Isaiah 40:4-5
4 "Every valley shall be exalted And every mountain and hill brought low; The crooked places shall be made straight And the rough places smooth; 5 The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, And all flesh shall see it together; For the mouth of the Lord has spoken."
These are the words that keep running through my mind during the current corona virus pandemic. For the first time that I know of, the entire world is focused on the same thing. We are unified in our concerns and reactions to the corona virus. We are unified in sickness and in death. We are all brought to our knees and the playing field is leveled; we are all in basic survival mode with pretentions and past differences set aside. No one is better or worse than anyone else, and no one is exempt. There is also a level of universal kindness in evidence that is quite remarkable - the valleys are indeed raised up and the hills are brought low. And while I am lonely, scared, and at times quite depressed about the situation, my complaints are insignificant in the face of what is going on because we are all in this together. Oh, I could complain, but the response would rightly be, "Take a ticket and get in line."
We are in the season of Lent, Passion Sunday today, to be specific. For the past five weeks we have been focused on the wilderness experience, Jesus' journey to the cross. Some of us gave up pleasures and abstained from familiar activities to join ourselves to Jesus' walk to the cross, not knowing that very shortly after Ash Wednesday we would all be plunged into an involuntary and even deeper level of sacrifice, including not even being able to attend Mass. While all of this is challenging and frightening - and this week and next are predicted to be the worst of the situation for the US, peaking during Holy Week, which also includes Passover, making this coming week doubly holy - I am more aware then usual of God's presence and his love- especially as manifested by our caring for one another other - something big is going on here! - and deep down, I know that we are going to be okay, that Easter morning - whatever the exact date - will come.
A blessed (and healthy) Holy Week to all.
Hosanna, Loud Hosanna!
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Monday, March 25, 2013
March 25 - Lent, Day 41 - Jesus, Our Passover Lamb
Film scan from 2001. Flat Point Farm, West Tisbury, Massachusetts.
I participated in many Passover seders over the past twelve years, and at each one, when the leader elevated and broke the middle matzah (unleavened bread) and declared, "This is the bread of our affliction," I was always immediately transported back to the Sacrifice of the Mass where the priest elevates the Bread of Life (also unleavened) and declares, before breaking it, "Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world."
As I write today, the eve of Passover, I do think of my Jewish friends who will be entering one of their holiest weeks this evening at sundown. From either direction, I've always loved the fact that Easter and Passover are so closely tied together - seasonally, as well as ritually - creating kind of a double-holy week.
The question for today: How can I deepen my understanding and experience of the Eucharist?
One thing that helped me deepen my understanding of the Eucharist was reading Brant Pitre's Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist (foreward by Scott Hahn), in which he ties many of the ancient temple practices and Jewish scripture to the Last Supper and makes an excellent case for the Eucharist being exactly what Jesus says it is in John 6: his real flesh and his real blood.
However, one cannot understand the Eucharist from one book or from one Holy Communion; rather, it must be experienced over time and incorporated into the context of one's life on a regular basis, I believe.
When I partook of my first Eucharist in twelve years, back in June, I went, quite honestly, not knowing what I believed any more. I knew that I once quite fervently believed it was the Real Presence of our risen Lord, but after so many years of being away from the church and not praying to Jesus, I had no idea what to believe, and I didn't particularly care. All I knew was that I needed to be home.
Interestingly, the effect of that first communion was immediate and profound. There was no doubt that what I experienced was real. I have missed few Masses since that day, and I know that my life, my soul, my faith has profoundly changed for the better, all within the context of prayer, daily Mass, hearing God's word, partaking of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
Dear Lord, I pray to continue to grow in my understanding of your Real Presence in my life.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Roll Away the Stone
"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance."
John 20:1
As I mentioned in my previous post (Open Up the Gates) - I am constantly amazed and fascinated by the power of the sub-conscious mind; the urges that we follow that on the surface appear to be mundane actions but turn out to be fraught with significance.
A few months ago, the week of Easter and Passover, to be exact, I was installing metal posts for my garden fence. I was within a couple of hammer blows of finishing the project when I heard and felt the distinct clinking sound of metal on stone. I've dealt with many a garden stone in my day, and though I was annoyed by the interruption, I figured it would be an easy task to dig the stone out and finish my project for the day. How wrong I was. I ended up having to dig a hole approximately 2' in diameter and at least as deep, and spending a very long time wrestling what turned out to be a massive hunk of granite out of what seemed like the bowels of the earth. And I do mean wrestle. This thing was very heavy, and to make matters worse, it was round, so there was no easy way to grab onto the thing; a slippery thing, it was. I managed to leverage it upwards a bit with the shovel, and after a lot of maneuvering and grunting and swearing, and at one point becoming aware that my fingers were precariously close to the working edge of a shovel that contained a very heavy stone - I did get the boulder up to the surface. As difficult a task as it was, there was also a fantastic feeling of accomplishment when it was done.
I took the above photo with my phone to document my victory, and to show to my friend Ben who had also, coincidentally, done some stone-wrestling the day before. If you compare the size of the stone to the shovel, you'll have an idea of its size.
