Here There Be Dragons

Today I saw the film "How to Train Your Dragon." It's a GREAT movie, and I recommend it to everyone.

I guess you could say that it's about things not being the way they seem. Maybe something you think is bad really isn't. Maybe something you think is bad really protects you from something else, something you don't want to see and shouldn't ever see.

Maybe the opposite is true as well, that behind something that seems too beautiful hides a deep darkness, something broken.

Behind the beautiful dragon lurks something else: not everything is as it seems. At the same time, the dragon-as-scary, as terrible, is not quite what you expected. Difficulties and trials and sufferings...the places we find God. I try to tell myself that every time my medical stuff plunges me down into terrible places. In the darkness is the One Who is not afraid of the dark, with Whom dwell both the darkness and the light.

Between The First And The Last (by which I mean, lunch)

“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” (Rev 1:8)

Today was the last service of the year at the college I hang out at. The last Eucharist and the last evening prayer until September. For some of us, the last time we’ll pray here as students.

Because it’s an ending, God is in it. God is in it as beginning and as what is yet to be, reminding us that the end of something is also a beginning of something else. Because the two are knit together into a whole, being held by God in a reality greater than themselves, they are neither a beginning nor an end – they are both, and everything between and beyond.

Every Eucharist at the college is followed by lunch, which I never go to; somehow my life tends to schedule itself in the way, though I can’t say I’m always displeased. But today I had planned to stay (yay?). Unfortunately, my doctor’s appointment got moved into that spot yesterday, so the best laid plans of Kats (and mice) came to naught. *sadness* and *hungry*

Coming out of a church tradition where food is less than prominent, I’ve wondered a lot lately: what is it with Protestants and food? At my Anglican church, we have parish breakfasts, dinners before worship-and-share, movies with popcorn, coffee hour before and after Sunday services, and a variety of food-based events to mark special celebrations. That reminds me: we have a congregational life lunch coming up – what should I bring?

Today is also my birthday. I’m 27, which a friend of mine pointed out is 3-cubed, a good Trinitarian symbol. As we observe them, birthdays mainly mark the remembrance of a beginning. But they also mark endings and continuation. Again, in this mundane life event, time blurs and blends together, and extends to include more than itself. As in all the ordinary things of the world, the Alpha-and-Omega movement of God can be discerned.

Like church events, my birthday will be celebrated with food. Tonight I’m having pizza (yay!) and cake (yay!!) and some kind of sparkling wine. Tomorrow, I’m having lunch with my boyfriend. And on Friday my friends are having a party for me.

Food is there at the very beginning of our lives: feeding babies is one of the first things we do, even when they show up ten weeks early weighing 2 ½ lbs. Food is there at the end: last meals for the condemned, and buffets at funerals. In the stories of Creation, God is very concerned about what we’ll eat, and at the end, we’re all invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb. Food is everywhere in between: it’s all over the Bible and runs through Jesus’ ministry. It fills each day of our own lives.

Eating is theological. It recognizes the sacrifice made of one living thing that another may have life. By it, we acknowledge and enter into relationship with creation and one another. Sharing it with others is a mitzvah. Offering it to others brings us into communion with God ('I was hungry and you fed me'). Accepting it unites us to God ('Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish'). And in the Eucharist, it becomes the ultimate sacrifice of Love for us.

I first noticed the power of food in the psychiatric hospital with my second roommate. She was totally isolated from everyone when I met her, and I didn’t think it was right: no one deserves to be shunned, even if they are a bit different or struggling. So I started bringing her food to her (catatonic depression makes a person less than mobile) and ate with her. Our interactions made it possible for us to form a relationship that ultimately helped us both.

[Unfortunately, my relationship with food isn’t always entirely healthy. Years ago, a teacher of mine and I had dinner together and then he raped me. It’s never been the same since. It’s something I need to work on. But I digress.]

God’s gift of food to us is a kind of sustenance that goes beyond mere survival. It is a way for people to come together in thanksgiving for all that we have been given and for each other. It forms relationships and bonds, strengthens communities and, taken holistically, gives rise to something truly unique: an embodiment of the beginning, middle and end in a single moment, a glimpse of God in the experience and in each other and, most importantly, a sense that in no time or place are we ever really alone. Because God is there in all of it, and with Him all the love and fellowship we have given and received.

When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. But he laid his right hand upon me, saying, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive forevermore.” (Rev 1:1:17-18)

Behold The Mercy Of God

[in lieu of a real post, the homily I gave on Sunday]

Well, here we are, at the first Sunday after Easter and, in a way, it’s kind of a let-down, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve just finished celebrating Jesus’ Resurrection! We’ve come through a difficult Passiontide and arrived at a place of pure joy and miracle. Finally, Lent is over! Finally, Easter has arrived! We’ve had all the family dinners, the chocolate Easter eggs, the sugar high and the inevitable cranky period after it. We’ve been exhausted and reborn, horrified and overjoyed. Finally, it’s Easter! The Lord is risen! Alleluia!

So, what do we do now? What’s left? It’s like coming home from a really great party: now that the excitement is over, we feel a bit empty, kind of disappointed. “Oh, it’s over.” Don’t get me wrong: it’s great to be home. But there’s still that feeling, you know? That feeling of emptiness. Even though it only lasts a little while, because life goes on, it’s still a pretty powerful experience. Maybe part of that feeling comes from being suspended between times. Jesus is risen! But we’re waiting for him to ascend into heaven, and we’re waiting for Pentecost. What are we supposed to do with this time in between?

