Lent 2 Sunday 25th of February

Jesus rides on a donkey part 2.

Now, in the days that had led to this day, he had said other uncomfortable things as well. He had taken the Twelve to one side and said to them, ‘See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death.’

These words had spread like wildfire through the camp. Some just didn’t believe it. Others said, ‘So why go to Jerusalem?’ Others slunk into the shadows, concocting their own plans, either messianic fantasies about Jesus in which he showed people who he really was, blowing them away with some fantastic show of supernatural power, or political revolution, the people rising up and making him king and the Romans forced out the door.

Being asked to fetch a donkey fitted neither picture.

His quirky use of the word ‘Father’ to describe God suddenly jarred with them. How could God be Father? Many people winced at the intimacy and bravado of such a description for God. But Jesus seemed to get away with it, because with him there was such an intimacy with God; and if there wasn’t, well how did all these things occur?

But if God is Father, then Jesus is a son. And if Jesus tells me to call God ‘Father’, then I am a brother and a sister too.

They knew this, but they didn’t really know where it led.

So the two of them went into the village. They found it just as Jesus had said.

As they were untying the animals, a few bystanders questioned them. A theft seemed to be taking place under their noses, and they were sure they should do something. But the two of them said what Jesus had told them to say, and the people shrugged and went back to their business. Isn’t it always so?

They led the animals back to Jesus, pleased that they had done the job well. He looked at them and smiled. This was something he often did: smiled. It made a difference, especially when the clouds of doubt and confusion engulfed them.

They smiled back. Not saying anything, just throwing their cloaks over the animal for a saddle and handing him the reins.

He took them and turned to everyone else as if to say, it’s time to go now. And so the little pilgrimage continued, the day getting hotter, the levels of anticipation rising.

For Jesus, this was a calculated move. None of them understood this. How could they? They didn’t understand him. But he reckoned there would be enough people in the crowd who would. It might take a little time. But like a small spark in the dry grass could devour a forest, so it would only take one person to make the connection and the word would spread. Not his word this time, but the words of the Scripture that would come to life and take flesh in him and in the things he did. He would steer a path between the religious and the political fanatics who flanked him and goaded him.

His plan was decisive and humble. It had to be both. The crowds needed–even with help – to come to their own conclusion; and he still needed to be meek. There was no other way for the earth to be inherited. For those who had eyes to see, his actions and their meaning would be plain; and for those who didn’t, well, this might open them.

And walking again towards Jerusalem, surrounded again by laughter and intrigue, he didn’t know exactly how this would work out in the days that lay ahead of him, and that was hard. Everyone seemed to think he could see into tomorrow. But all he could see was what he had to do. He knew it was of God; that God had called him to this hour. But he didn’t know where it would end, except in confrontation and vindication: ‘Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and . . . riding on a donkey.’

And so he rode the colt towards Jerusalem. As he rode along, other people came out, and some of them began to spread their cloaks on the road. They chattered to one another about what this entry into Jerusalem might mean, and the gossip spread through the crowd. This is what the prophet foretold. This is how the king arrives.

And others built upon it. Like all good stories, it spread and grew with the telling. He may look meek and gentle. But kings come to sit upon thrones and to establish kingdoms. That is what he is coming to do.

From the path into Jerusalem down by the Mount of Olives the crowds were getting larger and stronger, more confident and more vocal. Some went ahead of him singing and shouting. Others followed him. Right at the front, a young man turned cartwheels and another walked on his hands. Tearing down branches from the trees, the crowds laid these in his path, along with their cloaks. Children waved palms. Everyone sang lustily and praised God joyfully, shouting out the deeds of power they had seen, and whipping each other into a frenzy so that they would expect more. ‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!’ they shouted. ‘Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven.’ And then, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David. Hosanna in the highest heaven!’

