Mark 10:45

  • What is it about Jesus?

    What is it about Jesus?

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Easter

    Acts 8:1b-8; John 6:35-40

    This may sound surprising or counter-intuitive, but it’s true: the places in the world where the Church is the most highly persecuted or suppressed right now – Iran, Nigeria, China – are also places where it is growing… fast.

    This has happened for as long as the Church has existed. We see it today in Acts 8; despite believers in Jerusalem being persecuted, the Church continues to grow.

    Why? I think it has something to do with the behavior of the persecuted disciples.

    First, we hear that “devout men buried Stephen and made a loud lament over him,” then that many Christians preferred prison over recanting their faith. The quiet witness of these disciples carries a dignity and strength that evangelizes. Seeing it, outsiders might ask, “What is it about Jesus that makes his followers so dedicated?”

    Second, “those who had been scattered went about preaching the word.” Like a fulfillment of our Lord’s parables, these seeds took root where the Word had not gone before, and there blossomed new church communities. Again, this is the witness that makes outsiders ask, “What is it about Jesus that attracts people in such numbers?”

    What is it about Jesus? He tells us in the gospel: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Because we are made in the image and likeness of God, each of us has a hunger that nothing and no one but Him can satisfy. Not only that, he says that “everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day.”

    The Bread of Life Eternal. We don’t need to guess the effect; Acts tells us. Once the Samaritans see and experience Christ through the ministry of those disciples, they have a joy that no one and nothing can take from them.

    Given this witness, the Church doesn’t grow despite persecution; it grows because of it.

    Does that mean persecution is necessary? No. What is necessary is to find ways to do what persecution does – strip away the worldly distractions that lead us to hunger for what can never truly satisfy, and ask ourselves, “What are we really living for?”

    The Church has given us a good way to answer that: the works of mercy. When we feed the hungry, visit the sick, forgive someone who has hurt us, give our time to someone who can’t repay us, something happens: Distractions begin to fade, our hearts begin to change, and we see more clearly that Christ really is enough.

    And people notice. Not all at once, and not with a lot of fanfare, but quietly, as in Acts. They wonder, “What is it about this person? What drives them? They’re Christian… is it their faith?”

    Our witness becomes evangelizing.

    So, the question for us is simple, but challenging: Where is Christ inviting me to live more simply, more faithfully, more like those Jerusalem disciples? Where is he asking me to let go of what doesn’t satisfy, so I can more deeply experience the Bread of Life who does?

    When we do that, we don’t just hear His promise. We live it. And others will see it.

    And, most importantly, they will see Christ better by it.

    —

  • All For the Sake of Love

    All For the Sake of Love

    Wednesday of the 2nd Week of Easter

    John 3:16

    The Taj Mahal. The Hope diamond. Romeo and Juliet. Each in its own way a priceless masterpiece – built, gifted, or written all for the sake of love.

    Imagine being given any one of these. How special we would feel! Unique in all the world. To be the subject of that force of emotion.

    Fortunately, we don’t have to imagine such a gift. We have one infinitely more precious. As Jesus says to Nicodemus:

    God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life (John 3:16).

    This is the verse that stopped Church Fathers in their tracks. We too know its power, not least by its enormous popularity. That’s good, but it’s also a problem; we hear it so often, see it so many places – from bumper stickers to end-zone signs – that we risk looking right past it.

    Don’t let that happen.

    Today, take a good, long, hard look at a crucifix. For there is the love that built not a building, but the Church; that isn’t the gift of a stone, but the Cornerstone; that isn’t written with ink but with the Precious Blood of Christ.

    And remember: We know the price of that love story – the death of Jesus Christ. But we also know the ending – the tomb is empty.

    So, rejoice and be glad! You really are loved that much.

  • No Mistaking the Road

    No Mistaking the Road

    Wednesday in the Octave of Easter

    Luke 24:13-35

    Perhaps you noticed something kind of puzzling in the gospel story we just heard. As Jesus meets the two disciples walking toward Emmaus, we hear that “their eyes were prevented from recognizing” him. Then later, as they head back to Jerusalem, they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way?”

    So, if their hearts were burning while Jesus spoke, what kept them from recognizing him?

