Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • The Only Lasting Joy

    The Only Lasting Joy

    Saturday of the 3rd Week of Advent

    Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Luke 1:39-45

    This is the time of year when the whole world seems to focus on joy. Everything from songs to decorations to napkins urges us to be joyful. We hear it in the readings today: Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel (Zephaniah 3:14), and … the infant in my womb leaped for joy (Luke 1:44). But, if you’re anything like me, you might find that, while you do feel joy sometimes, other times you don’t. Call it the stresses and strains of life, the rush of so many places to go and people to see during the season, or just being under the weather – whatever it is, we don’t always feel joyful.

    Should we? We might be tempted to think so, but if we pause and reflect a little more deeply on the readings, a fuller picture emerges.

    First, we heard Zephaniah speak of joy to daughter Zion. At that time, “daughter” was used to refer to the suburbs of a city, the area just outside its walls or gates. In this case, that was the Israelites who had returned to Jerusalem from exile and now faced the daunting task of rebuilding the Temple and their whole way of life. While there was some short-term happiness in the return, the long term was full of fear and uncertainty. Thus, when the prophet spoke of joy, he wasn’t asking the people to feel joyful, but to rejoice in the assurance that God had not only not abandoned them, but would actually be in their midst as their Savior! This was a joy that nothing and no one could take away.

    Then in the gospel, we heard that John leapt in the womb of his mother. Although he was certainly joyful in that moment, we cannot help but think forward to his ministry years later: Regardless the outcome – acceptance or rejection, challenge or even threat to his life – his vibrant and unshakable proclamation of the coming of Christ reflected a joy that also could not be taken away.

    From these two examples, we see that what matters isn’t whether we feel joyful, but whether we are joyful. Feelings, even joyful ones, come and go like any emotion. On the other hand, spiritual gifts such as joy are meant to last, because they come from God. This gift, as Holy Father Francis says, is “the fullness of consolation, the fullness of the presence of the Lord… The great strength that we have to transform, to preach the Gospel, to go forward as witnesses of life is the joy of the Lord, which is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, and today we ask him to grant us this fruit.”1

    So, if we want lasting joy, the Holy Father has told us what we need to do: Go forward as witnesses of life, resting in the assurance that, as with the daughter of Zion, God will always be our consolation, and as with the Baptist, will give us the continual joy of His presence. No matter what we do, be it mourning or laughing, if we are His witnesses as we do it, the fruit of that love will always be joy.

    What better time to ask the Holy Spirit for this Christmas gift? That we, like the Blessed Mother, Elizabeth, John the Baptist, and all the Saints, be the best witnesses of life; that we may know and be able to share with everyone the deep and lasting joy that comes only from loving God and daring to go wherever that love takes us.

    1https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/44217/joy-is-more-than-emotion-it-is-a-gift-of-the-holy-spirit-pope-francis-says

  • Can You Hear?

    Can You Hear?

    Memorial of St. Ambrose, Bishop and Doctor of the Church (Dec 7)

    Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26; Matthew 9:35–10:1, 5a, 6-8

    In the first reading, Isaiah reminded us of two things: First, our Teacher will no longer hide himself; second, his voice shall sound in our ears. In both of these, I find echoes of the great St. Ambrose, who we remember today.

    Christ hardly hid himself from Ambrose; quite the contrary. Born just after Christianity became the religion of the Empire, raised in a wealthy Catholic family, Ambrose was highly intelligent, politically astute, and virtuous. As a young man, he became governor of a large part of northern Italy that included Milan. At that time, Christianity was embroiled in a battle between Arians, who believed that Jesus was not God, and Catholics, who did. When the Archbishop of Milan died, an argument broke out about whether an Arian or Catholic bishop should succeed him. Summoned to the cathedral to help settle the issue, he addressed the crowd. While he was speaking, a small voice cried, “Ambrose, bishop!” When the whole assembly took up the cry, Ambrose fled and hid in the house of a friend.

    Why would he do that? A couple of reasons. For one thing, Ambrose had never been baptized! Second, he was governor; his focus was on himself and his career. When he walked into that cathedral, he saw a crowd with an issue to settle, not troubled sheep without a shepherd, who needed him. But Christ did, and when that voice said, “Ambrose, bishop,” it was Christ sounding in his ears what we heard in the gospel: The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few… Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give (Matthew 9:37; 10:8).

