Mark 10:45

Category: Spirituality

  • All Things to One Man: The Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

    All Things to One Man: The Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

    Hosea 11:1, 3-4, 8c-9; Ephesians 3:8-12, 14-19; John 19:31-37

    In high school we once did an exercise on self-perception. Sister began by asking us to take out a sheet of paper and write down 3 negative things about ourselves. After a couple of minutes she said, “Alright, now write down 3 positive things about yourself.” I can’t remember what I wrote but I know I didn’t list three; I’m not sure I even wrote two. That was Sister’s point; self-conscious teen-agers aside, people in general tend to be very good when it comes to focusing on their negative qualities but not so good when it comes to the positive.

    The same goes for our relationship with God. If you’re anything like me, it’s probably much easier to come up with reasons why He shouldn’t think very highly of you than reasons why He should. Today, on the Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, our Lord gives us at least three reasons to focus on the positive.

    First, listen again to his words in the 11th chapter of Hosea: When Israel was a child I loved him… I taught Ephraim to walk… took them in my arms… fostered them like one who raises an infant to his cheeks… stooped to feed my child… I will not let the flames consume you (Hosea 11:1, 3-4, 8-9). This isn’t the imagery of a God who loves from a distance, impersonally, or until we leave or hurt him; no, this is a God who loves intimately, with a deeply personal, boundless, and most of all, healing and merciful love.

    Second, as St. Paul makes clear, this is a love that goes beyond all words except the one, Eternal Word – Jesus. We can hear Paul struggling to express the inexpressible as he prays that we may have the strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:18-19). This is the key; divine love surpasses human knowledge and can be known only by faith (Ephesians 3:17), the gift of the Father possible only by the strength that comes from the Holy Spirit (CCC §683). To those who have faith, all the riches of grace are available.

    Finally, every image of the Sacred Heart reminds us with its crown of thorns of the cost of this love. We hear in the gospel of the soldier who thrust his lance into his side, and immediately blood and water flowed out (John 19:34). There is no love worthy of the name that is not asked to endure insult, temptation, and suffering. From the dawn of humankind it is written into our nature; it’s in our blood. But it isn’t in the blood of Christ, either from his Heavenly Father or his holy Mother, the Immaculate Conception. He willingly took it on. This is perhaps the greatest and most positive of all – that God, purely out of his infinite and merciful love for us, gave his only Son that we would be raised to life eternal. As Christ himself said, there is no greater love than this.

    St. Pio of Pietrelcina, Padre Pio, understood that very well. While passing through a crowd of people all clamoring to get near him, someone shouted, “Padre, you are all things to all men!” He replied, “No, I am all things to one Man.”

    May we all come to that kind of understanding! May we all see the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus as a day to set aside the negatives and focus on the overwhelming positive – that we too are all things to one Man. We are loved infinitely, personally, and mercifully; we are given the gift of faith which alone can make this love known to us beyond any human understanding; and finally, that as the ultimate expression of this love the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity took human form and allowed his own heart to be pierced that we may not only look upon him in mourning for the sinfulness that put him there but with rejoicing that divine love can take even the passion and death of Christ, the greatest insult of all time, and transform it into the greatest victory the world will ever know – the resurrection to eternal life for all who believe and return to God with their whole heart (Joel 2:12).

    Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us.

  • Sheep and Shepherd: St. Augustine of Canterbury

    Sheep and Shepherd: St. Augustine of Canterbury

    1 Thessalonians 2:2b-8; Matthew 9:35-38

    During a parish mission years ago the homilist asked the congregation, “Do we live the Christian life as sheep or shepherds?” At the risk of oversimplifying, his point was that being a true follower of Christ requires us to be both. Key moments from the life of St. Augustine of Canterbury beautifully illustrate that point.

    The first occurred on the French side of the English Channel in the late 6th century. Reality had taken hold; Augustine, the leader of a group of 40 Benedictines sent by Pope Gregory the Great to re-evangelize England, learned from the locals that across those choppy waters lived not only pagan but also hostile Germanic tribes. If they landed, they stood an excellent chance of being killed.

