From Ash Wednesday to Easter. A journey, a transformation, and one of the most intentional and richest parts of our liturgical calendar.
Our Lenten e-mail prompt and discussion of John O’Donohue’s book, “To Bless the Space Between Us,” was rich, meaningful, and eye-opening. It was a continuing and deepening conversation with 20 people which included the Eastern Shore, Vermont, and even photos and stories sent from Finland.
One of the purposes of the book for O’Donohue was/is to get us thinking about “blessing” differently, and that blessings can take many forms, not always something that we would wish, ask for, or even want. Sometimes blessings can be the sun and sometimes the silver lining.
The last section of the book is “To Retrieve the Lost Art of Blessing.” It is an intentional walk through a way of seeing. Here are a few early quotes:
“Something deep in the human soul seems to depend on the presence of kindness; something instinctive in us expects it, and once we sense it, we are able to trust and open ourselves.”
“Kindness has gracious eyes; it is not small-minded or competitive; it wants nothing back for itself. Kindness strikes a resonance with the depths of your own heart; it also suggests that your vulnerability, though somehow exposed, is not taken advantage of; rather it has become an occasion for dignity and empathy.
“Despite all the darkness, human hope is based on the instinct that at the deepest level of reality some intimate kindness holds sway. This is the heart of blessing. To believe in blessing is to believe that our being here, our very presence in the world, is itself the first gift, the primal blessing.”
That last paragraph especially: to see life itself as the first gift, the most basic blessing. Despite all the darkness.
We’ve just gone through an entire liturgical season that sees light overcome what seemed like the ultimate darkness. When faced with what seemed like the end, death, God shows us more, that new life overcomes death. That hope is not in vain, but intrinsic and ever-present, if we will see it.
The Resurrection is nuanced and layered in its meanings. One of the things it did was give credibility to Jesus being who he said he was. And it made the disciples for the next few generations, reflect back on what Jesus said and did, to the point of writing it down so that it could be passed down.
Many writers and theologians point out that Jesus’s words to his disciples were “follow me,” not “worship me.” It’s really a both-and situation, we can do both; and worship is a perfect response to God. But a problem over the years has been and continues to be that many Christians are content with worshipping ( and “believing” without living or living into any of that belief) and have dropped the following aspect of our faith.
Following Jesus means living like he did, loving like he did, doing our best to emulate his example. In John’s Gospel, Jesus gives the disciples (and us) the new commandment of “loving each other as I have loved you.” which he says knowing he is about to be arrested and put to death. That’s what his love looks like–sacrificing himself for the love of his friends and for humanity.
When we look at kindness through the example and eyes of Jesus, we have a sense of what we are called to do and who we are called to be.
O’Donohue closes his book with the poem, “The Eyes of Jesus”–
I imagine the eyes of Jesus
Were harvest brown,
The light of their gazing
Suffused with the seasons:
The shadow of winter.
The mind of spring,
The bues of summer,
And amber of harvest.
A gaze that is perfect sister
to the kindness that dwells
In his beautiful hands.
The eyes of Jesus gaze on us,
Stirring in the heart’s clay
The confidence of seasons
That never lose their way to harvest.
This gaze knows the signature
Of our heartbeat, the first glimmer
From the dawn that dreamed our minds,
The crevices where thoughts grow
Long before the longing in the bone
Sends them toward the mind’s eye,
The artistry of the emptiness
That knows to slow the hunger
Of outside things until they weave
Into the twilight side of the heart.
A gaze full of all that is still future
Looking out for us to glimpse
The jeweled light in winter stone,
Quickening the eyes that look at us
To see through to where words
Are blind to say what we would love,
Forever falling softly on our faces,
His first gaze plies the soul with light,
Laying down a luminous layer
Beneath our brief and brittle days
Until the appointed dawn comes
Assured and harvest deft
To unravel the last black knot
And we are back home in the house
That we have never left.
The eyes of Jesus are a way of seeing and a way of being, in terms of how we see and treat each other. O’Donohue talks about the way Jesus sees us, his gaze, and describes it in a way that should make us feel like we are loved before we do or say anything. Our souls are loved, as well as our bodies and minds. Do we allow ourselves to feel seen and loved that way?
Following Jesus means to try to look at ourselves, each other, and Creation with these eyes and this love.
Why do we take a journey through Lent? Why do we try to take in, reflect on, pray on, the Passion/suffering of Jesus over Holy Week? Why do we celebrate Jesus’s Resurrection?
I hope that at least part of the reason is to allow ourselves to be transformed, to become more Christ-like, to live and love like Jesus, which is to experience the kingdom of God and to do our part to help bring that kingdom, that love, to others, and play whatever role we can in bringing the kingdom here.
May we feel the eyes of Jesus gazing on us.
May we be the eyes of Jesus gazing on others.
May we know the love of Jesus, who became one of us, showed us how to live and how to love, gave his life for us, and then showed us that his love, God’s love, is greater than death, overcomes death and brings us to eternal life.
May we be the love of Jesus for everyone we encounter. And echoing Fr. Gregory Boyle, everyone: no exceptions.
