The Woman at the Well

3^rd Sunday of Lent/A March 11, 2012

I love it when films or music – stuff that is out in the world—give us a contemporary lens with which we can view the lessons in the Gospel. Fr Jim referenced Oscar-nominated film “The Artist” on the first two Sundays of Lent as a means of helping us understand silence and listening. Not that we have a series going here, but today, the 3^rd Sunday of Lent, there is an Oscar-nominated film that might help us better understand the story of the Samaritan woman at the well.

"The Help" is based on the novel by Kathryn Stockett and is the story about some very extraordinary women who bond over a book that they all contribute to—a book that views the 1960’s South through the eyes of “the help”—the African American women who were the maids—without whom life would have come to a complete halt. The book is secretly written, and comes into being after the assassination of Medger Evers galvanizes the Civil Rights Movement. The women who contribute their stories do so at great peril.There is a scene in “The Help”-----the scene involving Minnie, the outspoken maid that no one would hire, and Celia, the social outcast who hires her. On Minnie’s first day of work, it’s lunch time, and Minnie sits down in the kitchen to eat.Celia brings her plate in from the dining room and sits at the kitchen table with Minnie.“We’ve been over this, Miss Celia,” says Minnie. “You’re supposed to eat in the dining room. That’s how it works. Here, let me take your plate back.” Celia won’t let Minnie take the plate and responds, “I’m fine right here, Minnie.”They eat lunch together, Celia grateful for the company, and Minnie, not so sure about all of this----because the reality of these two women having lunch together simply did not happen in that setting and time.

I thought about Minnie when I read this Gospel story----the maids, and any person of color, were the outcasts ---and still are in so many ways that should make us angry. Celia shouldn’t have been an outcast according to the ‘rules’ of color, but she was--the adult woman still bullied by the mean girls who grew up to be mean women. Celia broke the rules and ate lunch with Minnie, and treated her with dignity and respect. The friendship that grows between these two women helps to heal the pain of being an outcast—for both of them.

The Samaritan woman was the ultimate outcast. Depending on whom you talked to, Jesus was also an outcast. The woman had come to the well in the middle of the day, reasonably sure that she wouldn’t have to deal with anyone, but instead met Jesus. Jesus broke a lot of rules—and one of the rules in this encounter was that Jewish men didn’t talk to women that they weren’t related to—and no good Jewish person would ever speak to a Samaritan at any time for any reason. The woman said, "How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?" A Samaritan woman was considered to be the lowest of human life forms, and she knew this. Jesus apparently didn’t consider her to be anything less than a person of great dignity and worth.

She was a strong woman.Jesus spoke directly to her as an equal. This Gospel reading makes a lot of people uncomfortable because I think that we are afraid of strong women. The Samaritan woman was not who you thought she was. If you look at how Jesus deals with women throughout the Gospels, this interaction shouldn’t surprise you. Jesus treated women as equals. He was very direct in his conversation, yet He didn’t pass judgment. He called it like He saw it. I like that about Jesus. When we hear this Gospel, we tend to not think too highly of the woman at the well---after all, she was divorced 5 times. We allow ourselves to be distracted by her circumstances, because, even now, divorce makes us very uncomfortable. We tend to ostracize folks who suffer the pain of a broken relationship.It’s easy to stand in judgment when you don’t understand the context for someone’s behavior. In first century Palestine, divorce was quite common, and could only be initiated by the husband. He could do so for any reason at all—and for something as trivial as being mad that his dinner was late, or burned, or not what he ordered. The Samaritan woman had been dumped.Dumped--5 times, by 5 different husbands. Then, as now, we blame and shame the victim—the female victim. In first century Palestine, if you were a divorced woman, or a widow, or an orphan---you had no standing and you were the most vulnerable person in society. You had no one to take care of you. She had good reason to hide out in the middle of the day at the well. Yet Jesus treated her with great compassion and had a conversation with her that changed her life. He broke all the social rules about who He should and shouldn’t speak to------and He did it because it was the human and kind thing to do.He treated all people, even those considered to be outcasts, with dignity and respect. The Gospel doesn’t mention whether or not they had lunch, but I like to think that they did.