    So at that moment, was Augustine a sheep or shepherd? We might think “sheep” when we hear that he sent men back to the Pope to ask if the mission should be abandoned. Is he a coward? Shouldn’t he obey orders no matter what? Perhaps, but perhaps it’s prudent for a sheep to pause if he thinks he’s walking off a cliff. Better still, perhaps as the shepherd of 40 missionaries it would be foolhardy to blindly go forward if the pope did not know what Augustine now knew.

    Like the balance between sheep and shepherd, the virtues are also a balance, in this case a balance between extremes. For example, courage is the virtuous balance between cowardice on the one hand and foolhardiness on the other. Knowing the balance is one thing, finding it another. We need the grace of God to do this; to face down our fear of rejection, failure, inadequacy, or harm. St. Paul knew this; in the first reading he says, We drew courage through our God to speak to you the Gospel of God with much struggle (1 Thessalonians 2:2). Augustine was graced with courage in abundance, for when he received the reply that Gregory wished them to set sail, he immediately did so.

    His courage was rewarded. They landed in southeastern England, which was ruled by King Ethelbert, a pagan but married to a Catholic. After Augustine met with him, the king allowed them to preach the Gospel to his people. A year or so later, he himself was baptized and went on to become a saint in his own right. What’s more, when Ethelbert converted, thousands of his subjects came with him.

    But a second trial remained. Although England was largely pagan, small bastions of Catholicism remained in Wales and on the western shore. The ancient remnants of Irish missionaries, these Catholics were angry that the Roman Empire had left England and abandoned them. Although Gregory wanted them reunited, Augustine was unable to do so. Some accuse him of going against the Pope’s advice, or blame him for being tactless, arrogant, unwilling to compromise, and ignorant of their culture. Did he fail as both sheep and shepherd to them?

    I think it’s truer to say that like Christ, Augustine saw them as troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd (Matthew 9:36). When the Good Shepherd felt pity for such a flock, he ministered to them but did not change his teaching. Similarly, Augustine may have pitied or sympathized with the Celts, but in his role as shepherd he wasn’t going to give in on doctrinal points such as the date to celebrate Easter, which these groups demanded. No good shepherd can allow the flock to set the terms for following, even if it costs his reputation and means separation. In this, Augustine was ultimately vindicated; years after his death, the Celtic Catholics were united with Rome.

    The life of St. Augustine of Canterbury reminds us that the saints did not get where they are by being either a good sheep or a good shepherd; rather, they learned and they teach us how to be both.

    As sheep, we follow Christ wherever he leads and do whatever he asks. This tempts us to focus on the unknown: where is Christ leading us and what is he asking? But these are the wrong questions. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is our trust that the God who leads us won’t abandon us, and that we are praying for the grace to be faithful, to follow him no matter what, for he always leads the way to victory. Like the saints, we’re only human; as Augustine showed, even saints are sometimes afraid. But he also showed that he was a sheep who knew his Master’s voice, and when his vicar encouraged him to keep going, Augustine’s faithfulness emboldened him to follow Christ beyond his fear. His obedience was rewarded with many converts.

    Yet we are not only sheep, we are shepherds. This may sound odd because, as the Gospel acclamation reminds us, Christ is the Good Shepherd; what’s more, if he has vested anyone with a shepherd’s staff it is the Magisterium, the teaching authority of the Church he established. Nevertheless, by our baptism we are anointed to the prophetic role of teacher. At the end of Mass we hear “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord;” whether by word or action, we are charged to preach the Gospel to the world. This is what Augustine did; to anyone who would listen, from kings to the lowliest peasant. No one is universally successful and Augustine lost some battles, but Christ won the war; eventually and in one of the great ironies that define the faith, England, saved by the continent, would in time send missionaries back to Europe to save it, like St. Boniface who became patron saint of Germany. None of this would have happened without the groundwork laid by St. Augustine of Canterbury, true sheep and true shepherd.

    St. Augustine of Canterbury, pray for us.

  • How Lows Become Highs: Memorial of Pope St. Martin I, Martyr

    How Lows Become Highs: Memorial of Pope St. Martin I, Martyr

    2 Timothy 2:8-13; 3:10-12

    In C.S. Lewis’s brilliant work The Screwtape Letters, the senior devil (Screwtape) teaches his apprentice what he calls the “Law of Undulation.” In a nutshell, this is the idea that people experience highs and lows in their relationship with God. The “highs” are those peak times when we feel especially close to God, while the “lows,” are the times when we feel dry, uninspired, and God seems far away. The “wise” demon waits out the highs and strikes during the lows.

