Mark 10:45

Category: Reflections

Homilies and Reflections

  • The Heart of the Matter

    The Heart of the Matter

    Saturday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    Hosea 6:1-6; Luke 18:9-14

    When we hear the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, we are rightly drawn to the differences between them. However, I think time is well spent thinking not only about the differences but also the similarities, and what both have to teach us about ourselves and our prayer life, which is the reason Jesus taught this parable to begin with.

    The fact is, the two men have some important things in common. First, they’re both truthful. The Pharisee is telling the truth when he says he isn’t greedy, dishonest, or adulterous; so is the tax collector when he calls himself a sinner. Second, their actions are pious. The Pharisee tithes and fasts, while the tax collector stands at a distance, keeps his eyes lowered, and beats his breast as he prays. Third, both are men of deep conviction; they speak to God straight from the heart.

    Speaking to God from the heart is key, for Scripture teaches us that prayer is a work of the heart. The heart is where we live, our inner Temple, the place to which we withdraw (CCC 2563). At the same time, it is the place God knows best; he looks at the heart and knows its secrets (1 Samuel 16:7; Psalm 44:21). If we are righteous in God’s eyes, our prayers are fruitful (James 5:16); if not, our prayers are in vain (CCC 2562).

    This brings us back to the Pharisee. Although he seems to be speaking to God, his words betray a heart turned inward. Our Lord may be hinting as much when he says the man spoke this prayer to himself (18:11), but even if not, one thing is clear: God is the audience of his prayer, not the object. It’s tempting to think that we never do this, but my guess is that in the quiet of our own inner Temple, we can all recall times when we’ve focused a little too much on ourselves, have resisted what God is asking, acted as if the good things we’ve done we did on our own, or that in some way God likes us just a little bit more than he does some other people – especially people we don’t like.

    That’s the real problem. The Pharisee is right to say that he is not like the rest of humanity, but wrong because he’s comparing his behavior with what other people do, not with what God expects. The same is true for us; our standard is not other people, it is Christ. Given that, we can understand why God would say through Hosea, Your piety is like a morning cloud, like the dew that early passes away (6:5). Fasting, tithing, coming to the Temple: All are false piety if they don’t come from a truly humble heart.

    Humility, the foundation of all prayer, helps us to recognize our dependence on God and to appreciate our place in His plan. It is the virtuous balance between the extremes of pride on the one side and self-abjection on the other, which happens when we fail to recognize and use the gifts God has given us.

    As our Lord pointed out, humility was the great virtue of the tax collector. We know it from his posture and his words: Be merciful to me a sinner. What we do not know is what happened next. Did he live that humility out in his daily life by doing what the Baptist advised, Stop collecting more than what is prescribed (John 3:13)? While we must not push the parable beyond its limits, we must remember that humility not only orients us to God, but to each other as well. As with the Pharisee, it’s tempting think that we already live humbly in the world, but we must ask ourselves: Do we ever dwell on other peoples’ faults, gossip about them, seek their admiration, or return insult for insult?

    Like the Pharisee, this is the problem. True humility urges us to remember that God’s loving plan extends to all of humanity. We cannot live equitably with other people unless we treat them like equals, and we certainly cannot pray, no matter how humbly, “O God, be merciful to me a sinner,” if we refuse to be merciful to those who sin against us.

    Through the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, our Lord teaches us two lessons about prayer: First, the foundation of prayer is not our honesty, piety, or sincerity, but a contrite and humbled heart (Psalm 51:19). Second, the fruit of righteous prayer is a life of virtue most perfectly found in the life of Jesus, who took the form of a slave, humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross (Philippians 2:7-9). Indeed, no man so humbled was ever so greatly exalted.

  • To See and Understand

    To See and Understand

    Saturday of the 6th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 9:2-13

    As we read the gospel of Mark, we might catch ourselves wondering about the Apostles. They never seem to get it! No matter what they see Jesus do – healing after healing, miracle after miracle – they end up asking the same question: “Who is this?”

    Although Mark probably intended us to wonder, and for good reason, we shouldn’t take it too far. We have the benefit of hindsight, not to mention an evangelist who tells us everything we need to know in his first line: the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1). The Apostles had to figure it out as it was happening. They did have some success; Mark tells us that Peter recognized Jesus as the Messiah (8:29). However, he also says that they didn’t understand the cross (8:32; 9:32; 10:35ff). That’s probably because they pictured the Messiah as the son of David, not the Son of God; a conquering king, not a suffering servant; someone who would free them from emperors and tyrants, not from sin and death.

