Mark 10:45

  • Getting Around To It

    Getting Around To It

    The 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Isaiah 5:1-7; Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43

    A newspaper once asked married couples a question: “What is the one thing your spouse says that you never want to hear again?” Husbands replied that they never wanted to hear their wives say, “Look how much I saved!” For their part, the wives said that they never again wanted to hear their husbands say, “I’ll get around to it.”

    That answer – “I’ll get around to it” – got my attention. Not just because I, too, am guilty of saying it, but because it goes right to the heart of today’s readings.

    This is one of Satan’s most effective temptations – that inner voice that says, “You know, you really need to work on your spiritual life. So do it! Just not now; it’s not the right time. You’re busy. Do it later.” What makes that so deadly is that it doesn’t sound like a temptation at all. It sounds reasonable, moderate, and even religious.

    So I listen. And I tell myself, “Yes, I’ll definitely get around to it. Maybe tomorrow.”

    Only, there’s always something else. It’s never the right time. Tomorrow never comes.

    And before long, that “vineyard of the Lord” – the spiritual life He gave me to cultivate – lies in ruins. I could have done the work; I had many opportunities. But I put it off.

    Why? What’s getting in the way?

    I think beneath the surface, it’s fear of losing control. Maybe without even realizing it, we think, “Wait. If I change, I’ll have to give something up. If I go to Confession, I have to admit I’ve been wrong. If I start praying seriously, God may ask something of me. If I forgive this person, I lose the satisfaction of holding it over them.”

    In other words, putting things off becomes a way of telling God that the vineyard is actually ours, not His, and we will decide if and when He gets access to it.

    But that attempt to keep God at a distance doesn’t end any better in real life than it did in the parable. That’s because deep inside, deeper than our pride or fear, is an emptiness; a restlessness that longs for what St. Paul called “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” And we’re not going to find that peace until we do something.

    The question is, what?

    Again, the answer comes from St. Paul: “Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me.”

    He’s urging us to practice the faith we’ve received; not just to admire it, talk about it, or hear it on Sundays. How? By doing what we’ve been taught to do: putting Christ first; repairing broken relationships; serving rather than waiting to be served; praying with gratitude, enduring suffering in hope, and letting our thoughts and actions be shaped by what is true and good.

    As always, that prompts us to look at our lives and ask questions: What are the good things I should be doing but have put off? Do I overlook or fail to forgive anyone? Do I imitate Christ by taking “the form of a servant” at home, here, or in our community?

    These things are all hard to do, which is why they’re tempting to put off, but the answer isn’t avoidance. The answer begins with St. Paul’s exhortation: “by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.”

    Prayer I understand. Only God can supply the grace I need to do what must be done. But thanksgiving? What am I thankful for?

    At least two things. First, that God has made the grace available to me at all. Second, that He reminds me to take advantage of it before it’s too late. Remember in the parable, I’m not the owner, and He is coming back to see what I’ve done. 

    The readings are clear. We all have a vineyard – things in our spiritual life that need attention. And most of us know pretty well what some of those things are.

    So the question really isn’t, “What do I need to get around to someday,” but, “What is God asking me to do today?” Maybe it’s Confession. Maybe it’s five minutes of prayer. Maybe it’s making a phone call, asking forgiveness, forgiving someone else, opening the Bible, coming to Mass regularly, or simply taking the first step toward something or someone I’ve been avoiding.

    Whatever it is, don’t wait to get around to it. We don’t do that for something we really want, do we? We just do it, whatever it takes.

    The vineyard is ours to tend today.

    —

  • Not Larger than God’s Love

    Not Larger than God’s Love

    Wednesday of the 26th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Jerome)

    Luke 9:57–62

    There are people we meet – or we may be a person – who others might describe as “larger than life,” or a “force to be reckoned with.” They have a presence, a way about them, that seems to always compel a response, good or bad.

