Tag Archives: Spirituality

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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The Beloved

Posted on January 8, 2012 | 16 comments

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Mark 1:4-11.

The Lectionary offers us this reading from Mark’s Gospel on this first Sunday of the season of Epiphany.  The Greek word epiphaino translates roughly as the appearance or manifestation of the light.  This Gospel reading fits perfectly within that idea, and you’ll remember that we previously discussed  Jesus had describing himself as the “light of the world.”

I’ve always been fascinated with the issue of Jesus’ understanding of himself:  what did the incarnate Lord understand about his role, and when did he begin to understand it?  The story of Jesus’ baptism offers us some remarkable insight into these questions.

The story begins with a character we’ve become familiar with, John the Baptist.  Now, at the time, the practice of ritual purification was fairly common.  John seems to have been doing something different, though, in this rite of baptism. More than just a ceremonial cleansing, John appears to have called  his followers to a spiritual act of  initiation.   Rather than a regular ritual purification, John seems to be engaged in something unique, radical and challenging at the time. 

John’s baptism would have challenged the institutional church of the day, offering baptism for the forgiveness of sins.  John lacked any institutional authority and forgiving sins lay within the exclusive jurisdiction of the Temple priests.  Like most of the prophets, John presents himself as a fanatic, an outsider and a critic of the status quo.  So, when Jesus endorses John’s ministry, his baptism itself challenged the authority of the Temple. 

Jesus shared in listening to John’s prophetic call. He waded into the same waters as the rest of John’s followers. He approaches John just as everyone else came to John. Thus, Jesus shared those waters with all humanity. And then, something astonishing happened….

Earlier, we talked about the collision of heaven and earth in Jesus’ nativity.  We discussed the notion that the Incarnation changed the very fabric of space and time.  We see those ideas reinforced in this remarkable story of the Epiphany, as God begins to reveal Himself, to “enlighten” the world a bit.

 As Jesus comes forth from the water, Mark reports that the heavens were “torn open.”  That terribly interesting phrase, “torn open”, suggests this was no peaceful, gentle encounter.  Mark uses that same word, “torn”, to describe the separation of the Temple curtain after Jesus “breathed his last” on Golgotha.  As the veil separating heaven and earth rips apart, the Spirit emerges.

These remarkable events unfold as Jesus (whose very name means “God saves”)  emerges from the water.  The story reverberates with the memory of the Jewish people emerging the Red Sea, their principle narrative of salvation.  And then, from the heavens, God claims Jesus as His son, the Beloved.

I’d encourage you to engage in an exercise.  I’d like you to think back to your own baptism.  And I’d like you to imagine that same voice announcing that you are God’s child, and His beloved.  I believe it’s important that we become acclimated to that idea.  It may offer the first step in going beyond celebrating an Epiphany to living out the Epiphany and spreading the light of Christ into the dark places of the world.  My friend, Father Mike Marsh noted recently ( here)  that God calls each of us to “become Epiphany”.  Our vocation and our challenge lies in manifesting God’s love, helping His people hear that voice as the heavens are torn apart.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

  © 2012 James R. Dennis

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The Pool of Siloam

Posted on January 4, 2012 | 19 comments

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.

Jesus heard that they [the Pharisees] had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.”  John 9:1-7; 35-38.

I regularly travel with some friends to a camp in the Sangre de Christo mountains of New Mexico.  There, away from the lights of the city, when the sun sets in the forest, I’m always struck by just how dark it can get.  That kind of darkness impresses us with fear, with vulnerability and with isolation.  I suspect that’s exactly the sort of life the man born blind led until his encounter with Jesus.

In the Daily Office today, we find the story of Jesus and that man, set out in the ninth chapter of John’s Gospel.  It’s a powerful story, powerful enough to have inspired the former slave-trader John Newton to pen one of our favorite hymns, Amazing Grace.  (“I was blind, but now I see.”)  This story also illustrates two of the attributes of Jesus’ name described by Bernard of Clairvaux in my last post:  Jesus is light and Jesus is healing.

