Mark 10:45

Tag: Bible

  • The Mystical Encounter: St. Francis of Assisi

    Galatians 6:14-18; Matthew 11:25-30

    In the gospel, Jesus said that no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him (Matthew 11:30).

    Sometimes the Son chooses to make the Father known in a dramatic way. Recall His encounter with St. Paul on the road to Damascus. Other times He is much more subtle; such was His encounter with the man we know and celebrate as Francis of Assisi.

    Francis has born around the year 1181 and baptized as Giovanni di Bernadone. His father Pietro, probably the wealthiest merchant in Assisi, renamed him Francesco in honor of his profitable business dealings with France. He no doubt wanted his son to take after him but by all accounts the boy really did not; except perhaps in his grandiose dreams, for Francesco enjoyed envisioning himself as a great Knight of Assisi: Dashing, popular, the life of every party, full of wine and song, surrounded by friends and, of course, ladies in waiting.

    It was in pursuit of his dreams that God first came to him. When Francesco was about 23, he set out on his quest to fight as a knight for Pope Innocent III. On the way, he fell ill and while recovering heard a strange voice ask, “Francesco, who can do more for you, the lord or the servant?” He answered, “The Lord.” The reply came, “Then why do you leave the lord for the servant, a rich lord for a poor man?” Sensing the voice of God, he asked, “Lord, what would you have me do?” to which the voice said, “Return home and you will be told what to do.” Soon after, Francesco returned home.

    While he did not hear the voice again, God had a much more subtle and unexpected revelation in store.

    The next year Francesco once again found himself on a journey; not as a warrior this time, just a young man on routine business. On the road he saw someone coming toward him. As they neared each other, it became evident that the man was a leper. In the words of Francesco’s first biographer, Thomas of Celano: “So greatly loathsome was the sight of lepers to him at one time, he used to say, that, in the days of his vanity, he would look at their houses only from a distance of two miles and he would hold his nostrils with his hands.” Nevertheless, on this day as this man approached, Thomas wrote that Francesco was somehow “made stronger than himself” and even kissed the man. Francis left that encounter feeling like a changed man.

    There are many versions of that meeting and by now it’s difficult if not impossible to determine exactly what happened. It might have been an embrace; the leper may have kissed Francis in thanks for alms given; there are many possibilities. Regardless, I believe that this was the moment Francis first met Christ – not only in the leper but in himself.

    Only God dwelling and alive within us has the power to make us stronger than ourselves. Only through the eyes of grace can we see as Francis came to see that in fact we are the lepers, sin is the disease; we are that man hobbling along the road of life, suffering, ragged, in need of healing in the hospital of the Church, the refuge and sanctuary for all the afflicted.

    The treatment is penance. Its words are easy to say but as we have all learned, including Francis, its actions require dying to self; in the words of St. Paul, being crucified to the world and the world to us. The wounds of Christ given to Francis later in life are the most perfect outward sign of this inner reality.

    So deeply was Francis affected by that encounter on the road, so great was its impact upon him that even as he lay dying, he dictated this first:

    This is how the Lord gave me, brother Francis, the power to do penance. When I was in sin the sight of lepers was too bitter for me. And the Lord himself led me among them, and I pitied and helped them. And when I left them I discovered that what had seemed bitter to me was changed into sweetness in my soul and body. And shortly afterward I rose and left the world.

    cropped-st-francis-1758485_1280.jpgOf all the things he might have chosen to begin with, Francis wanted to teach that the best and most mystical encounter we can have with Christ comes not from a voice on a sickbed or even a leper on the road but from the encounter with our own sinfulness. Only when we allow the Lord to lead us from the pain of penance through the conquest of our fears can we too rise and leave the world; not to abandon it, but that we may be Christ to it.

    St. Francis of Assisi, pray for us.

