Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • The Language of Love

    The Language of Love

    Pentecost Sunday

    Acts 2:1-11; Galatians 5:16-25; John 20:19-23

    From the time they were little, all of our kids loved to read; all, that is, except one. No matter what I did, I could not get this kid interested in books. When he was about 5, I got an idea: Poetry. I sat him on my lap, took out a poetry book the other kids loved at his age, found one of our favorites, and began to read. About halfway through it, he turned, looked up, and kept his eyes fixed on me until the poem was over. As he got down, I asked him, “So, what did you think?” He glanced at me and said, “You’ve got hair growing in your nose.”

    He isn’t the first person to focus on the medium rather than the message. It’s easy to do, especially when we find the medium so intriguing. The Holy Spirit is a good example. Despite (or maybe because of) a wealth of biblical imagery – a dove, fire, wind, breath, a mysterious Advocate or Counselor – He’s hard to picture. So, let’s focus on what these images are trying to tell us about the Holy Spirit.

    First, breath. Throughout Scripture, breath and spirit are the same word in the original language. For example, in Genesis we read that God blew into the first man the breath (or “spirit”) of life (2:7). The risen Christ did something very similar; after showing the Apostles his hands and side – the price of our salvation – he breathed the Holy Spirit on them and empowered them to retain or forgive sins. Through their ministry, the Holy Spirit breathes new life into every soul dead in sin, granting us pardon and peace.

    Peace brings us to the dove, its ancient symbol. When Jesus bid peace to the Apostles, the greeting he used, shalom, meant a lot more than the absence of conflict; it implied wholeness, tranquility, harmony with other people, and with God. In the same way, the peace given by the Holy Spirit is a lot more than the passing feeling we get after confession; rather, it is an enduring, stable state of tranquility, listed by St. Paul as one of the nine “fruits” of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23).

    They’re called fruits for two reasons. First, they’re tangible evidence that the Holy Spirit is at work within us. For example, if I have Spirit’s gift of peace, I and those around me should be able to see that I am more at peace, in all ways, than I was before. Second, like fruit growing in nature, gifts like peace don’t develop overnight; they take real effort, and a long time to cultivate and ripen. It’s good to ask the Holy Spirit in His role as Counselor to help us to take a good look at ourselves to see which fruits of the Spirit seem to be growing, and which require more work.

    Finally, as the first reading reminded us, the Holy Spirit is also associated with wind and tongues of fire. When He fell on the Apostles, they spoke (or were heard) in the languages of their hearers. This type of gift is known as a charism, or grace given to us by the Holy Spirit for the benefit of others. There are many charisms, some intended for instruction, others for administration, still others for miracles, service, or prayer. Regardless, charisms are another way the Spirit works through us to build up the Body of Christ, the Church.

    Through us, that’s the key. The Holy Spirit only works through us if we let Him, so now is a good time to think about what charisms He’s given you and challenge yourself to use them. Maybe you’re good with people; if so, you’d be a natural in many places in the Church; the Food Pantry, working with the elderly or with kids. Maybe you’re good at explaining things; help as a teacher or catechist. Maybe you’re very organized or a good planner; the Church is always looking for you. Maybe you’re none of those things, but you are a good listener, or love to pray, or a great caregiver, or any of a thousand other things. The point is, be still, pray, and let the Holy Spirit remind you of the things you’re good at; then, cooperate with those graces to bring yourself and those around you closer to God and to each other.

    Although the Church sets aside this one day to celebrate Pentecost, every day is its own Pentecost. The Holy Spirit speaks all the time, to everyone. We may not feel the breath of Christ, but through the power of the Spirit we have the forgiveness of sins; we may not see doves, but we’ve been given peace and the other fruits of the Spirit; we may not see tongues of fire, or hear noises like driving winds, but we have the gospel proclaimed in language we can understand. The question is, are we listening? As St. John of the Cross once said, “What we need most in order to make progress is to be silent before this great God…, for the language he best hears is silent love.” And that is what the Holy Spirit speaks: the language of love.

