Feast of the Visitation

For today’s Feast of the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we are presented with two of the best known readings, and they also mark two seminal life events – weddings and pregnancy. The First Reading from the Book of Romans is frequently used at weddings as a prescription for how to love. While we often look at the words in this context of relationship between a couple, Paul was writing his epistle as he was preparing for a journey to Rome, as an evangelization to share the message of the Gospel and also to explain how transformative belief in God should be to our behavior toward one another. It’s interesting how what we can often find challenging in our closest relationships – to love with mutual affection, fervently, ‘rejoice in hope, endure in affliction,’ ‘bless those who persecute you’ – is actually how we are being asked and encouraged to treat everyone we encounter. Paul was saying that because we are given love freely and boundlessly by God, we then must share that completely with one another. I find this the tallest of orders personally, but also a wonderful glimpse into how life could be were I able to put that love into action more often.

The Gospel begins with the visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth and is Mary’s proclamation of the Magnificat. It’s an extraordinary time in these women’s lives – Elizabeth, who thought she couldn’t have a child, is pregnant with John the Baptist who ‘leaped in her womb’ upon the entry of Mary, who was carrying his cousin, Jesus, the Son of God. Pregnancy can be such an amazing, overwhelming and also frightening time – the anticipation of a new life, the worry of carrying and caring for the baby, and the awareness that you are hosting an ‘other’, a new individual. Here these women are carrying two of the most important Biblical figures, Messenger and Savior, having become pregnant under the most unusual of circumstances, and what they are expressing is not fear but sheer joy – love for and devotion to the Lord, and absolute trust in the God of the lowly, the God who ‘has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.’ Pregnancy and giving birth are such complete acts of faith in and of themselves, trusting in that which we have no control over, and here, Mary and Elizabeth are modeling total faith in the God of the unknown, trusting that they are part of God’s good plan. It’s a model of faith that feels completely beyond my comprehension, but also one that offers extraordinary hope in how trusting so totally in God brings great good into the world.

Giving Credit Where it's Due

From the Psalm: Not to us, O Lord, but to your name give the glory. This sends home the message of today's other two readings, from Acts and from John. Nobody is accepting full credit for anything: God's message is offered in a three-prong attack.

In the first reading, Paul and Barnabas are spreading "the Good News" and come under attack by both Jews and Gentiles. But when Paul heals a lame man, the power of this act converts the crowd. They call Paul and Barnabas "Hermes" and "Zeus"—they believe these men are gods come to Earth.

Paul and Barnabas will have none of it. "We are of the same nature as you, human beings," they say. The crowds won't hear it—they remain determined to offer sacrifices to men they believe are living gods. It is easier to accept that "gods" walk the Earth then that men might be capable of such works.

Then in the gospel, Jesus reminds his followers that those who love him will keep his word. He offers a caveat, though:

The word you hear is not mine
but that of the Father who sent me.

Like Paul and Barnabas, he takes no credit: it all comes from the Father. Not only that, but he lets them know that the Holy Spirit will come to them to remind them of all he has taught them.

This is wonderfully reassuring to me. Jesus is beginning to introduce this concept of the Trinity that is so central to the Catholic faith.

I'm not sure I always understood why the idea of a trinity was so important. Thinking critically (cynically?), at times I could see where people might believe that the concept arose out of artful semantics intended to defend the faith against charges of polytheism.

But in this context, it makes a lot of sense that God revealed himself in these different forms. First he revealed himself as a human being in Jesus. Then when Jesus' time on Earth had passed, the Spirit could become a guide for those who were left to carry on the traditions and to spread the word. They would not be left without help, but would be inhabited by God's wisdom through the Spirit.

I really like this notion that God simply thought of everything in his desire to care for us! It reminds me that he is still with us in the same ways. We still have the power of Jesus' words and deeds in the scriptures, and we have the spirit to assist as well, along with men and women we meet every day whose good works and kindness reveal God's goodness again and again.

The Good Shepherd

Starting with this past Sunday, several of the readings and Gospels of the week refer to Jesus as the Good Shepherd and us as the flock. Beyond the simple concept of Jesus as carer and protector, I’ve never fully understood the import of what is a clearly a powerful metaphor for the Lord in both the Old and New Testaments. Apparently the Judea of Christ’s time was a land of inhospitable soil, and flocks of sheep had to continuously travel to find grassy areas. Therefore, there were no walls for protection, and the shepherd was constantly with the flock to keep them safe. Furthermore, the sheep were raised mostly for wool and milk, meaning they travelled with the shepherd for a long time, and he knew each one well, by name (information sourced from Rev. Cantalamessa commentary, 2007; http://www.catholic.org/featured/headline.php?ID=4315).

