Posts Tagged ‘abandonment’

Being absorbed into God

December 12, 2020

Advent 3 – 2020

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Marian Free

In the name of God Earthmaker, Painbearer, Lifegiver. Amen.

Those of us who love to garden will know that sometimes the soil is so hard that water just runs off the surface. In order to prepare the ground for planting (or even for watering) we need to soften the soil to allow the water to penetrate and to saturate the dirt. All cooks know that there are a number of techniques to mix two different ingredients. It is impossible for example to mix sugar into a hard, cold lump of butter, but if the butter is softened the two ingredients can be mixed into a consistency like whipped cream. To make pastry though, the butter is better cold, and it is rubbed into the flour with one’s hands until the mix looks like crumbs. Oil and vinegar need a brisk stir to combine but adding oil to an egg mixture has to be done slowly and patiently or the two ingredients will separate, and the aioli ruined.

Combining two different substances requires a change in both. Dry soil absorbs water, sugar dissolves and butter become creamy, flour and butter become crumbly and oil can transform eggs into a creamy dressing. In each case the original ingredients give up something of their own characteristic in order to make something new. Few people eating a cake, or a pastry see a lump of butter and a pile of sugar or flour. What they see and taste is the finished product.  

The butter, the soil, the sugar have no say in what we do to them. They cannot object to our treatment or maintain their integrity in the face of our spades, our spoons and our fingers. They must simply submit to being manipulated and changed. Or, to put it in a positive light, they, having no will or ego, are open to being altered and reshaped to create something new and wonderful. They allow their barriers to be broken down so that another substance can enter and integrate and transform them.

We have seen over the last five weeks that biblical passages that at first seem harsh, violent and unforgiving can be viewed in a different light – one that is gentler, more compassionate and life-changing. Read in a particular way, the parables of the young maidens, the talents and the sheep and goats along with the warnings of John the Baptist can create a religion of fear, one in which we live with uncertainty – never knowing whether or not we have done enough to please or to satisfy God. The violence of the Old Testament imagery is likewise capable of creating terror in the hearts of the faint-hearted. If God’s coming is going to be associated with the tearing of the heavens and the upheaval of the natural environment, it is hard to be anything but anxious and on edge.  

Over the last five weeks, I have come to see that these texts which urge us to “be ready” to “be prepared” can be seen in a different light. That is, they are not insisting that we look at our exterior lives, but at our interior lives. They are not demanding that we simply change our behaviour by focussing on the external, but rather they are encouraging us to consider how our thoughts, attitudes and inclinations might cause us some discomfort should God return. God, who is love, is not wanting us to respond from a position of fear, but from a position of security and confidence. God who sent Jesus to a world that was far from perfect, longs for us to believe that we are loved and, being safe in that love, to open ourselves to the transforming power of the Holy Spirit.

Last week, I suggested that readiness for the coming of God among us might involve breaking down the barriers of pride, independence or embarrassment that separate us from God. Today I would like to take that one step further. Having removed the barriers that prevent an honest and trusting relationship with God, we must allow the Holy Spirit free range to transform, renew and reshape us. In order to be truly one with God, we must abandon our sense of self, let go of our need to be in control and rid ourselves of anything that restricts God’s ability to enter and direct our lives.

John the Baptist relinquished everything that prevented his being united with and used by God – his dependence on outward appearance, his pride and his ambition. He stripped himself of all distractions – taking himself into the desert and relying on the bare necessities for survival. His longing for, and his preparedness for the coming of God in Jesus was demonstrated by his willingness to be used by and for God. He had given up any struggle to be separate or distinct and had allowed himself to be fully absorbed into God.

The Christ whom John announced has come into the world. How is the world to know that unless through us, unless we make ourselves fully open and available to God’s presence in us, unless we allow the Holy Spirit to infuse every part of our being?

As St Teresa of Avila said: “Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

How can the world know the presence of Christ in the world if we are not prepared to lose ourselves in God? 

In some sense, the coming of God is terrifying and violent. It has the potential to upend our lives, to lay bare our inner lives and to change our direction. Are you ready?

God doesn’t not lose faith with us

April 8, 2017

Lent 6 – Palm Sunday, 2017

Matthew 26:14-27:66

Marian Free

In the name of God, who overlooks our faults and who restores us again and again so that we can take our part in the story. Amen.

