Today’s readings
talk a lot about evil. In the Book of Genesis we have the iconic story of Adam
& Eve and temptation—in which the serpent exploits their insecurities
and plants doubts about God’s trustworthiness, resulting in what’s come to be
known forever since as “the fall.”
In the Gospel of
Mark, Jesus himself refers to the very real presence of sin and evil in the
world and the need to oppose it—even when others don’t or won’t.
In short,
there’s lots of talk of sin, the devil, Satan, evil, and temptation—things we
just don’t tend to hear much about anymore.
And, on the one
hand, that’s probably very appropriate. The gospel isn’t supposed to be about
scaring us or filling us with a lot of guilt. It’s rather a message about God
and God’s love—how we are God’s children and that Jesus came to set us free to
be precisely that—to be who we really are.
Still, on the
other hand, maybe there is some wisdom in the tradition that comes down
to us through today’s readings. Perhaps there’s an importance to remembering
that there’s something in human nature that can lead us away from God –
that tempts us to believe in the illusions that we can completely control
every aspect of our lives; or that we can achieve total happiness if
only we grab hold of some or other particular thing; or that kinship ties
and maintaining an approved public image are the be-all and end-all of
life.
These were all
temptations in Jesus’ time and they remain a significant challenge in our own.
And while we might rightly recoil at references to “Satan,” “the devil,” or
“evil spirits” when this language is disconnected from our everyday experience,
perhaps there are some other ways to frame it that might make more sense
in our own context.
In my own
reflections, two images came to mind. The first comes from a ceremony that took
place in New York City a few years ago in the wake of the financial crisis. A
group of local pastors gathered outside the front doors of a major investment
bank to perform an exorcism—yes, an exorcism. For these leaders, as for
so many people, the bank was a symbol of the mind-boggling greed of individuals
and institutions who received huge government bailouts, and yet often continue
to exploit the poorest and most vulnerable through their ongoing policies and
practices.
Making use of some
of the traditional language about evil, but in a new and updated way, these
pastors pointed to a deeper, enduring truth: namely, that there is
a side of us that can easily give in to the illusion of achieving absolute
security; or to the temptation to value public appearance and reputation over
one’s deeper worth.
As we know, it
can easily happen. But, as we also know all too well, the consequences—the
misery and injustice these attitudes produce—can literally result in situations
we might liken to hell.
A second image comes
out of the Christian mystical tradition. Blaise Pascal, a 17th
century French philosopher and mystic reminds us that we each have a
“God-shaped hole deep within”—a space that can only be filled by the divine.
St. Augustine, the early church theologian, perhaps said it best: “our hearts
are restless until they rest in God.”
In other words,
there’s a deep place inside each of us that longs for transcendence, meaning,
and fulfillment. But, often we try to fill that space with all sorts of things
– for example, wealth, power, gadgets, fashions, popularity, approval, or
whatever they may be. Jesus’ own family succumbed to this temptation—as, sadly,
do our own sometimes—when they prioritized the family’s public reputation and
approval over how God was moving through Jesus’ life and ministry.
As Jesus
knew—and we too can discover if we’re awake enough to reality—none of these
things we do to try and satisfy our spiritual hunger ever really fill us. On
the contrary, they often leave us more unsatisfied and less at peace than ever.
But why exactly
is this? Why doesn’t this work, despite all of our ongoing attempts to the
contrary? If we think about, it’s actually kind of silly. We’ve got this
part of us that opens out into the transcendent and the eternal—and yet we try
over and over to fill it up with things we think will fill it and
finally give us the sense of permanence, stability and security we’ve been
seeking.
But of course we
know that that never really happens. Instead, hopefully with time and with
God’s grace working in us, we come to learn that having a transcendent, eternal
part of us means, well…having a transcendent and eternal part of us—in other words, a part of us
and of our lives that’s that not fully in our control and that perhaps
we’re really not supposed to
be able to fully wrap our minds around.
Maybe the key,
then, is learning to live with this ambiguity, with the inevitability of
change, with the presence of uncertainty or unpopularity or in our
lives.
Maybe it’s
learning that having a God-shaped space inside us means having a part of us
that’s at once both a bit beyond our control and yet filled superabundantly with
love and grace and goodness. And seeing that when we recognize this truth and
let go a little bit it’s precisely then that we can best access that
love and goodness and grace—realizing that when we “let go and let God,” we’re
not so tied to making everything go our way and, because of that, we’re set
free simply to love and be loved, both by God and neighbor.
As we learn to
walk this path, we might ask ourselves some questions from time to time.
For example, What are some of the ways that I lose sight of God’s love for me?
What are the things I try to use to fill the space inside, that I know God
alone can fill? What signs and workings of the Spirit do I miss by my
preoccupations with image or self? How can I let go of my attempts to control
too much and let God be God in my life?
Whatever our
individual answers to these questions, we know that what unites us is both our
common human weakness AND the shared divine strength and grace
which are ours in Jesus. We who follow after the one who was not afraid to live
out God’s radical mercy, justice, and love—even when it conflicted with what
made others feel secure—have big shoes to fill. But the good news is that we’re
not alone. In this journey of profound trust—of letting go and letting God—we’re
surrounded and supported by a community of fellow pilgrims. We take consolation
in this truth and sustenance in the hope that is ours in the one who—even in
the face of sin, death, and evil—trusted in God and witnessed once and for all
the power of the most radical truth of all: love. Amen.
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