Mary Ann Steuternanm

Mary Ann Steutermann is the director of campus ministry at Assumption High School, a Catholic all-girls school in Louisville, Kentucky. She's also a freelance writer whose articles have been published in this magazine and on the popular Catholic website BustedHalo.com. Mary Ann lives in Louisville with her husband and son.

Ash Wednesday  Giving up,… giving to,… giving in. 

Ash Wednesday embraces and sanctifies our brokenness.

Being broken means that healing is needed, so the age-old Lenten practices of fasting, almsgiving, and prayer are not only relevant today but also perhaps more needed than ever. It’s in giving up our reliance on those things we don’t absolutely need, giving to those in greater need than ourselves, and giving in to God’s presence in our lives that we are able to look our own “lacking ” straight in the eye. It’s how we become aware of both the blessing and the brokenness of our human condition.

Giving up: Fasting, a spiritual practice that has declined in popularity over the years, has made a comeback in a less-than-spiritual way. “Intermittent fasting ” is all the rage lately on nutrition websites and in best-selling books. But when fasting is understood not as a weight-loss technique but as a way of letting go of our reliance on things we don’t actually need, it can be a powerful form of prayer. It’s fine to give up desserts for Lent if that helps us reflect on the things we can do without. Perhaps it can be more powerful, though, to “fast ” from gossip or unnecessary spending or an insistence on having the last word. Fasting is a way to experience our own “lacking ” in a transformative way.

Giving to: Almsgiving, which means the giving of money or food to those in need, is another traditional Lenten practice. This, too, is relevant for us today during Lent—and all year long—because it is how we recognise that we aren’t the only ones who are vulnerable. The world is full of others just like us in our lacking. They may be vulnerable in different ways than we are, but by reaching out to them in their need, we bear witness to their pain. By standing in solidarity with their brokenness, we take steps toward being healed of our own.

Giving in: Prayer as a spiritual practice never goes out of style. Not only during Lent but throughout the entire year, prayer is a powerful way of participating in divine community. By lifting our own broken pieces and those of others in prayer, we attest to—rather than run from—the vulnerable parts of our lives. Prayer connects us with each other and with God. This sacred unity connects our individual broken pieces with those of others, creating a beautiful new kind of wholeness.

Our Lenten Invitation

Too often, we approach Ash Wednesday with liturgical gloom and doom. It’s the “black sheep ” of the family of dark solemnities in the liturgical calendar. But when painted in this light, it’s easy to miss its beautiful invitation to claim our brokenness, embrace our vulnerability, and stand in solidarity with all those who do the same.

God is ready to heal our woundedness, to make us more whole than ever before. Ash Wednesday is our call to make room for the divine dance to work its sacred magic within us.

Lent 1 18/2/24

Bishop Stephen Cottrell 

The things he did.

He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey.

Part 1.

Jerusalem was in ferment. Knives were being sharpened. Well-worn grooves were smoothed and oiled. Loose tongues wagged. Accusing fingers jabbed. Small children either ran for the cover of their mother’s apron or picked up stones ready to join in the excitement. Nobody knew what was happening, but everyone had a theory. They said he was coming: the man, Jesus. They said he was on the road today: the one who restored the sight to that beggar, Bartimaeus (that will put him out of business!); the one who lifted Lazarus from the grave; the one the Pharisees are petrified of. He was coming to Jerusalem, coming to keep the feast. What will he do when he gets here? What will he say?

In a small village near Bethany, close to the Mount of Olives, an unknown man tethered an unridden colt by the first dwelling you would come to if you walked in from the east. Unaware of its place in history, it yawed and brayed, irritated to be tied up and abandoned. And on the road to the east, just small specks on the horizon of a day that had hardly started, a little crowd was gathering and jabbering and coming towards Jerusalem. If you could hear them, then you would hear all sorts of things: laughter, raucous speculation, intrigue, political dissent, religious fervour. All of it was filled with a zealous and uncomfortable intent.

Walking with them, neither at their front nor at their rear, leading them, yet in the midst of them, was Jesus; and while everyone else looked at the road in front of them, or to left and right as if they feared something was about to jump out at them, his gaze was fixed on the distance that was gradually coming towards them, reduced inexorably by every step; his whole life, and the many meanderings of many journeys, converging and fixing itself on this last journey to Jerusalem. He had prepared for it carefully. Mused, not so much on how this day would pan out – how could anyone know that? – but on what it would mean. Today was the day when things would be said by the things that he did.

At Bethphage, he stopped. It was still early, still a few miles to travel; the fiercest heat of the day was not yet upon them. In the hedgerows corn parsley and rock rose grew in springtide abundance. The fields beyond were speckled red with lilies and poppies. A breeze stirred in the cedar trees behind him. ‘Keep on, keep on,’ it seemed to say to him, a still small voice fixing his resolve. He turned to two of his followers and whispered to them urgently, the purpose of the day starting to unfold. He said to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you get there you will find a donkey tied up, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. And if anyone says anything to you, just say this, “The Lord has need of them.” And he will send them immediately.’

They looked at him blankly, incomprehension masking fear. They knew they were coming to Jerusalem for a reason, but they didn’t know what the reason was. Now this strange request. It wasn’t what they were expecting, but at least it was something to do. They hurried off into the village and, when they were out of earshot, let their embarrassment turn to gossip and chatter. After all, who was this Jesus? They had seen him do remarkable things; and how could anyone not be impressed when blind men see and evil spirits crouch in fear? These things he did were brilliant, compelling, and magnetic. The crowds flocked to him and asked for more. They cheered his every move. They said he was a saviour, a king, someone the Romans would fear, someone who could lead them to freedom.

But now what he said seemed different from what he did. He had started to speak darkly about what might happen to him in Jerusalem. He told a grim story about a vineyard where the workers rebelled against the owner and one by one killed off the messengers and servants that the owner sent to collect his dues, and then killed the owner’s son as well, thinking the vineyard could be theirs.

What did this story mean? Did it mean that Israel was a vineyard? That prophets sent by God were killed, and we had killed them? And was Jesus more than a prophet? Not just a messenger, not just a worker of mighty deeds, but a son? And would we kill him as well?

Yes, they knew he was from God – no one else could do such things; but a messiah, a king, a son, these were weighty things to carry.

Let's see what's in your show bag.

The Leprous Chatterbox.

Jesus sent him away at once with a strong warning: “See that you don’t tell this to anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing, as a testimony to them.”

 Instead, he went out and began to talk freely, spreading the news.

Usually, healing stories occur in the open in the presence of crowds.  This is an important element when we reflect on the nature of healing. It’s not just about the healer and the healed. There is always a wider circle of people involved and you see this dynamic very clearly in a regional parish like ours. It’s one of the many joys of the connectivity of a community. But, it's reassuring to know that no matter how many people there are around you, Jesus is always present when we call out to him;  In the scriptures “the crowd” often seems to denote those drawn by curiosity about the “miracle worker”; they want to “see” a performance.  They are not drawn to conversion or repentance, but as with all the preaching and teaching of Jesus and his disciples, the invitation is always offered.  The healing story today therefore presents a stark contrast to the norm: Jesus and the leper are alone and it is only as the leper begins his pilgrimage to Jerusalem that others are made aware of the miracle that has happened.

It is easy to understate the power of Jesus’ two simple words to the leper. This is not just some glib, comforting, gooey ‘there there’.  Jesus speaks the action – “Be healed”.  In saying these two words The Master is personal and  He is fully engaged with the leper.  It is an intimate action and an intimate phrase.  It is God fully engaged with the leper and therefore fully engaged with us. In the suffering and isolation of the leper and in the isolation that our suffering inevitably brings. You can only go so far in empathising with someone who has a headache. At the end of the day, they have to do it themselves.

In The Master's instruction to the Leper, we are reminded that Jesus grew up a faithful, practising Jew. Jesus’ command is to go and “show yourself to the priest”. Priests were only found in the Temple at Jerusalem, quite a distance from the area around Capernaum.  Regardless of what Mark knew about the geography of the region, the instruction of Jesus is significant.  For the leper to be fully restored to the community and his isolation quashed, his healing must be verified by a priest and the appropriate sacrifice made.  The leper’s journey on the way to Jerusalem will foreshadow Jesus’ journey later on in the Gospel.  So the journey or ‘the way’ is not just a geographical trip from point A to point B. It is also a journey that happens within. It is ‘the way’ of discipleship, a pattern of life.  On our journey to our Jerusalem, there are bumps and rocks and traffic hazards and detours and road works and there are many stumblings and wrong turns.  But the “way” always leads to Jerusalem, the Temple, the place where we encounter God himself. It is the place of sacrifice just as surely Jesus' journey to Jerusalem, to the temple will accomplish His own sacrifice.

His Mission and our mission is not just to get to a particular geographical place. His mission and our mission is also to tell and to listen along the way. The journey and what happens along the way was and is, just as important as the destination.

Something to think about and a few questions.

In shrinking and shirking from the ‘leprosy’ of others we become leprous. When we recoil from that which we find confronting in another, or simply that which we don’t like, we are infected. We become short-sighted. Our hearts are hardened and our hearing is dulled to those things that we need to hear;  the things that will heal us.

Question 1

Who did the man tell on his way and what was their reaction? By the sounds of it he told pretty much anyone who would listen. “Instead he went out and began to talk freely, spreading the news”

And of course you would, for it is not just the physical healing, the end of the disease, but also the end of his social isolation. A whole new world opens up for our leprous chatterbox. And the reaction from the people he earboxed would have been mixed. Some were delighted, some disbelieving, some not sure what to make of this chatterbox.

Question 2

Are you the one who listens to the leper, or are you the leper, the one who tells?

Perhaps we are both. Perhaps there are times when we listen to the afflicted and certainly there are times when we need to be listened to.

Third and last question

What exactly did the leprous chatterbox say?

‘I was touched’.

Or

‘I was healed.’

Or

Something else.

Tolerance + Silence = Agreement + Collusion.

You may be surprised that I did not have an easy time at school. I was unabashed about my faith and this was not a good thing in the popularity stakes. In the end, my parents took pity on me and I moved to a different school where I was much happier.

Decades later I had cause to reflect on this enigma and wondered why some of my colleagues did not speak out against such rough-and-tumble behaviour. As I recall they weren’t bad people, they weren’t the main protagonists, they were just eerily silent when this thorny issue arose.

Perhaps silence was their way of protecting themselves or perhaps they just thought that it was part of the everyday grist of school life. Whatever their reasons, they are lost to me now and even at the time my colleagues may not have been able to spell out what was going on for them. What 13-year-old can be that objective and articulate?

However the equation…Tolerance + Silence = Agreement + Collusion is still accurate. All sorts of times, places and people are treated shabbily. It’s glib, easy and trite to make sweeping generalisations about a certain bunch of apples because a couple of them have been found blotchy and defective. A quick look in the mirror would show that none of us lives up to the ideals we hope for. We’re all bit pimply and warty, chipped and flawed.

When others are disparaged we can remain silent and our silence speaks loudly of our agreement. We collude with the perpetrators. I would hope that adults behave more maturely than schoolyard bullies. But on the off chance that this is not the case…

Tolerance + Silence = Agreement + Collusion.

Imagine

I recently discovered a person called Simon Barrow. He is a practical theologian, (ie. who thinks outside the traditional box and language) a commentator, a journalist, an adult educator and a trainer. So he is no slouch and I’m glad that he’s on the side of the ‘good guys’.

His work was passed onto me through a screen which can and does have some helpful things to offer, but like all technology, it can be abused and used for the degradation and harming of others.

As we complete the first month of this year Simon’s poem ‘Unwounding’ is brim full of hope and possibilities but it doesn’t pretend that all is glossy and gooey. Rather it teaches us that the wounds of the world and the wounds of others are the same as our wounds. The fears of others and our fears are pretty much the same and if we turned aside from the illusion that retribution and revenge will fix things… imagine what might happen. Imagine what could happen.

So the poem has a haunting echo of John Lennon’s song ‘Imagine’. I offer his superb piece of work for your thoughts and if you are that way inclined, your prayers. Whatever wounds and fears find us this year I hope that your/our ‘un-wounding’ may be victorious over the enemies of fear and retaliation.

‘Unwounding’ … by Simon Barrow

Imagine what would become possible
if we could but gaze on the wounds
of the other, and recognise in
them our fellow fractured
lives and likenesses?

Imagine what would become possible
if we could but see our petrified
enemies as lost and longing
kindred souls on a painful
path to siblinghood?

Imagine what would become possible
If we could but turn ourselves aside
from the vast and veiling
illusion that vengeance
ever rights wrong?

Our Missing Hearts

I’ve read a book by Celeste Ng called ‘Our Missing Hearts’.

The book is fiction but the plot is disquietingly familiar. Us versus them, the targeting of a specific group of people because they appear different. The consequences, fall out and fear of such a mindset. Think of George Orwell's ‘Animal Farm’, set in New York and you get the general idea.

The title of the book comes from a poem that one of the main characters has written. Her poem is misinterpreted and used against her. What is a heartfelt, superbly crafted piece of literature, becomes a lash and a weapon.

The title of course has at least one other layer of meaning. Such disappointing events occur on our planet, and on a national level, when our hearts ‘go missing’ ie. When we are heartless. Last year it seemed that there was always some international conflict going on and the innocent, the children, the vulnerable, and the helpless were the victims and hostages who were bloodied and became homeless.

I have to hope that this year might be different. That somehow, in some way, we might learn the crucial craft of turning our army tanks into tractors and our hand grenades into harvesters. Deep down it’s what we all ache for… isn’t it?

The book speaks to every individual and it speaks to all communities. It is so very easy to find excuses not to care.

It’s not my problem, my little bit wouldn’t change anything, it’s all too hard.

But this is the real ‘look long and hard in the mirror’ moment. ‘I’m too busy caring for all these other people. I wouldn’t have energy for anything else.’

When I catch myself thinking this, then I know that my heart too has gone missing in action.

Having More Than One Go.

Those of you with a fine eye for detail will have noticed that our first reading actually begins in the 3rd chapter of Jonah. In today’s apparently happy story, Jonah asks the people to repent, they do and everything is squared away. All is sweet and dandy and they all live happily ever after.

But there is a two-chapter prequel. It didn’t actually start out that way and in the first two chapters, all is not champagne and red roses. Jonah is offered the parish of Nineveh and says a polite No, or a not-so-polite ‘No!’. God again makes a very generous offer and Jonah instead of graciously accepting the parish runs away and joins the navy and you would have thought that would be the end of it. But no! God gets grumpy and while Jonah is on the high seas he sends Cyclone Ismay. The crew draw straws to find out who it is that God is cranky with. Drawing straws is always accurate and it turns out that Jonah is the culprit. Jonah jumps overboard and that’s when we get the familiar story of him being in the belly of a whale for three days. After this Jonah is regurgitated onto the beach. He has learnt his lesson, goes off to the parish and thus begins our Chapter 3 today.

There’s lots going on with this story but the point I want to make is that God had to have a couple of goes to get Jonah into the parish. Jonah gets a second chance to redeem himself, accept the parish graciously and be an outstanding parish priest. Notice too that the Ninevites get a second chance. Starting at the top down with the king.

“When Jonah’s warning reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, took off his royal robes, covered himself with sackcloth and sat down in the dust. This is the proclamation he issued in Nineveh:

“By the decree of the king and his nobles:

Do not let people or animals, herds or flocks, taste anything; do not let them eat or drink. But let people and animals be covered with sackcloth. Let everyone call urgently on God. Let them give up their evil ways and their violence. Who knows? God may yet relent and with compassion turn from his fierce anger so that we will not perish.”.

Sometimes you have to have more than one go.

Now let’s take a look at our gospel.

Jesus has a very successful recruiting drive and nets no less than 4 disciples, apparently within a few minutes of each other on the one beach. If only it were that easy.

But… I’ll lay odds that there is also a backstory with the call of Simon, Andrew, James and John. It seems highly unlikely that they would have left their Dad’s company, complete with Superannuation and Long Service Leave  and followed a complete stranger into a very precarious career opportunity like fishing for people. They have no idea where this will lead or how it will finish. This is clearly not the first time these gentlemen have met.

I suspect that there was an ongoing, well-established relationship with these five and what we read today in a few swift trifling verses, is just the culmination of several fruitful, heartwarming but challenging encounters.

The Master probably had to have a couple of goes before he ‘landed’ these disciples. And they had to become comforted, reassured and trusting of the itinerant rabbi.

I often wonder if Gabrielle had asked other women to be the Mother of God and Mary was just the first one that said ‘Yes’ albeit with a curly question or two.

We are often tempted to think that God speaks and it all happens instantly, exquisitely and perfectly. But the more I think …

What if God has to have a couple of goes before he gets it right, or at the least before we say Yes?

Wouldn’t that have to change our understanding?

Wouldn’t that teach us that our God operates from a place of great vulnerability, where we are free to respond in the negative? It would have to teach us that our God who is both elusive and intimate, is a God who is patient with us. He will try whatever it takes to nudge us along to the place and relationships that He has in mind for us. These places and relationships are not always gooey and nice with whipped cream on top.

If we worship the God who has to have more than one go, then we learn afresh that he is also a persistent God.

And this is very good news. Our God is persistent, our God is patient and He is vulnerable, not quite as all-powerful as we would sometimes like to believe. It is only His persistence, His patient, immeasurable and unconquerable love, that makes Him such an irresistible lover. We are blessed to worship such a God.

Two quick questions to finish.

1. The disciples leave their nets behind. What tangles are you being asked to leave alone in order that you may follow?

2. Jonah didn’t want to go to Nineveh and encounter the people there. Where and or who is your Nineveh, the place God is calling you to?

The conversation I never had

They were a smart couple. Attractive, young and obviously ‘together.’

They were shown to a cosy table just for two. They ordered and then I thought they would hold hands, look into each other's eyes and mutter luscious things to each other.

Not so. Instead of gazing at each other's comely countenance, they each took out their phone and they stared hypnotically into the screen in front of them. So in my mind, I had a conversation with them. Sometimes I wish I had the fortitude actually to conduct this conversation but maybe it’s better that I didn’t. Anyhow, here’s the conversation I never had.

Me: “Excuse me… sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing that you are spending a hefty amount of time and energy looking at your phone when you are obviously together.”

The young lady: Without looking up at me “Yeah.. just checking out…” and her voice petered out as she went on checking out… well … whatever it was she was checking out.

Undaunted and with my level of askance rising, I thought I would pursue a line of inquiry with the gentleman.

Me: “So, can I ask, ‘Have you been together long’?”

The young gentleman: “Yeah, about 6 weeks now” he says this almost matter-of-factly, without lifting his eyes from the screen and making eye contact with me or his girlfriend. “We just don’t want to miss anything from our favourite social media platform”

Now this is an imaginary conversation. I can say whatever I like without fear of consequences, being threatened with ‘inappropriate behaviour,’ or being curtly asked to leave the cafe.

Me: “Don’t you think you should be checking out each other? The thing that you are missing out on, is right in front of you”