Mark 10:45

Tag: Catholic Spirituality

  • Better to be Better

    Saturday of the 1st Week in Lent

    Deuteronomy 26:16-19; Matthew 5:43-48

    A man once told me about something that happened to him at church. I know it may sound strange to some of you, but in his parish the people tend to sit in the same pew week after week. In his case, an older couple always sat in the pew right behind him and his family. He didn’t know their names, but they greeted each other at the sign of peace, and said goodbye when Mass was over. This went on for years; decades, even.

    One Sunday after Mass, the elderly woman lingered in her pew, weeping. When he asked if there was anything he could do, she said, “No. It’s just very near the anniversary of my husband’s death.” That struck the man deeply; he hadn’t even realized she’d been coming to Mass alone. After consoling her for awhile, he left, and resolved to never let that happen again. He kept his word; from then on, he and his family made it a point to talk with her, and became friends with her and other people near them at Mass.

    This is a great example of a principle our Lord alludes to in today’s gospel: the choice in life isn’t always between doing good and doing evil; sometimes, it’s between doing good and doing better. Loving those who love us is good; so is greeting our friends and family. But it’s better to love without regard to whether we’re loved in return, and to greet those who do not greet us.

    We talk a lot in the Church, especially during Lent, about living virtuously, and we do it in many ways: coming to church, volunteering in outreach to the poor, teaching children, beautifying the parish, etc. While these are all good and we must do them, Christ challenges us to think about what else we can do to better ourselves.

    In the spirit of the story I began with, one area might be recognizing the needs of those all around us. That isn’t always easy. We get stuck in such ruts – even with good things like going to Mass – that it can take a crisis, such as seeing someone in pain – to get us to see what’s better: looking beyond ourselves, even to the next pew.

    Of course, recognizing the need is good, but responding to it is better. It was good that the man consoled the widow behind him, and resolved to change his behavior. But the better thing was actually doing it, which he and his family did. For us, too, response can be the harder part; people may well need our help in ways we do not expect and that might cost us something. But that’s exactly the point; today and every day, Jesus challenges us to go beyond the good and seek the better. In so doing, we accomplish what he wants the most: The transformation not only of our parish and our community, but ourselves – one Christlike act of compassion at a time.

    —

  • Like Rocks in a Pond

    Like Rocks in a Pond

    Monday of the 1st Week of Lent

    Leviticus 19:1-2, 11-18; Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 15; 2 Corinthians 6:2b; Matthew 25:31-46

    Some time ago, a man heard this gospel and came to me, confused. He said, “Why are there two judgments?” What do you mean, I asked. “Well,” he went on, “St. Paul said after we die, we’re judged. But in the gospel, Jesus says he’s returning to judge everyone. Why two judgments?” It’s a good question, one answered by Fr. Joseph Ratzinger, long before he became Pope Benedict XVI. His answer is just as relevant for us today as we consider this same gospel passage. Let me give you an example.

    Imagine that every act we perform is a rock thrown into a pond. As you know, the ripples move out in circles from the impact; the larger the rock, the bigger the waves. Think of the many good things we can do that Jesus spoke of in the gospel as rocks that create waves affecting others for the better. We’ve probably all heard the inspiring stories of people whose lives were forever changed by one small act of kindness done to them, an act the giver may have thought of little import. But to the person it was life-changing, and because of that one kind act, that person went on to do things that affected many other lives for the good.

    On the other hand, Jesus also spoke of the evil that we do, or the good we fail to do. Those, too, create waves that affect others, and not for the better. Imagine how one small lie told about someone can affect others, biasing their judgment of the victim. Now imagine they pass that on to others, and just like that a person’s reputation is ruined, all from one small act that, at the time, may have seemed of little consequence.

    If we see our actions in this light, the answer to the question of two judgments becomes simple. At the moment of our death, our good and evil actions are still creating ripples in the pond. Only God knows their full effect, and judges us on it. But only when Christ comes again at the end of time can we (and everyone else) see the full effect of everything we’ve done or failed to do, bad or good.

