The First Sunday of Lent (Year B)

INTO THE WILDERNESS

The First Sunday of Lent (Year B)

Genesis 9: 8-15; 1 Peter 3: 18-22; Mark 1: 12-15

East of Jerusalem, on the road to Jericho and the Dead Sea, lies the desolate Judaean desert wilderness. The warm Mediterranean air flows this way, but lingers in the rolling hilltops to the west, dropping its moisture before pouring down into this narrow strip of land parched by dry winds. You can find water here, but you must go down to get it. Steep canyons drop into the earth, and to find refreshment, you would have to descend, and the way is perilous. If you came this way in springtime, the sparse seasonal dew gives way to stubbly grasses. It’s good for grazing sheep, but never enough to satisfy their hunger. And if you wait too long, the heat of the day is withering. On the other side, should you make it through, you’d find the Jordan River Valley, green and full of life. But this is the wilderness.

The wilderness is a place of preparation, a place for intercession, a place to wait on God. After crossing the waters of the Red Sea, God led Moses and the Hebrew people into the wilderness and to the mountain, where Moses fasted for forty days and forty nights prior to receiving the tablets of the law. After the profound experiences of Passover and the miraculous bread from heaven, the wilderness is where the Israelites provoked God’s patience and fell into idolatry. After the Israelites sinned, Moses went up the mountain again and fasted forty days and forty nights to intercede between God and the people, after which God relented from His anger.

Roughly four hundred years later, King David fled to the wilderness to fast and wait on God for deliverance after his lapse into adultery and while his own son hunted him in open rebellion. Finally, Elijah fled for his life to the wilderness after shattering the religion of Baal, where he fell to the ground in a refusal of his calling, and yet where he was comforted, sustained, and renewed before he also undertook a forty day fast on the road to meet with God.

This is the land of John the Baptist, subsisting on locusts and preaching repentance. This is the land where we find Jesus, walking from the Jordan where He was baptized toward Jerusalem where He would be crucified.

The wilderness is where the identity of God’s people is revealed, and it is for this reason that Jesus chooses the wilderness as the setting for His battle with the devil. He becomes an icon for all of God’s people, taking on His shoulders their history and their destiny. But where the people of Israel had failed their own wilderness test, where even Moses, David, and Elijah faltered in their own callings through disobedience, infidelity, or exhaustion, Jesus proves His obedience, faithfulness, and strength. His victory over the devil was a victory to fulfill Israel’s calling through perfect faithfulness to the word of God.

In the wilderness:

No hunger could stop Him.

No power could pervert Him.

No temptation could compromise Him.

No taunt could unnerve Him.

No thing could defeat Him.

No death could stop Him.

Instead, emerging triumphantly from the wilderness,

He would bring fullness to those who are hungry.

He would bring judgment to those who pervert power.

He would bring strength against our temptations.

He would bring courage to our battles.

He would bring victory and life through humiliation and death.

He would bring unstoppable, unending life.

Lent is our own forty-day trek into the wilderness. The Spirit drives us there, as it drove Jesus, so we can deal with the things that would seduce us away from God or identify and do battle with the things that are destroying us – those things that cripple or limit our lives. God drives us into the wilderness for our own good because it is there, in the wilderness, that we come to know ourselves, our strengths and weaknesses, and our divine calling. And there, in the silence and recollection of the wilderness, we come to terms with ourselves as we really are.

But, if we’re honest with ourselves, we try our best to avoid the wilderness. During this Lenten season of fasting and focus, of praying and preparing, we’re tempted to simply go through the motions. We’re tempted to skirt the wilderness, to turn away from encountering the wild places in our lives and in our world. We’re tempted to turn away from the mirror reality that reveals things we would prefer not to see, our imperfections and the things that need change. But if we are to follow Jesus, if we are to be renewed for new possibilities and prepared to hope once more, we must face the wild. And, if we’re truly honest with ourselves, we know deep down inside that we need the wilderness. We know in our bones and deep within our souls that the wilderness calls, cajoles, and compels us even when we resist. God has work for us to do and that work begins, like it did with Jesus, when we are driven to the wild places of discovery.

And so, this Lent, go to the wilderness:

• Go to the wilderness to discover anew the joy of being beloved.
• Go to the wilderness to learn once more what it means to be and live as God's beloved son or daughter.
• Go to the wilderness to listen for the voice of God calling you once again.
• Go to the wilderness to see Christ more clearly in the world around you.
• Go to the wilderness because that is where God is encountered.
• Go to the wilderness because you can no longer be as you have always been.