    The saint we remember today, Jerome, strikes me as such a person. Like everyone, he had strengths and weaknesses. But like those who live larger than life, his good could seem very good, and his bad,very bad.

    On the good side, Jerome was brilliant; one of the greatest minds the Church has ever known. What’s more, he loved Scripture with all his heart, and spent his life studying and writing about it. Above all, Jerome loved God, and wanted more than anything to live a life pleasing to Him.

    But then there were weaknesses. First, pride. Like many intellectuals, Jerome didn’t like to be wrong and didn’t want anyone having the last word but him. Worse, he had such a fiery temper and was so hard to get along with that his most loyal supporter and patroness, Paula, and her daughter, became saints just dealing with him. On top of all that, Jerome was strongly attracted to women and was constantly tempted to impure thoughts.

    This last temptation was so bad that Jerome left Rome to live as a hermit in the Holy Land. Although that helped, the temptations persisted. In desperation, he vowed to study Hebrew – a language he found hard to learn – every time lewd thoughts came back. Thanks to that vow, Jerome became an expert in Hebrew.

    That was a stroke of the Holy Spirit. When Jerome’s friend, Pope St. Damasus I, assigned him the task of producing a new version of the Bible based on the ancient languages, he poured himself into it. Despite some disagreements with the Church in the process, Jerome sacrificed his pride, submitted himself to her authority, and gave the world the Bible we still know as Jerome’s Vulgate.

    St. Jerome’s victory in the struggle against himself gives us great insight on the gospel today. People want to follow Jesus, but they want to do so on their own terms. Can we set conditions on discipleship? The life of St. Jerome underscores our Lord’s point: Following Christ means submitting ourselves entirely – mind, body, passions, strengths, and weaknesses — to his authority and his alone.

    That doesn’t mean that we are to somehow become people without strong desires, without opinions, personalities, or weaknesses. No, God made us; He knows who we are. We may, in our own ways, be larger than life, but St. Jerome reminds us that we’re never larger than God’s love. And, like him, we may be a force to be reckoned with, but let us pray that we, too, can – by God’s grace – be a force for good, submitting ourselves to God’s authority, and praying, as all the saints have prayed, “Lord God, all of me is yours. Tell me what to do with it and help me do it. Your will be done.”

    St. Jerome, pray for us.

    —

  • Shining in the Darkness

    Shining in the Darkness

    Monday of the 26th Week in Ordinary Time

    Job 1:6-22; Luke 9:46-50

    We might look at today’s reading from the book of Job and think, “What a nice, pious story. Too bad people in the real world don’t react that way to total ruin.”

    But a while ago I spoke with a woman who might make us think twice. She told me she’d recently declared bankruptcy. And that was on top of losing her husband a few years before, and breast cancer that same year. In such a short time, everything she thought made for a stable life – her spouse, her health, her money – were gone.

    When I asked her how she was doing, she said, “You know, it was hard for a while and there were times I thought things would never get better. But the truth is, I’m at peace. And as far as the bankruptcy goes, it’s a relief. For the first time in a long time, I feel free.”

    What she discovered in that painful stripping away is exactly what Job found: Our character doesn’t shine when everything is sunshine and roses.

    It shines in the darkness.

    And it’s not just challenges from the outside that make life difficult. The inner life has challenges of its own. We hear the disciples bickering about who is greatest, and shake our heads at their pride, but what about our own? Are there times when we’ve been a bit too worried about ourselves or a little too self-righteous?

    That’s why Jesus focuses our attention on a child. In the ancient world, children had no legal status, no rights, and no wealth. They were totally dependent on others.

    That’s exactly the perspective he wants us to have about life. Greatness in the Kingdom of God isn’t about leverage, power, or influence; it’s about total dependency on the providence of God.

    The readings today are a great reminder that human worth cannot be measured by what we hold in our hands, only by Whose hands are holding us. So let’s resolve to live our lives more like Job, holding on loosely to the things that can be lost, and tightly to the One we would truly be lost without.