    While there could be many reasons, let me give you mine. It came to me when filling in for Father Chris a couple of weeks ago in his lecture series on prayer.

    While researching that topic, I learned that St. Thérèse of Lisieux once said to novices, “I see clearly that you are mistaking the road, and that you will never arrive at the end of your journey. You want to climb the mountain, whereas God wishes you to descend it. He is awaiting you in the fruitful valley of humility.”

    So, what prevented them from seeing him? They did—because they had already decided what Jesus was supposed to be, and where he was supposed to be found.

    How do I know? They themselves tell us. Listen to their language. Jesus ‘was’ a prophet. We ‘were hoping’ he was the one. Their hope is already in the past. And even though “some women” reported that Jesus was alive again, and the Apostles saw the empty tomb, these two end with, “but him they did not see.” You can almost hear the confusion, disillusionment – and maybe even grief – in their voices.

    These are the eyes that cannot recognize Jesus; eyes that envision him waiting for them in some mountaintop, mystical experience where there are no problems, no questions, no fears, no doubts.

    But, borrowing from St. Thérèse, they were trying to climb a mountain where God had not asked them to go. And as St. Thérèse reminds us, he was waiting for them—not at the top—but in the valley… on the road… exactly where they were. That’s where Jesus is. And that’s where he meets all of us. Right here, where we are. We might be fooled into thinking he’s nearest to us in our mountaintop experiences. We feel so close to him then! Of course, he is “up there,” but as today’s gospel makes clear, he’s also “down here” when we’re at our weakest – when we question, fear, doubt, or hurt.

    And he’s not just near. He is speaking. We don’t hear him saying things like, “Look, here I am,” but he is there. First, he listens as we talk about what we’re thinking and feeling. Then he speaks. How do we know his voice? As the saints have said over the centuries, God’s voice sounds like a quiet invitation:

    • Not “figure everything out,” but “stay with me.”
    • Not “You are failing,” but “You are mine.”
    • Not “Fix this now,” but “Let’s take the next step. I am here with you.”

    From this perspective, it’s not at all surprising that Jesus asked them questions and let them speak first, or that he used Scripture to help them see that he was there. Christ would not always be walking on the road to Emmaus with them, but he would always be there in the word, giving light to their darkness. And, as he showed later that evening, he would always be with them in the Blessed Sacrament, feeding them with the greatest gift he could give – himself.

    Among all its other virtues, this beautiful story reminds us that Christ never waits until our problems are sorted out, after we repent, or after we get the theology right. No. He meets us now, right where we are – on the road, with all its confusion, problems, or disillusionment.

    So the next time you find yourself confused, discouraged, or wondering where God is, don’t look somewhere else. Look at the road you’re on. Because that’s exactly where he will meet you.

    —

  • Called, Faithful, and Sent

    Called, Faithful, and Sent

    The Easter Vigil

    Matthew 28:1-10

    I can think of moments in my life when everything changed, when what came before and what came after were forever different. Marriage. The births of our children. A diagnosis. A call I didn’t expect. In the heat of those moments, I didn’t realize just how much things changed. That hit me later.

    For those of you who are about to receive the sacraments, tonight is one of those moments. This isn’t just another step in a process. This is a crossing over. From tonight onward, your life in Christ becomes something entirely new.

    To understand what that looks like – what it means to step into that new life – we can do no better than to look at the first person mentioned in tonight’s gospel: Mary Magdalene.

    Magdalene is a truly remarkable figure. She is one of the very few individuals named in all four Gospels. Unlike almost everyone else, she was a witness to the Crucifixion of Christ, to his burial, and to his Resurrection.

    In every Gospel, Mary stands near the center of the Easter story. And, for our purposes here tonight, she stands as a model of a newly initiated Catholic.

    How? Simple. Mary was called. Mary was faithful. Mary was sent.

    First, her call to follow Christ is mysterious. All we know is that he healed her, called her out of her darkness. Mary’s story begins not with strength, but deliverance.

    That’s our story, too. None of us comes to God from a position of strength, but from a need for deliverance.

    And, although I said, “we come to God,” the reality is that God comes to us. You who are coming into the fullness of the faith this evening, think back to what brought you here to begin this journey. Like the rest of us, like all the saints, each of you has a different story, but a common beginning. We may think coming to God is our idea, but the truth is that God brought us here. He always acts first. Yes, we celebrate you tonight and your accomplishment, making it through all those Wednesday evening meetings. But tonight isn’t about what you’ve done to find God. It’s about what God has done to find you.

