Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • 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.

    —

  • The Grander Plan

    The Grander Plan

    The Thursday after Ash Wednesday

    Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 1:1-2, 3, 4, 6; Matthew 4:17; Luke 9:22-25

    A psychiatrist found that some of his patients, people who seemed to have everything, were deeply unhappy. While each of them had successful careers, they had not chosen them because they loved the work, but because they thought the money would make them happy. Only later in life did they find what truly made them happy; unfortunately, by then they had obligations that required them to keep the job, whether they liked it or not. As part of their treatment, the psychiatrist encouraged each of them to spend a little time, just 30 minutes a week at first, doing what made them happy, and, while they were doing it, to seriously consider the idea that there was a grander plan for their lives, that they came from something bigger than themselves.

    Not bad advice, and not very different from what we hear in the readings. As we come upon Moses, he is nearing the end of his life. Looking out upon the Promised Land he’s forbidden to enter, and knowing that Israel will soon go on without him, he speaks the last words he will ever say to them, the thing closest to his heart, the grander plan God has in mind: I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live, by loving the LORD, your God, heeding his voice, and holding fast to him (Deuteronomy 30:15-20).

    This is the plan he knows is happiness: to heed the voice of God, to hold fast to Him. But the choice is theirs, and I’m sure Moses knew it was one they’d too often not make; and indeed, the history of Israel would be littered with choices they thought would make them happy, but left them miserable instead.

    The start of the Lenten season is the perfect time for us to ask ourselves how different we are from them. Do we heed the voice of God? Do we hold fast to him? If we wonder how to do that, the psalmist tells us: By delighting in the law of the Lord, by meditating on it. That makes sense; when we love someone, we delight in spending as much time as we can with them; we want to know them as well as possible, and we want them to know us. That leads us to prayer, in which we speak to God, but it also means taking time to listen when God answers us, which he does every time we hear or read Scripture.

    Sometimes, the answer is what we may not want to hear. Today is a good example, as our Lord speaks about self-denial and taking up our cross every day. Meditating on that, the question he wants us to ask ourselves begins to emerge: Do I sometimes take up only those parts of the cross that I want to take up? Do I choose my own plan – more of what I want – and less of what God has in mind for me?

    Facing the truth can be very uncomfortable, but it is also very consoling, and it is always salvation. For the truth is Christ, and Christ is constantly calling us as the gospel acclamation says: to repent, to change our minds. If we think in terms of having to make huge changes in our lives, that can be frightening, but remember what the psychiatrist advised his patients: Baby steps. So, this Lent, take just a little extra time with Christ to let him reveal, however he chooses, the grander plan for your life; to remind you that you come from something bigger than yourself. The psychiatrist didn’t name that grander plan; perhaps he didn’t know it, but we do – it is the Kingdom of heaven, and that something bigger, the grace we need to carry our cross every day, and follow Christ all the way to Calvary, the tomb, and the eternal glory that lies beyond.

    —

  • Us Vs. Them

    Us Vs. Them

    Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 12:26-32; 13:33-34; Mark 8:1-10

    A team of social scientists enlisted some preteen boys to help them with an experiment. With their parents’ permission, the kids spent several days at a summer camp. Each boy was assigned to one of two groups. For awhile, the groups stayed separate so the boys could get to know each other. When the groups finally met, an “us vs. them” mentality quickly emerged and eventually led to hostility. Because the scientists’ real purpose was to see how such groups might be brought together, they tried some joint activities like movie nights. These failed; if anything, the groups grew even further apart. Finally, the scientists faked what looked to the boys like a real emergency: the camp’s water supply had “somehow” been cut off. As the team predicted, when the groups got together and worked to fix the problem, hostility greatly decreased; they became much friendlier to each other.

