"God, why do you have to be so mysterious?"

While studying the account of Moses and the Burning Bush in her religious education textbook, my daughter got a little bit irritated with God.  She felt he was being intentionally difficult when it came to naming himself.  “Why not just give a name?  What’s with ‘I am who I am’?” (Ex. 3:14)

It’s a fair enough question.  I didn’t say much in response, but I did point out it would be a little disappointing if God said, “Hello, my name is Bob.”  Bob is a great name – but it isn’t the least bit mysterious.

Sometimes it may seem like God is being difficult on purpose.  But he’s probably just being himself.  He’s being mysterious.  He’s being “I am.”  I experience this Difficult Mystery when I teach Scripture.  Sometimes I feel like I’m entering a world where I don’t belong.  I start to understand it, and then I suddenly stop.  I come close to something and then it unravels into a hundred other things.  Why is it this way?  And how can I take other people to a place that is so far beyond me?

But that’s just the privilege of knowing God.  How boring would it be to have a God who can only take us places we’ve already been, or tell us things we already know?  No, I prefer a God whose name I don’t understand, whose Book changes every time I pick it up, whose ways are not my ways, who takes me places I’ve never been and who tells me things I never knew. 

Why does God have to be so mysterious?  Because he is!

"He Vanished"

The story of the appearance of the Risen Christ to the disciples on the road to Emmaus is well-known – perhaps too well-known!  It’s been used for so many meditations and lessons that you might actually think you’re tired of hearing about it.  But you knew eventually I would have to go there!

And the reason I have to “go there” is because this story is nothing short of completely and utterly remarkable.  It has so much to say to us as “modern Catholics” that I can’t even think of where to start.  (Well, obviously that isn’t really true because I’m about to write about it!)  If you haven’t read the story lately, you will find it at Luke 24:13-35.

Of course the most exciting part of the story comes when Jesus breaks bread with the disciples, and in the midst of that Eucharistic event, their eyes are opened and they finally recognize him.  It’s a big moment.  It’s beautiful!  But…then he vanished from their sight!  Just at the moment when they finally really saw him.  Just at the moment when his words about the Scriptures erupted into an experience of understanding.  Just at the moment when they discover he is risen!  Just at the moment when they recognize Jesus Christ, fully alive, human and divine, present on the road, present in the breaking of bread, present at their table – risen and present and close enough to reach out and touch!  Just at that moment, he vanishes from their sight.  (Stay tuned for next week’s topic:  “God, why do you have to be so mysterious?!”)

Friends, Jesus has vanished from my sight.  So many times.  More than I can count.  I too have been on the road or in Scripture or at table or at Eucharist and caught a glimpse of the Lord, only to have him slip very quickly from the grasp of my mind and heart.  I too have blinked and found him gone.  Does the presence of the Risen Lord permeate my life?  I pray that is so.  But am I always intimately connected with him, close enough to reach out and touch?  Do I live in a state of always seeing and recognizing him?  No, I do not.

And I am not dismayed by this.  In fact, as the years pass I grow ever more content with this natural rhythm of the spiritual life.  The disciples had beautiful moments with Jesus.  They also had times of unknowing and distance, times of slowness of heart or blurred vision.  This experience with the Risen Lord – yes, he vanished from their sight – but they did not fret over it or desperately try to call him back or spend much time suffering over the loss.  No, it seems they were quite filled by the experience – brief as it was.  They ran with joy to tell the others.  But of course you remember the story – their hearts were burning!

Lord, give me eyes to see you and a heart that burns long after you vanish from my sight!

"Supper at Emmaus" by Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834-1890)

Good Friday: We Must Do This Too

The word “disciple” means “learner.”  But what makes a disciple different than a student?   A disciple is completely devoted to the teacher.  A disciple walks along with the teacher, listening and changing because of him.  A disciple might say something like, “I want to think like my teacher.  I want to be like my teacher.”  A student departs at the end of the course.  But a disciple remains at the feet of the teacher.

We are not students of Jesus Christ.  We are disciples.  As we follow him today along the Way of Salvation, we should also say, “I want to think like my teacher.  I want to be like my teacher.”  Our teacher will not say much more to us; but he will act, and we will watch.  We will see the greatest love of all, the kind that lays down its life for a friend.  And so as disciples, we will see what we too must do. 

One thing that makes this day so holy and so good is not only what he did, but what he teaches us to do.  As is expected of disciples, we must continue the work of the Master: 

“We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another” (1 Jn. 3:16).