Back then, the Jewish people associated blindness and most any sort of physical infirmity with sin.  The disciples echo this assumption, asking whether this blindness resulted from this man’s sin or the sins of his parents.  That assumption, expressly rejected by Jesus, lingers on with us today.  From illness to  natural disaster, people and their “religious” leaders try to assign the fault for these events to some past moral failure.  Jesus refuses to take part in that speculation. 

Blindness and many other physical infirmities would exclude one from the Temple, from the place where good devout Jews could encounter God.  In almost every icon depicting the story, therefore, we see the Temple in the background.  The man born blind, therefore, becomes a sort of icon for those who the religious structure of that time excluded.  And into the darkness that enveloped this man, Jesus enters and describes himself as the “light of the world.”

Jesus spits on the ground and makes mud which he spreads on the man’s eyes.  It’s an interesting and curious approach to this man’s predicament, but I think part of the key to understanding this story lies just a couple of sentences earlier.  Rather than explaining to the disciples the real cause of this man’s blindness, Jesus tells them:  “We must work the works of him who sent me….” Having been sent by God, Jesus must engage in God’s work.  Jesus didn’t need a poultice to cure this man’s blindness, but I think he intentionally invoked the image of God’s creation of Adam.  Just as God created Adam from the clay (mud) of the earth, Jesus will re-create this blind man’s life.

Jesus then instructs the man to wash himself in the pool of Siloam.  (Notice that this is the work for which God “sent” Jesus into the world, and the very name of the pool means “sent”.)  The Jewish people used that pool as a place for ritual purification, necessary for entry into the Temple.  The man born blind is thus “baptized” back into the community of those eligible to encounter God in that Holy Place and his sight returns.   The pool, intended as a place for purification, has become a place for healing and reconciliation.

Now, all this transpires on the Sabbath, and provides the Pharisees with one more instance of Jesus’ disregard for the religious traditions (and authorities) of the day.  The Pharisees convince themselves that Jesus is a great sinner, just like the man born blind, whom they expel. John thus makes clear that they remain in the darkness, spiritually blind.

When Jesus encounters the man born blind later, the man confesses his faith in Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of Man.  There are few moments in Scripture more poignant than his final acknowledgement:  “Lord, I believe.” 

I’m wondering, who is unwelcome today and who have we excluded because their “sin” disqualifies them?  Like the Pharisees, have we fallen in love with doing “churchy things” rather than falling in love with God and his children? Are we instruments of reconciliation in the world, or do we place obstacles in the path of those who want and need God’s help?  And perhaps more importantly, I wonder where are the dark places in the world and in our lives not yet illuminated by the light of Christ?

Pax Christi,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2012 James R. Dennis

 

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Name This Child

Posted on January 1, 2012 | 13 comments

 

 

After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.  Luke 2:  21

Today, the Episcopal Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus.  Most families view naming our children as an incredibly important decision.  Many ponder the issue for months, and even years.  Often, the name of a child will ring with significance for the family, sometimes borrowing the name of the father or of an important ancestor.  Sometimes, families will examine books filled with baby names and their meanings.  Sometimes, parents name the child after a city, or favorite character in a book or a movie. How then, does one go about naming the incarnate son of God?

Now, throughout the Old Testament, we encounter several stories of God being pretty careful about revealing his name.  In Exodus, God tells Moses:  “‘I am the Lord.’ I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as God Almighty, but by my name ‘The Lord’ I did not make myself known to them.”  Ex. 6:2-3.  Similarly, God tells Moses, “I Am Who I Am.”  Ex. 3: 14. This divine ambiguity becomes so ingrained into the Jewish understanding of the divine that the name of God could not, and still cannot, be spoken by the Jewish people.

Luke’s Gospel reports that Gabriel told Mary to name the child “Jesus” (Yeshua in the Hebrew).  Luke 1:31.  Mathew reports that an angel of the Lord instructed Joseph to name the child Jesus.  Matt. 1:21.  In both stories, God clearly directs Jesus’ parents about his name.  Jesus’ name results, therefore, from both divine and human activity.

