Faithful of Southern Illlinois

News Notes
  

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

For more information contact: Sharon Maxwell at smax4765@yahoo.com

 

Small Prayer Communities Forming in Southern Illinois

 

Out of a re-visioning meeting in January 2009, came several new initiatives for the future direction of Fellowship of Southern Illinois Laity (FOSIL). The first was to form small Christian prayer communities throughout the Metro East and Southern Illinois to fill a void in spiritual development for members of the “Faithful of Southern Illinois.” The second is to address the treatment of women in the Roman Catholic Church.

 

The first prayer community gathering will be held on Sunday, March 8th at the Public Library, 120 Civic Plaza in O’Fallon, Illinois from 4 to 6 PM. The gathering will include community prayer, reflections on noted theologian’s weekly scriptural commentaries, sharing and “breaking bread” together.  After this initial meeting, members from Mt. Vernon, Carbondale and other outlying areas are invited to form and participate in their own small prayer communities.

 

The second initiative is to raise awareness of the injustices concerning women in the church today. This came about because most prayers, hymns and church liturgies always use masculine terminology. To this end, Sr. Christine Schenk, who directs an Ohio-based organization promoting women’s rights in the church, is invited to celebrate a Mary Magdala event on Saturday, July 18th. The all-day workshop/lecture will open up dialogue and awareness about the inequality of women in the Catholic Church. The workshop will be held at the Katy Cavins Center, 308 E. Fifth Street, O’Fallon, Illinois.

 

If you would like to become part of a prayer community, please join us in O’Fallon, Illinois on March 8th.   For more information about any of the above events please visit our website: www.fosilonline.com

THE APOSTLE’S EUCHARIST

 

 

 

 

by Roger V. Karban

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When our bishops claim to be guardians of the apostles’ teachings, there’s one apostle and one teaching that has slipped through the cracks. Not only do they consistently ignore the Apostle Paul’s teaching on the Eucharist, they consistently legislate against it.

All students of Scripture know the earliest references to the Eucharist are found in Paul’s letters, not the gospels. Paul was martyred about ten years before Mark composed the first gospel. Normally Paul writes only when there are problems in the community to whom he addresses his letter. In each situation in which he brings up the Eucharist, the problem is the same: unity.

In his earliest I Corinthian reference to the Lord’s Supper (10:16-17), Paul mentions, “Because the loaf of bread is one, we though many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf.” Contrary to our common “poker chip size” individual servings, Paul sees the participation of all in one broken loaf as the outward sign of the oneness all are expected to achieve in the Eucharist.

But it’s in the next chapter that Paul really zeroes in on the Corinthians unique Eucharistic problem. Starting in verse 17, he immediately slams the way the community is celebrating the Breaking of the Bread. “In giving this instruction, I do not praise the fact that your meetings are doing more harm than good.” In other words, if the celebration isn’t done correctly, it’s better not to have a celebration.

From what follows, it’s clear the earliest Eucharists consisted in more than sharing just a piece of bread and a cup of wine. Those celebrations revolved around participating in an entire meal, something on the order of our pot-luck dinners. Everyone was expected to bring a dish or drink, combine them with everyone else’s food and share a common meal. That’s the ideal. But it wasn’t working out that way in Corinth. “When you meet in one place,” Paul writes, “it’s not to eat the Lord’s Supper, for in eating, each one goes ahead with his own supper, and one goes hungry while another gets drunk.”

Their problem springs from the fact that those who can afford to bring food to the table refuse to share with those — like the poor and slaves — who can bring little or nothing. From Paul’s later comment about waiting for one another, it seems the well-to-do tell the poor that the Eucharist will begin at 7:30 while they themselves gather at 7:00. By 7:30, little or nothing is left for those who brought little or nothing.

The apostle can only remind this inauthentic community of an essential element of early Christian faith. Whenever he begins with “For I received from the Lord what I handed on to you . . .“ Paul is declaring, “This is essential; it isn’t negotiable. You can’t be a follower of Jesus without this!” What follows is the earliest account of Jesus’ Last Supper words and actions we possess. Though Paul writes this letter in the late 50s, many scholars contend these next three verses date back to the mid—30s, within five years of the actual event.

