Journey's Weekly Homilies
Journey
Catholic Community
Acts 7:55-60, 1 Peter 2:2-10, John 14:1-14
April 28, 2002
Tom Kinzie
Only in John, Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the
life.” The 17th century poet George Herbert wrote a
beautiful poem on these words entitled, “The Call.” In
the 20th century the English composer Ralph Vaughn Williams put
those words to music. It is, I think, one of the finest
pieces of Protestant hymnody ever. Here is Herbert’s first
line:
Come, my Way, my Truth, My Life:
Such a way as gives us breath,
Such a Truth as ends all strife,
Such a life as killeth death.
I am hardly the first to have noticed the curious but important
change Herbert makes to Jesus’ words. Jesus says that, I
am the way, the truth, the life, but Herbert changes it to read
“my Way, my Truth, my Life.” It is certainly true there
is a real danger in doing so, that the truth, way, and life can
become merely personal prerogatives, shaping faith and Jesus into
mirror images of what we already think is important. But we
take that risk anyway, because only as we are able to lay claim to
the way, truth, and life as being somehow profoundly our way,
truth, and life, to radically take it into ourselves, only then
will it matter to us in the deepest way. This way, truth,
and life must become ours or they will just be ideas. Ideas
are very important and it is crucial that we critically examine
our faith and
the world we live in, or to paraphrase what someone said many
years ago, the bible on the table in front of us and the radio
tuned to NPR in the background. Yet, we must allow
these ideas to move to the deepest part of our lives. The
food we need on this journey will have to move from our minds to
our hearts and guts if it is going to nourish us for the long
haul. We have to eat it, chew it, and swallow it. It has to get
inside of us.
I believe that one thing that brings us together here is a
longing, a desire, and a hope for wholeness and healing. I
mean this healing and wholeness in the most inclusive way
possible: a longing for healing of our lives and our
relationships, to be sure, but also a longing for wholeness – we
call it justice – for our communities, indeed, for the whole
human community. It means, at the very least, that no human
being is ever treated as a piece of garbage, to be thrown away
when no longer useful, not counting, his or her suffering not
important.
This longing for wholeness and healing is a very deep desire.
It has been planted deep inside of us so that even when we are not
conscious of it, it is still there. This is simply to say
that God does not disappear just because we do not notice.
Even when we only sense absence, God still has ways of entering
our lives when we least expect it, causing that inner light to
burst into flame. In other words, causing the way, the
truth, and the life to become our way, our truth, our life.
Recently, I was asked if I knew the moment when I decided to
convert to Catholicism. Of course, it was not simply one
moment. I am not even sure of all the motivations and
experiences that led to such a choice. I am certain,
however, that some of the motivations were hardly exemplary.
One thing has become clear to me. I left the Church of the
Brethren because I never felt I could measure up to the moral
earnestness of the Brethren. I felt that I wasn’t and
never could be good enough. This says a lot more about me
than it does of the Brethren, but that was how it looked and felt
to me. Finally, the weight of that sense of inadequacy was
just too much to bear. Later, at a time when my life had
fallen apart and I could not even maintain the pretense of being
good enough, I left the Brethren to find wholeness and acceptance
somewhere else.
Some of my first inklings that this move to Catholicism might be
in my future occurred at a Trappist monastery just outside of
Dubuque, Iowa, right in the middle of fields and fields of corn.
I went to the monastery as part of what was called a “Monastic
Experience.” but was affectionately called by us who attended it
as “Becoming Junior Monks.” We got to sit with the monks
at choir during the chanting of psalms and we got to wear little
monk outfits, not the long white woolen robes with the black cowl
and wide leather belt of the Trappists, but little cotton numbers
that looked more
like mini skirts. Still, it was wonderful just to sit there,
listening and watching the monks as they sang the psalms
throughout the day.
After the chief morning office Lauds there was Eucharist.