No doubt about it, the wilderness will cost you more than any vacation get-a-way does. For more than money, it demands payment in prayer and introspection and sacrifice and acts of charity and, the costliest of all, a repentant heart. But the price is well worth it. For I can guarantee you that, if you endure the wilderness for the next forty days, you will emerge from it with a clearer head, a bigger heart and a deeper soul.

Jesus went into the wilderness and fought temptation. We face temptation too. But, maybe, the biggest temptation we face this morning is to not enter the wilderness at all. Let’s not give into it. Let’s make this Lent different, special, our best Lent ever. “This is the time of fulfillment, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.”

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

AND SUDDENLY NOTHING IS THE SAME

Readings: Leviticus 13:1-2, 44-46; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Mark 1:40-45

Let me ask you a question . . . Has anyone here ever seen the Broadway musical "Drat the Cat?" Has anyone even heard of the musical "Drat the Cat?" Probably not, because "Drat the Cat" was one of the biggest flops in the history of musical theater. The show opened on Broadway on October 10, 1965 and closed on October 16, 1965 - only eight performances. And probably this musical would today be completely forgotten except for one song that was in its score that had the good fortune to have been recorded by Barbra Streisand and became one of the biggest hits in her early career. The song is called “He Touched Me,” and I found that I was singing this song to myself this week because, if they were ever to produce a musical version of today’s gospel, I think it would be a perfect song for the leper to sing after he had been cured by Jesus. If you’re not familiar with the song, part of the lyrics go like this:

He touched me, he put his hand near mine

And then he touched me

I felt a sudden tingle when he touched me

A sparkle, a glow

He knew it...it wasn’t accidental, no, he knew it

He smiled and seem to tell me so all through it

He touched me . . . he touched me . . . 

And suddenly nothing is the same!

Touch. There's something about it that draws us in close to someone, gets us involved, even with strangers. But there can also be something frightening about touch. It can make us uncomfortable, and we can be threatened by it because it prevents us from keeping a safe physical and emotional distance from another person. We take a chance when we reach across to grasp another's hand. It's like we're reaching through this safe barrier, and we're putting ourselves at risk. We could be rejected or, worse still, we could catch something.

When Jesus touches the leper in our Gospel story today, he places himself at great risk. His touch seems very reckless, because to touch a leper was to pay a big price. It was to become like one of them, to take the disease on yourself - to be contaminated physically, socially, and even spiritually. Jesus didn't have to touch him. He could have cured him in many other ways, with only words. But he didn't play it safe. He touched him. Jesus took this unclean man, and made him clean, while he himself became unclean. Jesus took this outcast, this pitiful and rejected person, and made him accepted, while he himself became rejected. He knew all the consequences, but it didn't stop him.

Leprosy was a catch-all for all kinds of diseases of the skin - from the very deadly and highly contagious, to the very harmless. It didn't make any difference. In the ancient world, as we learn from the Book of Leviticus, those who suffered from these diseases were all treated the same. They became outcasts, and forced out of society, from whatever ways of life they had, from whatever wealth they had accumulated, from their families, from everyone, except from others who suffered as they did. They were isolated in camps on the outskirts of the cities; they had to wear torn clothing, to shave their heads, and cry out "unclean, unclean", or sound a bell to warn others that they were approaching. They could come no closer to you than fifty paces. It was like they were already dead. To be a leper was to suffer the worst stigma of society - not only was it a physical disease, it was a terrible social disease robbing its victims of everything of value.

When the leper approaches Jesus, he comes begging on his knees. No calling out "unclean, unclean", no sounding of the warning bell, no standing at fifty paces. He crawls to the feet of Jesus, and in a profound statement of faith, says to him, "If you want to, you can make me clean." He doesn't ask for healing, he asks for cleanliness; to be restored to society, to what he once was, to be accepted, to come home, to be normal again. And the Gospel tells us that Jesus was moved with pity. But his reaction was much more than that. Some translations say that he was angry, maybe even filled with rage - not at the leper, but at the disease, and at what had happened to this man, at the way he was being treated.

And what does Jesus do? He touches him - he reaches down, and touches him. He who was feared by all, he who was on the very bottom of society, he who was treated as if he was already dead, he who was untouchable, was touched by Jesus. What an incredible encounter!

