Mark 10:45

Category: Catholic

  • The Do’s and Don’ts of Letting Go

    The Do’s and Don’ts of Letting Go

    Thursday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 7:36-50

    I have a confession to make: At times, my past haunts me. I re-live mistakes I’ve made, moments in my life I’ve let someone down, or when I could’ve done something to make a bad situation better, but didn’t.

    I know I’m not alone. We see it in the readings today. First, St. Paul says, I am the least of the Apostles, not fit to be called an Apostle, because I persecuted the Church of God (1 Corinthians 15:9). Sounds like the past is on his mind, most likely when he stood watching as St. Stephen was stoned to death. Then in the gospel, the sinful woman wept at the feet of Jesus and began to bathe his feet with her tears (Luke 7:38). Clearly, the past was on her mind. Indeed, it drove here there!

    Perhaps to one degree or another, it’s true for all of us. Even if we’ve confessed our sins, those moments continue to haunt us. If it happens to you, here are some “do’s” and “don’ts” that I hope help you deal with it.

    We can summarize the “do’s” in the old saying, “Let go and let God.”

    1. Do let go of resentments. We may resent other people, we may resent something about ourselves. Regardless, resentments hurt only us; they keep us focused on what has already happened at the expense of what is happening right now.
    2. Do let go of the need to control. Some of us want to be in control of every situation, or at least appear that way. That’s not possible; things happen every day that are simply beyond our (or anyone’s) control. Like the sinful woman, let that go at the feet of Christ. Remember that God is bigger than anything we encounter, loves us infinitely, and has our welfare in mind. He is in control; give him the unknowns.
    3. Do let go of the past. Key here is to remember what St. Paul said next: But by the grace of God I am what I am,and his grace to me has not been ineffective (1 Corinthians 15:10). Christ meets us with his grace only in the present moment, not the past or the future. Remain with Christ in the present; that’s the only place we can make a difference to ourselves or anyone else.

    As for the “don’ts”:

    1. Don’t ignore the pain of the past. Find ways to deal with it. The sinful woman dared to enter a roomful of men to get to Christ; St. Paul talked openly about how he persecuted the Church. If you’re struggling to let something go, find someone, be it friend, clergyman, or therapist, to talk to. They can help you focus on what matters.
    2. Don’t forget empathy. As the gospel showed, Simon the Pharisee was pretty short on it. As our Lord noted, he failed to welcome him with due respect and was certainly judgmental toward the sinful woman. Christ was right in front of him, in person and in the person of the woman, but he couldn’t see him. Christian love is empathetic; our goal is to see in each other the face of Christ, do the best we can to see things through their point of view, and respond accordingly.
    3. Don’t stop. It’s easy to allow failure to stop us. Don’t! If even in little ways, keep moving forward. As we heard, St. Paul pushed himself to work harder than the others. As for the sinful woman, we don’t have to imagine her resolve after being forgiven by Christ; we know the feeling of forgiveness after a good Confession; it is as if a 16-ton weight has been lifted off our shoulders. As the only Son of God once taught, when the son frees us, we are truly free (John 8:36).

    St. Therese of Lisieux once prayed, “O my God, you know that to love You I only have today.” Perhaps one step toward doing (and not doing) all these things is to make her prayer our own, so to live in the grace of the present moment. For that is the place we come to Christ and rest in him, that we may never let him go.

    —

  • Coming to our Senses

    Coming to our Senses

    Saturday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Corinthians 4:6b-15; Luke 6:1-5

    Years ago, I heard a Catholic Scripture scholar say, “The worst Bible studies I know of are the ones where the leader reads a bible passage, then looks up and asks everyone what they think it means.” I squirmed; I knew so little about the bible that asking other people made sense to me. He then said that after reading a bible passage, the first question should be, ‘What does the Church think it means?’ Again, I squirmed. I had no sense of who in the Church I was supposed to ask. Fortunately, as he went on to explain it, the light dawned. I had no sense, alright; in fact, I was missing four senses!

