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Monday, February 2, 2015
Lent & the Crown of Thorns
Terry was sitting
beside her husband at the outdoor Mass we attended on the Mount of Beatitudes.
She leaned into Chris’ side and felt the joy of praying the Mass with him, the
enormity of hearing the words of the divine liturgy on this mountain where
Jesus Christ proclaimed the Sermon on the Mount. Then, Terry suddenly
reached up and swiped at the back of her neck as though she had been stung.
It was no bee.
When I looked
behind her, I had to smile. The branch she had just swept away was from the Zizyphus
Spina Christi plant, a tree believed to have been used to make the Crown of
Thorns that was placed on Our Lord’s Sacred Head before the crucifixion.
The significance
of that moment on the Mount of Beatitudes and the grace of being pricked by the
thorns of that plant in the middle of Mass still resonate with me. Yes, it was
a grace … is a grace to share in His Passion, just as it is a grace to share in
His Resurrection and triumph over death and sorrow and little pricks of pain
from countless things that trouble us. A little thorn on an obscure branch on a
hill where the gospel was proclaimed and is still proclaimed today.
The thorns were
not big, like those we imagine or see in Hollywood depictions of that day. They
were little. So sharp. Like needles, but so small that one has to look closely
to see them. The first time I visited the Holy Land and walked along that Mount
of Beatitudes, I paused to snap a little branch from one tree as we descended
the mountain and approached the Sea of Galilee below.
The thorns pierced
me three times, drawing blood. It was painful, but I had to laugh at the irony
of it. Such a little thing, this thorn.
Such little things
to cause such pain. And there was a little joy in knowing I was sharing in a
very small way in the pain my Lord had experienced. I treasured that little
thorn. It is now between the pages of my Bible – resting in the crevice of a
page that tells about the Passion and a crown of many thorns.
As we approach
Lent, I am thinking again about the Mount of Beatitudes and the Zizyphus
Spina Christi plant.
I am thinking
about our thorns, the countless sufferings we embrace and consider a share in
His great suffering.
I think of Our
Lord, who walked down that same mountain, passed thorny plants such as these,
and yet had His eyes on the path that led all the way to the Cross of Mount
Calvary.
Oh, my Jesus. Let
me take up your suffering and wear it with you.
Let me see each
prick as a grace.
And let me say
what you said.
Thy will. Only Thy
will.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Advent, the Road to Bethlehem
I have dipped my
toes in the chaos of the Christmas-before-Advent scene. I’ve been to the mall
once. I’ve landed on radio stations that play Christmas music around the clock
– and quickly popped in my Rosary CD to escape the noise. I’ve seen enough of
commercialized Christmas even though I have actively avoided it this year.
Advent is the only
antidote.
But Advent only
comes to those who know how to get quiet. It hides from those who have to
hurry. It will never be found in the crowded places and packed spaces of
shopping aisles and city crosswalks.
Advent waits to be
invited to your December. It will not show up on its own. It is a polite guest.
It will not crash your party.
Christmas-without-Advent
is a fake. An imposter. We all know it.
The Christmas we
all need, the one we long for, the one we can imagine so clearly . . . it only
comes to those who walk alongside Mary. In the quiet. Away from the crowds.
Where Sacred Scripture comes alive and holiness is real.
 |
| Shepherds Field - Sheep Fold - Bethlehem November 2014 |
It’s no mirage –
this Advent journey. It’s not an optional side excursion on the way to
Christmas. It’s necessary. It’s the way
to Christmas. The only road to Bethlehem.
I was blessed to
travel to the Holy Land twice in 2014. In fact, I am writing to you now from
Bethlehem. I stood there today, at Shepherds Field, and the idea of the crowded
mall seemed so silly, so completely out of step with Advent. I knelt to pray
where Christ was born, and the idea of jacking up the credit card to buy a few
more presents seemed almost unholy, almost contradictory.
The two don’t go
together. Not when you are here. Not when you are removed from the bright
lights and staged windows of Main Street America.
Today, I imagined
a pregnant young woman and her beloved husband as they journey from Nazareth to
Bethlehem, over the rugged terrain that I have walked with my own feet, in my
own Timberland boots, as my filled water bottle sloshed against my backpack,
and I lifted my camera to capture the real Nazareth, the real Ein Kerem
(Zechariah & Elizabeth’s home), the real Bethlehem. And I cannot think of
anything but the plan of salvation that brought God into our world. The part of
me that can be so easily abducted and thrown into the chaos of commercialized
Christmas is gone.
But this kind of
contemplation does not require an international pilgrimage – although it
certainly gave me a new perspective. One can find this path – from Nazareth to
Bethlehem – by doing some deliberate things.
This pilgrimage
begins with receiving God, your very own personal Annunciation-moment. Christ
coming to you in the Eucharist and you being sent to go forth once you have
received Him. The pilgrimage is a journey with Mary from Nazareth. It happens
when we take Christ with us, and we share Him with family and friends, as Mary
did at Ein Kerem in the hills of Judea at the Visitation. The Lord grows within
us as we feed and nourish our life in the Spirit. We do this by reading, by
praying, by remembering the poor, by listening to Advent songs (and waiting for
Christmas songs), by eating as a family around the table with the Advent Wreath
as a centerpiece, by saying a prayer for those who send us cards rather than
tossing the cards mindlessly in a basket.
This pilgrimage
does not require money, or imitation snow, or double-sided wrapping paper. It
only requires an undivided heart. We journey with Israel to the coming Messiah.
When we set our eyes on Mary and run ahead to take hold of her mantle, we
remember. That is the journey that leads to Christ.
Yes, you can make
this pilgrimage through the sacramental & liturgical life of the Church.
But if you are able to do it, go to the Holy Land. Some day. Some way. Go.
And kneel there,
where you can imagine it all, where the real Advent cannot be usurped.
Nazareth. Ein
Kerem. Bethlehem. These are real places. And the Franciscans are here, waiting
for you to come and experience it all for yourself. Pilgrimage. It’s part of
our faith tradition, whether it is a quiet pilgrimage of the heart or a
pilgrimage that takes us to the other side of the world.
We are a
pilgrimage people. And we are on a mission to discover Jesus Christ and to
share Him with everyone we meet.
Blessed & holy
Advent to you and your family, from Bethlehem of Judea.
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