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In the account of the crucifixion, we are given a picture
of Christ the King. When we think of a king, I suspect that it conjures
up for many of us visions of pageantry, splendour, grandeur, authority,
majesty, power. But the evangelists turn all these expectations of royalty
upside down: for hanging on the cross, Jesus, the King, is weak and powerless.
In the words of Luke: 'The leaders jeered at him. "He saved others,"
they said, "let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, the Chosen
One." The soldiers mocked him too, and when they approached to offer
him vinegar they said, "If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself."…
One of the criminals hanging there abused him. "Are you not the Christ?"
he said. "Save yourself and us as well."' Despite all this, Luke's
picture is also radiant with the splendour of hope. A repentant criminal
receives forgiveness from the dying lips of a merciful Saviour, with the
reassurance: 'I promise you, this day you will be with me in paradise.'
Light shimmers through the darkness.
Luke is describing the scene in a very delicate and subtle way. We notice
a reference to Jesus as 'the Christ of God', the Messiah. There is also
a reference to 'the Chosen One'. As we look on the Crucified, this evokes
for us the Suffering Servant of Isaiah: 'no form or comeliness…no beauty…despised
and rejected…a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief'. Above the
cross there is the startling reminder: 'This is the King of the Jews.' The
promise of a Messiah and a future king is now being fulfilled in a man hanging
between two criminals on a cross: 'The Lord God will give him the throne
of his ancestor David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever;
and of his kingdom there will be no end.' It is a strange spectacle, a profound
mystery, a baffling revelation. How can this be? Earthly values crumble.
All our wisdom disappears. No wonder Paul could cry out: 'O the depth of
the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments,
how inscrutable his ways!'
Already from his birth, this King was marked as a sign of contradiction,
'set for the fall and rising of many in Israel'. We are told that 'wise
men from the East came to Jerusalem, saying, "Where is he who has been
born king of the Jews?"', but only to unleash the fury of a tyrannical
and evil king - Herod - and his shedding of innocent blood. As the mystery
of Jesus begins to unfold, one of the first disciples, Nathanael, comes
to him and proclaims his faith in Jesus: 'Rabbi, you are the Son of God!
You are the King of Israel!' At the lakeside, Jesus multiples the loaves.
But the people fail to understand the sign. They were expecting a worldly
king who would restore the temporal power to Israel. In a burst of popular
and superficial enthusiasm, they want to seize him by force and make him
king. Jesus withdraws again to the hills, and into solitude. His silence
is eloquent: when will they ever learn?
On the eve of his passion and death, Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph,
seated humbly on a donkey in fulfilment of these words of the prophet Zechariah:
'Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion!... Behold, your king is coming to you,…sitting
on an ass's colt.' The action is symbolic. In anticipation, it explains
the meaning of Christ's passion and death. John comments: 'His disciples
did not understand this at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they
remembered that this had been written of him and had been done to him.'
So, 'when Jesus was glorified', they grasped the meaning in the light of
his passion and death. At the last supper Jesus himself had clarified: 'The
ruler of this world is coming. He has no power over me… Have confidence
because I have overcome the world.' The victory of Christ the King is already
ours: death is swallowed up in victory, evil is vanquished by good, sadness
gives way to joy. Love is enthroned on Calvary.
The inner mystery of Christ as King is dramatised for us by John when Jesus
stands before Pilate. 'Are you the King of the Jews?' Pilate asks Jesus.
He replies, 'Do you say this of your own accord, or did others say it to
you about me?' Pilate is exasperated. 'Am I a Jew?' he snaps. Then a number
of exchanges: 'My kingdom is not of this world' - 'So you are a king?' -
'to bear witness to the truth' - 'What is truth?' This last question is
left dangling, as if etched in the heavens, inviting a response. The irony
of it all! The Truth in person is standing there. Jesus is the answer to
Pilate's question: the Truth and the Wisdom of God.
Pilate then brings Jesus out before the people and says, 'Behold your king!'
All the while, the cry of the mob is echoing in his ears: 'If you release
this man, you are not Caesar's friend; everyone who makes himself a king
sets himself against Caesar.' So Pilate sits down on the judgment seat or
- for this is what the original also means - Pilate sits Jesus down
on the judgment seat. That is how some of the Church Fathers understood
the meaning. It heightens the impact: it is Jesus who sits in judgment.
The place is called the 'Pavement'; in Hebrew, we are told, it is 'Gabbatha',
meaning 'exalted place'. And 'it was the day of Preparation of the Passover;
it was about the sixth hour' - exactly the time at which the lambs were
slaughtered for the paschal feast to celebrate the exodus: the liberation
of God's people from slavery.
