Friends, I could give you some exegesis around the meaning of the readings today as we begin this holiest of weeks and probably, some thoughts will make their way into this homily; but I thought what might be a more meaningful way to go, would be to concentrate on what “this triumphal entry into Jerusalem” meant, ultimately, to our brother Jesus.

This final journey to Jerusalem was the culmination of his relatively short life on this earth. We can only imagine the emotion he was experiencing! If he had been a musician; we might say that this action was his grand opus—the high point of all that his combined humanity and divinity had allowed and challenged him to proclaim.

All the prophets, especially the later ones such as, Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel spoke eloquently about who Jesus, as the Messiah would be—one with humanity—with us, suffering all that we would suffer, and we might add—experiencing so much of the good that this life can bring through interactions with others, through caring and giving of himself for the least among us.  Jesus spoke his truth to the powers present in his time, about justice for all. And we know from Isaiah’s words today in the first reading that what Jesus had to say would not be accepted by all—and that there were those who wished to silence him.

Within the time frame of a week; this triumphal entry into the holy city of Jerusalem would end in seeming failure with his death in one of the most horrible ways that death can come to an individual.  We are told by Scripture scholar, Diane Bergant, that Paul’s beautiful hymn of praise to the Philippians seems the best way for us to understand Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection—while he does not minimize it; he also doesn’t spend undo time depicting it.  Rather, Paul really explains the suffering to us and tells us what it means—his state was divine, yet he did not cling to it, but humbled himself, becoming as all humans are.

Within a week, his beloved apostles and friends would all, save a few—John, Mary of Magdala, his mother and some faithful women, leave him in fear.  Two would betray him—one would seek forgiveness, one had missed the message that his friend, Jesus had spoken so many times before—that there is nothing we could ever do that would separate us from the love of God.

Scriptures tell us that our brother Jesus wept over Jerusalem for how they had so misunderstood his coming among them—they wanted a king—and he came as a servant.  They let their humanity, their lust for power and control get in the way of his message of love and care for all.  Even his closest friends—apostles who spent three years with him, hearing day after day the purpose for his coming—to basically show them, all of us, the best ways to live and to love, didn’t get it!  Jesus was always about, “leading with the heart,” not the head, and those in the society he graced with his presence who were women, the poor, the ill and downtrodden got his message—not about power over, but about humility—power with and for others.

His sadness, his sense of failure with so many whom he loved so much would engulf him for a time in his agony in the garden in the space of a week.  But before that; he would spend his last days teaching in the temple, his last times endeavoring to get the message across one last time that “what we do to others, we do to him.”  We can’t say that we love God and refuse to love our neighbor—he minces no words—it’s as simple as that!

The more my friends that we can let these days come alive for us, the more his words will become real and guide our daily actions going forward.

We won’t be meeting on Holy Thursday this year, but it would behoove us to remember the gift of love that this night depicts.  Jesus, knowing all that was before him, spent his last night before his death showing his closest friends, his mother and the other women, no doubt, even though the Scriptures don’t mention their presence, of how he wanted them to live going forward, once he was no longer physically with them.  They should serve each other, beautifully displayed in the washing of the feet. Whenever and wherever they gathered; they should know and believe that he was with them in the breaking of the bread.  And finally, his greatest prayer was that all people should be one, just as he was one with Abba God.  This is why our parish is named, All Are One—our statement to our city and all others that everyone is welcome here, no exceptions!  Jesus’ priestly prayer was all about loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves—that’s it, that’s the message!

We will gather here on Good Friday afternoon in a simple and holy remembrance of a day, more than any other that speaks to the steadfastness of our God’s love for us.  Jesus died a human death the way he had lived his human life—completely and wholeheartedly—always keeping in mind, especially at the end, the all-encompassing love of his Abba for him.  Being human, he doubted and cried out in the agony, in the suffering, but on some level; he knew that life would follow the death and he did it all for us so that we could be steadfast in hope of new life too!

