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Birth Day and Motherhood

Dear <<First Name>>,

Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, fifty days (count 'em) since Easter. The word itself, from Greek, means "fiftieth." It has its origins in the Jewish "Feast of Weeks" on the occasion of the first wheat harvest, and was celebrated by bringing the "first fruits" of the harvest to the Temple, seven weeks after Passover. Yes, seven times seven - the number signifying perfection multiplied by itself - has deep symbolic meaning. Therefore, the next day - the fiftieth day - signifies the day beyond perfection, the day without end. Wow! Let that thought settle in a little bit.

At the time of Jesus, this Feast of Weeks or Pentecost commemorated the original covenant God made with humankind through Noah (Genesis 9:8-17). Later, after the destruction of the Temple in 70 AD, the emphasis shifted to the covenant with the Israelite people on Mt. Sinai after their liberation from Egypt (Exodus 19-20).

Pentecost was one of three pilgrimage feasts: the other two being Passover (seven weeks earlier) and Sukkoth (or Tabernacles, the fall harvest festival, which later formed the basis for Rosh Hashanah, the Day of Atonement). Making a pilgrimage to the Temple three times a year was not too difficult for those living in Jerusalem or the surrounding Judaea, but it was much more difficult for those in Galilee for whom it would have been a three-day, ninety-five-mile one-way journey on foot. The celebration of a major feast would usually last for a week. That means, for the people of Nazareth, it would require two weeks away from their homes and sources of income. Luke (2:41-52) notes that Mary and Joseph took Jesus, accompanied by their extended family and fellow villagers to Jerusalem every year for Passover. Two weeks away from normal life and livelihood every year would be a difficult commitment, but not, perhaps, impossible. Six weeks away from home and work every year crosses the boundary from difficult to impossible for all but the most wealthy, who would only have to endure a bumpy ride in a slave-pulled coach. Horses were reserved for the Roman soldiers and officials. Donkeys, with few exceptions, were too valuable for carrying goods for normal use. (There were exceptions, e.g., Jesus' Palm-Sunday entry into Jerusalem in a way that was designed to fulfill a prophecy Matthew 21:1-11.) So, for a poor, laboring-class family from Nazareth, that meant taking six weeks off without pay and walking 570 miles a year in leather-soled sandals in order to literally fulfill the pilgrimage prescriptions. Uhm . . . probably not.

Pentecost has traditionally been seen as the Birthday of the Church, although some ancient literary images see the Church being born from the wounded side of the just-dead Christ on the cross. (The images are not mutually exclusive but, like so much in faith that seems paradoxical and contradictory, beautifully reinforce one another.) Let's explore that a little bit. The whole period of Jesus' public ministry could be seen as the gestation of the Church, gradually being formed in the image of Christ. Jesus' Passion and death would be labor pains, suddenly and unexpectedly expelling the infant Church from the shelter of the formative womb of Christ's physical presence into the harsh reality of the world that, at one and the same time, desperately needs this new Life and with human and diabolical power rejects it. The Resurrection and Pentecost welcome the newborn presence of the Body of Christ, the Church, into the world. Recall that only Luke in the Acts of the Apostles separates the Resurrection and the coming of the Holy Spirit into two distinct events, fifty days apart. John's Gospel - in some ways the "last word" of Gospel-meaning - puts them both on the same day, the First Day of the Week, the First Day of the New World John (John 20:19-23).

Yesterday inevitably leads to today, doesn't it? Even if it takes 2,000 years. In 2018, Pope Francis added the celebration of Mary, Mother of the Church, to the Universal Roman Calendar, as an obligatory memorial. This means that throughout the world - in the Roman Rite, at least - the entire Church joins with one heart to celebrate Mary's motherhood of God in Christ as our own too. St. Ambrose, bishop of Milan, first spoke of Mary as Mother of the Church, but it was only articulated as official teaching in Vatican II's Constitution on the Church (Lumen Gentium - "Light of the Nations"). While an optional votive Mass of Mary, Mother of the Church, was included in the revised Roman Missal of 1973, it was only two years ago that Pope Francis (God bless him!) gave this feast to the world.

Why do we honor Mary as Mother of the Church (or, in traditional devotion as "our Mother")? I think the "origin story" comprises two elements. First, in the Gospel of John, the always unnamed "Beloved Disciple" is seen as typifying the Church. That means that, whenever John's Gospel speaks of the Beloved Disciple, the hearers of the Gospel would see Jesus as directly addressing them. Thus when, on the cross, Jesus gives his Mother and the Beloved Disciple to each other (John 19:26-27), he is explicitly giving her to us as our Mother as well. (No, he wasn't just establishing a retirement plan for Mary or giving the Apostle John a new job.)

But the second element clinches the deal. Simply put, if Mary is the Mother of Christ, she is the Mother of the Whole Christ. At the Council of Ephesus in 431, it was established that we cannot separate Christ into two parts human and divine, and say that Mary was the mother only of the human part. We have to acknowledge that Mary is the Mother of God as well. So too, the unified teaching of the New Testament - St. Paul and the Gospels - is that the Church - the communion of disciples throughout all ages and places - is Christ's body, in a real sense, not just a nice metaphor. Therefore, the conclusion about Mary's motherhood is obvious . . .

If that's true, we need her now more than ever. And perhaps the wonderful image of Mary, the Untier of Knots, focuses our need better than any other. Thanks to my artist friend, Eugene Salandra, for the simple, beautiful drawing above.

Peace, Justice, and Healing

My friend Donice Robles posted this for her Facebook friends last week, and gave me permission to make it public. She writes one of the most eloquent expressions of love and concern over the increasing hardness of our times that I have seen. Her words, unedited:
Well, I guess I am old! Another wave of intolerance, division , and prejudice is washing through the nation. I listened to Martin Luther King. I refused to patronize the places that would not welcome my black college roommate from Georgia who was a talented pianist. I walked in the peace marches in Salina, Kansas. I listened to the report of MLKing's assassination in my dorm room on the radio.
Later, I consoled little ones as a elementary school counselor, reassuring them that the Los Angeles riots with the fires was on tv and was not going to burn their house down.
I have watched and guided my own children through prejudice because of their Mexican surname.
Some how I try not to be surprised it is continuing now --50 + years later!
A grandmother always worries about the grandchildren, but I am really worried about my youngest grandson. In about 10 years, he will be a six foot beautiful handsome black man( well I am his grandma!). He has good parents who I am sure will guide him well. I am worried that he will meet someone who treats him unfairly or even injures him simply because of his looks. We need to change this!!
"No justice, no peace." We've all seen these words in the images of the angry but peaceful demonstrators of the past few days, whom we have to distinguish from the opportunistic perpetrators of looting and violence. How many of us know the origin of that phrase? It was originally the title of Pope Saint Paul VI's Message for the World Day of Peace, January 1, 1972. As we reflect on the relevance of that slogan today, it's worth reading the whole message. It still speaks to us.

I was also quite moved by this Facebook post by Aaron Ostachuk, a policeman in Honolulu.

Update on Hummingbird Family

Tiny birds getting bigger.

A COVID Smile

Blessings, Peace, and Love,
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