  • What’s In A Name? Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, Archangels

    Revelation 12:7-12ab; John 1:47-51

    It is said that one morning, perhaps in the year 1884, once Pope Leo XIII had finished saying Mass and was leaving the altar, he suddenly stopped. According to witnesses, it was as if he was in a trance; he stood motionless for several minutes and his face turned ashen in color. When he regained his composure the Pope went to his office, asked to be left alone, and began writing. It took him only a short while to produce what became a new prayer to St. Michael the Archangel, which he ordered to be recited after all Low Masses everywhere.

    Only the Holy Father knows what he experienced during the vision; all we have is conjecture. Some say he heard Satan confronting Christ with threats to destroy the Church; others that he saw a terrible vision of dark angels attacking the Church. Whatever it was, Pope Leo left the chapel convinced that demonic forces were gathering and the next 100 years would be a great trial for the Church and the world. From our vantage point of history we see how right he was. The fingerprints of Satan are all over the 20th century: World wars, civil wars, weapons of mass destruction, bloodthirsty tyrants; millions upon millions of lost lives and, as if that isn’t enough, millions more killed in the wombs of their mothers.

    Thanks be to God who has not left us to battle such grave evil alone but has given us good and holy angels like the three whose feast we now celebrate.

    knight-3003641_640The Archangel Michael, whose name means Who is like unto God?, is the prince of angels. We read in Revelation why Holy Father Leo sought his intercession; it is Michael who leads the heavenly angels in the ultimate battle against Satan and his demons and teaches them why there are none like unto God. Apart from reciting the Pope’s prayer following Mass, let us also ask St. Michael’s intercession for all those who so often find themselves in harm’s way such as soldiers, first responders, and emergency workers. Let us also ask his intercession for ourselves during times of temptation as well as those who have fallen or are in danger of falling away from practice of the faith.

    The Archangel Gabriel, whose name means God is my strength, is the great messenger of Christ. In the book of Daniel he speaks of the coming Messiah; to Zechariah he announces the birth of John the Baptist, forerunner to the Messiah; above all, he is chosen to greet and announce to the Blessed Virgin Mary the great mystery of the Incarnation. Let us ask the intercession of Gabriel on behalf of all those who are charged to carry the message of salvation to others, and ask him to intercede for us, that we may more and more be effective messengers of the Messiah ourselves.

    Finally, there is the Archangel Raphael, whose name means God has healed. He appears in Scripture in only one place: the Old Testament book of Tobit. Full of Messianic undertones, the book tells of a loving father who sends his only son accompanied by a holy spirit (Raphael) to rescue a bride tormented by a demon. During their travels Raphael heals Tobit’s blindness; for this reason many who suffer with diseases of the eye ask his intercession. Let us also ask St. Raphael’s intercession for all those who are in any way blind, morally or spiritually, examining our own inner vision first.

    I am no Pope Leo XIII, but I suggest that we make a habit of praying to these powerful archangels. Something like this:

    St. Michael, Prince of Angels, protect me as I face the many dangers of this world;

    St. Gabriel, strengthen me that I may worthily proclaim Christ to others;

    St. Raphael, ask Our Lord to heal the blindness that keeps me from seeing His Face in everyone I meet.

    Heavenly Father, grant me the grace of the Apostles, that I too may see heaven opened and all the holy angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man: Your only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ who reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God forever and ever. Amen.

    Sts. Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, pray for us.

  • To the Land of the Rising Sun: St. Lorenzo Ruiz

    Zechariah 8:1-8; Luke 9:46-50

    The readings from Zechariah and Luke may not be a study in contrasts, but they certainly point in different directions. On the one hand, the reading from the prophet Zechariah paints an ideal picture. Jerusalem is restored and at peace; the elderly sit and watch as children play in her streets; God dwells among his people. The gospel, on the other hand, presents us with a different picture; it hints at pride and mistrust among the Apostles; first they dispute who is the greatest in the kingdom, then they attempt to stop the good work done by an outsider in the name of Christ.