    On one level, he was a good choice. Both the Arians and the Catholics liked and respected him; they knew him as a good man, a man with natural virtue. But that’s not enough; Christ needs good Christians, and that requires the supernatural virtues infused at baptism – faith, hope, and love – and the grace of the other sacraments, especially the Blessed Sacrament. After the emperor refused his request to find someone else, Ambrose submitted himself, undergoing one of the fastest and most complete conversions in history: From pagan to bishop in about 10 days!

    From then on, armed with those graces, bishop Ambrose lived a life of heroic virtue. For 23 years, he worked tirelessly to educate himself, his priests, and his people. A compassionate shepherd, his door was open to everyone, from pauper to emperor. A rigorous defender of the faith, he wiped out Arianism in Milan, facing down emperors to do it, and he excommunicated the Catholic emperor Theodosius, famously announcing that emperors are in the Church, not over it. A gifted speaker and writer, his teaching impressed and won over Augustine, who went on to become a great bishop and doctor of the Church himself. All this because Ambrose heard the voice of Christ calling him to a richer, deeper life, and responded to it, however reluctantly at first.

    It’s good to remember this lesson from the life of St. Ambrose, especially during Advent. In a world that advertises Christmas before Halloween is over, Christ is almost hidden by his own holiday and his voice drowned out by the noise, hustle and bustle of the season. Still, we are called to live in this world, and not just live in it, but bring Christ to it. That takes all the virtues, natural and supernatural, and the grace of the sacraments, especially Holy Communion. So, as we approach to receive our Lord at holy Mass this Advent, let us take time to savor and rejoice in Isaiah’s words, with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, and listen carefully for Christ the Teacher sounding in our ears, ‘This is the way; walk in it’ (Isaiah 30:20, 21).

    —

  • Meeting Perfection

    Meeting Perfection

    Feast of St. Andrew, Apostle

    Romans 10:9-18; Matthew 4:18-22

    Years ago, I trained alongside a deacon at a nursing home. Perfectionist that I am, I remember thinking that things felt all wrong. For one thing, we held our service in a room that was too busy; there must be a better place. For another, it was close to lunch; there must be a better time. Worst of all, as I tried to talk to the people, I realized that I wasn’t very good at it; maybe what I had to give wasn’t enough and I should stop trying.

    Today’s feast is exactly the right one for someone like me, for although St. Andrew appears in few places in Scripture, he has something very important to teach us about discipleship and seeking perfection. The lesson comes in three stories.

    The first we just heard. As Andrew was at work, going about his daily business, Jesus passed by and called him. Immediately, he and his brother got up and followed. The second was when the Apostles were trying to figure out how to feed a large multitude, and Andrew introduced Jesus to a boy with five barley loaves and two fish (John 6:9). In the final story, Andrew introduced some Greek-speaking people to Jesus, who mysteriously replied that the hour for him to be glorified had come (John 12:20-23).

    The perfectionist in me sees problems with each story. Jesus came to Andrew at work; wasn’t there a better place, like maybe the local synagogue? As for introducing those curious Greeks, this wasn’t long after Jesus raised Lazarus and the Jewish authorities were gunning for him. Surely, this was no time for introductions but for getting Jesus out of town. And wasn’t the kid with the loaves and fish the wrong person? Even Andrew wondered what good those were for so many (John 6:9).

    Well he may wonder, but as he came to learn, he didn’t need to have it all figured out. What he needed was faith; as St. Paul said, to believe in his heart that Jesus is Lord (Romans 10:9-10). Clearly, Andrew had faith in abundance! With faith in his heart, it didn’t matter where he met Christ, meeting him was enough; it didn’t matter when people asked to meet Jesus, asking was enough; it didn’t matter how many loaves and fish the boy had to give, giving was enough.

    As Andrew learned and these stories teach us, Christ isn’t looking for perfection; he is perfection. What he wants is our faith and effort. Given that, he will make the meeting place perfect, the time perfect, the gifts perfect, and will bring those who have faith in him to perfection; in St. Paul’s words, enriching all who call upon him (Romans 10:12).

