Mark 10:45

Category: Homily

  • Being Prophet-able

    Being Prophet-able

    Saturday of the 2nd Week of Advent

    Matthew 17:9a, 10-13

    One of the best ways to read Scripture is to put yourself in it, to be one of the characters. In today’s gospel story, one role stands out like it was made for me: the scribes. These men loved God, devoted hours to studying His word, prided themselves on their knowledge (maybe a bit too much), and were absolutely brilliant at finding ways to be wrong. Today, they show Jesus how they can correctly interpret Scripture about the coming of Elijah while at the same time completely miss the fact that Elijah had already come.

    Rather than dwell on that mistake, I think it’s better to learn from it, especially since we who are baptized have already been anointed prophet in imitation of Christ. So, what is a prophet and how am I one?

    Holy Father John Paul II wrote about this in his exhortation Christifideles Laici. Though it’s hard (for me) to easily summarize him on just about anything, if I were to try, I’d say that a prophet is anyone who lives the gospel with love, courage, and patience, and does it so everyone see and benefit from it.

    So, how does a prophet live the gospel? I can think of at least two ways, based on what the Holy Father says:

    1. Focus on the gospel’s “newness.” How is the gospel new? Haven’t we heard its stories time in and time out? Yes, but its lessons are so timeless, so fundamental that they apply to every circumstance of life, however old or new. We live prophetically when we allow the Holy Spirit to help us make connections between the gospel and peoples’ life situation, and then find ways to share them.
    2. Live the gospel message of hope. The Holy Father also speaks of prophets as those who live out the virtue of hope. As we know all too well, the secular world has no use for such virtues, convinced as it is that there is no God and eternal life nothing but a wishful fantasy. The prophet has the courage and patience to be, like Christ, a public and living sign of contradiction.

    Given these, I suggest we take some time to reflect on all the prophets who have touched our lives, and thank God for the ways they helped turn us toward Him. They may not have known they were living prophetically, they just followed their spiritual instincts and allowed the Holy Spirit to work through them. Nevertheless, we are who and where we are thanks to God and His action in their lives.

    Let’s also turn the spotlight inward and ask ourselves how we are living as prophets. Are we taking time to meditate on the lessons of the gospel and find connections between those and our own lives? If and when we counsel other people, do we pray that the Holy Spirit will help us find ways to show them similar connections? They may not want to hear it, but when did a prophet ever let that stop them? Finally, how are we living out faith in Christ to an unbelieving world? It’s easy inside these walls, with our believing friends; what about outside them, where the world seems to want to ignore the gospel? Wherever we are on that front, let us continue to pray for the courage and the patience to do what Christ the priest, prophet, and king did and continues to do every day: Meet people where they are, but never leave them there.

  • God’s First Language

    God’s First Language

    Wednesday of the 2nd Week in Advent

    Isaiah 40:25-31; Matthew 11:28-30

    Every year, as November approaches, I look forward to Advent. I picture a peaceful time, a focus on prayer, and that wonderful, growing anticipation of the joy of Christmas. Then Advent comes, and the days start to fill with things that threaten to ruin my plans: illnesses, emergencies, the unpredictable demands of daily life. Most days, before I know it, it’s evening; I’m too tired to even try, and then I feel worse because all I really did was let another day go by. Suddenly, it’s mid-December; what I pictured as a peaceful, wonderful time has been anything but, and I’m starting to fear that Advent will end in disillusionment instead of joy.

    We can see the effect of that kind of angst in today’s readings. First, there are the Jews of the Babylonian exile. They’ve lost their homes, the Temple lies in ruins, and although they pray for deliverance, fear is deafening them to God’s answer; many have begun to worship the gods of Babylon, who they think are stronger, since God “lost” to them. In the gospel, the Jews of our Lord’s time are not so different. Conquered, occupied, and praying for deliverance, they are so used to the sound of their own fear and insecurity that they can’t hear the voice of God even when he’s standing there speaking to them.

