The lesson this morning from St. Peter’s epistle is addressed to the Christian diaspora in Asia Minor. They are under religious persecution, being labeled as atheists (!) because they don’t believe in gods but one God. We can imagine what they would need from other Christian communities, especially the well-respected elders, is words of encouragement that can inspire hope and resilience to continue to live out their Christian faith and values. And St. Peter seems to know what kind of literary form would be most effective. Rather than prose, poetic expressions filled with metaphors would help these Christians envision who they are called to be. So we see St. Peter’s use of metaphors in today’s lesson.
I would like us to reflect on these metaphors, not just for the sake of what they may mean for us, but to use them as various tools to strengthen our meditation practice. I’ll start from the symbol of “a living stone” to “a spiritual house, a holy and royal priesthood, a chosen race, a holy nation, God’s own people” and then to “newborn infants.” A living stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious Jesus is the living stone, the cornerstone chosen and precious, and the very head of the corner. His teaching on the gospel of God’s kingdom is rejected by local religious and political authorities. He becomes the stone rejected and unchosen by the builders. However, this rejected stone is resurrected in the lives of those who live out the way Jesus does despite his death on the cross. The resurrection of hope in God’s compassion carries on no matter what in the lives of Christ-followers. This rule of life grounded and built in the living stone entails two processes that happen simultaneously and deepen each other. One is to be convinced rationally and willingly that the way of Christ is the most ideal choice to live fully out of love. It’s not fear or anxiety-based, meaning our concern for heaven and hell or luck and curse is not a major motivating factor. Instead, the way of Christ compels us to be fully rooted in compassion and goodwill (God’s will) for ourselves and others. The other is our inner practice and prayer of contemplation to be in God’s presence, thus being one within, and becoming skillful in who we are and what we do. Conviction in Christ’s way opens one’s mind to desire more of God’s presence, and the practice of the Spirit’s presence in oneself deepens that conviction mutually. We hold onto the living stone as the rule of life and ground it in the depth of the mind and body through meditation, through breath. A spiritual house, a holy nation, God’s own people Based on the living stone, we build a spiritual house, a holy nation. We set ourselves apart from what’s opposite from goodwill, joy, compassion, and peace. In other words, we become the Body of Christ, the Church. Now, we become the Church in two ways: communal and personal. The communal way is through the Sacraments of the Eucharist. We become what we practice to be. As we partake in the Eucharist, we become the Eucharist. While the communal way is more like an outer part of the house, the personal way is like constructing inner structures. Everything should be tightly knit together. We allow the Spirit to weave our fractured parts together to be like Christ. Again, to do so is to practice contemplation. In meditation, every breath we take in and out is every pipe, every electric wire, and every brick to be carefully installed. We may have to reinstall some of them. Reframe and refabricate what’s harmful and unskillful to what’s beneficial and skillful to ourselves and others. We build a house and then a nation. Newborn infants One of the joys of witnessing an infant/toddler baptism is not merely limited to seeing their reaction to the cold water poured over their heads. Its joy is to remind ourselves of the image of “newborn infants” used by St. Peter in the lesson this morning. Whether one is actually baptized as an infant or not, we become like newborn infants through baptism. How often do we forget the fact that there were times when we were cute and adorable? Every baptism can be a reminder of our own baptism as well as that “once upon a time, I was the cuteness incarnate!” As we remember our baptism through which we commit to living out the way of Christ, we are like newborn infants. St. Peter directs what newborn infants desire: “Long for the pure, spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow into salvation— if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.” The pure spiritual milk, just like colostrum, is gained through our intimate, contemplative encounter with the Spirit. As the pure spiritual milk is spiritual in its nature, its source is the Spirit. In the presence of the Godhead, we are fed with the colostrum of the Spirit by which one will never thirst like “the water that I shall give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14) In conclusion: the metaphors we’ve reflected on must not merely remain symbolic. They can be used as various means for our meditation practice. We may imagine holding onto the living stone in our hand or setting it deep in our gut as we practice. We may visualize building a spiritual house. We may become like newborn infants, desiring pure spiritual milk, yearning to be free, innocent, and precious in the presence of God. There’s one common behavior I’ve noticed in three of my children. They put everything into their mouths! They check any object with their mouths to see if it’s edible or swallowable. This behavior of whether things are edible or eating themselves is one of the most fundamental human behaviors for survival. This basic human nature of eating is also embedded in our Eucharistic practice.
