The Fourth Sunday of Lent – The story of the man born blind
John the Evangelist is inviting us to ask ourselves: Who are the blind ones? Who are those who see?
If you have time, read the entire story for yourself John Chapter Nine.
If you have time, read the entire story for yourself John Chapter Nine.
If you have time, read the entire story for yourself John Chapter Nine.
We’re in an important series of Sunday scriptures used to help catechumens (those preparing to meet the Lord in baptism). In using this series of three stories (1) The Woman at the Well, (2) The Man Born Blind (next Sunday) and (3) the Raising of Lazarus, the Church all through its history asks John the Evangelist to interpret for us how he sees Jesus and his significance for us.
This coming Sunday’s gospel (March 7, 2010) has Jesus and his buddies passing through Samaritan territory. The hour’s about noon and he’s tired, hot, dusty, sweaty (I guess) and thirsty. He sits down by Jacob’s well but has no bucket; the cool stuff is right down there but he can’t access it. Why not take a moment to read the entire fascinating story? (JOHN 4:1-42)
Along comes a woman with a bucket and he’s about to break all kinds of taboos: One, Jews don’t associate with Samaritans. And two, men don’t speak to women in public. She is shocked by his shattering both of these impenetrable barriers and is quite flustered. And three, she’s not exactly a woman of high moral standing.
He soon puts her at ease by asking her for a drink, and as the great Teacher he is, he reverses the symbol and says he will give her “living waters so she will never be thirsty again.”
She’s intrigued and begins to relax in his accepting, easy manner. (We forget that He was probably a handsome 31 year old.) In fact, she quickly feels such total acceptance that she trusts him to touch her on the inside. The conversation cuts to the quick very quickly. She has had “five husbands and the one she’s living with now is not her husband.”
Jesus has a true pastoral manner that, very sadly, so many of my friends who have left the church did not get from a priest or family or a community when they needed it the most.
I pray the rosary everyday and one of the new “Mysteries of Light” has us meditate on “the proclamation of the kingdom.” At some point because I wasn’t preaching and celebrating Mass publicly I realized that I must learn how to share (proclaim ) the Good News not over the heads of masses of people but to share it as Jesus did here in a stranger’s town — one person at a time. I ache inside when I realize so many have turned a deaf ear to the church because our lives often do not match our words or because we use harsh and condemning words which push people away and cauterize their souls instead of drawing them close.
Through my own life experience I have learned to do as Jesus did with the woman at the well. He befriended her first. He treated her as a person. He spoke kindly. He did not condemn her but in revealing his own vulnerability (his own thirst) he brought her up to his own level.
In my videographer’s eye I can see the two of them sitting close to each other on the wall of the well, gently conversing as Jesus listens to the story of her brokenness. Now that is the way — the only legitimate way, in my estimation — to preach the gospel — in mutual regard and respect, in mutual vulnerability.
If we keep screaming at people in harsh words we will be just tuned out. St. Francis of Assisi is known to have said, “Preach the gospel; when necessary, use words.”
I am fiercely pro-life; I don’t even want to kill a roach (I escort them out of my house!) And we have a beautiful truth to share — the sacredness of all life and the sacredness, the holiness of the ground beneath our feet — but we can only get that message across when we get down with people’s hurt and need, without judging to cry with them and hug them instead of screaming at them. Jesus would never do that! The only people he yelled at where the people who justified themselves and condemned others.
I repent of the times that I have been harsh with others. And those times have been many. And I pray that, day by day by day, Jesus, the gentle One, would help me to be more and more gentle and nurturing and respectful to those I meet whose lifestyles and values are different than mine. For I know that if I want to have any influence on them, I need to let them get close to me and let them know that, despite everything, they have a place in my heart.
The story of the woman at the well ends by telling us that this wonderful human being in Whom-God-shown-through (Gospel of the Transfiguration — Second Sunday of Lent / Mark 9:2-10) broke down the wall of prejudice and hostility between Jews and Samaritans so dramatically that the whole town welcomed him and he and his buddies stayed for two days.
Now THAT, dear friends, is the Jesus I know and love.
And want to be like.
Lord Jesus,
I give thanks that I have had mentors who drew me close
in whose loving embrace I received non-judgmental love
and through whose example I myself desire to love without judgment.
In my own thirst to receive the faith of those I meet or care for
may I always bring them to You, the spring of living water
so that the water you give them “will become IN THEM
a spring of living water welling up to eternal life.”
So be it! AMEN!
Here’s Simon and Garfnukel’s Bridge over Troubled Waters.
Years ago when I first heard this song, I thought Jesus was / is the bridge!
With love,
Bob Traupman
priest / writer
Brothers and Sisters,
For your Lenten practice for 2010, I recommend to you to just sit in silence for a few moments. Start with two minutes and build up to twenty by the end of Lent. There is very little silence in America today — even in Mass on Sunday. If you are uneasy with silence, you are uneasy with yourself and with God. So take these six weeks of Lent to learn the discipline of silence; that is,of contemplative prayer. How to quiet your mind and open your heart. It is the basic form of prayer of all of the religions of the world.
Many years ago I was vacationing with a friend in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina It was late at night. A few deer were our only companions on the mountain top. It was pitch black. We couldn’t even see each other. The stars were out all over the heavens in a spectacular display. We were gazing toward the heavens and my friend and I were silent for the longest while. And the silence was penetrating. No cars, no planes, no sirens, no dogs barking, no boomboxes blasting, no words shared between us.
I still remember that moment. It was my introduction to the awesome / all enveloping / soul-grabbing experience of silence. The whole moment inserted us into the mystical; the silence itself was enrapturing.
I have loved silence now for many years. When I was in treatment for my illness, I learned that spending an hour before the Blessed Sacrament each night in the center’s chapel allowed me some relief from my depression and self loathing. There was consolation in the silence. I heard God speak — words that were infused directly into my soul.
In fact, silence is the language God speaks. Or rather, God speaks in the silence. If we are to learn to hear God speaking to us, it is very necessary for us to learn to be comfortable with silence.
In the silence we will hear the voices that inhabit our mind and our soul — the harsh voices that may have been with us since childhood, and the soft, gentle voices of our friends, including the soft gentle Voice of God. Elijah revealed the gift of the silence of God thousands of years ago:
“Elijah came to a cave where he looked for shelter. Then the Lord said to him, ‘Go outside and stand on the mountain before the Lord; the Lord will be passing by.’ A strong and heavy wind was rending the mountains and crushing rocks — but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake — but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake, there was a fire — but the Lord was not in the fire. After the fire was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave” I Kings 19:9,11-13.
So, the mystery of silence is where the Lord is. When we enter silence we enter as if upon a vast ocean. We enter upon the vast communication system of the universe; we think we hear the music of the spheres, as I was sure we did on that night long ago on the mountain top. But we also entered upon the silence of mystery. The mystery of God’s presence almost necessarily involves silence. Silence is the language of mystery.
Take the time this Lent to let God grab you — in the ocean of silence.
If you can’t find a quiet place, escape to the bathroom, or roll up your car window and turn up the radio and enter for a few moments your little “poustinia” your own little quiet place. And encounter your God and encounter your True Self.
They call this Centering Prayer.
For the rest of this article which appeared in my reflection / letter Arise in 1998 click here.
For information about the origins and practice of Centering Prayer click here.
For your an audio / visual meditation “Let all mortal flesh keep silence click here.
Or with lyrics click here.
With love,
Bob Traupman
priest / writer