    Light can be shed on these contrasting images as we contemplate the life and example of a saint whose memorial we celebrate today. San Lorenzo Ruiz was born around the year 1600 in the Philippines. Raised as a good, practicing Catholic, he married, fathered three children, and worked as a gifted calligrapher. His life was forever altered when, under mysterious and murky circumstances, he was falsely accused of murder. Forced to flee his native country, he learned of a Dominican mission to the Orient and volunteered to serve. During the voyage, Lorenzo learned that the destination was the country of Japan.

    Let us reflect for a moment on a verse from the prophet Zechariah: Lo, I will rescue my people from the land of the rising sun (Zechariah 8:7). Speaking through the prophet, God revealed his plan to rescue Israel from the kingdom of Persia, which was known as the land of the rising sun. A thousand years later in the time of San Lorenzo, the missionaries planned to continue evangelizing in the islands of Japan, known then (and now) as the land of the rising sun.

    They knew there would be trouble. To the Japanese authorities, the missionaries were unwelcome outsiders who were to be brutally put down. Soon after landing, they were captured, imprisoned, and tortured. It is said that when his captors asked if he would renounce his faith to save his life, San Lorenzo responded, “I am a Christian and I shall die for God, and for him I would give many thousands of lives if I had them.” He was martyred not long after this.

    Lo, I will rescue my people from the land of the rising sun. These consoling words spoken by God through Zechariah were also spoken by God through the lives of San Lorenzo Ruiz and his companions who brought the gospel to the land of the rising sun. While there were those who preferred the darkness enough to kill the light-bearers, they could not kill the light, for Christ is the light that the darkness cannot overcome.

    We should not speak of the darkness as if it were always outside ourselves; the Apostles’ behavior shows that darkness exists inside as well. Our own sinfulness works against our efforts to live and preach the gospel. Regardless, the example of San Lorenzo Ruiz demonstrates that when we resolve to put our faith in God’s ability to work in us, through us, and despite us, we will be successful.

    good-morning-695024_640As Christ commissioned San Lorenzo and his companions, so he commissions us. We are the light of the world; not the light of the rising sun but the light of the risen Son.

    San Lorenzo Ruiz, pray for us.

  • The Artist: Feast of St. Matthew

    Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13; Matthew 9:9-13

    Perhaps the most popular way to contemplate a bible story such as the call of St. Matthew is to imagine ourselves actually in the ancient setting as one of the characters. We see Jesus in that time and place and playing a role in the drama, say Matthew, we contemplate our own reaction to the call to follow Him.

    But there is another way, and that was the one chosen by the 16th century Italian artist Caravaggio. Commissioned to paint an interpretation of the call of St. Matthew, the young artist chose not to portray the scene in its biblical setting. Rather, he set the scene in his own time, moving it from a customs post to a Roman pub. If you’ve never seen the painting, imagine: A giant canvas, mostly dark; to the left, five men in modern clothing clustered around a table in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. They could be gamblers; it’s hard to tell. To the right, our Lord and St. Peter in ancient garb have just entered. The only light emanates from behind Christ and illuminates the men in the room. Christ beckons toward them with a gesture reminiscent of the famous Sistine Chapel image of God creating Adam. It’s difficult to tell exactly who He beckons toward. The two men closest to Him appear either annoyed or indifferent. The man in the middle, who may be Matthew, appears shocked and points perhaps at himself, perhaps at the man next to him as if to say, “Me or him?” Finally, the two men furthest away pay no attention either to the light or to Christ; their eyes are fixed on the money.

    The painting, which hangs in a chapel of the church of San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome, shocked the people of its time who were used to sacred art that showed Jesus in the places and with the people of biblical times. By bringing Him to the modern day, Caravaggio reminded them that Jesus is with all of us; He is not confined to any particular time. Gospel verses such as Jesus passed by (Matthew 9:9) are reminders that Jesus is always passing by: He is the child wasting away in a 3rd world country, the immigrant family at the border, the Alzheimer’s patient in the nursing home; the person next to us in the pew; the one looking at us in the mirror.