Lest we picture Jesus’ words and actions in the context of our modern celebration of Mass, one small phrase tells us we’re hearing about a normal, whole meal, not just a brief, symbolic gathering. “In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying…”  This implies there was at least an hour or so interval between Jesus’ words over the bread and his words over the cup. As in Corinth, the entire meal was Eucharistic, not just the bread/wine words and actions. What happens during the meal is extremely important.

In each set of words over the bread and cup, Jesus gives the same command: “Do this in remembrance of me.” As with anyone on the verge of death, Jesus is worried about being forgotten; he fears that what he thought essential to his life and ministry will be either trivialized or forgotten by his followers. Jesus not only longs to be remembered; he wants his ministry to be carried on beyond three o’clock the next afternoon.

That logical fear also seems to be why, instead of saying the better known, traditional words, “This is my blood!” over the cup, Jesus proclaims, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood!” Though scholars like John Meier presume the word “new” was added by Jesus’ later followers, the idea of covenant is essential to Jesus’ teaching and ministry.

All Jews look at their relationship with Yahweh as a covenant relationship: an agreement that demands specific responsibilities from both parties. Each commits himself or herself to carry through on demands they have freely accepted.

Jesus was committed to the covenant we find in the Hebrew Scriptures, including the 613 responsibilites his ancestors accepted on Mt. Sinai. But during the course of his earthly life, Jesus also developed a special, unique agreement with Yahweh, one which went beyond the laws of Moses. Jesus’ covenant included the total giving of himself to everyone around him. It was this covenant that Jesus constantly tried to share with his disciples; this covenant he most feared would die with him. His hope at the Last Supper was that his followers would commit themselves to that same relationship with God, even though it was bringing about his death. Just as the Jews at the foot of Sinai outwardly demonstrated they’d made the covenant with Yahweh by the blood splotches on their bodies and clothes (Ex 24), so Jesus’ disciples would outwardly demonstrate their determination to carry out his unique covenant by drinking from the cup of his blood.

Paul argues that if the Corinthians drink from the cup, they’ve committed themselves to experience the same death Jesus experienced. “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes.”

Drinking from the cup isn’t for “extra credit.” It’s an essential action of our Christian faith. Jesus asks, “Who will join me in the covenant I made with Yahweh? Who will share in my ministry?” Taking from the cup shows our commitment to do this. Sadly, in many parishes today, a minority of people take from the cup. In some ways, taking the bread first simply gives us the courage to take the cup later.

Paul’s frustration revolves around his community’s hypocrisy. Though they go through the external actions of the Lord’s Supper, they refuse to commit themselves to the dying/rising covenant of Jesus which the Eucharist embodies. It leads Paul to give one of the most severe of his biblical warnings: “Whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord.”

As a child, I was horribly conscious of receiving communion unworthily. Not only did I fast (under pain of mortal sin) from midnight, I was drilled in lists of those serious sins that, if committed and unabsolved, would result in a more humongous sin once I consumed the sacrosanct little, white wafer. Fortunately during most school Eucharists, the associate pastor heard confessions, precisely to absolve any of us little kids who might have slipped into mortal sin during the night or on the way to school.

The surprise to us catechism-formed Catholics is that none of those lists of sins included the unworthiness of which Paul warns the Corinthians. Not only was it omitted in my second grade communion and confession preparation, it was only several years after ordination and achieving a licentiate in theology before I learned of its existence. “Those who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment on themselves.” In this context, discerning the body doesn’t refer to the bread - it refers to the community. We must recognize the body of Christ that is among us. Only those who acknowledge that everyone participating in the Lord’s Supper make up the body of Christ are worthy to receive the body and blood of Christ.

Paul presumes it entails a death to recognize the risen Jesus in all those gathered around us during the Eucharist. (As I sometimes jokingly remind my parishioners, there have been occasions when I’ve noticed a Republican in the community.) Seriously, such recognition happens only when we die enough to accept and become one with everyone present, something the non-sharing Corinthians refuse to do. Only those who agree to share in the poverty of the community’s poorest member will actually become one with the risen Jesus present and alive in that person. Our relationship with others is a key element when we gather for the Eucharist.

I can only speculate how frustrated and angry Paul would have been at the solution

later Christian communities came up with to solve their sharing problem: they simply eliminated the meal! Everyone eventually consumed just a minute piece of bread and (for a brief period) a small sip of wine. Through the centuries the church has not only rid itself of the dying/rising elements of oneness in the community, it’s actually legislated the opposite: setting up separation and distinction of persons as the Eucharistic ideal.

