Mark 10:45

Category: Roman Catholic

  • Clearer Vision

    Clearer Vision

    Monday of the 12th Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Kings 17:5-8, 13-15a, 18; Matthew 7:1-5

    As a teenager, my parents let me go cruising with my friends. The first few times went well, so I started asking regularly. Surprisingly they let me, though I could tell they weren’t too happy. When the inevitable happened and I got into trouble, I asked them why they let me keep going. Mom said something like, “We gave you just enough freedom to show us some responsibility,” to which Dad said, “Turns out it was just enough rope to hang yourself.”

    Gulp.

    I thought about that when I read Jesus say in the Gospel, ‘Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye?’

    I thought I could be responsible; the trouble revealed otherwise. Israel thought it could ignore the prophets; exile revealed otherwise. The man with the beam thought he could see clearly; Jesus reveals that he cannot.

    So, back to our Lord’s question. Why do we notice little faults in others and ignore the ones in ourselves? Pride. I can feel better about myself by finding out that other people are “worse” than I am.

    Right?

    Wrong.

    The real problem is my standard of comparison. The standard isn’t other people. It’s Christ.

    What happens when Christ is the measure? Suddenly, the “splinters” in others become much less interesting. Why? Because the beam in my own eye had turned my spiritual gaze outward when all along it should be looking upward – at Jesus.

    Ironically, and as Jesus implies, the best thing about fixing our gaze upward is that it enables us to see more clearly outward. The man with the beam in his eye was trying to help someone else. Clearly, that’s a good thing. The thing is, though, that we can’t really help others heal until we’ve made real progress healing ourselves.

    Father Henri Nouwen once wrote, “The great illusion of leadership is to think that man can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there.”

    That’s true of Christian discipleship as well. The people who help us most aren’t usually those who have never struggled, but those who have. They’re the ones who have faced their own sins, seen their own weaknesses, recognized their need for God’s mercy, and emerged with a vision of God, themselves, and others that they never had before.

    So today, instead of looking for splinters in someone else’s eye, let’s ask our Lord to show us the beam in our own. Because when our eyes are fixed on Christ and our hearts are humbled by His mercy, then — and only then — can we become the “wounded healers” who truly help others find healing.

    PS. As for the “trouble” I spoke of at the top, it was over 50 years ago. As I recall, it involved several teenage boys, a garden hose, eggs, firecrackers, a convent, and, in the end, some really unhappy nuns. 😉

  • The One Fear

    The One Fear

    Sunday of the 12th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 20:10-13; Romans 5:12-15; Matthew 10:26-33

    While we know that Jesus never lies to us, today’s gospel is one of those times when his words seem to contradict human experience. It happens when he says, “Do not be afraid.”

    But isn’t there good reason to be afraid sometimes? Consider Jeremiah; his enemies were watching, waiting, hoping to destroy him. That’s a real, legitimate concern. Or take our own experience; don’t we all naturally fear things like illness, financial loss, rejection, loneliness, or losing someone we love?

    Something deeper is going on. Jesus knows we have many fears, some very real and legitimate. He’s going beyond that, challenging us to not let fear have the final word.

    He is, I believe, urging us to look particularly at those fears that are hardest for us to face. What are those? In my experience, the fears that go right to our moral center; the ones we try to excuse away. “I can’t go to Confession. That priest knows me. What will he think?”… “I can’t say grace at the restaurant. People are watching.”… “I can’t go to the March for Life. What will my pro-choice friends say? They won’t like me anymore.”

    The fear of what people think of us is powerful. Jesus knows that. That’s why he says, “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” People can damage our reputation, reject us, ridicule us, exclude us, even hurt us physically. But they can’t touch what matters most. In framing it this way, Jesus urges us to move our attention from lesser fears to the one fear that leads to wisdom: The fear of the Lord – what Scripture calls “the beginning of wisdom.”

    What is fear of the Lord? Let me explain it by example. Imagine you’re talking with a group of friends. Someone mentions a person you love deeply — your spouse, your child, your best friend. Trying to be funny, you make a cutting remark at their expense. Everyone laughs. But then, you turn around and discover that person you love so much standing right behind you. They heard every word.