And then on Saturday afternoon, with the Easter Vigil; we will begin our alleluias in that hope.  Amen? Amen!

 

 

 

“Let the one among you who is without sin, cast the first stone,” our brother Jesus proclaimed to the gathered crowd in today’s gospel.  The Priests for Equality addition of the Scriptures that we use here at All Are One lifts up the obvious right away with the statement, “A couple had been caught in the act of adultery.” This, as I said, is an obvious fact, that it took two for this deed to happen, but all other versions of this story conveniently leave this vital piece of information out.  We might ask how and why this happens.

The society in which Jesus lived didn’t consider women on a par with men—in fact, women only had any status if they were connected to a man in some way—i.e., as a daughter or a wife.  If they were so unfortunate to not have these relationships; they basically found themselves on the street to fend in whatever way that they could.

Jesus was aware of this injustice where women were concerned and thus his statement that those “without sin might cast the first stone” to punish the woman, was ever more powerful.  The penalty for this “crime” for the woman was stoning till death—we know of no such penalty for the man involved.  No doubt Jesus could see into the hearts of the men who brought her before him, knowing their true intention was to bring him down, rather than having any true concern for what this woman did or didn’t do.

As we look back to this time in human history; we might be prone to make a judgment on these men who were abusing this woman in order to bring down the work of our brother, Jesus.  But in our present day, is life any better for women?

Are we not still attempting in this country to elect a woman to the highest office in this country? Are we not still waiting for our Catholic church to ordain women licitly to the priesthood? Both these examples stem from a society that has tiers/layers of importance—men as best with women coming in second.

And the real sin is that of male privilege and it has been going on for so long, that it has become part of our lives to the point that many still do not even see it. A current example that points this up so clearly is that of Joe Biden who has recently been called to task by four women for his “habit” of “uncomfortable (to women) touching.”  In his mind, as he has said, it is his way of “reaching out,” of giving support and he meant nothing inappropriate by it.  He was able to cultivate his “habit” until now because of male privilege that somehow makes his actions toward women something that he alone determines without input from them.  With the “MeToo” Movement, all this has changed.

To his credit, he says, “He now gets it,” while his accusers say, “He should have gotten it much sooner!”  When one part of society is not considered, as good as, those in the position of power can say how it is going to be, and not only that, but the group in power come to expect the privilege.

Another current example of this “power over” is that of white privilege and it comes from a group of women religious, representing many different orders of sisters who got together to tackle the issue of racism.  One of the presenters, a black, religious woman, Sister Patricia Chappell,  stated in no uncertain terms that there would be some “ouch moments” in their time together.   She was joined in the presentation by a white woman religious, Sister Anne Louise Nadeau.

The first “ouch” moment came very quickly when Sister Patricia asked the group of nearly all white women religious where the black sisters were.  She said that half of the women in this room should be black. Sister Patricia walked back through the history of religious women calling their attention to times when white women would not sleep in a bed that a black woman had slept in even while they were preaching a mission of love.  Being denied access to religious communities in the past has left black people with a feeling of not being good enough or competent enough and those feelings take a long time to heal. And black women are dealt a double blow—first, that of being a woman compounded by being black.

Sister Patricia went on to talk about white privilege, that insidious condition that gives whites a hand up in life that black people have to fight to obtain, just because of the way they happened to have born.  I know personally that I never had to have the talk with my son that every black mother has to have with her sons about the fact that a young black male is suspect just by nature of the color of his skin.  That’s white privilege!

Both sisters, black and white spoke about how communities need to be more inclusive, name the sin of white privilege, listen to others and then listen some more.  It doesn’t matter how I, as a white woman look at a situation, alone,  but how what I take for granted is received by the other who doesn’t live with the privilege. With regard to male privilege, it doesn’t matter how a man looks at a situation, alone, he has to know and understand how his action is taken by women.

The dual sins of racism and sexism have been with us so long that sometimes we wonder what, in fact, we can do! Our readings for this 5^th Sunday of Lent are very instructive in that regard.