In first century Palestine, the name Yeshua (“God saves” or “God is salvation”) was a fairly common name.  It echoed with meaning, invoking the name of one of the heroes of the Exodus, the central narrative of the Jewish people.  But I think there’s something more at work here:  in the very name of his incarnate son, God engages in the process of self-revelation.  The Lord is telling us what He’s like, answering questions the Jewish people had raised for years about the nature and name of God.

Traditionally, devout Jews named their male children as part of the rite of circumcision, which constituted part of the Abrahamic covenant.  We find God’s self-revelation, then, in the midst of the ritual fulfilling the covenant.  And God, through his participation in the naming of this child, reveals Himself and Jesus’ mission to us:  salvation. 

One of my favorite monastics, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, wrote about the name of Jesus.  He said that the Jesus’ very name was light, food and medicine.  Jesus brought light into the darkness of a world dominated by power, dominance, sin and death.  John’s Gospel teaches that Jesus “was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”  Jesus described himself as “the bread of life.”  He brought food that “restores the wearied faculties, strengthens virtue, [and] gives vigor to good and holy habits…”  Bernard of Clairvaux, 15th Sermon on the Canticle of Canticles.  The name of Jesus serves as medicine for souls in torment, and all the illnesses of this world.  We remember how often Jesus was engaged in healing, and how the disciples were able to heal through the invocation of Jesus’ name.

And so today, we celebrate the naming of our Lord, we recognize the name:

     that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
     every knee should bend,
     in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
     that Jesus Christ is Lord,
     to the glory of God the Father.   Phil. 2:9-11.

In the life of Christ, God has revealed Himself as meek, humble and self-denying.  In the name of Jesus, God tells us that He is deeply concerned with our salvation.  In the midst of the muck and stench of the manger, through the joy of the wedding at Cana, in the sorrow of Lazarus’ tomb, and despite the horror of Golgatha, God saves.  That’s got to be Good News.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2012 James R. Dennis

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The Holy Innocents

Posted on December 28, 2011 | 12 comments

Now after they [the Magi] had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:  “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”  Matt. 2:11-18.

Today the Church remembers the slaughter of the Holy Innocents. Here, we encounter a ghastly and appalling story, but I think there are several lessons we can take from this narrative.  We should first examine the character of Herod (known to historians as Herod the Great).  Although Herod greatly expanded the Second Temple, he also murdered many rabbis and members of his own family.  He collaborated with the Roman occupation, and he reigned with a demented savagery.

While scholars may question the historical accuracy of this account in Matthew’s gospel, Matthew’s portrayal meshes well with what we know of Herod’s character.  At the root of these frightening events, we find a genuine insight into Herod’s depravity.  Herod fears losing power, and that phobia sparks his maniacal infanticide.  Into this world, the Christ child is born.

The world hasn’t changed much.  From Dachau to Serbia to Darfur, Herod is still afraid, and the slaughter of the innocents continues.  And this remains the world into which Christ enters.  And ultimately, Christ offers himself as a victim of our savage history.

Matthew offers another insight in this story.  The Holy Family protects the Christ child, traveling to Egypt to escape Herod’s rage.  Matthew refers to Hos. 11:1 and Exodus 4:22-23 with a purpose.  He’s telling his audience that Jesus is the new Moses:  just as Moses delivered the chosen people from slavery, Jesus will free them from sin and death.   Moses and the Prophets reveal God’s dedication to mankind’s salvation; in the Christ child, that dedication becomes incarnate.

I’m also fascinated with the impulse of Mary and Joseph:  I think there’s something more at work here than the simple protective impulse of Jesus’ parents.  You see, I think they’re still out there in the world today: Pharoah, Herod, Stalin, Pol Pot and the other slaves to fear and hatred. 

So, I think Matthew asks us, are we willing to shelter Jesus?  What are we willing to do to protect Christ in the world?  Because I think Matthew and the Church are telling us that our Christmas joy never takes place in a historical vacuum, and the world can be a place of deadly and senseless violence.  As my great-aunt once cautioned me, “May the peace of Christ disturb you greatly.”