When the Eucharist is celebrated, consecrated, and broken at St. Agnes’, we’re invited to partake in it with the saying, “Behold what you are. Become what you receive. The gift of God for the people of God.” We behold the consecrated bread and wine, which are symbolized (or transubstantiated) as our own, and become the body and blood of Christ by consuming them. The 19th-century German philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach once said, “Man is what he eats” or “We are what we eat.” How ironic is it to see that the claim of Feuerbach who himself was an atheist is so similar to our Eucharist practice! While Feuerbach said, “A man who enjoys only a vegetable diet is only a vegetating being…” or a vegetarian, we confess we are Eucharistic beings. Eating determines a specific identity that we would like to associate with. (All Feuerbach quotes are from the article “Was Feuerbach right: are we what we eat?” by Giovanni Cizza and Kristina I. Rother.) In this discussion of how eating defines who we are, I want us to push further than Feuerbach who limits this act of becoming only through eating food in a physical sense. It’s not just food through which we become what we are. As much as our body needs food to survive, sustain, and become who we are, our mind needs food too. What kind of food does the mind want and need? We feed ourselves on feelings and thoughts. I don’t mean to be abstract on this idea of the mind feeding on feelings, thoughts, perceptions, etc. because our actions say what the mind is doing. Do you remember when television used to be called “the idiot box” in a derogatory way? It doesn’t respond to us, and we simply watch whatever it shows. Our mind is occupied with and fed by whatever the box shows us. In our time, here come social media. Say, Instagram or TikTok. Video clips that are usually 24-31 seconds feed the mind with various resources from completely silly to educational and informative. One drastic difference between the box and social media is that we can actively create a program we desire. Not only the mind feeds on information through social media but also creates oneself as an influencer. The mind also feeds on various feelings. Rage is one spicy type of mental food that our society devours. Just look at our politics. People on either side take extreme measures and feed their minds on rage-driven thoughts and opinions that they sincerely believe are true. Back to the example of social media platforms just because they present different types of mental food: Yelp for gluttony that the mind fancies the idea of what to eat physically; Tinder for lust through which the mind seeks bodily pleasures; Instagram or TikTok that feeds the mind on inflated self-images. The list can go on. The point is both the body and the mind look for ingredients to feed on. This is not something we can avoid since it’s a part of our human nature. Once we stop eating in both physical and mental senses, we starve to death. So, the question to ask is not so much about how to stop eating which leads to anorexia but about what to feed on. The gospel lesson this morning provides us with what food we are to consume. Not junk food but healthy organic food cooked by the risen Christ. We see the two disciples of Jesus on their way to Emmaus. They encounter the risen Christ who prepares them with both mental and physical food. Let’s hear what they have to say about how their minds were fed: “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” We don’t exactly know exactly what kind of mental ingredients they were filled with but can imagine their minds were deeply moved and touched, that their hearts were consumed with the fire of the Holy Spirit. The Breath of the risen Christ kindles the presence of the resurrection in their hearts, feeding their minds perpetually. Then, we see the risen Christ fixing physical food for them: “When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.” The Eucharist opens the eyes of the two disciples to recognize the resurrection of Christ in their minds. So, our Book of Common Prayer’s welcoming words to Holy Communion goes, “Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.” Friends in Christ, our Sunday Eucharist is where we eat physically and mentally the food the risen Christ cooks for us. It is the holy banquet that creates and renews who we are and who we are to become. It is where we eat the food of the resurrection to be it. Mary Magdalene’s message of the resurrection doesn’t seem to have much impact on the disciples. In the gospel lesson this morning, the disciples are still filled with fear that they shut themselves in. This fear is probably triggered by the local religious authorities. The disciples may have heard about some intel that they would be the next target to be crucified. Everyone in town knows they were friends with Jesus. So, their fear of the local authorities is appropriate to protect their lives. The message of fear is simple: “Lay low until people start forgetting about Jesus of Nazareth.” Accepting this message means denying the message of the resurrection which is, “I have seen the Lord.” Fear bears the fruit of doubt.
