| February 21, 2011 | Volume 86, Number 9 | |
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Sunday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time February 20, 2011
Leviticus 19:1-2, 17-18 Was Presidents’ Day your chance to accomplish chores, yield to car sales, or enjoy recreation? At one time, Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays were celebrated on separate dates. Now, this three-day weekend is not much more than a reason to promote sales! Integrity as historic recollections has become altered. Do we likewise modify meanings to suit the times? In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus’ last instruction stresses, “So be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” In addition, in Leviticus, the LORD tells Moses to be holy and not incur sin. It’s just not so simple for us. How can we live up to such high standards? To be perfect and holy means for us to be true to and integrated with what we profess. We could say that perfection equals wholeness, no division, no alteration. If we say our creed, believe the creed, then we’re supposed to act the creed single-heartedly, otherwise we are two-faced. We could argue we are only human, but if we don’t mean what we say, aren’t we somehow less perfect? Could we say we’ve lost sight of our goal of holiness and have absorbed lesser reasons for what we do? Jesus presents a litany of actions plus his ideal reactions. Jesus’ standards challenge our human impulses to retaliate, to limit our generosity towards another, or to defend against injury. In practice, his words are virtually impossible to do but we cannot dismiss them. As models, they give us potent guidance for unselfish action. Jesus says that the old Hebraic law must be extended in order to integrate his new law of love. Ancient accepted laws then shaped how a person dealt with transgressions. However, those laws merely legalized reacting proportionately, “eye for an eye,” limiting harm so as to not escalate it. Jesus called for a new way, fashioned out of love for God and consequent respect for others. He didn’t say it would be easy. “Be perfect,” period. First Corinthians says that you are already holy because you house the Holy Spirit by baptism. God makes you holy, but not by your human efforts, though they can contribute to that holiness. Jesus’ command exhorts us to live beyond popular norms that sway us, beyond behaviors of public figures, beyond polluted entertainment, beyond sensationalist nightly news, beyond negative, vengeful, or commonly accepted but immoral attitudes. We mustn’t permit strong influences to fragment our being. We are cautioned in First Corinthians that “the wisdom of this world is foolishness in the eyes of God.” If you want to be really “together,” that is, at peace, gently tend your holiness. Protect and develop your integrity. You are, after all, anointed, set apart, consecrated to be different. Our gospel passage is preceded earlier in the Sermon on the Mount by the startling Beatitudes. Blessed are they who are poor in spirit; who mourn; are meek; who hunger and thirst for righteousness; are merciful; clean of heart; and are insulted and persecuted because of Jesus. These are marks of integrity in which faith and action correspond. By what rule do you live? Has Jesus’ new law of love become too old-hat for you? The point is, if you have become “altered” by outside influences, or don’t feel true to your values, then resolve to mend your broken integrity. Be perfect. Be holy. How can we measure the time we spend?
The other day I was attending a workshop with a woman from my parish. Vital, talented, someone I admire, this woman told me she was 67. At another time in my life, a person in her sixties would seem as if she was from another territory, a place I had no interest in visiting until I was forced to move there. But my first thought upon hearing her age was — Pay attention. You will be 67 soon enough. She is a good guide to that place. You can learn from her. Chunks of my life have passed with blinding speed. I puzzle over how it could be that it’s been 34 years since I graduated from college. A lot has happened since then, but 34 years’ worth? Please. Still, other chunks of time seem agonizingly slow. My son has been deployed to Afghanistan since late October, and four months have crawled. Eight months left to go. When the year is complete, and I embrace my son upon his return, I won’t be saying: “How fast time flies. Seems like just the other day we were saying goodbye.” In American society, we measure and value time as if it were as precious as gold. Wasting time is a great affront. If someone wastes our time, we feel shortchanged, sometimes enraged. If we waste time, we feel guilty, sometimes ashamed. Our perception of time is slippery. Twenty minutes in the dentist’s chair easily seem longer than two hours in the movie theater. Five minutes on hold on the phone can seem longer than an hour surfing the Internet. Twenty minutes in bumper to bumper traffic feels longer than two hours on a near-empty freeway. A couple days waiting for a biopsy report seem like eternity. Indeed, we use the word “eternity” a lot when we talk about waiting. Yet what do we mean by that? Do we have any idea? According to Merriam-Webster’s dictionary, one definition of “eternity” is “seemingly endless or immeasurable time.” Normally, we have no trouble measuring time. We are quite efficient at it. We time our exercise. We time our cooking. We time our meetings. We consider time management a valuable skill. So when we say we are waiting an eternity, we must mean that the time is “seemingly endless.” It’s as if we are suspended in time, without a clear sense of resolution. It’s as if time has slipped out of our control. We cannot manage it. We cannot portion it out. We cannot count on time to resolve a problem at our bidding. In my experience, time feels like it’s passing rapidly when I do not feel at the mercy of forces beyond my control. Believing I am in charge of my life, I can make of my time what I will. I can schedule my day, portion out my minutes, fill them as I choose. On the other hand, time drags when