    Since at least the time of St. Thomas Aquinas almost 800 years ago, the Church has taught that there are four interpretive keys, called “senses,” that help us draw meaning out of Sacred Scripture. Let’s take a moment and look at today’s reading from St. Paul in light of these four senses.

    First is the literal sense, which is the meaning the author intended the passage to have. In this case, St. Paul is clear: He is admonishing the Corinthians, giving them a “wake up call.” He sees himself as their spiritual father, so he speaks to them as a father to his child, telling them (sometimes harshly) to wake up and realize how blessed they are, what a gift they have received, and at what cost. What do we take from this? I think the Holy Spirit wants us to ask ourselves if we appreciate what a gift our parents, teachers, clergy, and others have given us by bringing us to Christ, and if we are doing as they did.

    Second is the allegorical sense, which asks how a passage speaks of, or leads to, Christ. If we look back to where St. Paul spoke of the Corinthians becoming kings, the allegorical sense would lead us to consider the kingship of Christ, who came to serve not to be served, and challenge us to follow his example of true servant leadership.

    Third is the moral sense. How does this passage lead me to act? Certainly St. Paul detected a pride problem among the Corinthians; boasting, self-satisfaction, and choosing favorite preachers. The result was nothing but division. Through the moral sense, the Holy Spirit emphasizes to us that what matters is having the humility to boast only of Christ, allowing nothing to satisfy us but him, and having no honor or possession mean more to us than the gift of salvation he won by his blood.

    Finally, the anagogical sense looks at how a passage relates or leads to eternal life. Although St. Paul spent a lot of time talking about the cost of evangelizing the Corinthians, the clear implication is that, as their spiritual father, he wanted nothing more than their eternal salvation. That is why Christ died, and why St. Paul was willing to do whatever he could to help them attain it, no matter the cost to himself.

    Of course, all this can get much more sophisticated. Regardless, the Church through the power of the Holy Spirit has given us these four senses and urges us to use them as we contemplate the Word of God, not just that we may know more about Christ, but that we may come more and more to have the mind of Christ.

    —

  • Nothing but Everything

    Nothing but Everything

    Saturday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time – Year II

    1 Corinthians 1:26-31; Matthew 25:14-30

    I know today’s gospel is popular, and I do want to talk about it, but, as this is Saturday and we are especially remembering the Virgin Mary, let’s begin by taking St. Paul up on his offer to, as he says, “consider your own calling.”

    What he says is as true now as when he first said it. Who are we, compared to those the world sees as wise, noble, and strong? By human standards, very little. Mary is a splendid example, the best in purely human terms. Think of the great ones of her time: Tiberius Caesar, Emperor; Pontius Pilate, governor of Judea; Herod, tetrarch of Galilee; Annas and Caiaphas, high priests of the Jews. God could have sent His Word to any of them. Instead, He chose a lowly young Jewess, Mary of Nazareth.

    In terms of the gospel parable, if Mary was one of the servants, how many talents would we give her? Again, in worldly terms, what could she do with it anyway? Young, female, betrothed but not living with her husband; who was more powerless or seemed less able than she? Who had more reason to be afraid to do anything?

    But as we know, God doesn’t see as the world sees. Even if Mary was given a fraction of a talent, just enough to buy her daily bread, look how she returned the investment to her Master: Count as a coin each soul brought to Christ thanks to her consent to be his mother; a hundred talents worth of gold wouldn’t cover it! No wonder Mary proclaimed so gladly how much her spirit rejoiced in God, her Savior. Why shouldn’t she boast in the Lord? As St. Paul knew, none could be more powerful or able than she within whose womb dwelled the very wisdom, righteousness, and redemption of God.

    This is why we turn to her, why Mary is, as the poet William Wordsworth once said, “our tainted nature’s solitary boast.” Where she has gone, Christ leads us. No matter what God has given us, all that matters is what we make of it; what we return to our Master purely out of love for Him. We may not lead billions to Christ, but remember, the master rewarded the servant with two talents exactly as he did the one with five.

    The Blessed Virgin Mary is, for all ages, the personification of the great paradox of our faith: That in weakness lies the greatest strength, that those considered fools are the truly wise, and that counting for nothing to the earthly is the only way to be the one thing that really matters to the heavenly: A person chosen by God, graced by Him, and unafraid to do whatever He tells us.

