Mark 10:45

Category: Catholic

  • Beneath the Surface

    Beneath the Surface

    Christmas Weekday (before Epiphany)

    1 John 5:5-13; Mark 1:7-11

    We all know that only about 10% of an iceberg is visible; the other 90% lies below the surface. We also know, from such tragedies as the Titanic, how much that 90% matters. The same is true for Scripture, and Mark’s version of the baptism of Jesus is the perfect case in point. To see what I mean, let’s take the viewpoint of a bystander at the scene:

    First, Mark says that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John (1:9). We don’t know Jesus; all we see is a crowd of people in line at the river, wading up to the man John, who baptizes them. A man who could be Jesus, now in front of John, dips below the waterline. Mark says that when the man resurfaced, he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit, like a dove, descending upon him (1:10). But notice: He (Jesus) saw this, no one else. Finally, Mark says that a voice came from the heavens, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (1:11). We don’t hear it, but again, notice: The voice said, You; it spoke to Jesus.

    It’s like that with the Sacraments. We see water, oil, wine, or a host, we hear prayers or vows, and we see actions. But this is all just the tip of the iceberg; there’s a lot going on beneath the surface, which is exactly where John is looking when he speaks of water, blood, and the Spirit.

    What does John see symbolized by water? Probably many things: Creation, as when the Spirit blew over the water (Genesis 1:2); sustaining life, as with Jacob’s well (Genesis 29:2-21); starting anew, as with Noah’s ark (Genesis 6-9:17); cleansing (Leviticus 16:4, 24; 17:15; Exodus 30:18-21); and baptizing (Matthew 28:19, Mark 16:16, John 3:5, etc). Above all, as John knows, water symbolizes Christ, the Living Water (John 4:13-14; 7:37-39; Revelation 22:1-2).

    But John also speaks of blood, for he knows that, apart from water, the life of the flesh is in the blood (Leviticus 17:7). In this, he connects Christ’s baptism to his passion and death. Remember what Jesus spoke about on the way to his passion: a baptism with which he must be baptized (Luke 12:50). This was the baptism of the cross, when blood and water flowed from his side (John 19:34) just after he breathed his last.

    Finally, in our Lord’s last breath, John sees the power of the Holy Spirit. At the baptism of Jesus, each evangelist spoke of the Holy Spirit’s descent, but only John tells us about Christ breathing the spirit at his death (John 19:30). The next time we hear of breath, it is the risen Christ breathing the Holy Spirit upon the disciples (John 20:22), conferring on them the power to forgive sins.

    Here, John has gone as far beneath the surface as we need to go: the passion, death, and resurrection of our Lord, which is the very heart of all seven Sacraments. Every sign, every prayer, and every action of every Sacrament points to the deepest reality possible: the infinite love of God for us. What other than love could move God to take our flesh, pour it out, and raise it up again, that he might continue to touch us with his sanctifying grace? And what does he ask in return? Simply that we believe, and allow him to draw us closer to himself.

    Truly, as John says, we who believe that Jesus is the Son of God are the victors over the world.

    —–

  • Lessons our Mother Teaches

    Lessons our Mother Teaches

    Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God

    Numbers 6:22-27; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21

    January 1st is our annual rite of passages, time to look back on the old year, ahead to the new one, and make resolutions. This tradition probably started when Julius Caesar made January the first month; January is named after Janus, the god of passages who had two faces – one looking back at the past, the other forward to the future.

    As we see in the gospel today, Mary isn’t concerned with the past or future; she’s fully caught up in the present moment. We might look at her in this scene and see the face of a concerned, young mother who has little to offer her son – no place to call home, and nowhere to lay him but a manger. But we know better; hers is the face of a confident mother with total trust, perfect serenity, and ultimate fidelity to God; she knows that He blesses His people, lets His face shine on them, and is gracious to them (Numbers 6:24-26). He has brought her to this moment, and would never abandon her in it.