my control has been diminished, when I am waiting for something concrete to happen to me over which I am powerless (waiting for the dental hygienist to finish polishing my teeth or the lab to report my biopsy results) or when I have absolutely no control over the circumstances surrounding an event (my son’s deployment). So how do I reconcile these two very different views of time? Perhaps I can re-frame my concept of time by shifting my view away from time itself and toward control, or lack thereof. If I become aware of my tendency to mislead myself by convincing myself that my time is my own, that time is under my control, that time can be tamed, I may begin to see how distorted that view of time really is. We have much less control than we think we do. Time is not ours. When we consider time as the gift from God it is, then we don’t feel as entitled to it. When we don’t feel entitled to time, we can more easily surrender it. By surrendering time and our attempts to accumulate, manipulate, or spend it, we are released from the shackles of impatience, regret, self-reliance, guilt, and fear. When we accept time as God’s gift, we don’t futilely attempt to hang onto it in measured portions. Living in God’s time, we become aware that even one minute fully and authentically lived is a gracious abundance. Sacred listening
The steady drum of the woodpecker outside the chapel window captivated my attention. The rhythm provided a soothing serenade on the heels of 12 days of navigating unchartered waters. A cross-country drive followed by a grand welcome and a week of orientation by the Franciscan friars, covenant members and staff at Old Mission San Luis Rey made for a busy and memorable week. However, as with any new venture, those first days triggered a variety of feelings. Anticipation mingled with gratitude and excitement dominated, but there were also moments of uncertainty. Everyone we met was gracious and hospitable. The grounds were more beautiful than we had remembered and we quickly adapted to the climate of sunny California. Still, questions remained. Will we fit in? Will we be able to adapt to the challenges of living in community? And will our contributions to the program and to life at the mission meet the expectations of those with whom we will be working and living? While the questions were valid, they only added to my anxiety and so the quiet of the friary chapel provided the respite I was seeking. Instinctively, my eyes went to the tabernacle. It was made of wood, neatly constructed but void of any ornamentation (I think St. Francis would have approved). The door was small but sturdy and reminded me of the picture of Jesus standing at the door knocking. Jesus is always there, knocking on the door of our hearts, but I had allowed the busyness of the past weeks to drown out the sound. Amid a flurry of activity, I had stopped listening to the gentle knocking and in the process my focus had shifted from Jesus to me. I had become too action-oriented, too eager to move beyond the learning curve. My thoughts, even my prayers were about what I might do or would fail to do. It took the sound of a woodpecker to draw me away from myself. It drew me in, quieted my mind, and invited me to rest in the Lord. The gentle drumming, alternating with what seemed to be perfectly timed intervals of silence created a rhythmic pattern that seemed to say, “Stop! Take time to simply be present to God.” There was a natural rhythm of work, play, rest and prayer built into our schedule here at the mission, but even prayer can become an activity if we are always doing the talking. As good as our work may be, it can become a source of anxiety when we take ownership of what belongs to God. He is after all the Harvest Master, and we are simply co-workers in the Lord’s vineyard. This became apparent a few days later when the 17 covenant members from the Franciscan Provence of Santa Barbara gathered with the directors of the program at Mission Santa Barbara for a three-day retreat. It was exactly what I needed and confirmed the importance of taking time to listen, to listen to God, to one another and to nature, for God speaks to us through the life we have, not one that we are imagining. Providentially, the retreat conferences led by Brother Angelo happened to be on the importance of listening. Each conference was followed by group work that involved one person speaking for 15 minutes in response to the question “What I love about myself.” The other two members of the group were instructed to listen without interrupting. In the process, we discovered that listening, when done well, requires as much effort as talking does, but it also is a way for people to discover the presence of God in the other. When we apply this same principle to our relationship with God, we quickly discover that to sit quietly in the presence of God also requires a great deal of effort, but it also helps us to appreciate the presence of God within. Too often we equate prayer with talking to God, be it in the form of adoration, contrition, thanksgiving or petition. To sit and simply listen can at times seem unproductive. However, to dismiss the prayer of quiet listening as a waste of time implies that we have all the answers and have nothing to learn from God. While few people of faith would voice such a belief, our actions might prove otherwise. If we truly desire to live in the presence of God, we need both, and our brief respite allowed time for exactly that. I returned to Mission San Luis Rey with a much healthier perspective. My role here continues to unfold as I listen to the friars and the staff and most importantly to the One who brought me here. There is much work to be done, but when I take time to listen, I discover the grace that is hidden in every moment, even in something as unlikely as the sound of a woodpecker outside the chapel window. About Us | Archives | Around | Articles | Contact Us | Editorial | Hispanic Apostolate | Home | Letters | Opportunities | Parish Profile | Shortakes | The Catholic Diocese of RichmondCopyright © 2011 The Catholic Virginian Press. 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