We don’t hear much about leprosy today, but our society has its lepers. Oh, we don't call them by that name, but we treat them as if they were. They don't necessarily wear torn clothes, or carry a bell around their necks, or cry out "unclean, unclean" - but they're all around us. We isolate them; we keep them at a safe distance. Anyone with a disease we fear or a lifestyle we disapprove of. Anyone we judge for something they've done or a choice they've made. The obese, the unattractive, those with terrible acne, the disabled, those who suffer from addictions or from diseases we're afraid of; those who are of a different race, different ethnicity, different religion, different sexual orientation; those we only see through the eyes of ignorance, fear, and contempt. Maybe the lepers are even members of our own families - our children, our brothers and sisters who have gotten into trouble and brought attention or shame to us. The lepers are there, many more than we think - all the untouchables, all those we're afraid to touch.

And there are some of us who feel like lepers at times. Some of us are scarred with pain, the pain of being left behind, forgotten. Some of us bear enormous weights on our shoulders from excess emotional and spiritual "baggage" that has been accumulating for years. Some of us feel we have been shut out of family circles, communities of faith, and places where we once belonged. Some of us are so lonely and angry and depressed we're sure life isn't worth living. And some of us are so tired that we can hardly move. In a world that seeks intimacy, we feel neglected and overwhelmed.

The man afflicted with leprosy in today’s gospel needed Jesus' touch, and that is exactly what Jesus gave him. Christ is willing to meet whatever need we have as well. The man with leprosy came to Jesus and begged him on his knees, "If you will it, you can make me clean." Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I do will it!" he said. "Be clean!"

“I do will it!” What powerful words they are. In fact, I doubt we can ever fully understand the depth of those words. And like the leper in today’s gospel, our loving God says to us, “I do will it.”

• I do will to fill you with faith if you open your heart to me.
• I do will to cleanse your soul and relieve the burden of sin that you carry, if you only turn to me.
• I do will to lead you and guide, comfort you and strengthen you for whatever life brings your way, if you will only trust in me.
• I do will to bless you abundantly everyday with everything good, holy, beautiful, true, loving, and life-giving, if you but ask for it in faith.
• I do will to stretch out my hands on the cross and die, even though it is for your sins that I die.

Powerful words, "I do will it." Christ is willing to heal our every hurt. Christ is willing to take away every sin. Christ is willing to grant us new life, if only we ask. We must be as confident as the leper bringing our fears and failings to Christ, and with the same words as his: “If you will it, you can heal me.” And Christ’s answer will be for us as it was then: “Of course I will. Be healed."

And when we allow that to happen, then the song from the musical "Drat the Cat" becomes our anthem as well. For when we allow Jesus to touch us, “suddenly nothing is the same.”

The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

IN SEARCH OF OUR DESERTED PLACES

Readings: Job 7:1-4. 6-7; 1 Corinthians 9:16-19, 22-23; Mark 1:29-39

I heard a story this week. It’s about a man who suffered a serious heart attack and was taken to a Catholic hospital run by nuns to have emergency bypass surgery. The surgery went well, and as the man regained consciousness, he was reassured by one of the nuns waiting by his bedside. "Mr. Smith, you're going to be just fine," the nun said while patting his hand. "But we do have to know, however, how you intend to pay for your stay here. Are you covered by insurance?"

"No, I'm not," the man whispered hoarsely.

"Well then, can you pay in cash?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Sister."

The nun asked, "Well then, do you have any close relatives who could help you?" "

"I only have a spinster sister, who, like you, is a nun." the man replied.

The nun got a little indignant and announced loudly, "Nuns are not spinsters, Mr. Smith! Nuns are married to God."

”All right,” the patient replied, "Send the bill to my brother-in-law!"

In today’s gospel, we hear about another “in-law”, Peter’s mother-in-law, and how Jesus cured her of fever. But this event is just one of many that Mark presents to us in the first chapter of his gospel, which could probably best be titled, “A Day in the Life of Jesus Christ.” The day begins in the bright sunshine of a Galilean morning when Jesus walks out alongside the lake and invites Peter and Andrew, James and John to come follow him, and moves into a mid-morning visit to a synagogue in Capernaum (for this was a Sabbath day), where Jesus leaves the people wide-eyed and mouths agape over his teaching and the exorcism of a demon that possessed a man. The day takes in an afternoon visit some hours later at the home of Peter and Andrew, where Jesus cures Peter’s mother-in-law and traces the events of a busy evening in that city, as thousands gathered to be ministered to by Jesus. And the day finally concludes with a solitary prayer vigil in the hills during the lonely hours of the early morning. Thus a full twenty-four hours is given to us in this account. This seems to be a pretty typical day – a day of healing, counseling, teaching, preaching and caring. Mark is a gospel of action, and Jesus has a full calendar.

