May 18, 2014: Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 6:1-7: The word of God continued to spread, and the number of the disciples in Jerusalem increased greatly; even a large group of priests were becoming obedient to the faith.

Psalm 33: Lord, let your mercy be on us, as we place our trust in you.

1 Peter 2:4-9: Beloved: Come to him, a living stone, rejected by human beings but chosen and precious in the sight of God, and, like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

John 14:1-12: Jesus said to his disciples: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me. .”

May is the Month of Our Lady.

Scripture Notes from the Sourcebook:

THE FIRST READING: We hear of complaints among the early Christians, a bit of tension between those of different nationalies. If the basic needs of all are to be met – and the concern here is the daily distribution of food in the community where all things were held in common – the apostles need assistants. Stephen is among those chosen from men who are reputable, wise, and filled with God’s Spirit.

RESPONSORIAL PSALM 33 picks up on the need for food (see the mention of famine in the last line of the last stanza) – a concern in today’s First Reading. So, too, the second stanza’s concern for “justice and right” is likewise addressed by the apostles in today’s First reading. Notice also the reference to the “word” (Psalm 33:4) of the Lord in the second stanza – another link with today’s First Reading. The responsorial Psalm is one of thanksgiving for all that God has provided for his people.

SECOND READING: The early Christians loved the image of Jesus as the foundation rock, the cornerstone (Psalm 118:22), a verse cited in today’s reading from the First Letter of Peter. Believers are urged to let themselves be as stones joined to Christ, forming a place of praise and worship of lthe Father. We hear also the language of being called, being chosen – as was Israel of old. In Christ, we have come into the marvelous light of truth and life.

THE GOSPEL: The theme of a spiritual house is heard again in today’s Gospel – only here with reference to eternal dwelling places. Jesus is the way there: both the path by which we arrive and the manner in which we are to travel. Today’s Gospel focuses on the Father, and more specifically, Jesus’ relationship with the Father – a unity so complete, that to see Jesus is to see the Father; to hear Jesus is to hear the Father speak; the Father works in and through Jesus. Jesus invites his disciples to allow him to continue is work in them, through their union with him and through prayer in his name.

PASTORAL REFLECTION: The disciples did not have an iPhone or smartphone, GPS in their sandals, maps to print from computers, and yet they walked. This week be old-fashioned and a day to let go of technology to get you somewhere where you have never been. It is scary to travel without knowing the path or having a voice telling us when to turn. An experience of being lost makes the importance of learning to trust in God and not be troubled all the more understood.-- 2014 Sourcebook for Sundays, Seasons & Weekends

You are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that you may announce the praises “ of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. (1 Peter 2:9)

And yet: As the number of disciples continued to grow, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews. … (Acts 6:1)

The church continues to grow, but with inevitable problems from both within and without. At this stage, the church is completely Jewish in composition, but there are two distinct sects of Jews at this time, the Grecian (or Hellenistic) Jews and the Hebraic Jews. The Grecian Jews were in the minority. These were Jews that were born outside of Palestine and spoke Greek language and were more Greek in their customs. The Hebraic Jews spoke Aramaic and/or the Hebrew languages of Palestine and preserved Jewish culture and customs. Even back then, in the early days of the church, there were sects and disagreements amongst Christians that followed political or cultural lines. (I can't help thinking of the Protestants and the Catholics and their long years of conflicts between them. There is nothing new under the sun!) – commentary on Acts 6:1 on voices.yahoo.com/bible-study-lesson ________________________________________________________________________________

How Baffling you are, oh church!

How baffling you are, oh Church,

And yet how I love you!

How you have made me suffer,

And yet how much I owe you!

I should like to see you destroyed,

And yet I need your presence.

You have given me so much scandal,

And yet you have made me understand sanctity.

I have seen nothing in the world more

Devoted to obscurity, more compromised,

More false, and I have touched nothing more pure,

More generous, more beautiful.

How often I have wanted to shut the doors of my soul in your face, and how often

I have prayed to die in the safety of your arms.

No, I cannot free myself from you, because

I am you, although not completely.

And where should I go?

-- Carlo Carretto, (1910 – 1988) a member of the Little Brothers of Jesus, an order inspired by the spirituality of Charles de Foucauld.

Gospel Commentary from the Irish Dominicans

"I go to prepare a place for you," Jesus said. We should not think of it as a physical space, but inevitably we do: that is how our imaginations work. But we can free up the image a little, as St Teresa of Ávila did with the 'interior castle'. Eternal life does not mean being fixed as in amber; we will be alive in God, not dead in God. God is a God of the living, as Jesus said (Matthew 22:32).

"I am the Way," Jesus said. Not a physical path, nor a programme, but a person whom we know. We have seen him on his way: it is a way of forgiveness, love, hope, justice. No one can come to God by force or violence, by tricks or shortcuts….