    Of course, the genius of this is that we can all relate to it. Think back on times, perhaps a Mass or contemplative moment, when you felt a spiritual high. It felt as if God was all around you; a time of almost indescribable joy. Then think of those other times, the lows; you felt alone, your prayers dry, your faith stagnant.

    In a sense, this is part of what it means to be human. In friendship, marriage, and work, there are times we feel close to people or the job and times we don’t. It’s only natural that in our relationship with God we would experience the same thing. But as Lewis notes, sometimes those with evil intent manipulate this law to drive us away from God.

    Such was the case with Pope Martin I. His reign came at a tumultuous time; it was the 7th century, and for over 600 years people had struggled to understand the persons and natures of Christ. Was he only human? Only divine? A mixture? Did he have a human will, a divine will, or both? There were as many opinions as there were people.

    Then as now, some opinions mattered more than others, especially when it was the opinion of the highest civil power – the Emperor. Unfortunately, his opinion was heretical. Like many inside the Church, he believed that Jesus did not have a human will, or that if he did it was completely absorbed into his divine will like a drop of water in the ocean. Pope Martin disagreed, publicly and in council, holding the Church to the truth we profess to this day, that Christ had both a human and a divine will.

    Angered, the Emperor had the pope hauled to Constantinople and ordered to endorse the “official” position or face a charge of treason. When Martin refused to obey, he was imprisoned and starved for several weeks. Again he was ordered to obey, and again he refused. When it became clear that the pope would never agree, he was sentenced to death for treason. Stripped of most of his clothing, he was mercilessly whipped, then dragged in chains through the streets. The abuse he suffered was so horrific that even the residents of Constantinople, accustomed to violence, were disgusted. Eventually the sentence was commuted and Martin was exiled, where he was neglected and starved.

    When we think of the Holy Father’s situation, it seems ripe for the kind of spiritual low that demons would relish: Cut off from his flock; in prison; in chains; beaten; humiliated; vilified; starved; exiled; neglected. Who would blame him for turning inward, giving up, and spiraling down? Yet his letters written from prison and exile read like someone moving toward a spiritual high. The pope prayed not for himself but for his flock, especially the heretics, that they would repent and return to the one true faith. When he did write of himself, it wasn’t to bemoan his own suffering but to glorify God in it; he spoke of his abandonment to the will and mercy of God, and his hope that Christ would come soon to bring him home. Finally, after two years, Martin was delivered from the starvation and neglect of exile. He is the last pope (to date) to die a martyr.

    In the first reading St. Paul wrote to Timothy, If we have died with him we shall also live with him; if we persevere we shall also reign with him (2 Timothy 11-12). This reminds us not only of the glorious destiny of Pope St. Martin I, but of the need for us to pray for and practice the virtues of fortitude and perseverance. Both the spiritual highs and lows are gifts from God that are meant to be used. Although we want to hold onto the highs and treasure them, they provide the grace we need to look beyond ourselves and see how we might strengthen others, and to look within ourselves to see where we need strength, where God is working in our lives, and where he may be calling us. And if God feeds our virtues in the highs, he tests them in our lows. But again, as St. Martin shows, we don’t run from those times; rather, we persevere through them by focusing not on ourselves but on others and not by complaining about our suffering but by uniting it to the suffering of Christ for the sake of his body, the Church. To paraphrase St. Martin, throughout the highs and lows, remember that Christ is at hand, and hope in His mercy.

    Pope St. Martin I, pray for us.

  • The Invitation to Dare: Divine Mercy Sunday

    The Invitation to Dare: Divine Mercy Sunday

    Acts 4:32-35; 1 John 5:1-6; John 20:19-31

    The gospel according to John has been called the gospel of encounters. Each follows the same basic pattern: Jesus encounters someone, they test him, there is an exchange, and the encounter ends with those who tested Jesus finding that in reality they are the ones being tested: Will they believe or not? Of course, Jesus wants them to rise to the challenge but he never forces them; it’s their choice and a test of their faith.