Now picture the scene. A new exodus begins. God intervenes to save his
people from slavery to sin. Jesus is exalted in the presence of his own
people: 'and I, when I am lifted up from the earth,' he had said, 'will
draw all people to myself.' Jesus is a universal King. He sits on the judgment
seat, but does not judge his people: 'I have come not to judge the world,'
Jesus had said, 'I came to save the world'; 'this is the judgment, that
the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than
light, because their deeds were evil.' The onlookers judge themselves, they
cry out their own condemnation: 'Away with him, away with him, crucify him!'
They reject their King: 'The light is shining in the darkness', but the
people prefer the darkness to the light.
This pattern repeats itself at the crucifixion. They reject their King
- the leaders, the soldiers and one of the criminals. Jesus does not judge
them; they condemn themselves: 'If you are the king of the Jews, save yourself,'
they cry. Jesus hangs powerless, writhing in agony. The crucifixion is the
challenge of the weakness of a God who is Christ our King: 'He was crucified
in weakness, but he lives by the power of God,' Paul tells us. 'We too are
weak in him, but we shall live with him by the power of God.'
Luke introduces his description of the crucifixion with the words: 'The
people stayed there before the cross, watching Jesus.' No names are mentioned.
These persons stand apart from the other protagonists in the scene. They
are anonymous - their presence embraces everyone. It is all part of Luke's
universal perspective: salvation is for all. We, too, are observers with
them of the crucifixion. Jesus does not judge any of us. But we are faced
with a decision. We can accept a crucified King as did the repentant thief,
or we can reject him: 'He came to his own, and his own people did not accept
him.'
The choice is ours. If we reject him, we condemn ourselves. If we accept
him, we are drawn into his kingdom of love and peace, justice and mercy.
The significance of Luke's nameless witnesses is complemented beautifully
by the words of Zechariah, recalled by John in the Passion narrative: 'They
shall look on him whom they have pierced.' This is what every believer is
called to do. It is what the repentant sinner alongside Jesus did. It released
a flow of compassion from the Crucified One. A sinner's prayer was answered:
'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.' And Jesus did. A criminal
was drawn into the kingdom: 'I promise you, this day you will be with me
in paradise.' All his sins were forgiven.
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LIVING IN THE PRESENCE OF GOD:
CARMELITES IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ELIJAH
The author is Assistant Head of a Catholic school
in Suffolk, where she is also Head of Religious Education. She has an
MA in Religion and Philosophy from Heythrop College. In this article,
she highlights living in the presence of God as one of the hallmarks of
the prophet Elijah, father of Carmel, and shows how three Carmelites -
Brother Lawrence, Mother Aloysius and Elizabeth of the Trinity - lived
out this heritage.
FENELLA MATTHEW
Elijah is at the root of the Carmelite charism. So Carmelites,
living in the spirit of this biblical prophet, can rightly be called his
spiritual children. It is important, then, to reflect on what sort of
person Elijah was. What traits can we recognise in him, and what can we
learn from them? In considering the story of Elijah, I am struck by three
major characteristics: he was a man of tremendous faith; he was a man
of great prayer; and he lived in the presence of God. In this article,
I wish to focus on Elijah's living in the presence of God - though this
is, of course, inseparable from a life of faith and prayer. And we will
also see, from the example of three famous Carmelites, how the spirit
of Elijah lives on.
The prophet Elijah
Elijah himself tells us of his living in the presence of
God, when he says: 'The Lord lives, in whose presence I stand' (1Kgs 17:1).
To live in the presence of God requires attentiveness - 'loving attentiveness',
as John of the Cross expresses it. It also requires a fair amount of self-denial,
so that we do not become totally absorbed in our own plans, ideas
and desires, but remember that Another Person is present and take into
account his plans, ideas and desires. As a prophet, Elijah depends on
God alone, and his dependence is absolute. Elijah acts only on God's command.
He is devoured by zeal, but he lets himself be consumed while waiting
for God to speak and reveal his will. Elijah's 'normal' attitude, we could
say, is one of waiting on the Lord.
The Carmelite charism involves a balance of the community
life and the eremitical spirit, lived according to each person's particular
state in life. The spirit of the hermit is often described not simply
as being 'alone', but as being 'alone with God alone'. It is the 'with
God' that is important. We could still be alone without God: alone with
ourselves, wrapped up in our own concerns and our own world and never
giving God a thought - but that would not be the Carmelite spirit! To
practise the presence of God means to remember frequently that God is
present. Wherever we are, whatever we are doing, God is present with us.
A Carmelite recalls this fact many times in the day, not only when at
prayer but during all of his or her ordinary occupations, too. When remembering
that God is with us, we say a word or two to him, we lift up our hearts
to him, and we look at him with the eye of our soul. This solitary companionship
with God throughout our days, in the midst of our varied cares and activities,
is the inner life of Carmel. It is the wellspring from which the power
of our prayer flows. And the example of the Carmelite saints is helpful
in showing how this can be put into practice in daily life.