    What is he speaking? Words of consolation. First, God reminds the Jews that the gods of Babylon are nothing. Only He is the Creator; only He keeps all things in existence. Yes, the Jews are in exile; yes, the Temple is gone. But that doesn’t mean there is no plan; rather, it means that God has the plan, and their suffering, though painful, is part of it. They wouldn’t understand that, and they would fear, but they didn’t need to. What they needed was trust. That’s why, earlier, God said to Isaiah: Say to the fearful of heart: Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God, he comes with vindication… he comes to save you (Isaiah 35:4). Jesus is that Savior, that vindication, that Temple not made by human hands, the one in whom people of every age and nation, however weary, burdened, or afraid, can find true rest. It’s no surprise that he, like his Father, says, fear is useless; what is needed is faith (Mark 5:36).

    When in the first reading, I heard God ask, Do you not know? Have you not heard (Isaiah 40:28), I’m tempted to say, “No, I haven’t,” but maybe that’s because, like ancient people, I’ve been listening more to the sound of my own expectations than to the voice of God. The theologian Fr. Thomas Keating once said: “God’s first language is silence; all else is a translation.”1 During Advent, I’ve listened for His voice in music, in vocal prayer, and in conversations; while He is certainly speaking to me through those, He is speaking even more clearly in silence.

    I might make the excuse that I have little room in my noisy life for silence, but that’s untrue in at least two ways. First, I haven’t tried; second, no one said I have to start with large blocks of time. If I start small, there are plenty of opportunities: I can afford a few minutes early in the morning, just after I wake up, or late at night, just before sleep. When driving, I can turn off the music; I can leave for Mass five minutes earlier and spend that time in silence in the Chapel; for that matter, I could visit Christ in silent Adoration more often. These are just to name a few. If I tried, I can find more.

    With this in mind, there’s every reason to keep looking forward to Advent. All I have to do is remember that, while God is found in the sights and sounds of every time and season, He is best heard in His first language: Silence. Start listening.

    1Keating, Fr. Thomas. Invitation to Love: The Way of Christian Contemplation.

  • “Even If…”

    “Even If…”

    Saturday of the 34th Week in Ordinary Time

    Daniel 7:15-27; Luke 21:34-36

    The book of Daniel is a complex work. To put the book in a little context, we must try to see the world as the Hebrews of that time did. Think of the great kingdoms and empires they knew of – Egypt, Persia, and Greece – and the seven wonders they created: the Great Pyramid at Giza, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the statue of Zeus in Olympia, the temple of Artemis in Ephesus, the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, the Colossus of Rhodes, and the Lighthouse of Alexandria. In comparison, what did Israel have? The Temple, but that was a rebuild; a shadow of its former glory. In the eyes of the world, it was no wonder that Israel was a conquered people; in comparison to the real powers, they were nothing and had nothing.

    Or did they? Part of the reason for Daniel, and the entire Old Testament, was to show that, in fact, Israel and Israel alone had the greatest wonder of all: the one, true God. He could have revealed Himself to any of the great powers, but He chose them, spoke to them, and promised them a kingdom which would last forever. All they needed was faith.

    Of course, the Old Testament also shows that faith isn’t always easy. Among the biggest obstacles are fear and anxiety. As we just heard, Daniel himself was anguished and terrified, and he wasn’t alone. Remember Moses, encountering God in the burning bush (Exodus 4), or David, running for his life (Psalm 55). They were very afraid. The truth is that no one is exempt from the all-too-human tendency to think about everything that can go wrong, given what has already gone wrong, and the cost to ourselves and those we love. Worried minds are a breeding ground for fear and anxiety.

    That is why Jesus urges us not to be afraid, but to have faith (Luke 8:50). We might miss the connection between the first reading and today’s gospel passage in this regard, but that’s a minor translation issue. Where we hear Jesus saying, Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy (Luke 21:34), think of drowsy as being weighed down or overcome. Fear and anxiety paralyze us, keep us from acting, and Jesus wants just the opposite; he wants us to dare. Throughout the gospel, he delights in those who do exactly that. There was the leper who approached him (Luke 5:12-16), the hemorrhaging woman who touched him (Luke 8:43-48), and the blind man who kept calling Jesus (Luke 18:35-43). Each defied the conventions of Israelite society, and each was richly rewarded by Jesus.

    Defying what others think or going against the spirit of the age can inspire both fear and anxiety, but we can’t let that stop us. In fact, we mustn’t; it’s the job of the Church to transform society, not to be transformed by it. I recently heard a talk in which the priest gave a good piece of advice. He said that, if we are afraid to step out in faith and do something, and keep asking ourselves, “What if I stumble?” or “What if I fail?”, we should substitute the words “What if” with “Even if,” and turn it into a prayer: “Even if I stumble, even if I fail, Lord, I still have faith. You are there.”