    Between last Sunday and this, John gives us five encounters, each posing its own challenge to faith. First, the Beloved Disciple: Will he believe in the resurrection based only on the testimony of an empty tomb? No; he has to see the tomb himself and the burial cloths neatly arranged, perhaps as proof that the body of Jesus was not stolen. Then Mary Magdalene: Will she recognize the risen Lord if she sees him? No; she must hear his voice. Next, the Apostles: Will they believe if they see and hear? Only when Jesus shows them his hands and side. Then Thomas: Will he believe his brother Apostles, now eyewitnesses? No; he needs to touch the wounds of Christ. The fifth challenge is from the evangelist to us: Will we believe without being able to see, hear, or touch Jesus?

    We might be tempted to say no, for if the Beloved Disciple, Mary Magdalene, and the Apostles struggled with faith, what hope do we have? But that’s not the attitude of Christ; he calls us “blessed.” Why? Because his encounters with us are not about human failure but about the triumph of divine mercy. Jesus didn’t resent the Beloved Disciple going to the tomb; rather, he used it to inspire John to recall the words that made that trip unnecessary: Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up (John 2:19). He wasn’t disappointed that Mary Magdalene needed to hear him; he is the Good Shepherd whose sheep follow him because they recognize his voice (John 10:4). He wasn’t angry that the Apostles had to see his wounds; rather, he bid them peace and gave them authority to forgive sins, so that others may know the same peace and all might take to heart his words at the Last Supper: Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me (John 14:1). He was perhaps kindest of all to Thomas, that from he who seemed weakest in faith came the greatest affirmation of Christ’s divinity in all the gospel: My Lord and my God (John 20:28). Finally, Jesus spoke encouragingly to us, calling us blessed because we have not seen and have believed (John 20:29).

    This is how God shows mercy: By encouraging rather than cajoling, inspiring rather than depressing, and building up rather than putting down (although justice sometimes demands the whip). For his goal is and always has been to raise us up to himself. God is love and as one spiritual writer has noted, “mercy is love bending over misery to relieve it, to redeem it, to raise it up to itself.”[1] Time and again God has shown that this is what he will do, even to the giving of his only Son, that in his infinite mercy, he might draw us closer and closer to himself.

    Today we have the opportunity to draw very close indeed, for on the Feast of Divine Mercy, Christ offers us a great gift: The renewal of baptismal grace; the complete forgiveness of sins and punishment. This grace is usually received only through baptism itself or a “perfect” sacramental confession – one made purely for the love for God.

    Of course, like all encounters with Christ, there is a challenge. We can only obtain this extraordinary grace if we worthily receive the Eucharist on the Feast of Divine Mercy or its vigil Mass. Since we are at that Mass now we’re off to a good start, but that’s not all; worthily means that we have made a good sacramental confession in the recent past (say, Lent), that we’re still in the state of grace, and that we trust in the infinite mercy of God. Also, our Lord revealed to St. Faustina that if we are to receive mercy, we must show mercy. We don’t have to do what the Christians did in the first reading – sell our homes and give the proceeds to the poor – but we do have to practice the works of mercy listed in the Catechism: Spiritual works such as teaching the faith, advising, consoling or comforting others, forgiving and bearing all wrongs patiently, and the corporal works such as feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned, and respectfully burying the dead.

    Fr. Michael Gaitley, who has dedicated himself to spreading the Divine Mercy devotion, advises us to remember that we do these things out of love and gratitude to God, not to try and earn his mercy. Asked what the biggest misconception is about Divine Mercy, he said that many active Catholics have somehow gotten the idea that “God’s love must be earned by following all the rules, saying all the prayers, and giving money to the right causes… that the more perfect we are, the more worthy we are to draw close to Jesus. The reality is that Jesus invites us spiritually poor, weak, broken, and overburdened people to draw as close as we dare…”[2]

    Every encounter with Christ is an invitation to dare; to “become who we are.” It requires us to face who we are – poor, weak, and broken – but also to see ourselves as God sees us – eternally willed, infinitely precious, and worth any sacrifice. In this lies the wound to our pride, the admission that there is nothing we can do to earn our own salvation but also the healing truth that there is nothing we need to do, for God has already done it. All he asks is that we accept it and, on this feast of Divine Mercy, show our gratitude for it. The only question is, will we?

    1 Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalene, Divine Intimacy, #236, Section 1.