    With this as background, consider the wisdom of the readings. Leviticus tells us that we become holy as God is holy only when we treat others justly, honestly, and fairly – especially the vulnerable. The Psalm reminds us that living God’s law in this way not only benefits others, it leads us to wisdom and joy. And there is an urgency to it; as the Gospel acclamation says, now is a very acceptable time. Living a holy life is not something to postpone; we never know when we’re going to “cast our last rock into the pond.” And of course, in the gospel our Lord makes clear the eternal importance of making every action a good one. To the degree that we show mercy, mercy shall be shown to us.

    The Church gives us these readings early in Lent so we can take the best possible advantage of the time given us. For good reason! Why wait? Now is the time to seek the forgiveness of God and others for the evil we’ve done and the good we’ve failed to do, and to find whatever ways we can to live as Christ has asked us. And now is a good time to thank him, who by his passion, death, and resurrection is the Rock whose waves have crashed open for us the gates of Heaven itself.

    —

  • On The Other Side

    On The Other Side

    Ash Wednesday

    Joel 2:2-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20 – 6:2; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

    An elderly monk and a young monk, walking down a road near a stream, came upon a beautiful woman standing by the water. She asked if they would help her cross to the other side. You see, she said, the stream is deep and I might drown. Looking down, the young monk muttered, “Sorry, we can’t.” The older monk sighed, picked her up, carried her across, waded back, then continued on his way. For a long time, his companion said nothing, but was clearly troubled. Finally, the older man asked, “Is something bothering you?” The other replied, “Why did you carry her across like that? What a terrible temptation!” Smiling, the elderly monk said, “Brother, I left her on the other side. You’re still carrying her. She’s getting heavy, isn’t she?”

    We’ve now entered that time of year the Church sets aside to ask what we need to leave “on the other side.” In other words, what burdens are we carrying? It could be many things: Maybe guilt, regret, anger, or frustration; maybe the burdens of stress due to illness or addiction. No matter what load weighs on our shoulders, even the strongest of us will eventually tire trying to carry it.

    The good news is that we don’t have to carry it at all. Like the elderly monk in the story, God will meet us in our struggle and help us lay our burden down. How? The readings break it down into three steps:

    First, we repent, or, as the prophet Joel says, return to God with our “whole heart.” Wholehearted repentance means not just telling God we’re sorry, or acting like we’re sorry, but really being sorry; that is, making an honest effort to change our behavior and our attitudes. In Confession, we call that having a firm purpose of amendment.

    Second, we reconcile. With whom? Anyone we’ve sinned against, which includes both God and other people. In fact, St. Paul urges us to be “ambassadors of reconciliation.” Even though we carry the burden of our sins and are tempted to hold onto them, God calls us to forsake our old ways, accept His gift of mercy, and be strengthened by His grace, that we may be more closely united to Him and to each other.

    Third, we renew ourselves in the practice of our faith by genuinely seeking God presence, not other peoples’ attention, by humbling ourselves before God rather than focusing on what we’re giving up, and by giving to others out of love, not for what can get out of it.

    May this Lent be for all of us the time we allow God to help us lay our burdens down. Through repentance, reconciliation, and a renewed commitment to living quietly and authentically before God, let’s leave our old selves on the other side and continue on our way with the lighter heart and open spirit He has in mind.

    —

  • Hidden Beams, Open Eyes

    Hidden Beams, Open Eyes

    Sunday of the 8th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 27:4-7; 1 Corinthians 15:54-58; Luke 6:39-45

    Years ago, my son (then 8) went with me to bring Communion to people in the nursing home. One day, on our way out, an elderly man sitting in the hallway smiled at my son and reached out to touch him. Getting in the car, I asked him, “You know what that man saw when he looked at you?” My plan was to get him thinking about how an elderly man, seeing a lively, happy little boy, might recall his own youth or his children. But, like so many things with that kid, it didn’t turn out that way. “Yeah, I know what he saw when he looked at me.” “What?” I asked. Smiling and very confident, he replied, “A saint and a chick magnet.”

    Well, if nothing else, that got me thinking about how differently we can see ourselves compared to how others see us. Jesus speaks about this in today’s Gospel with His metaphor of “wooden beams” — the faults in ourselves we fail to see because we’re too busy looking for faults in others. To me, these beams represent two extremes in our spiritual life.