    At that moment, what do you feel? Probably something much deeper than fear of physical punishment. No, it’s that feeling that says you’ve badly hurt someone you love, and you’d give anything to take those words back.

    In the same way, fear of the Lord isn’t cowering before an angry God. It’s loving God so much that the thought of offending Him breaks our heart. And it’s that feeling of deep regret or remorse for our sins that should drive us to seek forgiveness. Do we still fear the pain of hell, or eternal separation from Him? Sure, and that is the first stirrings of the virtue of fear of the Lord. But the mature understanding is the fear that by our sins we have rejected the love of God, who infinitely loves us.

    Getting to this stage of the virtue is a process; it doesn’t happen overnight, and it’s definitely made more difficult by our struggle against worldly fears. Still, remember what Jesus said just after he spoke about fear: “Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge.” In other words, the answer to our facing down our worldly fears isn’t courage alone; it is courage and trust. Jeremiah was no doubt brave, but he survived because he trusted. So with us; we confess our sins, pray publicly, and witness our faith not because we’re naturally brave, but because we love the Father and trust that He – who knows every sparrow – also knows and loves us, just as we are.

    In this world of instant and overflowing mass media, there are so many voices clamoring for our attention. Many are very good at stoking our fears and anxieties. Today in the gospel, Jesus challenges us: Which voice knows you best? Which loves you most? And above all, which will you listen to when fear arrives?

    —

  • Crossing the Jordan

    Crossing the Jordan

    Wednesday of the 11th Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Kings 2:1, 6-14; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

    Places in the Bible are often so much more than locations on a map. Bethlehem isn’t just another small town in the Holy Land; it’s the birth place of Jesus. Jerusalem isn’t just a city in the Judean Hills; it’s the City of David, where Jesus died and rose again. 

    In the same way, the Jordan isn’t just a river flowing into the Dead Sea. It’s where Israel crosses into the Promised Land. As we saw today, it’s where Elijah crosses and is taken up, and Elisha crosses as he begins his own prophetic mission. Of course, it’s also where John baptizes and, most of all, where Jesus is baptized and formally begins his public ministry.

    The Jordan is a boundary, a threshold, a place of decision; where people leave one identity behind and accept another.

    That’s exactly what Jesus describes in Matthew 6:1-6. Hypocrites pray, fast, and give alms so they can be seen doing it. Their identity is built on being noticed rather than being loved by God. Jesus invites them to cross over to something deeper: a relationship with “your Father who sees in secret.”

    The readings pose a couple of hard questions. First, what is the “Jordan” in our own lives that God is asking us to cross? Maybe it’s crossing over from fear to trust, from resentment to forgiveness, from self-reliance to dependence on God, or from public performance to authentic discipleship.

    Second, how do we make that crossing? We certainly can’t do it on our own. Fortunately, Jesus gives us a way through the ordinary practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. As we do those humbly, quietly, and from a grateful heart, God provides us with every grace needed to part the water before us, just as He did for Israel, Elijah, and Elisha.

    We can think of God’s grace like the mantle in the first reading. Notice that Elisha didn’t cross back alone; rather, he carried Elijah’s mantle, a sign that God will provide what he needs for the mission ahead.

    And God will do the same for us. He always has. In the American South generations ago, enslaved Christians knew this. When they wrote spirituals about crossing the Jordan, they sang from bitter experience what Scripture teaches us today – that the deepest desire of every true disciple is to leave bondage behind and cross over into freedom, and the only mantle we need is the glorious gift of God’s grace.

  • Everything

    Everything

    Wednesday of the 10th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 18:20-39; Matthew 5:17-19

    Today, the Church gives us two powerful images:

    • In 1 Kings, Elijah prays “Answer me, LORD,” and everything is consumed. Not just the burnt offering, but the wood, the stones, the dust… even the water in the surrounding trench.
    • In the gospel, Jesus speaks of the Law and the prophets, saying that in him “not the smallest letter” or even “part of a letter” would go unfulfilled.

    What do these images have in common? They reveal the love of God, who gives completely and fulfills completely.

