faith

21, 22, 23, 24, 25.

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At that time, Jesus went away to the other side of the sea of Galilee, which is that of Tiberias. And there followed Him a great crowd, because they witnessed the signs He worked on those who were sick. Jesus therefore went up the mountain, and sat there with His disciples. Now the Passover, the feast of the Jews, was near. When, therefore, Jesus had lifted up His eyes and seen that a very great crowd had come to Him, He said to Philip, Whence shall we buy bread that these may eat? But He said this to try him, for He Himself knew what He would do. Philip answered Him, Two hundred denarii worth of bread is not enough for them, that each one may receive a little. One of His disciples, Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, said to Him, There is a young boy here who has five barley loaves and two fishes; but what are these among so many? Jesus then said, Make the people recline. Now there was much grass in the place. The men therefore reclined, in number about five thousand. Jesus then took the loaves, and when He had given thanks, distributed them to those reclining; and likewise the fishes, as much as they wished. But when they were filled, He said to His disciples, Gather the fragments that are left over, lest they be wasted. They therefore gathered them up; and they filled twelve baskets with the fragments of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten. When the people, therefore, had seen the sign which Jesus had worked, they said, This is indeed the Prophet Who is to come into the world. So when Jesus perceived that they would come to take Him by force and make Him king He fled again to the mountain, Himself alone.

–John 6:1-15

In the Catholic life, we are often tempted to fall into the trap of thinking that if we pray hard enough, if we complete the works of goodness or sacrifice enough, we won’t have to encounter bad things in our lives.

Or, alternatively, bad things happen and we cry out, “Why God, if you are infinitely good, do bad things happen to me?”

As Catholics, as Christians, we can’t expect that our lives will be easy and not include moments where we come face to face with Crosses. Or, as one of my favorite people, the Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen was fond of saying, there is no Easter Sunday without first a Good Friday.

Our lives will have consolation moments and desolation moments. We fortify ourselves in the moments of consolations for the moments when desolations hit us.

When we are offered loaves and fishes, we can be grateful for the miracle we’ve experienced. But we can’t expect them every day, nor should we. When God provides for us, we accept in gratitude, in relief, sometimes with tears; but it is up to us to stand once the gift has been received, walk on, and find strength to return to our lives.

When we dwell in the desolation of our experiences, we risk springing the trap of Old Scratch–specifically, dwelling in our desolation prevents us from using the gifts and talents we have to serve God, our community, and to work in fulfilling our lives.

21, 22, 23, 24, 25.

19 & 20.

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At that time, Jesus said to His disciples: If your brother sin against you, go and show him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listen to you, you have won your brother. But if he do not listen to you, take with you one or two more so that on the word of two or three witnesses every word may be confirmed. And if he refuse to hear them, appeal to the Church, but if he refuse to hear even the Church, let him be to you as the heathen and the publican. Amen I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall be bound also in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed also in heaven. I say to you further, that if two of you shall agree on earth about anything at all for which they ask, it shall be done for them by My Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered together for My sake, there am I in the midst of them. Then Peter came up to Him and said, Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times? Jesus said to him, I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.

–Matthew 18:15-22

Consider here that we ourselves are a sibling to ourselves. When the truth of a thing comes to light, we must own it if we have a part in it, ask for forgiveness when and where it is appropriate, and accept the outcome. In the thinking of the twelve steps, this would be done “except when to do so would injure them or others.”

Whatever we bind on earth is bound in heaven. If we are bound by prejudice, anger, trauma, we cannot expect to easily go into prayer and find peace because we bring these things with us. How do we let these things go?

Slowly, over time, with consistency. If we notice a behavior that is detrimental to our well being, we recognize it, we look for the root of it, and we work to resolve it; writing, speaking to someone (a friend, a therapist), these are all good tools in helping to not just bring these things to the surface, but work to allow them minimal negative influence in our lives.

I’ve been talking to our worship community a lot about the benefits of confession. Truly, this is one way that we can release the hold that trauma and it’s cohorts has on us. What does it look like?