First of all, Isaiah lets the people of his time know that indeed God “opens a way” for us.  That God “is doing something new” and is there walking with us to help us to do that “new thing” that will include people, make them feel welcomed, show them that they don’t stand alone.  This of course assumes that we are in regular contact with God, that power that watches over all of life.  For myself; I find it much more convicting to read Jesus’ words, “watch” as it were, his actions and then attempt to do the same.

So much of this is simply being aware.  For those of us who are white, middle class, it is realizing that all of the world doesn’t live with the privilege that we do.  Julia Walsh, a young writer for the National Catholic Reporter has this to say about white privilege:

Whether I like it or not; I participate in the evil of racism every time I enjoy my white privilege. When I feel the tinge of excitement over seeing a “run-down” neighborhood flipped into an area  with funky shops and remodeled homes (that’s what gentrification is), I’m ignoring the plight of the poor.  When I savor easy access to healthy food and transportation without anger for the  lack of attainability my black and brown sisters and brothers have of such basics, I’m failing to love.  And when I experience nothing but respect and kindness from police officers and assume it’s everyone’s experience, I’m turning away from the truth.

In both the 1^st and the 2^nd readings for today; we get the clear message from Isaiah and Paul that basically the past is the past—we can’t change what we did or didn’t do then, but we do have control of what we do in the future!

Jesus has come and shown us the way—he always had the time for those on the margins and we must too!  Julia Walsh says it like this and I share her thoughts today as perhaps good ones to ponder in our journey these last two weeks of Lent as we move ever closer toward Easter.

There is a major cost for shrinking from naming evil.  Evil creeps through every society and crawls into the hollows of our hearts, where our deepest fears lie dormant.  Evil crawls into the places where we hold our dreams and desires, clings to pride and comforts and subtly shifts our  understandings, gets us to justify our destructive behaviors .  If we see how evil lurks, ready to convince us of lies, then we might be able to name it, confront it in ourselves, each other.  If we name the evil, then we can have power over it; we can change.

Friends, I began this homily with Jesus’ words about who can throw a stone at another and we all realize that none of us can, because none of us is without sin.  What we can try and do is walk through life with a big and merciful heart, expecting the best from others and giving the benefit of the doubt when others don’t give their best, knowing that we will need that same mercy from time to time.  We can more often try to see a situation from another’s point of view—realizing that we may not know the whole story with which that person walks.  We never have to agree with an action that causes others pain, but we do have to try and find a place in our hearts for the offender, as Jesus did.  With regard to the woman today in the gospel—Jesus showed her mercy, but he also said, “Do better next time! Amen? Amen!

With this Sunday of Lent my friends; we find ourselves part way through this time given us by the Church to perhaps be a bit more introspective of our lives and our journey to follow our brother, Jesus, ever more closely.

Six weeks gives us a good bit of time for doing this and it could be that you have made some good strides toward that goal, but if you are like me, you probably need to keep refocusing, asking that question that we as Jesus’ followers must continue to ask—do I grow more like Jesus every day?

Does my speech, for instance, reflect a deep caring and respect for myself and others in the ways that God has first loved me? Do I live with a sense of justice, with respect for each person I meet, coupled with an attempt to understand what each walks with in life, rather than the tendency to judge what I see on the surface?  Do I make an attempt to share my wealth with those less fortunate—through tithing, contributions to the local food shelf, community sponsored meals and shelters for the homeless, and a host of other ways?  None of us can do it all, but each of us must do our piece, whatever that might be.

Lent calls us to a deeper communion with our God through the prayer of our lives.  And I say, “Prayer of our lives” because this is different for each of us.  Prayer is basically,  “a checking in,” as it were, with God, listening for what God may be wanting us to know, speaking our words of praise and gratitude for all the gifts in our lives and confirming that we are on the right path.  As Joan Chittister says, “Prayer is meant to bring us to see the world as God sees the world.  It is meant to expand our vision, not trap us in a world that is only ourselves.”