    —

  • Masterpiece

    Masterpiece

    Friday of the 25th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ecclesiastes 3:1-11; Luke 9:18-22

    What is it that makes a work of art, music, or literature a masterpiece?

    I’m sure there are many definitions, but let me choose one: a masterpiece isn’t just something old or popular. It’s something that continues to reveal a depth that time cannot exhaust.

    Think of Michelangelo’s Pietà in St. Peter’s. It’s over 500 years old; yet, to this day, people still stand before it, awed by something that goes beyond artistry. Something that touches the human heart.

    I’ll call that something timelessness.

    And that reminds me of those beautiful words from Ecclesiastes: “God has put the timeless into their hearts.”

    Maybe that’s why there’s something inside us that is never completely satisfied by the passing things of this world. St. Augustine described it well. Our hearts are restless; we long for beauty that doesn’t fade, love that never ends, unchanging truth, eternal life.

    But, as we’ve seen, what we long for can be right in front of us, and still we remain restless. Luke told us about Herod who was perplexed by Christ and “kept trying to see” him (Luke 9:9). Now we hear that the crowds have been looking at him, but don’t know what to make of him. Is he one of the prophets? They don’t know.

    Then comes the real question, the one he asked the disciples, that’s aimed at us, too: “Who do you say that I am?”

    Somehow, Peter sees what the others cannot. Jesus isn’t merely a sign pointing beyond himself to eternity. He is eternity’s personal presence among us.

    But Jesus doesn’t leave it there. He tells them that he “must suffer greatly, be rejected, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

    In other words, although Peter may have glimpsed the Eternal One, no one can properly see Jesus apart from the Paschal Mystery.

    Why not?

    Because the God who put the timeless into our hearts wants to make our hearts His dwelling place. The only way that can happen is to see Christ in light of the Paschal Mystery. The Cross isn’t an unfortunate interruption of his identity; it reveals the very manner of his divine love. It is the gateway to what our hearts want most: Eternity.

    Only when we see him in that light can we, as Augustine said, truly rest.

    So let us remember to thank God for a couple of things today: First, although we spend our lives searching for glimpses of eternity, in Christ, eternity himself has found us. Second, at every Mass, every time we come forward disposed to receive the Holy Eucharist, we receive Christ himself, the Eternal Word made flesh, into our heart and soul.

    That moment is the true masterpiece.

    —

  • Power and Paradox

    Power and Paradox

    Wednesday of the 25th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Pio of Pietrelcina, Priest)

    Proverbs 30:5-9; Luke 9:1-6

    In the book of Proverbs, we read, “Give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need.”

    The man we remember today, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, tried his best to live that out. He owned practically nothing, slept on a straw mattress, wore habits until they fell apart, and turned over all gifts and donations he received to his Franciscan superiors.

    It wasn’t that Father Pio loved poverty for its own sake. Rather, it reminded him, and he wanted it to remind the world, that all we really need is God.

    It worked. It was clear to all who knew him that Father Pio lived in profound union with God. His life struck that balance the author of Proverbs spoke of: not to have so much that he might forget God, or so little that he might be consumed by anxiety. All he asked of God was to have everything he needed to serve Him.

    And that prayer was certainly answered. Like the disciples in the gospel story, Christ gave him all the power and authority he needed to proclaim the Kingdom of God. Unlike them, however, Father Pio was not sent out to the world; rather, the world was sent to him.

    As word of his ministry spread, people began to come from all over to the little Italian village where he lived. They came to confess to him, seek his counsel, attend his Masses, and ask his prayers. 

    And, as they came, Father saw so great a need for medical care that he became the driving force behind the “Home for the Relief of Suffering,” a Catholic treatment center dedicated to providing medical and spiritual care, particularly for people who could not afford it.

    And this is the paradox: That a man who possessed almost nothing became the man to whom people could bring everything, from their worst sins and sickness to their greatest hopes and fears.

