I admit that I struggle with “the Church” and with the apparent ideologies of parts of the church that I deal with… like the Cursillo Movement. I admit that I struggle to be inclusive, to remember and love these entities that I struggle with, even when we diverge on interpretation, or when I feel like I have moved on and I have shed some of these ideas. I admit that at times I do think I am more advanced or a bit superior. I’m not, when I look closely and honestly at myself, but I do struggle with those tendencies.
Last night I listened to a couple of talks at a Cursillo School of Leaders. These were well done, and well researched. The women who happened to be talking had put time, effort and thought into these presentations, and both admitted that the preparation had caused a change of mind and/or heart in themselves.
I listened to the words and a couple of things struck me: First, I was hearing with different ears. Same words, but very different meanings to me. That means I heard things I had never heard before, even if I had heard the same words proclaimed. One of the ideas that has been voiced is about being fully human. I’ve mouthed those words, but mostly they were a mystery to me. I hear words about “something superior to this world” and I bristle… until I begin to understand that what I seek is superior in as much as it is more, beyond, a unity of the physical world we see (and touch and hear) and the Spirit or power that animates not only humans but all the world. A unity in the universe.
The other thing that struck me was the simplicity of “method” talk and how the speaker shared her journey toward a better understanding of “the method.” She talked about “Make a friend, be a friend, bring that friend to Christ” and how the goal was “Bring a friend to Christ” not “Bring a friend to Cursillo.” That might happen that one would bring a friend to a Cursillo weekend, and that would probably be a good thing, but that is not the goal. Even before that, she reflected on what it means to make a friend and be a friend. I kept hearing the words to an old song “What a friend we have in Jesus…” as she spoke.
I’m listening with new ears. I’m hearing the same words and moving to a different understanding. If I truly believe that God is everywhere and in everything/person/creature/plant/situation, and that the same holds for the Body of Christ, then I’m approaching this idea of sharing the Good News differently. I only need to witness to the Love that is Lord of Heaven and earth and be led by that light. I don’t need to judge. I don’t need to worry that someone else is responding incorrectly. I can let go of the need to be “right.” I am free to evaluate the results of actions without judging the person.
Maybe those are the ears Jesus was referring to… for now, I’m going with that.
Not long ago the Sunday Gospel was the Transfiguration — Jesus takes Peter, James and John up the mountain where they see Jesus as he truly his. The gospel says “transfigured”, but in many ways it seems to be transformation or metamorphosis. Like the resurrection where Jesus becomes the Christ.
The interesting term to me is “metamorphosis” — that would be the Greek variant. Most of us are familiar with a couple of regular metamorphosis events: Caterpillars wrap themselves in a cocoon and emerge as a butterfly (or moth or some other lovely winged creature) and tadpoles grow legs and lungs and absorbs their tails and become frogs. In each case, it is movement from what is to what was always meant to be. Each creature is growing into its “true self.” That caterpillar was always meant to be the butterfly, the tadpole was always meant to be the frog, Jesus was always meant to be the Christ and, I believe, each person is meant to be a part of the Body of Christ.
How that happens is different for different creatures: the caterpillar wraps itself in a cocoon, goes into hiding and if I understand correctly, in that cocoon is an intermediate stage, a pupa, that in its time transforms into a butterfly. The transformation is made in the dark of the cocoon… and when the butterfly emerges, it must do it on it’s on. If someone tries to help it, or do it for the butterfly, then the butterfly generally dies.
That tadpole is a bit more transparent. You can safely watch as legs begin to grow. You can see the tail being absorbed. You can watch each step as it happens.
Some of us are caterpillars while others are tadpoles. Both are becoming what they are meant to be. The butterfly doesn’t get to say to the frog “Hey — you did it all wrong!”; the tadpole doesn’t get to say to the caterpillar — “Hey! You can’t hid while this transformation/metamorphosis is happening.” And Jesus didn’t say “My particular cross is the only cross…”
Let each one be transformed/metamorphosed/transfigured in the way that works. And rejoice in the many paths to the True Self.
Not sure how this all fits together. My first reflections this morning were on how to “let go” — I read the readings before mass; I thought of Solomon asking for wisdom and letting go of his own glory. I reflected on Jesus’ words about finding a treasure and selling all to be able to buy the field where the treasure lay. So many ways to let go of what is no longer useful.