    First, we see how God gives completely. Elijah asked only for an answer. Just send fire; accept the sacrificial offering. But the Lord didn’t stop there; He answered with such abundance that everything was consumed. Being infinite Love, God can only give everything. We ask for acceptance at Baptism, He makes us His children; for forgiveness of sins in Confession, He removes them entirely; to satisfy our hunger at Communion, He gives us His only Son – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

    And God fulfills completely. Imagine receiving a note from someone you love most in the world. You’d save it for years, read it over and over, maybe even remember the exact words. You certainly wouldn’t ignore even the smallest part of it. Why? Because every stroke represents the person and the love behind it. The Scriptures are God’s love letter to us. Every book, every story, every word points to the Eternal Word – Jesus Christ – who in his perfect love for the Father and for us is the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets.

    Of course, these images of love are given to us not just to reflect on but to imitate. We know from experience how hard this is. Do I allow God’s love to totally consume me, or do I keep part of myself for myself? Elijah placed everything on the altar, and God’s fire consumed everything. We’re called to do the same; to hold nothing back. The question is whether we’re willing to place our whole lives on the altar – not just the convenient parts or what costs us little, but everything. Because the God who gives everything asks us, in return, to love with everything we are, and to teach that love to the world in everything we do.

  • God in a Box

    God in a Box

    Wednesday of the 9th Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Timothy 1:1-3, 6-12; Mark 12:18-27

    Some years ago, a burglar tried to break into a school by climbing through a window. To avoid leaving fingerprints, he used a special adhesive on his gloves. What he didn’t realize until too late was that the glue was also effective on window frames. Police found him literally stuck to the scene of the crime.

    As we just heard, the Sadducees were also stuck in a trap of their own making. Surely, their hypothetical example was foolproof, right? A woman married to seven brothers – they could see no way for Jesus to explain his way out of that one.

    It must have looked to them like a great trap, and would have been if the assumption behind it was true. What assumption? That the afterlife is exactly like this life; people are married now, so they are married in eternity.

    But, as our Lord implies when he opens their eyes to the meaning behind “the God of the living,” their vision of God is too small. Assuming they understand God’s revelation prevents them from seeing what God actually reveals and how things really are.

    In other words, they put God in a box.

    The real question is, do we ever do the same? In other words, do I ever catch myself saying things like: “I’ve always been impatient. I’ll never change,” or “That person will never come back to the Church,” or “I’ve committed this sin for years. Nothing will ever be different.”

    Putting God in a box is convincing ourselves that tomorrow must look exactly like yesterday. That people never change. That we never change. That grace can only do so much. The problem is, it becomes self-fulfilling prophecy; nothing changes because I’ve accepted my own premise and adjusted my expectations and my behavior accordingly.

    This drastically shortchanges God and leads us to think too little of what He can do in us.

    Fortunately, St. Paul points Timothy – and us – in another direction. “Stir into flame the gift of God.” In other words, let’s be open to the power and action of grace of such gifts as those given to us by the Holy Spirit. The gospel suggests several gifts we desperately need, but I’d like to focus our attention on one in particular – the gift of understanding.

    What a tremendous gift. Through it, the Holy Spirit helps us see more deeply into the truths of our faith. We begin to connect the dots. Things we may have heard for years suddenly begin to make sense in ways we never thought of before.

    Opening ourselves up to the power and use of these gifts leads us to a life transformed by the power of God. The Sadducees couldn’t imagine resurrection because they underestimated God. We do the same whenever we look at our weaknesses, our sins, our disappointments, and conclude that nothing can change. The readings tell us otherwise. The God who raises the dead can certainly transform a human heart.

    Let’s let Him out of the box.

    —

  • When Words Fail

    When Words Fail

    The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, Cycle A

    Exodus 34:4b–6, 8–9; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; John 3:16-18

    When in your life have you ever been left speechless – when words just wouldn’t come? I don’t mean sports teams letting you down or movies that were so bad you couldn’t find words. I mean profoundly important moments when words were simply inadequate.