    At the end of each Mass, we are told to go; as apostles, we are sent. In every situation of daily life that awaits us lie the same temptations I mentioned at the beginning: Wherever we are is the wrong place; whatever time, the wrong time; we, the wrong people. The example of St. Andrew reminds us that the opposite is true. For those who hold fast to faith in our hearts, there is no wrong place, no wrong time, and we are never the wrong people. God has chosen us, empowered us, and gives us many opportunities to make a difference for the better. Let us take advantage of every one of them.

    St. Andrew, pray for us.

    —

  • Becoming Who We Are

    Becoming Who We Are

    The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

    Wisdom 3:1-9; Romans 5:5-11; John 6:37-40

    Many years ago, on a train trip to Chicago from rural Michigan, I sat behind a family who had never been to a big city before. I tried not to listen, but their conversation was too interesting. The kids had no idea what skyscrapers were, so Dad tried to explain. It didn’t work; when we stopped in a small town, one kid said, “A skyscraper!” No, son, that’s a grain elevator. As we got to the city limits, Mom got tense. “Kids, when we stop, stay with me. Don’t wander off. They probably carry guns here. It doesn’t look like a very friendly place to me.” I wanted to say, “Ma’am, we’re going to Union Station, not Al Capone’s headquarters,” but kept my mouth shut. By the time we got downtown and they saw Chicago, it was clear that the actual reality was nothing like they imagined.

    This kind of thing happens in the Church, too. All Souls’ Day is a good time to see it, because purgatory takes center stage. Just hearing the word “purgatory” conjures up in many minds some of the imagery of the first reading: souls punished, chastised, tried, put in a furnace, burnt offerings (Wisdom 3:4-6). Not hard to see why in the popular imagination, purgatory is a fiery place where souls go to be purified – somehow – and for some length of time. (That’s all fuzzy. What isn’t fuzzy is the fire.)

    Let me do what my much younger self should have done for that young family on the way to Chicago: Clear up some misconceptions.

    1. Purgatory isn’t a place, it’s a process. For what? Well, although all of us would love to enter God’s presence immediately after we die, we have to deal with what John wrote in Revelation; namely, that nothing impure can enter heaven (21:27). So, if our soul has any venial sins or attachments to worldly things, all that must be eliminated first.
    2. There is, and there isn’t, a fire. There isn’t, in the sense that souls can’t “feel” the way bodies can, but there is, in the sense that souls can yearn (or burn, if you will) for a closer relationship with God, and know that growing closer to Him is only possible if we let go of our selfish desires.
    3. After we die, there is no time. The dead are beyond that. The better question is, how spiritually distant am I from God? Do I love God with an intense love that is willing to overcome any obstacle that keeps me from being with Him, or am I too attached to what I want? And how much do I really love others, especially those I’ve had the most difficulty with?

    With these misconceptions cleared up, we can better appreciate the balance of the imagery we heard in the book of Wisdom. Souls are punished, but also full of hope; chastised, but greatly blessed; tried, but found worthy of God; proven in a furnace, but like gold; sacrificed, but taken by God to Himself. So yes, there is suffering, but the battle is won, and they are not alone. This is why St. Paul said that hope does not disappoint (Romans 5:5); God is with us every step of the way, and the outcome is both known and glorious. Every soul being purified will be united with Him when all is said and done.

    What should we take away from this? Three things:

    1. The best way to deal with purgatory is by working to avoid it entirely! Our goal is sanctity; let us pray for the grace and strength to do what it takes to stay close to Christ, to remain in him, to do whatever he tells us.
    2. Pray for the souls in purgatory. This is a wonderful example of the love we are called to have – the love that seeks the good of others before the self. The witness of the saints testifies that souls undergoing purification are helped in the process by the prayers and sacrifices of others. Once in heaven, they can intercede for us.
    3. Remember that purgatory isn’t about who we were, or who we are, but who we are becoming, which is the most perfect version of ourselves. That is what Christ has called us from all eternity to be: perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48).

    —

  • Glorious Grains

    Glorious Grains

    Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ephesians 5:21-33; Luke 13:18-21

    When we visit a cathedral or basilica, we naturally focus on the art and architecture. I doubt that anyone stops at the outside of the building first and says, “Wow, those bricks are impressive. And the mortar between each one… glorious!” No, we take these for granted.

