Mark 10:45

  • 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.

  • Being a “Keeper”

    Being a “Keeper”

    Monday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    2 Kings 5:1-15ab

    When I was a boy, our family car stopped running while Dad and I were visiting one of his friends. A big, powerful engine… completely frozen. Dad and his friend tore the engine apart and discovered the problem: a tiny metal piece called a “keeper” that held a piston in place. Just a little part, no bigger than your fingertip. But without it, the whole engine was useless.

    Again and again in Scripture, God works through small voices:

    • A shepherd boy defeats a giant.
    • A widow’s two coins outweigh a fortune.
    • A child’s lunch feeds a crowd.
    • And today, a little slave girl starts the miracle that heals Naaman.

    I think the lesson is clear. We should never dismiss someone because they seem insignificant. God chooses whomever He wills, not whoever makes sense to us.

    The slave girl is a perfect case in point. On the one hand, she had no power, no position, no influence. On the other, she did have the courage to speak the truth she knew: “If only my master would go to the prophet in Israel…”

    Because she spoke, a man was healed. And that healing began with something very small: one person willing to speak, and another willing to listen, even to someone he could have easily ignored.

    This raises two questions for us:

    First: Who are the little voices in my life? Who might God be speaking through that I tend to overlook? A child… a spouse… a friend… a stranger… even someone who irritates me.

    Second: To whom might I be the little voice? Maybe God wants to use one small word from me – a word of encouragement, an invitation, a reminder about prayer, a quiet act of kindness — to start something good in someone else’s life.

    Sometimes the engine of grace in someone’s life is waiting for one tiny “keeper”— one small voice willing to speak. Let us ask Almighty God for the grace to hear that voice ourselves, and to be that voice for others.

  • Coming to the Well

    Coming to the Well

    3rd Sunday of Lent

    John 4:5-42

    During Lent, the Church quietly leads us through the great needs of the human heart. In the first three Sundays, we encounter three of them: Faith, hope, and love.

    On the first Sunday of Lent, we saw how faith is tested in hunger and isolation. Physically, Jesus was alone and weakened by a long fast; spiritually, though, he was as strong as ever and never alone. Why not? Because his union with the Father remained intact. The same is true for us; faith strengthens and sustains us. Without it, we are weak and alone.

    Then on the second Sunday of Lent, we saw how hope is strengthened despite the trials we face. At the Transfiguration, the disciples were given a glimpse of who Jesus really is. This was the sign that says, “Suffering is not the end. Glory is real.” Hope in Christ prevents discouragement; without it, suffering becomes meaningless.

    Now, on this third Sunday of Lent, we come to the well, as does the Samaritan woman. No hunger, no glory, just thirst. But not for water. No, something much deeper. In her case, I think it’s for dignity and belonging. She comes to the well alone during the heat of the day, when it’s deserted. Why? It’s hard to believe it’s by her choice. Perhaps she has been shunned by the townspeople on account of her several marriages. If so, that would be worst of all. As someone once observed, the worst loneliness isn’t being alone; it’s being with people who make you feel alone.

    Although it’s hard to be fully in touch with her circumstances, I think we can all understand isolation and loneliness. A recent survey has found that, despite all the connections we make on our cellphones and computers, loneliness in our society is widespread, especially among young people.

    How can this be? There may be many reasons, but one thing is clear: when God is removed from the center of life, something essential is lost. As the Church reminds us these first three weeks of Lent, without faith in God, we mistrust; without hope in Him, we despair; and without the love of God, we remain alone, no matter how many people are around us. As a culture, we thirst like the Samaritan woman does: for communion, for belonging, and above all for grace – the only thing that can make us whole – for grace is participation in the life of God.

    Our Lord’s response is instructive for us. Aware of her circumstances, what does he do? Well, first look at what he doesn’t do: He doesn’t give her rules or command her to repent. No; he gives her himself. And that encounter restores what is lacking in her life – dignity, truth, and belonging.

    That is charity. That is the love of God.

    And look at the effect! In these brief few minutes under that hot Mediterranean sun, a woman who arrived at the well alone leaves her water jar behind and runs back to the town. A moment ago, it was as if she was hidden; now, she is not only making herself seen, but also heard – by bringing people to Christ.

    That kind of transformation is waiting for each of us, and shows us the importance of Baptism. The virtues of faith, hope, and love infused in us by God at our baptism aren’t simply things that are “nice to have.” Without them, we live surrounded by people, yet untouched at the center. With them, communion with God and each other is not only possible, but is ours for the asking.

    But that means we have to ask. How? Well, as with the Samaritan woman, Jesus waits at the well. Where’s that? Right here, in the tabernacle. As St. Josemaria Escriva once said, “When you approach the tabernacle, remember that Jesus has been waiting for you for centuries.”

    Knowing that, I invite you this week – today if you like – to come and make one deliberate visit to the Lord. Sit right here in the church. Stay five extra minutes after Mass today or during the week. Or, visit him in the Adoration Chapel. Whichever you do, tell him honestly where you thirst. If you don’t know, tell him that, too. Ask him to show you those places in your life, and help you with them.

    Then listen. He will speak.

  • What Heaven Notices

    What Heaven Notices

    Wednesday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Matthew 20:17–28

    Someone once told the famous evangelist Billy Graham that God would surely reward him for his greatness as a preacher. Graham replied that he once dreamed about that.

    In his dream, he died and went to heaven. As he entered, Peter ushered him toward the heavenly throne. Once there, the Lord said, “Everyone, the great preacher, Billy Graham, is now here with us.”

    After a long, mystified silence, an angel asked, “Who, Lord?” Smiling, God said, “Oh, I’m sorry. You know him as Ruth Graham’s husband.”

    And when they heard that, all of Heaven cheered.

    While it’s a charming story, it makes a serious point. When we think of greatness, what do we think of? Being above others? Higher up? Recognized? Applauded?

    That seems to be what James and John had in mind in today’s Gospel. They wanted the seats of honor, one at our Lord’s right, one at His left, when He comes into His kingdom. But notice the timing; they ask this just after Jesus told them for a third time He’s going to Jerusalem to suffer and die. His emphasis is the cross; theirs is thrones.

    But notice, too, that Jesus doesn’t scold their desire for greatness. Instead, he redefines it: “… the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them… it shall not be so among you.” In other words, greatness in the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t found in being above others, but in reaching toward them. Not in climbing higher, but in bending lower. Not in being served, but in serving.

    Then we hear the decisive words: “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” Jesus hasn’t just redefined greatness, he has embodied it.

    This is what Jesus asked of James and John, all of his Apostles, and everyone who calls themselves Christian.

    Billy Graham understood that. He didn’t want to be remembered for eloquence or influence. He wanted to be remembered for love. Because in the end, titles fade. Recognition fades. Even the memory of accomplishments fades. Only love remains.

    Of course, the desire for greatness isn’t wrong. God placed it in us. As Holy Father Benedict XVI said, we weren’t made for comfort, we were made for greatness. But Lent teaches us that greatness is found in the narrow road of self-gift and service. We are asked to fast, pray, and give alms, not to be impressive but to be free – free to serve as Christ served.

    Actually, as he still serves. For Christ serves us today, as he has every day for centuries, in the holy Eucharist. The One who is truly seated at the right hand of God the Father comes to us again; not to be admired from a distance, but to serve us with His very Body and Blood.

    Then he sends us out to do the same.

    So today the question isn’t: “How can I be recognized,” but “whom can I serve in a way that no one will notice?”

    That is greatness in the Kingdom. And that’s what Heaven notices.