    So, the question really isn’t why the Apostles never got it. They did, as Mark well knew, especially if his gospel came from Peter himself. The question is what moved a man like Peter to go from a terrified disciple asking if he should set up tents on a mountain to a faithful shepherd of the Church who, nearing his martyrdom, wrote with such conviction of that same unforgettable, mystical experience (2 Peter 1:16-18).

    I think the answer lies in the gifts given to him by the Holy Spirit, particularly the gift of understanding. It has been called a “penetrating” or “permanent” intuition of divine truth,1 and it certainly was for St. Peter; who could intuit any truth greater than Jesus, who is the way, the truth, and the life? Indeed, given his experience – seeing Moses, Elijah, and the glorified Christ, and hearing the voice of the Father – Peter must have devoted many hours to contemplating what the Transfiguration of our Lord meant for him and for the Church.

    So should we, for the gift of understanding is given to us, too. It works in many ways. First, it helps us find the hidden meanings of Scripture. Certainly it was used by the Apostles and Fathers of the Church as they read and discovered the many Old Testament references to Christ. The pages of our bibles have much of the fruits of their labor. I urge you to find the notes and footnotes for today’s gospel passage (two are Exodus and 1 Kings) and see how they inform and enrich your understanding of the Transfiguration. Second, the gift of understanding helps us see the relationships between symbols and what they point to. One example is the cloud that surrounded the Apostles on the mountain; that is a symbol of the Lord’s presence, just as it was in the time of Moses. Third, the gift of understanding shows us how God works in our own lives. Think of your own “mountaintop” experiences or consolations; the times during Mass or other prayer when you felt especially close to God, or moved by his presence and power. Finally, the gift of understanding strengthens our appreciation for the Sacraments. For example, when the bread and wine are consecrated, we are led to a deeper, more profound awareness of Jesus Christ, most truly present. It is as St. Thomas Aquinas once said: “When the eye of the spirit is purified by the gift of understanding, one can in a certain way see God.”

    Let us pray today and every day for an increase in the gift of understanding, that we may more and more clearly see the face of God in Scripture, the Church, the Sacraments, and perhaps most especially in our own lives.

    1 Aumann, Fr. Jordan, OP. The Gift of Understanding. Available online at http://www.domcentral.org/study/aumann/st/st10.htm#tgou.

    https://catholicstraightanswers.com/gifts-understanding-wisdom/

  • Don’t Mess with Perfection: Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    Don’t Mess with Perfection: Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 12:26-32; 13:33-34; Matthew 4:4; Mark 8:1-10

    In the first reading we hear of Jeroboam, the first in a series of problematic kings, and the huge changes he made in the way the people of Israel worshipped. We’ll get to the reason why but it’s important to note that this tendency to mess with perfection isn’t limited to him. We have only to go back to the time just after the Second Vatican Council to see something very similar. I’ll mention just a few things I myself witnessed.

    First, the music changed. That’s no big deal in and of itself; music always changes. But the words changed, and words matter. For example, now we sang about eating “bread” and drinking “wine” at Communion. This was followed in my parish by a nun wearing an alb, assisting the priest at Mass, and preaching what sounded like homilies. Next, the words of the readings began to change. I remember going up to the ambo and seeing that, throughout the lectionary, words were crossed out and others pencilled in. Awhile later, I moved to a new parish that had been remodeled so that the Tabernacle was moved to another room, the altar was where the pews used to be, and the pews were replaced by chairs. No kneeling. Finally came the Sacraments. Baptisms were “in the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sanctifier.” At Confession, the priest said to me, “Jesus absolves you of your sins.” The worst cut of all came on a road trip to the parish of an old personal friend, a priest. At Mass he changed the words of consecration. Even with what little education I had at the time, I knew you couldn’t just do that.

    Too often, religious changes are made for political reasons. The book of 1 Kings is clear: Jeroboam wasn’t concerned at all about the hearts of the people, only what losing them meant for him. Similarly, in the local Church, those making changes to the Mass and Sacraments saw an opportunity to express their ideologies or advance political agendas.