    It’s ordinary to look past the ordinary.

    Yet, where would that glorious cathedral be without the bricks? And how would the bricks stay together without the mortar? And where would the mortar be without the tiny, insignificant, almost invisible grains of sand?

    Maybe the insignificant isn’t so insignificant after all. Certainly in the case of the cathedral, we can’t get to the larger without beginning with the smaller.

    That is the fundamental point of our Lord’s parables today. The large mustard bush can’t grow unless the little mustard seed is planted first; the dough can’t rise unless the tiny yeast become active and so leaven the bread. So the Church, with all her glorious accomplishments, can’t rise without us, the tiny grains of sand, working together, dying to ourselves as it were.

    That’s the kind of dying that makes a marriage, or any lasting relationship, too. We don’t define a good marriage by how nice the wedding was, or how wonderful the vacations were. Rather, it’s the day-to-day living; the submitting to each other, dying to self. That of course includes the moments of joy and sorrow, but it also (and mostly) includes the vast majority of ordinary moments in-between. In fact, it is what we do or fail to do in those ordinary moments that give the extraordinary moments their deepest meaning.

    As St. Paul reminds us, Christ himself is the perfect example of all this. Who submitted himself more than he, who was more selfless or humble than he who took our flesh and handed it over, that he might make us, his Bride, holy and immaculate before the Father? And he did this every day; not a moment from his conception onward has been wasted. Indeed, Christ sanctified time by entering into it. There were the hugely extraordinary moments, like his incarnation, death and resurrection, but there were also the “ordinary” moments, like today, when he taught or simply walked with among us. And the world has been forever changed by even the most ordinary of them.

    One of my sons once gave me an hourglass, and I find it an apt metaphor. Each moment we are given by God is a grain of sand; we have it only as it passes, then the moment is gone. Today and every day, Christ is calling us to remember that each moment is far, far from ordinary; for God is in each one, and each can be used to build Him what He wants most: the glorious cathedral of a life in which He will dwell forever, if we let him.

    —

  • Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

    Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

    Memorial of Sts. John de Brébeuf and Isaac Jogues, Priests, and Companions, Martyrs

    Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 12:8-12

    An hour or so from Paris stands the glorious cathedral, Our Lady of Chartres. Among its many stunning windows, four are of particular note: One each dedicated to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Why so noteworthy? Because in each window the evangelist appears, not alone, but held up by one of the prophets; in other words, the gospels give us a deeper view of Christ because the evangelists “stood on the shoulders of giants.”

    If I were to design a stained glass window dedicated to the North American martyrs, Sts. John de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues, and their companions, I’d do the same thing. There isn’t time to go into everything these Jesuit priests did in bringing Christ to the indigenous peoples of Ontario and the surrounding area, but suffice it to say that at least one of them, St. John de Brébeuf, was a giant in his own way.

    First, Father was a big man, over 6 feet tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. This would come in handy doing the daily work of living among the people. Second, Father had a big heart; he was gentle, humble, and peaceable. Third, he was a sensitive, thoughtful planner. Before evangelizing the Huron people, Father slowly got to know them. He studied their language, their customs and beliefs, their entire way of life. It took him two years, but he learned their language well enough to write a phrase book, translate the Catechism and some bible passages, and compose a hymn for them to sing.

    But even with all that effort, evangelization was difficult. The Huron resisted. Father baptized very few, all of them dying. What’s more, he and the other “Black Robes” were blamed for any catastrophe, illness, or bad luck. His life was often in peril. This must have been discouraging at times, but if so, he never let on. Father loved Christ and knew, as St. Paul said, the hope that belongs to his call (Ephesians 1:18): God had a plan, and he had a part; he simply had to persevere. That’s what he did. As the years passed and few came into the faith, he continued to master the Huron language and culture, and trained the incoming missionaries in it, so they could minister in ways and words the Hurons could understand and relate to.