    The first is pride. Not the healthy pride that acknowledges our worth in God’s eyes, but the self-importance that blinds us to our need for Him. This pride says, What I want for me matters more than what God wants. This is the root of all sin; it tempts us to rely on ourselves rather than on God’s grace.

    The second is harder to name. I call it spiritual despair, the temptation to believe we’re unworthy, inadequate, and beyond God’s help. This is the despair that whispers, What I want doesn’t matter, because I don’t matter, and leads us to avoid responding to God’s call. It diminishes us to the point that we feel paralyzed, unable to act.

    Perfectly balanced between these two extremes lies what the ancient Greeks used to call the golden mean — the place where virtue is found. What is the balance point between pride and spiritual despair? Humility, the virtue that says, What I want matters, because I want for me what God wants for me.

    Humility resists both extremes. Against pride, it reminds us that we cannot draw closer to God on our own; we must rely on His grace, especially through the Sacraments. Against spiritual despair, humility reassures us that feelings of inadequacy are part of being human, and that our imperfect efforts still matter. God never looks for perfection in our actions; He looks only for a willing heart.

    If only it were easy to find that center point! How do we do it? Today’s readings give us a guide, through self-reflection and some tough questions.

    • Sirach reminds us that our words reveal our true character. In our interactions with others, do I boast, speak arrogantly, or put others down? Or do I remain silent out of fear that I have nothing worthwhile to say?
    • St. Paul urges us to be steadfast in the work of the Lord, allowing ourselves to be transformed. Do I ignore transformation because I think I don’t need it, or toward the other extreme, because I feel unworthy of it?
    • Jesus warns us about the blind leading the blind. Am I so self-assured that I overlook my own faults, or maybe so self-critical that I hesitate to act at all?

    These can be very uncomfortable questions, but we can’t avoid them, for that itself is an answer, pointing to one of the two extremes. On the other hand, humility urges us to embraces the challenge, trusting that God’s grace is more than sufficient to help us.

    Lent is soon upon us, offering a perfect opportunity to reflect on these questions and answer them openly and honestly. Also, Lent is the perfect time to make our own personal Way of the Cross, seeing pride and spiritual despair as the two wooden beams of our own cross. Every time we participate in the Sacrifice of the Mass, we unite our cross to the cross of Christ, offering to the Father what he offered: our whole self. In return, God will take that worldly sign of defeat and humiliation and transform it to the perfect sign of divine victory and salvation.

    As we remain steadfast in this work, the transformation St. Paul speaks of becomes real in our lives. This is the greatest gift humility can offer: the same wooden beams that once blinded us become the instrument through which we see more clearly the infinite love and call of Almighty God.

    —

  • The Love Behind It

    The Love Behind It

    Saturday of the 7th Week in Ordinary Time

    Sirach 17:1-15; Mark 10:13-16

    As parents, we try our best to give our children everything they need in life to prosper; a good, stable home, a solid education, including faith – the best upbringing we can provide. We don’t expect thanks, but it’s in the nature of children to give anyway. Even the very young make special, little gifts for their parents, who are very happy with them – their real happiness, of course, being that they see the kids are learning the value of giving. Parent or child, it’s not the gift that matters, but the love behind it.

    Our relationship with God is much the same. As Sirach reminds us, God has given us so much! First, He made us in His image and likeness; the only creatures of Earth to receive that wonderful gift. Second, He’s given us the Earth and dominion over it. On top of that, He gives us the gifts of the Holy Spirit. They appear throughout the passage: We are endowed with a strength of His own (fortitude), with counsel, the discipline of understanding, fills our hearts with wisdom, puts the fear of Himself in our hearts, sets before us knowledge, and does all that so we might glory in the wonder of his deeds and praise His holy name (piety). As if all this isn’t enough, He’s given us His only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, who in the Gospel shows once again how God is never outdone in generosity: When parents bring their children for a blessing, Jesus goes further – he takes them in his arms and embraces them. But again, as parents with children, God doesn’t do this because He has to. He’s teaching us that what matters isn’t the gift, but the love behind it.