I had an article published a few years ago in which I mentioned that during my 44 years of ministry, about the only times I’ve been able to surface the risen Jesus in the Eucharistic community have been on those occasions when I’ve not been the presider; those times when I’ve taken off my distinguishing vestments, passed through the sacrosanct confines of the sanctuary and actually become an ordinary member of the Eucharistic body of Christ. It’s possible, but scary, that a huge percentage of priests, bishops and popes have never experienced what Paul presumed all Christians would normally experience. Because of today’s liturgical regulations, we’re prohibited from doing what the Apostle expected all Christians to do.

I can only imagine the ear-full such regulators will receive from Paul at the pearly gates.

 

 

 

After attending St. Henry’s Seminary, Belleville, IL and St. Mary of the Lake Seminary, Mundelein, IL. Fr. Roger Karban completed his studies for the priesthood at the Gregorian University in Rome where he received a Licentiate in Theology. He was ordained a priest for the Diocese of Belleville on December 16, 1964, in Rome.

 

 

 

His ministries have been various:

Associate pastor at St. Mary’s, Herrin, IL and Holy Angels in East. St. Louis, IL

Secretary of the Belleville Diocesan Marriage Tribunal, 1965 — 1967.

Religion teacher at St. Teresa’s Academy,

East St.
Louis, 1964 — 1967

 

Louis, 1964 — 1967

 

Louis, 1964 — 1967

 

Religion teacher at Mater Dei High School, Breese, IL, 1967 — 1973.

Chair of Religion Department at Mater Dei High School, 1969 — 1973

Director of the Deaconate Program for the Belleville Diocese, 1977 — 1982.

Chairman of Board of United Cerebral Palsy of Southwestern Illinois, 1979— 1983.

In residence at various parishes in East St. Louis and Belleville while

completing studies towards doctoral degree in Scripture at St. Louis University.

Teacher of the Marriage Course at Gibault High School, Waterloo, IL, 1975 - 2000

Taught Scripture courses at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, John A. Logan College, Carterville, IL and Notre Dame University, Notre Dame, IN

Presently the Administrator of Our Lady of Good Counsel Parish, Renault, IL

Teacher of Scripture classes at Belleville, Breese, Carbondale and Shiloh, 1969-present

Teacher of Bible As Literature at Southwestern Illinois College, 1996 - present and also at St. Louis University - present

 

 Writes weekly commentary on Sunday Scripture readings that is published in several diocesan newspapers.

Author of numerous Scripture pamphlets.

Conducts retreats, conferences and workshops locally and nationally.

 

I learned how to say Mass in November 1964, a few weeks before the Vatican II-inspired liturgical reforms began in the United States. Though some of my classmates were confused about the changes, the priest who taught us the basics of being eucharistic presiders made certain we learned something that would never change. Fr. P. Francis Murphy often reminded us soon-to-be-ordained seminarians, “Your main job during the Eucharist is to help form those who are taking part in the celebration into the Body of Christ.” I’ve never stopped thanking God for letting this mild-mannered future auxiliary bishop of Baltimore be such an important part of my life. But it was only after ordination, when I began to study scripture, that I really appreciated the significance of Frank’s teaching.

 

In a recent article on confirmation, Sr. Linda Gaupin writes, “We have subjected confirmation to a sort of sacramental ‘idolatry,’ that is, we have let our pastoral needs shape the sacrament, instead of allowing the powerful grace of the sacrament to shape us.” Sr. Linda could have made the same statement had she been writing about the Eucharist. One need only skim Josef Jungmann’s The Mass of the Roman Rite to discover how events external to the Eucharist formed and constantly reshaped the celebration.

 

I recall my mother taking the blade out of my father’s safety razor one day when I was a child. She used it to cut an extra hole in my belt, then put it back in the razor. When my father began to shave the next morning, he painfully realized something was wrong. After mom courageously ’fessed up, pop, trying to smile as he wiped the blood from his cheek, went to his tool box, took out a hammer and awl, handed them to mom and said, “Use these the next time, Edna. Tools work best when you use them the way they were meant to be used.”