    —

  • Let It Out

    Let It Out

    Saturday of the 7th Week of Easter

    Acts 28:16-20; 30-31; John 21:20-25

    In 1955, Bishop Kung, the Bishop of Shanghai, was arrested while publicly praying the rosary. Months later, he was taken to a stadium in Shanghai, where thousands were forcibly gathered to hear him confess his crimes. In prison garb, his hands tied behind his back, and pushed to the microphone, the bishop said, ‘Long live Christ the King. Long live the Pope.’ The crowd roared back, ‘Long live Christ the King! Long live Bishop Kung!’ Quickly taken away, the bishop was sentenced to life imprisonment in 1960, and spent 30 more years in mostly solitary confinement.1 At the age of 87, he was released, came to the United States, and lived here until he died at age 98. When Pope John Paul II, who secretly made Kung a cardinal years before, made it official, he said, “I felt that the whole Church could not but honor a man who has given witness by word and deed, through long suffering and trials, to what constitutes the essence of life in the Church: participation in the divine life through the apostolic faith and evangelical love.”

    As with St. Paul at the end of Acts, the story of Cardinal Kung shows that, no matter the time, place, or what is done to the Church or her ministers, the word of God cannot be chained. It is the truth, and, as St. Augustine once said, the truth is like a lion; let it out, and it will defend itself.

    But that can be precisely the problem – letting it out. Like St. Peter in the gospel, we get distracted. Sometimes, it comes in the form of doubts or anxieties; we fear failure, doubt our ability, or worry what others will think. Other times, we get caught up in the comforts of life and put more of our time and energy into those. Either way, the result is the same: we take our eyes off of Christ.

    Let us rather resolve to continue doing what St. Paul, St. Peter, and Cardinal Kung ultimately did with their lives: Witness Christ by word and deed. We may fail, make mistakes, or lose some friends. We might even lose out on some of the comforts the world has to offer. But, to re-iterate what Holy Father St. John Paul II said, this is the essence of life in the Church, and despite whatever we risk losing now, the reward in Heaven is infinitely greater.

    1http://www.cardinalkungfoundation.org/ck/CKlife.php

    —

  • Our Mutual Friend

    Our Mutual Friend

    Monday of the 6th Week of Easter

    Acts 16:11-15; John 15:26-16:4a

    In Seneca Falls, New York, in 1851, a young woman named Elizabeth went out for a walk, possibly to blow off some steam. She had just been denied a seat at an anti-slavery convention because she was a woman. During her walk, she came upon a friend out walking with her friend Susan, who was in town to attend a temperance meeting. The two strangers, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, struck up a life-long friendship which led to great civil rights advances, such as the right of women to vote and to own property. And all because of a chance encounter on a street corner!

    In the first reading, we hear of another encounter, this one by a river near Philippi. Paul and his companions, looking for a place to pray, came upon Lydia and her friends who had gathered there. We don’t know much about her, but it’s not hard to see that Lydia was devout, spiritually hungry, and open to the gospel; soon, she and her household became Paul’s first converts in Europe. Not only that, she opened her home to the grateful missionaries. We can’t know, but it may be that when Paul wrote his letter to the Philippians years later, he fondly remembered that chance encounter with Lydia.

    I shouldn’t say “chance.” Scripture is clear that God was behind it all along. The whole reason Paul was there was because the Spirit twice prevented him from going anywhere else, then explicitly told him to go to Macedonia (Acts 16:1-10). Of course, the Holy Spirit was still there, leading the mission, and in that meeting by the river, Paul did exactly what Jesus said to do in the gospel: he testified to him (John 15:26).

    Every Mass we attend is a meeting by the river; not the one near Philippi, but the Living Water of Christ. Here, he testifies to us in Word and Body; here, the Holy Spirit leads us into all truth. The question is, do we remain as devout, hungry, and open to the gospel as Lydia was? It’s hard enough to keep our hearts open to its challenges, but what about our church home? So often we have strangers among us, especially on Sunday. These are no chance encounters. How are we keeping our hearts and parish home open to them?

    Equally important, God sends us out from this home and into the mission fields of our own homes, neighborhoods, and communities. That makes every meeting with every person outside these walls no chance encounter, either. How are we testifying to Christ? Can those who meet us or come by our homes tell that we are his followers – not by the number of religious things we own or talk about, but by the way they are treated?