    Of course, that isn’t what religion is all about. As our faith teaches us, religion is an exercise of the virtue of justice; through it, we try to give God what we owe him, which is everything. If we make it about what we think is important rather than what God knows is important, then we risk reaping the rewards of Jeroboam’s pride and arrogance: Alienating God and losing the hearts of his people. That is why St. John Paul II and Benedict XVI went to such great lengths to speak about liturgical reform; they wanted us to remember that the Sacraments belong to Jesus Christ. Treating them as if they are our own personal property results only in confusion, disunity and spiritual hunger.

    This is the same kind of hunger so obviously felt by the people flocking around our Lord in the gospel reading. Mark tells us that they had chosen to be with him for three days (8:2), even at the expense of not eating. He rewards their bodily and spiritual hunger by giving them a foretaste of the Holy Mass; having already fed them with the word that comes forth from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4), he then took the seven loaves, gave thanks, broke them, and gave them to his disciples to distribute (8:6). Mark concludes by telling us everything we need to know: They ate and were satisfied (8:8).

    The lesson is clear: Don’t mess with perfection. Every time we approach our Lord with a humble, contrite heart that asks him only to remember us, he answers by giving us perfectly, in word and Sacrament, everything we need to be with him for eternity.

    Who would want to change that?

  • Of Prophets and Prophecy: The 6th Day of Christmas

    Of Prophets and Prophecy: The 6th Day of Christmas

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

    When we hear the word “prophet,” we may think of men like Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Ezekiel, and “prophecy” as the word of God given to them concerning things that would happen in times to come. If so, Anna in today’s gospel is a good reminder that we have more thinking to do.

    First, she reminds us that prophets aren’t always men. Indeed, Anna is the first woman referred to in the New Testament as a prophet, but other women follow, namely Philip’s daughters (Acts 21:9) and the women of Acts 2:17-18 and 1 Corinthians 11:4-5. What’s more, she follows in the line of Old Testament prophetesses: Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, Deborah, Huldah, and the mysterious woman in Isaiah (8:3), to name a few.

    These prophetesses, Anna included, also remind us that prophecy isn’t limited to oracles of future events. Miriam is noted for leading a beautiful song of thanksgiving for God’s deliverance of his people (Exodus 15:20), Deborah as one of the great Judges of Israel (Judges 4:4), and Huldah as the wise counselor who king Josiah relied on (2 Kings 22:14-20). Similarly, Anna speaks not of the future but of the here and now, giving thanks and proclaiming God’s long-awaited redemption.

    The Jewish scholar Abraham Heschel once said that the greatness of a prophet “lies not only in the ideas he expressed, but also in the moments he experienced. The prophet is a witness, and his words a testimony – to God’s power, to His justice and mercy.”1 What more sublime moment could any prophet experience than Anna’s encounter with the infant Christ? She, in whom the word of God remained (1 John 2:14) now gazed upon that Living Word; she who had long ago forsaken the world for love of the Father (1 John 2:15) now looked on Him who would offer the world His infinite love and mercy; and she who night and day devoted herself to the will of God (1 John 2:17) now adored Him who would see that same will done, to the Cross and far beyond.

    We don’t have Anna’s words; Luke says only that she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem (2:38). But this is all we need to know, for as Heschel also said, “In speaking, the prophet reveals God. This is the marvel of the prophet’s work; in his words, the invisible God becomes audible. He does not prove or argue. The thought he has to convey is more than language can contain. Divine power bursts in the words.”2 Whatever Anna said on that glorious day in the Temple or any day thereafter, divine power burst from her words; nothing she said could contain the God-Man revealed to her. Still, her job was not to prove or argue; it was to reveal God to those who had not seen; to make Him audible and by so doing reach their hearts with His, in hopes of making them burn as hers surely must have.

    This is our task as well. By our baptism we too are anointed priest, prophet, and king and by His gift of the Holy Eucharist we have him here with us as surely as Anna did in the Temple. So, let us do as she did: Old or young, widowed or not, at every Mass let us come forward, receive him, give thanks to him, and then speak about him to all. Even after two thousand years, we have no better words than Anna did; nevertheless, we have all we need. We too have the testimony of our lives. We must make them speak.

    St. Anna the Prophetess, pray for us.

    1Abraham J. Heschel. The Prophets. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, p 27.

    2Ibid.