 

My father could have been a terrific sacramental theologian. Through the centuries we’ve used the Eucharist in all sorts of ways. We employed it as a source of grace, a way to surface God’s transcendence, a vehicle for affirming the priesthood’s unique ontological prerogatives, an opportunity for allegorically presenting Jesus’ life. We children in Catholic grade schools even learned if we made nine First Friday celebrations in a row, we’d be a cinch to get into heaven. Though I presume these uses of the Eucharist achieved some of their goals, the first followers of Jesus didn’t seem to have had those goals in mind.

 

When Frank Murphy encouraged us to form our eucharistic participants into the Body of Christ, he was taking us back to the Eucharist’s earliest function, the one our sacred authors emphasized.

 

We’d have no scripture if the biblical communities had no problems. Our sacred authors were inspired to write because they had surfaced practices that contradicted the faith their communities claimed to profess. Once we know what triggered their writing, we will more deeply appreciate our eucharistic biblical texts.

 

It’s no accident that both our earliest scriptural reference to the Lord’s Supper (1 Cor 11) and our latest (John 13) deal with the same problem. During the 30 years separating the two passages, the difficulty persisted — as it does to this day.

 

Paul tells us up front what prompted him to write 1 Corinthians 11:17-33: “I hear that when you meet as a church there are divisions among you.” Within a generation and a half of Jesus’ death and resurrection, some of his followers had fallen into the trap Sr. Linda spoke of. “When you meet in one place,” Paul writes, “it is not to eat the Lord’s Supper, for in eating each one goes ahead with his own supper, and one goes hungry while another gets drunk.” Corinthian Christians were trying to change the Eucharist instead of letting the Eucharist change them.

 

Back then, the Lord’s Supper was celebrated in the context of a potluck meal. Everyone was expected to bring what they could and share what they brought. But factions, especially the division between rich and poor, got in the way of their sharing.

 

Paul reminds his readers that their selfish behavior shows they’ve forgotten what’s at the heart of the Eucharist. “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes.” According to the apostle, such a death comes only when Christians sacrifice themselves for one another. Those who refuse to do so during the Eucharist receive Paul’s harshest condemnation: “For those who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment on themselves.”

 

In this context, Paul is not talking about discerning the body of Jesus in the bread; he’s referring to the Body of Christ into which those participating in the Lord’s Supper have been transformed. People who meet as church are essentially different from people who gather to watch a football game.

 

John surfaces the same problem in his Chapter 13 narrative of Jesus’ Last Supper foot washing. The evangelist already put the “words of institution” in Chapter 6, during the feeding miracle. Here he concentrates on the frame of mind he expects everyone to have who participates in the breaking of bread.

 

Sr. Sandra Schneiders observed in a 1981 Catholic Biblical Quarterly article that Jesus washing his disciples’ feet is not only an act of humble service (a superior doing something for inferiors), it’s outside his field of expertise. Once Jesus “rose from the supper and took off his outer garments,” he was no longer in control of the situation. Jesus was an itinerant preacher, not a foot washer. One of those whose feet he washed probably commented, “I’ve had better!”  That’s why Peter objects so strenuously. He’s saying, “Were I in your place, I’d never do this!” Jesus’ equally harsh “It’s my way or the highway” response reminds John’s readers that Jesus expects his followers regularly to engage in similar out-of-control acts of giving during the Eucharist. Sr. Sandra is convinced that only such unpretentious, unscripted giving can create real Christian communities.

 

With just a glance at eucharistic history we know how quickly Jesus’ followers began to change the structure of the celebration instead of letting it change them. The problems Paul and John addressed eventually disappeared because of those changes, but not for the right reasons. They first eliminated the potluck dimension of the Eucharist, converting the actual meal into a ritual meal consisting of just a small piece of bread and a sip of wine. Sharing food ceased. The hierarchically structured Eucharist also removed opportunities for us to step out of our controlling fields of expertise. It became almost impossible to give ourselves to others in the way John envisioned. We shaped the celebration along the unchallenging lines in which we were comfortable, not along the demanding, community-creating lines the historical Jesus and our sacred authors intended.

 

Our October liturgical readings offer a gold mine of texts to encourage us and our communities to reflect on the biblical understanding of the Lord’s Supper. The author of our 2 Timothy readings implores us to be grounded in the unique faith Paul shared with his churches, constantly to “guard that rich trust with the help of the Holy Spirit which dwells within us.” The best expression of that faith occurs in the early Christian hymn found in Chapter 2: “If we have died with him we shall also live with him; if we persevere we shall also reign with him.” I wonder what would happen were we to proclaim these words against the background of 1 Corinthians 11.