    Let us remember today and every day that in reality there are no strangers, only friends we have yet to meet through our mutual friend, the Holy Spirit.

  • WWJD?

    WWJD?

    Thursday of the 5th Week of Easter

    Acts 15:7-21; John 15:9-11

    You may remember that, years ago, there was a lot of merchandise around with WWJD? imprinted on it. Christian commentators look back on that as a fad that went the way of the dinosaur, but, in my opinion, it’s always good to contemplate what Jesus would do about so many of the things we debate about in our time.

    I thought of that while reading today’s passage from the Acts of the Apostles. The influx of gentiles into Christianity had stirred up a good deal of debate. It’s not hard to see why; up to that point, the faith had been dominated by Jews. Now, as they were quickly becoming the minority, at least some Christian Jews began pushing for gentile converts to follow Mosaic Law. Luke keeps it simple; he doesn’t give us the debate, just the aftermath. What strikes me is that, although Peter, Paul, Barnabas, and James all say what they think should be done, none of them talks about what Jesus would say or do.

    Luke might have left out the details of the debate because the side that lost argued that they knew what Jesus would do: agree with them. It makes some sense; after all, Jesus himself followed the Law. In fact, it was he who said, Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill (Matthew 5:18).

    Nevertheless, the side represented by Peter and James carried the day because they understood that the real issue was not about what Jesus would do, but about what he had already done. First, he set the example. He taught, healed, and made disciples among both Jews and gentiles. Then, he sent the Apostles from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8). Clearly, Jesus intended that they see to it that both Jews and gentiles were welcome in his Church.

    The Apostles could only do that if they used what our Lord gave them, and in today’s readings, we see two things. First is the commandment to remain in his love, which means to strive for that same “oneness” that Jesus and his Father enjoy. The Apostles did understand this. The book of Acts, the letters of Paul, and those of John spend a lot of time talking about unity and the importance of preserving it. That principle of oneness was uppermost in their minds during the debate, and we see it in their decision.

    The second thing Jesus gave them was the greatest gift of all: the Holy Spirit. The book of Acts really is the book of the Holy Spirit; no matter where the Apostles go or what they do, the Spirit is constantly guiding them, helping them, and giving them courage, insight, and inspiration. Without Him, they can do nothing; with Him, they can do anything.

    As always, what applied to the Apostles applies equally to us. If history shows us anything, it’s that there will always be problems and debates within the Church. We have them among ourselves in every parish! But, we also have the commandment to remain in his love – to preserve the unity Jesus prayed for (John 17:21-23). Doing that means, for example, having the humility to listen to those who disagree with us, not to show them where they’re wrong, but to show ourselves where they might be right. And, we also have the Holy Spirit, who teaches us that true love is not about what’s best for me, but what’s best for us. Even if our solutions aren’t pleasing to everyone (or anyone), if they are done in and with the Holy Spirit, they will please our heavenly Father.

    We all know, even without a bracelet, that is definitely what Jesus would do.

    —

  • Parts of the Bigger Picture

    Parts of the Bigger Picture

    Sunday of the 5th Sunday of Easter

    Acts 9:26-31; 1 John 3:18-24; John 15:1-8

    There is an art technique called pointillism, which works pretty much as the name implies: Tiny dots of color are applied to a canvas, one by one. Up close, all you see are the dots. However, as you move away, the dots blend together to form the image the artist had in mind.

    It might seem like God uses that same technique to communicate with us. Think of the bible: Every part of every story is like a dot on the canvas; if we focus on the dots, we can’t see the big picture. Only when we step back and allow them to blend does the story of Christ begin to emerge. It’s like that for the daily readings, too. For example, today we see Barnabas managing the entry of Paul into the Church, John writing about love, and Jesus speaking of a vine and branches. While there’s great depth and beauty to each reading when considered by itself, if we step back and look at the big picture, does an overall theme emerge?

    Yes, and I think a visual aid might help.

    Above is a photo of the stained glass window near the sacristy. The next image is another representation of it. In either, you might be able to see some fairly abstract images; a person embracing God in the center, the cross of Christ next to that, and, on both sides, people interacting in various ways. All of that speaks to the theme of today’s readings – relationships – both God’s relationship with us, and our relationships with each other.