    In my own life, words have escaped me most often at times centered around love: As a child, feeling my mother’s embrace; as a husband, my wife sitting by my hospital bed; as a father, seeing our newborn children; as a son, burying my parents. I think it’s true for all of us that there are times when love renders words useless.

    That is exactly where the Trinity is encountered, and the readings help us see it.

    In the first reading, God descends in a cloud and stands with Moses. To understand the real power of the moment, remember when this occurs. Moses has already seen the burning bush, led Israel out of Egypt, crossed the sea, and received the Law. After all those mighty acts, God finally reveals His Name — and Moses falls silent before love.

    From this we learn that while God’s relationship with His people includes powerful deeds, rituals, laws, and covenants – and those are important – that is what God does. Far more important than that is who God is: faithful, merciful love. All encapsulated in one Name: Lord.

    That reminds me of something St. John of the Cross once said: “In giving us his Son… [God] spoke everything to us at once… and he has no more to say.” Jesus isn’t one of God’s communications to the world, he is the communication; the highest revelation of Almighty God to the world.

    And once again, it’s all about love. “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son.” Jesus, the Father’s one Word, handed over. Not spoken into the air, like “Lord,” but placed into history; made flesh, laid in a manger, nailed to a cross. Jesus – the Father’s love made visible – is the name made speakable whose love still defies all speech.

    The Holy Spirit is a little more difficult to understand, but Church Tradition helps. From it, we learn that the Holy Spirit is the living love between the Father and the Son — a love so real, so perfect, that He is not merely a feeling or force, but a Divine Person.

    If you don’t understand that, you’re in good company. The relationship of the Trinity is a supernatural mystery. But we don’t have to understand it. St. Paul didn’t. Notice, though, what he did do: pray it: “the grace of the Son, the love of the Father, and the fellowship of the Spirit.”

    Grace. Love. Fellowship. Those we can understand. And those are the essentials of the Trinity, the very pattern of divine love into which we are baptized and called to live.

    And I do understand this much: the love we feel in those speechless moments — the embrace, the newborn, the grave — is an icon, a symbol, of the love that has been happening within God from all eternity.

    If we take nothing else away on Trinity Sunday, let’s take these two things:

    First, the Trinity isn’t some abstract, theological formula. It is the original and greatest love story, of which every true human love is a participation and a reflection.

    Second, every time we trace the Sign of the Cross on our body, we are doing what Moses did on Sinai — falling prostrate before the greatest Love of all time. Not explaining it. Not debating it. Just receiving it.

    So let it be a moment of silence. Let words fail. That is exactly where the Trinity is.

    —

  • Up is Down

    Up is Down

    Wednesday of the 8th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Augustine of Canterbury)

    1 Peter 1:18-25; Mark 10:32-45

    When I worked at the University, I quickly learned who you go to when you really needed something done. The people with the impressive titles, big offices, and walls full of diplomas? Not usually. Everybody knew: You go to the secretaries.

    James and John hadn’t learned that yet. There was something they wanted: places of honor beside Jesus. They saw the impressive miracles and knew he had the power to give them what they wanted. Why not go to him?

    They weren’t wrong to do that. Jesus does have the power. Their mistake was misunderstanding what his power was for.

    James and John were thinking in earthly terms. In our world, power flows down. The people at the top are served by everyone else.

    But Christ deals in heavenly terms. In his world, if you want to be first, you go to the bottom. True greatness isn’t measured by how many serve you, but by how much you serve.

    Of course, Peter was there to hear our Lord’s response to James and John, and it’s clear that he learned the lesson. The greatest act in all of history — our redemption — came not through armies, wealth, or earthly power, but, as he says in his letter, through the precious blood of Christ.

    At school, the secretaries mattered not because of a title, but because they carried everyone else. They kept things moving and helped people every day. Without them, the school’s mission might well fail.

