Mark 16
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Thoughts from Deacon Adam

Peace is not a thing.  Peace is a Person.  And whenever we experience even a little bit of peace, that is God, right there. Because all peace comes from God Himself. And in every moment, and right in the midst of every battle, He is calling out to each of us:
“I am peace.  I am your peace.  Come as close as you want.”

The ancient prophecies in scripture speak of the arrival of the Savior of humanity.  They tell us of the Lord’s first appearance in the world, where Jesus offers us peace on earth, and we respond by rejecting His offer and killing Him.

However, the books of the gospel end on a hopeful note, leaving us with a sense of eager anticipation for the return of Christ, when He will right all the wrongs in this broken world and finally set up the just as rulers in His kingdom here on earth. The Lord returns a time when we will finally be ready to give up on trying to create our own peace.  When we will finally be able to see that there is no social solution to a spiritual problem.  When we will finally be willing to throw our hands up in the air and say, Jesus take the wheel.

Then we will more fully understand the spiritual physics explained in the letters of the Apostle Paul, and why he so frequently and emphatically points out the distinction between the self-reliance of the flesh, and the God-reliance of the Spirit.  

Then, finally exhausted from thousands of years of trying to fix itself, humanity will be ready to accept the Lord’s offer to be changed by love, from the inside out.

The prophets still speak even today, delivering to us God’s forecast of this amazing, future time on earth, that is still yet to be fulfilled. A time when the culture of God’s Kingdom will begin to influence us more than all of the other governments and powers of the world.

The life-changing grace and truth pouring forth from the Lord’s coming government on earth will have such an effect on us, that the Scriptures say that the whole world will give up on war. That we will actually stop killing each other, and live in peace on earth, from sea to sea. Can we even imagine what that is going to be like?

The end of physical warfare. No more armies invading nations. No more bullets and bombs. No more sons and daughters, fathers and mothers away from home with the armed forces, and no more military chaplains in uniform knocking on front doors, with the terrible news of lost loved ones.  

And the end of political warfare. No more bitter divisions within nations over preferred political parties. No more strained relationships within families over preferred candidates running for office. No more angry accusations or egregious offences.

And the end of economic warfare. No more power struggles and resentment between socioeconomic classes. No more suspicions between the wealthy and the poor. No more judging our importance, or our value by where we live, what we drive, how we dress, or how we might present our lives on social media.

All of our fighting between nations, between families, between individuals.  
All of our fighting between social classes, races, genders, and generations.

From our current events and our present perspective, it may seem unlikely that there is a kind of peace that is strong enough to end all fighting. After all, we were born into a world at war. We may even be at war with ourselves. Wrestling with guilt and shame, trying not to be so judgmental, and struggling to forgive ourselves and others.

Into all of our different kinds of battles, Jesus is calling, daily repeating His invitation: To all who are tired of trying to fix themselves, or others.  To all who say there has got to be more.  To all who still haven’t found what they’re looking for.  

God is saying:  “I am different from what you think.  I am so much better and so much closer than you imagine. And there is a deep and lasting and tangible, childlike rest, right now, for those who want to be carried in my unconditional love that will change how you think and feel and relate to others.

Right in the midst of any struggle, of any darkness, of any battle, I am Peace.
I am your Peace.  Come as close as you want.”

 

Mark 15
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Thoughts from Deacon Adam

We killed God. What does that mean? How can God, who is the source of life, actually take all of our death upon Himself so completely that He is crushed under its weight?

Well, that question first requires us to go back to an earlier, yet equally strange event: God is born. As a real human. What does that mean? How can God who is the source of time, actually immerse Himself into our time so completely that He is carried by its current?

And again, that question first requires us to go back to an even earlier, yet equally strange event: God gives birth to His very own children. In love, God creates little people who are like Him, who really think and feel and are able to be actively drawn into a love-inspiring relationship with Him and others… and are equally able to resist love so completely that they become something else.

Behold, the vulnerability of God. We broke His heart. Then we broke His body.

God does not allow evil; we do. God does not let bad things happen; we do. God always wants what is best for us, and yet God does not always get what he wants. God’s will is love, but God’s will is violated every day. Loving people who hate you can get you killed. Behold the cross. Behold the vulnerability of God.

When it comes to relationships, there are often some interesting power dynamics happening just below the surface. Regarding couples, it has been said that the person who values the relationship the most is always the one with the least power in that relationship. And the person who values the relationship the least, is the one who maintains the most power in that relationship. So, the growth of any relationship is limited by whoever loves least.