I had a conversation with a friend recently about how we know that we are doing that which God wants us to do. Now, keeping in mind that God wants good for us and not bad, our decisions in life, if they are the correct ones—the ones that are best for us and others, should bring us peace.  Is this to say that we will have all the answers? No, but we should have a sense of peace, for the most part, in what we are deciding to do.  If not, than we can be quite sure, that what we have chosen to do is not of God and may not bring us or others in our life, happiness.

Our lives as Jesus’ followers should always be about keeping our eyes on him—listening to his words and trying to follow them in our lives.  When we do that, we will be responding in our world as Jesus did in his, as our Creator God did in sending us Jesus.

As you all know, Robert and I recently traveled to Chile and ultimately got to Easter Island, a five-hour flight off the mainland of Chile to the west, into the Pacific Ocean. Our destination was a small island named, “Easter” by an explorer, Jacob Roggeveen who visited there on Easter Sunday, in 1722. In the language of the local people, it is called, Rapa Nui.

We were there over three different days and had the opportunity to see the large, stone statues called, “Moai” constructed, it is thought, from 1400-1650 C.E. that played a significant role in the island peoples’ spirituality.

They saw the statues as representing their deceased leaders who had gone on before them and now watched over and protected them.  The statues were built for the leaders, priests, kings, those of some importance to the people. We might compare them to Christians constructing great cathedrals—as a way to “reach” God.

Our guide during our visit there said that when the people began building the Moai, they were much smaller in size than the huge examples that people travel there now to see.  Like in any good thing, we humans tend to lose sight of our purpose and compete with others to be greater, build grander statues and this happened with the Rapa Nui people, so that their statues grew ever bigger.  We saw an example of one statue that was left in the place it was created because it was thought to be 75 feet long and weighing over 100 ton—ultimately too big to move!

So when the Rapa Nui people lost sight of their true purpose, trying to reach out to those who had gone before them, concentrating only on building bigger than their neighbors, fighting broke out between these neighbors evidenced by the toppling of statues belonging to others.

We can make connections I think in our own Christian history in the building of ever bigger cathedrals instead of concentrating on Jesus’ message which was one of love, being his “body and blood” for our world—seeing him in those we meet each and every day and treating them accordingly.

The Scriptures today remind us once again of the love of the Creator for all of creation as evidenced by the God of Israel walking with the people, from the slavery of Egypt to the Promised Land of Canaan. As evidenced by our God sending our brother Jesus to be one-with-us, saving us through his example of how to live and love so that we can do the same by ever keeping him in our sight.

And for each of us who ever wonders if there is a loving God walking with us, Jesus’ sharing of the beautiful story of the Prodigal, should answer any and all our questions and concerns.  The father in this story not only shows radical love for his wayward son, but over-the-top love for this one who has gone astray.  Just as the son was “wasteful” with the gifts of his inheritance, the father was “wastefully extravagant” with his love when his son finally chose to return and begin again.

This kind of love is many times hard for us humans to understand—the elder son in the story certainly didn’t!  We humans tend to want to repay good with good and bad with punishment.  Thankfully, we have a God who is continually chasing after us, showing us mercy, wanting us to come home.

Our experience on Rapa Nui/Easter Island brought home to us once again that there are many ways to go to God, as we all search for truth, for something greater than ourselves that is the force behind all the life around us.  The way of the Jews, of Christians, Buddhists, Muslims and all others is really no better than that of the Rapa Nui people but for the ability to “keep to message,” the great ideals of each culture, that allow each of us to be our best selves.

So as we continue our Lenten journey, let us strive toward being our best selves, knowing that we have a God to guide us, who loves us wastefully (prodigally) and is always up for a party, to welcome us home!  Amen? Amen!