    Of course, the “us vs. them” mentality is nothing new. We see it in the first reading. One group, the 10 tribes under Jeroboam, want things one way; the other group, the tribes of Benjamin and Judah, another. Both want to worship God, but sadly, hostility breaks out over how and where to do that. In Jeroboam’s case, this spells disaster; his house was cut off and destroyed from the earth (1 Kings 13:34). The tribes under him fare little better; they are conquered and absorbed into the surrounding Gentile peoples.

    It is in Gentile territory that Mark now tells of a “great crowd” that has come to hear Jesus. Descendants of the struggle for power over the centuries, they are of two groups: some Jews, but mostly Gentiles. In the area of the Decapolis, where Jesus now is, these two groups live and work near each other, but remain pretty much separate, and, at times, hostile. Nevertheless, here they are, shoulder to shoulder, listening to Jesus.

    And listening for three days! We don’t know what he said, but whatever it was, it held them fast. He sees how hungry they are, and that they can’t go on without food, so, as he did in Jewish territory, he now does in Gentile territory. Since this is the second time Jesus has fed a multitude with a few loaves and fish, we might ask why the disciples didn’t know what he was going to do, but I think the focus is better put on who he was doing it for: Gentiles. Two hostile groups – Jew and Gentile – two miraculous feedings. Perhaps Jesus is showing both groups, through his word and bread, that they have a common problem, far greater than any group allegiance – hunger – and that he and only he is the solution. Jesus has come not only to feed people of every group, but to unite them to himself, and, in so doing, to each other. One bread, one body.

    What was true then is true now. Like people of every age, we have ample opportunity to see ourselves as “us vs. them.” We in the Church are “us,” the rest of the world, “them.” Or, we could divide by finer lines: Catholic vs. Protestant; this kind of Catholic vs. another; this ministry vs. another; this clergy vs. another; this person vs. another. Where does that get us? Where it has always gotten us… little more than Jeroboam.

    Rather, let us remember the miraculous feedings done by Jesus. He and he alone is the food that satisfies the deepest hunger of every human being who has ever lived. The Blessed Sacrament we are preparing to receive is called the Sacrament of Unity for that reason. In Christ, there is no “them.” There is only “us.”

    ——-

  • What Comes From the Heart

    What Comes From the Heart

    Wednesday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 10:1-10; Mark 7:14-23

    In today’s first reading, we see Israel under Solomon prospering as it never has before, and may never again. The great king’s wisdom, the food, his ministers, the burnt offerings, all the way down to how the servants and waiters were dressed, so impressed the visiting Queen of Sheba that she was left breathless. Still, when she found herself able to speak, to Whom did she give the highest praise? Almighty God: Blessed be the LORD, your God, whom it has pleased to place you on the throne of Israel. In his enduring love for Israel, the LORD has made you king to carry out judgment and justice (1 Kings 10:9). That’s true wisdom; she looked at them and saw God.

    This reading is an excellent corrective for anyone who thinks they cannot bring people to Christ because that means dazzling them with our knowledge, inspiring them with our wisdom, or overwhelming them with the beauty, majesty, and riches of the Church. It doesn’t. Not that those things aren’t important, they are; God wants us to grow in knowledge of Him, longs to share His infinite wisdom with us, and is happy when we take pride in the glory and splendor of His holy Church. But, as Christ said in the gospel, what matters most isn’t what goes in the mind, but what comes from the heart.

    As I’ve said before, the greatest evangelizers in my life are people who have never spoken to me about theology, never tried to impress me with their wisdom, and never given me history lessons about Christ or His Church. Not that they couldn’t; at least one of them knows it all much better than I do! Rather, what has spoken volumes and ignited my faith is what has come from their hearts; Christ is so integrated into who they are and how they live that you can’t see the one without the other. These are men and women who have taught me, without knowing it, that my faith didn’t come from them; it came from God working through them, and, to mean anything, has to be lived in the world, and not just talked about. Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best, and may it be said of all Christians: “Your actions speak so loudly, I can not hear what you are saying.”