 

In the midst of a church willing to split eucharistic communities into Latin and vernacular, let Yahweh’s words passed on by Habakkuk deepen our determination to carry on Jesus’ work: “The vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come.” The vision that many of us thought others had accomplished at Vatican II, we now realize will only be fulfilled by our personal commitment. It’s the same vision Jesus attempted to fulfill when he made his own the words of Sirach: “Yahweh is a God of justice, who knows no favorites” — especially in the celebration of the Eucharist.

 

All four Lucan pericopes zero in on faith. But when Luke’s Jesus refers to faith, he’s talking about actions, not content. Luke’s not so much encouraging us to have faith in Jesus as he expects us to imitate the faith of Jesus. That faith moves the “mulberry trees” blocking our true Christian vision; it totally wipes out the distinction between “clean and unclean,” cleric and lay in our communities, and humbles us enough to be one with all in our worshipping church. That’s the kind of faith Jesus wants to find on earth.

 

Among other problems, Luke tried to keep some in his community from bailing out because of Jesus’ delayed Parousia. The evangelist was convinced Jesus wouldn’t return in his lifetime, so he prepared his readers to be faithful to Jesus’ priorities over the long haul.

 

I had no idea just how long that haul would be when Frank Murphy instilled the biblical mentality of the Eucharist in us back in November 1964.

 

 

Fr. Roger Vermalen Karban is a priest of the diocese of Belleville, Ill. He serves as pastor of a small rural parish and teaches courses in scripture at Southern Illinois College. His commentaries on the Sunday scriptures appear regularly at www.fosilonline.com. This article appears in the October 2007 issue of Celebration, the worship resource of the National Catholic Reporter. Visit the Web site at www.celebrationpublications.org for more information.

 

 

 

 

Why Do Married Priests Study Scripture?

By Roger Vermalen Karban

Featured in CORPUS REPORTS MARCH/APRIL 2007

Recently I've experienced a fascinating but welcome phenomenon. Though I've taught Scripture for over 40 years, more and more priests are now participating in my weekly classes.

 

Most were ordained before me. Having looked up to them with admiration during my seminary years, I'm honored by their presence. In one class alone, out of 25 regular students, six priests will show up on any given day.

 

Besides their priesthood, each of these men share another common trait: all are married. No unmarried, active priests take part in my classes.

 

I've wondered for a while why these men and their wives are so faithful in studying Scripture. What attracts them to this ongoing endeavor? Recently I've discovered at least one answer. Though the explanation was there all along, I hadn't connected the necessary pieces until a few weeks ago. I simply hadn't applied one of the most basic concepts of Scripture to the people I was teaching.

 

I always insist that my community college Bible as Literature students memorize the late Dennis Mccarthy's definition of "canonicity." How did these specific writings get into the Bible while others were left out? "These particular books are in the Bible," McCarthy insisted, "because they helped the most people over the longest period of time to understand their faith."

 

Part of the Jesuit professor's definition flies in the face of "popular wisdom." Our sacred writings were never intended to give anyone the faith. Scripture is only relevant for those who already have faith. The biblical authors composed their works to help individuals reflect on and better understand their already present faith-commitment to God and others.

 

When it comes to such a personal experience as faith, we always run the risk of concluding we're "alone," that no one else has shared the same insights. I remember the advice Jonathan Winters gave years ago to Johnny Carson's Tonight Show viewers. The comedian had suffered a nervous breakdown a few months before and had just returned to the public eye after one of his "institutional stays."

 

"Johnny, is there anything you'd like to share with our audience tonight?" Carson asked.

 

"Yes," Winters replied. "What I say to one I say to all. Never land alone, or they'll get you every time!"

 

Our sacred authors surprise their readers by assuring them they haven't landed alone. There are others out there who have come from the same "planet," others who share their faith.

 

But in what does that faith consist? Why are certain people driven to study Scripture while others could care less?

 

Here are just a few characteristics of biblical faith.

 

Individuals who find Scripture meaningful don't believe God works the same way, all the time, for everyone. The God they've experienced isn't mediated or limited by institutions which purport to speak in God's name. Their God is greater than the patterns of behavior into which some theologians and church administrators so diligently try to squeeze him/her. They revel in Yahweh's chapter 43 statement to Deutero-Isaiah: "Remember not the events of the past, the things of old consider not. See I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" Such people are always open, constantly willing to discover what God is uniquely accomplishing today.