This puts into context for me what Jesus was revealing of himself as the Good Shepherd – the Lord who travels with each of us wherever we go, constantly protecting and wanting goodness for us. In Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus spells it out when the Pharisees didn’t understand him, saying, “I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.” In this framework, it says so much to me about who Christ is – the caring God who knows and loves each of us individually, who safeguards us even when through our free will we wander far away from His care, and always wants us back, ultimately giving His life, though we did nothing to deserve that love. I find it a real challenge to surrender myself to and accept that love, but take great comfort and hope from the sense that Jesus is so with me even when I can’t see it, and always beckoning me to live more fully in His love.

Life Gets in the Way

This last week kicked my ass. There are times that I handle stress well; this week wasn't one of them. I neglected most of the things that keep me healthiest—eating well, exercising and, to my sincere regret, prayer. It would be fair to say this was somewhat unavoidable. But if it's one thing that Lent taught me, it's that making time for things that matter will reap rewards—even when at the time it feels like a sacrifice or a burden.

Speaking of burdens, today's first reading describes the selection of Matthias as Judas's replacement among the apostles. Peter says that scripture deems it necessary that a new apostle be named. They pray over two men who had followed them from the beginning. Then they cast lots, and Matthias is chosen. In a very real way, the choice was a crap shoot.

I have to wonder what his reaction was. This was a time of tremendous danger for these apostles. With their lives at risk, he steps to the fore of this dangerous ministry and takes the slot previously held by Jesus' betrayer. Despite what must have been sincere devotion to Jesus and the cause, I'm not sure this would have been an overwhelmingly appealing prospect.

Some people, though, know how to handle such challenges. Out of brokenness and doubt, they rise to meet the demands placed on them, offering wisdom, grace, courage and healing to those sorely in need. I imagine that Matthias must have been one such person. His stepping forward must have been a source of comfort and strength to the other apostles and to all their followers, who would have needed to feel that their cause was growing, not dying.

I pray for the courage and grace to rise out of my own brokenness and doubt and provide comfort and strength to those in my life who most need it. And I pray that I'll remember that continuing on this journey provides me with comfort and strength when I most need it.

Trust

Both the Gospel and the Psalm today talk about trust. The readings that follow Easter are always so evocative for me in their description of the atmosphere of the disciples at the time – still suffering and afraid after the death of the Lord, then rejoicing in his Resurrection, but very unsure about what it all means and what is to come for them. In today’s Gospel, there is fear in the air as they are out at sea – but they are reassured when Jesus announces himself to them.

The disciples were modeling such a radical form of trust in the Lord. Here they were, living witnesses to an act so extraordinary that we can’t really begin to fully comprehend it thousands of years later. They still didn’t fully understand what was being asked of them, but they did it anyway – began to spread the Good News, and share their experience.

I think it can be a lot easier said than done to trust in the Lord. I tend to be one of those skip-ahead when reading types – I want to check the end of the chapter (or the book!), know where the story is heading before I trust the author to take me there. Living is the exact opposite of that – we have no idea where we are headed, what will happen down the various twists and turns of our lives. To trust that God is with us along the way, helping, holding, guiding and always loving, is one thing. But to then let go and live in that trust, freely enough to actually experience the way, rather than just asking God to make it ok in a bargaining-praying type way, that, for me, is really difficult. Today, I pray that I learn from the disciples’ model – to do without knowing or always understanding, to trust and feel reassured, knowing that God is there.

In Giving We Receive

I often find it easy to go through the motions of things and think I’m getting somewhere that I’m not. With ‘practicing’ my faith, I find it so easy to be complacent sometimes, thinking I’m on track if I’m participating in Mass and praying. And not to knock these things – they’re important, can be very centering and can help me find God along the way, sometimes when I feel very alone.

However, today’s Psalm also reminds me that it’s not the full living of a Christian life to just mouth the words. “The Lord hears the cry of the poor.” While this is telling us that God is listening to us always, wanting and waiting to help, it also reminds me that one of the ways this happens is through how we serve and help one another. Since this blog started as my friend’s Lenten journey, it really makes me think about how this past Lent, I had a lack of a journey. In previous years, I’d often tried to do something positive for Lent rather than giving something up – for me, it was a way to remind myself that it is in how we live our lives that we live our faith – a sacrifice of time perhaps, to do some small thing. And I’ve experienced some really good things in life through that, some of which carried on past Lent. But this year, I didn’t manage it, and while the recalling of the Passion and Resurrection never fail to stir some understanding of the depth of God’s love for humanity, I still felt empty – God was showing up, but I wasn’t.

It was only this past weekend, when I was given the gift of someone’s time and presence completely selflessly, without asking and without request for something in return, that I realized how long it’s been since I’ve given of myself in the same way, and how empty I am without that. It was joyous to feel so loved, and I pray that I can remember more often to give of myself to others that way, too.