demons he casts out) to keep quiet about what they’ve seen.  We get the impression that until the Resurrection (which would clearly reveal the meaning of Christ’s life) Jesus tried to avoid an incomplete understanding of his ministry.

Despite Jesus’ warning, the man begins to proclaim the news about Jesus.  This leads to a curious and ironic reversal.  While the man was originally kept from society, Jesus now finds himself an outsider because of his fame and the press of the crowds.  Cleansed of his disease, the man can now rejoin his town and family.  Having restored this man to his health and freedom,  Jesus could no longer travel freely and had to remain “out in the country” .  Jesus therefore becomes an outsider himself, no longer able to go to the towns and villages.  Even Jesus finds himself marginalized, and thus those who follow him should not be surprised when it happens to us, too.

In one sense, this passage is about risk.  Jesus took a tremendous risk in healing this man, risking contamination.  Jesus also took a risk in asking for this man’s assurance of secrecy, risking his own isolation.  By subjecting Himself to human history and sin, Jesus risked our judgment and condemnation.  In fact, the Gospels point to the final risk of the Incarnation, the Cross.

I think today’s Gospel reading teaches us another important lesson.  Mark illustrates one of the core tenets of the Christian faith:  ours is religion for the last kids picked for dodge ball, the kids no one wants to dance with, and those who always get their hearts broken.  We shouldn’t read this as a story about something that happened once, a long time ago; Jesus still choses to make us clean, to restore us and heal us.  Following Jesus is all about second chances.  It was for this man in today’s Gospel.  And it is for you and me, too.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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Who Are You, My Son?

Posted on February 8, 2012 | 16 comments

So he went in to his father, and said, “My father”; and he said, “Here I am; who are you, my son?”  Jacob said to his father, “I am Esau your firstborn. I have done as you told me; now sit up and eat of my game, so that you may bless me.”  But Isaac said to his son, “How is it that you have found it so quickly, my son?” He answered, “Because the LORD your God granted me success.”  Then Isaac said to Jacob, “Come near, that I may feel you, my son, to know whether you are really my son Esau or not.” So Jacob went up to his father Isaac, who felt him and said, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.”  He did not recognize him, because his hands were hairy like his brother Esau’s hands; so he blessed him.  He said, “Are you really my son Esau?” He answered, “I am.”  Then he said, “Bring it to me, that I may eat of my son’s game and bless you.” So he brought it to him, and he ate; and he brought him wine, and he drank.  Then his father Isaac said to him, “Come near and kiss me, my son.”   So he came near and kissed him; and he smelled the smell of his garments, and blessed him . . . .  Gen. 27:18-27.

In the Old Testament reading in today’s Daily Office, we find the story of Isaac blessing Jacob.  I confess that I’ve always loved the story of Jacob, in part because he is one of those “holy rascals” we’ve talked about before.  In part, I’m attracted to the story because my own name is the Anglicized version of the name “Jacob”.  And in part, I’m drawn to this story because it’s the story of a dysfunctional family, fraught with deceit and discord, finding a kind of redemption.

 Jacob offers us an interesting character; he’s nobody’s idea of a saint.  He’s deceptive, self-centered, and covetous.  His very name, meaning the grasper, or the supplanter, implies this.  While not completely wicked, like a lot of us, Jacob has a little larceny in his heart.  Like most of us, God did not choose Jacob because he was so holy; rather, he was holy because God chose him.

Jacob displayed these character traits from the very beginning.  As you’ll remember, Jacob and Esau were twins.  They struggled within their mother’s womb.  At birth, Jacob held on to his brothers foot, grasping at his brother.   Through sharp dealing, he acquires his brother’s birthright from Esau in exchange for a bowl of stew.  That birthright included the right of a double share of the inheritance, but perhaps more importantly determined who would run the family.

We find further evidence of familial dysfunction.  Isaac favors his son Esau; Rebekah favors Jacob.  Knowing that he was just not quite good enough for his father almost certainly shaped some of Jacob’s behavior.    Although Esau had sold his birthright to Jacob, Jacob still needed to deal with Isaac, who controlled the blessing of the father.  In order to obtain this blessing, Jacob deceives his father.  We find Rebekah, Isaac’s wife, participating in this little illusion.

We should remember, however, that Rebekah carries out God’s plan in this regard.  As we recall, the Lord told Rebekah:

“Two nations are in your womb,
and two peoples born of you shall be divided;
the one shall be stronger than the other,
the elder shall serve the younger.”