Stay With Me

As Holy Week approaches, it may be useful to focus on one Gospel verse that can serve as your guide through these holy days.  This time of year, there is so much going on personally and spiritually – having a theme or focus may help you “get it together” so you can walk with both serenity and purpose alongside Christ as he enters Jerusalem and embraces his fate on your behalf.

You may already have a favorite verse that can give you focus during these last weeks of Lent.  Write it on a card or sticky note and place it somewhere you will see it at least a few times a day – near your computer or in your prayer book.  Passages such as John 14-16, Philippians 2 or even Isaiah 53 offer a treasure-trove of possibilities. 

Another favorite of mine – and one I offer you here – is found within the very poignant depiction of Jesus’ last meal with his disciples as found in Luke’s Gospel (Lk. 22:14-38).  Here we witness an intimate scene between Jesus and his closest companions.  The disciples – who have failed Jesus in the past and will fail him again in the very near future – are the objects of Jesus’ love and affection.  Jesus tells them how eagerly he has desired to share this meal with them (22:15), how his blood is poured out for them (22:20), and – even when they begin to argue over which of them is the greatest (note that this conversation takes place immediately after receiving the bread and wine given and poured out for them!) – even when they again show their human frailty – Jesus patiently points them back toward humility (22:27) and then promises them the future bounty of his Kingdom (22:30).  One might see in this passage – punctuated by the betrayal of Judas and the impending denials of Peter – a portrait of Jesus’ undying love for sinners.

In the midst of this communion, Jesus says to his disciples:  “You have stayed with me through all my trials” (22:28).  It is bittersweet to know that these friends of Jesus will soon abandon him – first by sleeping and then by fleeing, leaving Jesus alone to face the brutality of his captors and a lonely death.  But we cannot judge them.  We also sleep and flee; we leave him alone on a regular basis. 

For these next few weeks, we can meditate on these gentle words of Jesus and the trusting expectation they hold:  “You have stayed with me through all my trials.”  We often talk of trusting Jesus – but it seems he also trusts us – to stay with him, to be faithful, not to scatter.  Perhaps our hearts must change if we wish to never betray this enormous, divine trust.  But isn’t that what Lent is all about? 

Lord Jesus Christ, give me the strength and serenity, the focus and purpose, to stay with you.  You believe in me and my love for you.  I do not want to fail you.  I do not want to sleep through this time.  I do not want to abandon you for the cares of the world.  Change my heart so I may love you more than I love myself.  Change my heart so I do not turn away from your Cross.  Change my heart Lord, and this time, I will stay with you through all your trials.

Lessons of the Trees #6: Under the Fig Tree

Nathanael said to him, "How do you know me?"  Jesus answered him, "I saw you under the fig tree"      (Jn. 1:48).

Have you ever been noticed across a crowded room?  Has anyone ever paid attention to you unexpectedly?  Has someone noticed something special about you – something small or something you didn’t think anyone knew, or something you didn’t even know yourself?  Has anyone ever looked at you in such a way that pages of words and thoughts were communicated in a moment?

And how did that make you feel?  How did being connected with that person make you feel?  Alive?  Like the best version of yourself?  Not alone?

We live in a constant state of tension between two extreme opinions of ourselves.  On the one hand we are utterly enamored with ourselves – this is the side of us that subconsciously thanks God that we are not like the rest of humanity (cf. Lk. 18:11).  On the other hand, we doubt and even despise ourselves to the point of believing ourselves unlovable (“If they really knew me, they would not love me”).

But what if there was someone whose gaze alone could penetrate us with such clarity that we moved away from this exaggerated tension into the peaceful middle, where we could see ourselves as we truly are – genuinely flawed but entirely lovable?  What if there was someone whose gaze expressed such love to us that we believed once and for all that we are the beloved?  What if there was someone who could simply say “I saw you” – and in those words communicate to us that he knows all the little things about us, all the special things, all the things no one else ever noticed before?  How would we respond to that remarkable person?

Nathanael responded:  “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel” (Jn. 1:49).  And then he followed him.

I suppose one who noticed us across a crowded room and loved us so would be irresistible. I suppose that is what Nathanael felt.  Jesus saw Nathanael – saw him, knew him, and loved him.  And as one of his disciples, he taught him, nurtured him, challenged him, called him friend, encouraged him, died for him.  He made promises to him and kept them.  Then he went and prepared a place for him.

Under the fig tree, you too have been seen.  Loved, taught, nurtured, befriended.  Everything about you.  Seen, known, and loved beneath the fig tree.

Nathanael Under the Fig Tree by James Tissot

“Standing before him with open hearts, letting him look at us, we see that gaze of love which Nathanael glimpsed on the day when Jesus said to him:  ‘I saw you under the fig tree’ (Jn. 1:48)” (Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium 264).