We know that He asked her for something to drink. When she challenged Him over this request, He responded with the discourse on Living Water, which makes me think of El Salvador, our Rice Bowl country for this week. Many of you know that I spent time in El Salvador during the summer of 2007 with Catholic Relief Services. Some of CRS’ work there focuses on ensuring clean water for all. It was there that I realized how we take water for granted here----we live in one of the few countries in the world where you can put your cup under the tap and drink what comes out of it. Not so in El Salvador. You have to drink and brush your teeth with bottled water. When you take a shower, you have to plug your ears, eyes and nose to make sure that no water gets in. If you don’t take those precautions, the water will make you very, very sick. I took all the precautions, and I still ended up getting sick for the rest of that summer. Clean water is what they don’t have there, and what we take for granted here. If you use bottled water, perhaps you could give it up for the rest of Lent, and refill your bottle from the tap-- and then put what you save into the Rice Bowl for El Salvador. We don’t know what we have.

My journey in El Salvador helped me to more clearly understand the meaning of Living Water, and I can’t hear this Gospel now without remembering what they don’t have there. That’s the truth about us---we don’t know what we have. The troubling, and ultimately healing thing in today’s Gospel is that Jesus told the Samaritan women the truth about herself---which is the truth that we all must hear---that we are wounded, broken sinners in need of healing, grace and un-bottled Living Water.

Calling Disciples

3^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B January 22, 2012

People often ask me why the cycle of readings doesn’t follow the chronological course of the life of Jesus---I mean, Christmas was less than a month ago, and already we have the story of Jesus calling the disciples. The short, overly-simplistic answer is that the Gospels aren’t biographies of Jesus---they aren’t about His life story as such. A few personality details emerge---and one gets the sense that there is more to Jesus than what is on the page. The 3^rd Sunday of Ordinary time marks the preparation for public ministry, next week, on the 4^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, the ministry begins in earnest. The Gospel of Mark doesn’t linger on anything, and it’s clear that it’s not a biography.

The Gospels are about His identity as being sent by God and an attempt to tell this story in a particular way for a particular audience or community. Mark’s Gospel, which we read every 3 years, doesn’t even have the story of the birth of Jesus—it begins with the preaching of John the Baptist, followed by the Baptism and Temptation of Jesus, and then the beginning of His ministry in Galilee with the call of the first disciples. The Gospels focus on that crucial three years of public ministry -- there isn’t a chapter in any of the Gospels entitled “Jesus, the Hidden Teen Years.”

The way that our culture ‘does’ Christmas continues to make us forget what it all is really about—everything about Christmas, including the music, should point us to Easter and everything in between. The Gospel today invites us to consider what it is we should understand after the Christmas rush is over. A few years ago, I ran across this wonderful quote from Howard Thurman, who was an early mentor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I’ve used this on my Christmas cards.

“When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone

When the kings and princes are home, when the shepherds are back with their flocks

The work of Christmas begins: To find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among people, to make music in the heart.”

That’s what happens in today’s Gospel---Jesus begins the “work of Christmas.” Jesus calls the first disciples—and us, to the ‘work of Christmas.’

Following Jesus is easy only in the ‘talking about it’ phase. If it was really easy, everyone would do this, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. The first reading is the story of Jonah, after he got himself spit out by the whale and did what God asked him to do. Our first reading is from Ch. 3---if you go back and read Ch. 1 the first thing you find out is that God called Jonah, and told him to go to Ninevah. Jonah responds by hopping on a ship and going in the opposite direction, to Tarshish. He paid dearly for that

God’s call is not something that people respond to with great welcome---because we know that it’s going to require something of us, usually something we don’t want to do or give up. In terms of calling people, Jesus fares a bit better in the Gospel reading, and I suspect it’s because the disciples didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. Had they known ahead of time, I sometimes wonder if they would have dropped everything to follow Jesus. Following Jesus always leads to the Cross. Jesus somehow neglected to mention this when he asked Peter, Andrew, James and John to follow him. We know about the Cross, and perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult for us to follow Jesus. We have an idea of the cost, and like Jonah, we want to jump in a boat and sail as fast as possible in the opposite direction. What we have yet to figure out is that God always catches up to us. We can run, but we can’t hide. We believe in a God who loves us so much that He comes after us.

But here’s the thing to remember---Jesus didn’t ask us to do this alone. The first thing Jesus did was to call disciples----he formed a small group. This I the model for us. We don’t ‘do’ this alone---we do this as a community. We don’t gather here every Sunday to be alone with Jesus---we join the Body of Christ around the table. We encourage, challenge and support each other. We gather with an extraordinary community—I consider myself so very blessed because I get to work with an amazing staff and pastor--and with all of you. I have the most wonderful teams, and I get to work with an extraordinary group of young people. I know who my friends are—and one of the things that we all have in common is that we all share some part of this sacred work of Christmas.

Jesus left His work for us to finish. The work of Christmas then, is done by us, and begins in us.

“To find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among people, to make music in the heart.”

