Resurrection of the Lord (Year C) March 31 (Acts 10:34. 37-43; Psalm 118; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-18)

If the Easter event occurred in our own day, how would the news be transmitted? We can imagine media blitzes, live interviews, endless analysis by “talking heads” and replay after replay. We would probably tire of the story, and as with most media events, it would soon be supplanted by something more exciting (at least for a time). Media can give us immediacy and a lot of “facts” but it often lacks sincerity, passion and the authenticity of one human heart speaking to another.

Passion Sunday (Year C) March 24 (Isaiah 50:4-7; Psalm 22; Philippians 2:6-11; Luke 22:14-23:56)

Fifth Sunday of Lent (Year C) March 17 (Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:8-14; John 8:1-11)

Human memory can be very faulty when it comes to remembering the great things God has done for us. We need to be constantly reminded. The psalm’s refrain of “The Lord has done great things for us” is but one example of how the Scriptures continually proclaimed God’s past mercies and blessings.

Visiting a friend, I picked up a handsome book, a collection of Icelandic Sagas to pore through. They were wondrous, and not just because some of my ancestors were Vikings. The stories led from Denmark to Iceland and on, to the land they called Vinland, our Newfoundland. There Eric the Red and company arrived in 1001, the first Europeans in the New World. During their second spring there, birch-bark canoes landed near them: their first encounter with native inhabitants. They killed them. The next spring, the natives’ kin found the Vikings and, in their turn, killed as many as they could.

Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year C) March 10 (Joshua 5:9, 10-12; Psalm 34; 2 Corinthians 5:17-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32)

Disgrace does not give up easily. Those who have experienced disgrace often struggle for the rest of their lives to achieve some sort of restoration of honour and self-respect. These attempts are not always successful.

Third Sunday of Lent (Year C) March 3 (Exodus 3:1-8, 13-15; Psalm 103; 1 Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12; Luke 13:1-9)

God has always been invoked by many names and has carried many labels. But when God had the opportunity to reveal a name, label or doctrine it was a different story.

The faith-filled understand that life has purpose, meaning

Second Sunday of Lent (Year C) Feb. 24 (Genesis 15:5-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 9:28-36)

First Sunday of Lent (Year C) Feb. 17 (Deuteronomy 26:4-10; Psalm 91; Romans 10:8-13; Luke 4:1-13)

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C) Feb. 10 (Isaiah 6:1-2, 3-8; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11)

The shame and fear felt by Adam and Eve in the Eden story is still with us. The sense of separation and unworthiness led them to hide from God’s presence. Most people still respond in similar ways — we would be aghast if we knew that we were about to be in God’s presence even if it didn’t involve death.

Isaiah found himself — in an inner vision rather than a physical journey — in the heavenly court. The experience was overwhelming and terrifying. There was a long tradition that no one could see God and live so Isaiah was sure that he was done for. The seraphs chanted “Holy, holy, holy” in adoration and praise, which is the source of the Sanctus in the liturgy. To say something was holy, however, meant that it was set apart from the arena of normal human activity and of the utmost purity. In ancient Israel the holy was approached with a fair amount of awe and dread. Wide and deep indeed was the gulf between God and human. Isaiah was unwilling to speak, especially in a prophetic manner, for he was convinced of his own sinfulness — the words themselves would be affected. The action of the seraph symbolized what God does with those whom God calls — the purifying hot coal was “touched” to Isaiah’s lips in order to cleanse him of sin and unworthiness. It was nothing that Isaiah did; in fact, there was nothing that he could have done on his own. The grip of fear and shame fell away and he was able to respond to God’s mission with a hearty “Here I am Lord, send me!”

The fear and guilt we feel before God is of our own making — we fear judgment and punishment. God is not interested in that but wants to transform, heal and empower all who are willing to respond. We come to God as we are and surrender; God does the rest. Praising God with the seraphs takes our mind off the self and focuses it where it belongs: on God.

Paul reminded the Corinthian community of the message in which they had first believed and begged them not to stray from it. These few verses represent the earliest Christian “creed.” The message was stark and simple. Jesus died for our sins, was buried, rose again in fulfilment of the Scriptures and appeared to many of His followers. There was no complicated theology, just the joyous proclamation that Jesus was alive again and that His life and death had momentous consequences for undeserving humanity. It was this gracious kindness that enabled Paul to rise above his own pain and regret over his years as persecutor-in-chief of the Christian movement and become its greatest apostle. Paul acknowledged that the good that he had done and the person he had become was purely God’s grace. The only fitting response for Paul — and us — is gratitude and passing it forward.

