News from Sophia Christi

When I was a child in Catholic school we were taught to adore Jesus not imitate him. Our school library had shelves of books about the saints—mostly martyrs. If you were going to imitate Jesus being killed for your faith seemed the only way to do it unless, of course, you were a priest or a nun. There were lots of books about them, too. Since martyrdom was pretty unlikely in the U.S. in the 50’s, and we were just children (as were our parents, according to the church), we were all reduced to following rules. We didn’t see Jesus as a human being who had questions of his own and had to figure out his life just as we did from one minute to the next. From the fourth century on the Church emphasized Jesus’ divinity almost to the exclusion of his humanity. Some even questioned whether he suffered on the cross since he was God and, the thought went, God can’t suffer. And John’s Gospel had lain the groundwork for believing Jesus knew who he was from the very beginning, knew why he was born and what he came here to do since he was one with the Father. When the Vatican Council began reclaiming the real and legitimate humanity of Jesus we in the church started talking more about his life, what he valued, how he treated those who were suffering, how he challenged the religious authorities and tried to shift their focus from laws and rules to compassion and mercy. He became our teacher and brother, someone ahead of us on the journey who had mastered the ability to love even his persecutors in the most demeaning and painful of circumstances. The emphasis shifted from an over-charged focus on his death and resurrection to the way he lived his life—his compassion, inclusiveness, and non-judgmental love of those inside and outside the social system and religious framework of his time. That ability to remain anchored in the tradition of his people while also stepping outside the rigid mindset of its structures gave him flexibility and perspective. He was able to reinterpret the only Scripture he had through the eyes of his heart, the eyes of a lover and healer focused on bringing health to his world. (more…)

“Take off your robe of misery and mourning,” Baruch begins. “God is leading us in joy.” These words struck me when I first read them, and I found myself going back to them again and again. Is that what we’ve been doing, I wondered, wearing a robe of misery and mourning? The political situation in this country, in the West generally, and in the church has been bleak and heartrending, the news so painful. Misery, mourning—they make sense, I thought. Yet it can’t be the whole picture. What happens if we take the suggestion seriously—that God is leading us in joy? Joy is the traditional theme of the third Sunday of Advent, not the second. Interesting that we are reminded to have ‘joy’ two weeks in a row—especially this year, this season. There is more going on beneath the surface than we even imagine. God is continuing to perfect God’s work in us by leading us in joy this Advent. We are asked to lay aside our fears and concerns and follow God’s lead. (more…)

A Japanese Zen master once hosted a prominent professor interested in discussing basic Zen concepts. The professor went on and on about his impressions and ideas while the master prepared tea. Once the tea was ready, the master began serving. He poured the professor’s cup to the brim and kept pouring. The tea overflowed onto the table, but he continued pouring. The professor was dumbfounded and cried, “The cup is full. Nothing else will go in!” The master looked kindly at the professor and said, “You are full. Your thoughts, opinions and theories are overflowing. How can I teach you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Many of us come to this table today filled with our own thoughts, opinions and beliefs about most things, including religion, life, politics. We have been taught to think certain ways, believe certain things. A lot of what we’ve been handed was formulated in another time and culture far removed from where we sit today. The world we live in is dramatically different from first century Jerusalem and has little resemblance to the culture and experience of ancient Israel and its prophets. But the reality of human life is pretty standard. Our basic needs remain the same and how we satisfy those needs hasn’t changed much. We still need love, seek comfort and security, deal with anger, resentment, greed. We still have hope, fall into despair, search for meaning, feel afraid.

