Reflection for Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Tuesday of the First Week of Lent
IS 55: 10-11
PS 34: 4-5, 6-7, 16-17, 18-19
MT 6: 7-15

Before he became Minnesota’s junior senator, Al Franken performed for many years on Saturday Night Live. His most famous character was Stuart Smalley, a sincere but slightly ridiculous self-help guru with a memorable daily affirmation: “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”

Occasionally, the Stuart Smalley sketch included the guest host. One segment featured Michael Jordan, then in the prime of his career and the most popular athlete on earth. Stuart, being a self-help guru, asks Jordan whether he ever struggles with self-loathing. “I can imagine that, a night before a game, you must lie awake thinking ‘I’m not good enough,’ ‘everybody’s better than me,’ ‘I’m not going to score any points,’ ‘I have no business playing this game.’”

Jordan’s answer’s is simple, and priceless: “Well…not really.”

I think this sketch reveals the way I’ve often thought about Jesus. Theoretically, I can accept his humanity, but I’ve always assumed that he was human like Jordan was athletic: beyond the clutches of self doubt.  

Today’s Gospel suggests that I’m wrong. Though I’ve uttered the Our Father a million times, I’ve never noticed how perfect, how polished the prayer seems. Unless one is following the Michael Jordan theory of Jesus’s awesomeness, you have to believe that Jesus didn’t compose those timeless words on the spot. It seems equally possible that Jesus knew the prayer because he himself had prayed it. After all, the Our Father regularly invokes the second person plural:

Give us this day our daily bread;

and forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us;

and lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

One might assume that the “we’s” and “us’s” suggest that Jesus was simply adopting the voice of the mere mortals whom he was teaching. But I’m not so sure. We do know that Jesus was led into temptation, where he probably longed for His daily bread (Mt 4, 1-11). We know that he prayed a lot.

But surely sinless Jesus never trespassed? Surely that line is offered for use by us regular human beings, the bumbling Stuart Smalley’s of the world? Maybe. But perhaps the human Jesus sometimes wondered whether he had trespassed. Did he think, if only for a moment, that it had been rude to imply that the Canaanite woman was a dog (Mt 15, 21-28)? Did he think he’d overshot it when he called Peter Satan (Mt 16, 23)? Did he think, after he overturned the money changers’ tables, “Well, that could’ve gone better” (Mt 21, 12)?

I’m not saying he did trespass. Sometimes bluntness, in word or in deed, is called for. What I’m saying is that the Our Father suggests that Jesus prayed like the rest of us—out of need and doubt. When he prayed, he prayed. He didn’t ethereally commune with the other persons of the Blessed Trinity; he called for help. He did it so often that he learned exactly what to say.

Dr. Paul Lynch is Associate Professor of English and Director of the English Department Writing Program.

Reflection for Monday, February 15, 2016

Monday of the First Week of Lent
LV 19: 1-2, 11-18
PS 19: 8, 9, 10, 15
MT 25: 31-46

During this time of Lent, we are often reminded of the powerful spiritual healing of the sacrament of Penance. Some may ponder what should be shared in the confessional. What should I confess?

We need only to reflect on today’s first reading:
“You shall not steal.
You shall not lie or speak falsely to one another.
You shall not swear falsely by my name,
thus profaning the name of your God….

“You shall not act dishonestly in rendering judgment.
Show neither partiality to the weak nor deference to the mighty,
but judge your fellow men justly.
You shall not go about spreading slander among your kin;
nor shall you stand by idly when your neighbor’s life is at stake…

“You shall not bear hatred for your brother in your heart.
Though you may have to reprove him,
do not incur sin because of him.
Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against your fellow countrymen.
You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Returning to these basics, the Ten Commandments, we will know what we need to confess. If we only see the image and likeness of God in every human being we would be most likely to treat others as we would wish to be treated.

Yes, we can give up chocolate for Lent, but how about offering of ourselves to those in need, donating to a worthy cause, or simply asking someone new or different to join us at lunch or to be part of our study group? By opening our eyes to others to really see those in need, we will be fulfilling our Lord’s very powerful message:

‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did
for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’

Joanne C. Langan, PhD, RN, CNE is Associate Dean for Undergraduate and Pre-Licensure Education in the School of Nursing.