    Mary, Virgin most powerful, pray for us.

    —

  • Mother and Queen

    Mother and Queen

    The Queenship of Mary (August 22)

    When my son was very little, he asked my wife to turn her head so he could inspect the back of it. He was convinced she had an extra set of eyes back there somewhere.

    I sympathize. It was the same with my own mom; she always seemed to know what was going on with me. Even after I grew up and would call home, just one “Hello” out of my mouth and she would say, “OK, Richard, what’s wrong?”

    Who knows a boy better than his mother?

    I’m a father myself, and I can sense some things in my children, but nothing like their mother. Call it women’s intuition, call it what you will, I think there’s a certain grace poured upon a mother that binds her to her child like no other. Maybe it’s because a mother’s womb is our exclusive home for the first 9 months of our lives; Mom is all we know and all we can know. Everything we need for life comes through her and depends on her.

    Consider that in the context of Christ and his mother. Who has ever known Christ better than she, and who would love her more than he?

    Ask yourself: How would he, who wrote the commandments, including, “Honor your father and mother,” honor his mother? She who was his exclusive home for the first 9 months of life, who cradled him in her arms, fed him, dressed him, taught him to walk, helped him learn the Scriptures he gave the world, sang to him, shared a home with him for 30 years, and ultimately laid him in the tomb – all the while pondering these mysteries in her heart and loving him as only a mother can.

    The answer can only be that he would honor her perfectly.

    As the First Book of Kings shows, the king’s mother was queen; the only person for whom he would stand when she entered the room. In Heaven, the King of kings would do no less, and giving her to us from the Cross asks that we do no less.

    Mary, our Mother and Queen, pray for us.

    —

  • Learning to Unlearn

    Learning to Unlearn

    Saturday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

    How do we unlearn? In three steps.

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

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

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

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

    —

  • Bending in the Wind

    Bending in the Wind

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

    Matthew 17:22-27

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • When the Going Gets Tough

    When the Going Gets Tough

    Wednesday of the 18th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • Truth or Consequences

    Truth or Consequences

    Saturday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • The Harvest is Coming

    The Harvest is Coming

    Saturday of the 16th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 7:1-11; Psalm 84:2; James 1:21; Matthew 13:24-30

    Like all parables, the intriguing parable we hear today contains a twist or surprise that is designed by our Lord to make us think. The twist is that the sower decided to leave the weeds in the field. Very few gardeners or farmers, then or now, would expect that. Why not let the servants pull them, so the wheat can more easily flourish?

    I think there are a couple of reasons. First, as the wheat and the weed (here, darnel) begin to grow, they look very much alike; the servants could easily mistake one for the other. Second, as they mature, the roots get entangled; pulling one will almost certainly take the other along with it. Clearly, the sower doesn’t want to do anything that would risk losing even a single grain of wheat.

    This is like the infinite, merciful love of God for us. He has given us Christ, sent us into the world, made available all the graces we need, and is with us always. As Christ said earlier in this same gospel when he invited us to take his yoke upon our shoulders, he is even willing to bear most of the load.

    Even with all that, it’s still not easy. The sower knows that letting the wheat and weed grow together makes it harder for the wheat to grow. Then why do it? Because anything worth having is worth working for. In the spiritual life, virtues only develop when they have something to work against. How do we grow in courage without facing fear, or in patience without being pushed, or in charity without the temptation to be selfish? By allowing the presence of evil, God challenges goodness to become greatness.

    Of course, repentance is a process. It’s not going to happen overnight. Fortunately, as the parable also implies, God gives us time. But we must use it to full advantage. Recall how Jeremiah pictured the people standing in the Temple, unrepentant yet saying, “We are safe.” God’s response probably sounds familiar; Jesus will use it later against the Temple authorities: den of thieves (Jeremiah 7:11). The worst thing we can be is complacent, satisfied with where we are in our relationship with God and each other. There is always more to do. Thus, the parable invites us to see not only that we are wheat in the field of the world, but that the wheat and weeds exist inside each of us as well. How can the Church, God’s dwelling place, be lovely if His dwelling place within us is not?