    It’s fitting to remember that today, as we celebrate the great missionary to England, St. Augustine of Canterbury. When we remember such saints, we often focus on them alone. But they weren’t alone. The Kingdom of Heaven is built by an army of servants. The great are certainly needed, but so are those who encourage, prepare the soil, keep the faith alive, open the door. In Augustine’s mission to England, this includes:

    • Bishop Liudhard, who helped keep the flame of faith alive in England, paving the way for Augustine’s mission;
    • Queen Bertha, a Catholic married to the pagan King of Kent. Her hospitality and faith made Augustine and his monks welcome;
    • The monks who came with Augustine, who evangelized despite their fear, and without whom Augustine could not have achieved success.

    These and countless others — like us — may never have statues or feast days. But the faith survives because of their (and our) hidden acts of service: parents teaching children and grandchildren to pray, parishioners quietly serving others, faithful disciples encouraging one another not to give up.

    James and John wanted what we and every saint who has ever lived wants – to be close to Christ. Let us never forget where all of them have found him: in humble service.

    St. Augustine of Canterbury, pray for us.

    —

  • Remaining Connected

    Remaining Connected

    Acts 15:1-6; Psalm 122:1-2, 3-4ab, 4cd-5; John 15:1-8

    As Acts of the Apostles 15 begins, the Church finds herself in serious disagreement. This is no small matter; it’s about salvation itself. Should Gentiles adopt Jewish customs and practices, or not?

    So what do they do?

    First, notice what they don’t do: They don’t split into new churches. They don’t ignore the problem and hope it will go away.

    Instead, they do what the Psalm describes: they “go to the house of the Lord.” That is, they come together. They go to Jerusalem. They talk. They argue. They discern.

    And that’s exactly what Jesus told them to do, though perhaps not in the way we expect.

    Before he ascended to the Father, Jesus knew his Church would encounter things he had not addressed explicitly. So, how did he deal with that – by leaving them a rule book, or saying, “When problems arise, just remember what I said and you’ll be fine”?

    No. As John reminds us, Jesus said, “Remain in me, as I remain in you… If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.”

    “Remain in me…” doesn’t mean just remembering the past. It’s staying connected to the living God — the Vine, without whom we can do nothing.

    And he adds, ‘if my words remain in you.’ Not just remembering them, but letting them take root in us… shape us… change what we desire. So that, when we ask, we are no longer asking only for what we want… but for what God knows we need.


    Ultimately, we find, as in Acts today, we may not always have the answer right away… but by staying united, staying attentive, and open to the Spirit, the right answers will come.

    Before the Church could say, “It has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us”… they first had to remain.

    Remain together. Remain in Christ. Remain open.

    The Church bears fruit not because she always has quick answers… but because she remains in Christ long enough to receive the right ones.

    This is true in our own lives too, of course. When we or someone we know is suffering, in conflict, or going through a difficult time, it’s tempting to want quick answers. This is only natural. Still, as Christ reminded us in the gospel, without him, we can do nothing. In him, we can do all things – even endure what we may have thought was unendurable. And, we may well find that the endurance of that suffering leads to great fruit indeed – a deeper, more lasting union with Christ than we ever thought possible.

    —

  • Set Apart and Sent:

    Set Apart and Sent:

    Wednesday of the 4th Week of Easter

    Acts 12:24-13:5a; John 12:44-50

    The word St. Luke uses for “worshiping” or “ministering” is the word we know as liturgy. In the liturgy, we don’t just worship God; we are drawn into what God is doing. And what God is doing is always this: He speaks, He calls, and He sends.

    We saw that in the reading from Acts, when the Holy Spirit set Barnabas and Saul apart, and sent them.

    So, since the earliest times, our liturgies have given birth to mission.

    But mission for whom – certain people only? It might seem that way, especially when we think of Sacraments such as Baptism, Confirmation, and Holy Orders. But the fact is that every time we gather, as we do now for the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit says again, “Set apart for me those I have called.”

    Who’s that? All of us.

    And why does God send us? Because of what Jesus says in the Gospel: ‘Whoever sees me sees the one who sent me.’ Jesus Himself is sent, and everything Jesus does reveals the Father. So when we are sent, it is for the same reason: to make the Father visible in the world.