    The second remarkable thing about Mary Magdalene is that she stayed with Jesus when the going got tough. The gospels are clear; very few people are expressly named as being there in Christ’s darkest, most desolate moments. Mary is there – at the cross, at his burial, and at the tomb in the early morning darkness. She didn’t understand the significance of what was happening, and had good reason to fear or have her faith shaken. Yet she remained. What a beautiful example of steadfast faithfulness, of love that refuses to walk away no matter what.

    You who are coming into the fullness of the faith have lived some of this already. Week after week you found yourselves presented with things not always easy to understand. Yet you remained. You continued on even when things weren’t clear. You aren’t here because you figured it all out; you’re here because, like Mary Magdalene, you stayed despite the difficulty.

    Finally, Mary was given a role unlike any other in the New Testament. The Evangelist John is clearest. The risen Jesus calls her by name – Mary – then commands her, Go to my brothers and tell them… (John 20:17). Of all the disciples, only she, a woman called from her own mysterious darkness into the healing light of Christ, becomes what she never dreamed: the apostle to the apostles. The resurrection of Christ wasn’t the end of her story – in a way, it was just the beginning.

    It’s the same for you who are coming into the faith. Tonight isn’t the end. It’s more like a commencement, or, more accurately, a commissioning. Each of you is claimed by God by Baptism, strengthened by Confirmation, fed with the Eucharist, and at the end of Mass, sent. Where? Out those doors and into the world. To do what? To proclaim the glory and power of the risen Christ by the witness of your lives. Everything you do from here on will speak the words Mary Magdalene spoke as apostle to the apostles: I have seen the Lord (John 20:18).

    It all begins in just a few moments, when you receive the sacraments. Listen carefully. As the words are spoken, the risen Jesus will be speaking your name in the depths of your soul. Just as he spoke Mary’s.

    The time, place, and people are different than when Magdalene walked the Earth. But the message and Message-Giver are exactly the same. Christ has called you, Christ has asked you to stay near him, and Christ has sent you to proclaim him to the world.

    Savor the moment! From this night on, your life will never be the same. You may not realize that now, but don’t worry. It will hit you later.

    And it will be glorious.

    —

  • One Small Step

    One Small Step

    Wednesday of Holy Week

    Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 26:14-25

    Notice in Matthew’s gospel how eleven of the Apostles say, Surely it is not I, Lord? while only Judas says, Surely it is not I, Rabbi? The evangelist doesn’t do this by accident; to Judas, Jesus may be many things – teacher, sage, gifted healer, moving speaker – but whatever he is, he is not Lord.

    Like Judas, many people cannot make the leap from “Teacher” to “Lord.” Perhaps they’re afraid of what it would mean. If Jesus is Lord, then his words can no longer be taken as opinion, his actions no longer regarded as merely well-intended, his death no longer understood as the death that comes to us all.

    And if we’re honest, I think we all know that temptation.

    • To admire Jesus… without fully surrendering to him.
    • To agree with his teaching… without living it every day.
    • To forgive… when it’s easy.
    • To love… except when it costs us.
    • To trust… but only when we understand.

    That one change – from “Teacher” to “Lord”… One small step for the tongue. One giant leap for the heart.

    This is the leap of faith.

    Yes, it asks a lot, but it gives so much more.

    Today, as we prepare to walk with our Lord through his Passion and death, let us take a moment to thank God for the gift of faith, to pray that others may cast aside their fear and make it their own, and that our own faith may be strengthened not only to call him “Lord,” but to do all he has asked; to love as he loved – to the death.

    For our actions, born of that love, may become the “well-trained tongue” that speaks to hearts in ways that our words never could.

  • Broken Open and Poured Out

    Broken Open and Poured Out

    Monday of Holy Week

    Isaiah 42:1-7; John 12:1-11

    One of the things I find so interesting about a master artist is that, in their hands, even the simplest thing can acquire a depth I would never have seen or imagined.

    The Evangelist John is such an artist. In his hands, even a simple alabaster jar full of perfumed oil comes to symbolize the whole Christian life.