    2 Catholic Digest, April/May 2020, page 16

  • The Heart of the Law: The 3rd Sunday of Lent, Cycle B

    The Heart of the Law: The 3rd Sunday of Lent, Cycle B

    Exodus 20:1-17; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-25

    At first, today’s readings might not present themselves as a unified whole: Moses receives the Ten Commandments; St. Paul speaks of the cross; our Lord cleanses the Temple. But if we look a little below the surface, a theme does emerge.

    First, the Ten Commandments. As significant as they are on their own, these are only the first of a series of commands that God used to define the terms of his covenant with the Hebrews. The agreement was this: If the people obeyed God’s law, they would not only be his treasured possession but God would have a sanctuary built and dwell among them. This was truly momentous, for God hadn’t dwelled among people since the Garden of Eden (recall him walking in the Garden in Chapter 3 of Genesis).

    This is why several chapters of Exodus then go into great detail about the sanctuary’s construction. Much of it symbolizes the Garden of Eden, that first sanctuary of God, including the tree in the center of the Garden – the tree of life. And that explains why, down to the time of Jesus and beyond, the Temple held such pride of place among the Jews: The Temple was an icon of the universe, including paradise, and its center, the holy of holies, the place where God Most High dwelled among his people. It was as if God was re-creating Eden and restoring his people to their place near the tree of life.

    The only thing more incredible than all this was how little time it took the Hebrews to break the covenant. Just weeks after agreeing to have no other gods they melted jewelry to make a golden calf. But then we shouldn’t be too hard on them; it’s human nature to want our own way, to determine for ourselves what is good, and then, after we’ve sinned, to rationalize or minimize it.

    We see that in the gospel story. Jewish law did stipulate a census tax and the securing of an animal for sacrifice, but neither of those things had to be done on Temple grounds and there is little doubt that at least some profiteering went on. But come on, what’s the harm? People paid the tax and sacrificed their animal. We see it in our own time as well. For example, the Catechism teaches that it’s a sin against the 2nd Commandment to say God’s name when we’re not praying. God’s name is holy, and we are to speak it only to bless, praise, and glorify him (CCC §2143). Still, we’re tempted to think, “No way. Everybody says, ‘OMG’ when they talk. I can’t believe God really cares about that!”

    But we forget the ancient principle of law that says that the seriousness of an offense is determined not by the person who commits the crime, but by the dignity of the victim. For example, in civil law, if a man assaults someone he might be arrested or fined, but if he assaults the President of the United States he will definitely go to prison for a very long time. Why? Because of the dignity our society bestows on the office of President.

    So with God’s law; when we sin God is offended, and because God’s dignity is infinite, every offense against him is infinite. From that perspective, think how arrogant it is for us to tell God when he should or should not be offended, or demanding that God explain himself to us. That’s exactly backward. Only God gets to say when he is offended and, as Christ implied in the Temple, only God is in a position to demand anything.

    This at last brings us to the cross. For God does demand something – justice – but in his infinite mercy demands that it be satisfied once and for all through the sacrifice of his only Son. As much as the commandments mean, as much as the Temple ever meant, infinitely more was given to us by this gift. For as he implied in today’s gospel, Jesus is the Temple, and only in his cross do we find the true tree of life, the highest expression of what we are called to be, how we are are called to love.

    In these remaining days of Lent, make time to contemplate the cross. If you do not pray the Stations of the Cross, consider doing that. Regardless, pray the words we begin with – the Act of Contrition: “O my God,” (said in prayer!) “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin.”

    This prayer helps us remember what God wants most: That his law be written on our hearts; that from our heart we are sorry for offending his infinite dignity; and that we are committed to avoiding the situations or places that have helped lead us into sin. All this strengthens within us the Holy Spirit’s gift of fear of the Lord, through which we come to love God so much, to respect his dignity so deeply that we never want to do anything to offend him; to say as little St. Joan of Arc said at her trial, “I would rather die than do a thing which I know to be a sin or against the will of God.”

    That is the heart of Christ, whose love is the heart of the law.

  • Mercy and Forgiveness: Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Mercy and Forgiveness: Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Daniel 9:4b-10; Luke 6:36-38

    The readings today evoke two images of Pope St. John Paul II in my mind.

