William Blake’s poem, “The Garden of Love” seems to resonate with Jesus’ disagreements with the organized religion of his time. So, writes the poet:
I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires. Rules exist to set things and people in order. Rules regulate, restrict, and control human behaviors. In the gospel lesson today, Jesus talks about ancient rules and makes them stricter. His standards are much higher than ancient ones because they require one’s true intentions, motivations, and examination of conscience. These newly added rules of Jesus would not attract his potential followers. More so if they have been tired of all the Jewish laws they have not been able to keep up with. Jesus’ teaching is supposed to set people free but seems worse than how it has been. But is this really the case? While I have no urge to defend Jesus, especially on his view on divorce which should be approached critically in his context and ours, it seems to me his stricter standards and requirements to be his follower can lead us beyond the rules and to live truly free of restrictions. All the ancient precepts Jesus mentions in the lesson still apply to our situation: no killing, no harmful relationship, and no lying. Keeping them helps us stay away from serious troubles. But the purpose of keeping these precepts and many others is not merely to stay out of trouble, which is motivated by fear. For us Christians, these precepts create a basic contemplative environment so that our unskillful actions are not in the way of deepening our sense of God’s presence. Jesus, however, urges us to go beyond. Don’t be satisfied with these minimum requirements. These are the boundaries that we’re to stay within for our own sake first and for others’ sake in turn. Jesus takes us to look much deeper inside. Before any murder takes place, before any lustful desire comes, before a lie is about to be constructed, look what’s underneath. Resentment and fear may fuel a thought of hurting someone. The desire for sensual pleasures to find a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment may drive us to be in a relationship that would eventually destroy relationships rooted in mutual trust. Dishonesty may arrive from serving one’s interest only at the expense of others. Jesus doesn’t call for a stricter form of religion but for the purity of the heart. The purity of the heart is the core of his good news: “Change your heart.” What matters then is how. Think of this process as gardening. Before planting anything, testing the soil of our hearts comes first. Simple questions would be whether our soil has rocks, silt, clay, sand, or mixed and if our soil is acidic, alkaline, or neutral. Contemplation invites us to see what kind of soil we have in our hearts. See what’s in there. We then want to build a deep, well-drained, fertile soil as we sort out or detach ourselves from clinging to unskillful emotions. Rocks and roots that we dig out may come from painful memories in the past that we may have buried deep inside or that are just there as a big rock we often stumble upon. Removing those rocks and roots may be quite challenging. This is similar to the experience of contemplation in which we can see in silence how busy the mind is. Yet, deep contemplation comes with a sense of refreshment and joy. (Recall those moments after physical exercise or labor. We might have some body aches yet there’s something that feels quite good about it.) In this spiritual exercise of contemplation, all the rules become secondary. The Spirit helps us pull out the weeds. The Spirit grows a seed and waters it. This work of the Spirit is to get rid of tombstones and resurrect sweet flowers from graves, to build the garden of love in our hearts. We would feel enormous pressure to be “the salt of the earth” and “the light of the world?” if our understanding of salt and light is that we have to become someone so special and important. Indeed, both salt and light are important for many reasons. Salt is crucial for seasoning and preserving food or keeping our human body in balance. Without light, we cannot see any object. Following Jesus is certainly like becoming salt and light. This creates a holy burden for his followers, which includes us. Yet, I believe its importance does not focus on becoming someone visibly crucial as if one has to be in the spotlight.
Salt is invisible once it’s dissolved in food. Salt’s purpose is to hide itself and help food taste just right. Light itself is invisible. Its purpose is to make things seen. This common aspect of invisibility may not sound so attractive or even disappointing and discouraging to those of us who are nostalgic for the “good old days” of parishes having multiple Sunday services and functioning as the main locus of social life. But that was then, this is now. I would like us to envision in concretely invisible ways how St. Agnes’ can be the salt of the earth and the light of the world in Little Falls. This vision of a somewhat preanalytic cognitive act needs personal and communal prayers of thoroughly going through the needs of our local community. At times, we would like our efforts to be publicly recognized, which we can only resist when we join Christ’s mission from the place of deep contemplation in which “we taste infinitude” as Pablo Neruda says. Ode To Salt by Pablo Neruda This salt in the saltcellar I once saw in the salt mines. I know you won't believe me, but it sings, salt sings, the skin of the salt mines sings with a mouth smothered by the earth. I shivered in those solitudes when I heard the voice of the salt in the desert. Near Antofagasta the nitrous pampa resounds: a broken voice, a mournful song. In its caves the salt moans, mountain of buried light, translucent cathedral, crystal of the sea, oblivion of the waves. And then on every table in the world, salt, we see your piquant powder sprinkling vital light upon our food. Preserver of the ancient holds of ships, discoverer on the high seas, earliest sailor of the unknown, shifting byways of the foam. Dust of the sea, in you the tongue receives a kiss from ocean night: taste imparts to every seasoned dish your ocean essence; the smallest, miniature wave from the saltcellar reveals to us more than domestic whiteness; in it, we taste infinitude. During the time of sharing our insight and wisdom on the Eve of Christmas at the Zoom Christmas vigil service, G said something essential and fundamental to the Christian doctrine called Christology. When asked, “How is your Christmas going?” he answered, “Trying to make sense of Jesus, the God-man.” This is expressed in St. John’s gospel as “the Word became flesh.” The process of making sense of Jesus is to see God in him. While we can intellectualize this process as how Jesus is God or how he became God, I would like us to rechannel that focus to something more practical with this question: As much as we try to see God in Jesus, how are we seeing God in ourselves and others? This question doesn’t attempt to claim we share the same divine nature as our doctrines confess about Jesus but to remind us of his good news to us that God dwells in us. His life, death, and resurrection are committed to showing the indwelling presence of God in all human beings in the name of love.