Let us begin.

Sorting Sheep and Goats

Solemnity of Christ the King/A

Matthew 25: 31-46

It all comes down to this. This is one of my favorite Gospel readings, and even though I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, this is the Gospel reading that I would choose for my funeral---because this is what it all comes down to.

There are two stories that have been all over the news in the last month. The first concerns the death of Steve Jobs, the inventor of tech devices that we think we can't live without. Much was made of his life, the true story of a brilliant but often mean guy, all that---but there was a little story at the end of October that got buried in the back pages. It was the story of the moment of his actual death. His sister gave the eulogy at his funeral and allowed it to be published. The interesting part has to do with what she reported as her brother's last words. As he slipped into death, he appeared to be looking past his family and said, with great wonder, "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow." Whatever he saw took away the fear that most of us might have at that moment. I don't know what he experienced, but reading about that made me wonder what it is that would make me say the same thing when I am called home.

The other story is about the preacher who continues to incorrectly predict the "Rapture"—and either he is wrong, or it appears that we've all been left behind. I would also like to point out that the guy who predicted this is still here as well. Just sayin’ I think it's because the folks doing the predicting appear to be obsessed with the mechanics of how & when the Last Judgment will occur and are not paying attention to the business of actually preparing themselves for it.

So we arrive at the end of the Church year, and the Gospel gives us a vision of the Last Judgment. I wonder if this preacher has actually read this? The story of Jesus separating the sheep and goats only appears in Matthew's Gospel, but it's critical to our understanding of His message--the core of His moral code is here. Jesus lays out the standards by which all will be judged. He doesn't say anything about faith or belief---I think that it is assumed that the hearers are believers---so now that we believe, this is how we are to behave. Faith is what transforms us --- it moves us from belief to action. Jesus talks about how we are supposed to behave towards each other but never utters the word ‘rapture.'

The placement of this story in Matthew's Gospel happens just prior to the beginning of the Passion narratives and is essentially Jesus' last sermon, His final discourse----not His last words as he is dying, but one of His last teachings before his death. And it’s all about how we are to treat each other—we are to behave as though he or she is Jesus. That's a nice thought---until you actually have to do it. This is not easy, and most especially not easy for us in this country. Everything that Jesus challenges us with is so often in conflict with the culture that we live in. We live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world. What are we to think when we are always first, when we aren’t the last or the least? It’s like an unwritten rule that we are always supposed to be first, the biggest, the best. Not the least. The ‘least’ isn’t in our vocabulary or in our imagination, and so this teaching seems foreign to us. Perhaps He meant someone else? Certainly not us! When Jesus says that the last shall be first and the first will be last, and that whatever you do for the least you do for Me…….it changes the rules and it messes with our cultural myth. One of the most difficult things for us to understand is that we are, at our core, Catholic and Christian first---before we are anything else. For us, the Kingdom that Jesus proclaims is first. If we don’t understand this, the centrality of the Kingdom of God in the NT, then we will never begin to understand the ministry of Jesus. In the Kingdom of God, everything is upside down, everything is the opposite of what our culture calls us to.

We’ve all heard this story many, many times, so it can easily go over our heads if we aren’t careful. There are a number of things that are interesting about this story---and one of them is the only thing that the sheep and the goats have in common. They are both shocked when they find out that each person described as ‘least of these’ is really Jesus. Those in the sheep pile are shocked to find out that the ones they fed and sheltered were Jesus in disguise—“oh, that was YOU?” Those in the goat pile are shocked to find out that those they didn’t take of were Jesus in disguise—“Oh, that was YOU?” There is one major difference---the motivation to help. For the people in the sheep pile, it didn’t matter that it was Jesus---they were just doing what they knew was right. For the people in the goat pile, it’s more like “Oh, was that YOU? We would have done something if we had known it was YOU……..” Awkward. The young people that I work with would describe this in two words. Epic FAIL.

Matthew 25 isn't optional. It's a clear code of conduct for those who desire to live in the Kingdom of God. One of my Catholic school childhood memories was memorizing what were called the 'corporal works of mercy'--this is the text where those came from. We know them. Why is it so easy to ignore them? I think that one of the reasons is that we tend to dehumanize ‘the least.’ It’s easier to ignore ‘the least’ if we refer to them as parasites, scammers, lazy, illegals and all of the other pejorative and racist terms we come up with. If we have to think of them as human, as people in need, we can’t ignore them. Jesus says “Blessed are the poor.” “The last shall be first and the first shall be last.” He is “the least of these.” Why are the poor ‘blessed?” I think that it’s because they know something about God that we do not. In many ways, they are closer to God than anyone else, because they know, more than anyone else, how much they rely on God. They have nothing, and so nothing gets in the way. They have read Mt. 25 and they know that it’s about them. Those of us who don’t see Him in them are the ones who don’t get it. I love this quote from John Paul II “ Love for others, and in the first place, love for the poor, in whom the Church sees Christ himself, is made concrete in the promotion of justice. Justice will never be fully attained unless people see in the poor person, who is asking for help in order to survive, not just an annoyance or a burden, but an opportunity for showing kindness, and a chance for greater enrichment. Only such an awareness can give the courage needed to face the risk and the change involved in every authentic attempt to come to the aid of another.”