    That is the paradox of the Christian life. Especially in our society, we are tempted to want more: more power, more control, more money, more of whatever makes us feel secure.

    But the example of Christ teaches us something different: The less we cling to what we have, the more freely we allow God to work within us.

    Christ is not asking us to found care centers, sleep on straw mats, or spend hours forgiving sins. But he does ask us to become free enough to receive the gifts he gives us, and generous enough to use them for the benefit of others.

    So, let’s remember that prayer from Proverbs: “Give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need…”

    And pray for the grace to want only what God is pleased to give us, the eyes to recognize what those gifts are, and the generosity to use them for the building up of His Kingdom.

    St. Pio of Pietrelcina, pray for us.

    —

  • Christ is Passing By

    Christ is Passing By

    Feast of St. Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist

    Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13; Matthew 9:9-13

    The gospel story for the Feast of St. Matthew is a valuable lesson in discipleship.

    We know it well. Jesus passes by the customs post, looks at Matthew, and says: “Follow me.” Matthew gets up and follows him.

    The response is so sudden, so unreflective, it might look like he had no choice. What explains it? After working with many people coming to faith over the years, I think I know. Matthew was filled with that same restlessness Augustine spoke of later; he had everything the world could give, but not what his heart wanted most.

    That came when Christ passed by; the moment he realized he hadn’t been searching for something but someone, and that One was now standing right in front of him.

    In the joy of that discovery, what else would Matthew do but open himself to Christ? This he did: he opened his home, his table, his friends… his whole world.

    And that’s not all. Matthew also opened his mind to that creative energy of the Spirit – logging events of the ministry, ordering and arranging them as only someone used to keeping records could, ultimately painting such an eloquent, unforgettable portrait of Christ that it became the first book of the New Testament.

    In all this, we learn from Matthew that true discipleship doesn’t mean leaving our old life behind when Jesus calls, but bringing him into the life we already have.

    That may be difficult. Like Matthew, our corner of the world might be a place where others never read Scripture, step into a church, or even think about looking for God.

    So, how do we do it? Do we preach to people? Tell them about Christ?

    In a way, yes. We bring him, as St. Paul reminds us, according to the measure of Christ’s gifts to us. How is that? By the way we live our lives: with humility, gentleness, patience, forgiveness, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.

    And we will have done well if people ask themselves, “What is it that makes that person different?”

    We know what it is. It’s Christ doing with us what he did with St. Matthew – walking with us, teaching us, transforming us, making our lives living examples of what it means to be the disciple he calls us to be. 

    Our life is our customs post. Every day Christ is passing by, asking us to follow.

    And every day the question is, where and to whom will we take him?

    St. Matthew, pray for us.

    —

  • What Do They Say?

    What Do They Say?

    Thursday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 7:36-50

    In the first reading, St. Paul tells the Corinthians to hold fast to the gospel he has preached to them. But he isn’t talking about just remembering it. He’s saying that the gospel must shape their lives, especially their relationships with others.

    Their words will teach people about Christ, but so will their actions.

    The Gospel gives us two striking examples of how our actions reveal the unspoken thoughts of our heart.

    First, consider Simon the Pharisee. Clearly a man of learning, no doubt well-spoken, and in a respectable religious position. But his actions on bringing Christ into his home… what do they say? He doesn’t give Jesus even the ordinary courtesies, things easy for him to provide; no water for his feet, no kiss of greeting, no oil.

    The woman, on the other hand, says nothing. No words about how sorry she is, or how much she loves Jesus. But her actions pour out the thoughts of her heart; washing his feet with her tears, drying them with her hair, kissing them repeatedly, and finally anointing them.

    And we know our Lord’s reaction to that. And to Simon.

    The question is, what will his reaction will be to us? 

    We use words to speak our love for God. We say our prayers, give all the proper responses at Mass. We might even use them to teach the faith to others. 

    But my actions – what do they say?

