It's all about us

“Not as man sees does God see, because he sees the appearance, but the Lord looks into the heart.”
--1 Samuel 16:7

“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.”
--Mark 2:27

In this case, Samuel saw what he judged to be positive qualities in Jesse’s son Eliab, but these weren’t the qualities God was looking for in a king. We are sometimes fooled by people’s outward attractiveness; more often than not, however, we are fooled by what we judge to be the outward negative qualities of others, whether their appearance or their outward behavior. Think of the Pharisees in today’s Gospel, who see Jesus’ disciples eating grains they picked on the Sabbath. This behavior did not conform to their expectations of how people should act.

This is our more typical mode of reactions to others—negative judgment. And, more times than not, it’s actually well deserved, as well deserved as Samuel’s positive assessment of Eliab’s outward appearance. We are, by and large, frail, broken, selfish, and often repulsive in our relationships with others. Despite our own positive qualities, whether outward or inward, if someone wants to judge us they usually have plenty of good evidence to point to.

But this is not the Lord’s way, and we should be grateful for it. The Lord not only “looks into the heart,” but does it in a way that does not see “as man sees.” God sees all that is worthy of judgment, but somehow sees more. God sees us as a beloved child. And our weaknesses, our frailties, our sins, are secondary to the overwhelming, redeeming love God pours out to us, anointing us as lovingly and generously as Samuel anointed David at God’s command.

As sinners, we make everything all about us. Paradoxically, God makes everything all about us too. The Sabbath, the sacraments, the scriptures, the structures of Church…are all made for us, given as gifts to beloved children who are made worthy by a God who sees more in us than we can see.

Am I not more to you?

"[Elkanah gave a] double portion to Hannah because he loved her, though the LORD had made her barren...Elkanah used to ask her: 'Hannah, why do you weep, and why do you refuse to eat?Why do you grieve? Am I not more to you than ten sons?'"
--1 Samuel 1:5, 8

Ultimately, of course, God blessed Hannah with a son, Samuel, but today as I read this passage I am struck more by Elkanah, and his God-like love for his barren wife.

Our lives are often barren, dry, disappointing, unfulfilling. Elkanah loves his wife despite her barrenness, and offers his unconditional love to her, suggesting that his love is of greater value than ten sons. We probably have no equivalent for this in modern times. To be childless in the ancient days was a terrible curse and made one a social outcaste. Elkanah's love is worth far more than the social approval or security provided by a family.

God offers a similar love to us, a double-portion of love, though for us, too, this love does not always manifest itself in the outward signs of good fortune valued by society today. When we feel barren, it is not a sign that we are unloved, and we are promised abundance beyond our wildest imaginings if we open our hearts to receive it.

I write this at a time when my own life is far from barren, but rather overflowing with blessing and new life. But no person is spared times of emptiness and desolation. These are the times we need to hear God's loving whisper, "Why do you weep? Why do you grieve? Am I not more to you than even your heart's greatest desire?"

Victory over the world

"Who indeed is victor over the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?"

--1 John 5:5

One book that has influenced me as much as any piece of spiritual writing is The Sacred Romance by Brent Curtis and John Eldredge. Of the many things I cherish about that book, one thing that really stood out was the authors' suggestion that most Christians are, essentially, functionally agnostic or even atheist.  Despite what we profess to believe about our place in eternity as redeemed children of God, most of us act as if we are, in fact, alone in the world.  We fret and worry and rely solely on ourselves.  In today's reading, the author of 1 John makes a passionate case that, as baptized believers, this is a deluded point of view.  "I write these things to you so that you may know that you have eternal life," he concludes.  In the Gospel passage, Jesus heals the leper and reminds us that he does, indeed, will our redemption and restoration to wholeness.

What would my day be like if I truly understood it as a moment in eternity?  If I saw my life without the limits of space and time that this finite body suggests, but rather from the perspective of timeless and infinitude that we are promised?  It's a miracle too spectacular to easily accept, which is why we mostly don't accept it.  But what if it was true?  As disciples, isn't that what we are called to accept?  Isn't that what we profess to believe?  The miracle of our own life and eternal redemption?