    How so?

    On one level, it’s just a jar. An earthen vessel, fragile and limited. But on a deeper level, isn’t that us? Each created with a deep, interior space that only God can fill.

    And the perfume – again, on one level a rare, costly aromatic. But more deeply, how like God’s grace! Once poured into us, its fragrance waits to be poured out upon the world.

    Pouring is exactly the action featured in the readings. First, Isaiah sees a mysterious Servant as a vessel filled with the Spirit of God: the oil poured in. Then, in the gospel, Mary pours the oil on Christ, recognizing him as that Servant who, not crying out, not shouting, will soon pour out his Spirit for the life of the world.

    It is in the imitation of Christ that we are the alabaster jar. The oil is the grace of God poured into us at Baptism, strengthened and renewed at this altar, given not to be kept, but to be poured out so that others may live.

    I think Mother Teresa understood this. She and her sisters included this prayer every day after Communion: “Dear Jesus, help me to spread Your fragrance wherever I go… let them look up and see no longer me, but only Jesus.”

    Of course, we cannot spread that fragrance unless we too are broken open and poured out, so let this be our prayer this Holy Week:

    Lord, we pray that whatever is “breaking” or happening in our lives right now — in our families, our health, our hearts — may it not be wasted. Rather, may it be Mary’s alabaster jar. May the fragrance of God’s grace poured out by our service fill not only this House but the entire world.

  • The Moment It All Became Real

    The Moment It All Became Real

    Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

    Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38

    I remember when my marriage became a concrete reality to me. It wasn’t on our wedding day or our honeymoon. It was the moment I held our first child in my arms.

    Until then, marriage was many things – vows, love, commitment — all very real and very good, but in a way you couldn’t really touch.

    Not that there weren’t signs of something big to come. There were. After all, my wife was pregnant. And over time, we could even feel and see the baby moving.

    That was all wonderful, but then, suddenly, there she was. Our daughter. Flesh and blood; a living, breathing sign of our love. What had been invisible, or looming in our imaginations, became visible. What had been a promise became flesh.

    That’s what we celebrate today in the Annunciation. For centuries, God spoke of One who would come. For example, Isaiah prophesies thata virgin shall be with child, and bear a son (Isaiah 7:14). In the psalm, we hear a mysterious voice say, Behold, I come (Psalm 40:8). Finally, the author of the Letter to the Hebrews cites the Greek version of the same psalm, speaking of ‘a body you prepared for me.’ Beautiful words — hopeful, evocative. Still… only words.

    But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, an angel appears to the Virgin Mary and, with her “Yes,” the Word literally takes flesh: the Son of God himself, conceived and growing in her womb, comes to dwell among us.

    Just as a child makes a marriage visible and tangible, Jesus makes the invisible God visible and tangible. In him, God doesn’t just speak to us, He becomes one of us.

    You can hear about love your whole life, but when you hold it in your arms, everything changes. That’s why God isn’t content to simply let us hear about His love. Like marriage, it’s meant to become real. Concrete. Visible. Lived. And that’s why He comes to meet us in the Sacraments, most especially in the Blessed Sacrament, and why He gives us the grace we need to bring Christ to others, and to be ‘little Christs’ in service of them.

    It all begins in our lives just like it did for the Virgin Mary. Every day, God comes to us in many ways, through many faces; often surprisingly, unexpectedly. He doesn’t ask to be fully understood, only to be received.

    In just a few moments, He will come again through the power of the Holy Spirit in the Consecration. Let us renew our ‘yes,’ and ask for the grace not only to say what the Blessed Mother said… but to live it: ‘May it be done to me according to your word.’”

    Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.

    —

  • The “Talking Cure”

    The “Talking Cure”

    Friday of the Third Week of Lent

    Hosea 14:2-10; Mark 12:28-34

    I’ve noticed in my spiritual life that sometimes my problem isn’t finding the time or place to pray. It’s finding the words. I have things on my mind, feelings I want to express, but as I approach the tabernacle, words simply fail me. I sit there thinking, “Well?” and wonder if God is saying the same.

    Those are the times I’m likely to say, “Lord, I can’t find the words. I don’t know what to say.” But even going that far seems to break the spiritual ice. Even if slowly, words start flowing after that, and I feel better.