Dear Friends, 

My friend and colleague, Dick Dahl gave our community this fine homily last week in my absence–enjoy! and thank you Dick! –Pastor Kathy

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I recently attended a film and discussion entitled “Going, Going, Gone” from the national research sponsored by Saint Mary’s Press of Winona about the dramatically high numbers of young people who are abandoning religion—not just the Roman Catholic Church, but other Christian churches, synagogues and religions.

Over 60 percent say that this disaffiliation took place in them between the ages of 10 and 13. What they experienced at church was not meaningful to them. Furthermore they sought connection and inner transformation. Instead they said they felt they were going to a club to which they felt they no longer belonged.

They did not want to be part of a church that seemed mainly judgmental, a church that seemed to separate and divide people rather than bring them together. They sought connection with a Higher Power but felt the truth had gotten lost over the centuries in interpretations that became a barrier rather than a window or a light. They sensed that there were different valid paths to the truth, to what is meaningful.

Being out of doors in Mother Nature was important to many of them. They sought to become better persons. Unconditional love and openness to others made sense to them. Social justice and the findings of science also made sense.

They did not usually leave the church in anger, rather often with some sadness.  They sought connection with others through friendships, in dinner groups, in working out at the gym, in local commitments.

With these contemporary changes going on about us, especially in the younger generation, can we just go on as we always have? Or are we called to recognize and respond to ways in which the Spirit is acting? In what ways might the Spirit be calling us to be open to other ways of thinking, to the experiences of other people?

Although these causes of disillusion in many young people may be a far cry from what led Jesus into the desert, I’d like to suggest a possible connection. Isn’t it dramatic that after about thirty years, he was moved to change his way of life and begin to act publicly? He may have been prepared for this by change by contact with his cousin, John the Baptist, but it was the Spirit that then led him into the desert.

Also I have known that “forty” is a symbolic number in Scripture but I have learned recently that it usually referred to whatever length of time was necessary to achieve a goal or purpose. So the Israelites wandered in the desert for forty years, but not necessarily literally forty years. The Sinai is not that large an area! Jesus’ time of prayer and fasting for forty days in the desert was for as long as was necessary to prepare him for the change in his life that was about to occur.

When he emerged, he challenged “the system;” he challenged the way many of the traditions had enforced rules but had lost their inner meaning. I think the disaffiliated young people of today would have felt energized by Jesus as they have come to distrust institutions. Based on their stated resonance with social justice, they would have welcomed the way he reached out to the stranger, the foreigner, the outcast.

The reasons many young people give for leaving religion often describe a hunger for what religion, especially Christianity, should be offering. Religion should be open to what is true from any and all sources. It should be a force that brings people together, that overcomes divisions, that focuses on transforming love and mercy.

Eleven years ago Father Richard Rohr wrote a book about Scriptural Spirituality. He began by saying, “We need transformed people today, not people with answers.” He quoted Eugene Ionesco, the French-Romanian playwright who wrote, “Over-explanation separates us from astonishment.” Father Rohr says that for many people too many words have separated them from astonishment, as if the right words can substitute for inner experience. He asserts that the marvelous anthology of books and letters we call the Bible “is all for the sake of astonishment.” It’s for “divine transformation…not intellectual…coziness.”

Fr. Rohr says, “We have made the Bible into a bunch of ideas—about which we can be right or wrong—rather than an invitation to a new set of eyes. Biblical revelation invites us into a genuinely new experience.”

In his letter, “Joy and Gladness,” Pope Francis wrote, “…a person’s perfection is measured not by the information or knowledge they possess, but by the depth of their charity.” To the extent we miss this, religion is failing to transform and enliven our spirit and our communities.

In today’s first reading Abram was astonished when the Lord promised him that he and his wife Sarai, who were in their eighties, would be the parents of offspring who would become as numerous as the stars in the sky. Then in the Gospel reading, having eight days earlier warned his disciples that it would not be easy to follow him, Jesus took Peter, James and John up a mountain where they were astonished by his Transfiguration before their eyes. They heard his Father’s voice, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.”