In this “Day in the Life of Jesus Christ” Mark depicts Jesus as . . . well, much like you and me: busy, working hard, putting in long hours. Yet unlike us much of the time, Jesus demonstrates a balance in his life. Yes, there were times he made himself completely available to the crowds who came seeking healing, help and wisdom. But in the midst of the busy-ness of his ministry and because of that busy-ness, Jesus went out to a deserted place, a place of solitude, a place to be alone, and He prayed. He spent time with His Father. He spent time rejuvenating His Spirit. He spent time reconnecting and communicating with the ultimate source of power in His life and ministry.

This time of silence and solitude, alone with his Father, was much more important and productive than the extra hour's sleep that his body needed. He was deliberate in his choices of place and time for prayer. He knew that this was a special time when he could rest in the arms of his Father without external demands. One-on-one time. A time to receive his daily direction, to inhale trust and to exhale all things that desired to divert him from what he was to do.

What about you and me? We live in a hi-tech, fast pace, workaholic world where no one rests. We're constantly on the road, running errands, going places. We stuff ourselves with "fast food," overbook our lives with a myriad of things to do, and at the end of the day we're totally exhausted. We're controlled by the need to do.

One of the great gifts of God-Among-Us, is that Jesus truly knows our tiredness as we try to walk in His footsteps. He understands what it's like to have days that are emotionally draining from broken hearts, as well as the "good kind of tired" from days of great joy. Our days are familiar to Jesus. But oh, what He must not understand about us is that we make time for anything and everything else during our day, to the point of exhaustion, and yet often push that time that He cherishes so much – that time of solitude and silence - completely out of our schedules.

Yes, we do lead busy lives. And yes, there are many things vying for our efforts and attention. But in the hectic pace of our daily schedules, we need to build in personal prayer time, time to relax, time to "get away" so that God can refresh us and empower us. This is necessary and essential. Jesus needed it and so do we. We need to lose ourselves in the deserted places of our lives. The ones who have to have our attention, who need to be healed, who need our guidance, who need our help, will find us. Just like they found Jesus. But we must be wise like Jesus, take time to listen to God. And to be listened to.

Sometimes God comes and finds us. Sometimes we go and find God. There are moments, even amidst our busyness, when the distractions all fall away and God shows up in a powerful, sometimes even dramatic, way. But the rest of the time, even though God is always there, we have to make time to notice by finding our own deserted and quiet place. And, sometimes in our busy, fast-paced life we have to be creative and persistent to find it. Our deserted place can be a New York City subway or bus. It can be in our car or in a waiting room. It could even be a garage or a bathroom. Wherever we can find even those few moments of quiet, we have found a holy place. There can be a lot of other stuff taking place. We just have to recognize that the peace of prayer is not about what's around us; it's a matter of what is within us. If we are too busy to pray, we are simply too busy. As much as a meal or an appointment, prayer and quiet have to a part of life. Those times are usually there, even if unexpected. They just need to be highlighted and given attention.

In the gospel of Mark, five times Jesus took a boat trip to get away or just went down to the sea. Two times He went into the hills. One time He took a walk through the grain fields, and another time we find Him high up a mountain. On two occasions He goes where he wants to be "unknown;” another time He simply, "went home" Still another time we find Him "going beyond the Jordan." His final time to Himself is climaxed with time alone and in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. In the mornings, in the evenings, Jesus kneels. At a time when the options are far from easy, Jesus kneels. In solitude, with intention, Jesus kneels. Jesus kneels and prays to be perfectly in tune with his Father's will.

Discipleship means following . . . following Jesus and matching footprint for footprint. - His way becomes our way of life, Hs teachings become our lessons, His love, His gentleness, His compassion, His mercy, His unconditional love, His ethics, His selflessness, His total dedication to His Father, become the pattern for our lives.

And if this is true, then discipleship also means, like Jesus, finding our own deserted place . . . our solitary space . . . finding our kneeling place.