    But to explore that theme in greater detail, we have to look at the picture up close. When you do, you will see that it’s not a single image at all, but hundreds of tiny images of our parishioners taken years ago, each image tinted to match the colors of the original window:

    Thus, art helps us see the spiritual reality that the Church is not an abstraction, but is made up of real people in relationship with God and each other.

    With that image as context, three aspects of relationships in the Church emerge in the readings:

    1. Togetherness. Christianity isn’t something we do alone. We’re “in it” together. In fact, we need each other. As we heard in the first reading, even St. Paul couldn’t go it alone. There was no way he was going to just walk into Jerusalem and be welcomed by people he had tried to imprison. Not only that, he apparently irritated some people so much they wanted to kill him! Clearly, Paul had relationship problems and needed help; someone like Barnabas, whose “people skills” found a way to bring Paul in, yet keep everyone united. And look at the result! Where would the Church be without St. Paul, or St. Paul without St. Barnabas? The question for us is, for whom are we Barnabas? Who among us needs encouragement or support, and how can we provide it?
    2. Belonging. These images represent people who want to belong to God and to each other. They know, as John implied in the second reading, that the only true basis for our relationships is love that is put into action, not love that is merely talked about. Again, the question for us is, how am I putting my love for God and other people into action, or do I tend to talk about it more than actually do it?
    3. Openness. These images also represent people who, like every member of the Church, have endured their share of suffering and sorrow, yet have borne fruit. We can only do that if, as Christ says in the gospel, we remain in him; in other words, if we keep our will united to his, despite whatever setbacks we experience. That may well be the hardest challenge of all – to look inside ourselves and ask if we remain open to the will of God, even when the answer to our prayers isn’t what we wanted.

    In a recent homily, I said that Catholicism is not what we do, it’s who we are. I think this picture, in light of today’s readings, says something very similar: Church is not a place we go, it too is who we are. With that in mind, let’s allow this image of the Church to remind us that, as members of Christ’s Body, we are bound together by his love, no matter where we go; that, no matter how badly we have fallen or been rejected by the world, we always have a place to go and a Father who loves and wants us; and that, no matter how much we suffer or struggle in this life, there is infinitely greater joy in the eternal life that awaits.

    —

  • Who Are You?

    Who Are You?

    The Third Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

    Acts 3:13-15, 17-19; 1 John 2:1-5a; Luke 24:35-48

    We’ve all heard that as people age, they sometimes go through a “crisis,” like a mid-life or identity crisis. I recently heard of a “later-life” crisis, which I’m personally hoping to avoid. But my guess is that few people go through what I call a “being Catholic” crisis, although I did, and my hope is that it becomes more common. Let me explain why.

    As a young man, I went to Mass every Sunday, sang in the choir, and made friends at the parish. I met my future wife there, got married there, had the kids baptized, made sure they got all their sacraments, and that we all went to church every Sunday. I assumed I was being a good Catholic, because that’s what good Catholics do, isn’t it?

    But over time, I began to feel that Catholic crisis coming on. The kids were asking me basic faith questions I couldn’t answer; some of them very important. More deeply, as I looked inside, I saw a hypocrite; a man who was doing and saying all the right things on Sunday morning, but the rest of the time being the same worldly guy he’d always been. I also looked around the neighborhood, at some people I knew from church, and saw them living the faith openly; it didn’t matter what day it was, who they were with or where they were. One woman in particular was so genuine, so warm, so Christ-like, that she made me hunger in a way I never had before. I remember looking at her and thinking, “Sister, I want whatever it is you’ve got.”

    That hunger prompted me to begin re-learning the faith, starting with why we do what we do. Slowly but surely, as more and more sank in, it became clear to me that for my entire life up to that moment, I had no idea what it meant to be a Catholic. I thought Catholicism was mostly about what we do, but no; it’s much more about who we are.

    That’s not to say that what we do is unimportant. It is! The grace of the sacraments is vital; life-changing, even. But it’s not magic; there are rules. One, for example, is that we only get what we’re ready to receive. If all we do is show up and go through the motions, why should we expect a change? But, if we understand the power of grace, how and why it works, and open ourselves up to it, then it begins to transform us into who Christ calls us to be – who he called the Apostles to be – his witnesses to the world.