    The tradition of making resolutions on the last day of the year is as ancient as any of the empires I’ve mentioned, dating back about 40 centuries. Given that, I propose that on this, the last day of the Church year, we resolve from now on to substitute “Even if” for “What if” in the prayers of our anxious moments. After all, in God’s eyes, the greatest earthly empires are kingdoms of sand. Where are they now? All gone. Where are we? Exactly where he has promised all those who dare to approach him in humility would be: Saved. Go. Your faith has saved you (Luke 7:50; 8:48; 18:42).

  • No Retouching

    No Retouching

    Saturday of the 33rd Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Maccabees 6:1-13; Luke 20:27-40

    I remember back when a photograph was just that: a photograph. Someone took your picture, and however you looked, that was it. Now, at the click of a button, a computer program whitens your teeth, removes blemishes, even takes off pounds. It has become routine for photographers to offer a variety of “retouching” services, so people can appear in ways they find more appealing.

    This is really nothing more than a modern variation on one of mankind’s oldest temptations; namely, finding a way to shine the best possible light on ourselves. As we know, pride will even drive some to unrealistic extremes. For example, we heard Antiochus Epiphanes on his deathbed, confessing that he had pictured himself as kindly and beloved. As we know from Maccabees, the facts paint a quite different picture; he was a cruel, despotic monarch. The gospel, while more subtle, is no less an indictment. The Sadducees saw themselves as the enlightened few who knew the real truth about God, like which books He inspired and which He didn’t. Thus, they scoffed at angels and life after death as the wishful dreams of the unenlightened. How ironic that their encounter with the Light of the World only left them in a deeper darkness.

    Giving in to the temptation to see what we want to see leaves us open to at least two problems: Either we overestimate ourselves, like Antiochus, or we underestimate others – even God – like the Sadducees. Why we do it is hard to say. Perhaps we’re driven by fear that our real selves aren’t good enough for God or others, and without some kind of deception we are doomed to rejection and failure. Of course, the opposite is true; we alienate people when we pretend to be who we are not, for eventually the truth will out, and God is never fooled and wants nothing more than for us to be who we were created to be. In either case, the only way out is coming to see ourselves as God sees us, and living as true to that image as we can.

    That requires self-examination and confession, but those lead to yet another temptation: avoidance. That is easy, but the more we do it, the more we get comfortable with it, and the more we risk falling into the sins against hope: despair or presumption. The frustration of dealing with habitual sins can tempt us to despair. We think, “Why bother going to confession any more? I’m only going to do it again. It’s futile.” But this underestimates God; the only person who cannot be forgiven is the person who refuses it. On the other hand, we might presume on God’s mercy, either by refusing to ask Him for help because we think we can fix our problems alone, or because we believe that, since God loves us unconditionally, He forgives us no matter what, so we don’t need to ask. Either way, we deceive ourselves; both despair and presumption fail to understand God’s merciful love for us.

    To get a better understanding of that, think of your children, your spouse, your parents, anyone you have really loved. Their weaknesses might hurt you, even deeply, but when did they ever prevent you from loving them? We don’t always accept their behavior, but we always accept them. In fact, we’re much more likely to show compassion, to suffer through their problems with them, than ever to abandon them. This is the kind of love our Lord wants us to have for each other, ourselves, and Him.

    Self-awareness leads not only to inner healing, but to “other-awareness” as well. As we come to acknowledge and openly accept our own weaknesses, we become more aware of and sensitive to the struggles of others, and we come to better appreciate the merciful love of God, who is with us through all of them, and whose grace strengthens us to work our way past them.

    That is the best image of ourselves, and it isn’t one that human hands can retouch, for it is the image and likeness of our Creator. Let us ask God to give us the humility to see ourselves and others in His image, and the courage to show it to the world.

