Hab
1:2-3, 2:2-4
Ps
95: 1-2, 6-7, 8-9
2
Tim 1:6-8, 13-14
Lk
17:5-10
“How
long O Lord?
I
cry for help
but
you do not listen!”
Book
of Habakkuk begins with a startling statement.
“I
cry for help . . .
but
you do not listen.”
Habakkuk
is unique among the prophets because he openly questions the wisdom of
God. The major theme of Habakkuk is trying to move from perplexity,
confusion and doubt toward faith and absolute trust in God. It is only at
the end of the third and final chapter of this short book, that Habakkuk
expresses his ultimate faith in God, even if he, like us, does not yet fully
understand. In the last verses, sometimes called the Psalm of Habakkuk, we hear
him reflecting on the loss of everything as he writes:
“For
though the fig tree blossom not
nor
fruit be on the vines,
though
the yield of the olive fail
and
the terraces produce no nourishment, . . .
Yet
will I rejoice in the Lord
and
exult in my saving God.
God,
my Lord, is my strength;
he
makes my feet swift as those of hinds
and
enables me to go upon the heights.”
In
this magnificent ending to a book that opened with a hostile challenge we learn
of the faith that redeems and sustains.
The
Gospel begins with the famous statement relating faith to the mustard
seed. When I was in high school many of the girls wore a necklace with a
small clear globe and a tiny yellow mustard seed suspended in the middle.
One had to look very closely to make out the seed as it was only one or two
millimeters—about 1/25th of an inch—in size. That tiny seed grows into a
bush that, while technically not a tree, is large enough for the birds to perch
in as though it were a tree. It is a metaphor for faith.
Faith
is freely given. Faith sustains us through the ups and down of life. It
augments the joys and diminishes the sorrows. Faith brings us eternal life. But
we must care for it and nurture it. Many of Jesus’ parables turn on the
question of faith, how it is nurtured and increased. How we live our
faith in the present is a question we must face regularly. Just as
it takes a long time for the mustard seed to grow into a large bush, so it is
with faith. As we live it, cultivate it, and attend to it through prayer,
reflection, meditation on scripture, and participation in the Eucharist, faith
matures. It becomes stronger. More resilient. More able to
sustain us in good times and in bad. Faith permits us and sometimes compels us,
to ask the question which began the first reading from Habakkuk:
“How
long O Lord?”
Faith
allows us to pray with one single screamed word: “WHY?” And
faith allows us to endure the startling silence that may be the only
reply to that angry why?. Sometimes it is the example of others whose faith is stronger than
ours that helps us cultivate our own.
Six
years ago, on Friday September 17, 2010 I was wandering through the Jesuit
cemetery in Weston, MA. My fingers moved slowly over the rosary. Nothing
made sense. I had just viewed the body of Jesuit Father Ignatius Ikunza,
a very close friend, who died of a rapidly lethal form of cancer, three days
after his 39th birthday. The grave, partially covered with a weathered piece of
plywood, was ready. His body would come down the hill from the funeral
Mass around noon.
After
Mass the East African Provincial addressed the congregation. When he was
done Ikunza’s mother rose and positioned herself between the altar and her
son’s coffin. She took the microphone from Father Provincial and began to
speak. She spoke about the meaning of her son’s life and the meaning of
his death as a seamless whole. She spoke eloquently about her faith in
the resurrection, the certainty of eternal life, and the joy that eased some of
her grief, the joy that he was now with God. When she finished the
congregation packing the large chapel rose and applauded. We rose because
of the example of faith she had just given us. Because she had taken us
through the entire Book of Habakkuk from anger and sorrow to faith, in nine
minutes.
As
we waited at the grave, another Jesuit nudged me and said, “I hope all of those
high powered theologians were listening to Ikunza’s mom. She is proof
that we don’t need them.” Had he been there Ikunza would have laughed as
hard as I did. Like her son’s, her faith was not something she put on only
in times of crisis. It was not something she tapped only during the bad times.
She did not look to God only when she needed Him. She had nurtured
the mustard seed of faith that was planted in her over the years. She
shared it with her son, nurtured it, and it grew in him. With her mighty
faith she shielded us mourners from some of the harshness of despair and
hopelessness. Ikunza’s mom should not be unique. It is possible for all
of us that, through faith, no matter what happens, the angry question:
“How
long O Lord?”
can
be replaced with:
“God
my Lord is my strength,
He
enables me to go upon the heights.”
I've
been in Ljubljana a week. Jet lag is beginning to abate though sleep is
still a bit of a problem. Alas, sleep is frequently a problem without the
necessity of crossing time zones.
From
Monday to Wednesday of this week I was in Trieste, Italy, about ninety minutes
by car from here, with eighteen students who are going to live at our
residential college, Magis, in Maribor (their classes begin on Monday).
It was a chance for the students, some of whom lived there last year and
some of whom didn't, to come to know each other, do some of the necessary
paperwork, and relax. They all seemed to enjoy themselves. I had a
chance to get to know some of them, particularly the medical students, over the
course of the days. On our last day there Peter and I abandoned the kids
at lunch and were guests of the Jesuit community for a very pleasant lunch.
Trieste
is an interesting city. I didn't get to spend as much time doing
photography as I wished because of the jet lag and because Trieste is built on
the side of either a mountain or a cliff. I can't figure out which.
It featured some of the most narrow, steepest, and serpentine roads that I've
seen in a long time. San Francisco is relatively flat in comparison.
I couldn't imagine living there daily and parking in very small spaces.
Can't quite figure how some of the drivers were going to get their cars
out of the parking place in the morning. After lunch on the last day
Peter planned to go to the Adriatic Coast for an hour or so. That is when
the camera got a workout.
Miramare
(Look at the Sea) Castle was built by the Emperor Franz Ferdinand in the 19th
century. It sits on thirty-two acres looking directly out at the
Adriatic. I had only an hour with the camera. The trip out of
Trieste to the highway was a nightmare. Whatever GPS Peter used
apparently took us the short way rather than the sane one. The road was
very steep, very narrow with cars and houses, and featured two hairpin turns.
We couldn't make one of them in the van without continuing up, turning
around, and then following the road. Alas, I had to get out of the car to
help guide Peter as he backed up into a small space hollowed out of the hill.
It suggested that others had to do the same thing. As he was
backing up I realized he couldn't see me so I scrambled up a dirt mound but
fell while doing so. I only noticed when we were well into the trip that
my glasses had apparently fallen out of the pocket. First time in fifty
years of wearing glasses that I lost or broke them. At the moment I am
making do with prescription sunglasses and a pair of reading glasses. But, given the astigmatism that complicates old man eyes, things could be better than just readers. My
optometrist in D.C. agreed to send me the prescription so I can get a pair made
here. Perhaps by next week.
The Miramare Castle. Great lines and relative simplicity combined with majesty.
Looking from one of the patios. A beer, a lounge chair and an umbrella would have been nice.
Looking toward the port of Trieste
Looking over the ocean from one of the paths leading to the castle. This is an intentionally underexposed shot that gives the illusion of moonlight on the water when, in fact, the sun was blazing.
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