I described confession as being a conversation aimed towards addressing those things which have kept us from a closer encounter with God, with Jesus Christ. In a confession, we speak of those things we may have kept hidden from the world, trusting that what is said is kept in a sacred bond between the confessor and the one confessing. It can be a literal naming of sins, and a reconciliation, but it can and should be more than that.

19 & 20.

9. 10. 11.

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At that time, Jesus took Peter, James and his brother John, and led them up a high mountain by themselves, and was transfigured before them. And His face shone as the sun, and His garments became white as snow. And behold, there appeared to them Moses and Elias talking together with Him. Then Peter addressed Jesus, saying, Lord, it is good for us to be here. If You will, let us set up three tents here, one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elias. As he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them, and behold, a voice out of the cloud said, This is My beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased; hear Him. And on hearing it the disciples fell on their faces and were exceedingly afraid. And Jesus came near and touched them, and said to them, Arise, and do not be afraid. But lifting up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only. And as they were coming down from the mountain, Jesus cautioned them, saying, Tell the vision to no one, till the Son of Man has risen from the dead.

–Matthew 17:1-9

What causes a person upon hearing a sound to fall to their knees, when in seeing someone they knew as their teacher transformed before them, glowing brightly, even blindingly?

Many times in the Mass, especially those over the past few days, and those upcoming over Holy Week, we are called to kneel. Our churches typically have kneeling boards on hinges that we can pull down to make it easier to kneel and stand. The congregation I serve, while not having kneeling boards, does have cushions available in the chapel that we use; I looked this week at an image of what the cathedral in Regina used to look like pre-Vatican II. I was shocked to see how stark the sanctuary looks now compared to how it looked before it’s “restoration”–murals were painted over rather than restored, decorative scrolling throughout the sanctuary is now stark cream. Where the high altar once stood is now a void with empty floor, a large clay artwork of the 5 new mysteries of the rosary presented by St. John Paul II takes its place, yet the void between the wooden altar and the space the high altar once occupied is void. It feels like something significant is missing.

I grew up in the United Church of Canada in small town Saskatchewan. Kneeling for prayer wasn’t something I was taught, or a practice that I was even familiar with. I prayed when I laid under my blankets at night, or with the rest of the congregation in church lead by the minister, while the minister’s wife played a quiet background electric organ that became louder and finished right after the “amen”.

While kneeling is not always something we have the opportunity or the ability (it can be so, so painful for me!), we can draw to mind why it is why kneel. We lower ourselves to someone who needs aid, we lower ourselves out of respect, love, devotion. Kneeling, or adopting a position of submission, can, potentially, be part of our deeper practice of prayer–we yield to God, we yield to Christ and His teachings, we yield to moments like the Transfiguration that link Jesus to something more of Heaven than of earth.

9. 10. 11.

4.

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At that time: When it was late, there was a ship in the middle of the sea, and Jesus was alone on land. And seeing his disciples laboring in rowing – for the wind was contrary to them – and about the fourth watch of the night he came to them walking on the sea: and he wished to pass them. But when they saw him walking on the sea, they thought it was a ghost, and cried out. For all saw him, and were troubled. And immediately he spoke with them and said to them: Trust, it is I, do not be afraid. And he went up to them in the ship, and the wind ceased. And they were more and more amazed within themselves: for they did not understand about the loaves: for their hearts were blinded. And when they had crossed over, they came to the land of Gennesaret, and applied themselves. And when they had come out of the ship, they immediately recognized him: and having traversed that whole region, they began to carry on litters those who were ill, wherever they heard that he was. And wherever he entered, into villages or towns or cities, they laid the sick in the streets, and begged him that they might even touch the hem of his garment: and as many as touched him were saved.