  • Time for an “Awe-full” Advent

    As part of a school Christmas pageant, some first-graders reenacted the nativity story. Mary and Joseph, weary after their journey, sat by the manger and closed their eyes. The lights went out. When they came back on, Joseph woke up, looked in the manger and said, “Mary, wake up! Wake up! Look who you had!”

    As we all know, children get so excited at this time of year. Every sight, sound, and smell of the season is a wonder, and they are so full of anticipation that time seems to stand still; every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas seems like an eternity.

    But we also know that as we grow older the same time seems to fly. So many things occupy our minds; there are gifts to buy, parties to plan, places to go, people to see. Before we know it, Christmas is upon us and the only wonder that remains is where the time has gone.

    St. Gregory the Great once said that we make idols of our concepts, but wisdom is born of wonder. Every hint of wonder, every shred of joy in that little voice who cried, “Wake up! Look who you had!” is a reminder that any concept of Advent is an idol if it does not lead us more deeply to the wonder of Christ, who is Wisdom.

    It’s true that we are not children, time cannot stand still, and there are things during Advent that must be done. But it’s also true that Christ confers his Kingdom on those who trust like children, that time is what we make of it, and that our busyness is nothing but spiritual slumber when we yield to the temptation to put things before people, even ourself, and above all before our love of God, who loved us so much that he would take our flesh only to lay it down that we might live.

    Wake up! Wake up! Look who you have!

  • Minute Meditation: Thank God

    1 Thessalonians 1:1-5, 8b-10

    In the first reading today, St. Paul says,

    We give thanks to God always for all of you,
    remembering you in our prayers,
    unceasingly calling to mind your work of faith and labor of love
    and endurance in hope of our Lord Jesus Christ,
    before our God and Father,
    knowing, brothers and sisters loved by God, how you were chosen.
    For our Gospel did not come to you in word alone,
    but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with much conviction.

    I don’t. Thank God, I mean. At least, not enough.

    I know the ACTS of prayer – Adoration, Contrition, Thanksgiving, and Supplication – but tend to get stuck on the letter “S,” asking God for things. Of course I need to ask, but if that’s all I do then I risk treating God as little more than a divine vending machine. I also want to show God that I adore him, am sincerely sorry for my sins, and am grateful for all he has given.

    Which is where you come in. For as St. Paul reminded me this morning, God has given me you: People practicing the faith in your daily life, working to love all you meet, and enduring in great hope of the promises of Jesus Christ. I do thank God for you.

    But I can’t properly do that unless I also thank God for how you were chosen. Being self-centered and self-conscious, I get in the habit of behaving as if it all depends on me, that I must be eloquent enough, loving enough, patient enough. Those things are important but your faith doesn’t depend on them. No; as St. Paul reminded us, the Gospel comes to us not in word alone, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with much conviction. There is a power to the process far beyond any of us, working in ways we cannot understand, reaching us in depths no human being can go, touching and moving us in ways that nothing and no one else can.

    If that’s not worthy of thanksgiving, then what is?

  • The Paradox of Love: Friday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

    Joshua 24:1-13; Psalm 136:1; Matthew 19:3-12

    Today’s readings remind me of that famous scene in the musical Fiddler on the Roof when Tevye asks Golde, his wife of 25 years, do you love me? She replies, “Do I love you? For 25 years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow, after 25 years, why talk about love right now?” He repeats, do you love me? “I’m your wife.” I know… But do you love me? She thinks out loud, “Do I love him? For 25 years I’ve lived with him, fought him, starved with him, 25 years my bed is his, if that’s not love, what is?” Then you love me? Finally, she replies, “I suppose I do…”

    Why does this scene remind me of the readings? Because today Scripture focuses on what love is in its essence, and that scene highlights three key aspects of it.

    First, love is a verb. We love not in what we say but in what we do. Through Joshua, God speaks to people who, from the time of Abraham, through the oppression in Egypt, the fleeing, struggling, and starving in the desert, might well have asked, “God, do you love us?” Today we hear God reply: “Do I love you? Remember all the things I’ve done for you, and look what lies before you: You’ve made it to the Promised Land!”