In the latest issue of Liturgy News David Kirchhoffer reflects on the nature of sainthood. He reminds us that sainthood is not a matter of one-size fits all and that there is no simple definition that incorporates the diversity among those whom his tradition elevates to the status of saint or martyr[1]. “They all have stories, “ he comments, “their own all-too-human stories. Among the saints there are emperors and paupers, young and old, ascetics and hedonists, masters and slaves, colonizers and colonized, reformers and conservatives, and certainly more than one who, by today’s standards, probably experienced some sort of psychological disorder.” David’s point is that rather than being “shown up” by the saints, we actually find ourselves in very good company. The people who are deemed to be most holy by the church are as human and as flawed as the rest of us. Rather than making us feel inadequate and unworthy, the lives of the saints remind us that they are not so very different from us and that our faltering efforts to be holy and faithful are in fact good enough.

If we are in any doubt as to God’s ability to overlook our deficiencies, we need look no further than this morning’s gospel, which among other things is a tale of the whole world’s being at cross purposes with God. It is not only the chief priests and elders and the Roman authorities who try to destroy Jesus and his mission. It is those in Jesus’ immediate circle – his disciples and friends – who hand him over to the authorities, misunderstand their role, sleep when Jesus most needs their support, desert him, deny him and leave him alone to face trial and death.

Of course, not all of the characters in this account are numbered among the saints, but twelve of the those in the drama are Jesus’ most intimate friends, those with whom he has shared the highs and lows of his mission, those whom he has authorized to preach and teach and heal and those whom he has prepared to continue on his work after he has gone. These are the men with whom Jesus has chosen to spend what may be his last night on earth, those with whom he will share the most significant evening on the Jewish calendar. Without exception each of the twelve will let Jesus down before the night is out and yet Jesus refuses to condemn them or to exclude even Judas from the company.

Judas, who, even before the preparations for the dinner had begun, had received thirty pieces of silver to hand Jesus over to the authorities. Judas who, when Jesus announces at the meal that one of the disciples will hand him over, reveals what it is that sets him apart from the other disciples[2]. Whereas the eleven address Jesus as “Lord”, Judas addresses Jesus only as“Rabbi” (teacher). Jesus knows that it is Judas who will hand him over to the authorities and yet when he says: “Take eat, this is my body”, he places the bread in Judas’ hands. When he says: “This is my blood of the new covenant, poured out for the forgiveness of sins,” Judas is not excluded from the covenant or from the promise of forgiveness.

Jesus knows that despite Peter’s protestations to the contrary, Peter will deny him – not once but three times. Even so Peter too is given the bread and the wine – Jesus’ body and Jesus’ blood. Of the eleven who remain with Jesus after the meal, not one will find the strength to stay awake with Jesus even though Jesus has shared with them that he is “grieved unto death”. Still, on this, his last night on earth, Jesus will share with them his very self and he will do so lovingly, not reproachfully, with grace and not with disappointment. Jesus knows their limitations. Before it comes to pass he knows how each will respond to the events of the night but he does not abandon them as they will abandon him.

Of these twelve, men who made promises that they failed to keep, all but Judas are included among the saints. Far from being ideals of holiness, courage and piety they are revealed as men who have feet of clay, who put their own safety before their loyalty to Jesus and who flee at the first sign of danger. They have said that they would die with Jesus but they cannot even stay awake, let alone accompany him on the journey to the cross.

Betrayal, abandonment and even opposition are the tools that God uses to turn arrest, false accusations, torture and death into something extraordinary and marvelous – Jesus’ resurrection, the defeat of death. Even though by human standards the disciples have failed not only as disciples but also as friends, they are not censured, punished or rejected. After the resurrection, it is as if God had not even noticed their cowardice, their desire for self-preservation and their failure to keep their word. Instead of condemning them for their lack of loyalty and their abandonment of Jesus, God not only restores and elevates them and gives to them the task of taking up what Jesus has been forced to leave off – preaching the good news of the kingdom.

As God overlooked the flaws and inadequacies of the disciples so too God will overlook our weaknesses, our lack of self-confidence and our tentative efforts to serve.