    Further, Jesus isn’t calling only Matthew. Where Caravaggio was ambiguous let us be clear; Jesus is calling all of us. No matter who we are or how deeply invested in Him we think we already are, Jesus is always calling us into a deeper, more intimate relationship. We speak of a ‘call’ but in reality it’s a challenge; we must ask ourselves if and how we are like those men in the painting. We may be annoyed, thinking that we’ve done enough; we may be indifferent, we’ve stopped caring. Like the man in the middle, we may be astonished, perhaps hoping that Jesus is asking someone else. Or we may be paying no attention at all, too occupied with what we think is important.

    A detail in Caravaggio’s painting should be pointed out. Although Jesus is beckoning toward the table, His feet are facing the exit. Jesus asks us to follow Him but He doesn’t wait. He is on a mission; there are places to go, people to see. The choice is ours. We can get up and follow as Matthew did or we can put it off, wait for a better time. Keep in mind though, that Jesus Himself chose that moment. He has a purpose, a plan, and it includes us. He may demand much but his generosity is never outdone.

    art-2755500_1920St. Paul reminds us of this when he says that grace is given to each according to the measure of Christ’s gift (Ephesians 4:11). His measure to Matthew was enough to transform him from a mere money-counter into an artist; indeed the artist who gave us the first portrait of Jesus in our New Testament. His medium wasn’t oil on canvas but words on paper, his subject not simply the man named Jesus but the Son of God and Son of Mary, the prophesied Emmanuel, “God is with us.” His palette held the many colors of Christ: teacher, healer, wonder-worker, Shepherd, Savior. He boldly painted all these images against a dark background for Jesus had come not into a roomful of Roman gamblers but into a land whose people were overshadowed by the darkness of sin and death. Where Caravaggio showed the light coming from behind Christ, Matthew knew that for all times and places Christ is the light – not the light who shines but the light who has arisen (Matthew 4:16). The long night of waiting, hoping, and wondering was over; the bright promise of salvation had dawned in Jesus, the Morning Star who never sets. This is why the great artist put the final brushstroke to his masterpiece in the words of our risen, ascending Master: And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age (Matthew 28:20).

    St. Matthew, pray for us.

  • Mother, Sister, and Brother: Sts. Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, Priest, and Paul Chŏng Ha-sang, and Companions, Martyrs

    Proverbs 21:1-6, 10-13; Luke 8:19-21

    The first in the series of proverbs we read today says, Like a stream is the king’s heart in the hand of the LORD; wherever it pleases him, he directs it. In 1777, the river of mercy that is the heart of Christ the King began trickling into Korea. While visiting China, a small group of aristocrats happened upon some Jesuit literature. They brought it home and as they studied it, God worked his way through their minds and into their hearts.

    The second proverb says, All the ways of a man may be right in his own eyes, but it is the LORD who proves hearts. The Lord took twelve years to prove the hearts of the Korean faithful. In 1789, a Chinese priest stole into Korea on a mission to introduce the people to the Gospel. Imagine his surprise when he discovered an underground Church of 4000 Catholics, none of whom had ever seen a priest.

    The third proverb says To do what is right and just is more acceptable to the LORD than sacrifice. These people, hungry and waiting for Christ, did what was right: They read Scripture and evangelized. When the missionary came and provided what they craved – a taste of the sweetness of the Lord in the Sacraments – they flourished. In just 7 years, 6000 more Koreans were baptized.

    The fourth proverb warns us that Haughty eyes and a proud heart – the tillage of the wicked is sin. If the Korean ruling class was anything, it was proud. The God of the Christians had the audacity to see everyone as equal. Their haughty eyes could not envision a world where elites, workers and slaves could be friends. By 1801 a vicious persecution began; it would last for the next 65 years.