"I am the Truth," he said. The truth is not abstract, then, it is living in the eyes and mind and heart of this Friend. We cannot reach it simply by thinking, nor even by agonising about it; it is not a formula or a theory; it is word made flesh. Jesus is God’s body-language.

"I am the Life," he said. Not just survival, nor half-life, but life to the full. Not a question endlessly deferred, but life here, now, within our grasp.

"Lord, show us the Father," said Philip. His request echoed that of Moses, who said to God, "Show me your glory" (Exodus 33:18). He believed that Jesus was capable of organising an experience for them such as that of Moses or Isaiah. There was daring in the question: God had replied to Moses' request, "You cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live" (Exodus 33:20). His reply to Philip has shaped Christian awareness of Jesus' identity, "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father…. I am in the Father and the Father is in me" (see also John 10:38). He does not simply represent the Father, he presents him. His words and actions have the Father as their source.

"The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do." His works have the Father as their source; so a disciple's works too have the Father as their source.

--- Donagh O’Shea, for Today’s Good News, the website of the Dominicans of Ireland-________________________________________________________________________

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.” – John 14:1-3

On the occasion of the Last Supper, Jesus spoke these words to His Apostles – and to each of us. Jesus tells us that we should trust Him, have faith in Him, to place all our cares and anxieties on Him… “Do not let your hearts be troubled” – everything is going to be okay. He offers us a sanctuary in a world filled with danger.

In spite of these words directed lovingly from our God to each of us, many in the world today – and that might include you and me – have trouble really trusting in the Lord and His promise. Why is that?

Over the last few months, I have spoken to a number of people who are greatly troubled at the state of the world. There is definitely a lack of peace in the world. …

One person with whom I spoke quoted the above passage to me. She was quite genuine. Although she and her family were experiencing severe financial hardship, the entire family– from the youngest to the oldest– was focused in their concern to help lessen the hardships of others. They were not naive or irresponsible; they worked diligently to overcome their difficulties. But, they did not for one minute forget that God calls them to care for others, less fortunate than themselves. This family inspired me and I asked how they managed to keep an even keel… that is when the mother cited the verse from John’s Gospel. “Surrender… turn all your cares and anxieties over to the Lord and keep plugging along. If you don’t forget those Jesus sends to you, He will not forget you.” – Deacon Mike Bickerstaff, integratedcatholiclife.org

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE CHRISTIAN AND FOLLOW THE WAY?

Some think of a Christian as one who necessarily believes certain things. That Jesus was the son of God, say. Or that Mary was a virgin. Or that the Pope is infallible. Or that all other religions are all wrong.

Some think of a Christian as one who necessarily does certain things. Such as going to church. Getting baptized. Giving up liquor and tobacco. Reading the Bible. Doing a good dead a day.

Some think of a Christian as just a Nice Guy.

Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me” (John 14:6). He didn’t say that any particular ethic, doctrine, or religion was the way, the truth, and the life. He said that he was. He didn’t say that it was by believing or doing anything in particular that you could “come to the Father.” He said that it was only by him – by living, participating in, being caught up by, the way of life that he embodied, that was his way.

Thus it is possible to be on Christ’s way and with his mark upon you without ever having heard of Christ, and for that reason to be on your way to God though maybe you don’t even believe in God.

A Christian is one who is on the way, though not necessarily very far along it, and who has at least some dim and half-baked idea of whom to thank.

A Christian isn’t necessarily any nicer than anybody else. Just better informed. – Frederick Buechner, from Listening to Your LIfe

Reflection for May 18, 2014: Being a Fool for Spring

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus tells us today. “You have faith in God; have faith also in me.” In the spirit of that lovely, lovely reassurance, and in honor of a day in which the sky is so robin’s-egg-blue perfect that I can hardly stand it, and the leaves are so bright and lit with gold that they seem to still be made mostly out of the sunlight that spun them into the tremulous green life of May – and because earlier this week I had another birthday and survived it; and because I feel just plain old dazzled by spring fever: I am going to be lazy today. Especially as far as my reflection for the day goes. So I’m reprinting a (somewhat revised) version of an essay I wrote a few years back in celebration of Spring in the North Fork Valley. It might not seem like it has anything to do with the spiritual life, but in my opinion pretty much everything does. And I think that’s always true, but it’s especially clear on days like this, when we’re still aglow from the bright joy of Easter and everything around us seems to reflect the presence of God, reminding us to pause for a moment and simply give thanks for everything. “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says, although sometimes when he talks to me, he has to put it a bit more bluntly, since it’s often hard for him to get through this thick stubborn head of mine: “Chill out, woman!” he tells me, speaking bluntly but with a smile on his face. He’s been listening to my worries & wants & prayers & griefs for 24 hours a day for many years now. Maybe he needs a break, too. So he smiles at me kindly, but also holds up a restraining hand when I start my usual litany of doubts and complaints: “Shhh, Diane,” he says gently. “I already know all that, OK? Just for once, put a sock in it. Quit worrying, take a break, go out and enjoy this beautiful planet I invited you to live on – and try, for a change, to have a little faith – in me, in life, in your friends, in yourself. Believe me, your troubles will still be there next time you look around; the peace I give you isn’t always the kind of peace you think you want. But it’s spring right now, and it’s beautiful. Take a deep breath, why not, and just say Thanks, and let it go at that. And maybe take a walk outside while you’re at it.” Which is just what I’m about to go do. – Diane Sylvain

A FOOL FOR SPRING

Every morning I am astonished again.