    When it comes down to it, we’re not so different from them. Consider all the time they spent with our Lord during his ministry: Everything they heard him say, the wonders they saw him do. They weren’t going through the motions like I was, but, like me, they had no idea what it really meant to follow Christ. When his passion began and the pressure was on, how did they witness their faith? Think of Peter, who told Jesus he was willing to go to prison and die with him; imagine that moment when, after his third denial, the cock crowed and, from across the high priest’s courtyard, Jesus turned and looked at him. This was Peter’s moment to realize at the deepest level that following Jesus was not about what he did, but who he was, and, at that moment, he must have felt like he too was nothing but a hypocrite. No wonder he wept.

    Of course, that isn’t the end of the story. In those tears came the repentance that Peter himself preached in the first reading, and that his fellow Apostle John spoke of in the second. Our transformation, becoming more of who we really are, happens every time we confess our sins and receive the absolution that our Advocate, Jesus Christ, died to give the world. Many, if not all of us, know very well how it feels to hear those words, “I absolve you from your sins…” No wonder we sometimes weep.

    There, in the sacraments, is where we meet Christ and find our true identity. That’s where the two disciples met him just before today’s Gospel passage, and what happened to them? Their hearts burned so strongly that they couldn’t wait; they had to go back to Jerusalem at night to tell the disciples. That’s the first thing sacramental grace does; it empowers us to make our way through the darkness of the world, or of our own inner crises, and find the peace that only the light of Christ can give. But the second thing is no less important. Through grace, Christ shows us who we really are: Beloved disciples given gifts that we in turn must share with the world in every way we can. This is what it means to be Catholic; to use every grace given to us, sacramental and otherwise, to become who we are so genuinely and so completely, that people will look at us, hunger for Christ, and say, “I want whatever it is you’ve got.”

    —

  • True Peace

    True Peace

    Saturday of the 5th Week of Lent

    Ezekiel 37:21-28; Jeremiah 31:10, 11-12abcd, 13; John 11:45-56

    In one way or another, today’s Scriptures all conjure up images of peace. Ezekiel, speaking to the anxious, exiled Jews in Babylon, prophesies a covenant of peace, with God Himself dwelling among them. Jeremiah paints a picture of peace: A flock guarded by a divine Shepherd; united, redeemed, and blessed, their mourning turned to joy. John speaks perhaps the most directly and profoundly of peace, but his use is intentionally ironic; there, the high priest speaks of peace in terms of avoiding Roman hostility, using that as his excuse to justify putting Jesus to a violent death.

    Of course, true peace is much more than a lack of violence. For that matter, it isn’t something we human beings can bring about. We can talk of making peace, or finding peace, but true peace is a divine gift, graciously bestowed on us by Christ, as he said at the Last Supper in this same gospel, Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you (John 14:27). This is the peace that can withstand any adversity, keeps us grounded and centered on God and what is most important in life, and brings us to the unity with each other and with God that the prophets Ezekiel and Jeremiah spoke of.

    The passion of our Lord, which we contemplate again over this coming week, gives us a wonderful opportunity to see how that peace works within Jesus. No matter what storms rage around him or temptations arise to abandon his mission, notice how he remains at peace with himself, and at all times perfectly in union with the will of his Father.

    His peace is with us, too; we receive it and exchange it at every Mass. So, let us remember – now, over the coming days of Holy Week, and in the future – that from Christ alone comes the peace the world cannot give, the peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7). And may our prayer be that, no matter what storms or temptations rage in our own lives, that we keep within ourselves that same peace, bought by the redeeming blood of Christ, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

    Also at every Mass, our Lord gives us his most perfect sign of that peace: the Eucharist, the Sacrament of unity. We heard in the gospel that some of the Jews looked for Jesus and said to one another as they were in the temple area, “What do you think? That he will not come to the feast” (John 11:56)? Of course he will come to the feast. Jesus is the feast! Not only that, he dwells with us, and in his peace we are united, redeemed, and blessed with the assurance that our Good Friday mourning will soon become Easter joy.