    The fifth proverb says that The plans of the diligent are sure of profit, but all rash haste leads certainly to poverty. Diligent well describes the young Korean boy Kim Taegon who at age 15 embarked on his plan to become a priest. He traveled 1300 miles to attend a seminary in China and was ordained the first Korean-born priest. He returned home and set about the task of smuggling more clergy into Korea but was arrested while doing so. He was executed at the age of 26. Father Taegon was far from alone; in all, the persecution took the lives of 10,000 people; fully half of the Korean Church.

    The Church was diminished, but not impoverished; that would be the fate of the Korean dynasty. The sixth proverb teaches that Whoever makes a fortune by a lying tongue is chasing a bubble over deadly snares. The lying tongues of the despots who reaped profits off the backs of others finally saw their bubble burst; by 1900, the dynasty was eliminated. At long last, the cries of those who had shut their ears to the cries of the poor were, as the last proverb says, not heard themselves.

    Meanwhile, the Church grew. In 1950, the site of the executions of Father Kim Taegon and over a hundred of his colleagues was declared a shrine; in 1984, they were canonized by Pope St. John Paul II in the church built nearby.

    jesus-christ-2516515_640.jpgThe example of the Korean Church and her martyrs teaches us that every heart open to God and acting on his word becomes a mother, sister, and brother to Christ. Even though we may not have the power of Orders, we do have Christ in the Scriptures and the power of the Holy Spirit through our baptism. We too can evangelize. If you don’t know where to begin, consider: Religious education programs can always use help teaching children the faith; there is a bible study nearby that would teach you more about Christ; there are many ministries that reach out to the hungry, the poor, and the mourning. Be docile to the promptings of the Holy Spirit; He will show you ways to bring Christ to someone in need.

    We began with the proverb of the king. Let us close with the prayer that one day, the King of Kings will look at us and say, Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me (Matthew 25:40).

  • In This Sign, Victory: Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

    Philippians 2:6-11

    In the early 4th century, the Roman world hovered on the brink of civil war. Constantine, fighting for control of the empire, looked into the ancient sky and to his amazement saw emblazoned the cross of Christ along with the words in hoc signo vinces, “In this sign, victory.” This became the insignia of Constantine’s army, who went on to secure the empire for him by crushing his rival Maxentius at the battle of the Milvian bridge.

    Contrast that to a time centuries later when, during the Second World War, a Nazi official attending a dinner party remarked that he much preferred the ancient pagan gods to the God of the Christians. To him, true godhood was found in the image of the commanding, conquering Zeus; not the suffering, crucified Christ.

    It seems that such disparate views remain to this day. On the one hand, the cross is arguably the most popular icon of Christianity; its silhouette dots our landscape, adorns our homes. We enshrine it in jewelry and even trace its outline our bodies. On the other hand the cross conjures up images of humiliation, rejection, suffering, and failure. We use it as a put-down, calling people or things a cross; we complain of the crosses we bear; we pray that they are taken away.

    It is a mistake to see these views as opposed; they are in fact two sides of the same coin. On this feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, let us contemplate more deeply what the cross signifies.

    First, the cross is a sign of obedience. As we read in Philippians, Jesus Christ was glorified, but only by emptying himself, taking the form of a slave, and humbly accepting even death on a cross. Thus, the cross is a sign of defeat, but it is the defeat of self-will through obedience to the will of God; it is the triumph of Christ-like selflessness.

    Second, the cross is a sign of love. In fact, the cross combines the greatest commandment – to love the Lord God with our whole heart, soul, and mind and our neighbor as ourselves – with the greatest love – to lay down our lives for one another. The suffering is obvious; a love so deep requires that we die to ourselves. Yet the triumph is equally obvious: this love is deeper than death and unites us with the Trinity, who is Love itself.

    jesus-3149505_640Finally, the cross is a sign of victory. It is the apparent irony seen throughout salvation history that God works for good by turning evil upon itself. It was Pharaoh who pronounced the curse by which his own people would most suffer: the death of every firstborn. In the desert it was the emblem of the serpent, reminiscent of the one whose envy brought death into the world, that would be lifted up on a tree as a sign of healing and life. It was Caiaphas, plotting to have Jesus executed, who unwittingly prophesied that it was better for one man to die than for the whole nation to perish. It was the Roman governor Pilate who first asked “What is truth?” and then went on to write the truth fixed to the top of the cross: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. Ultimately it was those in power, both nation and empire, who lifted Jesus up on the most humiliating instrument of death only to watch helplessly as he transformed it into the instrument through which death itself would die and by which the truly repentant would, like the Good Thief, receive the gift of eternal life with God.