Gen. 25: 23.  So, while Jacob has deceived his father and taken advantage of his brother, God will somehow redeem this shamefully poor behavior.  Jacob, and not Esau, will become the father of the nation of Israel.  But first, Jacob will run away from his family and his brother’s murderous intent, and only years later will God bring him safely back home to bear the covenant into the next generation.

But I think there’s still more at work in this passage.  Isaac asks, “Who are you, my son?”  While we recognize that Isaac’s sight has grown dim, and Jacob has disguised himself with skins to resemble his brother, reason teaches us that Isaac would still recognize his own son.  In fact, Isaac comes out and says that the voice was Jacob’s rather than Esau’s.  I wonder whether Genesis might be teaching us something else.

We’ve talked before about the contrast between physical blindness and spiritual insight.  I wonder whether, although he could not see physically, Isaac could spiritually see God’s hand in all this.  Perhaps Isaac knew that God was at work in all this artifice, and that God would do what he always did:  make something sacred and holy out of our mess.

Perhaps this story of the younger brother obtaining the birthright may also prefigure something we’ll hear Jesus teach about at great length.  In this story of the younger son receiving his father’s blessing we may see the beginning of the notion that “the first will be last and the last will be first.”  Maybe we’re seeing just the sort of inversion through grace that Jesus would preach about.  Perhaps we’re being inoculated to the notion that God’s justice works differently from ours, and God sees things we cannot yet see.

This story may have something else to teach us.  Jacob lies when Isaac asks him, “Who are you, my son?”  How many of us, when confronted by the Father, have similarly not been able to make an honest account of ourselves?  How many of us, standing naked before the Creator, can honestly answer for who we’ve become and what we’ve done?  And perhaps, like Isaac, our heavenly Father sees through our misrepresentation and self-deception, knowing that he can still work with these imperfect materials.

God’s great peace on you and your house,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2012 James R. Dennis

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What Jesus Came to Do

Posted on February 5, 2012 | 18 comments

Jesus left the synagogue at Capernaum, and entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.  And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.” He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.  Mark 1:29-39.

In the Lectionary reading today, Jesus leaves the synagogue at Capernaum and travels to the home of Peter’s mother-in-law.  She has taken to her bed with a fever, which often presented a life-threatening condition in those days.  Jesus takes her by the hand and lifts her up.  That phrase, “lifted her up” resonates with meaning, calling to mind Jesus being lifted up on the cross and lifted up from the grave.  Jesus restores her to health, and restores her to her community.

We see a pattern begin to emerge in Jesus’ ministry.  The holiness and purity laws of the day would have required that one separate oneself from those who were ill, especially those who were spiritually diseased or who suffered from a moral infection.  Rather than shunning them, Jesus rushed to them.  At the time, this offered a new teaching, something really extraordinary.

That evening, word of Jesus’ healing ministry begins to spread and the house is surrounded by those who need Jesus’ healing touch.  Having had some involvement in the work of pastoral care, this passage from the Gospel rings remarkably true.  Pastoral care is the church’s growth industry in a world that groans in pain and cries out for God’s presence.

Jesus then engages in a practice we’ve seen before, and we’ll see again and again.  Having preached, having healed, he retreats “to a deserted place” and prayed.  Jesus knew what we so often ignore:  even the work of ministry can become empty and debilitating unless we allow the Father to refresh and renew us in prayer. Or perhaps Jesus knew what many of us so often forget: when we’ve come into direct contact with the overwhelming power of God to touch people’s lives, sometimes a bit of silent reflection offers the best and perhaps the only authentic response.

Peter and the disciples then encourage Jesus to return to Capernaum, where everyone is looking for him.  The disciples make the same mistake many of us do when we’ve encountered God doing something wonderful.  They suggest, “Do it again!”    As C.S. Lewis noted,  we are swimming upstream spiritually when we tell God “Encore!”  In Letters to Malcolm, Lewis observed : “It is no good angling for the rich moments. God sometimes seems to speak to us most intimately when he catches us, as it were, off our guard.”  Our fixation with that last event, that former experience, or that past feeling may well divert our attention from the new wonders God is already working.