    When Fr. Jogues arrived, a new idea came with him. Going out one by one and living among the Hurons was good, but why not also invite the Hurons to live among Catholics, so they could see how Catholics live? Grounded in the Huron language and ways, thanks to the years of work by Fr. de Brébeuf, Jogues founded a small town, “St. Mary Among the Hurons,” in the heart of Huron land. It was small at first, perhaps 20 people, but they lived, worked, and prayed together. Faith, family, and community life were centered on Christ. Before long, the Hurons got interested and the faith began to grow. By the time Frs. Jogues and de Brébeuf were martyred, 7000 Hurons had been baptized. And, ironically, from the tribe of their Mohawk killers soon came the first native saint, Kateri Tekakwitha.

    What does this have to do with us? Well, sadly, almost 400 years after this, we find ourselves in a society in some ways as pagan as the one the Jesuits came to on mission. Like them, we cannot stand idly by, for we, too, are missionaries, called as Christ said in the gospel, to acknowledge him before others. The word “Mass” comes from “mission”; we are told to go and announce the gospel of the Lord.

    But go do… what? There we have help, for the Holy Spirit has stood us on the shoulders of giants. As we look at what these martyrs did, we see that they didn’t impose the faith, they proposed it; they invited, but they didn’t compel. St. John de Brébeuf taught us that the first step is learning the language and ways of the culture, so we can meet people where they are. Our culture is full of examples: Celebrities, pop stars, television shows; all these are what the people know well. Use them as examples; celebrate their good aspects, challenge the bad, but always tie them to the faith. And St. Isaac Jogues taught us not to worry about what to say, but to live as Christ has taught us; if we do that, our lives are the most eloquent witness we can give. Nothing draws people to Christ more than being treated with dignity; welcoming, valuing, and listening to them.

    Can it get discouraging? Yes. Will we be rejected? Often. But like today’s martyrs, remember the hope that belongs to his call. Our mission isn’t to make people become what they aren’t, but to show them who they already are: Beloved sons and daughters of God, who see Him best by standing with us on the shoulders of His only Son, our Lord and theirs, Jesus Christ.

    Sts. John de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues, and Companions, pray for us.

    —

  • Learning to Unlearn

    Learning to Unlearn

    Saturday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ezekiel 18:1-10, 13b, 30-32; Matthew 19:13-15

    It really isn’t surprising to hear Jesus say, Let the children come to me. I think he loved being around little kids. If you have toddlers or have been around them much, you can see why. When you come home, they run to greet you, hold onto your leg, want to be held, tell you about their day, and listen as you tell them stories. Everything is a wonder. They trust implicitly, believe readily, depend on you for everything, and allow themselves to be taken care of. They are so completely innocent.

    How refreshing, and how unlike the adults he so often deals with; people with agendas, who have trouble trusting him or his message, who fear him, or who challenge him at every turn. We might think, “Well, that’s the way it is. Kids grow up, things happen, and innocence gets lost.” We may not like it, but we learn to accept it as the way things are.

    The thing is, though, that Jesus doesn’t accept it, and couldn’t make it any clearer when he said,the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. Note, not belongs to these, but belongs to such as these. He includes everyone, provided that the things we’ve learned – that trust and belief must be earned, that we’re dependent only on ourselves, and that we need no one else to look after us – somehow get “unlearned.”

    How do we unlearn? In three steps.

    First, as God told us through Ezekiel: Turn and be converted (Ezekiel 18:30). In other words, recognize that we’ve sinned and have to do something about it.

    If that sounds a lot like Confession, it is, but specifically, one of the hardest parts of it, which is step two: Making and keeping a firm purpose of amendment. As good and necessary as it is to confess our sins, if we don’t earnestly resolve to amend our lives, it’s all for nothing. Making this promise to God is hard enough, because it’s a blow to our pride, but keeping it is even harder. Why? Because our most persistent sins are often habitual; they develop slowly, over the course of years, and can be very stubborn. Even though we’re patient, failing to overcome such a sin is very frustrating. What can we do?

