As our prayer group gathered Sunday night we encountered a wandering, distressed man on our parish grounds. He was in a confused mental state. He did not have a feel of “wholesomeness” to him. We did not quite know what to do. Extend mercy by listening to him? Pray with him? Pass him by or send him away? Hide in fear? Call the police?
We didn’t have to decide. Deacon and Father talked with him until a relative came to pick him up.
His presence challenged us in multiple ways. While such wandering folks are common in downtown parishes, they are not common for our suburban parish. However, he was not the first person to wander onto our campus recently, and there has been talk of being safe. So he aroused some fear and a number of questions for us. Later investigation showed that while no harm was done, there was harm potential.
As part of our Bible study we talked about our responses to this unexpected, potentially troublesome guest. We named our fears of the unknown and gained a whole new perspective on being a disciple in Jerusalem when Jesus died and arose. We noted we have tended to blame the disciples for disappearing on Good Friday. How could they have abandoned Jesus? But we had to admit each of us had had some thoughts of self-preservation in a circumstance that was a tiny fraction of the dangers of Jerusalem during the Passion or post-Easter.
Yet, when we rallied (others were taking care of him), and began our prayer, there was a strength and love in it that filled the Eucharistic chapel and each of us. We understood the call to mercy as a call to “be born from above.” We knew God’s mercy extended to our unexpected guest—but how should WE express that mercy? What role did our fear (and/or the objective possibility/probability of danger) play in how mercy would best be expressed? We felt our hearts go out to this young man. We could pray for him. But what if we had been the only people on campus? What if he had turned out to be dangerous? What would the role of our mercy have been then?
I am a mental health professional and I’ve handled many similar people before. I’ve had training. But my friends have not had that training. What if they had had to handle a difficult situation alone?
Those are tough questions for Christians. I remember Stella, a woman in her 50s who interned with me several years ago. Her husband was pastor of a local church. At our agency we work with people in jails, shelters, and crisis “on the street” agencies, as well as more traditional outpatient office, school, and agency settings. During her third week with us, Stella melted in a pool of tears. “I have lived here as a Christian my entire life. I never saw the people I am now working with. I had no idea they existed in my community.”
We just had Divine Mercy Sunday. Our parish prayed the novena beforehand. “For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” When I pray that, what does God ask of me to bring people to His mercy?
The whole event has carried over to my consideration of today’s readings. It sheds some unexpected light on them.
In the Gospel today Jesus tells Nicodemus, “You must be born from above.” Nicodemus was a member of the Sanhedrin who was attracted to Jesus. Doubtless his interest in Jesus put him at odds with his colleagues and friends. He came “by night” to talk with Jesus because he was afraid to come by day. Part of that conversation is what we read today. Jesus’ words to Nicodemus are words to someone experiencing fear. Hmm.
If I put myself in Nicodemus’ shoes, someone fascinated by Jesus, but afraid to follow him, I think I would be very confused by Jesus’ telling me I must be born from above. Jesus’ further explanation wouldn’t help either.
Jesus went on to say, “The wind blows where it wills and you can hear the sound of it and not know where it comes from.”
“No one goes up to heaven except the one who has come down from heaven.”
“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”
Come on, Jesus, talk to me so I can understand! Reassure me!!! I want to follow You, but I am hesitant. Tell me it’s going to be all right.
Before Sunday night I had planned to write today about how “you must be born from above” meant to live like the Christians were living in today’s first reading—all love and togetherness and living in the power of the Holy Spirit.
The Christian community was “of one heart and one mind.” They expressed this by such generosity that “no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common.” “With great power the apostles born witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus.” “Great favor was afforded them all.” “There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds from the sale, and put them at the feet of the apostles.”
With some pride (uh-oh!) I thought of our prayer group as I read that. We are at least somewhat like that. We would like to be fully like that. There is a lot of love among us.
What if this visitor who scared us sought to enter our group? What if he wanted to do that and were truly dangerous?
What would “you must be born from above” mean then? How do I extend mercy when I also perceive danger?
There are those words, “the Son must be lifted up” in today’s Gospel, too. Those are the words that scare me. I think Jesus was asking Nicodemus to trust—even though he was telling him ahead of time that following Him is not the prosperity gospel. Nicodemus gained his courage when Jesus was crucified. He went to Pilate and claimed Jesus body. He who had been afraid, when things were the absolute darkest, had the courage to do the action that put Jesus in a tomb from which He could be raised. When the chips were down, he was “born from above.” He did a great act of mercy.
Had I been Nicodemus, what would I have done then?
I was not so afraid of our visitor last night as I am afraid of what it means to be “lifted up.” There is a cost to discipleship–the cost of sooner or later being lifted up, of being in a place I don’t want to be to make a sacrifice I would rather not make.
Prayer:
Lord, You are not reassuring to me in prayer today. I am confused, challenged. I want to be “born from above.” I want Your Holy Spirit and Love to form me, guide me, live in me. I don’t want to be “lifted up.” I’m pretty sure I can’t have both my wants. So help me be like Barnabas, Lord. Let me lay what I have–not money from sale of property, but rather the poverty of my confusion and question–at the Apostles feet. Let me bow to authority of church and pastor. Today, Lord, my heart is pure; it wants to love You. But my mind is cloudy, confused, divided. What do you ask of me when showing mercy? Help me give You my will. Let me give myself up so I can be born from above.
!
Readings: Acts 4:32-37, from Psalm 93, John 3: 7b-15