Reflection for Sunday, February 14, 2016

First Sunday of Lent 
DT 26: 4-10
PS 91: 1-2, 10-11, 12-13, 14-15
ROM 10: 8-13
MT 4:4B
LK 4:1-13

A colleague of mine runs an annual program called “Atheism for Lent”; not exactly what one would expect of a minister running a church-based program! His point is not that people literally “give up God for Lent,” but that they allow the most important critiques of religion to “test” our faith, burning away impurities and leaving behind a more serious and mature faith, like refining ore to get down to a pure sample of metal.

It is no coincidence that during the 40 days of Lent we read about Jesus’ 40 days of testing in the desert; this scene comes immediately after Jesus’ baptism, at which he hears the words, “You are my beloved son; with you I am well pleased (LK 3:22). Whatever Jesus might or might not have known about himself by that point in his life, that sort of moment demands some unpacking. Hence, the testing in the desert – less “temptations” than tests, in the sense of proving the solidity of his understanding of God and his commitment to that God.

Twice the tempter begins his test by saying, “IF you are the Son of God…”; that does not sound to me like doubt about WHETHER Jesus is the Son of God, but what it means for him to BE the Son of God, and indirectly what it means for God to be God. After a long fast, the temptation is to make stones into bread, because ‘if you are the Son of God, you should not be hungry.’ The implication of Jesus’ response is, ‘I AM the Son of God, but that does not mean I will always be well-fed and taken care of.’ Similarly, the third test is for Jesus to rely on angels to save him from bodily harm, because ‘if you are the Son of God,’ you should be invulnerable.  Again, the implication of Jesus’ response is, “I AM the Son of God, but that does not mean that I will always be safe.”

From a certain angle, the tempter’s tests make sense: if God is the all-powerful King, and Jesus is the son of that God, Jesus should live like royalty. But what if Jesus is the Son of a different kind of God? If Jesus is vulnerable, able to suffer, moved by the pain of others, but God is all-powerful and above suffering, then Jesus is not actually what God is like, which would be pretty misleading. What if God is less properly understood in terms of power and invulnerability and better understood in terms of solidarity with the marginalized?

We all want safety, security, to be well-fed and properly thanked for our efforts; there is nothing magical about any of that. But any number of examples throughout our history, right to the present moment, demonstrate the riskiness of being a part of God’s family. Of course we too often collude with the powers that be, make God look like just a bigger and stronger version of the powers that be, imagine God on our side destroying our enemies or at least clearing our path. That is the tempter’s vision of God, and it is indeed tempting – so much so that I imagine most of us have given in often enough to the impulse to favor security over sacrifices.

One way we might imagine Jesus’ relationship to God is that Jesus does not go scrambling towards what we WANT God to be like, a God of security and power. Jesus acknowledges his limitedness and vulnerability in the context of his proclamation of the reign of God, whereas we so often expect our religion and our world to provide us all the things that Jesus clearly did not expect: absolute certainty, security, popularity, success.

This season, as we consider what we give up each Lent, consider the value of giving up God-images which no longer bring life in favor of more mature and serious models of relating to the God who calls us to justice.

Reflection for Saturday, February 13, 2016

Saturday after Ash Wednesday

IS 58: 9B-14

PS 86: 1-2, 3-4, 5-6

LK 5: 27-32

Today’s readings call me to challenge my vision of relationship.  As I spent some time this week reflecting on the readings for today, I noted that I love the interplay between Isaiah’s words and Luke’s description of Jesus’ interaction with the tax collectors.  I believe that these readings really call us to examine ourselves during Lent.   How are we in relationship to ourselves, to God, and to others?  How am I a restorer of ruined homesteads?  How am I a repairer of the breach?