So, Jesus’ good news is that God is within us, Emmanuel because God loves. The better news he manifests through the crucifixion and resurrection is that the availability of God’s presence in us doesn’t depend on who we are or what kind of person we are. God is always available and present to us no matter who we are, yet our lack of awareness of God’s living presence in us may confuse us that God conditionally loves us, that God is conditionally available to us. If this conditional availability of God really is the case, then that god is too small and even petty. Love seeks a genuine relationship, a complete union with unlimited goodwill and good intentions for the other. God’s perpetual presence in us entails this deep union since God is in us and fills us with God’s goodwill which we may call “vocations” in religious terms or “purposes in life” as we become heedful of this divine presence in our human body. This good news and better news cannot be conveyed and experienced through mere words but only through our personal experience. Mere words are like books or this reflection. Some encounter the Emmanuel experience dramatically as told in radical conversion stories of St. Augustine or St. Paul. Others do it rather subtly in quiet places. What about our practice of the opening acclamation before we pray? The officiant who says “The Lord be with you” reminds others that God is with them. In turn, others remind the officiant that God is also with that person, “Also with you.” There are, of course, those who experience it in both or more diverse ways through music, arts, sports, leisure, etc. One of the communal and personal ways to experience the indwelling presence of God that I suggest is contemplation as you already know. The baptism of Jesus which we celebrate today invites us to look again at God dwelling in us. As Jesus is baptized, God declares to the world that he is God’s beloved. Now, let’s move further from being a passive observer or reader of this event to being an active participant in this event. Imagine your own baptismal experiences. It doesn’t matter whether you actually remember the day of your actual baptism. What matters is that you remember that you’re baptized. Our act of receiving the Eucharist is a reminder of your baptism. Overlap yourself in the image of Jesus at the River Jordan. Unite yourself with Jesus. His baptism becomes yours. (It IS the same as your own baptism as the Church teaches.) We see ourselves in his baptism and we are once again reminded of us becoming God’s beloved. As we see God in Jesus, we place ourselves in Jesus’ position that we see God in us. Please note that the lesson this morning is not from St. Matthew’s gospel 3:13-17 which depicts the scene of Jesus’ baptism. I intentionally selected the Isaiah reading so that we can apply it to ourselves and embody this baptism of Jesus as we meditate on it. Here’s a simple instruction: reread the Isaiah reading as if you’re that “servant”, “my chosen” that it is not only Jesus of Nazareth but you also who now is united through that same baptism. What kind of image of God do you have? Think about those images and if helpful, try to jot them down. There’s no one right answer. We’re generally familiar with God being “Creator” “Lover” “Father” or “Judge”. This spiritual practice of honestly examining our perception of God shows us how we personally make sense of God. Some are coming from our intimate experiences of God while others may be taught. The key here is that our perception of God is to be renewed through our encounters with God and communities, not through indoctrination. Please keep in mind that although we confess we are created in the image of God, we at times create God in our own image or based on our perception of what God should be.