–Mark 6:47-56

Mom tells you to go downstairs to the pantry and get a can of green beans. You go downstairs, confident at how easy this task in fact is. You get downstairs, and suddenly the beans are nowhere to be found. You are looking over what feels like a sea of cans. There is literally everything there except what your mom needs. You return to her, somewhat frustrated, and tell her you can’t find them and they must not be there. She frowns, you both go down to the pantry together, and without hesitation she reaches out and pulls the can of green beans that she needs.

It was there right in front of you and you couldn’t see it.

What makes our heart blind to see what is right in front of our eyes?

It might be that we lack faith in our own experience to know our answers are either factual, or slant to give us something more in line with what we want, or what is more comfortable to us.

It might be that we want someone else to confirm our experience. After all, life is much simpler if someone else is at the helm sometimes.

Or, in the case of our prayer, it may be that we are expecting certain experiences: perhaps we expect a sense of calm, the same routine, or even boredom from what feels like the same words, movements, over and over.

When the disciples “applied themselves”, they recognized Christ. When we apply ourselves in prayer, we recognize that the method itself may be repetitive, may be routine, but the experience will always be different, even if just a bit. There may be days when the water is calm: we enter into prayer, we embrace the experience and what occurs in those moments. Or there may be days when the water is turbulent, our hearts aren’t into it, we can’t come before the Lord or we choose not to. Or we do, and it isn’t until Jesus comes to us.

In any case, applying ourselves means being consistent as possible in the discipline of prayer throughout our day. It also gives us the grace to accept that sometimes, in our most frustrating moments, we need to ask for clarity in the storm: while we may find ourselves straying from our commitments in prayer, always return again, and again if need be.

4.

2.

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At that time, when Jesus had entered Capharnaum, there came to Him a centurion, who entreated Him, saying, Lord, my servant is lying sick in the house, paralyzed, and is grievously afflicted. Jesus said to him, I will come and cure him. But in answer the centurion said, Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof; but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I too am a man subject to authority, and have soldiers subject to me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it. And when Jesus heard this, He marveled, and said to those who were following Him, Amen I say to you, I have not found such great faith in Israel. And I tell you that many will come from the east and from the west, and will feast with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom will be put forth into the darkness outside; there will be the weeping, and the gnashing of teeth. Then Jesus said to the centurion, Go your way; as you have believed, so be it done to you. And the servant was healed in that hour.

–Matthew 8:5-13

From “Homosexuality in the Bible: The Centurion’s Servant” by Isabelle Green.

Many scholars have highlighted the connotation of the Greek noun pais, which the centurion uses to describe his ill servant. It has a number of different meanings, such as ‘boy’ or ‘slave’. When referring to a ‘slave’ in the analogy he presents to Jesus, however, the centurion uses the standard Greek doulos, supporting the critical interpretation that his pais is no ordinary servant. Scholars have likewise suggested that it would be unlikely for a centurion to go to such lengths for a normal member of his household staff, and therefore their relationship must have been something more than that of master and servant.

One theory is that the pais was not the centurion’s servant or slave, but his ‘son’. However, a law introduced by the Emperor Augustus in 13 BC, which banned soldiers below the rank of officer from marrying, undermines this interpretation: although soldiers would father children outside of marriage, it was unlikely that he would have had an illegitimate son living in his home. Instead, many have suggested a reading of the pais as his male lover, due to literary evidence of homosexuality in the Roman military. Moreover, pais was sometimes used in Ancient Greek texts as a label for the younger partner of a same-sex relationship, alongside expressions of love or desire. In the Luke version of the passage, the centurion labels his servant entimos, which can mean ‘honoured’ or ‘cared for’, but may also signify emotional closeness in a romantic partnership.

The scholars Theodore W. Jennings and Tat-Siong Benny Liew have suggested that the dynamic between the centurion and his pais was more of a patron-client relationship; in this case, the centurion takes on the role of an influential patron, while his lover is a younger, less powerful man who relies on him like a client. This theory may provide an answer to a puzzling element of the story: why did the centurion not want Jesus to enter his household, despite asking for his help? Jennings and Liew explain that although the centurion is desperate in his appeal, he also fears that Jesus will come to his home in a position of authority and replace him in the role of saviour and patron to the pais. Again, the relationship lends itself to an interpretation of sexual power.