The transfiguration of Jesus prepared him for his “exodus”—his coming Passover through a horrible death to the transformation of his Resurrection. His Spirit is now leading us through this time of Lent, our time in the desert as it were, to be silent, to be astonished, to listen to the Son and be transformed.

Just back from a rather vigorous trip to Chile, visiting Santiago, Valparaiso, and our ultimate destination of Easter Island, which took us into the culture of the Rapa Nui people and their ideas of the spiritual expressed through the outstanding creations of the Moai statues; I opted for parts of a homily from three years ago today—but be looking for more about our Chilean experience in later homilies!

All of our readings today show us a different face of God and together they leave God rather mysterious, not unlike the Moaian statues on Easter Island.   The Catechism of the Catholic church overtime has described God as all-knowing, all-loving, and all-present.  Moses’ encounter with God can only be said to be awesome—from the burning bush that couldn’t be explained, to the strange name, “I Am Who I Am,” that God used.  Clearly, God wanted to get Moses’ attention!

Exegetes can’t agree on what this name means.  They do agree that it is a Hebrew form of the verb “to be.” But whether it means, “I am who I am,” or “I will be who I will be,” they can’t agree.  So, is God claiming to be the source of all that is, or is God saying something about the future?  It could be God’s way of telling us that as hard as we try, we can never fully understand who God is.  This is a God who lets us see, but doesn’t let us see all.   Fr. Richard Rohr, in his book, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality,  seems to be saying that it is us humans who make God mysterious when all God really wants is for each of us to know that we are loved.

Rohr compares it to when we first fall in love.  The one loving us delights in us, enjoys us and when we are looked on with love, he says,  we feel like our very best selves. And as we are reflected in the eyes of the lover—we can do anything and this is exciting!    God looks on each of us with love and calls us to love in return—to live our lives in a way that understands that to be loved means that we will love in return—first God and then others. Meister Eckhart, a 13^th Century German theologian says it like this, “The eyes with which you will look back at God will be the same eyes with which God first looked at you.”  To me, this sounds like a God who is very involved with us!

And, as wonderful as this seems; we humans often want to make it harder and more complex than God intended.  Maybe we can’t handle being loved in this way, so we keep God’s love for us on our own terms—more abstract, less involved. Rohr says, “We will always resist relational, practical truth in favor of abstractions”—and I believe this truth has been played out in our Churches over time.  A God of our own making allows for more control over our lives.  When we return God’s gaze of love as did Jesus, our actions toward the rest of humanity are clear—we must move in love toward all, and here it can get uncomfortable, and even, messy, at times.

Just as the first reading from Exodus is confusing, the Gospel account from Luke is as well.  It relates the story of the Galileans killed by Pilate and the people who were crushed by the wall.  This basically illustrates for us that we can’t understand why God allows bad things to happen to us—a question humankind has struggled with ever since the first covenant between God and people was made.

The one thing we do learn in this Gospel is that our loving God will always show us mercy as related in the beautiful story of the fig tree.  The owner is willing to give up on the tree—on us, whereas the vinedresser—God, wants the tree, wants us, to have a second chance.

Blessed John Duns Scotus, a 14^th Century Franciscan believed that our God is about one thing and one thing only—love.  He proclaimed, unlike our Church Universal today—in its more conservative branches, and especially during this holy season of Lent that God’s purpose was to have an intimate relationship with humanity, not the traditional belief that Jesus came to die on the cross so as to save us from our sins.

Scottish scholar, Sister Mary Beth Ingham, CSJ states clearly, “The Incarnation was not plan B (because something went wrong in the garden)—it was always plan A”—God became one of us out of love, to show us in no uncertain terms, how to live and how to love.

For each of us, our journey through life is a process; coming to understand this mystery of how much God loves us. Few of us get to have a “burning bush” experience in our life-times like Moses did—something that seals in our hearts and minds that God is above, around, and within, and will not let anything happen to us. We have all struggled with the “whys” in life—why horrible and sad things happen to people, like the cyclone in Africa, starvation, drug overdoses, people who are not wanted or not considered by some, good enough, due to how our God happened to have made them; female, gay, trans, black. Much in the news today gives us reason to ponder and wonder why seemingly innocent people are made to suffer.