  • Sheep and Shepherds

    Sheep and Shepherds

    Saturday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 3:4-13; Psalm 119:9-14; Mark 6:30-34

    I don’t know about you, but when I’ve worked really hard for a long time and someone invites me to get some rest, I don’t imagine going somewhere and working; I imagine resting. In today’s gospel, the Apostles have just returned after being sent out by Jesus to preach and heal in his name. He then invites them to go off with him to a deserted place and rest a while. So, they head out. We don’t know where they’re going, but if I was one of them, I’d be picturing green, rolling hills, shade, a little food, and some water nearby. What I would not be picturing is what actually happened: That so-called “deserted place” packed with as many people as we just left behind, if not more, and me having to help deal with all of them. Is this the rest Jesus had in mind?

    Yes, it is, and the degree to which I do not understand that is the degree to which I’m not seeing discipleship the way our Lord wants me to. But what is he looking for?

    I think part of the answer lies in king Solomon. What was it about him that prompted God to invite him the way He never invited anyone: “Ask something of me and I will give it to you” (1 Kings 3:5)? Generosity, for one thing; this was the king who, acting as priest, sacrificed a thousand burnt offerings to God. Thankfulness, for another; Solomon was grateful to God for the great favor shown to David his father, and to himself. But perhaps above all, it was his humility; though king, Solomon knew that he was God’s servant first. This is what motivated him to ask for the understanding heart that would help him serve God’s people best.

    We find another part of the answer in the selections from Psalm 119. What is Christ looking for in us? A teachable spirit; a person who not only wants to learn the word of God, but actually hungers to learn it; who, receiving it, treasures it; and is willing not only to speak it, but to go out and live it.

    If we keep these gifts in mind, the rest that Jesus was thinking about comes more clearly into view. As the disciples left the boat, perhaps they were tempted to see what they did not want to see: A beautiful getaway ruined by a crowd of needy people. Perhaps that comes to our mind, too. But that is not the mind of Christ. To him, needy people aren’t an inconvenience, they’re sheep without a shepherd; they are his flock, and they are hungry. What else would he do but feed them? First, as Mark says, he did so with his word, by teaching them (Mark 6:34). Yet, as satisfying as that was, consider how he fed them next: After having them recline on the grass, he took five loaves and two fish, blessed, broke, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people. All ate their fill, yet a dozen baskets remained (Mark 6:35-44). Suddenly, this scene – green grass, people reclining, water nearby, Jesus teaching, and food overflowing – echoes the psalm of David: The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want; he makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul… You prepare a table before me…You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows (Psalm 23:1-3a, 5). And it foresees the Mass: The altar of sacrifice, the table; we, anointed with oil at our baptism; fed by Christ in word and Sacrament; grace overflows.

    What may have looked to us like a getaway ruined is in reality a perfect fulfillment of Scripture, a perfect foretaste of the Eucharist, and a perfect rest. We should ask ourselves where and how God is challenging us to see more deeply into what look a lot to us like inconveniences in our own lives.

    This is how Christ wants us to see discipleship, for we are both sheep and shepherds. Let us pray that, as shepherds in imitation of him, we tend his lambs generously through the many works of mercy, and feed them always with Christ in word and Sacrament. And let us also pray that, as the sheep of his flock, our Lord will continue to cultivate within us the teachable spirit that hungers only for Him, that treasures every lesson He has to teach, that is fed by Him in word and Sacrament, and that becomes a better shepherd for being a better sheep.

  • The Doctor Is In

    The Doctor Is In

    Sunday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time (B)

    Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalm 95:8-9; 1 Corinthians 7:32-35; Mark 1:21-28

    Several years ago, I noticed I was tiring easily and my jaw hurt when I exercised. My wife, an ICU nurse for many years, advised me to take a stress test. I knew why; I have a strong family history of heart disease. But I’d seen a doctor 25 years before, got prescriptions, changed my diet, and exercised. OK, so I forgot the meds now and then, ate some unhealthy stuff, and exercised less. Still, I wasn’t that bad. So, I ignored her advice. When I didn’t improve, she ignored me, and scheduled me for a stress test. Annoyed, I went, just to prove her wrong. The results shocked me; the doctor said I was 95% blocked and needed open-heart surgery immediately. Later, the surgeon said that if I hadn’t had the surgery, I would have died any time over the next several months.