    In hoc signo vinces; in this sign, victory. We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

  • The Greatest Gift: Memorial of St. John Chrysostom

    Ephesians 4:1-7, 11-13

    St. Paul urged us to live in a manner worthy of the call we have received (Ephesians 4:1). Sounds like good advice, but very general. How do we do that? What are we to do? Perhaps we can get insight by seeing how a saint did it. Since today we remember St. John Chrysostom, let us take a look at his life and see if we can formulate an answer.

    John was born in Antioch around the year 347, the son of a military commander who died as a young man. His mother, a pious and devout woman, raised him in the faith and saw to it that he had the best education possible. A naturally gifted speaker, he studied under Libanius, a pagan but the greatest orator of his time.

    Following the custom of the age, John was baptized at the age of twenty. Drawn to the life of the desert monks, he spent four years in a monastery and two more in a cave as a hermit. The physical demands of that life proved too much, so he returned to Antioch.

    Soon ordained to the diaconate, John spent the next five years refining his skill as a homilist, becoming so good that upon ordination to the priesthood he was appointed preacher to the bishop. Over the years the grace of ordination infused his natural ability as an orator to produce not only a passionate, articulate man, deeply in love with Christ, but also one unafraid to speak his mind in words that either warmed like a gentle flame or raged like a firestorm. In his great love for the poor he once gently reminded the people, “Do not judge the poor man, do not seek an account of his life, but free him from his misfortune.” Another time, moved to righteous anger he scolded, “You are large and fat, you hold drinking parties until late at night, and sleep in a warm, soft bed. And do you not think of how you must give an account of your misuse of the gifts of God?”1

    Some call that brutal honesty, others tactlessness; John called it truth and knew as our Lord did that even when bluntly spoken, truth has a way of drawing people to itself. So it did; over the years John’s preaching won hearts in great number. But there was more than that. His authenticity was so appealing. All could see that he practiced what he preached. Like our Lord, John led a pious, austere life; gentle with penitents, generous to the poor, and loving to all, even when love meant bringing a whip to the Temple.

    Also like Jesus, John made his share of enemies, chief among them the emperor’s wife and some very powerful clergy. Their dislike turned to outright hatred when three things happened: First, he was appointed bishop of Constantinople, the emperor’s city, over the empress’s choice; second, he instituted a reform of the clergy who he believed were lax in their pastoral duty; and third, he turned his stinging eloquence loose on the debauchery and immodesty of society, up to and including the empress and her friends.

    Not surprisingly, his enemies fought back. Unlike John they didn’t fight fair, seeing to it that he was charged with false crimes, convicted, and banished as far away as possible. Although vindicated in time, John was getting on in years and the physical cruelty of his guards more than sufficient to bring about his eventual death. Bishop John died on the road to exile on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, September 14th, 407.