And so it is with God and each one of us. In any relationship, whoever loves the most, is the one who will pursue the most, serve the most, and suffer the most, always hoping for a chance at a deeper connection with the one who prefers to hold all the power in the relationship. In this way, God is the servant of us all and we let Him in only as close as we want Him to be.

 

Mark 14
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Thoughts from Deacon Adam

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile that faded faster than my mind could register the news.
     
We sat in silence. She finished her coffee and eventually looked up at me to weigh my reaction to her personal story of a grave injustice suffered at the hands of fellow Catholics.

“It’s not okay,” I said.

“Well, maybe it’s all part of God’s plan for me, you know? Like, I just have to trust that this is God’s will,” she said half-heartedly, as if she didn’t even believe her own words.

“Who told you that?” I asked calmly, doing my level best to restrain the rising anger at such religious nonsense that makes God seem cold and distant, even preventing us from growing closer to Him. No doubt, some well-intentioned Catholic had thrown her some pseudo-spiritual advice like a cavalier medical student walking by and proudly tossing a little first-aid kit over his shoulder to gunshot victim bleeding out on the street.

“My spiritual director,” she answered.

More silence. It was all I could do to keep Jesus’ table-flipping anointing from taking over.

“Seems kind of hard to trust a God like that,” I finally managed.

“Yeah,” she barely whispered.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

She started to speak, this time with a new courage and honesty finally emerging in her face.  And then, biting her lip with a pause, as if silently rehearsing another empty religious platitude from some previous conversation, she stopped. The momentary light in her eyes went out just as quickly as it had been kindled and her shoulders dropped again. Finally, she spoke.

“God allows bad things happen to teach us…” she trailed off, lacking the energy to even finish her sentence.

Silence again.

“It just seems like every homily I hear, and every spiritual conversation or book can always be boiled down to one word: Try. Try again. Try harder. Try to have a relationship with God. Try to allow God to work. Try to receive grace. And I do. I try as hard as I can…  I just can’t try anymore. I guess maybe I’ve just run out of ‘try.’”

The next time she spoke, I could tell that she was already gone. She was still physically sitting there, looking for all the world just as put together as anyone in the glossy magazines on the shelf behind her, but her heart was now somewhere deep, hidden far beyond the reach of well-intentioned Catholics. She forced another quick smile and looked away.

“Really, it’s okay… It’s okay.”

Whenever we are hurt or betrayed or even just disappointed by friends or family, it can leave a soul wound that limits the amount of love we are able to receive and give, sometimes for years. Our spiritual light may dim or even feel like it is going out. The people around us may wonder how to cheer us up. Or perhaps, we are really skilled at hiding our wounded hearts and putting a positive face on for everyone to see.

And yet, it’s pretty hard to grow without first healing what is broken. And we cannot heal until Jesus can convince us to let Him into our wounds, because Healing is a Person. He is waiting for us in our broken places and in our darkest memories. He wants meet us in the places of our greatest pain and to hold us as we simply watch together as all the feelings come and go, and rise and fade again, and again, and again until the pain begins to lose its grip on us and the Spirit of Grace guides us through that interior death in order to make us a new kind of creation with a new life.

Many people attack and accuse Jesus. However, His worst suffering by far was taking all the worst parts of broken humanity upon Himself. The Bible says that He who knew no sin became sin for us so that we might become His righteousness (2nd Corinthians 5:21). This divine exchange drags Jesus down into the darkness of every human heart throughout time and space; a spiritual death more terrible than any physical death. This is what it took for Him to be able to reach each one of us on any level of darkness. And His resurrection won for us victory over all death, both spiritual and physical. Even in the worst kind of darkness, the Light is pursuing every one of us.


 

Mark 12
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Thoughts from Deacon Adam

What if the government passed a new law, making love mandatory? Can anyone really command love? How could it be measured or enforced?

For decades, a university professor used to ask the students of every new incoming class to anonymously submit their darkest secret in writing. Something they wouldn’t want anyone else to find out. Among the many responses were all sorts of topics that one might expect from the struggles of humanity, but the most common response by far was unexpected. The most frequently repeated secret was a lack of love. The anonymous students were most troubled by the sense that they didn’t really love anyone.
   
Of course, there are different kinds and degrees of love. There are also many counterfeits which masquerade as “love.” Ultimately, real love is God’s personality and it is better “caught” than it is “taught.” Love is contagious. It must be experienced.

