Gospel text for Sunday 23 September 2018

Mark 9:30-37        Jesus and his disciples passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

Reflection       Last Tuesday evening I attended the Yom Kippur service with Rabbi Helen Cohn’s congregation. Yom Kippur, the highest and holiest day of the year, marks the end of the Jewish people’s ten days of penitence in preparation for their New Year. During her rabbinic reflection Rabbi Helen spoke about “sacred uncertainty,”  explicating an attitude of humility we are meant to bring to our relationships with God and one another. She counseled, “Do not to look at other people as incompetent versions of yourselves.” Hidden in the rabbi’s wisdom I heard Paul’s instruction to the Philippians,  “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…” (Phil 2.5)

What if we took this counsel to heart and began to frame our questions from a humble  non-dualistic perspective? What if rather than regarding ourselves as equal with God, judging people and putting them in pigeonholes, good, bad, right, wrong, what if we adopted an attitude of “sacred uncertainty?”   What if we began to think with the Mind of Christ, as servants of humanity looking for connections rather than distinctions? 

Several months ago I encountered a person in a leadership role whom I was not able to  assign to a particular gender identity. At first I found this disconcerting. As I struggled to put this person in one box or another it occurred to me that I was asking the wrong question. The question is not, “Was this person born a biological male or female?” Nor is it, “In what gender role am I supposed to identify them?” The question is, “How am I connected with this person? What does this person have to say to me?” Which catapulted me out of the tension between this or that, male or female. When I let go of my dualistic way of looking at this person, I was able to experience them in relationship with me. 

“How am I connected with them?” In the deepest desires of our hearts; to be treated with respect,  to have access to decent lives and thereby experience meaning and value. I am connected with this person in our shared humanity and divinity and we both chose to be in this place this day.

Jesus, the Son of Humanity, the Son of God, is praised as King yet arrives in Jerusalem riding on an ass, presides at the Passover banquet then washes his guests feet. Jesus is haled as king of the chosen and executed as a criminal. Jesus is the embodiment of both-and, non-dual consciousness. This is the picture painted for us by Mark’s narrative and it raises some important questions.

What kind of mind set is this gospel inviting us to adopt? What might it look like if individually and as One Body we break out of our pigeon-holing boxes, stop asking questions that demand unproductive dualistic responses?  What if we fervently prayed to embody a both-and life of “sacred uncertainty/“ What if we put on the humble, nonpartisan Mind of Christ?

* Please listen to James Finley’s reflection on Thomas Merton’s teachings about the realization of uncertainty by clicking on image at the upper right of this post.

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Gospel text for Sunday 10 August 2014

Matthew 14:22-33

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, "It is a ghost!" And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God.”

Reflection     I believe it is a good thing that ever eager Peter, while walking on water toward Jesus, noticed the squalling winds and began to sink into the sea. Had Peter forged undaunted through the squall, Jesus’ story would be about magic, a happily ever-after ghost tale. Had Peter not noticed the strong winds and slipped into the drink his would not have been a real life story with God. 

Storms are always kicking up dirt, spitting ice or screaming sirens in our journey with God. The thing is, it is not the storms that will get us. The real danger is that we see ourselves as separate from God then scramble to cling to perishing things. 

Instead of pausing and listening for God, we are distracted by things we think we are losing - our boats, our cars, our health, our loved ones, our life. When we hitch our lives to things that perish, naturally we become afraid. It is rather like building our house in a wash or flood plain, eventualy we will be forced to face the truth. We have made our lives depend on things that cannot last. We have worked so hard to stitch together our strategies for safety and security, affection and esteem, power and control that we have left no time to pause and be present to the Presence of God with us. For many of us it is not until we are caught in the midst of a storm, with nothing left to lose that we finaly open the ears of our heart for God. 

But we don’t have to wait until we are beaten up, at the end of our wits or the end of our life. We can decide to pause and listen for God.  The trappist monk, mystic, poet, social activist and scholar Thomas Merton (who died in 1968) counsels, everything we truely desire we already have. All that is needed is that we pause and allow ourselves to experience what we already have. Merton calls the pause, contemplation. It is being present to what is already Present. It is listening for God (New Seeds of Contemplation, chapter 1).

For those who bristle at the word, ‘contemplation’ is not about sitting still. Contemplation is about paying attention to the present moment exactly as it is because God is already there. It takes practice to focus our attention. That’s why some people practice meditation or centering prayer, play the trumpet, paint, run long distances or walk the dog early in the morning. Anything we do with all of our attention opens the ears of our hearts to hear the voice of the One who speaks in the depths of our own being where our life loses its separate voice.

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