    So, what are we as God’s children to give Him in return? Jesus made that clear when he said that if we love God, we will obey Him (John 14:23). He gives us two ways in today’s readings to do that. First, as He says in Sirach, “Avoid all evil.” This is the natural law, the law written in our hearts: Seek the good (God) and avoid anything that takes us away from Him. The second we heard in the gospel. When the disciples rebuked people bringing children to Jesus, he said, Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these (Mark 10:14). In other words, we are to bring people to Christ and be Christ to others, treating them as we would treat him – even, and perhaps especially, those who (like children) cannot repay us. We do this expecting nothing in return, because once again, what matters isn’t the gift, but the love behind it.

    Today, we are reminded of the great blessing of living and loving with the innocence of children. For we love most like children of God when we give freely from our hearts without reservation. And we live most like children of God when we do good, forgive readily, and uphold the dignity of all people, remembering that they, like us, are made in His image and likeness. Above all, let us do everything with the tenderness of Christ, who invites us to give our hearts completely to him with the trust of little children, expecting nothing in return, but offering everything out of love. For that is what he, the only Son of God, did to his last breath – gave himself that we may live. Finally, like children, let us receive and rejoice in the Holy Eucharist, not only because it is the greatest gift of all, but because through it we are brought ever more deeply into the infinite Love behind it.

    —

  • Beyond Barney’s Badge

    Beyond Barney’s Badge

    Feast of the Chair of St. Peter, Apostle

    1 Peter 5:1-4; Psalm 23:1-3a, 4, 5, 6; Matthew 16:13-19

    For years, my favorite TV show was Andy Griffith, and my favorite character was Barney Fife, the small, clumsy deputy whose courage – despite his fear – came shining through in one episode when he was confronted by two burly lawbreakers. Trembling, Barney said to them, “See this badge? It means I’m sworn to uphold the law. That’s what I intend to do, and you fellas better respect that… You’re both a lot bigger than I am, but this badge represents a lot of people, and they’re a lot bigger than either of you. Now are you going to get movin’?” In that moment, Barney’s small stature was overcome by the power of what he carried: A badge symbolizing a far greater authority than his own.

    Of course, when we think of authority in the Church, we don’t think of a badge but a chair; specifically, the chair of St. Peter, which we remember today. Our Scripture passages help us do that in a couple of ways.

    First, the letter of Peter tells us that Church leadership is pastoral; leaders are shepherds who tend, not tyrants who bully. What’s more, both the flock and the authority to tend it belong to Christ, not to his appointed shepherd. Such pastoral leadership, like Barney’s badge, represents something much larger than itself. We see that in Matthew 16: When Jesus declared Peter the rock on which his Church would be built and entrusted to him the keys of the kingdom, Peter – though an ordinary man – took on a role greatly magnified by the divine power invested in him by Christ.

    Psalm 23 is, therefore, a great reassurance. Again, think of Barney’s badge: As that reassured those around him that he wasn’t acting alone but on behalf of a greater power, so the authority given to the Church shepherds assures us that ultimately the Lord is our Shepherd. How could we want for anything, knowing that we are always under the protection and care of the Good Shepherd, working in and through the leaders He has appointed?

    Finally, this Feast prompts us to think about leadership and courage in our own lives. Why? Because Christ has “deputized” us through our baptism to proclaim the gospel. Where do our strength and courage come from? Our abilities? Our size? No; they come from the authority and grace God bestows upon us. Like deputy Barney Fife who, despite his fears, held his ground and did his duty, each of us is called to hold fast to our faith; to lead, to serve, and to be beacons of God’s love, always under the care and authority of the Good Shepherd who guides and backs us every step of the way.

    So, let us embrace the badge Christ has given us, whether we are leaders in our community or quiet witnesses to His love, and trust that His authority, like Peter’s keys, opens the door to new beginnings and eternal hope. May we be emboldened to act with the courage of deputy Barney Fife, knowing that we are cared for, and backed by, a power infinitely greater than ourselves.