As I also mentioned in my previous post, I often later discover deeper meanings in what initially appear to be ordinary photographs. It's as though my photos are self-portraits; expositions of my interior world.
When I looked at the photo a few days later, I immediately thought, "Oh, it's a stone at the mouth of a grave," which reminded me of the story about the stone that had been rolled away at Jesus' tomb on Easter morning. Then I realized that it was Good Friday when I was actually thinking these things. I had not been consciously aware, however, that it was Good Friday because, you see, at that time I was Jewish, and the Christian calendar was not on my radar - consciously, anyway. It's like that with me, for some reason. A lot.
And here's the amazing thing: two months later, after living and studying and working in the Jewish world as a fairly observant Jewish person for twelve years, I returned home to the Catholic Church.
So, the photograph turns out to be true in ways that I didn't even know about at the time. On a purely physical level, I did roll away the stone - a huge, heavy stone from deep within the earth, a task that took every bit of cleverness, strength, and sheer stubbornness I've ever had to muster - and yes, I am quite strong and stubborn as it turns out. But the photograph also reveals a profound spiritual truth: on that spring morning during Holy Week 2012, unbeknownst to me at the time, I was wrestling with and rolling away the stone from the tomb where Jesus had been buried inside me for twelve years; unbeknownst to myself, I was in the process of returning to Christianity.
I suppose this could also be filed under "There are no coincidences or accidents." I do know that the subconscious is a fascinating place - is this where God lives? - and I also believe that we each already contain, within ourselves, most of what we need to know about ourselves and that on that April morning I was doing exactly what I needed to do - in a gestalt kind of way - in order to tell myself something I did not yet have words for. I just have one question: how did I know the rock was there?
The stone, in its present location, in my mother and brother, John's, rock garden, created approximately thirty years ago in the backyard of my childhood home in Edgartown where I recently returned to live.
John 20:1
As I mentioned in my previous post (Open Up the Gates) - I am constantly amazed and fascinated by the power of the sub-conscious mind; the urges that we follow that on the surface appear to be mundane actions but turn out to be fraught with significance.
A few months ago, the week of Easter and Passover, to be exact, I was installing metal posts for my garden fence. I was within a couple of hammer blows of finishing the project when I heard and felt the distinct clinking sound of metal on stone. I've dealt with many a garden stone in my day, and though I was annoyed by the interruption, I figured it would be an easy task to dig the stone out and finish my project for the day. How wrong I was. I ended up having to dig a hole approximately 2' in diameter and at least as deep, and spending a very long time wrestling what turned out to be a massive hunk of granite out of what seemed like the bowels of the earth. And I do mean wrestle. This thing was very heavy, and to make matters worse, it was round, so there was no easy way to grab onto the thing; a slippery thing, it was. I managed to leverage it upwards a bit with the shovel, and after a lot of maneuvering and grunting and swearing, and at one point becoming aware that my fingers were precariously close to the working edge of a shovel that contained a very heavy stone - I did get the boulder up to the surface. As difficult a task as it was, there was also a fantastic feeling of accomplishment when it was done.
I took the above photo with my phone to document my victory, and to show to my friend Ben who had also, coincidentally, done some stone-wrestling the day before. If you compare the size of the stone to the shovel, you'll have an idea of its size.
As I also mentioned in my previous post, I often later discover deeper meanings in what initially appear to be ordinary photographs. It's as though my photos are self-portraits; expositions of my interior world.
When I looked at the photo a few days later, I immediately thought, "Oh, it's a stone at the mouth of a grave," which reminded me of the story about the stone that had been rolled away at Jesus' tomb on Easter morning. Then I realized that it was Good Friday when I was actually thinking these things. I had not been consciously aware, however, that it was Good Friday because, you see, at that time I was Jewish, and the Christian calendar was not on my radar - consciously, anyway. It's like that with me, for some reason. A lot.
And here's the amazing thing: two months later, after living and studying and working in the Jewish world as a fairly observant Jewish person for twelve years, I returned home to the Catholic Church.
So, the photograph turns out to be true in ways that I didn't even know about at the time. On a purely physical level, I did roll away the stone - a huge, heavy stone from deep within the earth, a task that took every bit of cleverness, strength, and sheer stubbornness I've ever had to muster - and yes, I am quite strong and stubborn as it turns out. But the photograph also reveals a profound spiritual truth: on that spring morning during Holy Week 2012, unbeknownst to me at the time, I was wrestling with and rolling away the stone from the tomb where Jesus had been buried inside me for twelve years; unbeknownst to myself, I was in the process of returning to Christianity.
I suppose this could also be filed under "There are no coincidences or accidents." I do know that the subconscious is a fascinating place - is this where God lives? - and I also believe that we each already contain, within ourselves, most of what we need to know about ourselves and that on that April morning I was doing exactly what I needed to do - in a gestalt kind of way - in order to tell myself something I did not yet have words for. I just have one question: how did I know the rock was there?
The stone, in its present location, in my mother and brother, John's, rock garden, created approximately thirty years ago in the backyard of my childhood home in Edgartown where I recently returned to live.
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