  • Winning the Game of Life

    Winning the Game of Life

    The 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Wisdom 6:12-16; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

    In a timed experiment, men and women competed to see who followed instructions better. Picture the scene: A man and his girlfriend enter a partitioned room, he on one side, she on the other. A bell starts the contest. Each runs to a small table and are handed an instruction sheet. The first task: “Put on lipstick.” The man does it, the woman reads. The next task, “Put on this dress.” He does it, she continues to read. Next, he does jumping jacks while shouting her name; still, she still reads. Finally, after sucking on a lemon, spinning in a circle on the floor, wearing a chicken mask and clucking, and a few more tasks, the bell ends the contest. He runs around the curtain, still wearing the dress and with lipstick on his face, only to see her, who did none of this yet won the contest, holding the instructions. Laughing, she shows him the last line on the page: “Now, ignore instructions one thru ten and sign this paper – you’ve completed the challenge!”

    You may be wondering a couple of things. First, how you would have done. Sorry, guys; most of us ended up with the dress on and lipstick on our face. Ladies, you carried the day; most of you ended up showing us where it said that we didn’t have to do any of that. Second, you may be curious what any of this has to do with today’s readings.

    The readings are all about knowing what success is, and doing what it takes to reach it. For example, we might look at success in life as if it’s a matter of following instructions: Get an education, earn a good living, find a spouse, raise a family, have a nice home, honor God. Now, these are all wonderful things; the person who values them is certainly wise and successful as the world sees it. But what about as God sees it? The first reading tells us that the wisdom given by God is the perfection of prudence (Wisdom 6:15). So, we are prudent in God’s eyes when we discern the right way to go to reach our goal, and wise when we know what the goal is before we set out.

    How are the prudent successful in life? The other readings help us answer that. First, our Lord’s parable. Like all parables, it contains a twist, something that would surprise its audience. It was a custom in the ancient world for the groom to meet the bride’s father, to make various arrangements. This could go quickly or take a long time; no one knew. Thus, the surprise wasn’t the long wait, or that the girls fell asleep, but that so few had enough oil with them. If the oil is our faith in Christ, who told us that we are the light of the world, and our actions must show that light (Matthew 5:14-16), then we need a good, steady supply of it, because, as we all know, sometimes our faith is sorely tested.

    The second reading is a good example. Some of the Christians in Thessalonika were getting anxious; they expected Jesus to return in their lifetime to judge the living and the dead. They had been waiting a long time; now, people in their community were dying, and they didn’t understand why he hadn’t returned. What was wrong? Perhaps their critics and detractors were right; maybe this Jesus was never coming back, and the whole thing was a deception! It’s not hard to understand this. Many in the modern world fall away or never believe because things don’t happen in a way we can all easily understand and relate to our faith. Good people die, the innocent suffer, things can be so unfair. The longer this goes on, the more we are tempted to ask what the Thessalonians asked – have we, too, been deceived? Where is God in all this?

    This is why St. Paul urges the Thessalonians to find their hope and consolation in Christ. He knew that Jesus hadn’t come to take away suffering and death. To the contrary; he, too, suffered and died. Rather, Jesus came to show us that death isn’t the final word – He is. What gives our faith its meaning is his resurrection, and the promise that we, too, will be raised to new and eternal life with him. When St. Paul said, we shall always be with the Lord (1 Thessalonians 4:17), he was reminding them that not only did Christ give them hope for new life, he was with them still, and would be forever. We don’t just have St. Paul’s word for that; Jesus himself closes St. Matthew’s gospel the way it began, by reminding us that he is Emmanuel, God-With-Us, when he said: behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age (Matthew 1:23; 28:20). What consolation! Christ is with us every moment of our lives; every joy, every sorrow, from the beginning until eternity.

    This brings us full circle to the experiment I began with. That game had a beginning, and it had an end. So, too, the game of life. The way to win is also the same: Follow the instructions, but first, know what the instructions are. Before he left, Jesus gave them to us: in Scripture, in Sacred Tradition such as the Creed we are about to recite, and in the teaching of the Church. But the final line is about how we show our faith, for without faith, our actions get us nowhere. So, picture this: Christ stands on the other side of the curtain, the instructions in his hand. He is reading the last line, in the words of Venerable Fulton Sheen: “Show me your hands. Do they have scars from giving? Show me your feet. Are they wounded in service? Show me your heart. Have you left a place for divine love?”