Fear drives many of our decisions. Fear drove record numbers of people to vote in Tuesday’s midterms. Fear drives hateful vigilantes to our southern border, drives the call to ‘nationalism’ and the rise of populist movements, and fear increases the fundamentalism in every major religion. Fear also keeps our cups full of our own ideas and our own view of the world. It helps us maintain a sense of control even when—especially when—control is not in our hands at all. (more…)

Of all the Gospel passages we read in our three-year lectionary cycle today’s story challenges the consumerist air we breathe like no other. What does it take for humans to really let go of that compulsion to acquire the goods of the earth whatever the cost to others, the health of the planet or even our own health and equilibrium? The story lets us know the abuse of wealth and power has plagued human societies far longer than any of us have been alive. 2,000 years ago the problem of wealth vs. poverty was as real as it is today. The belief that prosperity is a sign of God’s favor has clearly been around for a very long time. What does discipleship require of us if not, at least, a willingness to confront the cultural expectation that we consume more and more of the goods that surround us in order to drive the engine of our national economy? What does a disciple of Jesus do with his instruction to “sell what you have and give to the poor, then come and follow me?” And if we do take Jesus’ words seriously then what does discipleship in this time, in our lives, look like? Let’s say we actually disengage from those things that provide a sense of security and safety and a feeling of control over our lives. Where does that leave us? There is something so countercultural in Jesus’ invitation to the youth in today’s Gospel that it was countercultural even in Jesus’ time 2,000 years ago! (more…)

On the day Hitler entered Paris, Clementine Churchill wrote a note to her husband. “My Darling Winston,” she wrote, “I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner; and you are not as kind as you used to be.” He had been acting “so contemptuous” toward subordinates in meetings that “no ideas, good or bad, will be forthcoming,” she told him, so “you won’t get the best results.” The letter was torn up. But after giving it more thought, she sent it anyway. We need people like Clementine in all the strongholds of power, people who have the courage and ability to not only speak the truth, but gain a hearing for those whose voices have been silenced. And we do have those people—individuals within and outside organizations who pay attention to abuses of power, who courageously call out the abusers and insist on being heard. We have them in the Church where, for more than three decades, many have worked tirelessly to bring the issue of sexual abuse to the ears of the Vatican. Events of the past two weeks have put this shameful history in the headlines again, and it is turning the institution upside down. We need to hear these stories. We need to take a long, hard look at a culture that continues to produce what Francis has called “little monsters” and use our voices singly and in unison to insist on systemic change. (more…)

“Get up, Elijah. You have a long journey ahead,” the angel says, putting food and water near him, ordering him to eat. Poor Elijah—exhausted and depressed after his flight into the desert, away from Jezebel’s henchmen. He has quickly forgotten what God accomplished through him just days before. Easy to forget when running for your life! We meet him sleeping under a broom tree, praying for death, defeated. He doesn’t want to go on. Have you ever felt that way, like you just don’t have the energy or the will to fight the good fight anymore? That it’s not worth the effort? If you have, then you know what Elijah is going through under that broom tree. You know the human experience of self-pity and despair. But if you’re paying attention to the story, notice how God responds. First, there is no judgment. In our human misery we are offered food and water. The nourishment can come in any form, but it will be something that gets our attention, brings a little comfort, offers a bit of sustenance and lifts our spirits just enough to get us going again. We are loved and we are needed. Without us, without Elijah, God cannot do the work of rectifying and resurrecting the world when humans go off the rails. Human to human contact is how we learn love, forgiveness, mercy and redemption. So God feeds Elijah with the fruits of the earth—tangible love, drinkable hope. There is more work to be done, work that can’t be accomplished without his willingness and energy.

Despite how frightened and tired he is, Elijah obeys. He eats the cakes, drinks the water, and walks the arduous road to Mt. Hebron. Finally he arrives and finds shelter in a cave only to have God question why he is there! Elijah doesn’t skip a beat. He launches into complaints against his people. They haven’t been faithful. They’ve torn down the altars and killed the prophets. Now they want to kill him, he tells God. He says he is the only one left who is truly faithful! Notice God doesn’t respond to his emotional outburst. Again, there is no judgment. God simply tells Elijah to go stand on the mountain, maybe hoping to get him out of his head and into his body. It’s almost as if God is saying, “let me help shift your focus, Elijah. This negativity isn’t helpful and you’re getting all wrapped up in your ego here. Let’s see if we can clear the debris. Go stand on the mountain, Elijah.” (more…)