    Chrysostom means “golden mouth.” It was a name given him long after his death in homage to his giftedness as a preacher. But this was a man blessed with many gifts: great intellect, resilience, compassion, a deep love of God, and keen insight into human nature, to name just a few. Yet, as great as they all were, the greatest of all was the gift of grace given as St. Paul said, according to the measure of Christ’s gift (Ephesians 4:7). Grace builds on nature, enabling us to use our natural gifts for our own good and that of the world. Consider its effect in the life of John Chrysostom: Raised by a holy, faithful mother, baptized as a young man, driven by the Spirit into the desert, preaching the gospel to the all who would listen, struggling against arrogant, worldly power and suffering the passion and death of his own Calvary road in exile. Grace empowered him to live a life not only devoted to Christ but configured to him.

    jesus-3499151_1280Surely his was a life lived in a manner worthy of the call. But the question remains, what about us? Are we to be another St. John Chrysostom? On one level, no; the gifts given to him were his and his alone. God doesn’t want another St. John Chrysostom. But on another level, yes, the gifts given to us are ours and ours alone and God is calling us to sanctity. We are sanctified to the degree that we take advantage of the same grace that was available to John, not to do what he did, but to do as he did. If we do not preach the gospel from a pulpit in a church we still preach it from the pulpit of our lives. Every day, we are the only homily someone will hear. If we do not shepherd a church or diocese we still have a flock; family, friends, everyone we meet. We are to teach, feed, love, and serve them as Christ did. If we do not bear the cross John bore we still take up our own and unite it to the suffering of Christ for the sake of his body, the Church.

    St. John Chrysostom teaches us that living in a manner worthy of the call we have received is using the gifts God has given us, infused by the grace he alone can give, to bring out of our diversity the unity that raises the Church to mature manhood, the full stature of Christ (Ephesians 4:13).

    St. John Chrysostom, pray for us.

    1St. John Chrysostom, 21st homily on 1 Corinthians

  • The Call of Simon: Thursday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

    Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch.

    Luke 5:4

    I remember once talking with a man about the diaconate. When I asked him if he would consider serving Christ as a deacon he shook his head and said, “No.” When I asked why not, he replied with an embarrassed laugh, “I’m not worthy of anything like that!”

    People tend to associate the call to service with their own sense of worthiness. Simon himself said to Jesus in today’s gospel, Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man (Luke 5:8). Even Moses could not approach the Most High without the proper purification (Exodus 40:35).

    Moreover, people also tend to avoid growing closer to Christ and his Church due to their own sense of unworthiness. Some come to Mass but refuse to go to Confession because they believe they are unworthy of forgiveness; others avoid the Church entirely because they feel unworthy to approach God at all.

    But worthiness is never the issue. When the man told me that he wasn’t worthy of a calling to the diaconate, I replied, “That’s right. You aren’t.” As I hoped, that got his attention so I continued, “No one is. I’m certainly not! The call to serve isn’t about worthiness; it’s about putting our reservations aside and casting out into deep water.”

    Simon had worked all night and caught nothing. He was probably tired, irritable, and not inclined to go anywhere but home. However, the man who asked him to cast out in deeper water was the same man who had just healed his mother-in-law (Luke 4:38-39). Simon didn’t know Jesus very well yet, but he knew there was something about him that demanded attention. Despite his reservations, he obeyed. We know the result; they caught a great number of fish and their nets were tearing (Luke 5:6).

    God gives so abundantly not because we are worthy of it but because he loves so abundantly. While his love demands nothing, it does request that one thing over which he gave us total control: Our own free will. When we place our will in God’s hands, especially in the face of doubt, fear, or reservations, our Lord will never be outdone in generosity.

    laos-1929858 (1)It was Simon’s willingness to put out into deep water and lower his nets despite his reservations that yielded him not only an abundant catch but more importantly the grace to see that the one who sent him was not to be called “Master,” but “Lord.” This is the same Lord before Whom we kneel as we say, “O Lord I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, Speak but the word and my soul shall be healed.”

  • The Best Action: Wednesday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

    At daybreak, Jesus left and went to a deserted place.

    Luke 4:42

    Everything that our Lord did was instructive to us, so we owe it to ourselves to pay close attention to his every action. This brief passage toward the end of Chapter 4 of Luke could easily slip by, but let us pause and reflect on it for a moment.