 

Students of the Bible are uncomfortable with the either/or categories of Greek thought, the categories on which catechisms are based. They identify more with our Semitic authors' ability to understand their relationship with God in terms of both/and. Listening to Scripture, they quickly realize there's always another dimension of faith to be explored, another door to be opened. They know that one sacred writer frequently has a different take on an event or saying, or expresses a contrary belief than that held by the preceding writer. Matthew, for instance, had a copy of Mark's gospel on his desk when he wrote. Luke also read Mark before he composed his double-volume gospel. Both, using Mark's outline and many of his narratives, went on to create two new theologies. In a mid-60s Bellarmine Lecture at St. Louis University, Avery Dulles succinctly described the difference between biblical churches and our own. "Had there been a Holy Office during the writing of the four gospels, we Catholics would have just one gospel in our Bibles: Mark. But in our history books we'd have mention of three notorious early Christian heretics named Matthew, Luke, and John!"

 

Biblical people are keen observers of what's going on around them, convinced their concepts of God are only valid if they come bottom up instead of top down. They believe the God of eternity is the God who's active in our everyday lives, an integral part of our personal history. Professor Walter Brueggemann, for instance, always reminds his students why the Genesis authors make a big thing out of Isaac, Jacob and Judah not being the first-born sons in their families. All the patriarchal narratives were composed after David, the eighth-born, had been chosen king. That event forever changed the way people looked at God working in their lives. Yahweh's actions were no longer limited by birth order.

 

Those who seriously study Scripture quickly discover there's a constant movement in the book. Our faith ancestors, for instance, moved from belief in many gods to strict monotheism, from polygamy to no-divorce monogamy, from Sheol to heaven, from Moses' 613 laws to Jesus' one law of love. Students of the Bible automatically parallel the faith growth in their lives with the faith growth in the history of our salvation. By nature, they never stop learning, never stop growing.

 

Last, but never least, those who appreciate Scripture treasure relationships. They hear how our biblical prophets struggled day by day with those religious folk who engaged in "fertility cults." Instead of forming a relationship with God, these people attempted to control God. Instead of imitating Jacob's wrestling encounter with Yahweh, they developed special rituals, using magic words recited just the right number of times by specially designated ministers. Often they performed actions opposite of those which normal people performed. They'd plow a field with an ox and donkey yoked together, weave a garment from two different kinds of material, or take a baby goat and boil it to death in its mother's milk. In each case, their bizarre behavior is geared to attract the attention of the gods they're trying to control.

 

True believers don't engage in such God-controlling actions. They go back to the beginnings of biblical faith, remembering how Abraham and Sarah were declared righteous in Genesis 15 simply because they put their faith in Yahweh. In modern terms, the pair opted to build a relationship with Yahweh, the source of otherness in their lives.

 

Abraham and Sarah lived about 500 years before Moses received Yahweh's 613 laws on Mt. Sinai; 500 years in which the only law was to trust Yahweh's presence and actions in their lives. As the Christian Paul would teach, laws which come later can never replace a commitment made years before.

 

Biblical people grow because their relationships with God grow. And, as Jesus insists, they flesh out that relationship by relating with other beings, growing as individuals and people of faith as those ordinary day-by-day relationships grow. Their faith isn't limited or restricted to just seven sacramental actions. They're convinced that wherever loving ties exist, there God is active.

 

Priests who participate in the study of Scripture are experiencing a validation and support of characteristics which many in the hierarchical church find embarrassing. Married priests eventually discover that the very attributes which created tensions in their clerical relationship with the institution are the very qualities which biblical people of faith cherish.

 

The Catholic community can legitimately demand to know why such people are forbidden to minister to them.

 

Perhaps the most strengthening aspect of their present struggle with the hierarchical church can be found in Yahweh's insistence to Jeremiah in chapter 15, ". . . It shall be they who turn to you, . . . you shall not return to them." Eventually biblical faith has to triumph over catechism faith. It always has. As Dennis McCarthy continually taught, "after more than 2,000 years, we still have the Bible. We can't even name some of the other books that once competed with our biblical writings."