    That reply echoes through the ages to today, to every one of us. We each have our own struggles, physical and spiritual. Through all of them, God isn’t sitting silently in the background; he is in every moment, working in ways beyond our understanding. His work may be unknown to us this moment, this month, or this year, but like the Promised Land, its fruit lies waiting. We must never mistake silence for inaction or indifference; God is eternally vigilant, eternally loving, always acting for our good.

    This brings up the second point: Love is timeless. How fitting that we hear Psalm 136 today, especially the antiphon, His mercy endures forever. The Hebrew word translated as “mercy” is hesed, which includes mercy but implies action, things we do when we are motivated by love and loyalty to someone else. In the scene from Fiddler on the Roof, remember that Golde replied, “After 25 years, why talk about love right now?” To her, the amount of time was not the point; she had committed her life to her marriage.

    Jesus speaks of this kind of commitment in the gospel when he quotes the passage from Genesis that a man is joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh (Genesis 2:24). Again to go back to the ancient language, the word for “joined” literally means, “glued.” Imagine gluing two pieces of paper, allowing them to dry, then trying to tear them apart. We know what will happen; the kind of pain and suffering that only such tearing can bring.

    This leads us to a third aspect of love, which in the words of venerable Fulton Sheen is that love is the soul of sacrifice. Recall how Golde replied when Tevye asked if she loved him: all the sacrifices she had made, the things she had endured, for him. But not just for him, for herself as well. Only those willing to make the greatest sacrifice for love’s sake can know the deepest joys that love brings. When it comes to love, joy and sacrifice can never be separated; in married life, in ministry, in whatever kind of service we are called, only those who are most fully open, who risk the greatest vulnerability, can know the deepest, most fulfilling joy: to know and to be known, to accept and be accepted; to love and to be loved.

    As in all things, the best model for all these aspects of love is our Lord, Jesus Christ. Who performed greater works of love than he? Whose love is more timeless? Who is the soul of sacrifice more than he who was willing to empty himself into his own creation to show us that those who risk the ultimate sacrifice of themselves are given the ultimate joy of resurrection to eternal life? Only Christ could most perfectly show us all this, the great paradox of love: that giving is receiving; that most fully knowing means to be most fully known; and that only by dying to ourselves can we reach the promised land of eternal life.

  • Change in His Native Place: Friday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 13:54-58

    For me, social media is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it’s been the best way to find out what my kids are doing; you know, things they hadn’t gotten around to telling me yet, like if they were pregnant or had a new job. Dads really are last to know. But social media can also be problematic. I decided to reconnect with people I knew over 50 years ago at St. Peter’s school. I found one of the kids I hung out with and sent him a note saying, “Hey, it’s me! Do you remember me?” He responded, “Yeah, I remember you. Those poor nuns and priests.” And that was that.

    I wanted to write back and say, “No, no, I’ve changed! I’m not the same kid,” but I let it go. I’ve done the same thing he was doing, maybe we all do – tending to paint people with a broad brush, stereotype them, see them as unchanging. I don’t like it when people do that to me, but I do it to them all the time. Maybe it’s human nature.

    This is similar to what I think happened to Jesus when he went back home. To them, he was just the carpenter’s kid, Mary’s son, who they remembered from the neighborhood. They couldn’t believe that he is or was anything else. And we know the result; Matthew tells us that Jesus did not work many mighty deeds there because of their lack of faith.

    Of course, the irony is that Jesus hadn’t changed. As Scripture says, he is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). We can’t blame the people for not seeing that; his years in Nazareth are called “hidden” for a reason. The problem was not the peoples’ failure to learn about Jesus in the past but their failure to learn from him in the present. They were right to believe he hadn’t changed; they were wrong to believe that their knowledge of him didn’t need to change, either. Like my old classmate, like me, they failed to realize they didn’t know everything they needed to know about him. As Jesus showed them, for the sake of their own salvation they needed to change their minds.

    Change of mind and its relationship to faith is clearly important to Christ. It was among the first words he spoke in Mark’s gospel: Repent, and believe (Mark 1:15). Repent is a translation of a Greek compound word that means “change your mind.” As I’ve said before, it’s one thing to hear Jesus tell tax collectors or prostitutes to change their mind; we expect that. What we don’t expect, whether it’s people in ancient Nazareth or us in the modern day, is for him to tell us to change our mind when we think we’re already doing exactly what God wants!