Jesus tells the disciples that they need to go into “the neighboring towns”, which would have meant leaving the city of Capernaum and going into the countryside.  Here, we again see Jesus engage in a practice that will form a routine for Him:  (1) engage in ministry (proclaiming the Good News and healing the brokenhearted); (2) retreat and refresh in prayer; (3) expand the ministry to another place and people; and (4) repeat.  Those who follow Christ should seriously consider the wisdom of this regime.  It’s what we came here to do, too.

I wish you a good and holy Sabbath,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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St. Brigid’s Day

Posted on February 1, 2012 | 24 comments

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid of Kildare.  The people of Ireland love her dearly, as do the people who love the people of Ireland (folks like me).  The legends about Brigid far outweigh the facts known about her.   She was born around 450.  Her parents may have been baptized by  St. Patrick.

We know she founded a Christian community at Kildare, primarily for women.  She had a profound influence on the Church in Ireland.    She may have been consecrated as a bishop.  (Thus, she is often depicted with a bishop’s crozier.)  When others protested that he improperly bestowed this Holy Order on a woman, Bishop Mel reportedly replied “No power have I in this matter.”  He suggested that God alone had chosen Brigid for that Holy Office.

Brigid understood that the physical needs of the poor intersected with their spiritual needs. We remember Brigid for her profound hospitality, her unflinching generosity, and her extraordinary compassion.   I pray that her spirit will grow within the Church today, which so desperately needs it.

I found this prayer for today within the wonderful Celtic Book of Daily prayer.  I hope you find as much life and joy and light in it as I do.

I would welcome the poor
and honor them
I would welcome the sick
in the presence of angels
and ask God to bless and
embrace us all.

Seeing a stranger approach,
I would put food in the eating place,
drink in the drinking place,
music in the listening place,
and look with joy for the blessing of God,
who often comes to my home
in the blessing of a stranger.

God bless you and those you love,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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On the Road to Damascus

Posted on January 25, 2012 | 18 comments

Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The reply came, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.’ The men who were travelling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, ‘Ananias.’ He answered, ‘Here I am, Lord.’ The Lord said to him, ‘Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.’ But Ananias answered, ‘Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.’ But the Lord said to him, ‘Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.’ So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, ‘Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’ And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. Acts 9:1-19.

God has a really funny way of doing business. He choses a murderer with a speech impediment to lead His people out of Egypt, an ethically challenged chiseler to bear the name of the nation of Israel, and a murderous philanderer to unite the kingdom of His people. In today’s reading, Luke reports that despite the resurrection, Saul continued to breathe threats and murder against those who followed the Way. Let’s be clear about this: Saul was engaged in genocide against those who followed Christ.

And so, had the Lord asked me about his selection of Saul, like Ananias I would have asked Him, “Are you really sure this is the guy?” You see, not much in Saul’s life suggested that he would be the person most responsible for spreading the message of Jesus throughout the Empire. God, however, had something remarkable in mind. God knew something we really struggle against: people can change.

While en route to Damascus to continue in his campaign of annihilation, Saul (or Paul, in the Greek form of the name) encounters the risen Lord. Again, the reading meshes well into our Epiphany theme, as Scripture records that he was surrounded by a light from heaven.

This passage further reinforces our understanding of the Church as the body of Christ. Saul, of course, was persecuting the early Church. Jesus didn’t ask, “Why are you messing with my church?” Rather, Jesus asks Saul, “Why are you persecuting me?” Already, in the book of Acts, the Church is identified therefore with the body of Christ.

After his post-resurrection encounter with Jesus, Paul loses his sight for three days. This story fits very well within an idea we’ve already encountered, the distinction between physical observation and spiritual insight. And Paul must lose his physical powers of insight before he can gain a genuine spiritual vision. God was reshaping Paul’s understanding of the Lord and his entire world-vision. It’s as though this transformation, this conversion, required a complete reboot of his system. Paul must have gone through a terrible loneliness during this time. As Bonhoeffer once observed, we are never more isolated than we are in becoming a Christian, but the alienation occurs for the sake of a new community.

For most of us, our conversion experience will not look like this. Although I’ve run across them now and then, most folks will not find their conversion so complete or so dramatic. I’ve found that my conversion takes place in small increments, daily, through several small decisions to follow Jesus’ example, through self-denial and participation in the sacramental life with which the Church has blessed us, and mostly through God’s redeeming grace.