    The first is of a trip the pope made on April 13th, 1986. Although very short – less than two miles from the Vatican – its impact was as great as any pastoral visit he would ever make. For on that day the Holy Father bridged a gap that was centuries wide, doing what no pope since St. Peter had ever done: entering a Jewish synagogue. In fact, he entered Rome’s Great Synagogue and, while 1000 Jews watched and wept, warmly embraced the Rabbi, then publicly and sincerely apologized to all Jews on behalf of the Church for whatever part she played in the centuries of discrimination and persecution the Jewish people had suffered.

    We naturally tend to focus guilt on ourselves as individuals but the pope reminded us that, as the reading from Daniel implies, sin is sometimes a matter of “we,” and not just “I.” In his Apostolic Exhortation “Reconciliation and Penance” John Paul II referred to this as social sin – sins committed by groups as small as a few people or as large as many nations. His point was that each member bears some share of responsibility for what the group does or fails to do. As he wrote, social sins are the “very personal sins of those who cause or support evil or who exploit it… who are in a position to avoid, eliminate or at least limit certain social evils but who fail to do so out of laziness, fear or the conspiracy of silence, through secret complicity or indifference… who take refuge in the supposed impossibility of changing the world and… sidestep the effort and sacrifice required….”1

    Therefore, it is our moral duty as Catholics to examine ourselves in light of the behavior of the groups in which we participate in our parish, Church, community, nation, and world, and to speak and act against these behaviors when necessary.

    The second image of St. John Paul is in the prison cell of his would-be assassin, the man who shot him several times on May 13th, 1981. Although the pope publicly forgave him four days later, in 1983 he visited the prison and personally did so again. Later, John Paul appealed to the Italian government to release him, which they did. Eventually the man converted to Catholicism, citing the pope’s influence.

    In the gospel, Luke does not put on our Lord’s lips the words Matthew used: Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48). Instead, the Jesus of Luke says, Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful (Luke 6:36). Here, “merciful” could also be translated “compassionate,” and there are few examples of mercy or compassion better than the Holy Father’s actions. And look at the effect! The transformation of a man from one who would kill the Vicar of Christ into one who would rather die for love of Christ.

    The power to look within and see the personal and social sin as well as the capacity to show mercy comes as the free gift of our Lord to all who are willing to ask forgiveness of those we have wounded and offer it to those who have wounded us. This is the transformative power of the heart of Christ, as St. John Paul reminded us when he said, “I invite you all to join me in turning to Christ’s heart, the eloquent sign of the divine mercy, the “propitiation for our sins,” “our peace and reconciliation,” that we may draw from it an interior encouragement to hate sin and to be converted to God, and find in it the divine kindness which lovingly responds to human repentance.”

    Sacred Heart of Christ, have mercy on us.

    St. John Paul II, pray for us.

    1http://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_jp-ii_exh_02121984_reconciliatio-et-paenitentia.html

  • To Life: Saturday after Ash Wednesday

    To Life: Saturday after Ash Wednesday

    Ezekiel 33:11

    In the gospel acclamation from the book of Ezekiel, the Lord says, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked man… but rather in his conversion, that he may live (Ezekiel 33:11).

    A popular radio talk show host recently died and the air waves are full of condolences but also, sadly, celebrations. Those who disliked him are publicly rejoicing that he died. Before I get too self-righteous I can honestly say for my part that there have been times I was happy to hear that someone had died. For example, I wasn’t a bit sad to learn that Osama bin Laden had been killed or Saddam Hussein executed. These men were the architects of some truly terrible human disasters; wicked men who met a wicked end, which was exactly what I thought they deserved.

    Yet today we hear that God takes no pleasure in their death. Rather, he wanted their conversion; he wanted them home, eternally in union with him.

    This might upset our idea of justice. How could such tyrants ever merit the eternal bliss of heaven? How could God love them? Then again we must ask: Are we thinking of justice or vengeance? And have we given enough credit to that most wonderful attribute of God – his infinite, merciful love?

    Although our love can never be infinite, Jesus has made it clear that we are still called to love as God loves. Therefore, let us resolve to pray, work, and rejoice in life, not death; to remember that love does not abandon the wicked to their sins but calls them to conversion, that they may find their way out of the darkness and into the healing, forgiving light of Christ.