    But he does say that to every one of us, and I think I know why. Remember the reaction Jesus got after the Sermon on the Mount; Matthew tells us the crowds were astonished at his teaching (Matthew 7:28). In both cases, astonishment. But at the Mount he was the new sensation; here in Nazareth, just the same, familiar Jesus. We must ask ourselves which Jesus we follow. Is his teaching still challenging us, or have his words become too familiar to us? Do we find new ways to apply them, or have they acquired a sameness? Are we continuing to grow in our knowledge and love of God, or do we think we know and love him as well as we need to?

    Regardless how well we think we know him or his message, Jesus challenges us because he’s looking for a reaction. He wants us to challenge him and to challenge ourselves. Although the questions he got in Nazareth were tinged in irony, they lie at the heart of all the gospels and the heart of our faith: Is he not the carpenter’s son? Where did this man get all this? These are just another way of asking the question that also appears in every gospel, Who do you say that I am?

    One final point. Matthew tells us that when Jesus heard these questions, he was in his native place (Matthew 13:54). We could say that the Church is our Lord’s native place, but it is also true that his native place is within each of us, where God has written his image. Certainly as we receive Jesus in Holy Communion he takes up residence in the most special way inside us. That is where he meets us, counsels us, urges us constantly to change our mind, to know him more deeply, and to contemplate that crucial question, Is he not the carpenter’s son? We do well to remember that every one of us, every day of our life, is challenged to answer those questions, and that everything we do from the time we wake up until the time we go to bed is our answer to them. Let us make it our most fervent hope and prayer that Christ is most truly honored there, in his native place.

  • To Seek, To Find, To Give, To Possess: Wednesday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

    Exodus 34:29-35; Matthew 13:44-46

    The French mathematician and philosopher Blaise Pascal, a Catholic, once said that he would have written a shorter letter but didn’t have time. Anyone who has tried to say exactly what they want to say in as few words as possible knows how hard that is.

    Our Lord is certainly a master of it. In two sentences he gives us a wonderfully deep insight into the spiritual life. The idea is simple; hidden treasure is found, the finder sells everything and buys the field. But there are really four things: Seeking, finding, giving up, and owning. God does them, we do them, and the result is what Israel saw with Moses in the first reading; when we are touched by God, our very being changes.

    First, seeking. In the parables, a man finds a treasure. Who is the seeker, man or God? Before answering, consider: the treasure had to be hidden first or there would have been nothing to find. The reality is that God is not hidden; he has written his image into us and around us all creation proclaims his glory. Yet as St. Augustine once said, “You were with me and I was not with you; created things kept me far from you.” Sinfulness keeps us from seeing him; we feel the emptiness, the hunger, but look to worldly things to fill it, only to find that everything the world has to offer leaves us as empty and unfulfilled as we were before. Still, God is faithful and always ready; when we turn to him with our whole heart and soul to do what is right before him (Tobit 13:6), he comes and finds us.

    No wonder the man in the parable was filled with joy! I see that kind of emotion often in people who are new to or returning to the faith; they are so happy to have finally found what their hearts had been searching for. There is great joy knowing that God is near, has our good in mind, and loves us. But we should remember too, as Scripture reminds us, of God’s joy, for he first loved us (1 John 4:19) and greatly rejoices when one is found who had gone astray (Zephaniah 3:17; Luke 15:7,10).

    Of course, joy and good feelings aren’t enough. In any relationship built on genuine love more is asked, and when that comes to the greatest of all, our relationship with God, the greatest is asked. Jesus made it a point in the parables to say that the men who found the treasure didn’t give up part of their wealth to obtain it; they gave up everything they had. As with both seeking and finding, God has given up everything first. Anyone who doubts that need only look at a crucifix. But to quote St. Augustine again, God made us without us but will not save us without us. The questions for us today are: What are we willing to give up? What stands between us and complete devotion to doing God’s will?

    Finally, possession of the treasure. For our Heavenly Father, this flows from the greatest sign of his infinite love for us – the passion and death of his only Son. As St. Paul said, you are not your own… you have been purchased at a price (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). As for us, note that the man in the first parable buried the treasure and bought the field. Why do that? In those days, owning the land meant that you owned anything that was found on it or in it; he could not claim the treasure until he claimed the land it was found on. For us, the land is our faith. When we have the faith, we possess the kingdom whole and entire; what our gospel acclamation said: all that the Father has told us (John 15:15).

