Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 27, 2022 (today’s lectionary)
Catching hold of the golden ring … it’s all good
When a sieve is shaken, the husks appear.
Way back awhile, in 2011 … 2012, I sat with my small group of five friends in the Transforming Community behind the closed door of a gently-lit room at Marytown, near a Bible and a kneeling bench, surrounded by framed art. A candle burned on a hastily set center table, and we passed around a beautiful palm cross, taking our turns talking together, as we met for our “group spiritual direction.”
I talked about my words.
One’s speech discloses the bent of his mind. Praise no one before he speaks, for it is then that people are tested.
I felt, and still feel, caught up and overjoyed by the beauty of words, but then also sometimes caught and even trapped by their ability to confuse and polish. I am “good” with words. But that means I can concoct truth that sounds false, and falsehood that sounds true. I can convince myself I’ve done something when all I’ve “done” is speak. I can “play” with words whenever I want. I am doing that right now.
From the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks.
Listening to my friends and clients, I often have words for them. Mostly I try not to say them, because it’s their turn to speak. It’s their turn to discover and then disclose the bent of their minds. Words help make that discovery happen. “Confessional honesty” can surprise you … was I really thinking that? How do I feel safe enough to say it out loud? How do I feel now? Oh Lord, help my unbelief.
Can a blind person guide a blind person? And why do I notice the splinter in my brother’s eye, when I have not removed the wooden beam from my own?
Responsibility for my words settles down on me – sometimes heavy like a bag of rocks, sometimes light like a warm breath. Working (and playing) with words brings me joy. Allowing them to work their magic is my way of art and prayer, more than painting or drawing or even making music. It’s the words that paint the pictures, sketch the faces, and sound the heavenly chords out into the universe.
But then there’s the bag of rocks. My friend Mary Lou said the other night, “Oh, how I’m losing my nouns!” Me too, and verbs. The words I want get lost on their way to my mouth. And when they do appear, I don’t always like what happens next. Sarcasm – yes, that requires words. And accusation, judgment, condemnation. Words can break on our backs like sticks and stones, and whips, and rough edged combs.
Sometimes I feel like that possible prospect is enough to shut my mouth forever. In Psalm 90 the writer asks God to “establish the work of our hands.”
Be firm and steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.
But too, in Psalm 19 the psalmist pleads with God that “the words of my mouth be acceptable in thy sight.” I know that my work, my thoughts, and finally my words reflect back on each other, sometimes transforming, sometimes transformed, a glistening kaleidoscope of life in all its parts.
Paul will not leave us alone to live without the gleaming glory of God’s words through his prophets. His paraphrase, which of course includes a bit of theology along with the poetry, might be better than the originals (Isaiah 25:8 and Hosea 13:14):
When that which is corruptible clothes itself with incorruptibility and that which is mortal clothes itself with immortality, then the word that is written shall come about: “Death is swallowed up in victory!” Where, O death, is your victory? Where O death is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
(Sirach 27, Psalm 92, 1 Corinthians 15, Philippians 2, Luke 6)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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