Sometimes we realize that tragedies happen due to people’s choices. But at other times, the ravages of nature can devastate, gun violence, due to the easy availability of these weapons in our society, leave us reeling. Our hope is that we as a world, as a nation, can do what we must to make it possible for everyone to eat,  to make our people safer going forward, taking the necessary steps on common sense gun safety measures as New Zealand did so decisively this last week.  If we truly are about protecting the children and all others, perhaps we need to, as a nation, give up the weapons, or at least reduce the amount that make the slaughter of the innocents all too common, all too easy.

The same can be said of clergy sex abuse in our Church.  We must as a Church be willing to do whatever it takes to stop this abuse and we must demand this of our so-called leaders.  Francis is a step in the right direction with admitting at least that the problem lies within the clerical cult.  We need to pray for him that the Spirit guiding him can break through so that he can see the real truth, and begin to dismantle the clerical structure that makes abuse of every kind possible.

Today, we are comforted in the story of the fig tree as it reminds us to always remember that our loving God is a God of mercy, who will be there to stand with us in our pain, to give us a second chance, when needed.

Many of us grew up with the message that God sent Jesus, our brother to die for our sins and Lent was a time to dwell on that notion. It wasn’t something we questioned as children and grew into adulthood believing.  In a black and white world such theology can, for a time, be acceptable, but when placed alongside the “gray” of what life brings, it often falls short. Ministers over time have tried to give consolation to parents who have lost a child with the fact that God understands their loss because of Jesus’ death.  That old theology said God sent or chose to have Jesus die whereas the grieving parents didn’t choose to lose their child, so there is a disconnect.

We have to remember God’s words to Moses about who God is:  “I am who I am” and not try to mold God into someone we can understand.  Perhaps reading God’s words and seeing the very best offered there should be our task. Our human experience is about “being on holy ground,” about seeing God’s continual mercy—about always giving us another chance to make good with our lives.

Paul’s reading today from Corinthians, basically relates the story of how God through Moses saved the people from slavery in Egypt and brought them into the Promised Land.  But this people forgot time and again their promises to God and felt they were invincible—that they could live as they wished.  Paul reminds the Corinthians that God in Jesus asks that they live and act with justice, mercy and love toward all, just as Jesus showed them, shows us, the way.

The God whom we hopefully all believe in is one of love who wants a loving relationship with us, and thus sent us our brother Jesus, to help us to truly understand. Yes, Jesus did die, but it was a direct result of how he had lived—not because of our sin. I believe a theology such as this makes sense to all of us and then allows God to bring comfort to a grieving parent whose love relationship with their child ended in tragedy, or simply too soon. And just as God cried when Jesus died, God, who is all about love, cries with us in our suffering—rejoices with us in our happiness.  We have a very relational God, my friends, a fact that we shouldn’t often forget!

The psalmist’s prayer today can truly be ours in hard times, “our God is truly kind and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in gracious ways.”   As we live our lives, I think it behooves us to have eyes and ears open to see the interventions God makes through parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, co-workers, neighbors—God is always there—we just have to have eyes to see and recognize. I think of the examples in my family’s lives—walking through cancer, loss of an expected baby, the loss of family members—times when we stood as a family, sharing the tears, giving the support—God was there as we shared our love and concern.  And I know it was so with each of you in your life’s journey. We must remember as in our first reading today, what God told Moses—he was standing on holy ground. We must realize the chances we have daily to share God’s love, God’s desire to be one with us in the encounters of each day.  We too are standing on holy ground!

So, if we are waiting for one “burning bush” experience; we may miss the gracious appearance of our loving God in all we meet and touch each and every day.  May the ordinary, seen through new eyes, become then, “burning bush” experiences for each of us!  Amen? Amen!