    Jesus had just begun his ministry. He had been baptized, tempted in the desert, rejected in his hometown, traveled to Capernaum and gotten very busy curing those possessed by demons and healing the sick. If he wanted the people’s attention, he had certainly gotten it. Luke says that news of him spread everywhere in the surrounding region (Luke 4:37).

    He knew better than anyone how much there was to do. Every waking moment could have been spent among these people who so desperately needed his help.

    Yet, it wasn’t. When he could have gotten up and gotten busy, Jesus went off to a quiet place and ministered to himself.

    Why?

    By taking these moments, Jesus teaches that sometimes the best action is inaction; the best preaching, silence; the best attack, retreat. This is the virtue of temperance; to know that there must be a balance in life between the extremes of busyness and idleness. All of us called to be servants, even Christ the servant of all, must take time to renew and replenish ourselves if we are to find and use the inner strength it takes to prudently fulfill our calling in life.

    Scripture doesn’t tell us how long Jesus had to himself at this moment. Perhaps it was an hour, perhaps only a few minutes. Whatever it was, he took advantage of it.

    rain-1570854_640He counsels us to do the same. We may be very busy attending to all the needs of children, family, or work. Whatever dominates your time, resolve to find even a few moments during the day to retreat to your own “deserted place” and listen for that still, small voice which is God.

  • Christ the Teacher: Tuesday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

    Luke 4:31-37

    Take a moment and try to recall the one teacher who you considered the best you ever had. What was it about him or her that was so remarkable? I’ve asked a few people, and the answers seem to fall into two main categories. First, the teacher loved what they taught and second, they loved who they taught.

    Albert Einstein once defined genius as the ability to take the complex and make it simple. Similarly, some teachers are able to take a subject, no matter how difficult, and explain it in such a way that anyone can understand it. Not only that, their love for their subject is contagious; students may find themselves loving a subject they never thought they would even like. One woman I spoke with told me that she actually began to look forward to doing her algebra homework.

    Christ the Teacher had this same genius; we see it in the gospel today and throughout his ministry. Luke says that people were astonished at his teaching because he spoke with authority (Luke 4:32). He was such a master that he could distill the entire law and the prophets into the challenging simplicity of the single command, Do to others whatever you would have them do to you (Matthew 7:12) and he so enlightened the disciples on the road to Emmaus that their hearts burned within them (Luke 24:32). Above all, even the greatest teacher can only bring subjects to life figuratively, but Christ brought his subjects to life literally; the physically dead, the spiritually dead, and as in today’s gospel, those who had their dignity taken from them even by demons.

    This brings us to the second gift of a master teacher: Love for their students. When I asked one woman what subject her favorite teacher taught, she replied, “It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her teaching, it was the way she treated us. We wanted to do well for her just because she cared so much about us.”

    Christ the Teacher was the perfect model of this love. Everything he did was for our benefit, to the very pouring out of his own life. This was his life lesson par excellence: That there is no greater love than to lay down your life for your friends (John 15:13); and he taught this not on a mountain, in a synagogue, or on a boat, but from the classroom of the Cross.

    The truly selfless teacher is not as interested in what they have to give as they are in what their students take away with them. The lessons are only as good as what the students learn. Benjamin Franklin once said, “Tell me and I will forget. Teach me and I will remember. Involve me, and I will learn.” Two of the great lessons that Christ the Master Teacher came to teach were the true meaning of love and the infinite dignity of the person and he involved humanity in three ways: First, by taking our flesh and living among us; second, by calling us to change our lives and follow him unreservedly; and third, by giving us the very life of God in perpetuity through the sacraments.

    jesus-304899_640Contemplate the humility, the patience, and the genius of this teacher. In our very flesh God himself becomes incarnate; in the Scriptures he consistently speaks to us; in the form of simple bread and wine, blessed and broken, he veils himself and enters into us, all done out of pure, gratuitous love that seeks only to raise us from wherever we are to a place closer to him for all eternity.

    The degree to which we show him that we have learned these lessons is the degree to which, as St. Paul said, we have the mind of Christ.