    —

  • Embracing God’s Promise: The Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

    Embracing God’s Promise: The Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

    Genesis 1:20—2:4a

    As you heard, the reading from Genesis ended with the seventh day. Did you notice that, unlike the first six days, the author didn’t say, “Evening came and morning followed – the seventh day”? That’s his way of telling us that this day is different; it symbolizes a relationship with God that was never meant to end, when Heaven is united to Earth in perfect unity and peace. As we all know, it didn’t take long for sin to disrupt that union. Still, as God shows throughout the rest of the Bible, He is always willing to offer us healing and restore that peace.

    One way God continues to do that is through the Blessed Mother. We remember particularly today her appearances in France in1858, near the small town of Lourdes. Many who have visited there have experienced God’s healing power through her intercession. Not only that, Mary’s message of trust, compassion, and renewal is a wonderful reminder that God’s mercy is always available, that He’s always calling us into a more and more sacred union with Him – like that of the seventh day.

    Who doesn’t long for that kind of peace? What joy, what happiness! It may seem like a dream, especially to many of us, who find life burdensome and full of struggles. While it’s easy to get discouraged, remember something Mary said to Bernadette at Lourdes: “I cannot promise you happiness in this life; only in the next.” I think from that we can take at least two things:

    First, while we cannot run away from the problems and struggles in this life, we do have this life. Every day, every breath, is a gift of God to us. Why not set aside a few extra moments to thank Him for life, for the privilege of waking up, being able to be here, and most of all for the gift of His Only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ? And, as we receive Christ, thank him for keeping the promise he made to the Eleven: I am with you always, until the end of the age (Matthew 28:20). He is always with us, always at work in our lives. Those few quiet, thankful moments never go unrewarded, and mean the most when coming from the hearts of those who suffer; God always finds ways to restore in us a measure of peace, like the healing water of Lourdes.

    Second, Our Lady reminded Bernadette about happiness in the life to come. Healing and rest are not only possible, they’re God’s promise to us! So, even when peace eludes us and life feels out of control, try to do what Mary did: Trust in God’s perfect plan and remember that He is in control. Our strength and comfort come from not from anything we can do, but from knowing that our eternal rest is secure in His love and that, if we unite our will to His and Our Lady has done, then, like her, we will one day be with God and know the unity and peace that only He can give.

    May the intercession of Our Lady of Lourdes guide us toward daily moments of rest and healing, helping us rediscover that perfect union of the seventh day – a union where every day holds the bright promise of God’s eternal, loving rest.

    —

  • Vulnerability: The Path to True Love

    Vulnerability: The Path to True Love

    Saturday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 13:15-17, 20-21; Psalm 23:1-6; Mark 6:30-34

    When I was a kid, my cousin and I debated many important things, like whose comic book superhero was better. I said Spiderman, he said Superman. When I asked him why Superman was better, he said, “Simple. He’s invulnerable. Spiderman isn’t.” I had to look up ‘invulnerable.’ Turns out it means Superman is immune or highly resistant to physical damage, injury or disease and illness. In other words, he’s almost impossible to hurt.

    Of course, in real life things are different. We all know, especially as we age, that the human body is quite vulnerable. So is the human heart; certainly parents, children, and spouses feel in their lives that connection between love and suffering. Indeed, some people are afraid to love others for just that reason; they don’t want to be hurt.

    But I don’t think it can be any other way. Why? Because, to be genuine, love requires vulnerability. We see that even with the first step: trust. Psalm 23 reminds us that God is our Shepherd and calls us to trust Him. With what? Our entire self! Placing ourselves wholly in His care requires total openness and surrender – in other words, being vulnerable. The psalmist beautifully expresses this trust when he says, Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for you are at my side (Psalm 23:4). Such trust isn’t about relying on our own strength, but surrendering to the guidance of the Good Shepherd.

    Then in Mark 6:30-34, Jesus shows us the payoff for that. When he saw the people’s hunger – not just for food, but for guidance and meaning – their vulnerability moved Him with pity. This is love in its purest form, empathetic and totally self-giving. Christ can only love totally, so he doesn’t shy away from their neediness, but embraces and fills it. This is what happens when we let go of control and allow ourselves to show Him that we are in need.