  • That Crucial Difference

    That Crucial Difference

    Memorial of St. Charles Borromeo, Bishop

    Romans 12:3-13; John 10:11-16

    Today, we heard St. Paul begin the second section of his letter to the Romans. In the first section, he explained the gospel; here, he explains how it should be lived. Hearing the word “should” brings to my mind that crucial difference between what we should do and what we actually do. We should live the gospel, but… do we?

    St. Paul first urges us to think “soberly” about ourselves; to take a good, hard look. What an exercise in humility! Just on the surface, we might think about how the doctor says we should look, and how we actually do look. That’s a crucial difference when it comes to our physical health. Thinking of our spiritual health, St. Paul then lists a series of gifts that we should be using, praying for, and doing enthusiastically out of love for Christ. But are we? These are crucial differences, too, for they speak to what St. Paul most wants to see: Authenticity, that we are living the way we should be: like Christ, with the love of shepherds who are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep.

    If anyone embodies such humility, authenticity, and love, it’s St. Charles Borromeo. His gifts were so many, lived so authentically, and their effect so great, that there isn’t time to go into it all. He was born into the kind of wealth and influence few families enjoy, but also, through the mercy of God, a piety even more rare. His was a family from whom nuns, priests, and Popes sprang. Made a cardinal at age 21 by his uncle, Pope Pius IV, Charles enjoyed an easy life at first, but was quickly redirected by the Pope, who made him his right-hand man. Pius acted not out of favoritism, but because he saw in Charles the gifts the Church so badly needed: He was intelligent, tactful, an able administrator, politically astute, fiercely loyal to the Church, a great communicator, a faithful priest and bishop, and a zealous reformer.

    Reform was perhaps the most monumental task given to Charles when the Council of Trent finally ended. This was the Council convoked to respond to the Protestant revolt. Implementing its reforms put his gifts to the test, for he met a lot of resistance, some of it so hostile that one person tried to kill him – a priest, no less! Most, however, simply couldn’t understand what the Church was doing, or why. In reply, Charles proposed that a catechism be created from the Council’s notes. He oversaw its writing and publication, and, to this day, we still have and use the Roman Catechism of St. Charles Borromeo.

    What can we learn from the life of this great saint? I can think of at least three things:

    1. Authenticity. St. Charles used his many gifts, not to get attention or because he should, but because he loved Christ. To him, all people, whether poor, ignorant, or hostile, were the face of Christ. Serving them was serving him. What about us? Do we use the gifts God has given us to serve our own needs, or do we see the face of Christ in others and serve them purely out of love for him?
    2. Reliance on the Holy Spirit. St. Charles traveled extensively and worked all hours; basically, poured his life into reform of the Church. He must have gotten weary, perhaps in darker moments even tempted to quit. But he didn’t; instead, he relied on the Holy Spirit to supply the fortitude and perseverance he needed, as St. Paul advised (Romans 12:11). Again, what about us? Do we ever get weary and tempted to quit? We should be asking the Spirit to supply what we need. Are we?
    3. Daily inner renewal. While fortitude and perseverance are vital, St. Paul also urges us to pray for zeal, which is the intensity of love. Imagine loving with the intensity of Christ! No trial or tribulation is too great; nothing can discourage us. This is the eagerness St. Charles spoke of when he said: “If we wish to make any progress in the service of God, we must begin every day of our life with new eagerness. We must keep ourselves in the presence of God as much as possible, and have no other view or end in all our actions but the divine honor.” Note, he tells us what we must do, not what we should do. That is the crucial difference whereby sinners become saints.

    St. Charles Borromeo, pray for us.

  • Promises, Promises

    Promises, Promises

    Saturday of the 28th Week in Ordinary Time

    Romans 4:13, 16-18; Luke 12:8-12

    Luke’s gospel appears to have been written to a gentile, Greek-speaking audience. Such people would quickly notice the difference between the Greek and Roman gods and the one true God. The gods were irrational, unfair, and inconsistent; God is the epitome of reason, justice, and consistency. The gods were fickle; God keeps His promises.

    That doesn’t mean His promises follow our timeline; they don’t. As Scripture makes clear, the promises made to Abraham – namely, that he would be the father of a nation, his name would be great, and all the nations of the world would find blessing in him – are kept, but in God’s time, not ours. It was up to Abraham to use the gift of faith he was given, which he did, and up to God to keep His promises, which He did.

