Believing what we cannot see

When hostilities began in World War ll, people living in London England had their lives changed in major ways. They had to learn how to keep themselves safe when the bombs were falling. They rationed food. They conserved fuel and everything else. They helped each other.

The behaviour changes were the result of being told about the immense danger they were facing. They had no trouble believing this when the sirens sounded and the explosions occurred shortly after.

Today in Ontario - for that matter throughout the entire world - we are facing an immense danger to our lives from an enemy we cannot see. We can only know its effects. And based on what we are hearing about those effects, we are in the process of making significant changes in our daily living patterns. At time of writing, public venues are closing and a state of emergency has been declared in the Province. People have become ill, people have died. People are very anxious. People are stocking up on supplies in panic buying.

We still haven’t seen the enemy. But we know it is there. Because we have been told it is.

Humans are capable of mobilizing tremendous energy, making huge changes, in circumstances like this. And so we should.

It hit me as I was reflecting on the dynamics of all this, that I am not old enough for the WW ll experience. But something felt familiar about the change process resulting from an occurrence whose elements I did not see. In which I was left to believe without seeing what was making it happen.

And it came to me. Chemotherapy, December 2015 through July 2016. I knew that element. I could see it. I will never forget the bags of high octane cocktail going into my arm through the PICC line, or the kindness and professionalism of the nurses, doctors and technicians. But when it was over, I knew there was an element I could not see but that I believed was also responsible not only for the ultimate news of remission, but for what else happened inside of me. That element was the constant message of ‘we are praying for you’, ‘I am praying for you,’ that came from the parish community of St. Paul’s where I have been Deacon for 23 years. The message came both from groups and from individuals. Over and over and over. Continuing to this day, and I always plead, please don’t stop!

I have always prayed. For myself and for other people. I have always believed in the power of prayer. But that belief used to wax and wane by times. Not now.

Believing in what I cannot see. Isn’t it interesting? We humans are demonstrably so capable of that. And yet.... and yet.

I did not know how my treatment was going to turn out. But from very early on, that became less of the point than the ability to trust that it was in good hands, that it was in God’s hands - most importantly that I was in God’s hands. Because that is where those wonderful, marvelous parishioners and friends put me. In a way I could not put myself.

I guess the point of all this is that Covid-19 has put us a little bit in the position of those brave people in WWll London. And a little bit in the position of a person hearing a serious diagnosis. But it has also put us in the position of responding to something else we cannot see, and that is the power of prayer. This is an interesting power. Because it does not cause us to go panic buying. It may not lead to Covid-19 disappearing tomorrow or the next day. Rather, even in the midst of our taking all necessary precautions, it acts on us the way we need it to when that PICC line is in there doing what it does with an outcome we do not know. It settles us. It lets us know that there is something - some One - that is bigger than all of this and who holds us in his hands no matter how this turns out. We know this as the Good News. Our world has desperately needed this News and we know that too. But it waxes and wanes, our ability to mobilize around it, doesn’t it? Well now is the time to reaffirm. We will be ok. If you are reading this, know that I am praying for you. Believe what we don’t see.

I’m in, hope you are too.

Lent, Sin and Hypocrisy

I think that this Blog should maybe be re-titled From the Treadmill. I am enjoying how dots connect in my head when I am under the headphones at the gym listening to audiobooks or talks of one kind or another. But no, we will stick with the Orchard image which captures what this is supposed to be: Reflective thoughts in an environment of growth. The orchard referred to, by the way, is the (former) apple orchard at Ignatius Spirituality Centre in Guelph, that reflected my many retreat experiences.

The world we live in in 2020 seems to be quite a bit different than it was in the early retreat days in 1992. Politics worldwide has been characterized by increasingly deep angry divisions. And sadly, if we turn to our faith/church environment for direction or reassurance, we find ourselves knee-deep in disappointment and cynicism, with abuse scandals and, in the Catholic context, pockets of resistance to Pope Francis, all the way up to bishops and cardinals.

Psychologist Gordon Neufeld has a great term for the emotional response in children when they run into a deeply disappointing, hurtful relationship experience that they cannot control. The term is 'defensive detachment.' You will hear a child say, 'I don't even care.' Or, 'I didn't like that person anyway.' The person in question might be a parent who has left the home, or failed again to show up for a scheduled event. The child is desperately trying to protect themselves from the deep pain caused by someone who is so important to them. In the adult world, in the context I am referring to, defensive detachment may involve wiping one's hands of the whole thing. 'Who cares anyway?' It hurts too much to keep investing in this. The church is bleeding membership, and this figures prominently in the phenomenon.

Which brings us to the topic: Lent, sin, and hypocrisy. The question has been playing around in my head for a while as to whether sin and hypocrisy are the same thing. Some of the messiness of our present era makes that an urgent question. Here is the problem: we are a broken people, we simply do not get it right all the time, no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we wish we could. We hurt each other, we hurt the world around us, and we do damage to ourselves. We have been created with an invitation to come to the home our God has prepared for us. We were also created with the freedom to turn down that invitation, and we do just that every day. We call it sin.. Fortunately our Creator God gave us a second chance in the person of his Son, who stood in for us on the Cross, with all our turn downs. His Resurrection then sealed the victory over what would otherwise be our permanent alienation. We get to reset the relationship. The season of Lent is designed to put us in the emotional and spiritual space where we freely and fully embrace doing just that.

Anyone who is a sinner (all of us) and seeks the forgiveness and reconciliation won on the Cross, far from being a hypocrite, has actually embraced the relationship with Jesus and all he is for us.

That includes those who preach the word of God. No-one escapes the title ‘sinner.’ But it does not include, I think, those who preach the word of God with no investment in how that word should impact their own lives. Who talk one way and live entirely another. That's a hypocrite. I shudder at times with that one and haven’t liked what I see in the mirror.

It also does not include, I think, those of us who say we believe all Jesus stands for. But only in theory. And so have no problem with turning down the invitation. And more importantly, have no investment in Lent.

For those who live in a defensive detachment relationship with our God, with Jesus, with the church, I am certain Jesus has a special place for them/ us in his heart. And all of us need to pray for the healing that is crying out to happen there. Above all we need to be instruments of encouragement by witnessing what Jesus taught - a life of love, forgiveness, welcoming, support, and compassion.      

We will still need Lent because we will never get even that right all the time.

And we need to acknowledge off the top that we cannot do it on our own power. Therese of Lisieux had the answer that most resonates with me: her 'little way.' She went so far as to say that her imperfections had the great benefit of reminding her of her dependence on the Lord (‘littleness’), and of her need to be grateful for all she had been given. The 'little way' was all about opening up to the great power of God's love.

I suppose that too is what Lent is about. A 40 day period in which we can just enter into the great love that will always encourage us to keep going even when we fall on our head, even when we turn down the great invitation. Sin is in there, but not hypocrisy.

Our own Bishop Mulhall recently sent out a very thoughtful Lenten message. In it he quoted St. Paul and said the following: “”See, now is the acceptable time, now is the day of our salvation.” These words… (lead) us into the interior truth of ourselves, our weak and sinful condition. The silence of personal prayer is the place where we encounter Christ. In his merciful care, he will carry us to the deep meaning of his death and resurrection at our Easter celebration."

“....interior truth of ourselves....” I like that. It is where we will find the difference between sinner and hypocrite; and where we will be shown the way to Easter.

Have a wonderful Lenten experience.