Last night, for example, the temperature was in the low 30s. In the middle of the night I wondered, with a more than academic interest, what had possessed me to shut down the furnace. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and asked myself: Have I been dreaming? Are there truly violets blooming out there - or are they just little plants turning purple from the cold?

Then morning came, and I went outside, and it was very much like being Dorothy, dropped abruptly into Oz: “Oh!” I said to the violets. “AH!” I said to the sun.

Yes, it's spring, the violets said in reply. It's spring in the Rockies.

I hope you don't expect anything intelligent from this essay. In spring my higher functions shut down at about the same time my furnace does. My concentration wavers and wanders. I am tugged in a thousand directions by the new green fingers of the trees, ambushed over and over again by the sudden brightness of flowers. Things unravel and drift past me like pollen through the soft air.

“What did you say? Excuse me ... what was that? (do you smell those blossoms?) I beg your pardon (was that a hummingbird?) Did you say something? Sorry.”

My friends repeat themselves tolerantly and wink at each other when I'm not looking. I apologize and pretend to pay attention. But how can I? What are we doing talking at a time like this anyway? We should be caroling, dancing, declaiming poetry! Why speak when you can sing?

I'd rather cast my lot with the poets and declare with e.e. cummings that “Wholly to be a fool / while spring is in the world / my blood approves ...”

Because they have it right, the poets, not the practical people who insist on business as usual. The practical people run things and usually get their way. But who with any senses (plural) -- as opposed to drab empirical singular sense -- would not prefer to dally with the daffodils? Aspen leaves are unfurling around us, even as we sleep!

And I don't want to go to work, or balance my checkbook, or have serious conversations about current events. I want to write an epic poem about dandelions, or sing arias to the earthworms. I want to quit my job and be a French Impressionist painter and wander the orchards all day painting and spend the evenings drinking absinthe at the sidewalk café, watching the stars emerge from the deepening sky until the absinthe makes my heart grow fonder.

Well, perhaps I'll have to skip the absinthe, and maybe hang on to my day job, too. But I will go outside and read some poetry while sitting under a tree, and maybe even do a little watercolor sketch or two. It’s the least I can do in honor of the season.

I have been stalking spring since the end of February.

I'd gone for a walk, out looking at winter, and thinking how stern and simple the season was, in its beautiful bony way. Colors straight from a fairy tale: white, white snow and coal-black branches and wild rose hips as red as blood. In a winter mood I made my way, and my thoughts were pure and serene.

Then, I crossed a frozen creek, and something snaked out and tantalized me: an unexpected whiff of wet earth. I stopped, entranced, and thought: that smell. How long has it been since I met such a smell? For in winter most smells go into hibernation; things are locked away inside themselves, or hidden well under the ground.

But in that cold place the smell of wet earth was rich and plump and brown and juicy. It spoke of sap and leaves and water. It prophesied thawing and growing.

As I stood there, dreaming, the snow began again, and the secret earth smell vanished away. But now I listened, too, and heard a new thing: I heard the water chattering under the ice. And above me, invisibly, I began to hear birds: the trees were filling with red-winged blackbirds.

It is unlocking, I thought, it is breaking up with music. Spring is cracking open the doors of the world.

I don't know why anyone wants to live in places without distinct seasons. The circling seasons are always the same and every year they are different; they teach us to trust in the passing of time, and to celebrate our place in it.

I always know the moment that each spring begins in me: how all of my senses hatch open like eggs and take to the wild sky and fly wild and forage. It doesn't matter how cranky I was, back in the darkness of January. In the early days of spring I feel transparent as the rain; utterly new and flawless as the earliest leaves of trees.

I can't help myself, I buttonhole friends and fix them with a wild and glittering eye: “Do you smell those lilacs? Do you hear that meadowlark? Do you see how gold the newly leaved-out willow trees are, against that dark-blue stormcloud sky?”

“Excuse me,” my friends reply. “Did you say something?” And I realize that, wisely, they are not paying attention to me at all. They are checking out the fruit trees and contemplating the clouds and inhaling the lilacs and harmonizing with the happy robins. What wisdom do I have to offer in comparison?

Well, I think, and then ahhh ... and then, Never mind. For everyone else is also adrift on the season. The violets have taken them hostage, too. – Diane Sylvain; revised & adapted from an essay that ran a few years ago as a column for Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News