Psalm for 2nd Sunday of Lent 20 March 2022

 Psalm 27 v 1-12, 18

1 The Lord is my light and my salvation;

whom then shall I fear? *

the Lord is the strength of my life;

of whom then shall I be afraid?

2 When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh, *

it was they, my foes and my adversaries, who 

stumbled and fell.

3 Though an army should encamp against me, *

yet my heart shall not be afraid;

4 And though war should rise up against me, *

yet will I put my trust in him.

5 One thing have I asked of the Lord;

one thing I seek; *

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life;

6 To behold the fair beauty of the Lord *

and to seek him in his temple.

7 For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe 

in his shelter; *

he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling

and set me high upon a rock.

8 Even now he lifts up my head *

above my enemies round about me.

9 Therefore I will offer in his dwelling an oblation

with sounds of great gladness; *

I will sing and make music to the Lord.

10 Hearken to my voice, O Lord, when I call; *

have mercy on me and answer me.

11 You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." *

Your face, Lord, will I seek.

12 Hide not your face from me, *

nor turn away your servant in displeasure.

18 O tarry and await the Lord's pleasure;

be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; *

wait patiently for the Lord.

Reflection        How do we breathe beneath the threat of nuclear disaster? How do we stand in the ashes of bombed homes and hospitals? How do we to live with our heads above ground and our hearts unbound when images of disaster bombard us? How do we trust the premise that there is a solution to every problem if only the people at the top “get it right?”

I don’t know. Which is why I turn to the psalms, ancient scripts for how we humans navigate the unbearable. When the gravel in my belly grinds with fear of nuclear disaster I borrow the psalmists words, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?” When images of mangled buildings and injured babies follow me to bed and bombard my dreams, I lean into the Israelite’s song, “Though an army should encamp against me, yet my heart shall not be afraid…”

When I am tempted to bury my head in the sand; taking a pill, making a purchase or planning another adventure vacation, I recall to heart the promise,  “Even now (God) lifts up my head above my enemies round about me… And though war should rise up against me, yet will I put my trust in him.”  And there we have it. 

For as long as we put our trust in the presumptive people at the top “to get it right,” we miscarry the war laden moment by failing to allow God’s mystery to unfold within us. But when we choose to put our heads in our hearts, there we “behold the beauty of our Lord,” tasting peace in the promise, “For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe in his shelter; he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling and set me high upon a rock.” 

This is not wishful thinking nor magical intervention. Washed in the river of our tears and hidden beneath the rubble of our fears we hear, “You speak in my heart and say, "Seek my face." Your face, Lord, will I seek. Hide not your face from me, nor turn away your servant in displeasure.” The voiceless voice of the only One in whom we dare put our trust and find our peace calls us from the inside to be transformed into the peace that is not contingent upon the rampant wiles of circumstance and unholy men. 

Therefore, even though we find ourselves short of breath beneath the threat of nuclear disaster and squirming in the ashes of bombed homes and hospitals, we put our heads into our hearts and offer God “an oblation with sounds of great gladness…” because nothing can annihilate the peace we find in God. Nothing can touch us where I AM. 

If you find this post to be meaningful please share by clicking on icons below. Thank you. 

Gospel text for Sunday 27 February 2022

 Luke 9:28-36       Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"--not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

Reflection       With a full on war erupting in Ukraine and the balance of global powers hanging by a thread, today we are chilled to the bone and the image of a mountaintop moment in the company of Moses, Elijah and Jesus seems remote, if not irrelevant. But, is it?

Is it not our faith that hidden in the cleft of every brutal breech and war torn wound is the Presence of that which can never be ravished or ruined? Is it not our hope that Jesus’ promise “I am with you always, even to the end of the world,” (Matt 28.20) is trustworthy and true? Do we choose to plant our feet in the sure and certain love that St. Paul proclaims to the Romans as they suffer in their present time? ^“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God?  (Romans 8.38-39) 

Do we not choose to live by faith, with hope in love?

Only hours after reading the dark and dire news of the Russian invasion of Ukraine on Thursday morning, I met with a woman whom I will call Karen. Eighty year old Karen’s hands were trembling as cold wrapped her from the inside out. Karen had spent the previous four hours trying to recover from a computer hack that invaded her contact list and sent messages to hundreds of family, friends and colleagues requesting assistance in her name. 

After spending a fair amount of time breathing deeply to restore a modicum of peace, peace that is more than the absence of the disruptive invasion by a hacker, peace that is more than the quelling of emotions in the face of an alien incursion and technology overload, peace that exceeds comprehension. Karen sought peace that prevails over evil. Karen breathed into the depth of her wound until tears carried these words from her heart to her lips. “All of these people, all of these people love me. They received the hacker’s message and keep calling and coming and buying gift cards to help me. I had no idea how much I am loved.” Surprised by grace, Karen found love in the depth of a wound inflicted by malevolent hackers.

An evil invasion by Russians or a malicious attack by hackers cannot and will not prevail. This is our faith and this is our hope because we are people who live in love; original, unmitigated abiding love. As people who choose to live by faith, with hope in love we can experience all of life, the good, bad and abhorrent, as sacrament. But to do so we must stay awake. We dare not be weighed down and unconscious if we are to experience every daybreak as well as every dreadful wound as sacrament, a manifest opportunity to experience Divine Presence. In Luke’s text, “Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw (Jesus’) glory and (Moses and Elijah) who stood with him.” The three disciples experienced life as sacrament.

Here is the thing. God is active in our world and in our lives but we must stay awake to experience God’s glory. We dare not allow ourselves to be weighed down by the news of war and threats of global disruption. To experience life as sacrament we must not be distracted by gruesome images or anger mongering words that trip us into fear and the sleep of unconscious reaction. 

Today, every day, we stand on a razor’s edge of choice. Do we choose to capitulate to evil and live in fear? Or do we choose to live by faith with hope in love? Let me suggest that if we choose the latter, that we must do whatever we do deliberately. Rather than muddle through each day slipping from routine to habit to unconscious reaction let us put our heads in our hearts and hold the purest of intentions. Let our intention be to experience all of life as sacrament, to find God in every moment, even and perhaps especially in our wounds and the wounds of the world.

Living our lives with the intention to find God in all things, like Peter, James and John we experience what theologians call a theophany. A theophany is a personal encounter with Divine Presence, nothing more and nothing less than the tears of a woman who had no idea how much she is loved.

If you find this post to be meaningful please share by clicking on icons below. Thank you.