And yet, God chose Saul–this monster, this antagonist and enemy of the early Church. God saw within him “an instrument to bring my name before gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.” It’s worth noting that Saul’s conversion required more of him than simply changing his mind about things. Saul’s conversion, like ours, carried along with it a call and a vocation. Rather than simply offering a new way of looking at things, his conversion required an apostolic commitment as Saul would be sent out to serve in the world. Ours does too.

So today, as we celebrate the Feast of St. Paul’s conversion, I hope this story serves as a reminder of the need for charity towards our enemies, and perhaps even charity towards ourselves. God may yet have in mind a way to use them (and us) for his redeeming work. As children of the Creator, we may all someday become new creatures, a great blessing and a great gift to the Church. Saul did.

May the peace of Christ disturb you profoundly,

Br. James

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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Fishing for Souls

Posted on January 22, 2012 | 16 comments

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea– for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him. Mark 1:14-20.

Mark’s Gospel offers us some unique insights into the Christian life for the third week of Epiphany. After John the Baptist’s arrest, Jesus announces the imminence of the kingdom of God, requiring repentance and calling for hope (belief “in the good news”). Mark sets the story on the sea of Galilee, known for sudden storms. The men who made eked out their living fishing on these waters worked very hard, were heavily taxed, and struggled with many of the same day-to-day issues we know so well. I’ve known men like this, and they are not easily moved.

So, Jesus meets two sets of brothers: Simon and Andrew, and James and John (who Jesus later nicknamed the “Sons of Thunder”). He calls to them to follow him, and each of these men leave behind their work, their families and their homes to follow Jesus. As we discussed in the call of Samuel, God has a funny sense of timing, and his message often interrupts us when we’re trying to do something else. Perhaps these men were just ready to hear a message of hope and forgiveness. Perhaps they were ready to hear the message that evil doesn’t win and that there’s another way to live.

I think, however, that this arresting story of the origins of the Church sheds a good deal of light on the kind of man Jesus must have been. He must have been a remarkably compelling figure, this itinerant preacher walking along the Galilee. Mark’s Gospel reports that the decision to follow Jesus occurred “immediately”, suggesting that their hopes for the promised good news overcame their fears and their attachments. The passage also suggests these men felt a sense of urgency, that they couldn’t put off their walk with God any longer or take care of a few little things beforehand. May it be so with us, too.

The Gospel teaches us something important about our path to discipleship. Very few of us will start or travel down this path of conversion alone. Conversion, whether we’re turning away from or turning toward something, is a difficult process, and most of us will need to take a friend, a brother or a sister along for the journey. Jesus called these disciples into a vocation of hope and forgiveness and a relationship with the living God. These two sets of brothers felt impelled to leave behind their ordinary, workaday lives and follow Jesus. May it be so with us, too.

Finally, Scripture teaches us an important lesson about being a disciple. Then and now, following Christ will require that you’re going to have to leave some things behind. In the case of these men, it was their boats, their nets, their jobs and their families. For some of us, it may be habits, outlooks, destructive relationships, or the fears that bind us to the present moment. The disciples found a way to leave those things behind. May it be so with us, too.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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Remembering Peter

Posted on January 18, 2012 | 12 comments

Then Peter began to speak to them: ‘I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. You know the message he sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ he is Lord of all. That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.’  Acts 10: 34-44.

Today, the Episcopal Church marks the confession of St. Peter the Apostle.  I have always found Peter one of the most approachable saints within the Church and a great source of hope.  Scripture records that he was quick to speak, even when he was deeply confused. Like me, Peter generally opened his mouth only to change feet.   But in today’s reading from the Book of Acts, Peter gets it right:  deeply and  thoroughly right.

This passage takes place as Peter visits the home of Cornelius, a Roman centurion living in Caesarea.  Scripture doesn’t reveal much about Cornelius, although we learn that he prayed regularly, and practiced charity.  Cornelius, however, was also a Gentile, and no good Jew would have anything to do with him.  Peter traveled to his home as a result of a vision in which he heard God’s voice telling him:  “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

Now, the disciples had already accepted that Jesus held the hope of salvation.  The question remained, however: whose salvation? Peter began his sermon with a remarkable notion:  in God’s economy, all of the distinctions we’ve drawn are erased.  While we strive to create barriers to and enclosures around the well of sanctification, Peter preached God (through Christ) had knocked them down.