    That brings us to step three: Form new, good habits to replace the old. It’s not enough to say to ourselves, “I just won’t do that sin anymore.” That leaves a hole that something is going to end up filling. It’s better to plan ahead, to have something good to replace the sin with. For example, let’s say that when I meet with my friends, I gossip about people. I’ve tried avoiding my friends, but that hurts them and me. So, I meet them and end up gossiping again. It’s better to form a new habit: Before we meet, I will ask God for the grace to stop and apply the “THINK” principle: Say only what is True, Helpful, Inspiring, Necessary, and Kind. If what I want to say lacks even one of those, then I won’t say it. Or, let’s assume I’m persistently angry with someone. I’ve tried forgiving them and moving on, but can’t get over it. Why not try sincerely praying every day for that person; not that they get what they deserve, but that they will come to know and love God as much as possible? I’ve found that it’s not easy to stay angry at someone I’m sincerely praying for. These are just two examples. Take some time today and ask God, or ask Father in the Confessional next time, to suggest some new strategies to overcome a sin you’re struggling with.

    So, as we prepare now to receive Christ in Holy Communion or a blessing, let us ask him to help us unlearn all those things that prevent us from becoming such as those little ones to whom the Kingdom of Heaven belongs.

    —

  • Bending in the Wind

    Bending in the Wind

    Monday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Jane Frances de Chantal)

    Matthew 17:22-27

    In a desert out west, scientists built a biodome and planted some trees in it. At first, the trees grew normally; however, once they reached a certain height, they fell over and died. It turned out the scientists forgot one crucial element: wind. Bending in the wind puts stress on a tree’s root system, and it is that stress that causes the roots to grow deep and wide enough to support the weight and breadth of the tree.

    In today’s gospel, our Lord stresses his disciples by telling them a second time about his impending passion, death, and resurrection. Although they didn’t understand what he meant, Matthew tells us they grieved deeply. As we know, there will be plenty more times when their faith will be challenged, and, while they will fail a few times, the stress of those challenges will ultimately produce a faith strong enough to withstand anything.

    What was true of Christ’s disciples then has remained true throughout all of Christian history. We see it in the lives of the saints, one of whom we remember today: St. Jane Frances de Chantal. As a young woman, Jane was happily married, and had six children. She loved being a mother and taking charge of the household. Yet, it didn’t take long for the winds to blow. Her first three children died as infants; then, in the ninth year of her marriage, her husband died in an accident. This forced her to leave her home and move in with her disagreeable father-in-law and his even more disagreeable housekeeper. Although Jane kept a calm and even disposition, she prayed desperately for strength and for a good spiritual director.

    Her prayers were answered when she met Francis de Sales, who was preaching at a parish near her childhood home. Impressed with her, Francis agreed to become her spiritual director. It didn’t take him long to see that Jane was by nature a strong, forceful, even hard person, but always hardest on herself. He helped her see how God was working in her, even in the tragic, stressful events of her life; that the sweetness and mildness she maintained toward others was the fruit of prayer, suffering, and patience. Being less rigid and demanding of herself wasn’t weakness, but, like bending in the wind, strengthening the roots of her faith.

    Of course, St. Francis de Sales didn’t invent that idea; Jesus modeled it in the gospel. We see an example of it today. As the Son of God, he could have easily refused to pay a tax to enter His Father’s house. Why should he pay anything? For that matter, why should the Apostles (or any Christian), who would soon be permanently thrown out of the Temple? Yet, Jesus taught Peter that love meant going beyond the letter of the law to its heart; the Temple was a tribute to the Father’s glory, so, in his humility and love for the Father, His Son would gladly bend in the wind, keep silent, and pay the tax.

    In our own humility and love for God, each of us struggles to eliminate sin from our lives. Today, let us ask ourselves how that struggle is going. Have we been too easy on ourselves and avoided the challenge, afraid of failure? This is the tree never blown by the wind; how can the roots of faith grow? Or, like St. Jane, have we been too hard on ourselves, failing to forgive ourselves for being less than perfect? This is the tree that doesn’t bend in the wind; it breaks. Rather, let us seek that virtuous middle ground through the prayer, endurance, and patience shown by St. Jane Frances, and ask God to help us, too, to bend in the winds of life, not only that we don’t break, but that our faith is strengthened for whatever challenges lie ahead.

    —

  • When the Going Gets Tough

    When the Going Gets Tough

    Wednesday of the 18th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 31:1-7; Matthew 15:21-28

    Today’s readings are a reminder that throughout salvation history, there have been times when the going has gotten tough. Consider the Israelites to whom Jeremiah was sent: Their world crumbling around them, dark times were getting darker. Didn’t God see this? Couldn’t He hear their prayers? Where was He? And the Canaanite woman in the gospel: Helplessly watching her child suffer, in desperation she sought out Christ, only to be turned away by the disciples and then even by Christ himself. Things don’t get much tougher than that.