    Like any mother, Mary would know all the joys and sorrows of motherhood: The joy of teaching him to talk, to walk, to get along in the world, watching him grow into a young man, and the sorrow of picking him up when he fell, comforting him, and watching as he left home for the last time. But then there were the joys unique to being the Mother of God: the joy of watching his eyes light up as she told him the stories in the Scriptures he gave the world, and the terrible sorrow of watching his suffering, his death on the cross, and laying him in a tomb. Yet, having endured this and not lost faith would bring the greatest joy possible: Seeing her son raised from the dead, resplendent in his glorified body and ascending to his Father.

    The grace of God allowed Mary to experience all these things, not to understand them. She, too, must have her own journey of faith. As Luke is careful to point out, this included contemplation: she kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.

    Thus, Mary, the Mother of God, teaches us two important lessons. First, we must live in the present moment. Sometimes, we get stuck in the past, dwelling on our mistakes or trying to re-capture the glory of past accomplishments. Other times, we live in the future by worrying about what might or might not happen. Either way, we miss the present. Mary was full of grace, and grace is given to be used in the present moment. Second, the Blessed Mother teaches us that we don’t need to have all the answers, we just have to do our part. When she consented to be the mother of God, Mary wasn’t given details of the plan, she was given a baby. Her part was to be his mother; in her humility, she accepted that and put her heart and soul into it. Mary is the only one who was with Jesus at each crucial moment in his life, from his conception to his crucifixion to his ascension.

    In the divine plan, that kind of devotion never goes unrewarded. When her earthly life was complete, God exalted Mary by raising her to be with Him body and soul forever. This is the final lesson of Mary the Mother, but it is taught by Christ Jesus, her Son: Mary’s destiny is our destiny too. Everyone who follows her example of discipleship is destined to rise body and soul to that same heavenly glory. Mary was the first to enjoy it, but that was our Lord’s special gift to his Mother. The good news is that he loves us, too, so the same gift is waiting for us.

    If we have any resolution to make for this new year, let it be to do what Mother Mary has already so perfectly done: Hear the word of God and do it.

  • Anna and the Call

    Anna and the Call

    The 6th Day in the Octave of Christmas

    1 John 2:12-17; Luke 2:36-40

    In their document on the Church known as Lumen Gentium, the Fathers of the Second Vatican Council reminded us that, whoever and wherever we are, we are called by virtue of our baptism to conform ourselves as fully as possible to Christ. We probably know this as the “universal call to holiness.”

    There are echoes of that call in today’s readings, especially in Luke. Throughout his gospel account, Luke is very careful to show how both men and women respond to God’s call. In fact, he goes so far as to “pair” them; where in one story he focuses on a man, in another, he puts the focus on a woman. For example, yesterday, Luke told us of Simeon; today, we meet his counterpart, Anna. Let’s take a moment to look at her in a little more detail, for like Simeon, she gives us insight into our own call to holiness.

    First, Luke says that Anna was elderly, lost her husband after 7 years of marriage, then lived as a widow for a long time. If she had children, she raised them herself; in any case, life probably wasn’t easy, and certainly by the age of 84, she was feeling the effects of it. Still, God called her as he calls everyone, despite her afflictions. And why wouldn’t He? Remember the words of St. Paul: affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us (Romans 5:3-5).

    As if to prove the truth of this, Luke shows us how Anna responded to the call: She virtually haunted the temple, constantly fasting and praying. When we are overwhelmed by life to the point of thinking we can’t take any more, it’s a real temptation to do the opposite: to avoid God, blame Him, or convince ourselves that silence means He isn’t listening. Remember Anna’s resolute faith, tested by years of endurance; she knew, perhaps without realizing it, that God also moves in silence, is always near, and that the grace of faith draws us where we most need to be: even nearer to Him.

    We see next that she couldn’t get much closer! To Anna is given the vision that people over the centuries longed for, but never saw: the Christ of the Lord. As with Simeon, who other than the Holy Spirit could have led her to that wondrous moment? Again, how did she respond? Two ways. First, she gave thanks to God. Scripture consistently urges us to do this, for His love endures forever (Psalm 136:1); He alone is the source of all blessings (Romans 11:36), the only refuge in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1), and the font all mercy (Psalm 28:6). Are we, like Anna, remembering to thank God first and foremost?