Everyone knew I was a Protestant pastor so I could never
participate. I was in the circle of monks around the table,
but I wasn’t getting communion. At first it did not matter
too much. But after a couple of days I began to feel it as a
loss, that I was missing something really important. It must
have shown on my face. One morning after Eucharist, as I was
walking back to my room, I saw one of the monk’s faces pushed
out from a darkened closet. The monk said, “Hey, you want
some of this?” I was a Protestant. I had heard all
those protestant horror stories about monks, so I wasn’t quite
sure what he had in mind. When I looked more closely I saw
he held the chalice and a wafer in his hands. I walked into
the closet and I ate and I drank and I did so every day that I
remained at the monastery. It is probably the nearest this
straight man ever will come to the liberation of going in and then
coming out of a closet. I mean I needed that food. I
was starved for it. I guess that showed on my face, too.
I have an idea (and it’s just an idea). Tell me what you
think of it. I think we need to find a visible way to share
with the city around us something of who and what we are together.
We need to say that this is who we are and that we are trying to
be on the way, that we are trying to be a part of the truth, that
we have this sense of how life could be. We need to account
for what is inside of us. Because it is certain that this
way, this truth, this life that feeds us is meant for everyone.
It is meant to be transforming for our whole culture.
So, I was having a vision that at the next Gay Pride Parade in
Portland, Journey ought to do something fun. Let’s all
show up in our Journey t-shirts. In front of us two or three
people could carry a large banner that read, “Journey Catholic
Community, A Lay-led Eucharistic Community, The Priesthood of
All-Believers.” We could have sacks of candy and we
could throw the candy to the crowds on the parade route. We
could also have lots of those Journey business cards that we could
pass out to the on-lookers. And it can’t be just a few of
us who show up. It's got to be thirty or forty of us,
minimum. It will be great fun. On the march we could
sing some of our favorite songs. We could have a picnic
before or after the parade. We could invite people who seem
interested or just hungry to join us. How happy we could be
doing it. The happiness would show on our faces. It
would show so much that someone in the crowd is bound to ask,
“What are you folks doing?’’ We could answer, “Do
you want some of this?” Do you want some of this? Do you
want this justice? You can have it. This
equality? It’s yours. This vision of empowered
community? This hope? This peace? This love?
It’s all yours, if you want it. If they are anything like
us they will answer, “Yeah, and then some.”
I think it is really important that we do this, especially in
light of some of the views that are being expressed these days in
the mother church. Recently, for example, an American Bishop
talked about the homosexual milieu of some American seminaries and
how this can be upsetting to straight candidates to the
priesthood. Really. Now, whose problem is that?
We need to let it be known that this is one community that still
wears the name Catholic and that we cannot quietly abide the
homophobic drivel of the Roman Catholic Empire. We say yes
to that which nurtures us and to the traditions
we love in Catholicism, but we say no to the church as empire.
In John’s gospel, when Jesus speaks to us about being the way
and about the relationship between Jesus and God, and that there
is a unity in which we too are called to participate, when
John’s Jesus says all of this the die had already been cast.
Jerusalem and the cross-menaced ahead like some bad dream that
could not be stopped. We already know that Judas will play
his hand and betrayal will be set in motion. Let us not
speak about Judas’ betrayal, or rather, let us find in his
betrayal a type of the struggle each one of us must face. It
is simply the impulse to be less human than the full gift of our
lives that God has given us. It is settling for less.
It is a failure of nerve and it dims (but does not extinguish) the
flame that is within. It separates us from the unity with
God that Jesus says is ours.
It separates us from the unity Jesus calls us to have with our
brothers and sisters. It separates us from the quality of
our solidarity with the poor and with the earth itself. It
takes us off the way and both life and truth are diminished.
It has happened and it will happen again to each of us.
Still, this is hardly the end of the story. Here is how our
story can end, because God has called us to be a royal people.
These are the last two verses of Herbert’s poem and it ends with
a ringing affirmation:
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
such a light as shows a feast;
such a feast as mends in length;
such a strength as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
such a joy as none can move;
such a love as none can part;
such a heart as joys in love.
And if you ask me if I want any of that, I will answer yes, and to
the center of my being.