Pax,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2011 James R. Dennis

 

 

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All Who Heard It Were Amazed

Posted on December 24, 2011 | 8 comments

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see– I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

 Glory to God in the highest heaven,
            and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.  Luke 2:  8-19.

Reading Luke’s gospel, we find ourselves awe-struck by the events unfolding here:  heaven and earth have intersected, they have collided,  in this desolate, remote little place.  When locating his entry into human history, God chose neither Rome (the headquarters of the world’s superpower) nor Jerusalem (the seat of religious authority).  

This isn’t just an “out-of-the-way” little spot; the manger is decidedly uncomfortable.  The text makes that clear, noting that there was no room at the inn, and they found their place among the animals.  In no small way, the Holy Family’s rejection by the world (“no room at the inn”), foreshadows and points us toward the Cross, where Jesus is again rejected by the world. 

Similarly, the angels announce Jesus’ entry into human history to a meager group of shepherds.  The angels announce this collision of heaven and earth  to those who are poor, anonymous, not especially important or powerful, and probably misfits in the world.  Curiously, God’s makes Himself present first to those who just don’t seem to matter very much to anyone but the Lord of Heaven.

The angels told these shepherds, men camouflaged by their obscurity, that the Messiah, their savior and ours, lay in a manger among the beasts of the earth.  They ran to spread the news, and are still spreading it.  I’m wondering, can we be amazed at these events?  Can we set aside  our malaise and the mortification of the commonplace, and recognize that the birth of the Christ child is happening now, all around us?  I pray we can.

This Christmas day, I wish you the joy and peace of knowing that God is with us, and that Jesus has come to share God’s dreams for this world.  Love is raining down all around us.  And I’d ask that you save a few moments from your joy to pray and care for those who cannot yet feel that love, those who are broken-hearted, or hungry or alone today. 

Emmanuel, my friends,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2011 James R. Dennis

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My Lord and My God!

Posted on December 21, 2011 | 11 comments

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.’

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.’ Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!’  John 20: 24-28.

On December 21, the church celebrates the Feast of St. Thomas, sometimes known as the Doubting Thomas.  This feast day may seem like a bit of an interruption in our Advent preparation, but I hope to convince you that it makes perfect sense.

For the past few weeks, we’ve been discussing the Incarnation.  Of course, the Latin root of that word is carnis, which means meat or flesh. So, the term Incarnation means that God became flesh and bone, that the immortal became mortal, that the spiritual became physical. God, in a sense, consecrated humanity by entering into our history.  

This was  not, however, some metaphysical entry, nor some encounter with an ethereal spirit.  No, Scripture tells us that Christ was born into human history, born among the animals in a stable or a cave or a stall.  This Incarnation was lowly, mean and decidedly real.

Similarly, in this story of St. Thomas, we learn that even the resurrected Christ bears the scars of his entry into human history, of his encounter with human sin.  Thomas doubted the reality of the resurrected Christ, and would not permit himself to believe until he saw the marks of that encounter in Jesus’ flesh.

I don’t think we should judge Thomas too harshly.  Most of us will face serious doubts at one point or another, and maybe face them again and again.  Perhaps because of my Jesuit education, I’m inclined to think a rigorous examination of our faith is healthy.  Otherwise, we consign ourselves to something I believe is perhaps more dangerous, a faith that is five miles wide and a quarter- inch thick.  Many of us have prayed, in some desperate hour, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”  I certainly have, and so feel  a certain spiritual kinship with this good Apostle.

“Then Thomas answered him, ‘My Lord and my God!'” I think the point of this Gospel reading is not so much how Thomas came to the conclusion, but that he ultimately reached the conclusion of the  sovereignty and divinity of the Incarnate Word. 

So, we’ve been talking about what Advent means, in terms of the triumph of hope and promise over desolation and darkness.  Advent calls us to look beyond what John Newman called “the shadows and deceits of this shifting scene of time and sense”.  And as we approach again the entry of Jesus into the world, we hear Christ calling to us, “Do not doubt, but believe.” 

Emmanuel, God is with us.

