We Are Open Books

We don’t want to be “open books.”  We want to be in control of who knows what about us.  We try to hide the negative and the vulnerable.  We try to keep some events from our past hidden, some of our views to ourselves, and our deepest, darkest thoughts are tucked away in a place of our own making, never (we hope) to see the light of day, never to be judged by another, never to be held against us.  Even our spouses, our best friends, our parents, our children, do not know us fully.  We do not allow it.  We do not want it.

But is that true?  Or do we really want to be known?  After all, we can’t be fully loved unless we are fully known.  We may be loved by another – but what about our “secret selves” – the part they don’t know about, the part we hide?  Do they love that, too?  How can they, if they are unaware of it?

To be an open book can be frightening.  But ultimately it is what we want.  We want to be fully known because we want to be fully loved.  We fear rejection, but we want to be free of that fear.  In this life, we may never be completely free of the fear that others will reject us.  But could we possibly believe that God has seen all those hidden places, knows our “secret selves”?  And still loves us?

As a former Episcopalian, I still hear the echoes of the beautiful liturgies and prayers of that time in my life.  One of those prayers remains a personal favorite.  It is a prayer offered at the beginning of the Eucharistic liturgy, and it basically says, “God, I give up.  I’m not trying to hide anything from you.  You know things about me that I won’t even admit to myself.  You know everything about me and I’m glad, I’m relieved.  Now cleanse my heart and mind so I’m free of my blindness, burdens and dirt, free to worship and love you.”

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee and worthily magnify thy Holy Name; through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

When Jesus Asks a Question

Have you ever noticed that Jesus asked a lot of questions?  It is one of the ways he taught and preached (“Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give him a stone?” Mt. 7:9).  Questions are also a hallmark of Jesus’ encounters with individuals (“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Jn. 21:15).  In fact, the Gospels record more than one hundred questions asked by Jesus!  (See Msgr. Charles Pope’s compilation of “100 Questions Jesus Asked and You Must Answer.”)

Questions have an effect on us that answers do not.  They draw us in.  They create space for a natural process of reflection and learning rather than a quick and easy leap to pat answers.  They invest us in our own answers, or in our own search for answers.  The answers we come to on our own ultimately mean more to us than the answers someone else provides (consider, for example, the classic question:  “Who do you say that I am?”).  Jesus did not need to be educated in the Socratic Method to know this.  He only needed to understand human nature.

There are times and circumstances in life when one or another of Jesus’ questions will pierce us to the heart.  On Saturday at Mass, I was struck by a question Jesus asks in the Sermon on the Plain:  “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ and do not do what I tell you?” (Lk. 6:46).  We could certainly ask ourselves that one on a daily basis.

Here are a few more of Jesus’ questions to ponder.  Each one can be an occasion for prayer, an opportunity for self-reflection, or just an honest moment between yourself and the One who is asking: 

 Why are you afraid? (Mt. 8:26)

 What do you want me to do for you? (Mt. 20:32)

 Do you believe that I can do this? (Mt. 9:28)

 If I am telling you the truth, why do you not believe me? (Jn. 8:46)

 Have I been with you for so long and still you do not know me? (Jn. 14:9)

Yikes Scripture #2! The Gerasene Demoniac!

I can’t think of a more graphic story from Jesus’ Galilean ministry than the exorcism of the Gerasene demoniac.  Sometimes when I read it, I find it funny.  Sometimes I find it troubling.  But I never get tired of it!

The story is told with particular zeal in Mark, who is known for narrating stories in a way that makes you feel like you are right there.  He usually achieves this with details and dialogue that seep into your mind and make it easy to imagine the scene.  In this account (Mk. 5:1-20), the details draw you into the distress of the possessed man (“he was always howling and bruising himself with stones”), the power of Jesus to expel “Legion,” the desperation of the swine as they throw themselves into the sea, and the fear that grips the local people.

This is perhaps the most fascinating part of the story – the fact that the people of Gerasa were so disturbed by this healing that they asked Jesus to leave!  As the swine hurl themselves off a cliff, you think the story can’t get any weirder.  But it definitely does!  The townspeople, who were once burdened with a crazy man who could not be subdued, who was so powerful that he wrenched apart chains and broke shackles into pieces, are now presented with a man “clothed and in his right mind” (Mk. 5:15)!  Why in the world would you want to get rid of the person responsible for this amazing transformation?

I suppose one might ask this question all the way to the Cross.  There were certainly reasons that people kept trying to get rid of Jesus, until they succeeded (sort of) by crucifying him.  But in this particular case, in Gerasa, think for a moment how startling, how alarming, how supernatural and unfamiliar, was this power of God on full display in the person of Jesus.  Imagine standing near that cliff, hearing the demoniac unable to speak his own name (he could only speak the name of the demons), begging Jesus to send them into swine.  Hear Jesus shout “Go!” (Mt. 8:32).  Hear the thundering hoofs of the swine and watch the dust fly until you see them do something completely unnatural for animals to do.  Watch them splash into the water and see the demoniac, now just a man, sink to the ground, exhausted, healed, relieved.

When I was a kid I prayed a few times that I might see an angel or Mary or Jesus.  Then I started thinking about what it would really be like.  I knew that in order to see what might already be there, I would have to enter into another way of thinking and perceiving, coexist with something totally beyond my understanding or experience.  When I really thought about that, I was afraid.  I withdrew my request!  I understood why the angel’s first words to Mary were, “Do not be afraid.”

Something happened on the cliffs of Gerasa that had people shaking.  This was a power far beyond breaking chains and shackles, it was of another realm, it did not make sense in their world, and it frightened them.  I think we can understand this.  And yet there was one man who had a front row seat but did not ask Jesus to leave.  Instead this man “begged him that he might be with him” (Mk. 5:18).  Yes, this was the demoniac.  This man was no stranger to supernatural powers.  For him, there was nothing left to fear, not for his whole life. 

The Gerasene Demoniac by Sebastian Bourdon (1653)

Obscure Scriptures #2: Tough Words from Jesus

But he looked at them and said, “What then does this text mean: ‘The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone’? Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls” (Lk. 20:17-18). 

There are not many “obscure Scriptures” in the Gospels, so it can really take you aback when you read something there that you feel you’ve never read or noticed before.  I felt that way when I came across this passage.  We are familiar with Jesus quoting Psalm 118:22 in reference to himself:  “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”  But what is obscure, or lesser known, is the commentary he adds in both Matthew and Luke:  “Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.”

Here Jesus is likely referring to another Old Testament passage (Isa. 8:14-15), but that doesn’t soften the blow.  And yes, he was speaking directly to the scribes, chief priests, and elders – but this does not soften the blow either.  We know that whatever Jesus says to those who opposed him most, we must hear for ourselves.

 Luke is known for highlighting the compassion of Christ.  But he does not “edit” or “cut” these somewhat harsh words. Indeed, the Gospels are full of grim warnings and serious demands made by Jesus.  You may have noticed that it’s pretty hard to read through an entire Gospel (I recommend Mark) without feeling an urgent need to change.  It’s true that the highest motivation for anything is love; but sometimes we might just need a tough warning first.  For this we can always count on the Cornerstone.  New Testament scholar Luke Timothy Johnson remarks in reference to this passage:  “This stone is not simply a passive block against which one may stumble – it can fall on someone!”

Like a Mirror for Your Mind

“Holy Scripture is set before the eyes of the mind like a mirror, that we may see our inward person in it; for therein we learn the deformities; therein we learn the beauties that we possess.”

-- St. Gregory the Great