    • When someone hurts me, what do they say about whether I believe in forgiveness?
    • When someone needs my time, what do they say about whether I believe in charity?
    • When I’m inconvenienced, what do they say about whether I believe that my life belongs to God?
    • When no one is watching, what do they say about my character?

    The readings today are clear: Holding on to God’s word doesn’t mean merely remembering it, or even repeating it. Holding onto it means allowing it to become visible in our lives – despite the cost.

    As St. Anthony of Padua once said, “Let your words teach and your actions speak.”

    When all is said and done, people may well forget what we said. But let’s make sure they always remember what our lives told them about Christ.

  • The Green Lab

    The Green Lab

    Sunday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Sirach 27:30—28:7; Matthew 18:21-35

    Years ago, a teenage girl lived across the street. I don’t know why, but she really disliked us and found several ways to let us know. We tried to make peace. No luck. The final straw came when she began letting her yellow Labrador, Rocky, outside unleashed to “visit” the bushes and plants on the side and back of our house. He ruined them and their replacements, and kept coming back for more.

    We asked her to stop him. She wouldn’t, and we couldn’t prove it was Rocky. So, I hatched “Operation: Stop Rocky.” Just three things: A bucket of water, a generous helping of food coloring, and the element of surprise.

    I wasn’t home when the operation was launched; my wife was. But I can tell you that Rocky was on a leash from then on, and that young lady spent a few days walking around the block with her happy, green Labrador.

    I thought I’d feel better afterwards, but my anger at that kid lingered. It’s like Sirach said, “Wrath and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight.” That was me… vengeful, unwilling to forgive. Yet, at the same time, there I was at church every week, praying that my own sins would be forgiven.

    The more I thought about it, the more times I recalled when I had refused to let go of some injury or insult. Maybe you’ve been there; maybe you’re there now.

    If so, learn from me, who has had to implement another simple, 3 point program, this one inspired by today’s readings.

    First, we have been forgiven a debt we can never repay.

    The servant in our Lord’s parable owes ten thousand talents. Whether the talents were gold, silver, or copper, it’s such a huge sum that he could never repay it.

    Our Lord’s point is clear… that’s us. We have received a mercy from Him that we could never earn and can never repay.

    Second, every wrong done to us is an opportunity to forgive as we have been forgiven.

    That doesn’t mean the wrongs done to us aren’t real, or we’re supposed to pretend they never happened, or somehow they don’t matter.

    It means that the mercy we have received from Almighty God becomes the mercy that we’re called to show someone else. And, in so doing, mercy grows; we don’t lose what we have, and we’ve empowered others to show mercy, too.

    Then comes the third and hardest part: Forgiveness is a work of the heart.

    Let’s be clear… Forgiving people doesn’t mean forgetting what happened, acting as if everything is now OK, or going out of our way to hang around with them.

    What it means is letting go. Letting go of the anger, the resentment, or the desire to make the other person pay.

    Because until we do that, until we let go, we remain tied to the people who hurt us. And the longer we do that, the more we feel like it will always be this way – there’s nothing we can do.

    But there is. It comes in a wonderful piece of advice attributed to St. Philip Neri: “If you find it difficult to forgive, look at a crucifix.”

    Try that. If or when you find it hard to forgive someone for something, take a moment and look at a crucifix. Gaze on Christ hanging there. Imagine the pain, the desolation, the suffering. Then remember what he said from that place: “Father, forgive them.”

    If he can forgive us for that, how can we refuse to forgive one another for anything?

    That is our call from Christ today, as difficult as it is simple:

    Forgive.

    From the heart.

    Every time.

    —

  • Stretch Out Your Hand

    Stretch Out Your Hand

    Monday of the 23rd Week in Ordinary Time

    Labor Day (United States)

    Luke 6:6-11

    I remember when I started my first job, finding myself sitting in an office called ‘Personnel.’ A few years later, on my last day at that job, I sat in that same office. Only now it was called ‘Human Resources.’

