“Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.”
John O’Donohue was a friend and teacher, a voice of Celtic spirituality silenced too early. John died at age 52. He was an Irish priest and poet, a philosopher and scholar, a rare spirit in himself. Nancy and I came to know him first through his poetry and his wisdom. Another poet, David Whyte, said John had a ‘bird of paradise’ vocabulary. Yes, but he was so much more than a thinker. John was larger than life, with a huge laugh, appetites for fine Irish whiskey, loud humor, and good food, and he possessed energy enough for three. I know. Nancy and I tried to keep up with him as he led a group of pilgrims across the wild hills of western Ireland. Once upon a time, John came to Bend and offered a Spiritual Care Conference for health care workers. I was Senior Chaplain in those days at Hospice in Bend. I didn‘t think there was much chance we could get a world-famous speaker to come to little Bend, but the only guarantee that something won’t happen is if you never ask for it to happen. Anyway, three hundred plus people came to the seminar, and no one skipped out after lunch. The first session after lunch was Q & A. It was a time for the audience to respond to his first two sessions, before the final third presentation. The dialogue was going well, and John was enjoying his listeners, when the predictable troubling question came. A woman stood and challenged him, asking what his position was on gay marriage. The questioner left no uncertainty as to what she expected to hear. I don’t remember her question exactly (as host for the seminar I was getting nervous about then) but she basically reminded John that he was a Catholic priest, and under the Pope’s authority, and surely, he did not stray outside the church’s teaching that homosexuality is an abomination. There was an audible “aaagh” from the audience, and then silence. Then John spoke words of real grace which I have no trouble remembering to this day, “Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.” What a benediction. What a way to live. The questioner sat down. When most of our country would rather think about the coming of Christmas than the coming of Jesus – maybe you too – the Gospel for our first Sunday in Advent strikes an unexpected chord. Matthew writes about the end of time, the day of judgment, the coming of the Son of Man. For context, remember this teaching was given on Tuesday of Holy Week, four days before Jesus’ crucifixion. It was sobering teaching then, and it has a profound note today, but not as a threat. Jesus says up front in the Gospel no one knows the day or the hour, and Matthew remembers him saying the Gospel would have to be preached to the end of the world before the end will come. So there is more of value here than fear of the end. That Tuesday for Jesus was fraught with uncertainty, perplexity, and stress. He knew what he had provoked. Moreover, the times were hard for the people of Jerusalem. There are plenty of voices which say our day is saturated with uncertainty, perplexity, and stress. So here is the question - as people of faith, should we be perplexed? Is it not assumed that people of real faith are wise and confident at all times? I have heard that in matters of daily decisions and in larger world issues, faithful people should be steady and clear-headed. Some of us who are good at guilt will turn it inward: “If only I had faith… or enough faith… or the right faith…” But faith is not about believing strongly, or having the right answers, but about acting through the times of perplexity and confusion. Uncertainty is a condition in even the best Biblical faith. Count the heroes – Sarah, Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, Amos (any of the prophets), Mary, Jesus, Paul – they all knew uncertainty, but moved ahead “in faith”, in trust and hope. Uncertainty and doubt are facts of authentic life – don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Doubt is the ants in the pants of faith.” Faith is about action, not doctrine; action infused with trust and hope. We are not expected to know everything, but we are expected to do something. When I first thought seriously about seminary, I went for an interview with Bishop Louttit of South Florida. He was a colorful and strong man, a colonel in the National Guard, an effective bishop but hard. Many of the clergy and lay people were afraid of him. I brought awe and some of that fear to my interview. I only remember one question of many that day, “Mr. Green, what is the most important thing to do when a member of your parish dies?” I recall anxiety but not my answer. After I fumbled around a bit, he said, “The most important thing for you to do is walk in the door.” As the Biblical commentator Mark Yurs wrote, “Biblical faith knows it does not know everything, but it does know it is called to do something here and now.” Friends, we are not expected to know everything these days, but we are expected to do something. Note though, ambitious Christians, we need not do everything, but something. We need to do something – in our own little worlds and in our own souls, and for some of us, in the big world. Something, not nothing. St Paul wrote to the Church at Rome, “You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers… Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” (Romans 13.11f). That is an honorable Advent challenge, no? Lay aside the works of my darkness and put on the armor of light? A challenge for our own souls, and then in compassion for this world and its people. Again, from Mark Yurs, “Those who have tended to the needs of the world will inherit God’s kingdom, while those who have ignored the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick and the imprisoned will not.” No doubt, most of our country would rather think about the coming of Christmas just now than the coming of Jesus. That is why the Church needs Advent – to lift our Christian vision to the long view, to see past our present uncertainties and work towards quality of life - for this planet and among all God’s people. The truth is, storms are temporary, but the poor will always be with us. So let hold dear - faith is about action, not doctrine; action infused with trust and hope. “Whenever I find love in this violent and uncertain world, I want to bless it.”
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AuthorI don't know what the future of the church is, but I know that we will continue to be a place of sanctuary and hope, working towards healing in the world. Archives
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