Mark 10:45

Category: Roman Catholic

  • 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.

    —

  • All For the Sake of Love

    All For the Sake of Love

    Wednesday of the 2nd Week of Easter

    John 3:16

    The Taj Mahal. The Hope diamond. Romeo and Juliet. Each in its own way a priceless masterpiece – built, gifted, or written all for the sake of love.

    Imagine being given any one of these. How special we would feel! Unique in all the world. To be the subject of that force of emotion.

    Fortunately, we don’t have to imagine such a gift. We have one infinitely more precious. As Jesus says to Nicodemus:

    God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life (John 3:16).

    This is the verse that stopped Church Fathers in their tracks. We too know its power, not least by its enormous popularity. That’s good, but it’s also a problem; we hear it so often, see it so many places – from bumper stickers to end-zone signs – that we risk looking right past it.

    Don’t let that happen.

    Today, take a good, long, hard look at a crucifix. For there is the love that built not a building, but the Church; that isn’t the gift of a stone, but the Cornerstone; that isn’t written with ink but with the Precious Blood of Christ.

    And remember: We know the price of that love story – the death of Jesus Christ. But we also know the ending – the tomb is empty.

    So, rejoice and be glad! You really are loved that much.

  • Called, Faithful, and Sent

    Called, Faithful, and Sent

    The Easter Vigil

    Matthew 28:1-10

    I can think of moments in my life when everything changed, when what came before and what came after were forever different. Marriage. The births of our children. A diagnosis. A call I didn’t expect. In the heat of those moments, I didn’t realize just how much things changed. That hit me later.

    For those of you who are about to receive the sacraments, tonight is one of those moments. This isn’t just another step in a process. This is a crossing over. From tonight onward, your life in Christ becomes something entirely new.

    To understand what that looks like – what it means to step into that new life – we can do no better than to look at the first person mentioned in tonight’s gospel: Mary Magdalene.

    Magdalene is a truly remarkable figure. She is one of the very few individuals named in all four Gospels. Unlike almost everyone else, she was a witness to the Crucifixion of Christ, to his burial, and to his Resurrection.

    In every Gospel, Mary stands near the center of the Easter story. And, for our purposes here tonight, she stands as a model of a newly initiated Catholic.

    How? Simple. Mary was called. Mary was faithful. Mary was sent.

    First, her call to follow Christ is mysterious. All we know is that he healed her, called her out of her darkness. Mary’s story begins not with strength, but deliverance.

    That’s our story, too. None of us comes to God from a position of strength, but from a need for deliverance.

    And, although I said, “we come to God,” the reality is that God comes to us. You who are coming into the fullness of the faith this evening, think back to what brought you here to begin this journey. Like the rest of us, like all the saints, each of you has a different story, but a common beginning. We may think coming to God is our idea, but the truth is that God brought us here. He always acts first. Yes, we celebrate you tonight and your accomplishment, making it through all those Wednesday evening meetings. But tonight isn’t about what you’ve done to find God. It’s about what God has done to find you.

    The second remarkable thing about Mary Magdalene is that she stayed with Jesus when the going got tough. The gospels are clear; very few people are expressly named as being there in Christ’s darkest, most desolate moments. Mary is there – at the cross, at his burial, and at the tomb in the early morning darkness. She didn’t understand the significance of what was happening, and had good reason to fear or have her faith shaken. Yet she remained. What a beautiful example of steadfast faithfulness, of love that refuses to walk away no matter what.

    You who are coming into the fullness of the faith have lived some of this already. Week after week you found yourselves presented with things not always easy to understand. Yet you remained. You continued on even when things weren’t clear. You aren’t here because you figured it all out; you’re here because, like Mary Magdalene, you stayed despite the difficulty.

    Finally, Mary was given a role unlike any other in the New Testament. The Evangelist John is clearest. The risen Jesus calls her by name – Mary – then commands her, Go to my brothers and tell them… (John 20:17). Of all the disciples, only she, a woman called from her own mysterious darkness into the healing light of Christ, becomes what she never dreamed: the apostle to the apostles. The resurrection of Christ wasn’t the end of her story – in a way, it was just the beginning.

    It’s the same for you who are coming into the faith. Tonight isn’t the end. It’s more like a commencement, or, more accurately, a commissioning. Each of you is claimed by God by Baptism, strengthened by Confirmation, fed with the Eucharist, and at the end of Mass, sent. Where? Out those doors and into the world. To do what? To proclaim the glory and power of the risen Christ by the witness of your lives. Everything you do from here on will speak the words Mary Magdalene spoke as apostle to the apostles: I have seen the Lord (John 20:18).

    It all begins in just a few moments, when you receive the sacraments. Listen carefully. As the words are spoken, the risen Jesus will be speaking your name in the depths of your soul. Just as he spoke Mary’s.

    The time, place, and people are different than when Magdalene walked the Earth. But the message and Message-Giver are exactly the same. Christ has called you, Christ has asked you to stay near him, and Christ has sent you to proclaim him to the world.

    Savor the moment! From this night on, your life will never be the same. You may not realize that now, but don’t worry. It will hit you later.

    And it will be glorious.

    —

  • One Small Step

    One Small Step

    Wednesday of Holy Week

    Isaiah 50:4-9a; Matthew 26:14-25

    Notice in Matthew’s gospel how eleven of the Apostles say, Surely it is not I, Lord? while only Judas says, Surely it is not I, Rabbi? The evangelist doesn’t do this by accident; to Judas, Jesus may be many things – teacher, sage, gifted healer, moving speaker – but whatever he is, he is not Lord.