    St. Paul also mentions an important side benefit to the gift of faith: hope. He describes Abraham as hoping against hope that he would become the father of many nations (Romans 4:18). He later brings in the Spirit, saying, May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:13). We know hope as the God-given virtue by which we “desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit” (CCC §1817). Thus, we aren’t so different from Abraham; it’s up to us to use the gifts of faith and hope, and up to God to send the Holy Spirit to help us.

    That brings us to today’s gospel, where Christ makes three promises, all related to the Holy Spirit.

    First, he promises that those who live the faith by acknowledging him publicly will themselves be acknowledged in heaven. Of course, we can’t do that without the help of the Holy Spirit. Most importantly, it is only in the Spirit that we can say Jesus is Lord (1 Corinthians 12:3). Also, we need his gifts: the courage to step outside our comfort zone, the patience to practice the virtues we find hard to live, and the authenticity to live the faith because it’s who we are, not just what we teach.

    Second, he promises forgiveness in the context of accepting the role of the Holy Spirit. How consoling it must have been to St. Peter after the Passion to recall our Lord saying that those who speak a word against him will be forgiven! And we, so like St. Peter; how we love to hear those words in Confession, “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.” It’s like a sixteen-ton weight has been lifted from our shoulders!

    Finally, he promises the Holy Spirit will be with us in times of trouble. Unlike some to whom Christ was speaking, we won’t be haled before synagogues, rulers, or authorities on account of Christ; nevertheless, we will be challenged for our faith. Dealing with this requires the Spirit’s gift of prudence. Too often, especially over the coming holidays, people who should be closer together are driven further apart by strong and differing points of view. In all such situations, we must ask the Spirit to help us find the words and actions that make our point without wounding those who disagree with us.

    Everything Jesus promised today – the reward of eternal life for all who live the faith, the forgiveness of sins for all who accept it, and the counsel of the Holy Spirit – are given out of his infinite, merciful love. So, let us resolve to hear his word and keep it, for those who do so are those who love him, and, as he said, whoever loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and reveal myself to him (John 14:21).

    That is a promise. And God always keeps His promises.

  • Being Mrs. McMahon

    Being Mrs. McMahon

    The 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Isaiah 25:6-10a; Philippians 4:12-14, 19-20; Matthew 22:1-14

    When my brother asked me to be his daughter’s Godfather, I was delighted. I flew to New York planning to spend the weekend at his home, enjoy the baptism, the baby, the party, and catching up with relatives I hadn’t seen in years. Unfortunately, we flew through a lot of turbulence; by the time we landed, I felt terrible. I got to his house, found a bed, and laid down for a while to recover.

    When I woke up, no one was home except a woman working on the front lawn – my sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. McMahon. She looked up, smiled, and asked, “Feeling better?” I said I was. “Good,” she replied, “Pick up that sack of dirt and follow me.” Next thing I knew, we were both working on the front lawn. When we finished, I hoped that was it, but she said, “Now, on to the back yard.” Ugh. An hour later, she said, “Let’s go in now.” I was so relieved – until I got in. I should’ve known; there were folding tables to put up, tablecloths to lay, places to set, dishes to do, a dinner to start, and floors to vacuum. When my brother came home, he said, “You didn’t have to do all this!” I said, “Yes, I did! Have you ever met your mother-in-law? Is she always like this?”

    I admit that at the time I was feeling very put upon. I went there expecting to sit around, take it easy, and enjoy myself. Instead, I felt like I was the host and my brother and his family were the guests. However, the next day, when I saw them relaxed and enjoying themselves, I had a change of heart; I felt bad that it hadn’t occurred to me to do what Mrs. McMahon did: Look around, see how I might be able to help, and get busy.

    That reminded me about the first of the two surprises in today’s parable. As you know, parables are designed to make us think by adding plot twists we don’t expect. The first twist was the reaction of the guests who were re-invited to a banquet they had already refused. We expect them to be annoyed, but to kill the servants? What’s that all about?

    Well, it’s a parable, so the killing symbolizes something; in this case, how we sometimes kill the urge to be selfless. As Bishop Sheen once reminded us, God tempts us far more often than Satan does. Think of all the times in a day we are “tempted” to put other people first, think about them, do something nice for them. These are moments of actual grace; invitations from God to unite our will to His by seeking the good of others. Now, consider what putting our own will first does, like I did: it smothers those impulses.

