SELF KNOWLEDGE,
SELF SIN,
SELF SALVATION
Quote for Today - April 27, 2011
"Knowledge of sin is the beginning of salvation."
Marcus Annaeus Seneca - ca. 54 BC to ca. 39 AD. He is also known as Seneca the Elder and Seneca the Rherotician.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
INTRODUCTION
The title of my homily is, “The Alluluia Egg.”
I was going to say a few words this morning just on the word “Alleulia” – because we use it so many times – especially at Easter Time.
THE ALLELUIA EGG
While doing some research last night about the word, “alleluia” – I came across the mention of the Alleluia Egg. I had never heard of it – nor do I know how wide spread the custom goes. The Alleluia Egg is a Golden Egg that is hidden along with all the other eggs for kids to find at Easter time.
When you find the Golden Egg – you’re the big winner – and you might yell, “Praise God” – the actual meaning of the word, “Alleluia”.
I was up at my niece Patty’s house in Reisterstown for Easter Dinner and before dinner they had the Easter Egg hunt once more – outside – and all over the place. Patty’s kids and some cousins – even though three kids are finished college – a cousin is at the Naval Academy and one kid is a freshman in High School. The kids love the custom and don’t want to ever see it end – especially because there is money in various amounts – all green – to be found inside each plastic egg.
MEMORIES
In doing my reading I found out that eggs – and painting them – and hiding and finding them goes way back into the history of various cultures and religions. Eggs symbolize spring. Eggs symbolize new life. Eggs symbolize the world – the shell the sky – and inside is the floating world – water and earth. Christians painted eggs red to show that Christ redeemed the world through his blood. People must have time on their hands so all the other colors came as well, especially the Golden Egg.
While reading, I noticed a family story told by a Monsignor Hellreigel – I’m assuming he’s the famous theologian on the Mass. He told the story in a sermon – telling everyone about how on one Easter he found the Golden Egg – over his ten brothers and sisters. It was painted gold and had written on its shell, “Alleluia!” But he forgot to tell what the prize for finding it was – till some kid jumped out into the main aisle and started waiving his hands and the priest said, “What happened?” And the kid said, “Please Father, tell us what was the prize?” “Oh,” the priest said, “The prize was a luscious German sweet cake, large enough to last any little boy a week or so. It was covered with cinnamon and sugar and nuts and the center sometimes had a Stollen filling.”
Reading that triggered a family story and memory our family likes to tell. A long time after Easter one of my brother’s daughters – he had 7 of them – no boys – opened up a jar of peanut butter from the very back of the refrigerator and you know that peanut butter doesn’t have to be refrigerated – but after they got into it, there was the Golden Egg. Somewhere along the line somebody came up with the idea of hiding Easter eggs and really hiding the Golden Egg. Nobody had found it that Easter – and in the meanwhile my brother had died of melanoma.
CONCLUSION
I hear churchy people complaining about Easter Eggs at Easter,
Santa Claus at Christmas, Hearts at Valentine’s Day, and Trick or Treat at Halloween. I would suggest we tell about the deep human and spiritual and religious background of many of these celebrations and customs. I would suggest a tiny bit of research.
After all, we’re all hunters and searchers – and sometimes we’re hunting for money or sweets – or the honor of being the top finder - great – but the Easter message is to be a searcher for Christ like Mary and when you find him, don’t let them go. Be a clinger like Mary Magdalene.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
HOW DOES ONE
EXPRESS THE INEXPRESSIBLE?
INTRODUCTION
The title of my homily for this Easter Sunday morning is, “How Does One Express The Inexpressible?”
Like love, like loneliness, like being the one who got the winning hit or goal, like being told a family secret which the teller says we can’t tell anyone, like loss, like rejection, like death, like resurrection: how does one express the inexpressible?
We’ve all had the experience of wanting to tell someone – something that was amazing – something we experienced that was out of the ordinary – an accident – or a double rainbow – or lightning that split a tree just 50 yards away from us – as we were on the way home from work - or an amazing athletic play we saw while at a game – or an amazing coincident – like meeting a high school friend in a bar while on vacation in Berlin – someone we hadn’t seen in 34 years – and the person we’re telling the story to yawns – or cuts us off and starts to tell us about some experience they had – the memory of which – was triggered by hearing the beginning words of the experience we had.