    Finally, the parable reminds us that, while God is patient and merciful, He is also just. Both the wheat and weed faced a reckoning – the harvest – and the sower has definite plans for each: Burn or barn. For us, too, the harvest is coming, and God will make a similar decision about us. We know which one we want, so let’s not put it off; the time is now to do what the Gospel acclamation urged: Humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you and is able to save your souls (James 1:21).

    —

  • The Real Power of One

    The Real Power of One

    13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

    Wisdom 1:13-15; 2:23-24; Psalm 30:4; 2 Corinthians 8:7, 9, 13-15; Mark 5:21-43

    Just before the outbreak of World War II, a young stockbroker from England named Nicholas Winton traveled to Czechoslovakia to see if he could help with the refugees pouring across the German border, many of them Jewish. What he saw so moved him – large numbers of children, many orphaned or lost – that he felt he must do something. It took awhile, but he organized a system to bring as many of these children as he could to northern England for the duration of the war. One of the biggest obstacles he faced was trust; as one rabbi put it, “Who are you?”

    Last week, we heard the disciples ask the same question about Jesus. Then, and to this day, people wonder not only who he is, but whether to believe in him. For some, like the refugees, it literally is a question of life or death. We meet two of them today: The first, a man of wealth and influence; the second, a woman, outcast and lurking in the shadows. Of course, Christ is most interested in what lies beneath these appearances; he wanted to see their faith. And not only see it, but transform them by it.

    At first, he didn’t see the woman’s faith, he felt it. She didn’t want to be seen, and was content to touch only his garment, believing that if she touched Jesus himself, her impurity would spread to him. But the opposite is true with God; his purity spreads to us. And look at the effect it had! Jesus asked who touched him, not because he didn’t know, but because he wanted to engage her, to let her tell her story. Physical healing wasn’t enough; she also needed inner catharsis. Who could blame her after twelve years of the pain, loneliness, and frustration that could tempt anyone to despair?

    He had a different challenge in mind for Jairus. When he came to Jesus, Jairus believed he could heal his daughter’s illness. But, when news came that the girl had died, Jesus told him not to be afraid, but to have faith. Didn’t he have faith? Well, it’s one thing to believe that Jesus can heal someone, another to believe that he can raise them from the dead. Jairus knew the psalm we heard today, including the verse, O LORD, you brought me up from the netherworld; you preserved me from among those going down into the pit (Psalm 30:4). Now, Jesus challenged him to have faith not only that those words were true, but that he is the LORD who would fulfill them. He did, and we know what happened; his faith was more than rewarded. His daughter was alive again.

    You might have noticed how the healings both involve the number 12: the woman bled for twelve years, while the girl died at age twelve. As for the woman, her flow of blood meant that she was unable to have children all that time. As for the girl, twelve was the age when women became eligible to be married. Thus, the Holy Spirit is teaching us that when Jesus heals, he not only restores life, but the ability to give life to others.

    This has huge ramifications in the spiritual life. Earlier, I mentioned Nicholas Winton. When the rabbi asked him who he was and why he wanted to do this, he said that he was one man; as for why he wanted to, he said, “Because I can, I must try.” Once people had faith in him, he was able to save 669 children who otherwise would have gone to death camps. As it turned out, those children grew up, and many had families of their own. It is estimated that by the time Winton died in July of 2015, his actions directly affected at least 6000 more lives. As the years go on, that will only increase, all because one man’s encounter moved him to challenge himself that others might live.

    We, too, are only one person. But think of all the encounters we have every day, with other people and, in contemplation, with ourselves. Every one of those is Christ’s challenge to us to make a difference for the better, to give and to speak life. Who is the woman, bleeding in pain, loneliness, or frustration, in need of the catharsis that only confession to Christ can give? Who is the man needing to understand Jesus more deeply, needing someone to show him how life-changing faith is? Sometimes, they’re out in the open, sometimes the shadows. Sometimes, they are us. At all times, think what the effect would be, not only on that person, but on all the people they affect because we decided that, because we can, we must try.

    —