    In the first reading, Moses became radiant in the presence of God and while proclaiming his word to Israel. This was the same the man who once made excuses to God to avoid being sent by him to do anything, let alone proclaim his word. But then, it wasn’t the same man; he had allowed God to work within him and through him, to “possess” him if you will, to so transform him that he became the man God called him from all eternity to be. When we are touched by God, we too should show it, and that is the other question we have to ask ourselves today: Can anyone tell that we are Christians, not by our being here, not by our rosaries or prayer books, but by the way we live our lives? Can anyone tell that we have sought God, and that he has found us?

  • One of the “Do Nots”: Friday of the 16th Week in Ordinary Time

    Exodus 20:1-17; Matthew 13:18-23

    Even though I’ve gone through it countless times over the last 35 years, each time still amazes me. I look at one of my kids, say, “Do NOT do that,” then find myself standing there incredulous, less than 5 minutes later, saying, “Didn’t I just tell you not to do that? Will you ever grow out of this?” But it was just recently, as I was going through it yet again, that I heard a voice in my head say, “You do the same thing.”

    Now, that could have been an echo of my mother or father, for I definitely did the same thing to them. It could also have been any of a number of nuns or priests, for I did it to them, too. Come to think of it, it could have been any of the adults who had to deal with me as a kid. It could have been, but I had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t. No, this was my conscience speaking, and not about past behavior, either. The voice didn’t say, “You did the same thing,” it said, “You do the same thing.”

    It’s true. Day after day, year after year, God has taught me through his word. It couldn’t be clearer than on a day like this when we literally read the 10 Commandments. Yet time after time, year after year, sometimes not 5 minutes later, I do exactly what God just said not to do. Why? If I understood the gospel today, our Lord has wrapped the reason in a parable which teaches me that I have a hearing problem.

    My ears work fine, that’s not the issue. The problem seems to be an inner, spiritual sort of deafness. When Jesus begins his explanation of the parable by saying, Hear the parable of the sower, he clearly wants his disciples to do more than use their ears; he wants their hearing accompanied by an attitude that says, ‘Lord, I am ready to be taught.’ Ask yourself how many times you’ve heard a gospel begin, thought, ‘Oh, I know this one,’ and then tuned out or paid little attention? This is the seed that falls on rocky ground; we hear but lack the docility, the teachable spirit, needed to help the word take root and endure. The gift of docility inclines us to remember that no matter how familiar a passage may seem, there is always something new to be learned.

    Our Lord also relates our hearing problem to a lack of understanding. We hear the word, but like the seed that falls on the path, let it go because we don’t understand it. In and of itself, lack of understanding is nothing to be ashamed of. Scripture can be hard to understand; it refers to cultures, peoples, and times far removed from our own. The problem comes in when we make no effort to learn more; to ask for help; to set time aside for study and contemplation of God’s word. Those who do this will find their time and effort well rewarded.

    Other times we can’t hear God because, as Jesus implies, his voice is drowned out by our own anxieties. We all know what it’s like to come to Mass or prayer with problems weighing us down. They distract us and before we know it the time has slipped by. It helps to begin preparing for our time with the Lord before leaving home, or if we’re praying at home to sit and recollect ourselves in silence before we begin. I find it helpful to repeat one of the old aspirations of the Church: “Let go and let God.” Not to forget or minimize what is on our mind but to make it part of our prayer, our offering to God, laying it on the altar and offering it as our sacrifice to the only One who can bring good out of it. I can’t think of a better way to quiet the inner voices so we can hear what God is saying.

    In years past, I thought of this parable as referring to different kinds of people: Those who hear the word of God and those who do not. That’s fine as far as it goes, but when God reminded me that I am one of the “do nots,” I looked a little deeper and saw the parable referring not to different kinds of people but different states of the spiritual life. That is great news for all of us, for it reminds us that conversion is possible; we can do something about our hearing problem. It is true that in the deafness of our sloth and arrogance, we are in the path; in our ignorance and shame, the rocky ground; in our anxieties and temptations, the thorny ground. But we don’t have to stay there; these grounds aren’t meant to be passively endured but to be grown out of. Christ ends the parable in the place we all want to be, so let us all today resolve that we will show him the humility, docility, and perseverance it takes to be transplanted into the soil that, truly hearing his word, bears fruit thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold.