Out of the Depths

“Out of the depths have I called to you, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice….”

Should our readings from Scripture be only sweetness and light? Should the preacher deliver only good news? You know as well as I do that there is plenty of pain in Scripture. You even heard some of it today. And there is also plenty of pain and anguish in our corporate and personal lives. Wouldn’t a preacher be dishonest if she refused to see or preach about the pain in our lives? Perhaps in Lent we are especially called to acknowledge the depths in our lives and to ask where God is when we can’t hear the good news.

Our psalm for this morning calls us to do just that, to consider our cries from the depths. Traditionally, Psalm 130 is part of a group of what is called the Psalms of Ascent, i.e., psalms 120 to 134. This group of psalms is called Psalms of Ascent, because these psalms were traditionally said on the way to the temple in Jerusalem. In ancient times you were literally in the depths as your approached the temple, as it was built on a very high rock. Today that rock is called the Temple Mount, and it houses the Dome of the Rock. It is still a holy place for Jews who come to pray at the Wailing Wall, the last remaining wall of the Second temple, i.e.,the temple of Jesus’ time.

But the “depths” to which the psalmist alludes represent more than the valley floor. Now this is not a psalm of lament like, for example, Psalm 22, in which the psalmist expresses a deep sense of abandonment by God. Here, the psalmist is in some unnamed pain. Perhaps the psalmist cannot even name the source of the pain. Even so, the psalmist calls out from the depths of that pain. What is more important, the psalmist doesn’t just shout out incoherently, though one might do that in great pain. Rather, the psalmist calls out to God – not in complaint, not whining, or grumbling. The psalmist calls out to God for an attentive hearing: “Let you ears consider well the voice of my complaint.” It’s as if crying out to God is sufficient and will in itself lead to hope. When in pain, the psalmist in effect says, “Keep shouting out to God.”

I’m right there with the psalmist. I’ve been reading lately about World War II. Last week I mentioned All the Light We Cannot See, set in France during the war and featuring the blind girl Marie-Laure. I’ve also been listening to The Zookeeper’s Wife, a true story set in Poland during the war. In fact, the film version of the book has just opened in theaters. I’ve found myself wondering how those experiencing the war, and especially Jews and those who helped them escape the Holocaust, might have heard this psalm. Would it have encouraged them?

More to the point, does it encourage us? Many people today look at the state of world, especially the chaos in Washington and what feels like endless war, and are plunged into despair. Others look at the policies and acts of Congress that threaten to undo all the progress we’ve made in recent decades and are deeply worried about the future of our nation and the world.

And certainly we have all known – and know – the depths of our own lives. You can’t open the newspaper or your favorite news app or turn on the television without confronting the depths of addiction our state is experiencing. Drug overdose deaths alone claimed 3,050 lives in Ohio in 2015, not to mentioned the children and other family members affected by drug use, or addictions to other substances. Not for nothing do twelve-step programs say that one has to “hit bottom” before starting the path to recovery. Even if you’ve never been addicted to anything and have been clean and sober your entire life, you’ve certainly experienced dislocation, when dreams vanish and everything in life seems to go awry. Then there’s divorce, loneliness, estrangement from family members, illness, and injury. And, of course, as we were graphically reminded on Ash Wednesday, there’s also death, of our loved ones, and eventually of ourselves. When the psalmist calls “out of the depths,” we have been there too.

But the psalmist does more than cry out to God. The psalmist also then reflects on who this God is whose ears are called for. This is a God who doesn’t keep a “watcher’s eye” out for sins. Rather, this God is always willing to restore right relationship with God’s people. This God is always there for us, a loving God on whom we can count. What a wonderful image in verse 5: the watchman doesn’t “hope” that dawn will come, the watchman knows that the sun will come up! The psalmist may have to wait for God to act but does so with absolutely certain confidence that God will act.

There is good news in this psalm after all! Do you hear it here? Can we cry out to God from the depths of our lives with the same confidence that we have in the sunrise? I’m reminded of that wonderful song from “Annie:” The sun will come out/ Tomorrow/ Bet your bottom dollar/ That tomorrow/ There'll be sun!/ Just thinkin' about/ Tomorrow/ Clears away the cobwebs,/ And the sorrow/ 'Til there's none!” Do we have that confidence in God?

Susanna Metz tells of her days as a boarding student with the sisters of the Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The sisters have the custom of reciting psalm 130 every evening at 7:00 PM. When the bell rang at 7:00, the students in the study hall would put down their homework and pray the psalm with the sister in charge. Later, as a sister herself, Metz found the psalm to be “a comfort, a habit that made me stop and remember that no matter what, God was with me, waiting … for me to acknowledge that presence within.” Now, no longer a sister, Metz still feels the connection through that psalm with the community and, more important, with her faith in God. Would we benefit from reciting psalm 130 nightly?

Reciting the psalm more regularly might also remind us that the rest of today’s readings from Scripture also reflect sure confidence in God’s action on our behalf. The wonderful vision of the prophet Ezekiel reminds us that God will act when we are in the depths, when we are as lifeless and scattered as the dry bones. Just as Ezekiel saw God reviving the house of Israel, so will God revive us. Our gospel from the gospel according to John is a chaotic and multi-layered story, much like most of John’s gospel. In fact, I could easily imagine this story as reader’s theater! However, if nothing else, the story gives us a dramatic foretaste of the Paschal Mystery, the promise that God will bring us from the depths to the heights, from death to life. What could be better news than that!

And yet there’s one more thing we need to say about this psalm, which we dare not overlook. The psalm ends with two important shifts: from the individual to the corporate, and from addressing God to addressing Israel. Once having asked God to hear and having regained confidence in God’s actions, the psalmist then shares that confidence with the community of Israel. And not because God’s help has already come – it has not by the end of the psalm – but because the psalmist trusts God’s promise of mercy, forgiveness, help, and grace.

We too are called to share our confidence in God’s loving actions with others. We are “Easter people,” people who trust the Paschal Mystery, people who trust that we don’t remain forever in the depths, and that death leads eventually to life. We are called to share that faith especially in this parish. One way we can do that is by praying for each other – that’s one reason for our prayer list, so that we can share with each other the needs of those on our hearts. Perhaps we can do that also by “waiting” with each other in times of stress and difficulty, either in person in sick rooms or at grave sites, or again in prayer. And we can share our faith and trust in God by praying and working for the future of this parish, holding on to our confidence that God will continue to uphold and support a community of Jesus’ followers in the Anglican tradition in this place.

We can also share our confidence in God’s active love with the wider world. If we worry about war, we can pray and work for peace. We can welcome the stranger and those of other faith communities. We can insist that all people be treated with respect and dignity. If we are fearful about the future of our country, we can pray and work for those issues close to our hearts. In particular, we can contact our elected representatives in Columbus and Washington and remind them of our commitment to peace and justice – just as the psalmist reminds the house of Israel.

Most important, all our readings encourage us not to stay in the depths but to confidently call on God – and then share with others our confidence that God’s reign has come near us.

We Wish to See Jesus

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” What an odd request! It was Sunday. The great crowds who had begun gathering for the Passover festival had heard that Jesus was coming. They had gathered in the streets, shouting, “Hosanna,” at him, ready to anoint him as king. Why had these Gentile Greeks – we don’t even know how many of them there were – approached Philip asking to see Jesus? Hadn’t they been among the crowds? Hadn’t they seen Jesus then? Had they missed Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem and now wanted to find out what all the fuss was about? Perhaps they were God-fearers, Gentiles who sympathized with Judaism. What did they hope to see? Did they expect to see a king? Perhaps they hoped to share in the new political regime that this triumphant king would surely inaugurate. Or perhaps they’d heard about the healings Jesus had done and were seeking healing for one of their own. Or since Greeks generally did not believe in miracles, perhaps they’d come for some learned philosophical discourse. Gingerly, they approached Philip, who then went with Andrew to ask Jesus. Would Jesus actually be willing to meet with them?

The Gospel account doesn’t tell us whether the Greeks actually got a face to face meeting with Jesus. In a sense, it doesn’t matter. In this part of the story, the “Greeks” represent the totality of the human race. They stand in for all those outside the Jewish fold who will also be drawn into covenant with God through Jesus’ Passion. Jesus has performed all the miracles he is going to perform. He has shown forth all the signs of his identity as God’s son. The approach of these non-Jews signals to Jesus – and to us – that now the time has finally come for Jesus to take the next step on his journey: to the Cross and beyond.

Before Jesus can take that next step, he needs to make sure that the “Greeks,” if they are still there, his disciples, and the crowds, know just what that next step means. He needs to make sure that his followers “see” him as he truly is, and that they understand what following him will mean for their lives. So, for all who have ears to hear, Jesus sums up the gospel in three succinct statements. First, he tells his hearers that the seed of grain must die before it can bear fruit. Embracing the death he knows is coming, Jesus reminds his hearers that death must precede eternal life, and that without death there will be no life. Second, Jesus warns his hearers that they are called to “hate” their own lives in order to gain eternal life. Jesus is not counseling self-destruction or self-hatred. Instead, Jesus reminds his hearers that they must let go of everything in their lives – and in the world – that separates them from God and from God’s love. Finally, Jesus promises his hearers that those who follow him will be honored with him by God the Father. As he calls out, “And what should I say – ‘Father, save me from this hour,’” Jesus reminds his hearers that discipleship means following him specifically from death to life, but that God’s promises of life are trustworthy and sure. If his hearers are inclined to doubt, the voice from heaven provides a reassuring affirmation that Jesus – and his followers – have chosen the right path.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Conservative church leaders were delighted, while social activists were disappointed, when Oscar Arnulfo Romero was chosen in 1977 as Roman Catholic Archbishop of San Salvador.1 Most people thought that Romero was a pious, scholarly bishop who would not make waves or call for change. Three weeks after his consecration Romero was called on to officiate at the funeral of his friend Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit priest who was assassinated because of his commitment to social justice. Deeply shaken by Grande’s death, Romero experienced what many considered a personal transformation. Amidst the violence engulfing El Salvador, Romero became an outspoken champion of justice. In his weekly sermons, which were broadcast throughout the country, he detailed all the ways in which the government trampled on human rights. When he visited the Vatican in 1979, he presented the Pope with seven detailed reports of institutionalized murder, torture, and kidnapping in El Salvador. Early in 1980 he sent a letter to President Jimmy Carter, appealing for an end to U.S. military support of the Salvadoran government. Drawing strength and courage from peasants, Romero embraced the cause of the poor. Indeed, he identified care for the poor as the defining characteristic of Christian discipleship. “A Church that does not unite itself to the poor,” he said, “in order to denounce from the place of the poor the injustice committed against them is not truly the Church of Jesus Christ.”

Romero was shot to death on March 24, 1980 while celebrating Mass at a small chapel near his cathedral. Only the day before he had preached a sermon in which he called for soldiers as Christians to obey God's higher order and to stop carrying out the government's repression and violations of basic human rights. Many believe that his assassins were members of Salvadoran death squads, including two graduates of the U.S.-run School of the Americas. Romero is buried in the Cathedral of the Holy Savior. More than 250,000 people from all over the world attended his funeral mass on March 30, 1980. On May 23rd of this year, in San Salvador's central square, Oscar Romero will be beatified by the Catholic Church. Having seen the face of Jesus in the poor and oppressed, Oscar Romero was privileged to follow his master in the way of the Cross.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” “Show me Jesus,” the young man said to the pastor. Someone told me that you talk about his life and miracles every Sunday. Show me this Messiah who came to save the world.”2

The pastor led him into the parish hall, which was filled with chairs and tables. The young man looked at the people lined up in the foyer, and he smelled the food. “Here, help with the meal,” the pastor said. An elderly woman led him to the kitchen and handed him a potato peeler. He began to peel potatoes.

“Why did you come here today?” the elderly woman asked. “I want to see Jesus,” the young man replied.

“Then why don’t you go up front and help dish out the food?” He began to serve out the soup. An old man thanked him for giving him a hot meal on a cold day. A girl he knew from school smiled at him.

Then someone handed him a bowl of soup. “You’ve been working hard,” the man said, “sit down and have something to eat.”

“But I didn’t come here to eat.”

“Why did you come here?” the man asked.

“I came here to know Jesus.”

“Then go and sit with the people he loves,” the man said, gesturing to the crowd eating at the tables before turning back to serve the next person soup. The girl he knew from school motioned him to sit down beside her.

“This is a good place if you are hungry and lost,” she said. “I haven’t seen you here before. What brings you here today?”

“I asked the pastor to show me Jesus,” the young man said.

“And have you seen him?”

“I’ve seen people working together to help other people, and I’ve seen hungry people fed,” the young man said. “But I’m not sure I’ve seen Jesus.”

“Maybe you need to know why the other people are here,” she said.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Because I was hungry, and I know that when I come here I receive more than just food,” she said as she put her empty bowl in a tub of soapy water.

The young man went to the man serving soup to those waiting in line. “Why do you give food to these people?”

“Jesus asks me to feed the hungry,” the man said.

The young man went into the kitchen and asked, “Why do you make food for people you don’t know?”

“Because Jesus tells me to love my neighbor,” the elderly woman replied.

The young man went back to the hall and saw the pastor eating soup at a table. He sat down next to him. “I asked you to show me Jesus,” the young man said.

“Did you see him?” the pastor asked. “Did you see his love and concern for others, the generosity of his heart, and the change he brings into people’s lives?” The young man thought for a moment and nodded. “I think I’ll come back and help tomorrow, and come to church on Sunday too.”

The pastor smiled. “Then you have done something more than simply see Jesus. You have begun to follow him.”

Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit
that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your Name. Amen.

1. Based on Robert Ellsberg, “Oscar Arnulfo Romero, in All Saints (New York: Crossroad, 2000), 131-2.
2. Based on Peter Andrew Smith, “Showing them Jesus,” in Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series VII Cycle B (Lima, OH, CSS, 2011), 67-70.

Can These Bones Live?

“Mortal, can these bones live?” Six centuries before Christ, the prophet Ezekiel was preaching to a despairing people. Their holy city had been destroyed. Their richly ornamented temple, built by the great king Solomon, was no more. They had been forced into exile, and they were now living in an alien culture. They struggled to remember the God whom they had once so fervently worshipped. Surely all that had once given meaning to their lives was gone, and they were living in a darkness that was almost worse than death. And then God called Ezekiel to give the people a different vision. God called Ezekiel to remind the people – just as we need to be reminded – that God not only creates life but also restores it, and that exile, darkness, and death are not God’s last word to them, even when they could not see how or where new life might be possible.

What could be more lifeless than the huge mass of “very dry” bones God commanded Ezekiel to walk around? “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel is dumbfounded by God’s question. Surely, the answer is “No!” Surely there will never be life again in these absolutely lifeless skeletons. Ezekiel gives the only possible answer: “O Lord, God, you know.” Indeed, God does know. For the God addressing Ezekiel is the God of promise, the God who fulfilled God’s promises by creating a nation out of the elderly and childless Abraham and Sarah, by delivering that nation from slavery in Egypt, by bringing that nation into a land of milk and honey, by entering into covenant with them, and by raising up judges, kings, and prophets. Who else but that God brought the people back to life – again and again?

And so yet again, through Ezekiel, God promises life to the Israelites. “Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live.” With God’s command come muscles, sinews, and skin, until the bones are all knit together and standing upright. Then comes the most important part: God commands the breath to come from the four winds and breathe upon these slain. And so it does. And what is this breath? This is the life-giving spirit of God, the ruach, the same Spirit that God breathed into the masses of dust in the creation story of Genesis, the dust that became human beings. And one more promise: God promises that, with God’s breath animating them as they come alive, the people will recognize and celebrate their dependence on God’s breath, they will “know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act.”

“Mortal, can these bones live?” The same breath that God breathed into the very dry bones of the House of Israel, Jesus breathed into the son of the widow of Nain and the daughter of Jairus. Jesus breathed that same breath into an equally lifeless Lazarus. In the last sign of his identity as the Messiah, Jesus gave the clearest possible demonstration of God’s power over death and the grave. God breathed that same breath into the crucified and lifeless Jesus, raising him to resurrection life. The same breath, “the Spirit of him who raised Christ from the dead” came into our bodies when the waters of baptism flowed over us. That same breath moves in the world today, raising people, communities, and nations to new life – against all odds.

“Do you believe this,” Jesus asked Martha. Do we believe in God’s promises of restored life? Easter is two weeks from today. What do we really believe about death and restored life? On hearing of someone’s death, many of us say, “May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace.” Do we really believe that the souls of the dead are now with God, in a place of perfect peace, perfect joy, and perfect health? Isn’t the continued life of our lost loved ones, to say nothing of all those dead in wars and genocides, too much to hope for?

“Mortal, can these bones live?” Isn’t it easier to see all the dark places in our lives? Who could forget Auschwitz and the horrors that occurred there and at all the other concentration camps? Have we so easily forgotten the many descendants of forcibly exiled Africans who perished under a cruel system of slavery or were lynched during the Jim Crow era? We remember those lost in Rwanda, on September 11th, and in Darfur. We remember those lost when a tsunami struck Southeast Asia, or when a wall of mud came down in Washington on those living in houses that should probably never have been built.

And how about the dark places in our own lives? In our study of forgiveness this past week, we took the brave step of looking at those places in our lives where we need to repent, to change course, to get a new mind. We even considered the people to whom we might need to apologize, in order to truly reverse course. Where are the places of darkness and death in our communities? Can we forget those lost in fires in old ramshackle houses or murdered on the streets of our cities and towns? Stephanie Jaeger, a Lutheran pastor in Chicago tells of hearing Ezekiel’s prophecy at a service honoring the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr. The congregation hearing that prophecy “came alive” when the Baptist preacher called for changes in the mandatory sentencing laws in Illinois. “On any given day,” Jaeger tells us, “more than 10,000 men are housed in Cook County Jail in Chicago. Most of them are poor; almost all are men of color. One fifth of the men suffer from mental illness.”1 Where are the places where war and death still hold sway? Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq, Syria? Where are the places where modern-day slaves are forced into prostitution or sweatshops?

“Mortal, can these bones live?” You know all this. You have only to open your newspaper or your favorite news app. Even though our culture avoids dealing directly with death – people don’t “die” anymore, they “pass” – you don’t need me to remind you that we will all die, and that we live in a world of darkness, sin, and death. If you are here, it must be because you need to hear a different message. The congregation in Chicago needed to hear a different message. They needed to hear that God breathes new life into us when we are addicted, hopeless, guilty, depressed, and in pain.

And the church has a different message for us. We can’t help but hear it if we have “ears to hear.” We hear that different message not only in Scripture. We hear in the baptismal liturgy when the priest prays over the water: “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” We hear it sermons. Didn’t Ezekiel show us that good preaching can even raise the dead? In the Nicene Creed, we reaffirm our trust in “the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.” We hear it in the priest’s declaration of forgiveness, when I ask God to “strengthen you in all goodness, and by the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal life.” We hear it in the exchange of peace: “The peace of the Lord be always with you.” We hear it as we receive Christ’s Body and Blood: “The body of Christ, the blood of Christ, keep you in everlasting life.” We hear it in our hymns. Even if you don’t like to sing, pay attention to the words of the hymns. In a few minutes we will sing, “They who eat of this bread” – i.e., the Eucharist – “they shall live forever.” Our last hymn will remind us that Jesus is, “enthroned in glory,” and, more important, “There for sinners thou art pleading: there thou dost our place prepare; ever for us interceding, till in glory we appear.”