 

CELEBRATION FEATURE

‘Our Rising from the Dead’

The risen Christ appears in our dying to self for others

 

By ROGER KARBAN

 

Shortly before his tragic death in the Judean wilderness, Episcopal Bishop James Pike confessed he’d lost his Christian faith. Having read the four gospel Resurrection narratives in one sitting, he compared the passages and concluded they were so contradictory no one could honestly believe Jesus actually had risen from the dead.

 

Thankfully most of us never make such comparisons. We treat the narratives of Jesus’ resurrection as we treat the narratives of his birth. We conveniently overlook or ignore the contradictions and create a new story choosing some details, leaving out others, combining enough elements to convince ourselves and our people that we generally know what happened that Sunday morning at a tomb just outside Jerusalem’s walls.

 

Perhaps we hesitate to admit or mention the contradictions because we, like Pike, presume the evangelists were trying to provide us an historically accurate account of the event. But even a cursory reading of the Pontifical Biblical Commission’s 1964 “Instruction on the Historical Truth of the Gospels” assures us that historical accuracy wasn’t always the evangelists’ primary goal As the Instruction puts it: “The doctrine and life of Jesus were not reported merely for the purpose of being remembered, but were preached so as to offer the church a basis for faith and morals.”

 

Like all authors of the Christian Scriptures, our evangelists didn’t write to convince their readers that Jesus had risen from the dead. They presumed those who picked up their works already believed in Jesus death and resurrection. They wrote to provide their communities not with the history but with the implications of these two events.

 

At no time do we preachers better imitate their objective than during the Easter season.

 

As we preach these specific biblical texts, it’s essential to remember that none of our biblical authors ever came into contact with the “historical Jesus,” the Palestinian Jewish reformer who lived between 6 BCE and 30 CE. They had experienced only the “risen Jesus,” that new creation present and active in their personal lives and in the lives of their communities. So they’re not giving us some heady, hypothetical implications, looking at the situation from “outside.” They’re offering us faith implications that are tried and true, the very ones which gave meaning to their own faith.

 

To accurately convey the biblical Easter message, we preachers must at least partially forget how some modern Christians relate to Jesus in their midst and delve into the risen Jesus mindset of his first century followers.

 

Perhaps the most important thing to recognize is that they knew nothing of a “generic” presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.

 

Years ago, as students in Rome, we’d ask the “new men” to find the original tabernacle in some of the city’s oldest churches. Of course, no such object could be found. At most, looking carefully, one might have discovered a small unadorned metal door covering a cavity in a pillar or wall where the community temporarily kept some of the consecrated elements earmarked for the sick or imprisoned. But its very location showed it couldn’t have been a focal point of eucharistic devotion. As even the late Karl Rahner realized, the earliest Christians presumed Jesus only remained present in the bread and wine as long as the community who confected the sacrament remained present. (The one exception, those particles set aside for the sick or imprisoned.) Our belief that “once in the bread and wine, always in the bread and wine” appears to have evolved only after our Christian Scriptures were completed.

 

If we look at our Easter readings from the authors’, not our, perspective, we discover a fascinating implication. Not only is Jesus raised, but we have an obligation to surface the risen Jesus in our daily life.

 

On the C cycle’s third weekend, for instance, we’re to reflect on John’s miraculous fish catch pericope. Scholars tell us that all of chapter 21 is an addition to the evangelist’s original work. Yet it contains one of the earliest accounts of an encounter with the risen Jesus. Though the author sprinkles “connecting links” throughout the narrative, it appears it originally was told and passed on independent of any other post-resurrection account.

 

The seven disciples appear to have had no prior personal experience of the risen Jesus. They’ve returned to Galilee after Jesus’ death and are doing what many do who’ve lost someone significant in their lives:

nothing. To go back to doing what one did before that special person’s death would be a sign of disloyalty to that individual. Nothing could ever be the same again.

 

Simon Peter finally ends his mourning cycle, announcing, “I’m going out to fish (again).” As the late Elizabeth Kübler Ross insisted, “It’s only when we get up enough courage to go back to work that we discover our deceased loved one is present to us in a different, yet more meaningful way”

 

It’s precisely in such ordinary circumstances that the seven discover Jesus alive, not in the same form he possessed before 3 o’clock on Good Friday afternoon, else there would have been immediate recognition. Yet it’s extremely significant that a meal eventually plays a role in their recognition. They don’t appear to recognize him in the bread —there’s no wine — but they recognize him in the midst of their sharing food with one another.