On the second Sunday of the Easter season – which is today – a little-known celebration is observed: the feast of the Divine Mercy. A Polish nun named Sister Faustina (who is now considered a Saint) received visions from our Lord Jesus Christ throughout most of her life. These visions – these messages from Jesus – infused her life, leading her to join a convent and shaping her mission as an Apostle of Mercy. Jesus instructed her to record everything he told her in her diary, and ordered her to proclaim his message of mercy to all people.

One of the things Jesus told her to do was to paint an image of him. In the painting, Jesus stands with one hand over his Sacred Heart and the other reaching out in a blessing. He looks pretty welcoming, like he wants you to come to him. Two rays of light emerge from his Heart. The red ray represents the blood he shed on the Cross, as well as the life of the soul; the whitish-blue ray symbolizes the water flowing from his side, and the soul being made righteous. Jesus’ death both gives life to our souls and purifies them, making them whole again. Most Divine Mercy Icons have these words written on them: “Lord Jesus, I trust in you.” Jesus promised Saint Faustina that the souls genuinely devoted to his Divine Mercy would never die.

Celebrating the Divine Mercy actually takes nine days: it consists of a series of prayers extending from Good Friday until today. Each day, prayers are offered for a different group of people. We begin by praying that all sinners will be immersed in the ocean of God’s mercy. And on the last day, we end by praying for all the souls that have become lukewarm – the people who once cared about God and don’t anymore, the people who have lost the fire of faith. We pray that they will be enfolded in Jesus’ mercy and regain that fire and passion. In Jesus’ revelation to Saint Faustina, the lukewarm are described as the people who caused him the most pain during his Passion: the people standing by who didn’t care, one way or the other, about what was happening to him.

All of these prayers are offered in the name of Jesus’ body and blood, soul and divinity. They are offered for our own sins and for the sins of all people. We pray using these words: for the sake of his sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

I personally love this feast of the Divine Mercy. I know, I know, it seems really weird to be talking about this now. You’re thinking, ‘man, this is depressing! Why in the name of all things are we talking about Jesus’ Passion and death right after Easter? You remember Easter, right? It was just last week! Stop ruining my cheerful mood with all this crucifixion talk and get back to the Resurrection where you’re supposed to be.’

That’s a perfectly normal reaction: we are an Easter people and we want to live there. But we tend to forget the difficult reality of the Cross a little too quickly after the Resurrection – I know I do. But there’s no such thing as Easter without the Cross! If we allow ourselves to forget that the two are part of the same act we might as well toss Easter onto the pile of things that have become totally secular. Totally meaningless. We might as well spend Good Friday saying: ‘Now, you just be patient a few more days, honey, and Jesus is going to bring you a nice basket full of candy, just as soon as the Easter Bunny rolls that giant egg away from the tomb!’

The fact that we’re here today testifies that we believe in something more real. To really believe, to really be Christian, means that Easter has a real effect on our lives. It is transformative, and not just some ritual involving chocolates and draping the church in white. This means we can’t just receive the promise of Easter and squirrel it away like a precious secret. Like the light flowing from Jesus’ Heart, it has to shine out of us, because if we don’t let it flow through us and out into the world we haven’t really received it, either.

What does it mean to receive this promise? How do we allow it to live in us? The answer is in the blue and red rays: we receive it by allowing God to breathe life into our souls and to transform us in His image. First, we must ask for the mercy offered to us on the Cross. Then we must be merciful. Today’s readings are full of the truth that Jesus’ resurrected life is an offering of, and call to, mercy. Acts of Apostles tells us that “The God of our fathers raised Jesus whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins” (5:30-31). Revelation says “Jesus Christ [is] the faithful witness, the first-born of the dead […] who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood” (1:5).

In the Gospel reading, the Holy Spirit is given to the disciples along with the power to forgive sins. The idea that the Resurrection is about mercy is one of the oldest truths of our faith.

The final element in receiving the Easter promise comes with the command that we place all our trust in God. Blessed is he who does not see, and yet believes! The marks remaining in Jesus’ hands remind us that his sacrifice and mercy will never disappear. We can confidently rely on him as we strive to live the risen life. Accepting this truth is the source of our great joy, as in the light of Easter we see life.

And what life that is! The celebration of the Divine Mercy is meant to help us realize that Jesus’ forgiveness and compassion are total, that he forgives even the worst sin, and that it’s never too late to embrace his mercy. Our Resurrected Lord stands reaching out to us, calling us to him as beloved children. He bathes us in the light of his Crucified Heart. By taking his outstretched hand and standing in his life-giving mercy, we participate in the Passion that broke his Heart and make the heavy pain of it easier for him to bear. We must give ourselves over to Jesus in complete trust, believing firmly and absolutely that his mercy will indeed save us, covering over our sins and clothing us in righteousness.

I asked before what we should do with this time in between Easter and Pentecost. What we need to do is prepare to receive the Holy Spirit. We know there’s more to that than just running around proclaiming, “Jesus is risen! Jesus is risen! Alleluia!” To share in the risen life – to be faithful witnesses – we need to devote ourselves to God’s mercy. The crucial part of this devotion is committing ourselves to actually being merciful, to living the mercy for others that has been freely given to us.

To proclaim the Resurrection, we need to forgive other people. To anticipate Jesus’ ascension to his Kingdom, we need to evangelize the world by giving to those in need, whatever that need may be. To receive the Holy Spirit, we must be set on fire by love for others. And to await God’s coming in glory, we need to pray for the salvation of all the world.

We must always stand faithfully at the foot of the Cross, even now, especially now, as we celebrate Easter. It is by doing so that we, through believing, come to have life in Jesus’ name.




Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Ps 118:14-29 or 150; Rev 1:4-8; Jn 20:19-31
(11 April 2010, Second Sunday of Easter)