Several weeks ago, we decided to redesign an existing flower garden in the front yard in an effort to memorialize and honor the life of Judy, my mother.  Due to several weeks without rain, the ground was brick hard, which made the removal of sod close to impossible.  Next to that situation, roots were ubiquitous in the new portion of the garden.  In an attempt to get the roots out, I resulted to using a pick-axe, and quite smugly satisfied myself with my seeming ability to do this, despite my 52 years and disuse of the muscles employed at that time.  Three days later, I was soberly reminded of the dangerous stupidity of hubris, when my back spoke back quite loudly.  From muscle pain in the back, the effects of that over-extended physical venture continued to develop as my legs became weak and achy.  This came to a “head” – actually a fall – last week when my left leg suddenly without warning gave out, and I fell to the ground, severely pulling my right quadriceps.  Long story short, but still ongoing, I am now in physical therapy, with the hopes of obtaining an MRI that may give some diagnosis to the continued weakness and pain in my legs and the possible relationship of this condition to my back.

In all this, it is a very odd feeling to not know whether or not your legs will carry you in the action of walking.  A simple taken-for-granted daily function has suddenly become reason for concern and some degree of fear due to the uncertainty of the situation.  I have to presently rely on the assistance of others for very simple movements and activities.  It has given me, other than the feelings of impatience, concern, pain and aggravation, an ostensible minefield for spiritual reflection.

On one level, there is the comfortable familiarity of life patterns that can lead us into situations where we feel ourselves to be somewhat invincible or at least unaffected by “other” things and people.  We design and execute our plans for life, despite what appears to be obstacles – “dry rigid earth” – and pay not enough attention to what that itself may be trying to tell us.  Not only do we fail to listen, but we fail to realize that this interaction is going to have an effect on us and on everything and everyone else.  There are going to be consequences to this endeavor, good and/or bad!

Then there’s the vulnerable level, where we experience pain – sometimes debilitating pain.  We are not even aware of the precise source, but it is there and radiating everywhere.  This is the voice of the “wounded” saying, “yes I am here… can you see me?  Do you hear me?”  We feel lost in the uncertainty that has seemingly materialized ex nihilo, or at least out of something to which we were not even paying attention.  Just moving on through life, we are blind-sided by the reality of weakness, need, pain, and the fear of “falling.”  We fall out of familiarity and into the uncomfortable space of the unknown.  We find ourselves in a sea of strangeness, and even strangers, who appear dangerous and unpredictable.

John, in his description in Revelation (RV 5: 1-10), seems to be describing something of this in today’s first reading, when we hear him speak of the “Lamb that seemed to have been slain.”  This slain Lamb is the one in this spectacular scene that holds the key to any possibility of understanding the situation, but more importantly, the possibility of hoping for something beyond the uncertainty in the situation:

Then I saw standing in the midst of the throne …a Lamb that seemed to have been slain…

He came and received the scroll from the right hand of the one who sat on the throne. When he took it, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb. Each of the elders held a harp and gold bowls filled with incense, which are the prayers of the holy ones. They sang a new hymn:

This wounded One is recognized as the Hope for redemption, and worthy of praise from the “holy ones” and the elders, who respond in recognition by singing a “new hymn.”  I wonder…what were the words to the “hymn” written in the mysterious scroll held by the Lamb?  And how does it sound…this new hymn?

For me, there are obvious correlations of today’s Scriptures and our national and world environs.  There is a sickness, a wound, a dis-ease, that we carry in the “body” of our nation and world.  We are uncomfortable, angry perhaps, and even fearful of this “wound.”  It has caught us off-guard, perhaps as Jesus reminds us in the Gospel today (LK 19: 41-44):

As Jesus drew near Jerusalem, he saw the city and wept over it, saying, “If this day you only knew what makes for peace– but now it is hidden from your eyes. For the days are coming upon you when your enemies will raise a palisade against you; they will encircle you and hem you in on all sides. They will smash you to the ground and your children within you, and they will not leave one stone upon another within you because you did not recognize the time of your visitation.”

 For some if not most of us, what was hidden from our eyes has become our “enemy” or so it seems.  Many of us feel we are being “smashed to the ground” and our “children” – our hopes – within us.  Our familiar modes of operating have suddenly “fallen.”  But, in all of this, there is Good News.  The Good News is that the recognition of the wound and its pain is spreading.  By falling, we are recognizing more fully the reality of where we are and how there is no dividing line which disallows our impact on one another.  From this awareness, discerning responses rather than dangerous reactions have the ability to begin to emerge.  We can even more so commit ourselves to the necessary relationships that must be fostered and nurtured with each other in loving accountability.  We must allow a hope in unavoidable connectedness “encircle” us so that we recognize and respond to this present “time of our visitation.”

Then, as John describes, the “slain Lamb” who is worthy, can become the gathered “brokenness” of all of us that breaks open the seals of the scroll, which includes the “new hymn,” yet unknown, or at least forgotten.  Is this not the Rising Christ from the Broken Christ indeed?  Here then, the tears of fear and dismay over unfulfilled destinies of familiarity can give way to the real “ New Jerusalem” journey which we are all on –  manifesting the Life of God (LOVE) by relating to each other in that same Life.  I can hear the faint melody even now growing stronger.

Peace

Thomas

“Let the beauty we love be what we do.  There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the earth.”  – RUMI