    St. Catherine of Siena lived exactly this way. Long before she was a woman of action, Catherine was a woman of the liturgy. She grew in her love for Christ from baptism through the Eucharist. So thoroughly did she consecrate herself with Christ to the Father in the Holy Eucharist that for the last several years of her life, her only food was the Eucharist. She drew her very life from the Blessed Sacrament, discovering in it a source of endless spiritual energy that united her to Christ in charity.

    In other words, Catherine’s extraordinary mission — reforming the Church, calling popes to return the papacy to Rome — did not come from her. It came from liturgy. It came from the altar.

    The fearlessness it took for her – a laywoman with no formal education – to write to popes and kings didn’t come from human confidence, but from the same Spirit who said to the Church at Antioch: “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul.” Catherine heard the Spirit, and like Barnabas and Saul, poured out her life in obedience.

    I remember once asking my spiritual director about this. Hearing that people like St. Catherine lived only on the Eucharist made me wonder, “Is that to be a model for me? Should I hope, someday, to live on nothing but the Eucharist?” Father replied, “God gives us such saints, not that we imitate their level of piety or virtue, but that we push ourselves a little further in that direction. God is probably not asking you to live only on the Eucharist, but He may well be asking you to increase your desire to receive Him and be transformed by His grace.”

    I think that’s a good answer. It reminds us that the Holy Spirit is speaking to us personally – right here, right now. Each of us is set apart and sent. From this altar. Today. It is also a reminder to pray during the liturgy, especially Holy Mass, for the strength to answer the Spirit’s call. It’s easy and tempting to allow fear to take hold, which is why St. Catherine once said, “Don’t look at your weaknesses. Realize instead that in Christ crucified you can do everything.”

    St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us.

    —

  • What is it about Jesus?

    What is it about Jesus?

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Easter

    Acts 8:1b-8; John 6:35-40

    This may sound surprising or counter-intuitive, but it’s true: the places in the world where the Church is the most highly persecuted or suppressed right now – Iran, Nigeria, China – are also places where it is growing… fast.

    This has happened for as long as the Church has existed. We see it today in Acts 8; despite believers in Jerusalem being persecuted, the Church continues to grow.

    Why? I think it has something to do with the behavior of the persecuted disciples.

    First, we hear that “devout men buried Stephen and made a loud lament over him,” then that many Christians preferred prison over recanting their faith. The quiet witness of these disciples carries a dignity and strength that evangelizes. Seeing it, outsiders might ask, “What is it about Jesus that makes his followers so dedicated?”

    Second, “those who had been scattered went about preaching the word.” Like a fulfillment of our Lord’s parables, these seeds took root where the Word had not gone before, and there blossomed new church communities. Again, this is the witness that makes outsiders ask, “What is it about Jesus that attracts people in such numbers?”

    What is it about Jesus? He tells us in the gospel: “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Because we are made in the image and likeness of God, each of us has a hunger that nothing and no one but Him can satisfy. Not only that, he says that “everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day.”

    The Bread of Life Eternal. We don’t need to guess the effect; Acts tells us. Once the Samaritans see and experience Christ through the ministry of those disciples, they have a joy that no one and nothing can take from them.

    Given this witness, the Church doesn’t grow despite persecution; it grows because of it.

    Does that mean persecution is necessary? No. What is necessary is to find ways to do what persecution does – strip away the worldly distractions that lead us to hunger for what can never truly satisfy, and ask ourselves, “What are we really living for?”

    The Church has given us a good way to answer that: the works of mercy. When we feed the hungry, visit the sick, forgive someone who has hurt us, give our time to someone who can’t repay us, something happens: Distractions begin to fade, our hearts begin to change, and we see more clearly that Christ really is enough.

    And people notice. Not all at once, and not with a lot of fanfare, but quietly, as in Acts. They wonder, “What is it about this person? What drives them? They’re Christian… is it their faith?”

    Our witness becomes evangelizing.

    So, the question for us is simple, but challenging: Where is Christ inviting me to live more simply, more faithfully, more like those Jerusalem disciples? Where is he asking me to let go of what doesn’t satisfy, so I can more deeply experience the Bread of Life who does?

    When we do that, we don’t just hear His promise. We live it. And others will see it.

    And, most importantly, they will see Christ better by it.

    —