  • The Rewards of Waiting

    The Rewards of Waiting

    Thursday of the 5th Week in Lent

    Genesis 17:3-9; John 8:51-59

    One morning at work, my computer gave me trouble. I called the help desk, described the problem, and the woman said, “OK, hold on. I’ll be right there.” I hung up and waited. That was 25 years ago. I’m retired now, but if I ever see that woman, I’m going to tell her that she and I have very different definitions of the words, “be right there.”

    I think Abram might sympathize. Scripture says he was 75 years old when God called him to be a great nation, 99 when God changed his name to Abraham, and well over 100 when Isaac was born. For thirty years, he waited. As we read the Scripture, we see that Abraham did two important things while waiting, and they’re a good lesson for us, especially those of us who have been waiting for God to answer a particular prayer.

    First, he wasn’t afraid to speak to God openly, much like a friend. In fact, the prophet Isaiah and the disciple James both call Abraham exactly that: God’s friend (Isaiah 41:8; James 2:23). He wasn’t disrespectful, but spoke honestly and from the heart, asking God when he would get a son or how he would come to possess the promised land. Far from scolding Abraham for that, God answered him. So, what about us? Do we love and approach God as our Maker and our friend, and ask Him, in all humility, for the gift of understanding that only He can give?

    Second, despite any lack of understanding he had, Abraham trusted God. We see that in his unwavering obedience. Where and when he was told to go, he went; what he was told to do, he did. No matter what, Abraham took God at His word, trusting that all would be as He promised. This is the faith that so impressed St. Paul (Romans 4:3; Galatians 3:6), who knew, like we do, how hard it can be to remain faithful when we feel like an answer is never coming, or God doesn’t care, or isn’t listening. It may well be that those most difficult times are when our trust and obedience mean the most to Him!

    And, as the gospel shows, God is never outdone in generosity. Abraham’s trust was rewarded by a lot more than the birth of Isaac or even a multitude of nations. No one knows the details, for Jesus doesn’t provide them, but when he told the Jews that their father Abraham rejoiced to see my day (John 8:56), he seems to have been referring to some mystical revelation of himself to Abraham. How glorious that must have been! Of course, the Jews couldn’t understand that, but it is perfectly in keeping with what our faith demands. After all, the same Jesus is hidden in our Tabernacle right now, ready to be revealed to us – an encounter he’s been waiting for, for 20 centuries.

    —

  • Being There

    Being There

    The 5th Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

    Jeremiah 31:31-34; Hebrews 5:7-9; John 12:20-33


    A couple of weeks ago, after I vested and came into the church for Mass, a little boy about three years old passed by. I bent down, looked at him, and said, “Hi!” He stopped, looked back at me with a big smile, and said, “Hi, Jesus!” I didn’t have the heart to break the bad news to him, but I did say, “Oh, I wish!” That came to mind when I read about the Greeks approaching Philip and saying they would like to see Jesus. I thought, “I would, too! Come to think of it, I’d like to see a lot more of him in myself!”

    In today’s gospel, Jesus tells us how to do that. First, he says that whoever serves him will follow him. So, he wants us to go where he goes – to “be there.” Where? He tells us: When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself. This is the third time in John’s gospel that Jesus has used those words, “lifted up,” and it’s pretty clear what he means; he’s talking about the cross.

    At first, you wouldn’t know it because he speaks of glory, but when he talks about wheat falling to the ground and dying, of losing our lives by loving them too much, and saving our lives by leaving things behind, Jesus means a lot more than just our being there as he suffers and dies; he means us being there, too, suffering with him, dying with him.

    It’s easy to understand why our first instinct might be to resist that. It’s like the comedian Woody Allen once said, “I’m not afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” We want the rewards that Christ’s resurrection has in store, but we don’t want to go through the suffering it takes to get there. Why should we have to “be there” for all that suffering, anyway?

    I think the best answer to that is by way of an example. God could have designed parenthood a whole different way. He could have just delivered to your door a 25 year-old; fully employed, living on their own, college-educated, perfect teeth, well-adjusted, and faithful to the Church. Think of it! No sleepless nights with sick kids, no long hours at little league practices, dance or singing lessons, no braces, no problems at school, no refereeing sibling rivalries, no frustrations, no disappointments, no failures. What could possibly be wrong with that? Well, go back to those years from pregnancy to adulthood; think of all the sacrifices you made to “be there” for them, what raising those kids ended up meaning to you and to them. You and they have hundreds if not thousands of precious, irreplaceable memories locked up in those years; in raising them day after day, year after year, good times and bad, you learned about life, about love, about people, about yourself, and about God. You have poured your life into those kids, and there is no sacrifice too great for that kind of love. Being there for them is just what you do.