If we accept the theory that the connection of the centurion and his servant is homoerotic, then Jesus’ amazement at the centurion’s faith becomes highly significant in the discussion of religion and sexuality. Rather than recommending the death sentence that is prescribed for male homosexuality in Leviticus 20, Jesus praises the man’s faith, telling the crowd that he has never seen anything like it, and heals the pais. Far from condemning homosexuality, Jesus might be endorsing it. This reading of the centurion and his servant completely subverts the hetero-centric framework of love and relationships in the Bible, and therefore ought to be central to the discussion.

2.

Fat Tuesday

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Yesterday, I read an internet meme that pictured the Blessed Mother as having had intimate relations with a shepherd, claimed it as a virgin birth, and started a religion. The meme was put out by a satanist. When I looked on their active tiktok profile, what I saw was a stream of memes taking pot shots at all religious faiths. 

They were all designed to provoke, defend, argue.

The myth of our age is: when challenged we have to engage, regardless of the costs; that in every situation there is a need to react, mostly without giving thought to consequence. I’m just as guilty as the rest. 

The day before the commencement of Lent is often given to excess, the focus being on the “what” we’re giving up rather than the “why”. This got me thinking about the reasons for this.

Christianity can be a faith of consumption, or it can be a faith of production, or it can be a faith which steps out of the need to consume, to produce, but it was never meant to be a faith that rests in consuming (be it the Sacraments or the need for approval or the need to be safe or the need to hidden or the need to avoid persecution) or producing (faith, safety, a need to be hidden, a need to avoid persecution, a need for power). Christianity is a faith that is meant to transcend these things and rest in the Infinite Possibility of a Being which knows us, which created us, which loves us, Infinitely. 

Those who would engage in argument or provocation for the sake of argument or provocation are operating lower than what we as human beings have the potential to operate as. I’m calling out politicians on all sides of the spectrum of left and right, religious leaders, activists, road ragers (including myself), and anyone else who provokes for the power without considering the consequences (including myself!)

Our faith calls us to consider that, Love steps above the human need to be right, or the shame of being wrong. It calls us to be challenges by beliefs we may hold as canonical that in fact are holding us back from knowing deeper considerations of living. It calls on us to love in the light of this, in the light that the love may be seen as a provocation. It calls on us to be silent, to dis-engage with the mundane and engage with the Divine. When Jesus talked about going into our room, locking the door, and praying to the Father, I think this is what He meant. Leaving behind the world, closing our eyes, mentally praying through memorized prayers, conversational prayer (where we speak, and listen), and then recognizing in the stillness the presence of Love greater than all that is outside the door we have closed to be in our solitude. This is the Franciscan method of contemplative prayer, and I invite you to engage with it during Lent:

Each day I’ll attempt to write on one of the readings of the day. Take up your Bible, in a place of stillness and calm, read quietly. Then, see the image of the reading in your mind, find yourself as a person that is part of it (either observing or actively taking part); let the scene play out. When your mind drifts, slowly re-envision the scene in your mind. As you do this, you will find yourself in a place of quiet where your inner chatter continues but you are drawn to the stillness and the chatter is more of a din in the background. Rest in this place, knowing this is the presence of God, for a few moments. If you wish, mentally pray, converse, but attempt to remain in the stillness and really listen. You may not hear anything, or feel anything: that’s ok. After a few moments in the stillness, return to the space you are in by opening your eyes. Breathe slowly. Journal about your experience if you’re called to do so. Set a timer for 15 minutes to begin with, slowly increasing the time you engage.

While tomorrow is the first day of Lent, the season has been upon us now for several weeks. We have been in preparation for the journey we begin tomorrow when we open the door, step out, and being to move closer to the greatest liturgical celebration of our faith.

Fat Tuesday