Though we lose faith in God, God will never lose faith in us, but will raise us up time and time again so that we too will have our place in God’s on-going story.

 

[1] Liturgy News is a publication of the Roman Catholic of Brisbane.

[2] I am indebted to Judith Jones whose commentary on the gospel was challenging and insightful. http://www.workingpreacher.or

A matter of love

March 19, 2016

Palm Sunday – 2016

Luke 22: -23:

Marian Free

 

A matter of love

May God whose love for us knows no bounds, free us from all those things that prevent us from accepting that love. Amen.

Love is an extraordinary motivator. It can enable people to go to extraordinary lengths to make a difference for those whom they love. Parents of children with severe handicaps invest hours of their time and all their financial resources to not only ensure that their child has the best quality of life that is possible, but also to defy the medical staff who have advised them that the child has no future. Siblings of cancer sufferers cycle around Australia or complete other such feats to raise awareness of the disease and raise funds for research. Husbands or wives refuse to turn off life support machines, believing that the one whom they love has a future.

The love and determination of a spouse means not only the difference between life and death, but also the difference between simply being alive and having some quality of life.  Only last week I read the account of a young woman Danielle. At just 23[1] Danielle had married the love of her life. Only months later her husband, Matt he seriously injured in a cycling accident. As well as numerous fractures, he had sustained a serious traumatic brain injury. A team of doctors advised Danielle to turn off his life support.

Danielle trusted the doctors and thought she would agree to end Matt’s life. After a sleepless night she thought: “Matt is my husband. If he stays in a coma, of if he needs looking after for the rest of his life, I will be the one taking care of him.” Instead of conceding that the doctor’s were right, Danielle knew if a flash that she could do it. She felt that God was telling her to take a chance, that this was her path in life. Danielle was not going to let Matt die. That was 2011. What followed was a battle to bring Matt out of the coma, battles with the medical staff who wanted to put him into a nursing home and twenty four hour care, once she got him to her mother’s home. Caring for Matt meant changing nappies, checking feeding tubes, giving sponge baths, administering up to 20 different medications, turning Matt every two hours and single handedly doing all the physical therapy that was required.

Danielle’s journey is a long way from over and Matt may never be the same, but he sings to Danielle and writes her poems and tells her every day that he loves her.

As is the case with Danielle, the cost of love is often enormous – emotionally, financially and in terms of the time that is involved. Yet the lover (parent, sibling, friend) thinks nothing of that, only of ensuring that their beloved is loved and cared for, has the best life that is possible in the circumstances and that they know that they have not been abandoned.

This Lent, it has seemed to me that the readings have focused on love – God’s boundless, unconditional love for all of humanity. We have seen that God reaches out for us in love, refusing to give up on us no matter how much we disappoint, frustrate and even enrage God.  God does not/cannot stop loving even when we blindly go our own way, when we put up barriers between ourselves and God’s love or when we behave in ways that are damaging to ourselves or to others. God’s love for us is a love that never gives up, no matter how broken or beyond repair we might be and it is a love that never counts the cost.

Today and throughout this week, we will witness God’s love played out in Jesus’ journey to the cross. We cannot know what was going through Jesus’ head when he set out for Jerusalem or when he incurred the wrath of the Jewish leaders by entering the city as a King, by challenging their views and by being high-handed in the Temple. What we do know is that at any point Jesus could have turned back. At any point, Jesus could have decided that it was all too hard and simply given up. At any point, Jesus could have chosen to do what was right for him, rather than what might be right for others.

But as relentlessly as the forces of evil lined up against him, Jesus doggedly continued on the path that was before him, the path that would ensure death for him and life for the world.

This is the ultimate demonstration of God’s love for us – God, in Jesus entering our world and pouring out love and compassion on an ungrateful world. God demonstrates God’s love for us in Jesus’ giving himself completely to and for us – doing whatever it would take to enable us to live our lives as fully as we possibly can.

God cannot and will not stop loving us. It remains for us to accept that we are loved and to discover that it is only by surrendering to God’s love that we will find fulfillment, freedom and peace. It remains for us to abandon ourselves to God and to thereby see that it is only in God we have all that we want or need.

[1] Reported in the latest Marie Claire Australia magazine (April 16, 2016, p104-106).