    Like Judas, many people cannot make the leap from “Teacher” to “Lord.” Perhaps they’re afraid of what it would mean. If Jesus is Lord, then his words can no longer be taken as opinion, his actions no longer regarded as merely well-intended, his death no longer understood as the death that comes to us all.

    And if we’re honest, I think we all know that temptation.

    • To admire Jesus… without fully surrendering to him.
    • To agree with his teaching… without living it every day.
    • To forgive… when it’s easy.
    • To love… except when it costs us.
    • To trust… but only when we understand.

    That one change – from “Teacher” to “Lord”… One small step for the tongue. One giant leap for the heart.

    This is the leap of faith.

    Yes, it asks a lot, but it gives so much more.

    Today, as we prepare to walk with our Lord through his Passion and death, let us take a moment to thank God for the gift of faith, to pray that others may cast aside their fear and make it their own, and that our own faith may be strengthened not only to call him “Lord,” but to do all he has asked; to love as he loved – to the death.

    For our actions, born of that love, may become the “well-trained tongue” that speaks to hearts in ways that our words never could.

  • The Moment It All Became Real

    The Moment It All Became Real

    Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

    Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38

    I remember when my marriage became a concrete reality to me. It wasn’t on our wedding day or our honeymoon. It was the moment I held our first child in my arms.

    Until then, marriage was many things – vows, love, commitment — all very real and very good, but in a way you couldn’t really touch.

    Not that there weren’t signs of something big to come. There were. After all, my wife was pregnant. And over time, we could even feel and see the baby moving.

    That was all wonderful, but then, suddenly, there she was. Our daughter. Flesh and blood; a living, breathing sign of our love. What had been invisible, or looming in our imaginations, became visible. What had been a promise became flesh.

    That’s what we celebrate today in the Annunciation. For centuries, God spoke of One who would come. For example, Isaiah prophesies thata virgin shall be with child, and bear a son (Isaiah 7:14). In the psalm, we hear a mysterious voice say, Behold, I come (Psalm 40:8). Finally, the author of the Letter to the Hebrews cites the Greek version of the same psalm, speaking of ‘a body you prepared for me.’ Beautiful words — hopeful, evocative. Still… only words.

    But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, an angel appears to the Virgin Mary and, with her “Yes,” the Word literally takes flesh: the Son of God himself, conceived and growing in her womb, comes to dwell among us.

    Just as a child makes a marriage visible and tangible, Jesus makes the invisible God visible and tangible. In him, God doesn’t just speak to us, He becomes one of us.

    You can hear about love your whole life, but when you hold it in your arms, everything changes. That’s why God isn’t content to simply let us hear about His love. Like marriage, it’s meant to become real. Concrete. Visible. Lived. And that’s why He comes to meet us in the Sacraments, most especially in the Blessed Sacrament, and why He gives us the grace we need to bring Christ to others, and to be ‘little Christs’ in service of them.

    It all begins in our lives just like it did for the Virgin Mary. Every day, God comes to us in many ways, through many faces; often surprisingly, unexpectedly. He doesn’t ask to be fully understood, only to be received.

    In just a few moments, He will come again through the power of the Holy Spirit in the Consecration. Let us renew our ‘yes,’ and ask for the grace not only to say what the Blessed Mother said… but to live it: ‘May it be done to me according to your word.’”

    Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.

    —

  • The “Talking Cure”

    The “Talking Cure”

    Friday of the Third Week of Lent

    Hosea 14:2-10; Mark 12:28-34

    I’ve noticed in my spiritual life that sometimes my problem isn’t finding the time or place to pray. It’s finding the words. I have things on my mind, feelings I want to express, but as I approach the tabernacle, words simply fail me. I sit there thinking, “Well?” and wonder if God is saying the same.

    Those are the times I’m likely to say, “Lord, I can’t find the words. I don’t know what to say.” But even going that far seems to break the spiritual ice. Even if slowly, words start flowing after that, and I feel better.

    At least for me, saying something – basically, anything – seems to help.

    It turns out that I’m not alone. Psychologists discovered over a century ago that peoples’ inner wounds began to heal when they found a way to put into words whatever they were carrying, be it guilt, regret, fear, or failure.

    They called it “the talking cure,” and you’ve probably seen it your own life. I think we all have. There’s something about speaking the truth out loud, rather than keeping it inside, that causes pain or anxiety to loosen its hold on us.

    Of course, long before either we or psychologists came across it, God already knew it. We hear it in the reading from Hosea when the prophet says, “Return to the Lord your God…Take with you words.”

    That’s it. “Take with you words.” Not “Bring sacrifices,” “Make sure everything inside you is fixed,” or “Prove that you’ve changed.” All He asks is that they “bring words” – that is, speak to Him.

    It worked then and works to this day. When we go to Confession, we do exactly what Hosea describes. We bring words. “I have sinned,” “I have failed,” “I could have done better.”

    And something remarkable happens. The burden we carried begins to lift; not just psychologically, but spiritually. Best of all, God answers our words with the most merciful and healing words of His own: “I absolve you.”

    Of course, it isn’t just about removing guilt. It’s also about love. Remember what Jesus said today in the gospel when asked about the greatest commandment. He said, “love the Lord your God with all your heart.”

    That’s the goal of Lent – to love God more and more deeply. That doesn’t begin with grand gestures or perfect prayers, but with the smallest step: finding the words and bringing them to God.

    As Hosea said, take with you words. Come back and speak to Him again.

    —