Mark 10:45

Category: Catholic

  • The Rewards of Waiting

    The Rewards of Waiting

    Thursday of the 5th Week in Lent

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • Being There

    Being There

    The 5th Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • The Inner da Vinci

    The Inner da Vinci

    Saturday of the 1st Week of Lent

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • The Grander Plan

    The Grander Plan

    The Thursday after Ash Wednesday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    —

  • Us Vs. Them

    Us Vs. Them

    Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ——-

  • What Comes From the Heart

    What Comes From the Heart

    Wednesday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

  • Sheep and Shepherds

    Sheep and Shepherds

    Saturday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • The Doctor Is In

    The Doctor Is In

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • My Enemy, My Brother

    My Enemy, My Brother

    Saturday of the 2nd Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Samuel 1:1-4, 11-12, 19, 23-27

    In 1918, a woman abandoned her son at Father Flanagan’s Home for Boys in Omaha. Stricken with polio, the boy’s heavy leg braces made climbing stairs very difficult, if not impossible. Seeing this, some of the older boys began taking turns carrying him up the stairs. Stopping one of them afterward, Father asked, “Isn’t he heavy?” The boy replied, “He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother.” This became the motto for the home, which is open to this day, and where that attitude is still fostered and put into practice.

    If David carried anything having to do with Saul, it probably would’ve been resentment. Although the two started out well enough, Saul even having his daughter marry David, eventually jealousy, fear, and self-centeredness drove the king to hurt David, even to the point of trying to kill him. Given that, it probably wouldn’t surprise us if David was relieved, or even glad, that Saul died in battle. Yet, as we heard today, he mourns the loss; he even writes a lament for Saul, calling him ‘beloved,’ just like he does his own best friend and Saul’s son, Jonathan, who also died in the same battle.

    Some say that David’s remorse was all for show; crocodile tears, as my mother would have said. I understand that. David is a complex character, had a political streak, and probably acted with mixed motives many times. I may be naïve, but I don’t think this is one of them. At least twice, David had the opportunity to kill Saul and rightfully claim self-defense (1 Samuel 24, 26). Yet, he didn’t. Why not? Because Saul was the Lord’s anointed; he was king. David had humility enough to know his place as servant, Saul’s place as king, and, most importantly, God’s place as supreme judge (1 Samuel 24:16).

    In the coming years, David will learn even more about humility. Over the next several weekdays, we will see the him at his most noteworthy and his most notorious. It is perhaps the irony of David’s life that he will repeat so many of the errors of Saul’s ways; like him, David will suffer the effects of jealousy, fear, and self-centeredness; he will allow himself to seek (and obtain!) the death of another man; and he will ultimately be driven to his knees begging for mercy. Yet, unlike Saul, David isn’t too proud to seek it, finding that God looks not only for sorrow, but, also for a humble and contrite heart.

    But here, at the beginning of the book, God gives us an example of why He calls David a man after His own heart (1 Samuel 13:14), and in so doing teaches us two lessons. First, David’s grief over the death of Saul shows us that we have a choice; when we’ve been hurt, we can respond in kind, which leaves only bitterness and hatred, or we can respond with love, which leaves us at peace. It isn’t that we are expected to become fast friends with those who want to harm us, whether that be a terrorist far away or enemy close to home, but that we pray for them, that they may seek and find salvation. We do this because this is how God loves, and it is the love He wants us to have; that all people come to kneel before God and worship Him as one. Second, David’s grief teaches us that our responses are infectious; what we do, others see and may imitate. What did David’s followers do when they saw him grieve? They, too, grieved.

    Let us then pray for the gift of humility, that like David and the children at Boys Town, we may come to see God and each other through the lens of our own brokenness, and respond with praise and thanksgiving to God for His merciful love, and to each other with hearts made after His.

    —

  • 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.

    —–