    We see this in the life of St. Josephine Bakhita. Torn from her home as a child, subjected to cruelty, and stripped of control, she had no choice but to be vulnerable. However, when she encountered Christ, she found that vulnerability isn’t just a condition of suffering, but also the gateway to love. She learned to trust in God’s love, not to hide her wounds, physical or emotional, but to give them to him, and allow him lead her to peace and healing. Her decision to forgive those who hurt her was an act of profound love, requiring the courage to let go of resentment and trust in God’s justice.

    Just as in human relationships, where love requires the risk of being hurt, our relationship with God requires us to move beyond fear and trust in His guidance. When we let down our guard and allow Him to be our Shepherd, we experience a love that is not only protective but also transformative. In so doing, we mirror Christ Himself, who made Himself vulnerable for our sake; taking on human suffering, loving to the death, and ultimately revealing that true love is not about self-preservation, but about self-giving. That is the irony of love: Only by giving ourselves away do we ever really find ourselves.

    —

  • A Divine Prescription for Healing

    A Divine Prescription for Healing

    Saturday of the 1st Week in Ordinary Time

    Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 2:13-17

    When we’re sick and have to see the doctor, we have a pretty good idea what’s going to happen: We’ll give an account of our symptoms, get a physical exam, then treatment, which means surgery if necessary. It’s been that way probably for as long as there’s been medicine, so it’s interesting how the Author of the Letter to the Hebrews goes in reverse order: First comes the surgery with the two-edged sword, then the exam, then we render an account (Hebrews 4:12).

    Why? I think he’s trying to say that having Jesus minister to our sinfulness is completely unlike any other “doctor-patient” relationship because, unlike other doctors, he already knows everything about us, and his diagnosis and treatment are perfect. So the question really is, are we going to be a good patient and listen to him, accept his diagnosis, and do what’s necessary to be healed?

    If we need any reminders about what’s necessary, Jesus has made at least three things clear in this week’s gospel stories from Mark.

    First, we must show him our faith. We won’t be healed without it. It can be our own faith, as with the leper, or we can rely in part on the faith of those around us, as Simon’s mother-in-law, the demoniac, or the paralytic did. We can show our faith immediately, as Levi and the other Apostles did, or we can be more tentative; either way, we’re going to be tested and must pray for the perseverance to keep going. That’s what happened to the Apostles; they frequently struggled to understand much of what Jesus said and did, but, except for Judas, none of them gave up. That’s what Jesus wants us to do, too.

    Second, remember the medicine of mercy. We know how good it feels, and how healing it can be to forgive those who have hurt us, or to ask forgiveness of those we have hurt. In addition, there is the mercy of reaching out to other people who are hurting or in need. Recall in the gospel today the mercy of our Lord, who simply shared a meal with tax-collectors and sinners – people the Pharisees dismissed. Those who reach out in this way in imitation of Christ, who sympathizes with our weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15), are what Fr. Henri Nouwen called “wounded healers” – people who, recalling their own feelings of inadequacy, anger, sadness, grief, or loneliness, reach out in empathy to care for and bring a measure of healing to others who struggle with those same feelings. In so doing, wounded healers help heal themselves.


    Third, we must be willing to endure the pain of healing. Many of us have gone through physical therapy, so we know that pain is often a part of healing. But we also know this pain is different from the pain of illness, for it comes from strengthening areas that need to be exercised so we can be whole again. It’s the same in the spiritual life. For Apostles such as Levi, it may have been the pain of poverty, of leaving everything behind to follow Christ; for the Pharisees, the pain of humility, of realizing that the people they thought beneath them are loved by God as much as they are; and for the tax-collectors and sinners, the pain of justice, of reforming their lives and becoming the righteous people they were called to be. For us, it depends on the symptoms, but whatever they are, the Divine Physician has the remedy. Let us pray to have and show the faith by which he heals us, the humility to ask for and accept his healing, and the courage to persevere until the end.