Approx. a year ago, I was watching TV, and the program host, who is Catholic, said this: ‎"If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn't help the poor, either we've got to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we've got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition--and then admit that we just don't want to do it." Which Jesus do we follow? The One who clearly states that those we call ‘parasite’ are “the least of these” and therefore Jesus Himself, or no? Each of us, in our own hearts, knows the answer to this question.

At the end of my day, I try to think over all the things that happened during the course of the last 12 hours or so. I try to think of what I did, what I didn't do, and the people I encountered. Did I recognize and serve Jesus in the ‘least of these’ or no? If I died tonight, which pile would I get sorted into—sheep or goats? And really----there's only one thing that I want at the end of my life--to wake up at the foot of the Throne of Grace with Jesus looking down at me. I know that He will know what I'm thinking, which will be this........"please, please, please let me go with the sheep." I pray that my life will meet with His approval---because the only thing that I want to hear from Jesus at that point will be two words. Just two words.

"You! Sheep!"

Oh wow.

December 2, 2010

“The Peace Corps left today and my heart sank low. The danger is extreme and they were right to leave…

Now I must assess my own position, because I am not up for suicide. Several times I have decided to leave El Salvador. I almost could, except for the children, the poor, bruised victims of this insanity. Who would care for them? Whose heart could be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and loneliness? Not mine, dear friend, not mine." (Jean Donovan)

I read this again today, the 30th anniversary of Jean's martyrdom, along with Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, and Maura Clarke. My own trip to El Salvador with Catholic Relief Services in 2007 came back in a flash. I remembered sitting in a community center in Aguilares, listening to folks tell their horrific stories of torture, violence and imprisonment. As we listened, I became aware of a police van driving up and down the street, slowing down as it passed the doorway. It occurred to me that there could be a drive by shooting any moment and we could all die. I was terrified and calm at the same time.

We continued to listen to the stories----and it meant so much to the tellers that we, Americans, were there to listen. And we believed them!

That police van kept driving by...as we listened to stories of people being 'disappeared' and worse. I remembered the women who were murdered on Dec. 2, 1980. I remembered the words that Jean Donovan wrote in the weeks before her murder and it was as though I could feel her presence in the room telling me that, no matter what happened, things would be ok. I understood in that moment why she couldn't leave---because I knew in that moment that if I had been her, I couldn't have left, either.

We left Aguilares later that day, but I will never forget the people we met, their stories, and their courage.

Today I remember Jean Donovan and her companions, martyred in El Salvador thirty years ago. I pray to have even a small amount of her courage and faith.

Thanksgiving

There's something about mid-life that makes me more grateful than ever for my life, my family, my friends. The younger version of me took so much for granted--the later mid-life version of me knows that nothing should ever be taken for granted. There's something about travel, in particular travel to places where people struggle with poverty, with war, with fear, that makes me ever more aware of what I have and what I don't have.

One of the things that the folks I have encountered in places that can only be described as sad or desperate have is a sense of dependence on God. Their celebrations of faith and of the Liturgy are more vibrant than anything I have ever experienced anywhere else. They know something about God that I don't. How is it that they are more sure of their faith than I am, than we are? I might think that they have less to be thankful for than I do--or anyone else in America, for that matter. But the reality is that when it comes to spiritual matters----they know something about God that I don't know.

So, on this Thanksgiving, I am grateful for all the gifts in my life----and not the stuff. I am grateful for this past year, and most especially for an amazing 9 day retreat in the Holy Land. The retreat continues to unfold and bring gifts that I didn't expect.

I am so grateful.

Standing by the side of the road.....