I thought about the gospel and how the fishing net collects many things which are sorted later — and what is good and necessary is kept, and the rest thrown away. So many times I’ve not been willing to throw the net and see what is caught before I throw things away. I want to decide ahead of time what I will catch and keep. My judgement first.
As I listened to the choir practice before mass I realized that it was going to be difficult to “go with the flow.” I hear the music at a different tempo than those who lead it at church. I felt called to try to let go of what didn’t really matter, to let go of my own way and try to follow the timing of that other drummer without all the negative stuff. That’s hard.
You see, there is no closure. When I let go of the timing I hear in the music it’s a small death. When I can’t let go of my drummer and fail to enjoy the other drumbeat, it’s a small death. There is no winning or losing. I must accept both. So, I can get closure in either direction.
I can’t say I succeeded. The closing song was sung at a tempo that felt dirge-like to me. It might have been beautiful to others, but it sucked the life and energy out of me. I can say I made a stab at letting go of how I would have led it and in that way I could search for a certain beauty/joy in the way it was sung. Perhaps one day I will be able to appreciate it. Perhaps not. But certainly, it’s not an anger of frustration that deserves to hold on to my life and my spirit. It just is a different approach to the music. And, the music is what calls me and soothes my soul.
I’ll try to focus more on what’s good and important and let the rest of it work itself out.
Wish me luck.
Fr. Troncale was our fill-in priest yesterday. I must say he was a breath of fresh air. He wanted to sing all of the verses of the opening song. He was friendly, inviting but serious. And he homily was both easy to follow while reaching deep.
Yeah — about that. He focused on the aspect of “prophets” in the readings: Speak God’s truth, with love, to others. Oh, and a prophet gets a prophet’s reward. Me? I’m not sure I’m interested in a prophet’s reward. They get abused. Did you notice I tried to push that away by saying “they”?
He reminded folks that when we are baptized we are baptized as priest, prophet and servant king. Dang! Priest, that’s kind of okay since that evokes the notion of going to church and taking part in a worship service. Prophet is a bit more difficult since that is a call to speak often uncomfortable truth in a loving manner. Servant king is hard as well since I’m sure that “king” doesn’t let me off the hook because I would be “queen” — servant leader? yeah, that’s probably more accurate. But, doesn’t being a leader mean I have servants, not that I am a servant? Servant leader: how does that work?
I’m stuck on prophet for now. How do I speak truth in difficult situations without being mean or judgmental? How do I lay out the truth as I see it without coming across as superior? How to see a situation clearly and just say what I see lovingly, when the truth is gonna hurt? I have trouble looking in the mirror clearly and accepting truth about me on a lot of days. How can I do that with love when there is another person involved and I’m really upset?
Being reminded that I am to be a prophet is scary because first I have to be still and learn God’s truth. It’s scary because if I proclaim God’s truth I’m likely to get at best a cool reaction if the hearer isn’t in a place to hear it. I mean, even trying to share that God loves us, every one, can get you into trouble.
Thanks for the homily!
Mama left us 2 weeks ago. She died about 6:45am on 24 May. That day and the ones immediately following were filled with handling the details such as talking with funeral homes (yes plural since she was buried “back home” which is almost 5 hours away), talking with the priest, contacting family, etc. One moves on autopilot and mostly manages to avoid feeling for a couple of days.
Today, we took 3 of our granddaughters to Callaway Gardens. As I grabbed a straw for my drink at lunch I noticed it was a bendy straw. That’s what I kept a stash of in my purse for my mother and my grandson, Henry. I won’t need those straws as often nowadays… a small wave of sadness washed over me.
After lunch we visited the butterfly house. As I was Genevieve wander around, trying to get pictures another wave rolled over. Just two springs ago my daughter and I put Genevieve (then almost 5) and baby Henry, and Mama in the car and made a trip to Callaway where I had a wonderful time with a 5 year old and an 85 year old fascinated by the butterflies… both wanted me to print pictures of the butterflies for them after the trip. Another sad smile — wonderful memory. I miss her.
Last week at the beach I looked at the walls in the bedroom at the condo and remembered that Mama had loved the color so much that she went home and had her bedroom at home painted the same color.
I wear the ring she gave me — a combination of 2 rings: one from my father and a fancy ring guard from my step-father. She told me she hoped I would enjoy it as much as she had. Another reminder…
It’s bittersweet. I wouldn’t trade these things for the world.