Though we must travel with Jesus through the darkest places, though we must cry with the psalmist “out of the depths,” if we have ears to hear, we cannot miss the message that the church delivers to us at every turn: that God not only enlivens our natural life but also promises us life other than and beyond this world, a new creation, a new way of living that will come into being when this created existence ceases.

“Mortal, can these bones live?” The three great days of Holy Week are almost upon us. What will we say on Good Friday? Can the bones of the crucified man live? They did. Can our bones live? They will, because the “Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead” dwells in us, has been poured into us, because we live in him, with him, through him, and for him. We have God’s promise. All we have to do is trust in that promise.

1. Christian Century, Vol. 131, 7, April 2, 2014, p. 20.

An Act of Extravagant Love

Are you Mary or Judas? Frankly, at this point in the story, I’m not sure I want to be either one! We’ve shifted abruptly into the Gospel of John. We’re now about two miles from Jerusalem and a couple of days from the wrenching events that are about to take place there. Jesus has come for a last dinner party with his friends at Bethany, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. Others of his disciples are also there, including Judas, the one who will betray him. That part of the story has yet to come, although the shadows are already present in this part. Here in this intimate scene – Jesus at table with his friends – something extraordinary happens that throws into relief two ways of relating to Jesus. Without saying a word, Lazarus’s sister, Mary, pours a huge quantity of costly ointment made from the spikenard plant onto Jesus’ feet, and then begins to wipe Jesus’ feet with her unbound hair. As we might expect, Judas criticizes Mary’s action, alluding to a duty to the poor.

In these two characters, the evangelist gives us two very different models of discipleship. Mary is our model of true discipleship, while Judas is our model of false discipleship. Consider the two of them. Mary knows what she needs to do. Though her action transgresses every social boundary – respectable women do not wipe their teacher’s feet with their hair – she knows what she must do and acts without any self-justification. She trusts that Jesus will understand her gesture and accept it for what it is – an act of love. She doesn’t worry about whether there will be enough money for ministry but offers Jesus what he most needs at this point in his journey, a demonstration of the heartfelt love that she has for him.

On the other hand, Judas does not know what to do. Can’t you imagine him awkwardly sitting somewhere at the table, knowing what he’s agreed to do and wondering what to say? He certainly doesn’t trust Jesus, and he criticizes Mary’s loving gesture. Operating out of an economy of scarcity, he models rational behavior devoid of love. It’s true that we need to provide for the poor, and the equivalent of a year’s wages could be well spent for ministry, but Judas offers Jesus nothing that comes from his heart.

So are you Mary or Judas? The truth is that most of us are both. We want to offer Jesus acts of heartfelt love, but most of the time we stand around awkwardly. At worst we know we’re about to betray Jesus. At best, we simply don’t know how to express our love to him. Yet, thanks be to God, God’s grace is sufficient for us. God’s grace embraces all of us just as we are. God’s grace is sufficient to redeem both the loving and the less loving aspects of our lives and behavior.

But our goal as followers of Jesus is always to become more like him. Our goal is always to increase our capacity to love. It takes most of us a lifetime to get there, but our goal as Jesus’ disciples is always to become more and more like Jesus and Mary and less and less like Judas. Ultimately, by God’s grace we ourselves may become capable of extravagant gestures of love. And make no mistake: Judas had it wrong. The spiritual life is never a choice between love for God and service to the poor. Rather, we are always called to be devoted to Jesus with all our heart, to regularly offer ourselves in worship, and to serve the poor with all our strength. Growth in all three is necessary for spiritual maturity. But, at the end of the day, the goal is always to get beyond our own small egos, become more like Christ, and love God and our neighbor more deeply.