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2011 James R. Dennis

 

 

 

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Nothing Will Be Impossible

Posted on December 18, 2011 | 14 comments

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. Luke 1: 26-38.

So, we pretty much all know this story.  In fact, most of us have heard the Annunciation story so often that it’s lost some of its impact.  If we’re not careful, we can forget just how remarkable and surprising this story is.

In the first place, let’s look at the context.  After centuries of war, occupation and exile, the Jewish people were mired in hopelessness.  Mary, or Miriam as she would have been called, lived on a dead-end street in a long-forgotten town at the far corner of the Roman empire.  More importantly, she was a woman. In that culture at that time, being a woman means nothing much that’s important would happen to her.  So, the angel Gabriel’s announcement that “The Lord is with you” would have startled Luke’s audience. 

This passage clearly echoes Gabriel’s earlier announcement to Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist.  So, St. Luke reminds us that God is up to something astonishing here, involving both Mary and Elizabeth.  God’s action in this regard actually begins much earlier, in the creation story.  In the birth narratives of both John the Baptist and Jesus we find God engaged in the same sort of thing we encountered in Genesis:  creation ex nihilo (from nothing).  The angel even tells Mary that God is doing precisely that with her cousin Elizabeth.  The notion of the virgin birth therefore raises the idea of the Lord resuming the work begun in creation:  re-creating the world.

But let’s return our focus to Miriam, the Theotokos.  Gabriel announces that she will bear a son and name him Jesus. (The name Jesus is the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua, who led the people of Israel into the Promised Land.  Thus, his very name involves the notion of God keeping his promises, fulfilling the covenant.) As was the case with the John, God seems terribly interested in Jesus’ name, as though the words themselves would act as icons of God’s power working in the world. 

Now, while the coming of the Messiah might have constituted very good news for the people of Israel, it might not have sounded like such good news for Miriam.  An unwed mother, at best, would provide the people of Nazareth with a fine scandal.  It’s the sort of thing that could get a girl killed.  I think the Holy Mother understood perfectly well the cost that she might have to pay for bringing God into the world. 

Jesus’ conception through the Holy Spirit will resonate later in the story of his baptism in the Jordan, as a dove descends and the voice of God announces that Jesus is God’s beloved son.  So, these two birth narratives (Jesus and John) will reconnect years later as Jesus begins his public ministry and God claims him as his own son.  All these things happen through Mary’s “fiat”:  “Let it be done with me according to your word.”  Mary thus serves as the real gateway of the Incarnation.

I wonder how many of us are able to hear God’s message in our own lives:  “The Lord is with you.”  Can we come to think of ourselves as  “favored ones”?  Can we bear the Christ child, and are we willing to bring him into the world?  Are we willing to respond, “Let it be with me”?   I ask these things because those same questions that the Holy Mother faced, well, I think the Gospel asks them of you and of me.  While it’s certainly true that God intended to draw Mary into his plan to re-create and redeem the world, I  believe He has exactly the same intent for us.

The Advent message centers on hope and promise, and setting aside our despair and our terror.  The season of Advent recognizes, as it’s so desperately difficult for us to see sometimes, that nothing will be impossible for God.   And while Gabriel says that as a matter of fact, I think for most of us it’s a kind of a prayer: a prayer we might say more often.

Shabbat shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P. 

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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St. John of the Cross On the Incarnation

Posted on December 14, 2011 | 15 comments

Because today is the feast day of St. John of Cross, and we’ve been meditating on the mystery of the Incarnation, I thought we might look at what he had to say on the subject.  In the Eighth Ballad, he wrote:

Then he summoned an archangel;
Saint Gabriel came,
And He sent him to a maiden,
Mary was her name,

Whose consent and acquiescence
Gave the mystery its birth;
It was the Trinity that clothed
With flesh the Living Word.

Though the three had worked the wonder
It was wrought in but this one,
And the incarnated Word
Was left in Mary’s womb.

And He who had a father only
Now possessed a mother,
Though not of man was He conceived
But unlike any other.

And deep within her body
His life of flesh began:
For this reason He is called
The Son of God and Man.