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C
September 26, 2010




Last year, I had a friend visiting from out of town -- we were out sightseeing when we drove by a very pregnant woman, with 2 or 3 small children, holding a sign that said “Homeless, anything helps.” I couldn’t stop because the light was green, so I told my friend that we had to go around the block because I couldn’t just drive by and without giving her some money---my friend was already digging in her purse, so apparently she couldn’t drive by either. As we came around to the woman, the light turned red. My friend told me that she had to get out to talk to the woman and pray with her---so she jumped out of the car and went over to her. I prayed that the light would stay red for a long, long time…..thankfully, it did, and soon enough my friend jumped back in the car and we were off again. It turned out that the woman with kids was on the run from an abusive husband and was trying to figure out what to do next. I never saw her again, but still think about her and pray for her.

One Sunday afternoon, several years ago, I was teaching a Confirmation group session on the principles of Catholic Social Teaching---we were working on the one called the “preferential option for the poor.’ In talking about who is poor in our community, the subject of ‘those people with cardboard signs who stand by the side of the road’ came up. I shared with the group that when I feel that it’s safe to do so---in terms of traffic safety, and my personal safety---I try and give that person some money, if I have it. One of the participants, who thought that this was absolutely the dumbest thing he had ever heard, immediately commented that ‘those people’ were all scammers and should be ignored. I asked them to stop and imagine that their lives had just been turned upside down---that everyone who was employed at their home had just lost their job and they were about to be evicted, with no one to turn to. What would they do and where would they go? One thing became obvious----they had a lot of incorrect assumptions about social services. I kept asking “what would you do?” One suggested that they could win the lotto. I skipped telling them the probability stats and went right to ‘remember, you have to BUY lotto tickets, and you don’t have any money.” When they couldn’t come up with any realistic solutions to their brand new poverty dilemma----the participant who had made the ‘scammer’ comment looked at me, raised his hand, and very quietly and seriously said “I would make a sign and stand by the side of the road.” No one in the room said a word.

Here’s the way that my thinking goes on this issue: if the person with the sign is a scammer, it’s on his or her conscience---if they are in need and I don’t help, it’s on mine. I don’t want that on my conscience.

In the interest of full disclosure, another time, I was driving, and saw a guy with a sign. I drove closer and saw that the sign said “Need a hug.” I’m sure he did. But he looked a little sketchy, so, in the interest of personal safety, I smiled and waved and kept on driving.

I just know that when, God willing, I get to heaven, that pregnant woman with the small children will greet me at the gate, and I will hear the voice of Jesus say, “Hey, it’s ME! Pretty good disguise, no? And that guy with the “need a hug” sign? That was me, too. “

Everything that we have is a gift from God, and being a good steward requires us to use and share wisely. We all know this story, and we know that it doesn’t end well for the rich man---but not because he was rich. It doesn’t end well, because he was oblivious to the poor man who was right by his door. In the Confiteor, we pray: "I have sinned in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do." There’s the sin. It’s the “what I have failed to do” part. The rich man didn’t attack or abuse Lazarus----he didn’t do anything at all to Lazarus. He did nothing. He had the money, the power, the ability to help someone who desperately needed it. He did nothing. It’s called a sin of ‘omission.’

My German grandmother taught me a word when I was little----"schadenfreude." It doesn’t translate into English, but it basically means taking pleasure in someone else’s pain. I must admit to a bit of "schadenfreude" when I read the part where the rich man, who was clearly used to giving the orders, had already arrived in hell, where he finally bothered to notice Lazarus, and continued to give orders. “Father, send Lazarus to give me water, to tell my brothers to shape up so they won’t end up like me, blah, blah, blah.” Are you kidding me? He never noticed Lazarus in life, and now that their lives had done a complete flip-flop, he wanted to treat him like a slave? Not that I’ve ever been to hell, but I’m reasonably sure that it doesn’t operate that way. The people in hell don’t get to call the shots, and they don’t get to have the people they wronged in this life as a personal assistant in the next. This is a very troubling parable, with drastic consequences---if you willfully ignore the poor, it seems that you end up in hell.

The Gospel reading last week encouraged us to be good stewards of our possessions and money, and cautioned us against making money into a god. Today’s Gospel goes further and tells us that we must, as good stewards, share what we have with those who are poor. But first we have to be aware that there are people in need.

Lazarus walks among us every day—do we see him? For the last month, he has been across the street staying at St Margaret’s Church with Congregations for the Homeless---and for 10 days, over 100 volunteers from this faith community fed and cared for him. He lives at St Martin de Porres Shelter. He stands by the side of the road with a sign that says “Homeless Vet. Anything helps.” He needs something to eat, and he needs a hug.

Today’s Gospel invites us to remember that we really are called to take care of each other---and it starts by noticing that there is someone there, someone in need, someone who is Lazarus walking among us, someone who is Jesus in disguise.