In the lesson this morning, St. Paul suggests another image and changes the entire narrative of God and people through Christ. There are two images of God and two images of believers that St. Paul contrasts with. The first image of God is that of a master, which turns us into a slave. The other image of God is that of a father to whom we are adopted children through Christ. St. Paul would like to remind his readers of how they call God in their prayers: “God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’” Calling God “Father” isn’t new to us as Jesus taught us how to pray, “Our Father who art in heaven…” We find great comfort in this parental image of God. It works even better for those whose biological father exemplified love and compassion. Also, this image might or might not work for those whose biological father wasn’t available to provide love. In this case, one might substitute one’s biological father with God as one’s real father. Or one might just be troubled by this fatherly image of God. The point I would like to make is this: as St. Paul shows us how to expand his perception of God through Christ, I would like to challenge all of us to do something similar. This practice helps us expand our imagination and experience of God. I also echo Bishop Spong’s words: “The God understood as a father figure, who guided ultimate personal decisions, answered our prayers, and promised rewards and punishment based upon our behavior was not designed to call anyone into maturity.” But I wouldn’t just suggest we try anything and everything to make a perfect image of who God ought to be. Scriptures become our guide and our spiritual practice of contemplation makes our encounter with God real. So, I recall St. Paul’s introductory phrase of today’s lesson as our starting point: “When the fullness of time had come…” This fullness of time is the coming of Christ. Then, I ask all of us, “When has the fullness of time come to your heart?” (It’s not December 25!) In other words, when is your Christmas in your life journey? It’s not just one specific day that this fullness of time comes. It is whenever we find ourselves in the presence of God. It can be when we’re in nature or when we sit in an empty church or when we laugh or weep together with friends and families. These are all those moments of the fullness of time constantly coming and availing itself to us, and we want to be in this moment of fullness more heedfully and intentionally. So, we sit and contemplate in silence, longing to welcome Christ who is coming, who is already dwelling, and who is waiting to be seen. From this inner experience of God, we expand our experiences of God. So, we develop the eyes of a poet: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?” (Matthew 6:28b-30) Dorothy Day, the founder of the Catholic Worker movement, eloquently captures the meaning of God coming and dwelling in our midst in the life of Jesus as she says, “I’m so glad that Jesus was born in a stable. Because my soul is so much like a stable. It is poor and in unsatisfactory condition because of guilt, falsehoods, inadequacies, and sin. Yet I believe that if Jesus can be born in a stable, maybe he can also be born in me.”
I find this saying of Dorothy Day hopeful and encouraging, especially as we start a new year. A stable where Jesus is born no longer functions as a stable for animals but a home or shelter for Jesus. What makes this particular stable so special is its unusual and strange guest, not its typical resident animals. This image best describes the reality of adoption that St. Paul talks about in the lesson this morning. We are God’s children because we who are the stables have this Christ in our midst. What makes us so special is again our unusual and strange guest, not our typical ego. We become God’s children because of and through Christ in us. Christ being born and dwelling in us reshapes how we make sense of self or ego just as the stable in which Jesus is born is transformed to a sanctuary and its resident animals to God’s companions who provide warmth and protection to the baby Jesus. Baptism is our public ritual to signify this transformative reality of Christ in us. This sacrament is the church’s bidding for all of us that Christ is awakened and enlightened in us. The way to experience Christ being born and dwelling in us is through contemplation. In deep silence, we become much more attuned to the presence of God that has been with us before the foundation of the world. Only in this union, we’re holy and blameless before God in love as St. Paul describes in the lesson. We see ourselves, others, and the world from this contemplative reality with the eyes of our hearts enlightened. Now, let’s be honest with ourselves. Do we have a genuine desire for this kind of contemplative life? Is there any convincing reason for us to believe that this life is better than how we live now? Why bother to go on this journey if we’re already satisfied with our current lifestyle? But are we truly satisfied with ourselves, how we think and live as well as others, how they think and live? What about the world we live in and struggle to survive during this pandemic crisis? Is it satisfying? Dissatisfaction can be painful to accept but can be the greatest motivation to make a change. There must be something better. To do so and to go even beyond a matter of satisfaction or dissatisfaction, we don’t have to look elsewhere but within. We don’t have to start from scratch. Our Christian tradition already has a wealth of spiritual resources to help us live a fulfilling life. Baptism, as it is for us to gain the eyes of our hearts enlightened, is the key. The seed is already sown in our hearts, and baptism highlights that universal, catholic reality of every human being that Christ is in us. In our encounter with Christ, we can experience a sense of completion, peace, and fullness of God’s presence in us. We don’t need anyone to get to Christ within our very being but fellow travelers who can walk together with us and join God’s work of love and compassion. The way is only through and from within, which is another expression of the contemplative life. Talking about it, like I do now, doesn’t do anything to you but its sole purpose is to motivate all of us to embark on this life together as contemplative companions. St. John of the Cross says, “In the inner stillness where meditation leads, the Spirit secretly anoints the soul and heals our deepest wounds.” Don’t we wonder what it’s like to experience the Spirit secretly anointing us and healing our deepest wounds? Aren’t we curious about what we would be like after this experience? I invite all of us to include in your new year’s resolution deepening your spiritual practice of contemplation. As we see unexpected and unprecedented changes in our world, more so with the pandemic crisis, cultivating a life of contemplation has become crucial to living better and fuller. |
Paul"...life up your love to that cloud [of unknowing]...let God draw your love up to that cloud...through the help of his grace, to forget every other thing." Archives
January 2025
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