The poem properly focusses on the figure of Mary, by whose acquiescence the mystery of the Incarnation begins.  In many ways, Mary operates as the lynchpin of the season of Advent.  Our Orthodox brothers and sisters call her the Theotokos, or God-Bearer. 

During this season of Advent, we might properly reflect on what it means to be pregnant with God.  I suggest that we consider that, not only as it pertains to the Holy Mother, but also as it pertains to each one of us.  What does it mean for you and I to bring God into the world, a world which is sometimes hostile and often indifferent to Christ?  And while we’re doing so, as with any expectant parent, we might properly wonder just what this event will cost.  How do we carry Jesus into the places where, as with Bethlehem so long ago, there’s just no room for Him?

Part of the mystery of the Incarnation, part of the wonder of belonging to the Body of Christ we call the Church, lies in the recognition that Christ must live within us.  Somehow, through the enigma of God coming to live among us, our very DNA has changed.  St. Paul recognized this, writing:  “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”  Gal.  2:20.   Paul reminds us that following Christ does not so much hinge on an intellectual assent to a certain doctrine  as it does on surrendering to Christ’s indwelling within us and allowing Jesus to re-make us.

Our Advent hope lies in recognizing that God’s entry into the world is not an event that took place a couple of thousand years ago, and which made things a bit more bearable.  Rather, the very fabric of time and space have changed.  God has and will re-create all things (including you and me) through this Son of God and Man.

Have a good and holy Advent,

James R. Dennis, O.P. 

© 2011 James R. Dennis

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Binding Up the Brokenhearted

Posted on December 11, 2011 | 8 comments

The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
           because the LORD has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
          to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
          and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor,
          and the day of vengeance of our God;
          to comfort all who mourn;
to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
          to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
          the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.  Is. 61: 1-3.

In many respects, this passage from the book of Isaiah provides the perfect Advent reflection.  It gathers up many of the emotions of the people of Israel after the Babylonian exile.   King Nebuchadnezzar and his army had destroyed the Temple, the place where God and man intersected.  Many had been sold into bondage; families were scattered and broken.  The Jews had been humiliated and these were “the worst hard times”.    And Isaiah rose to tell them God remained with them, somehow, in all this mess.

Isaiah refers back to the book of Leviticus, to proclaim the year of jubilee.  (In the year of jubilee, which occurred every fifty years, the prisoners were released, and all debts were forgiven. )  We see this theme running throughout Scripture (both the Old and New Testaments):  God comes to shower his blessings on those whose spirits have been crushed and whose hearts have been broken.  God’s focus doesn’t rest on the superpowers, the wealthy, the priests or the religious elite.  Isaiah thus proclaimed that God was at work; the days of sorrow were over and the days of joy had begun.

 This passage from Isaiah should sound very familiar to Christian readers.  This is the exact passage Jesus reads from in the synagogue when he returns to his hometown, Nazareth.  When Jesus read from this scroll, he announced:  “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”  Luke 4:20.  I think this reveals two important messages.  First, it tells us a good deal about Jesus’ understanding of his mission.  He came to bind up the brokenhearted, to release the prisoners and set the captives free, and to bring sight to the blind.

 If we take the Incarnation seriously and believe that we really are the body of Christ the second message of this Scripture becomes clear:  if we follow Jesus, this is our mission as well.  Because of the Incarnation, our task is clear:  we are to tend to the brokenhearted, the blind, those who mourn, and those who are enslaved.  Sometimes, those conditions may be literal, and sometimes they may be spiritual.  Either way, that’s the purpose and the proper function of the Body of Christ.

Thus, Advent announces something deeply joyous, a joy that reaches far beyond our understanding.  As Rabbi Heschel once wrote:

There is not enough grandeur in our souls
To be able to unravel in words
The knot of time and eternity.
One should like to sing for all men,
For all generations…
There is a song in the wind
And joy in the trees.

Our joy approaches, and the whole earth quickens as the Word nears.

Shabbat Shalom,

James R. Dennis, O.P.

 © 2011 James R. Dennis

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