Turn the Car Around

 "Paul was transformed from being a persecutor of Christ

into a vessel of his grace."

The readings for today's feast of the Conversion of St. Paul offer a choice between the two accounts of this event from the Acts of the Apostles. One is a third-person account, the other is Paul's own testimony, and they are remarkably similar, though not identical. Whichever reading one chooses, each points out one very remarkable fact about Paul.
  Paul's conversion involved no less than a complete, fundamental change in his life orientation. From a devoted, even fanatical Pharisee intent on destroying this new "Way" of Jesus that seemed to be causing a rift in Judaism, Paul suddenly became an adherent of it--indeed, every bit as devoted and fanatical an adherent as he had been to traditional Judaism. Neither of the Acts stories says anything about his having been knocked off a horse; was he using any method of transportation other than his legs, anyway, en route to Damascus? We don't know; but if we want to use a car analogy, this would have meant a complete and utter U-turn.  Not only that, but Paul was quite open and honest about admitting his change of course; admitting that he had been drastically wrong in persecuting the followers of the Way. He tells his story to the assembled people of Jerusalem. And in his first letter to the Corinthians, he declares that he isn't even fit to be called an apostle, "because I persecuted the church of God." But he had the courage and integrity to do what had to be done: to admit publicly and honestly, "I was wrong." There's that somewhat touching story about how some of the early Christians were afraid of him, because his reputation had preceded him. But they must have been won over by his humility.
  The courage and integrity to "turn the car around" and the honesty to admit he was wrong. Where do we need, or have we needed, Apostle Paul's inspiration and prayers for something similar in our lives?

Antiphon: Out into Deep Waters

"The voice of the Lord on the waters,

the Lord on the immensity of waters."

I think of certain feasts as events on which the Lord Jesus blessed certain natural elements in a special way. For me, the Baptism of the Lord is such an event for water. The antiphons for the Liturgy of the Hours for this feast depict various aspects of this event as being on a cosmic scale: "the waters of the Jordan tremble"; "our Savior crushed the serpent's head and wrested us free from his grasp." And yes, "Springs of water were made holy as Christ revealed his glory to the world." I've never seen the River Jordan but I understand it's quite modest in appearance compared with what I like to imagine in connection with the Baptism of the Lord; in my mind it's as great and powerful as the waves in this photo, taken the day after a gale-force storm on Narragansett Bay.
  Jesus would go on to speak and preach a great deal using water imagery. In particular, he encouraged his disciples to launch out into deep waters. And in this, he provided a sterling example, leaping down from heaven to pitch his tent among us. The reading from Isaiah for today's liturgy is one of the Suffering Servant Songs. We are all called to serve. Unlike Jesus, we are not all called upon to serve in a way that entails extensive suffering.
  Unfortunately, however, some of us are. Today I think particularly of the young Congresswoman from Arizona, Rep. Gabrielle Giffords. Because of my connections with Sweden I can't help but recall, as well, another young woman politician, Swedish Foreign Minister Anna Lindh, assassinated in 2003. Two who launched out into deep waters to serve their respective countries.
  Let us pray for the promise made in today's Responsorial Psalm: "The Lord will bless his people with peace."

Antiphon: With Royal Beauty Bright

"Your light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon you."

All those promises we read throughout Advent about a great light are now, on the feast of the Epiphany, crystallized into this one light: a star. A star that isn't some cute excuse for a dash of glitter on a Christmas card, but one that is an intriguing blend of mystery and astronomical precision. Who, exactly, were these magi? How did they find and follow the star? Yet, Matthew's Gospel account as well as familiar and not-so-familiar carols describe its course through the heavens. The mystery has inspired great artists through the ages, including Giotto and Botticelli and, in turn, the composer Respighi, whose "Adoration of the Magi" is my favorite section of his Botticelli Triptych.
    One song that we wouldn't automatically think of as belonging to this season is actually delightfully appropriate, because its text is the reading from today's Morning Prayer in the Liturgy of the Hours: that splendid text from Isaiah, "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news." The song is "Our God Reigns," and you may remember its popularity from the 1970s and '80s. It was written by Leonard Smith, who lived out of irrepressible enthusiasm over the fact that God loves us. The third verse begins, "Wasteplaces of Jerusalem, break forth with joy."  Wasteplaces! Our Scripture translations usually say "ruins." "Wasteplaces"--the town dump, a burnt-out inner-city slum, a neighborhood flattened by a tornado--breaking forth with joy! This is one of those dissonances that make the Advent and Christmas seasons so intriguing--"How can this be?" as Mary asked--something that, in a most appealing way, just doesn't add up.
    Like those mysterious magi who come from God-knows-where to give precious gifts to an unknown baby King and then, their lives changed, return by a different route. What encounter with Christ has caused you to go by a different route?