The Second Sunday of Easter has a specific name, “Doubting Thomas Day” or “Thomas Sunday.” As its name suggests, it highlights Thomas who has doubts about the risen Christ. If Thomas had known about this day, he wouldn’t be too pleased. (The only person who is remembered more negatively than he is would be Pontius Pilate. He is mentioned every Sunday when we recite either the Nicene Creed or the Apostles’ Creed!) In my empathetic defense of Thomas, however, Thomas is not the only one who presents doubt but all the disciples. Fear dominates them, and doubt or disbelief in Mary Magdalene’s message of the resurrection to put more accurately chips in. Thomas isn’t the only skeptic but all of them are. At least, Thomas doesn’t hide with them in the first place. He may be the only disciple who is not intimidated by the fear-mongering threat of the local religious authorities. Can we call him a courageous skeptic while the rest of the disciples are scared skeptics? This subject matter of the disciples’ doubt may hastily lead us to the simple teaching of “Do not doubt, but believe.” Is Jesus then pushing us to have blind faith? He sure sounds like it but his action says something else. It’s not Jesus who merely tells his disciples to believe. He needs to show up to help them believe. He encounters them to take them out of fear and breathes the peace of the resurrection instead. Even after he appears to the disciples, he has to come to them again, firstly because they are still paralyzed by the same fear that they hide behind the shut door and secondly because Thomas isn’t convinced yet. No matter how doubtful Thomas is, no matter how fearful the disciples are, Jesus shows up. He doesn’t give up on their unbelief. This is something we want to keep in mind. It doesn’t matter what state of your faith is at this moment. You might have stronger faith than ever in all the things and people you’re grateful for. Your trust in God might be in a state of deficit that there’s nothing left but doubt or despair or resentment. No matter where you are, how you feel, or how weak or strong your faith may be, the risen Christ is with you, never giving up on you. He continues to show up until you notice, and he appears to you in many different ways. The presence of the risen Christ is not so much about some ghostly figure suddenly talking to you. The love of the resurrection that goes beyond birth and death reaches you through people and other fellow creatures. A total stranger’s kind eyes that somehow see your struggle is that love. Your friend’s random phone call or text message is the presence of the resurrection. Your companion animal’s warmth is also that love. Flowers, plants, and trees dress in spring clothes are that presence. (Perhaps not the spring allergy!) Most importantly, the very breath you’re taking is the presence of the risen Christ whose breath he shares with the disciples in the gospel lesson. My friends, today is Doubting Thomas Sunday, and don’t forget that there is the sacred benefit of the doubt that draws the risen Christ to continue to show himself to us. Let’s give Jesus the benefit of the doubt by which we will experience the love of God. Alleluia, Lord is risen! Christ is risen indeed, alleluia! On this Easter Sunday, we start our service with the acclamation: “Alleluia. Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.” Every time I say and hear this acclamation in one voice with all the members of St. Agnes and the broader churches, there’s a sense of hope springing in my heart. How about you? For me, while I find it challenging to describe what this hope is exactly hoping for, I cannot help but feel something so powerful and loving being birthed or resurrected in my heart. It feels like the hope of the resurrection incarnate in myself.
We can imagine that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary would’ve felt this sense of hope when they encountered the angel at the empty tomb in the gospel lesson this morning and heard his message: “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” (Matthew 28:5-7) Mary Magdalene and the other Mary became the first disciples to be sent to share the gospel of the resurrection of Christ. I imagine the hope they had carried with the message of the resurrection is ever so fresh and real that we can still feel that hope in our hearts. Before the hope of the resurrection, the tomb loses its original use to keep a corpse but is transformed to be the womb that births the resurrection. In other words, the resurrection transforms the empty tomb into the womb after birth. That Christ is risen is that Christ is born again, which takes us back to the mystery of the incarnation during the Christmas season. This morning, I would like us to be mindful and attentive to this hope springing in our hearts. Try to locate it in your body. Is it in your gut or your chest or around your throat or your head? Wherever it is, pinpoint it and remember that spot as if you store something so precious in a treasure box. Also, notice how you’re breathing as you’re treasuring that sense of hope so that this way of breathing is perceived as a pathway to that hope. All this is a way to embody the hope of the resurrection within ourselves. This spiritual practice, I believe, is quite important for one particular reason. When we face challenges in life, we might not have access to that hope in ourselves. While we may fall into a sense of hopelessness at times, we need hope as an anchor so that we’re helplessly drawn into despair. It is the source of how we can carry on despite all the disappointments, hardships, and tragedies of life. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary would’ve felt a sense of shock and despair when they found out Jesus died and his body was gone. Witnessing his death on the cross, as all deaths of our loved ones leave perpetual wounds in our hearts, would’ve been a reason for their despair. Discovering the missing body of Jesus in the tomb would’ve created not just shock but also the guilt of not being able to protect him. But again, the message of the angel turns them back to hope. “He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay…and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee.” This can mean to us, “Hope is not lost. Hope cannot be dead but is always raised. Come and look into your hearts. Hope is ahead of you, so carry on.” The resurrection is the message of hope incarnate through Christ. This is what Christians are holding onto. We don’t say we’re immune to any tragedies in life but become the hope incarnate for each other and the world when it’s filled with grief, sorrow, suffering, and despair. This hope, nevertheless, is not just a mere feeling. When we encounter the deaths of our loved ones and are left to live our lives without their physical presence, we hold hope for their resurrection. We resurrect the values and virtues they uphold in our lives. We resurrect their bodies through our bodies by enacting what they stood for in our lives. In this active way of resurrecting them in our lives, we are interconnected to them through our actions. We embody them and become more than one person but communion. Holy Communion functions as a sacred symbol of that union between them and us through Christ. My friends in Christ, you might walk through the valley of the shadow of despair during this time. You might walk into that empty place where things seem meaningless. Yet, Christ is ahead of you. Christ leads you with the hope planted in your hearts. If you cannot find a pathway to that hope, we, St. Agnes’ members and the Church are here to walk with you to get to that destination of hope. This personal and communal work makes the resurrection a new reality that unites the divine and the human together. It integrates birth and death, of which life consists, into a new type of life. The resurrection of Christ directs us to see and live this new reality, this new life. Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia! |
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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