It’s not fair. We were cut off – and so we feel a bit frustrated and feisty – and we don’t know what to say – other than to say to ourselves, “I guess you have to have been there yourself!”
How does one express the inexpressible?
You have to have been there. You have had to had the feeling yourself.
TODAY’S READINGS
In today’s readings the authors are trying to do just that. They are trying to tell those who were not there – what it was like – what they experienced – how they experienced the resurrection.
We were not there either. We didn’t experience the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
However, hopefully it triggers for us – our wonderings about what happens after death. Is this all there is? Are our parents and grandparents – and those who have gone before us – only memories – or fading names on tombstones – or do they live on in God. Is there resurrection?
And what about ourselves? Sometimes after spicy food or two bags of potato chips late at night – potato chips with too much salt - or we receive a phone call at 10 at night – that told us of a problem in a sister or brother’s family or marriage – and we can’t sleep – and we begin thinking about the big stuff – usually disasters – disappointments and sometimes death – which has the sneaky habit of knocking on our door at night. No wonder some poets see falling asleep as a small death - a letting go into mystery.
Life? Death? What have I done? What was I supposed to do?
Sometimes when we can't sleep, we start looking at our inner report card and spot the C’s and D’s and some big F – some big Failure.
So we wonder about life and we wonder about death – sometimes when we can’t sleep – sometimes when we’re at a funeral – sometimes on an Easter Sunday morning.
So how does one express the inexpressible?
We’ve read from time to time – popular stories about people who claim to have had a near death experience – and they talk about light – amazement – but they always seem to add the words, “inexpressible” – like “I can’t put what I experienced into words.”
In the first reading for today from the Acts of the Apostles, Peter tries to speak out about Jesus – about his life, death and especially about his resurrection. It’s funny – Peter the one who denied Jesus 3 times – Peter one of the disciples who was hiding out in the Upper Room for fear that he too might be arrested, beaten and killed, - this Peter is now speaking out – proclaiming Jesus.
How does one express the inexpressible?
We have two possible short second readings. The first one from Colossians says there are things that are hidden. The other possible reading – it’s from 1st Corinthians– has Paul reflecting on bread. The poet in him must have watched leavened bread rising. A clump of dough with a tiny bit of yeast – mixed and knuckled – put in the oven – and in time it becomes a delicious loaf of bread. It’s a miracle.
A community of people are introduced and told about Christ. They become a community of Christians and are then called the Body of Christ. A miracle – as much a miracle as bread becoming the Body of Christ – as much as last night – when lots of people all around our world – came into our Body. Here in our parish, we had over 40 coming into our parish last night. A miracle.
I sat there in the dark – last night – at St. John Neumann - a church filled with people holding lighted candles in the night. I just watched. The experience can’t be put into words. It’s inexpressible – other than saying it was something that makes it all worth it being a Christian – even thought the Easter Vigil is was very long: 2 hours and 45 minutes long - last night.
Dark .... light .... people .... water .... ceremony.... a people becoming one.
Bread…. people …. food …. a meal….becoming one.
Food … people …. getting together .... becoming .... what people do and can do – amazing. It’s a miracle.
Do little kids ever sit there or stand there in a kitchen and become amazed at a mom or dad making bread or a cake or sizzling steaks or what have you – and their mouth is open in amazement?
When do we lose the wonder of simple everyday miracles? Babies come out perfect most of the time. Farmers plant seeds for watermelons and cantaloupes and potatoes and wheat – and a few months later, there you have fields of melons and potatoes and wheat – why can’t that be labeled a miracle?
What about planting someone in the ground – in a casket or in a container of ashes – why can’t they rise from the dead? How does it all work?
How does one express the inexpressible?
In today’s gospel from John 20, Mary of Magdala – came to the tomb – and found it empty. The stone had been rolled back. She ran back to yell to Jesus’ disciples that they have taken the Lord from the tomb.
How does one express the inexpressible?
Peter and the other disciple run – run – run – to the tomb.
We assume the other disciple is John – but we can’t be sure for sure.
The other disciple got there first, but let Peter go into the empty tomb first. That’s a significant little piece of information being expressed there.