    Second, Anna did what a prophet should do: she told others about him. This might be a sticking point for us. What are we supposed to do – go door to door, stop people in the streets, put up signs, what? Perhaps the best answer is to think about what we did when we had such good news, such joy, or felt such love that we had to share it with others. We certainly talked about it, but we also might have shown some nonverbal signs – a look in our eyes, a brightness in our hearts, a willingness to reach out to others. All these are infectious; others see and are moved by them. Some of the most Christlike people I have ever known never spoke a word to me about Jesus, but they wrote volumes about him in my heart. How? It was written into who they were; the way they consistently treated me, and how I saw them treat others, made me hunger for whatever or whoever it was they had that I did not. In every case, they had Christ, and they gave him to me and everyone else.

    This is what Anna did; this is the universal call to holiness. Let us all ask the intercession of St. Anna the Prophetess, that we may have such deep love of God that we too cannot wait to share it in whatever ways we can, all for the glory of God and the love of our neighbor.

    St. Anna the Prophetess, pray for us.

    —————————————–

  • Reasons for Hope

    Reasons for Hope

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Advent

    Isaiah 7:10-14; Luke 1:26-38

    In its very first paragraph, the Catechism of the Catholic Church says, “At every time and in every place, God draws close to humanity. He calls us to seek him, to know him, to love him with all our strength” (CCC §1).

    God calls us. He draws close. The season of Advent has been called a season of hope for that reason. Day after day, its readings show the truth of those words. We see good evidence for that in the readings today, particularly in the promise given through Isaiah that is ultimately realized in the gospel.

    As we heard in the reading from Isaiah, the promise was first revealed to Ahaz, the king of Judah. Ahaz was a young man at the time, about 21, who found himself caught up in a power struggle between warring nations, and was in way over his head. God approached him once, just before today’s passage, and was ignored. Now, He has spoken again, this time inviting Ahaz to ask for a sign. Although the king’s response about not wanting to test the Lord seems humble, a deeper look shows this to be less than genuine; Ahaz had already thoroughly tested the Lord (2 Chronicles 28:1-4). The truth is, the king had no faith in God or His promises; he put his faith in the Assyrians and their military might.

    Where do we find reason for hope there? Well, consider that, despite the king’s utter faithlessness, God gave him a sign anyway. Even when He is repeatedly ignored or rejected, God never stops trying; He always reaches out, always invites, always gives a sign, is always willing to heal the wounded and welcome home the lost. This is a good time to remember all the people we know who continue to ignore or reject Him, and be consoled that God is merciful, loving, and always ready to forgive. What better reason for hope is there than the depths of such divine love?

    Second is that hope is the object of the prophecy itself: the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel (Isaiah 7:14). The name “Emmanuel” means “God Is With Us.” As Christians, we see its fulfillment in Jesus, but this prophecy was spoken to, and meant for, the people of Isaiah’s time as well. Ahaz and many in his line were terrible kings, and their people suffered very much. The promise of Emmanuel was a great consolation and hope; not just in some future coming, but in the reality that God was already there and would always be with them. The same is true for us. It was Jesus himself who reassured us of this when he said he would always be with us, until the end of the world (Matthew 28:20).

    A third reason for hope goes right to the heart of revelation itself. St. Bernard of Clairvaux once hinted at it by writing that when Gabriel told Mary that God had chosen her to be the Mother of His only Son, it was as though the angels in Heaven all held their breath waiting for her reply. No one – neither the angels, the saints, nor anyone on Earth – can know the mind of God. We know only what He wants us to know, when and how He wants us to know it. The rest is a mystery we are asked to submit to in humility and as an act of faith and hope. And not just submit to, but participate in; as the Offertory prayer says today, “Look, O Lord, we pray, upon the one sacrifice of your Son, that, by participating in this mystery, we may possess at last the gifts we have awaited and for which our faith bids us hope.” Who participated in the mystery of the Incarnation more than Mary, the Mother of Hope?

    Advent truly is a season of hope – in God’s steadfast love, His constant presence, and His perfect plan for us and our salvation. In that hope, let us devote every moment of our lives as followers of her Son to saying in action what Mary said to the angel: May it be done to me according to your word (Luke 1:38).

  • 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.