God speaks to us through the Prophets, both current and ancient. Last Sunday, through Ezekiel, God said: “I am sending you to your own people. They are a stubborn and obstinate bunch. Whether they listen or not, they will know that a prophet has been among them.” Today we hear Amos standing up to Amaziah, the priest in service to Jeroboam, King of Israel. Jeroboam brought prosperity to Israel by expanding his territory. The new land was given to his supporters creating a wealthy class of landowners. As land and money were redistributed the number of poor people increased resulting in a class of servants and slaves exploited by the rich. It was these social and economic abuses that led Amos to deliver God’s demand that the poor of the kingdom be attended to. They had a legitimate claim on the wealthy and powerful of Israel. Throughout Scripture we hear that continuing cry for justice, for healing, for care and mercy to flower in people’s hearts replacing hard-hearted self-interest.

Amos is a simple shepherd and tender of figs. He is not a “professional” prophet, one paid to tell the people what the king wants them to hear. No. He speaks TO the king, to the priest, to the entrenched authority structures of his day. The Spirit is at work in him, directing his attention to what is being done to the weak by the wealthy, to the powerless by those who hold the reins of power. He is inflamed by the injustice of it all and compelled to challenge the status quo. He puts his neck on the line not because he wants to do this or because his position requires it of him, but because the God of justice and mercy sends him to this moment—to confront the system and its King!

Real prophets challenge centers of power. Like Amos, their prophecies highlight the selfish failings of organized religion and society’s constant oppression of the disenfranchised, marginalized and helpless. They unsettle social structures that create or uphold inequality, that exploit resources and harm communities for the benefit of a privileged few. We have many prophets among us today. Pope Francis is one. (more…)

As I hear God’s words to Ezekiel I can’t help but hear them through the filter of our current national quandary. “Mere mortal,” God says, addressing us. “I am sending you to your own people. They are stubborn and obstinate children. They and their ancestors have transgressed against me to this very day. You will say to them, ‘thus says the most high God.’ As for them, whether they listen or not—for they are a rebellious house—they will know that a prophet has been among them. We have so many prophets among us today! I will introduce you to four I’ve discovered. One, at least, you already know and I will begin with him. At the international conference titled “Saving our Common Home and the Future of Life on Earth” Pope Francis, our first prophet said: “The pace of consumption, waste and environmental change has so stretched the planet’s capacity that our contemporary lifestyle, unsustainable as it is, can only precipitate catastrophes, such as those which even now periodically occur in different areas of the world…There is a real danger that we will leave future generations only rubble, deserts and refuse…Humanity has the know-how and means to cooperate responsibly in safeguarding the the earth…All governments should strive to honor the commitments made in Paris, in order to avoid the worst consequences of the climate crisis. [This} requires honesty, courage and responsibility, above all on the part of those countries which are more powerful and pollute the most….we cannot afford to waste time.” Whether we listen or not, a prophet is speaking. (more…)

In the first three chapters of Genesis there is “movement from a fixed and unchanging world to a new [evolving] order.” Society doesn’t exist and there is no basis for judgment. Entering the scene is the snake, the trickster, a character with the capacity to transform situations and overturn the status quo.” We are dealing with archetypes. The woman is “the curious one, the seeker of knowledge and tester of limits. She risks the status quo to learn discernment so she can achieve wisdom. “She is no easy prey,” says Susan Niditch, Professor of Religion at Amherst. “She is a conscious actor choosing knowledge.” She is the story’s heroine, risking everything to acquire the one tool humanity needs for the evolution of consciousness—the ability to choose, to discern good from evil. She dares to consume the fruit of the divine. As the Mother of all life she takes that first step on the precipitous path of human development so that we might one day know and manifest the divinity at the core of our being.

Switching scenes we are in Czechoslovakia during the communist era. Catholic religious orders are banned, and most existing clergy are jailed, sent to labor camps, or forced into military service. Some are murdered. It is in this climate some church leaders decide to ordain a few remaining qualified individuals–including women–as priests. One of these, Ludmila Javorova, is ordained December 28, 1970 by the underground Czech Bishop Felix Davidek. (more…)