    Just as we ourselves hope to do.

  • Today: Thursday After Ash Wednesday

    Today: Thursday After Ash Wednesday

    Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Matthew 4:17; Luke 9:22-25

    Today. We just heard Moses say it twice. Today I have set before you life and prosperity, death and doom. If you obey the commandments of the LORD, your God, which I enjoin on you today… (Deuteronomy 30:15). We can almost feel the immediacy in his words. Don’t put it off! Choose now! The time is now!

    There is a similar sense throughout the gospels. We hear it in the gospel acclamation, the Kingdom of heaven is at hand (Matthew 4:17). It is here, now. We also heard it in Luke’s gospel as our Lord said: if anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily (Luke 9:23). In fact, this call of Christ differs from the call in Mark’s gospel (Mark 8:34-35) only in that one word – daily.

    Today, the second day of Lent, is that day. God sets before us the choice: On the one hand, death and doom, the inevitable end of all sinfulness; on the other hand, life and prosperity, the inevitable end of bearing our cross and following after our Lord all the way to Calvary, the tomb, and resurrected glory.

    Don’t put it off; tomorrow is not guaranteed. The time is now.

  • The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    Malachi 3:1-4; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

    February 2nd is a day of celebrations. Many know it as Groundhog Day, the day when it seems the whole world watches the behavior of a groundhog in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. What many may not know is that this lighthearted little distraction began over a century ago as a Protestant attempt to take attention away from the Catholic celebration of Candlemas. By ancient tradition, February 2nd, the last day of Christmas, is the day on which candles to be used throughout the year are blessed at holy Mass.

    February 2nd is also reserved for a much different kind of celebration. At memorial services around the country, people will gather and candles will be lighted to honor four chaplains who in World War II served on board the USS Dorchester. On this night in 1943 the Dorchester was torpedoed by a German U-boat in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Out of time, options, and life preservers, these four men – two Protestant ministers, a Jewish rabbi, and a Catholic priest – gave up their life jackets to four soldiers without one, locked their arms together in prayer, and went down with the ship.

    This is exactly the kind of heroic witness that goes to the heart of the greatest celebration on February 2nd – the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord. For, from the moment of their own consecrations, each of these men had, like Christ, committed himself to bringing the love and light of God to those around them. While none knew the fate that awaited him, each spent every day preparing for it; offering themselves to the Father that others may live. When the final moment came, each man came to it exactly as Simeon came to the Temple; in the Spirit, using the gifts only God can give, for the same reason that Christ came in the first place – that others may live.

    But their lives and deaths are more than just a good story; they point the way for us. We too are consecrated to the Lord. At our baptism, each of us received a lighted candle while our parents and Godparents were told, “This light is entrusted to you to be kept burning brightly. This child of yours has been enlightened by Christ. He (she) is to walk always as a child of the light.” The Feast of the Presentation is the perfect time to remember that moment and re-dedicate ourselves to it. As children we depended on others to teach us the faith and to help light its fire in our hearts; as adults we are charged to pass that faith on to others. In both ways, we are called to present ourselves to the Lord and to live out our consecration to Him.

    Begin conformed to Christ in this way will mean that we like him are to be signs of contradiction; teaching life to a culture of death, showing what happiness is to a world so frustrated in its pursuit of pleasure, and living the spiritual life as a model for those who see only the material. That will no doubt bring joy but also rejection and suffering. Jesus experienced this; as we heard in the letter to the Hebrews, he himself was tested through what he suffered. But the author doesn’t leave it there; he concludes by saying that he is able to help those who are being tested (Hebrews 2:18).

    This is the most hopeful note of all, for it means that whether those moments of testing sting like the ice water of the North Atlantic or burn like the refiner’s fire, Christ has not abandoned us; to the contrary, he walks with us, the light for our path and the Light of the world, constantly forming and conforming us in ways more and more like himself – as the prophet Malachi said, a sacrifice pleasing to the Lord.

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  • The Heart of the Matter: The 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

    The Heart of the Matter: The 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

    Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalm 95:8-9; Mark 1:21-28

    When you ask people about their favorite schoolteacher and what it was that made them so great, the answer often has less to do with what they taught than the kind of person they were. They cared about us, were compassionate to us, interested in us, challenged us, and so on. Whatever their qualities, the effect was the same – that teacher inspired us. They taught us much more than how to excel in a subject; through them we learned more about ourselves and how to make a difference in the world.