    —

  • Winning the Game of Life

    Winning the Game of Life

    The 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Wisdom 6:12-16; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

    In a timed experiment, men and women competed to see who followed instructions better. Picture the scene: A man and his girlfriend enter a partitioned room, he on one side, she on the other. A bell starts the contest. Each runs to a small table and are handed an instruction sheet. The first task: “Put on lipstick.” The man does it, the woman reads. The next task, “Put on this dress.” He does it, she continues to read. Next, he does jumping jacks while shouting her name; still, she still reads. Finally, after sucking on a lemon, spinning in a circle on the floor, wearing a chicken mask and clucking, and a few more tasks, the bell ends the contest. He runs around the curtain, still wearing the dress and with lipstick on his face, only to see her, who did none of this yet won the contest, holding the instructions. Laughing, she shows him the last line on the page: “Now, ignore instructions one thru ten and sign this paper – you’ve completed the challenge!”

    You may be wondering a couple of things. First, how you would have done. Sorry, guys; most of us ended up with the dress on and lipstick on our face. Ladies, you carried the day; most of you ended up showing us where it said that we didn’t have to do any of that. Second, you may be curious what any of this has to do with today’s readings.

    The readings are all about knowing what success is, and doing what it takes to reach it. For example, we might look at success in life as if it’s a matter of following instructions: Get an education, earn a good living, find a spouse, raise a family, have a nice home, honor God. Now, these are all wonderful things; the person who values them is certainly wise and successful as the world sees it. But what about as God sees it? The first reading tells us that the wisdom given by God is the perfection of prudence (Wisdom 6:15). So, we are prudent in God’s eyes when we discern the right way to go to reach our goal, and wise when we know what the goal is before we set out.

    How are the prudent successful in life? The other readings help us answer that. First, our Lord’s parable. Like all parables, it contains a twist, something that would surprise its audience. It was a custom in the ancient world for the groom to meet the bride’s father, to make various arrangements. This could go quickly or take a long time; no one knew. Thus, the surprise wasn’t the long wait, or that the girls fell asleep, but that so few had enough oil with them. If the oil is our faith in Christ, who told us that we are the light of the world, and our actions must show that light (Matthew 5:14-16), then we need a good, steady supply of it, because, as we all know, sometimes our faith is sorely tested.

    The second reading is a good example. Some of the Christians in Thessalonika were getting anxious; they expected Jesus to return in their lifetime to judge the living and the dead. They had been waiting a long time; now, people in their community were dying, and they didn’t understand why he hadn’t returned. What was wrong? Perhaps their critics and detractors were right; maybe this Jesus was never coming back, and the whole thing was a deception! It’s not hard to understand this. Many in the modern world fall away or never believe because things don’t happen in a way we can all easily understand and relate to our faith. Good people die, the innocent suffer, things can be so unfair. The longer this goes on, the more we are tempted to ask what the Thessalonians asked – have we, too, been deceived? Where is God in all this?

    This is why St. Paul urges the Thessalonians to find their hope and consolation in Christ. He knew that Jesus hadn’t come to take away suffering and death. To the contrary; he, too, suffered and died. Rather, Jesus came to show us that death isn’t the final word – He is. What gives our faith its meaning is his resurrection, and the promise that we, too, will be raised to new and eternal life with him. When St. Paul said, we shall always be with the Lord (1 Thessalonians 4:17), he was reminding them that not only did Christ give them hope for new life, he was with them still, and would be forever. We don’t just have St. Paul’s word for that; Jesus himself closes St. Matthew’s gospel the way it began, by reminding us that he is Emmanuel, God-With-Us, when he said: behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age (Matthew 1:23; 28:20). What consolation! Christ is with us every moment of our lives; every joy, every sorrow, from the beginning until eternity.

    This brings us full circle to the experiment I began with. That game had a beginning, and it had an end. So, too, the game of life. The way to win is also the same: Follow the instructions, but first, know what the instructions are. Before he left, Jesus gave them to us: in Scripture, in Sacred Tradition such as the Creed we are about to recite, and in the teaching of the Church. But the final line is about how we show our faith, for without faith, our actions get us nowhere. So, picture this: Christ stands on the other side of the curtain, the instructions in his hand. He is reading the last line, in the words of Venerable Fulton Sheen: “Show me your hands. Do they have scars from giving? Show me your feet. Are they wounded in service? Show me your heart. Have you left a place for divine love?”