    How could it be any different for God, who is love? No sacrifice is too great for His children, not even the life of His Only Son. What is the cross? It is the visible sign of the greatest invisible reality: a love worth dying for; a love His children can live for; a love that draws them all to Himself, the source of eternal salvation for them.

    This is why we are here: For the sake of that love. At every Mass, we bring all the sacrifices of our lives, every joy, every sorrow; we join them to the bread and wine brought up at the Offertory; we raise them to the Father along with the sacrifice of Christ, that the Father will take them, transubstantiate them, and then feed us with the bread of angels – the glorified body of His Only Son, who wants no more than to dwell within our hearts, that we may know him. Remember in the first reading, the heart is where the prophet told us that God would place His law, and the heart of the law is love.

    So, when we wonder how we can see Christ more clearly in ourselves, take a moment to reflect on what it means to “be there” with Christ. He always invites us to follow him, but it’s going to cost us something. We have to leave behind some things we want, take up others we don’t want, and persist despite failure. Thanks to the hope and infinite mercy of the New and eternal Covenant born of the blood of Christ, every day is a chance for a new beginning, an opportunity to start again, to keep going, or to turn around if we’re going the wrong way. The important thing is that, like him who fell three times on his way to Calvary, what matters is not that we fall, but that we get back up and keep going, all for the sake of being there with Christ – the Love that Never Dies.

    —

  • The Inner da Vinci

    The Inner da Vinci

    Saturday of the 1st Week of Lent

    Deuteronomy 26:16-19; Matthew 5:43-48

    Unlike many masters, Leonardo da Vinci finished very few paintings. You may not know it, but he was a notorious perfectionist and procrastinator. Despite working for many years on the Mona Lisa, he actually never finished it. His contemporaries said he would stare for an hour or more at one of his works in progress, add a brushstroke to it, then get distracted and forget about it. The result? A series of unfinished works, many of which could have been masterpieces, but none of which are.

    I thought about that when I heard Jesus urge his disciples to “be perfect.” It sounds like an impossible standard, especially when dealing with enemies, or people we find hard to get along with. My own attempts at trying to be perfect too often end in procrastination and perfectionism; I put it off, praying for the “perfect” time to reconcile, or until for the “perfect” words come to me. I think you can guess the rest; there never is a perfect time, I never find the perfect words, and, when the answer I’m waiting for never comes, I get distracted by other things and forget it. The result? A series of broken relationships, many of which could have been fixed, but none of which will be.

    If that doesn’t sound like what Jesus wants, that’s because it isn’t. The fact is that, when we look at the original language of the gospel, our Lord doesn’t say “be perfect,” as in right now; rather, he speaks in the future tense: “You are to be perfect,” or, “You will be perfect.” In other words, reaching perfection is a process, something we have to work toward. God knows there is no “perfect” time to begin that process, but He also knows – and uses the present tense to tell us – that there is an “acceptable” time: Now (2 Corinthians 6:2).

    It’s easy to come up with reasons why “acceptable” doesn’t seem good enough, and “now” is too soon to begin healing difficult and broken relationships, but remember, that’s our inner perfectionist and procrastinator talking. It’s true that we may not say exactly the right things, do all that we should do to heal the wounds we’ve suffered or caused, or carry our anger or resentment a little too long. But God isn’t looking for instant perfection in love, He’s looking for us to keep trying, to make the effort to grow in love, which is growth in holiness; to take another step on the road to sanctity.

    It’s like St. Josemaria Escriva once said: A saint is a sinner who keeps trying. So here, today, right now, God is asking us to seize the moment He gives us, and to keep working with the mindset Moses spoke of in the first reading – our entire heart and soul. If we do that, He has promised to be with us and give us the grace to make progress, no matter how small. That’s a lot more than our inner da Vinci has ever accomplished.

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