    What does this have to do with the readings? Well, let’s recap what we heard. First, Moses told the people that a prophet like him would come and speak with the authority given by God, and they were to listen. Then, the psalmist urged them not to harden their hearts (close their minds) when they heard him. Next, St. Paul spoke of anxiety, worldly and spiritual, and how easily we get distracted from what matters. Finally, Mark told us that Jesus taught with an authority unlike anything the people heard before. What our translation glosses over, but Mark is clear about in the original language, is that the people were disturbed by his words, while the demon hid his fear behind defiance.

    All this raises some challenging questions. Ask yourself: Do I ever refuse to listen to the word of God, despite its authority? When my conscience bothers me, do I ever close my mind by ignoring it or giving in to some distraction? Do I ever feel that worldly anxiety St. Paul talks about? Do I ever grow defiant and want God to just leave me alone?

    Answering these questions is like taking a spiritual stress test, and we may not want to do it, but it’s important that we do, because sin is like spiritual heart disease. We know about our “family history” of sin, and that God offers us many graces to protect against it. But we also know that, as the struggles of daily life wear on us year after year, we can get distracted and grow lax in our practice. Unfortunately, like heart disease, sin is a patient, silent killer; it takes whatever we give it, and its effects build up over time. There are symptoms, like refusing to challenge ourselves or grow in our faith, dulling our conscience, preferring worldly concerns over spiritual ones, and so on, but they’re easy to deny, ignore, or explain away. Again though, like heart disease, that comes at a cost; it can get to the point where sin has cut us off completely from the grace of God.

    Still, diagnosis is one thing, treatment another. The authority for our body is a doctor; for our soul, Christ, the Divine Physician. There’s an old saying that the Church isn’t a shrine for saints, it’s a hospital for sinners; well, here we are, and the doctor is in. His treatment is simple: Meet regularly with him through his assigned specialist in the Confessional, keep to the diet of spiritual reading and Holy Communion, consult Him daily in prayer, practice works of mercy, and continue to examine our conscience. That is putting into action the listening God asked through Moses, the openness the psalmist prayed for, and the adherence to the things of the Lord that St. Paul urged us to have.

    I said the treatment was simple, I didn’t say easy. We know what we have to do; the key is our resolve. I said earlier that as life goes on, we’re tempted to grow lax. What will be different this time? Two things: First, knowing that Christ is with us every step, through the grace of the sacraments, prayer, and contemplation. As the gospel showed us, his grace is more than sufficient to deal with any of our demons. Second, knowing that everything God does is done out of his infinite love for us, and that sometimes, love has to be painful. Parents know that; for love of their children, they sometimes have to say things kids don’t want to hear. If that’s true, how much more so for our Heavenly Father! Every prophet He sent did it; Christ did it. We might wish he didn’t love us so much while we’re going through it, but remember, what matters is the results, how much better we are in the end. I never got so many compliments as when I came back from my surgery. People would stop me after Mass and say, “Deacon, what did you do? You don’t look nearly as gray as you used to!” Similarly, we know we’re on the right track when someone looks at us and says, “What is it about them? What do they have that I don’t? Whatever it is, I want it!” It’s that joy, that freedom that comes with the chains of sin being broken off of us.

    While recovering in the hospital, a woman who had the same surgery years earlier used to come and help me walk the floor. She once told me, “Remember, you will always be a heart patient.” That’s true. I have to stick with the treatment; there is no cure for heart disease. Here, though, the analogy between heart disease and sin breaks down, for even though we will always be sinners, if we stick with the treatment, there is a cure for death: Christ.