“Happy” Chandler, a former Kentucky governor, was known to often say, “I’ve never met a Kentuckian who wasn’t thinking about going home or actually going home.” Going home has rich meanings for us.
Going home for me means home in Kentucky. Kentucky is a beautiful place, almost anywhere you go. I’ve lived here, within a few minutes from where I was born, all but two years of my life.
Those two years were spent in Virginia, another beautiful place, when I was first married. My husband was in the Marines, stationed in Norfolk, so we began our marriage in a little upstairs apartment there. Honeymooning, they were good years—except how much we dreamed of home! We spent much time thinking of what we would do when we returned to our family farm. We dreamed of building a house there, raising fruit trees and children, building a life on the banks of Elkhorn Creek.
There was a power and energy and love in those dreams. Then, finally, came the word that Alan would be discharged. We returned to Kentucky in February, 1973. I remember how, in March, with snow flying all around us, we laid the foundation for a house and planted a hundred fruit trees and 2000 strawberry plants. A new life began. We had come home to work.
Word to Come Home
Those memories come back to me as I read today’s scriptures. We begin today a three-week sojourn with the people of the diaspora as they return to Jerusalem to build a new life after the Babylonian captivity. The Babylonians were defeated by the Persians in 539 BCE. Cyrus, the Persian ruler, then made a decree that people carried into captivity could return to their homelands.
The general time of the writings we will pray from these next three weeks is roughly 500 to 300 years before Jesus was born, the time of the Persian rule. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah give a historical account of the period, while the books of Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi, Joel, and Jonah provide a more prophetic perspective. First readings through these three weeks will come from all of those books—almost like trailers for a movie—giving us glimpses of how a faith and culture were rebuilt.
Today’s reading is the beginning of the book of Ezra. It actually replicates the very end of II Chronicles. It picks up the history of Israel to move it into a new era. Ezra was the high priest in charge as the temple was rebuilt. This book tells of the return from a priest’s perspective. See what is important in the way the priest sees things:
All the kingdoms of the earth
the LORD, the God of heaven, has given to me,
and he has also charged me to build him a house in Jerusalem,
which is in Judah.
Therefore, whoever among you belongs to any part of his people,
let him go up, and may his God be with him!
Let everyone who has survived, in whatever place he may have dwelt,
be assisted by the people of that place
with silver, gold, goods, and cattle,
together with free-will offerings
for the house of God in Jerusalem.'”
Ezra, the priest, sees that God gave Cyrus his authority and that with the release of the exiles came a call to rebuild the Temple.
Ezra also draws a parallel between this exodus and the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. In the Egyptian exodus, the Israelites asked the Egyptians for gold, silver, and other wealth after the tenth plague, and the people gave it to them (Exodus 12: 36-37). Here, the king suggests their neighbors give the exiting Jews of their wealth—and they gave it to them. Ezra goes on in this chapter to tell of the wealth for the temple that King Cyrus contributed.
Word from Jesus
I love to study history, but it is easy to get lost in interesting information, when Scripture is to do what Jesus says in today’s Gospel:
Jesus said to the crowd:
“No one who lights a lamp conceals it with a vessel
or sets it under a bed;
rather, he places it on a lampstand
so that those who enter may see the light.
For there is nothing hidden that will not become visible,
and nothing secret that will not be known and come to light.
Take care, then, how you hear.
To anyone who has, more will be given,
and from the one who has not,
even what he seems to have will be taken away.”
These readings are to be a light to me, to you, to the whole Church. How can this Scripture be a light to me, that I might be a light? That I might “take care, how I hear?” “That I might be given more of God’s light“—and avoid having what I have taken away?
Word for Conversion Today
This reflection, up to this point, was my reflection on these scriptures two years ago. I’ve recycled it because all my creative energy is focused on another project. I’m in the final writing of a curriculum to help elder members of our parishes die well. Today, God speaks to me in a different way through these scriptures.
As has been true with two recent projects, the writing has been very, very hard. It has taken me a long time to figure out: what is essential here and how do I make it simple enough to understand, yet hold on to the richness of Catholic moral and liturgical theology? I have a deadline coming up soon, and I have been terrified for months that I will not be able to accomplish that balance.
Earlier today I began reading a recent edition of a 15th century book, Ars moriendi—translated The Art of Dying Well. In the dozen or so pages I read after prayers this morning, this book will be a beacon of light to me.
As Mother Agnes Mary Donovan, SV, says in the forward, “These days are waiting, in a particular way, for artisans who can weave together an integrated approach to care that restores a sense of beauty and dignity to the sacred process of dying…Although we live in a time blessed by the great capacity of medicine to effectively treat pain and support the physical diminishment of the body in the dying process, if regard is not give to the soul, we risk approaching death in a way that is overly medicalized….The end of life is a critical time to find the space to listen deeply to our own hearts and God’s, and to be given every support to respond to his invitations.” (p viii-ix)
And so, as this Sunday I take a day’s break from writing, I more fully embrace this work of rebuilding the culture of life within our church and culture. I am a Nehemiah, not an Ezra, for God has made me an artisan. The call from Sr. Agnes rings through to me: create sacred spaces for people to manage the care of their bodies in ways that nurture their souls, so the time before dying is a blessed time, a time to go home to God while holding God’s hand.
As I do that, I also go home to the stories through my life of walking through vulnerable valleys with death on the horizon, even as those same farm and church memories are also perspectives of the long view that treasures God’s presence, even in the valleys.
I go home now to new building with trepidation, but, oh my, I look around at the divisions in our culture around managing COVID, and I see the extremity of the need. We must return from Babylon to the beauty of God’s horizon and the love God calls us to all the days of our lives.
We must come home to the fullness of our faith’s teaching and relearn to die well for both body and soul.
That’s where God calls me home to work in today’s scripture. Where is God calling you?
Prayer:
Lord, I am so tired, and I feel so vulnerable. I am so afraid I cannot do what You ask. You bring me home to Respect Life work in Your model of Evangelium vitae. I am not equal to the task, but Your Grace has worked through us Nehemiah artisans for centuries. Work again through me.