When I think about Isaiah’s words, I am called to consider that these homesteads are the landscapes of my own life.  And these landscapes can sure be complicated! In the past few weeks, I’ve struggled with my own sense of self.  My own personal homestead has been challenged.  Perhaps it is because I’ve been tired; perhaps my own fears and anxieties have been getting the best of me in this cold weather where the sun doesn’t often shine; perhaps it is because I took a tumble on the ice.  Lent is the time for me to examine that personal homestead and how my relationship with self is going.  Maybe you struggle too – and maybe we together should not be so hard on ourselves and rely on prayer to bring us to a fuller sense of self.

Speaking of prayer, I’ve switched around my prayer habits a bit during the last couple of weeks and in concert with my relationship with self, I’ve looked at my relationship with God.  My relationship with God is a vast homestead, and Lent calls me to really hone in and cultivate this homestead.  Renewing myself and my relationship with God through the daily Examen is fruitful, but so is finding one moment of grace in each and every day.  Together, let’s consider how we pray, how we are in relationship with God, and how we can experiment with prayer
during Lent.

Finally, I’ve looked at the vast panorama that is my relationship with others. Like the example of Jesus and the tax collectors, who really needs me now?  What is my call, or rather obligation, to not only cultivate but to repair the homesteads of my relationships with others?   How can I use prayer and self-reflection?  How is my faith positioned to call me to be radically challenging, as Jesus was, to issues of intolerance and injustice?  Together, let’s pray about our call to not only repair but to celebrate our relationships.

These homesteads represent for me, the story of Lent, and of Jesus’ journey to the cross.  In my own personal landscape, Lent is a time of journeying together with Jesus and of finding the grace to examine the homesteads of my life.

Sue Chawszczewski is the Director of Campus Ministry.

Reflection for Friday, February 12, 2016

Friday after Ash Wednesday
IS 58: 1-9 A
PS: 51: 3-4, 5-6 AB, 18-19
MT 9: 14-15

A common theme in both today’s first reading and Gospel is the act of fasting.  As a 20-year-old college woman with a big appetite, fasting isn’t something that necessarily sounds very appealing to me.  When I think of fasting, I immediately think of no snacking, eating extremely healthy, and being careful about my portions. Possibly this Lenten season, some people have already decided to fast in different ways. Some people may give up luxury things or addicting foods to fast from, as every person can view fasting in a different light.

Last week, just days before Lent began, I came across one of those articles on Facebook that about 17 of your friends have shared, so you know it must be important.  This time it wasn’t the super high-tech new SLU video that just went viral, but rather an article called “Pope Francis’ Guide to Lent: What You Should Give Up This Year.” As I had just begun the thinking and reflecting process of what I personally wanted to do for Lent this year, I immediately was intrigued knowing that Papa Francisco would definitely have some good and challenging insight for us.  And of course, he did.

In this article, Pope Francis shares some new ways of fasting this Lenten season.  This time it wasn’t holding back on the candy and chocolate, cutting out the carbs, or giving up warm showers, this time it was about one another rather than ourselves. It was about doing good for the people around us and sharing Christ with each other.  This year, our leader in the Catholic church has challenged us to not make fasting become superficial, but rather “reconsider the heart of this activity this Lenten season.”  And he encourages us to do this by fasting from indifference towards one another.  In his Lenten message he says, “Indifference to our neighbor and to God represents a real temptation for us Christians.  Each year during Lent we need to hear once more the voice of the prophets who cry out and trouble our conscience.”  Pope Francis shares with the people that when we fast from this indifference towards others, we can begin to feast on love. If we do no good to others, we do nothing great.  Today’s first reading from Isaiah tells us, “This, rather, is the fasting that I wish: releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke; setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke; sharing your bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and the homeless; clothing the naked when you see them, and not turning your back on your own.” He doesn’t talk about food, but rather he talks about acts of kindness towards one another.

So I hope your Lent this year is off to a great start. Although we are already a few days in, it’s not too late to begin something new.  Take the words of our reading and gospel today, and the words from our church leader, to challenge yourself into a new way of fasting and relationship with Christ and one another.

Betty Goodwin is a Junior studying Education and Theology.