We may be initially tempted to read this passage as talking about our relations with our brothers and sisters.  Clearly, no people enjoy a special claim to salvation, God’s love, or the redemptive work of Christ.  I think a fair reading, however, would also permit an interpretation that looks to our relentless drive to keep Jesus contained in a single corner of our lives.  We allow Jesus into our hearts from nine o’clock to eleven thirty on Sunday mornings, and maybe one evening a week, but will permit no trespassing beyond those boundaries.  We have created a sort of spiritual ghetto, excluding God from all but a narrow section of our lives.

Peter’s confession, his sermon, announces God’s radical, promiscuous hospitality:  all are welcome; Jesus is Lord over all; and his forgiveness is available to all.  Despite our best efforts, God’s love will overcome all our attempts to contain it.

During this season of Epiphany, we are drawn into images of light breaking into the darkness.  The star that came to rest over Bethlehem, the heavens torn open at Jesus’ baptism, and the transfiguration of Jesus:  all of these icons center on the astonishing entry of the “light of the world.”  I love physics and the study of light. If you’ve studied light much, you’ve noticed that when you’ve turned on a light switch, the light bathes every surface in a room.  Some of those surfaces, however, reflect light better than others.

I think that’s the case with our spiritual lives as well.  The light of Christ, having entered into the world has spread throughout all creation.  In some folks, that light is reflected back again, piercing and holding back the darkness.  Peter seems, despite his lesser angels, to have learned to reflect the light of Christ, and we properly remember him and his vision today.

Pax Christi,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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A Voice in the Darkness

Posted on January 15, 2012 | 22 comments

Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the LORD under Eli. The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the LORD, where the ark of God was. Then the LORD called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The LORD called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the LORD, and the word of the LORD had not yet been revealed to him. The LORD called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the LORD was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, `Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.'” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.Now the LORD came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground.  And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, for the Lord revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the Lord.  1 Sam. 3: 1-10; 19-21.

I have a theory.  My theory is this:  with surprising regularity, things tend to end much as they began.  In many respects, the story of the prophet Samuel seems to validate that notion.

Now, the prophet Samuel began his ministry during the first generation of Israel’s monarchy.  You’ll remember the story that Samuel’s mother (Hannah) was presumed to be barren.  Hannah begged God for a child, promising that if God would give her a son, she would offer the child as a Nazarite (who would not drink wine or strong drink nor shave his head).  Eli, the priest at the holy place of Shilo,  assured Hannah that she would have a son.

Once Hanna weened Samuel, she presented him at Shilo.  In a song remarkably similar to the Magnificat, Hannah sang that God had broken the bows of the mighty, raised the poor up from the dust, and seated the needy with princes.  It’s a striking song, full of political radicalism and foreshadowing Jesus’ promise that the first will be last and the last will be first.

That same notion will run throughout Samuel’s ministry.  Samuel would eventually turn his prophetic vision to Eli the priest.   Eli failed to restrain his sons who abused their power and blasphemed by eating the choice cuts of the sacrificial animals.  1 Sam. 2:12-17.  Similarly, Samuel warned the people of Israel against kings who would abuse their power and take advantage of the vulnerable.  Now, that’s a very old story:  the poor and the powerless suffer under the appetites of the strong.  Samuel would ultimately give voice to God’s conclusion that King Saul’s reign has come to an end. God thus instructed Samuel to anoint David as the King of Israel.

I wonder whether we again live in days “when the word of the Lord is rare.” How do we confront those two twin tremendous mysteries, the silence of God and the voice of God?  Maybe God’s silence arises from our regular failure to ask him for guidance, or our failure to listen when He does speak.  For many of us, like Samuel, we’re not exactly sure when we’re hearing the Lord’s voice, and we certainly know that the news will not always be popular.  As was the case with Samuel, once we’ve identified the voice of the Lord, there’s no guarantee anyone else will be receptive, or even interested.

Despite that, I always smile a bit and find great comfort  when the Lectionary rolls around to this reading. I smile because when I was a child, my parish priest told me that this was a story about what happens to little boys who fall asleep in church.  I find comfort because God calls to Samuel again and again throughout that night.  Regardless of our confusion, God can be remarkably persistent.  He can, in fact, hound us repeatedly while we’re trying to sleep.  God’s word has a remarkable capacity to interrupt and disturb us when we’re trying to do something else. I pray that you’ll listen for that voice, and that I will also.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

© 2012 James R. Dennis

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