    Later, a friend cynically remarked, “Yeah, we stopped being personnel a while ago. Now we’re ‘resources.’ At least they still call us human.”

    I thought of that when I pictured the scene in today’s Gospel.

    Every person in that synagogue could look at the man with the withered hand and see a person. But some chose to see a “resource” — someone who could be used to accomplish their own purposes.

    Of course, those who made that choice didn’t realize that Jesus saw them, too. He knew their motives. And he wouldn’t allow it or overlook it.

    Standing before them was not a hand to be examined or a man to be used. He was a person to be loved. And so Jesus said to him, “Stretch out your hand.”

    It seems especially appropriate on Labor Day to remember that phrase, and all the ways Christ says it to us.

    “Stretch out your hands to work.” Whatever work we do, at a job or at home, let us pray that we begin with God’s inspiration and, through Him, reach happy completion. As the psalmist says, “Give success to the work of our hands; give success to the work of our hands” (Psalm 90:17).

    “Stretch out your hands to serve.” May we remember that every person we serve is someone loved by God; and, in a very real sense, is Christ himself.

    “Stretch out your hands to heal.” Sometimes that means reaching out to make peace, forgive, comfort, mend a broken relationship, or simply set aside time for someone who needs us.

    “Stretch out your hands to pray.” May Almighty God give us the humility to receive, perhaps not what we want, but what we truly need.

    “Stretch out your hands and be healed.” Let us have the humility to approach our Lord in Confession. He waits for us with open arms.

    And above all, here at holy Mass, let us remember Christ, who stretched out his hands in the greatest and most loving work of all.

    And, in return, let us stretch out our hands — and our hearts — to receive Jesus as he is most pleased to give himself to us:

    in the most holy Eucharist.

    —

  • The Truly Wise

    The Truly Wise

    Memorial of St. Gregory the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church

    1 Corinthians 3:18-23; Luke 5:1-11

    In the first reading, St. Paul said, “Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you considers himself wise in this age, let him become a fool, so as to become wise.”

    Imagine a wealthy, well-educated young Roman from a prominent family, living quietly in an expensive mansion in an exclusive part of town.

    Now imagine this young man sees the world around him falling apart. What should he do?

    He could sell his property and leave town with a huge fortune.

    That makes good financial sense.

    Or… he could give away his property, use his fortune to feed the hungry and protect Rome, serve as mayor, become pope, and dedicate the rest of his life to bringing as many people as possible to Christ.

    That makes a saint. 

    In fact, it makes Pope St. Gregory I, otherwise known as Gregory the Great.

    Gregory could have played it safe; in the gospel’s terms, stayed in shallow water. That’s what the world would call, “wise.” He was a good, holy man and could have done many good things. But Gregory knew that true wisdom was putting out into the deep water; letting go of what he wanted and allowing Christ to lead. In choosing that, he became a great man who did many great things.

    That’s the difference between the wisdom of the world and the wisdom of God.

    The wisdom of the world says, “Be careful. Protect what you have. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Look out for yourself.”

    The wisdom of God says, “Put out into the deep.”

    Gregory put out into the deep as Peter did long before him. Sooner or later, Christ asks each of us to do the same.

    And it’s not always a big conversion moment or a drastic change in our lives. Those happen, but more often come those smaller, still difficult, challenges: Forgive someone I’d rather forget, give up something I’d rather keep, or serve when I’d rather be served. Whatever it is, the challenge remains the same: “Christ is calling me to put out into the deep. Will I do it?”

    Of course it’s easier not to, but life in Christ is never about what’s easy. It’s about trusting him even when things look uncertain and difficult. His grace is always more than enough to see us through.

    The readings and life of Pope St. Gregory the Great remind us that when we do as he did – place our lives in Christ’s hands – we find that what the world calls foolishness is actually true wisdom.

    Pope St. Gregory the Great, pray for us.

    —