    Most of us try to do both, to look out for others and for ourselves. That’s not a problem. The problem comes when we get comfortable and refuse to be challenged. Maybe we’ve been invited to help at the parish, go to a pro-life chain, work at a food pantry, or any of a number of things. Sometimes we really can’t do it; other times we can, but it’s very tempting to turn that invitation down in favor of what we want. We like doing our own will, and it may content us for a while, but in the end we’re not happy. Happiness only comes when we take advantage of the actual graces God makes available – like when He gave me the example of Mrs. McMahon to show me, against my will, that happiness involves a lot more than just “showing up.”

    And that reminds me of the second twist in the parable: The wedding garment. Why is the man without one punished so severely when he had no idea he was going to need it? Scholars tell us that, in those days, if a man showed up without a proper garment, the host would offer him one from his own stock. That’s not unheard of today. Some high-end restaurants require a tie and suit coat; they offer them to men who come in without them, and will escort them out if they refuse. So in the parable: A garment was available, the man refused to wear it, and as a result was “escorted out” in no uncertain terms.

    But again, the question is, what does the garment symbolize? As I see it, it is a sign that we have “put on Christ,” in the words of St. Paul (Romans 13:14), or, in modern terms, that we are “walking the talk.” I went to New York to be a Godparent – someone who had put on Christ, was living the faith. But was I? Not so much. I went to Mass every week, sang in the choir, even donated money, but in my heart, I knew that I was living every other hour of the week as if I’d never heard of Christ. On the other hand, there was Mrs. McMahon; she, too, had traveled a long way, and was twice my age. Yet she almost never sat down, either the day before or the day of the baptism; instead, she served, saw to other peoples’ needs. And she was happy doing it. Her daughter told me that her mom was just that way; wherever she went, she saw the need and tried to fill it. Of the two of us, she was the one who had put on Christ, who lived her faith for the world to see.

    So, what does this mean for us? That we’re all supposed to be another Mrs. McMahon? Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that we, too, are called to show Christ to the world. How? As St. Paul said, by knowing how to live in humble circumstances or abundance, well-fed or hungry, in plenty or in need, because the source of our happiness is none of those things, it is Christ alone. From him comes the strength we need not only to endure, but to prosper. And no, in the sense that God already has one Mrs. McMahon; he doesn’t need any more. What he needs is us, with the gifts he has given us. Every day, he invites us in countless ways to become the people he created us to be. Is it hard? Yes. Do we sometimes want to turn the invitation down, go in and relax? Sure. But again, take heart, and remember: We have the strength of Christ on our side. In him, we can do all things.

    I can almost hear him saying, “Feeling better? Good. Pick up that cross and follow me.”

  • Beyond Words

    Beyond Words

    Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

    Acts 1:12-14; Luke 1:26-38

    There are moments in our lives, times of such emotional power, that, as we reflect on them, go beyond our ability to describe. They are the best times – weddings, births, special occasions with family and friends, spiritual consolations – and the worst – deaths, periods of emotional or physical suffering, of desolation. However good or bad, we can picture them, vividly remember them, but, no matter how hard we try, we cannot describe our feelings about them. They go beyond words.

    But they aren’t beyond God. It is an article of our faith that God is perfectly above all things and, at the same time, perfectly within them. That includes us; every moment of our lives, from the most precious to the most mundane, and all the feelings wrapped up in them, are perfectly known to God. Even if full understanding of the events of our lives eludes us, we can do what the Blessed Mother did: reflect on them in our hearts, that in our contemplation, God may more deeply reveal Himself to us, and help us see how He works through the mysteries of life.