What are some of the ways we “press on” to make this goal our own? If Mary is our model, then as Jesus’ friend, we must allow ourselves to experience more directly Jesus’ love for us. We must also express that love back to him. Remember that this is the Mary who plunked herself down at Jesus’ feet and let her sister fix dinner. Did Jesus rebuke her for that? Indeed not. Rather, he said, “There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” This is the same Mary too who patiently waited at Lazarus’s tomb, knowing that Jesus would come. Our life as disciples is never solely about what one writer called assensus, i.e., assenting to propositions about Jesus. Even if you understood and assented to every statement in the Nicene Creed, you would not necessarily thereby increase in spiritual maturity. Rather, if Mary is our model then our life as disciples is all about having a loving relationship with Jesus, experiencing Jesus’ love for us and expressing our love back to him. How do we do that?

Trite and tired as it sounds, regular worship is one way. When we come to worship, even if initially we come through a sense of duty or obligation, we deliberately bring ourselves into Jesus’ presence. We consciously let ourselves be enlightened by Scripture and nourished by Jesus’ Body and Blood. Ideally, our worship experience isn’t a set of rote prayers and dry formulae. Ideally, by God’s grace, something about our worship touches us, transforms us, moves us, and brings us into direct relationship with Jesus, so that we go out different people from those who came in.

Contemplative prayer is another way of pressing on toward our goal of a deeper capacity to love. For some people, praying in the presence of an icon or picture of Jesus helps them to focus on Jesus, to see a visible example of his love for us and to know him to be present to us. It’s a little like sitting with an old friend: no words are needed, just the pleasure of being together. For others, reading Scripture contemplatively is a way to experience Jesus’ love and express our own. Some people use a method of imaginatively placing themselves into a scene from Scripture – as we’ve been doing on Tuesday evenings – and feeling themselves directly interact with Jesus. Perhaps you can imagine Jesus touching you or even embracing you. Don’t you think Jesus embraced his friends at Bethany? Why not you? Other people use a lectio divina approach, meditating on a word or phrase of Scripture that especially speaks to us. Any one of these ways – and many others – allow you to experience for yourselves Jesus’ great love for you and give you opportunities to express back to Jesus your love for him. Can you take the time to put yourself in Jesus’ presence? By God’s grace the time that you spend with Jesus in prayer will be like the nard whose fragrance filled the entire house. The fragrance of your prayer time will seep into the entire rest of your day, and you will remember that, just like Mary of Bethany, you too are Jesus’ beloved friend.

Finally, serving the poor is another way in which we allow Jesus to love us and express our love for him. Jesus himself did not minister to those who were rich and powerful or to those who scrupulously observed the law. Rather, he associated with those on the margins of society, with prostitutes, tax collectors, women, and farmers, with those who were sick, disabled or possessed. At the end of Matthew’s gospel he reminded us that whenever we fed, clothed, nursed, or visited “the least of these,” we did it to him. Writing a check is fine. Churches and charities are always in a position to receive funds. But if Mary is our model, then we are also called to concrete action, to real relationships with real people who need our help. Come to Loaves and Fishes – or to any place where you are personally useful. Talk with our diners. Smile and set a plate down in front of them. Jesus will be sitting among them, taking the plate from your hand. Get out of your comfort zone, give up your apathy, and let go of your ability to turn away from the needs of others.

What is our ultimate goal? It is to live our lives so totally devoted to Christ that our love for him is more important to us than anything else in the world and to express that love to those around us. Today is coincidentally St. Patrick’s Day. More than fifteen hundred years ago, St. Patrick gave us clues about what our real goal in life should be. Some of you will recognize the words as verse 6 of the hymn commonly called “St. Patrick’s Breastplate:”

Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

Are you Mary or Judas? By God’s grace, and inspired by Mary, we are all, day by day being transformed into those who know Christ’s love without a doubt and who express it with trust and joy to him and to the world around us.