    The question is, when times get tough, how do we respond? We’d like to think we wouldn’t give up hope, but that’s a tall order. Even when Jeremiah assured the people that God hadn’t forgotten them, better times were coming, and He would restore them, the frustration of waiting was too much for many, who gave up and fell away. Nevertheless, the prophet closes hopefully, speaking of a remnant, a faithful few, who would persevere. For her part, the Canaanite woman is a model of perseverance, showing dramatically the extent to which true love is willing to go. What parent cannot sympathize? With her child suffering, no disciple, no apostle, no man, nothing and no one could keep her from Christ. Not only that, even when Christ himself challenged her by using her as an example in a parable, she refused to give up, even if that meant doing what no one else ever did in all the gospels: re-write the ending to one of his parables to make herself – and her daughter – the winner.

    Remember the old saying: “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” Well, that’s clearly what God wants, for He abundantly rewards it. As we hear in Jeremiah tomorrow, He will promise a new Covenant with His people, one written not on stone but in our hearts. And in the gospel, our Lord’s reply, O woman, great is your faith, and his healing of the woman’s daughter, shows that when he is approached in patient yet persistent prayer, his response is absolute delight.

    So, today and every day, let God delight in us. Let us be that remnant – resilient, our eyes fixed on Him who will deliver us – and the faithful one who perseveres patiently in prayer, all for the sake of the same love Almighty God has for each one of us.

    —

  • Truth or Consequences

    Truth or Consequences

    Saturday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 26:11-16, 24; Matthew 14:1-12

    Long ago, in a parish far, far away, I attended a meeting between some parishioners and our pastor. I don’t recall the circumstances, but there was some dispute between him and them. During the meeting, Father said, “I’m sorry you don’t like what I had to say, but first, stop and ask yourself if what I said is true. Maybe I could have said it more nicely, but the real question is: Even though you don’t like it, is it the truth?”

    I thought about that while reading today’s Scriptures. The prophet’s job was not to be nice, but to speak the truth to whomever God wanted, whether they wanted to hear it or not. Sometimes it was soft and comforting; others, hard and unsettling. Either way, it wasn’t the prophet’s word, it was God’s – the plain, unvarnished truth – and meant to be taken as such.

    As the readings show, the stakes for the prophet were the highest possible – his life – and that depended on the reaction of his judges. Jeremiah was spared because the people took their time and debated his case in light of previous prophets. John was not so lucky; his judge was Herod. As Matthew depicted him, we see how ignorance, lust for power, and pride blinded him to justice.

    First, he tells us that Herod knew nothing about Jesus and didn’t care to learn. We know many things about him, but are we ever tempted to think we’ve learned enough, or to avoid learning things that challenge us to change our life? Remember, one of the spiritual works of mercy is to instruct the ignorant, and that includes ourselves; we are obliged to learn whatever we can about the faith, for Christ has entrusted it to us to live and bring to the world. How can we do that if we don’t know it?

    Second, Matthew says that Herod feared not John but the people. As a tetrarch (“fourth-of-a-king”), he had little power compared to real kings like his father, and was desperate to hold onto what little he had. As for us, what are we desperate to hold onto? Maybe we’ve given everything to Christ except that one little thing, that one part of us, we dearly want to keep for ourselves. Committing to Christ means letting go of our desire for control and submitting entirely to him, as he committed himself entirely to us.

    Third, human pride. Herod may have felt some distress at the idea of killing John, but that didn’t outweigh the distress of losing face to his guests. We haven’t killed people to preserve our pride, but maybe we have hurt someone’s reputation to save our own, or wounded others who have injured our pride. What can counteract this but the humility of Christ, who came to serve and not be served?

    The readings today are a call to look for any trace of these warning signs lurking within us when our Lord challenges us to listen and respond to his Word. It is a daily battle, so let us pray for the strength to continue learning as much as we can about Christ and his Church, to let go of every attachment that keeps us from giving ourselves totally to him, and for the humility, not only to see the truth about ourselves, but to love it, for truth isn’t a thing, it’s a person – Jesus Christ.

    —