    One way our faith gives us to do that is through repetitive prayer. There is something about its rhythm and regularity that, like breathing, comes naturally to us. Repetition is a prayer form as ancient as Judaism; the Lord Jesus himself repeated the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4) every day, morning and evening. We see it in his Church, too. We may know them as “aspirations” – short prayers that have developed over the centuries. Some spring from inspiration, such as, “Let go and let God,” or “Lord Jesus, I trust in You,” others from Scripture, such as, My Lord and my God (John 20:28), or Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief (Mark 9:24). One of our most popular repetitive prayers, the Hail Mary, combines these. The first half is Scriptural, quoting the angelic salutation from Luke that we heard today, as well as part of Elizabeth’s greeting, while the second is an intercessory prayer, asking Mary, as Mother of God, to pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

    While it would take too long to trace its development, suffice it to say that, in the words of Pope St. John Paul II, the rosary is centered on Christ but distinctly Marian in character. We see this throughout its mysteries; there are the more familiar, such as The Annunciation and Visitation, but also the more obscure, such as The Appearance of Christ to Mary after the Resurrection and Mary Meets Jesus Carrying the Cross, both of which are prayed by some Franciscans to this day.1

    Regardless the mystery, the rosary does two things the Blessed Mother wants most. First, it points us to her Son. Every decade of every mystery, whether joyful, sorrowful, glorious, or luminous, is an invitation to contemplate more deeply the mystery of Christ; not only how he works in these events, but how he works in our own lives. Second, as a sacramental (a visible sign instituted by the Church to give grace), the rosary leads us, if we are ready to receive it, to sanctifying grace. In both ways, the rosary is the road that, with each passing bead, helps us to love Christ as his Mother has always loved him: Far, far beyond words.

    Our Lady of the Rosary, pray for us.

    1https://franciscanmissionaries.com/7-decade-rosary/

  • Whom Fortune Favors

    Whom Fortune Favors

    Saturday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Thessalonians 4:9-11; Matthew 25:14-30

    The parable of the talents is one we’re all very familiar with. Ironically, such familiarity actually works against us, for parables are at their best when they surprise us, present us with a riddle or twist that teases us into deeper contemplation about its meaning and its relevance to our lives.

    One aspect of the parable that might still be surprising concerns the talents themselves, specifically their value. In our Lord’s time, a talent was worth about 6000 silver pieces, or 20 years of wages. By using such vast sums of money (the parable goes up to 100 years’ worth), it certainly seems like Jesus wanted us to wonder what all that wealth could possibly represent.

    The fact is, we really don’t know. Some scholars see them as our abilities, the God-given gifts we are born with; we still use the word “talents” for those to this day. Maybe, but Jesus tells us in the parable that each servant got a different amount of talents according to his ability (25:15); so, there are talents and there are abilities. I tend to agree with those who see the talents as riches of a different kind; specifically, the thousands of opportunities we are given by God over the course of our lives to show people what it means to be a disciple of Christ; to be his hands at work in the world.

    What opportunities am I talking about? I think some of the best examples are right in front of us, in our own homes, with the people who are most familiar to us. Research on the family shows that while family members are actually spending more time together than before, they are also alone more often. It’s called “being alone together,” and you may have seen it: A family at dinner, perhaps at a restaurant, sits together and eats together, but spends most of that time interacting by themselves with their hand-held device. Imagine being the one in the family who asks them to put those things away and spend that time with each other. We also know that, as people age, they spend more and more time alone. Imagine being the neighbor who invites them over, or regularly visits them. And, as we all sadly know, many of our young people rarely if ever go to church, and know nothing at all about God. Imagine being the relative who invites them to the church youth group to meet new kids, eat, have fun, and see where those interactions lead. Is such a person always popular for having spoken up or done what they did? No. But is it the charity spoken of by St. Paul in the first reading, or the new commandment Jesus spoke of in John’s gospel? You already know the answer.

    Of course, these are just three examples, but they and thousands more show that what Christ is looking for isn’t skill or experience, but boldness and humility. Consider the first two servants; they knew they weren’t skilled bankers or investors, yet they doubled their master’s money. How? By doing what good servants do: they watched their master, learned from him, then imitated him as Jesus said: Immediately. They didn’t know when he would return; all they knew was that he gave them this opportunity and empowered them to act in his name. Unlike the third servant, they didn’t waste time worrying, overthinking, or second-guessing themselves or their master. Rather, they did what St. Paul advised: minded their own affairs and worked with their own hands. That’s what the master would do, so it’s what they did.

    There’s an old saying that fortune favors the bold. Here and throughout the gospels, Jesus makes it clear that he favors the bold in faith with a fortune only he can give: a share in the Master’s joy. Who doesn’t want that kind of talent?