 

We later Christians have become so distracted by non-essentials during our celebrations of the Eucharist that it’s difficult for us to understand the eucharistic experiences of Jesus’ first followers. We so concentrate on his presence in the bread and wine that we overlook his biblically emphasized presence in the midst of a giving community

 

Our sacred authors believed someone must die before we can perceive the risen Jesus.

 

It’s no accident that Jesus’ death and resurrection originally weren’t two distinct liturgical events. As we learned in Holy Week 101, the earliest church celebrated both on Easter. John shows this connection by having the risen ,Jesus speak about the dying experience of forgiveness during his Easter Sunday evening appearance, then parallels it a week later with a command to Thomas to examine Jesus’ death bringing wounds.

 

Biblical Christians emphasized the community’s dying during the eucharistic meal more than they stressed the exact words of institution proclaimed by a designated presider within the context of a special set of rubrical gestures. We need only glance at the second half of 1 Corinthians 11 to be convinced of that emphasis. As I mentioned above, Jesus only becomes present when someone dies — either he or his followers.

 

According to our Christian Scriptures, where one is dying by expanding and deepening his or her relations with others, there one discovers not only Jesus, but the Spirit’s presence.

 

We hear about this in our C cycle Acts passages that narrate the persecutions Jesus’ followers endured in the healing dimensions of sharing themselves with others. But Luke especially emphasizes the death entailed in reaching out to the “untouchable” Gentiles. This latter death is described beginning on the season’s fourth weekend. Paul’s statement, “We now turn to the Gentiles,” sets the theme for the rest of Acts and provides us another specific pattern for surfacing the risen Jesus among us. Though opposition quickly forms against this kind of faith-expansion, the whole Jerusalem church eventually agrees with Paul and Barnabas opening the doors to those originally excluded from becoming part of Christ’s body When they do, the official proclamation contains the words, “It is the decision of the holy Spirit and of us not to place on you any burden beyond these necessities….” Our sacred authors always seem to regard our going beyond secure boundaries to broaden our experience of Jesus among us as a phenomenon motivated by the Holy Spirit. The Paraclete never tells us to sit tight. According to our Christian Scriptures, where one is dying by expanding and deepening his or her relations with others, there one discovers not only Jesus, but the Spirit’s presence.

 

But how do we bring this message to our specific congregations? Few to whom we preach can do anything significant to stop terrorism and war, prejudice and injustice. Though we believe in a Jesus alive among us, how do we share that life with others?

 

We must return to our Christian basics. We’re continually to surface the risen Jesus not in just “religious” settings, but in the circumstances of our everyday lives with the ordinary people who make up those lives. Whenever we die for others even in the simplest most insignificant way, the living Jesus is made present again.

 

We find the best biblical paradigm for this in something Jesus says during his Bethany anointing in Mark 14. Some of his disciples object to the unnamed woman’s spontaneous action, pointing out that she could have acted more wisely by selling the expensive perfume and giving the money to the poor.

 

Jesus vehemently defends her. “Let her alone,” he commands. “... She has done what she could.” Though she didn’t do what might have had the biggest effect in helping the most people, she did what she was able to do.

 

Perhaps many of us still hear the criticizing words of the disciples echoing in our ears whenever we’re tempted to give ourselves to others. And because we can’t do the “best,” we do nothing.

 

Their words should never block out Jesus’ words. He expects us only to do what we can: to mediate ongoing family disputes, to let no statement of prejudice go unchallenged, to share who we are even with people we don’t think worthy of such sharing. We bring life to each of those situations. And once again, at least for that short period of time, Jesus lives - until the next time when we die to make him live again.

 

Roger Vermalen Karban is a priest of the diocese of Belleville. He serves as pastor of a small rural parish and teaches. Urses in Scripture at Southern Illinois College His commentaries on the Sunday Scriptures appear regularly at www.fosilonline.com.

 

 

This article was in Celebration-Publication – (Date). 

 

To contact us:

 Celebration Publications
 115 E. Armour Blvd.
 Kansas City, MO   64111

 Phone: 1-816-531-0538
 Fax: 1-816-968-2292
 E-mail:

 support@celebrationpubs.org

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

VOTFSL * P.O. Box 56550, St. Louis MO 63156 * 314-258-1280 * www.VOTFSL.org

 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  | 
Copyright © 2008 Copyright 2005 Felowship of Southern Illinois Laity. All Rights Reserved.
Web Hosting Companies