    At least for me, saying something – basically, anything – seems to help.

    It turns out that I’m not alone. Psychologists discovered over a century ago that peoples’ inner wounds began to heal when they found a way to put into words whatever they were carrying, be it guilt, regret, fear, or failure.

    They called it “the talking cure,” and you’ve probably seen it your own life. I think we all have. There’s something about speaking the truth out loud, rather than keeping it inside, that causes pain or anxiety to loosen its hold on us.

    Of course, long before either we or psychologists came across it, God already knew it. We hear it in the reading from Hosea when the prophet says, “Return to the Lord your God…Take with you words.”

    That’s it. “Take with you words.” Not “Bring sacrifices,” “Make sure everything inside you is fixed,” or “Prove that you’ve changed.” All He asks is that they “bring words” – that is, speak to Him.

    It worked then and works to this day. When we go to Confession, we do exactly what Hosea describes. We bring words. “I have sinned,” “I have failed,” “I could have done better.”

    And something remarkable happens. The burden we carried begins to lift; not just psychologically, but spiritually. Best of all, God answers our words with the most merciful and healing words of His own: “I absolve you.”

    Of course, it isn’t just about removing guilt. It’s also about love. Remember what Jesus said today in the gospel when asked about the greatest commandment. He said, “love the Lord your God with all your heart.”

    That’s the goal of Lent – to love God more and more deeply. That doesn’t begin with grand gestures or perfect prayers, but with the smallest step: finding the words and bringing them to God.

    As Hosea said, take with you words. Come back and speak to Him again.

    —

  • The Point of the Law

    The Point of the Law

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    Deuteronomy 4:1, 5-9; John 6:63c, 68c; Matthew 5:17-19

    On a break during Canon Law class, the professor told me about a case he studied years before.

    On one side was a priest whose behavior showed a blatant disregard of Canon Law. He acted as if it simply didn’t apply to him. On the other side, the prosecuting priest was just as extreme in the opposite direction. He clung so tightly to the letter of the law that he almost made it an end in itself.

    The professor said that every clergyman must remember above all the last canon in the Church’s law. Its final line says this: ‘The salvation of souls must always be the supreme law of the Church.’ “So remember,” Father said, “when you deal with people, the law isn’t there to control them or to be ignored. The law exists to save souls.”

    That’s exactly what Christ teaches in today’s Gospel. When he says he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, our minds might jump to the Pharisees or others, who treated the law as an end in itself. But I believe he was also thinking of people who lived as if God’s commandments were optional.

    Maybe, before my mind jumps to anyone else, I should take a look at myself. Are there times in my life – like when I do something wrong – that I look the other way, make excuses, or go easy on myself? And are there other times when I’m hard or unforgiving – say perhaps when someone offends me or someone I love? The truth is, I don’t have to look very far to find that I myself live on both sides of the continuum; I am both priests Father talked with me about.

    All the more reason for me to remember Father’s lesson – the law exists to save souls, to give life. The Gospel Acclamation said it so well – His words are Spirit and life (John 6:63, 68); medicine for the soul and meant to bring us all to everlasting life.

    So when Jesus says he has not come to abolish the law but fulfill it, he’s reminding us of something simple but very profound: God did not give us his commandments to control us or offer suggestions. He gave them to save us.

    With that in mind, here’s a way we can live out the gospel this week: Choose one commandment and bring it to life in a small, concrete way. For example, if it’s the Fifth Commandment, speak gently in a situation in which you might otherwise speak in anger. If it’s the Seventh Commandment, be honest yet gentle, even if that’s inconvenient. In all things, let the law guide you to life, not weigh you down.

    When we do such things, our actions show the world that the most important thing is that the law points the way to Jesus, who himself is the Way.

    And the Truth.

    And the Life.

    —

  • Take Courage, It is I

    What if following Christ meant going deeper — far deeper — than you ever planned?

    Take Courage, It Is I isn’t a comfortable book for comfortable faith. Rather, it’s an invitation to leave the shoreline of halfhearted belief and put out into deep water with Christ.

    If you’ve ever wrestled with fear, doubt, unworthiness, or spiritual complacency, or sensed God calling you to more, if you’re ready to stop drifting and start living your faith boldly, this book is for you.