Brother Lawrence
Brother Lawrence, the French Carmelite lay brother (1614-1691),
has helped many people, throughout the centuries, with his practical advice
and maxims known as The Practice of the Presence of God. In speaking
of his early years in religious life, he tells us what he would do in
the hours not set aside for prayer:
I would enclose myself in the place obedience had marked out
for me, the kitchen… during my work I continued to speak intimately
with [God], offering him my little services, asking him for his graces.
When my work was completed, I examined the manner in which I had done it
and if I found any good in it, I thanked God. But if I noticed any mistakes,
I asked pardon and, without getting discouraged, I redirected my mind and
began again to abide with God as if I had never moved away from him. Thus,
by getting back up after my falls, and by the multiplicity of acts of faith
and love, I arrived at a state in which it would have been just as impossible
not to think about God as it was difficult to get used to doing so in the
beginning. (EL 30; my italics)
Brother Lawrence once said that, for him, there was no great
difference between the time of prayer and that of working amid the noise
and clatter of his kitchen, with several people clamouring for many different
things at once - a situation most of us can identify with! As he expressed
it simply: 'I possess God as peacefully in the commotion of my kitchen…as
I do when kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament… I flip my little
omelette in the frying pan for the love of God, and when it's done, if
I have nothing to do, I prostrate myself on the floor and adore my God
who gave me the grace to do it, after which I get up happier than a king'
(W 9-10).
The presence of God is reached less by the head than by
the heart. Brother Lawrence's one method of going to God and abiding in
his presence was to do all for the love of him: it was to God that he
looked, far more than to the work itself. He knew that the littleness
of the work did not lessen the value of the offering, for God regards
not the greatness of our work, but the love which prompts it. This perspective
is remarkably similar to that of Thérèse of Lisieux who
lived two centuries later - a fact that witnesses to both the authenticity
and the enduring quality of this Carmelite approach to life.
Mother Aloysius
Turning now to Mother Aloysius (1880-1961) from the monastery
of Concord, New Hampshire, we find a Carmelite nun revered for her sanctity
which was especially expressed in her spirit of faith - finding, recognising,
and responding to God in all the moments of her day. The focal point of
her spiritual vision has been defined as: 'Infinite Love manifested in
the least details of our everyday life' (FA, p. ii). This is what enriches,
elevates and sanctifies the most commonplace aspects of ordinary living.
Mother Aloysius truly found God everywhere, in everyone and in everything.
She says:
The way to the possession of Jesus is in each hourly duty
assigned to us. It is the thousand details and actions of daily life.
We have only to bring to each of them a spirit of faith, and each moment
will hold for us grace, and will hold for us God. (FA, p. 28)
Such a recognition of the divine requires a strong and living
faith, and she never ceased leading those who asked for her assistance
to this supernatural view.
Faith has somewhere been described as being able to recognise
God in the many disguises in which he presents himself to us in the world
around us: through other people, our work, unexpected requests for help,
and ill-timed interruptions and demands, as well as those things which
bring joy to the heart - a friendly word, a warm smile, a beautiful sunset.
Sometimes it is difficult to recognise God, and it takes a determined
perseverance to build up the habit of seeing him present in everyone we
meet and in everything that happens to us - especially in the case of
things that are disagreeable. Mother Aloysius saw every incident - and
every element in it - as able to communicate the divine and to place holiness
within our grasp. She writes:
Above all, try to contact our Lord in everyone, in everything.
Each such contact will be an occasion for the giving of love, so that
your whole day will be love. (FA, p. 5)
Elizabeth of the Trinity
Finally, Elizabeth of the Trinity (1880-1906) - born five
months to the day after Mother Aloysius - gives us many teachings on prayer.
The wellspring of her inspiration was the mystery of the divine indwelling:
God dwelling within us at all times. This mystery opened the door for
her to Carmel's great calling to continual prayer. Obviously, we cannot
be always on our knees, but we can gradually develop a communion of life
with this indwelling God. Elizabeth wrote to a family friend:
since He is [within us], let us keep Him company as a
friend does with the One he loves! The essence of our life in Carmel is
this divine, wholly intimate union; it is what makes our solitude so precious…
(L 184)
And to a young girl, she gave this heartfelt advice, which
contains an echo of the words of Brother Lawrence and Mother Aloysius,
finding God in everyday existence:
We must become aware that God dwells within us and do
everything with Him, then we are never commonplace, even when performing
the most ordinary tasks, for we do not live in these things, we go beyond
them! A supernatural soul never deals with secondary causes but with God
alone… Then the soul is truly great, truly free, for it has 'enclosed
its will in God's'. (GV 8)
*
To live in the spirit of Carmel, no matter what our calling
or life situation, we have only to live our lives at the level of faith,
in companionship with the Friend who dwells within us, in prayer that
will become increasingly continual - prayer that will reach out to help
all our sisters and brothers who need our prayer so much.
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MOUNT CARMEL VOL 57. NO.4
OCTOBER - DECEMBER 2009
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