Reflection for Thursday, February 11, 2016

Thursday after Ash Wednesday
DT 30: 15-20 
PS 1: 1-2, 3, 4 AND 6
LK 9:22-25

How do we live out God’s will in our everyday decisions? Overall, we know we want to follow God, but do our everyday choices, big and small, reflect that commitment? As humans, many times we blatantly go against God’s will and choose sin. Other times we hope we are doing the right thing, but we have no way of knowing for certain if we are doing the right thing. We wrestle with different options and wish that God would simply send us a sign confirming that we are on the right path. When reflecting on the readings of today, it is hard not to become a little apprehensive with the emphasis on the destructive outcomes if we do not follow God’s commands. If these are the consequences, which is even more reason He should make His will a little more clear.

When I was struggling last year with how to know if I was following God’s will, a friend shared this following prayer with me. It has since become my favorite prayer, and I hope you enjoy it also. I had been praying for God to show me what to do with my life, and I knew I wanted to follow His will. However, I did not know if I was actually doing so or just making my own path and convincing myself it was what God would want. The prayer is as follows:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” ~Thomas Merton

Focus on the line “the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.” My hope is to keep that desire to please God in the forefront of our Lenten journeys, growing in our desire to do God’s will without losing sight of the big picture by stressing the details. The prayer provides a sense of comfort that our attempts to follow His ways, no matter if we stumble or succeed, bring God joy. A genuine desire to please God and an effort to step back and let Him have direction over our lives will allow those details fall into place.

Emily Kirsch is a sophomore majoring in Public Health with a minor in Spanish. She is involved with the Micah community, Campus Ministry, and Billikens for Clean Water.

Reflection for Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Ash Wednesday
JL 2: 12-18

PS 51: 3-4, 5-6 AB, 12-13, 14 AND 17

2 COR 5: 20-6: 2

Gospel Mt 6: 1-6, 16-18

As we begin our annual Lenten observance, I have to admit that I have something of a love-hate relationship with Lent, and in particular with Ash Wednesday. I love that it is the most “irreligious” (i.e., critical of external religious practices) day in the liturgical calendar, the day that spends the most energy on telling people not to take their ritual performance as a mark of moral or spiritual perfection. As they are today, the readings are always something about religion being about a change of heart and life, not just about looking good: “rend your hearts, not your garments,” “don’t let people see you fast or give alms or pray,” that kind of thing. Even more personally, the words we hear when we receive the ashes cut right at my vain little heart: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Translation: Keep building sandcastles, but remember that the tide is coming in.

Yet paradoxically, Ash Wednesday is the day on which our churchgoing is most visible and on which we spend the most energy thinking about ourselves. My more liturgically expert colleagues and friends tell me that more people show up to church on Ash Wednesday than on any other day of the year, even more than Easter and Christmas – and it isn’t even a holy day of obligation. I can’t help but wonder if it is such a popular day because we are wearing a sign of our church attendance right on our foreheads – precisely what the readings warn us to beware…

Of course, we also spend an inordinate amount of mental energy on changing some pattern in our lives - giving up chocolate or caffeine or beer, doing our pushups every morning, whatever - for the next month and a half. Here’s my problem with that: we tend to think that the content of the discipline is less important than having a discipline. “What are you giving up for Lent?” means that giving up SOMETHING is what matters, but SOMETHING easily turns into ANYTHING. Except that the whole point of it, of any of the religious things we do, is the coming of the reign of God, the overcoming of everything that tears down the fullness of human life. That’s it. So say the documents of Vatican II: “the Church has but one sole purpose – that the Kingdom of God may come and the salvation of the human race be accomplished.” (Gaudium et Spes 45) It isn’t just that God likes it when we give things up; we are about the Kingdom of God, the healing and restoration of a world that is torn apart by greed and indifference, which means that WHAT we do matters.

This Lent, might our discipline be about something that actually responds to a bleeding world? Instead of (or if you must, in addition to) giving up something arbitrary, or doing something that just makes us feel good about ourselves, this Lent is a good time to commit to learning more, saying more, doing more about racism, classism, economic injustice, all the things that destroy life - not just for the next forty days, but in ways that we can't -- won't -- take back after the season ends.

Patrick Cousins works in the Department of Campus Ministry.