They see the cloths – especially the burial cloth rolled up in a separate place. Then the other disciple went in and the text simple says, “He saw and believed.”
How does one express the inexpressible?
CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “How Does One Express the Inexpressible?”
Maybe 10 minutes of silence would be better than 10 minutes of babble or blab - from the pulpit.
Maybe a priest up in New Jersey who used to preach 3 minute homilies every Sunday had it right - but unfortunately I don't have his DNA.
I say that – because homilies – especially on Easter should bring on silence - and pause - as they deal with the big, big issues – like life and death – and the hope of resurrection.
How does one put into words the mystery of oneself?
I like the world’s shortest poem:
I
Why?
I don’t know who wrote that poem. Our professor in the first year of philosophy put it on the board with chalk and smiled – and then said, “This is a famous Existential poem.”
I heard that back in 1961 - and remembered it again today as I was putting together this homily. It's a poem that is so easy to memorize – so basic to think about.
Years later I wrote a poem – almost as short – also two words – and it rhymes as well.
You
Who
There you have it – two basic inexpressive realities – you and me.
And on Easter Sunday we express deep gratitude for the gift of life - for family and faith.
And as we ponder we are thankful that there is a YOU who rose from the dead – God – whom we often forget – neglect – kill – and then bury inside some cave in our brain or memory. Then on Christmas or Ash Wednesday, and then Lent, then Good Friday, then Easter Sunday appears on our calendar – and there’s Jesus.
There's Jesus and he stirs and rises from the tomb we put him in – the tomb inside our mind and memory.
There's Jesus, the Lord, Jesus the Risen One who expresses Himself to us – a Word becoming flesh – living amongst us again – and let's be honest - I know I do this - we’ll kill him again – but that Word keeps rising, returning – and is here – again this Easter Sunday morning – and hopefully what today’s gospels says of the other disciple will be said of us, “The other disciple saw and believed.”
Faith is faith because it’s inexpressible – but this God of ours keeps expressing Himself to us.
Today run to that tomb inside us. See. Listen. Hear him say to us, “I Why” or “You Who.”
+++++++++++++++++
Painting on Top: The Two Disciples at the Tomb (c. 1906) by Henry Ossawa Tanner [1859-1937]
Saturday, April 23, 2011
HOLY SATURDAY
How about changing Holy Saturday
to Silent Saturday or Empty Saturday?
Why?
Well, I stopped into church this morning
and it felt so silent and so, so empty.
I saw the empty tabernacle with its doors
left wide open. That was different.
Next I looked at the empty cross
from last night’s Good Friday service.
Next I sat down in the empty benches
all alone, realizing there will be no singing
or public praying till tonight’s Easter Vigil.
Silent Saturday. It seems like
a good idea to shut down the prayers
and the public gatherings and just be.
Churches can be too noisy,
too much of the time – people
and priests unable to pray without
words – having to stuff “Hail Mary’s”
and “O my Jesus” into every second.
Today I just feel the need for a day
like today to just take some time
and walk around in nature’s church,
and see spring beginning, spring springing,
or to take some time to just sit
in the silence of an empty church –
especially on this Holy Saturday morn.
Okay!
Maybe “Holy” is better for this Saturday.
“Where have they taken my Lord!”
Where did you go Lord Jesus – after
they took you down from the cross,
after they took you out of your mother’s arms,
especially when she wouldn’t let go –
after they put you in the brand new
empty tomb – where did you go?
Scriptures and creeds and knowers,
say you rose again the third day
after you suffered death and were buried.
Icon makers and visionaries with great
imaginations have you wandering around
in the clumpy complicated underworld
of death – reaching for Adam and Eve
and meeting patriarchs and prophets –
and all those who have gone before you.
Okay. But I don’t wonder about this
on this Saturday morning. I want silence.
And tomorrow I want Easter Faith
and the hope of waking up after I die
and meeting you, Lord Jesus, and all
those I have met not enough in this life.
How this happens I really don’t care.
When I die, I just want to hear you Jesus
standing at my grave, screaming out my name –
and if you do this the very second
after I die, all the better. Amen.
+++++++++++++
Icon on top: Harrowing of Hades - by Dionisus (15th Century) - in the Ferapontov Monastery - which flourished from the 15th to the 17th centuries. It is located in the Vologda region of northern Russia.
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