Rather than demanding that we obey God by trying to do the actions of love, Jesus’ law or commandment of love is really an unexpected invitation to come close enough to Him to personally experience His constant, unconditional love for each one of us now, right in this moment. Only this can cause us to love. This is how God’s kingdom comes and His will is done here on earth, even as it is in heaven.

In this world, the people who really know God, are moved by mercy. They have grown so sensitive to, so aware of God’s love for themselves, that they cannot help but overflow with this love to even the lowest and the weakest people around them. And living in the overflow, they fulfill the second greatest commandment, to love others as we love ourselves. This is not a striving but rather a kind of living under the influence of the Spirit. “And those who seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music…”

Many of us read gospel passages like this one and mistakenly conclude that Christianity is all about trying to be good, trying to love God, and trying to love people. And so many of us set out, doing our best to act like Jesus, without ever really knowing Jesus, without ever being held by Jesus. Without first being personally wrecked by the intensity of His love for each one of us.

It turns out that real Christianity is much more like falling in love than trying to follow a checklist. Falling in love naturally changes us from the inside out- what we want, and how we think and act. On the other hand, trying to follow a religious checklist requires a lot of control. There’s a funny thing about being in love; No one can be in love and be in control at the same time. The more we pursue one, the less we have of the other.

In our brokenness, fallen humanity became addicted to control, and the false sense of security that it offers. We try to control our own lives. We try to control others. We even try to control God. We can’t help it. Love breaks in to free us from all of that. It could be said that love is the only cure for the addiction to control.

Real Christianity is the experience of being so intimately pursued, so personally wanted by God, that we are finally persuaded to let go of control, and let Him hold us right in the midst of all our brokenness, as His unconditional love crashes over us, wave after wave, forever changing the way we see God, ourselves, and others.
(Inspired by Amanda Cook’s song, “You Make Me Brave” which can be found online)

 

Mark 10
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Thoughts from Deacon Adam

In the place between sleeping and waking, I found myself on a vast shoreline. It looked like a beach that stretched on for miles. In the sand were all manner of children's buckets and shovels.

"Haven't you always wanted to build a sandcastle?" a voice said.

I turned to see a small angel that looked like a child. I chuckled, "Well, not really."

"Yes, you have." she continued. "Think about it, you've wanted to build on earth, and all of that is sand. When the tide comes in, it all goes away. If you use your gifts to build on sand, instead of in eternity, what do you have? A waste of time." She shrugged. "You have wanted a sandcastle. It's silly, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," I said quietly. I did not want to admit it, but she was right. I had wanted a home and financial security, and to accomplish something, for God of course, but I had tunnel vision for the life on earth. I had tried to Christianize the pursuit of temporary worldly success. It was a bitter thing to hear that the focus of my life so far had been on trying to build and defend mere sandcastles.
"Do you want to play?" she continued cheerily.

I didn’t feel like playing, so I tried to change the subject. "Why is there such a large sand area here?" I asked.

"Many people want to build on sand, so we let them,” she answered. “It gets it out of their systems, you know? Maybe if you build on the sand right now, you would feel like, 'I've done that.'”

"It seems a silly thing to do." I said, looking down at the plastic shovels.

"Well, yes it does, however trying to build your own little kingdoms on the earth is really the same.” (This is a modified excerpt from Anna Rountree’s Heaven Awaits the Bride.)

Feeling that I was beginning to wake up, I still remember the sense of clarity that remained. When we finally grow tired of building our sandcastles in this life, or even trying to build sandcastles “for God,” then all the dust of anxiety finally settles, and we are pleasantly surprised to find that God has always been waiting to build in us- lives of love, and peace, and patience.

We awake to find that God has been eagerly anticipating the chance to win our attention and affection, the chance to begin arriving in our ordinary moments, captivating our hearts, displacing darkness, and preparing the world to receive more of Him.

Like the rich man who asks Jesus for the way to eternal life, we too may find ourselves at a fork in the road, weighing our options. Jesus sees right into every heart, recognizing what controls us and keeps us back from God. The love of money is really about the love of control and the power to get our way in this life. Love is powerful and influential, but never controlling.

In a dramatic contrast, St Mark presents the reluctance of the spiritually blind rich man clinging onto his wealth and reputation in comparison to the desperation of the physically blind Bartimaeus immediately disregarding whatever little wealth or reputation he may have in order to cling to Jesus. Which one are we?