Jesus did so many things well, but what did He know about fishing? This question might have been on the minds of Peter and his friends as Jesus told them to put down their nets again. They tried again, this time with divine guidance rather than their own, and not only did they catch fish, but it was a huge haul. Peter was overcome and fell at the feet of Jesus, begging Him to just go away. Peter was made acutely aware of his flaws and sinfulness and felt unworthy to be in Jesus’ presence. Jesus would not hear of it — with the oft-repeated admonition to let go of fear, He raised him up and gave him a new mission. He was to be a fisher of people — far more difficult!

Fishing was a biblical apocalyptic end-time symbol, so its use here signaled that with the coming of Jesus the ingathering of souls for God had begun. Patience is essential. One cannot be discouraged at an empty net or hook but be willing to try over and over again at God’s direction.

The Lord invites us to continue this holy work of reconciling souls to God. We are to rely on the power and compassion of God rather than allowing our insecurity, preconceptions and weaknesses to paralyse us.

While the Lord is experienced in positive and negative ways, He is always love

A man’s heart cries out. For years, Jeff has tried to follow God, but hasn’t found his dearest dream: a woman he could love and be loved by, who wants God as the foundation of their marriage. Why the rejection? Isn’t God love? Isn’t this cruel?

Other Christians have experienced God as silent, steel, remote, distant, stingy, unyielding, ruthless, “the great vivisectionist.” At other times we know Him as tenderness, gentleness, beauty, life, creativity, kindness, compassion, intimate presence. Who is He really?

“You’ve got to learn to wrestle with God!” Our model is Jacob, who spent the night wrestling someone (Genesis 32). At dawn, Jacob’s adversary wounded him, blessed him and gave him his name, Israel. In the struggle with God, we may discover our true name, and our real self — wounds and all. At least by wrestling, we dare to show what’s going on inside us.

The Church helps us wrestle by giving us Lent. Ash Wednesday, Feb. 13, shows Lent is physical as well as spiritual: we mark our bodies with a reminder of mortality, we take on spiritual disciplines that affect us in the flesh. It’s total; we use everything we have and are to communicate with God.

In its early centuries, the Church wrestled with many questions about God, including this: how could there be any true communication, any meeting-point, between the real God and us? Wouldn’t humans be lost in God’s vastness or God somehow be made less by being grasped?

Wrestlers get so intertwined that they look almost like one person. They feel each other’s strengths and weaknesses, bodies and spirits. Could it be like that between us and God? Could Jeff, by not giving up but coming back and back with his question, be in true communication with the living God?

Among us humans, communication happens through electronic forms known as “social media.” These involve much self-presentation: showing photos and videos of ourselves, our friends, food or pets or silly moments; we write bits of news about what we were thinking just before breakfast; we put together montages revealing our thoughts and desires, without discrimination, the painful and the odd, the beautiful and delightful. It allows for creativity as well as self-exposure.

It’s as though people are holding their faces up to an invisible mirror. Through it, they see their own reflection and invite others to see it too. Like the ordinary, visible mirror, this sort of self-study can be destructive, as in the myth of Narcissus: the youth whose handsomeness broke many hearts. One day he saw his reflection in a still pool. He had nothing to prepare him or help him understand it. He fell in love with his own beauty, but died because he couldn’t touch or fulfill his love of the image he saw.

Underneath the Narcissus story, and behind the passion for electronic self-exposure, lie understandable human desires. We want to see and know ourselves, to contemplate our image — though we can’t see our own faces. We want to show ourselves to others, be reflected back, have someone find us beautiful and interesting and love us. We want to dig inside ourselves and find creative ways to bring forth what we discover inside. We want these things even though we fear they’re impossible, since we also experience ourselves as ugly, unimportant and unlovable.

These desires reflect a divine movement: God beckoning, reflecting back our true image, the image of beauty He called forth in us. God “bending the heavens,” as the psalm says, to show us we’re beloved. God doing the impossible to call us to this truth of ourselves, beyond the scars of sin — our own and others.

Deepest, truest, wildest in us is our desire for God, without whom we can never find rest. Our need to communicate, to be seen, can’t be fully satisfied by any human communication, by electronic self-disclosure or song and dance or feasting, by studying ourselves or even by loving one another — though all these things may, and some must, bring us closer.

That’s why human communication always involves frustration, even when it’s exhilarating. Whatever we seek is never truly found except in God. And He’s completely beyond us, though nearer to us than our fingernails to our fingers.

How could there be a meeting-point between God the Creator and us His creatures? Only in the one who in Himself unites human with divine. There’s no humanity without God — and because of Christ, there’s no God without humanity.

That’s the intimacy we seek, whether through electronic media or dances in the village square. It’s what we invite through our Lenten spiritual practices. They prepare us to receive the fullness of God’s love without any shadow or cruelty or pain.

No wonder we experience Him in negative as well as positive ways: thirst and hunger, pain and longing, cruelty and ruthlessness. Gentleness, kindness, wonder, delight. And love.

He’s in everything, even in Jeff’s long longing.