    Good teachers touch our heart, bad ones make us heartsick; they get reactions. So it was with Christ, the teacher. Last week, Mark told us of our Lord’s first class: He called people to repent, to turn their minds and hearts around. We then witnessed his mysterious, charismatic ability to draw people to himself, namely the first 4 disciples, just by asking them to follow him. It was a week full of dramatic moments and powerful, positive reactions.

    This week the drama continues but as we hear of Christ teaching in the synagogue, we see a totally different reaction. Twice Mark says that the people were astonished. While that might not seem much different, the original Greek word connotes fear; this is not a positive reaction as much as one full of anxiety and foreboding. We can feel the fear in the words of the demoniac: What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are – the Holy One of God (Mark 1:24)!

    What do they fear? Is it what Moses spoke of in the first reading? Are they struck with fear at the presence of the Lord, like their ancient ancestors? Perhaps; Mark says they sensed his authority, and the demoniac certainly knew that Jesus was no ordinary rabbi. But I think a clue to another reason lies in today’s Psalm response: If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts (Psalm 95:8f). The term “harden our hearts” essentially means “close our minds.” The person with the hardened heart hears God but does not listen, only wants certain things from God, says the right words but does little or nothing, and may even have stopped feeling the guilt of their own sin.

    Imagine the consternation inside such a person when confronted with Christ, the caring, compassionate teacher who challenges people, moves their hearts, draws them to himself, and inspires in them a longing for more. They can’t help but feel powerfully attracted to his message yet at the same time afraid of what that attraction will cost.

    So then, we come to the heart of the matter. Is the psalm talking about us? Are our hearts hardened? How do we know? Reflect again on a few of the symptoms:

    • Refusal to listen to God. Listening is not hearing; it comes from the Latin word meaning “to obey.” Do I hear but fail to obey what God tells me in Scripture and through the authority he has given his Church? Or, do I rely on my own authority?
    • Only want certain things from God. When I take an honest look at my prayer life, do I tend to talk to God more about what he can do for me than how I can conform my will to his?
    • Say the right words but do little or nothing. Have I said I would change, take full advantage of opportunities given me to do so, but then done little or nothing?
    • No longer bothered by sin. Have I persisted in sin so long now that it no longer bothers me at all?

    Every “yes” to these questions is as if we are saying to Christ, “What have you to do with me, Jesus of Nazareth?” We fear that he has come to destroy us, to condemn us to hell. He has that power; he is the Holy One of God! The longer we live this way, the more ingrained this fear becomes. We know things must change before the great reckoning, but we are so tempted to avoid it; that kind of change is going to hurt.

    We cannot allow fear to deafen us to the call of Christ, the infinitely compassionate teacher. Note his first word to the demoniac: Quiet. He knows that demons love noise and distraction, and we do, too. But he also knows that only in silence can we hear him and only in hearing resolve to obey his voice urging us to face ourselves as we are. It can be a painful moment but in it lies openness; that weakness that pleads for the strength of Christ. First, utter the simplest prayer – one word, the Name above all names: Jesus. As St. John of the Cross said, from all eternity the Father spoke only one word – the Eternal Word – Jesus, and he has no more to say. If that’s enough for God, it’s enough for us. Next, include a request: “Open my heart.” This is the gift of docility, a teachable spirit. No teacher, not even God, can move us if we resolve to keep our minds closed. With docility comes that inner clarity through which we see that Christ has come not to destroy us, but the sinfulness that has hardened our hearts. Finally, ask for mercy. This goes right to Sacred Heart of Christ.

    Do this often. It isn’t an overnight process; change of heart takes time. That’s OK; Jesus is a patient teacher and we have the rest of our lives to work on it. It is true that we know neither the day nor the hour of the “final exam” but we do know that unlike earthly teachers, Christ’s goal is not to touch our heart but to transform it; not to see that we excel in a subject but to see that we are the subject. Above all, he gives us his own Sacred Heart as the model of what a heart should be, one whose faith overcomes all fear, that can behold him and truly say, I know who you are – the Holy One of God!