Mark 10:45

Tag: Discipleship

  • 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.

    —

  • The Point of the Law

    The Point of the Law

    Wednesday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    Deuteronomy 4:1, 5-9; John 6:63c, 68c; Matthew 5:17-19

    On a break during Canon Law class, the professor told me about a case he studied years before.

    On one side was a priest whose behavior showed a blatant disregard of Canon Law. He acted as if it simply didn’t apply to him. On the other side, the prosecuting priest was just as extreme in the opposite direction. He clung so tightly to the letter of the law that he almost made it an end in itself.

    The professor said that every clergyman must remember above all the last canon in the Church’s law. Its final line says this: ‘The salvation of souls must always be the supreme law of the Church.’ “So remember,” Father said, “when you deal with people, the law isn’t there to control them or to be ignored. The law exists to save souls.”

    That’s exactly what Christ teaches in today’s Gospel. When he says he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, our minds might jump to the Pharisees or others, who treated the law as an end in itself. But I believe he was also thinking of people who lived as if God’s commandments were optional.

    Maybe, before my mind jumps to anyone else, I should take a look at myself. Are there times in my life – like when I do something wrong – that I look the other way, make excuses, or go easy on myself? And are there other times when I’m hard or unforgiving – say perhaps when someone offends me or someone I love? The truth is, I don’t have to look very far to find that I myself live on both sides of the continuum; I am both priests Father talked with me about.

    All the more reason for me to remember Father’s lesson – the law exists to save souls, to give life. The Gospel Acclamation said it so well – His words are Spirit and life (John 6:63, 68); medicine for the soul and meant to bring us all to everlasting life.

    So when Jesus says he has not come to abolish the law but fulfill it, he’s reminding us of something simple but very profound: God did not give us his commandments to control us or offer suggestions. He gave them to save us.

    With that in mind, here’s a way we can live out the gospel this week: Choose one commandment and bring it to life in a small, concrete way. For example, if it’s the Fifth Commandment, speak gently in a situation in which you might otherwise speak in anger. If it’s the Seventh Commandment, be honest yet gentle, even if that’s inconvenient. In all things, let the law guide you to life, not weigh you down.

    When we do such things, our actions show the world that the most important thing is that the law points the way to Jesus, who himself is the Way.

    And the Truth.

    And the Life.

    —

  • Full of Emptiness

    Full of Emptiness

    Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Daniel 9:4b-10; Luke 6:36-38

    Visiting a newly built Catholic church, I asked my host why it was so plain and unadorned. He replied that the planning committee chose a Buddhist-inspired design to help people “come to emptiness” in prayer.

    Later, a priest commented on that idea. He said, “The problem with that kind of design is that our goal as Catholics is not to come to emptiness. Just the opposite! We are to come to the fullness of life in Christ.”

    Of course, emptiness has value. We need to empty ourselves of sin. We see that in the reading from the Book of Daniel. He stands before God and confesses, “We have sinned.” Daniel doesn’t blame others. He humbles himself, empties himself of pride.

    That kind of emptiness is holy; it makes room for mercy.

    But emptiness is not the final goal, fullness is. And in today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us how fullness comes: Give, and gifts will be given to you… a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing (Luke 6:38). In the marketplace of his day, a merchant would press and shake the grain to make sure the measure was full, not skimpy. Then it would be poured into the fold of the buyer’s garment.

    Jesus is describing overflowing abundance.

    But notice the order: Give, and you will receive. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Be merciful as your Father is merciful.

    We may think we’ll be full if we protect ourselves; measure carefully; give only what feels safe. But Jesus says the measure we use on others will be used on us.

    That isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. If we measure generously, forgive generously, and show mercy generously, God will do the same to us.

    So, today the question is simple: Where am I measuring tightly? Who needs my mercy? Who am I still judging instead of forgiving?

    We empty ourselves of sin, yes. But we fill ourselves with Christ by giving. And when we dare to give generously, we find that God’s generosity is infinitely greater: packed together, shaken down, and overflowing.

  • Three Reasons to Thank God

    Three Reasons to Thank God

    Wednesday of the 1st Week in Lent

    Jonah 3:1-10; Psalm 51:3-4, 12-13, 18-19; Luke 11:29-32

    Today we heard again from that beautiful penitential psalm, Psalm 51. David’s yearning for forgiveness is plain, but I think equally plain is his desire to feel the restoration of joy that follows it. We can hear it in lines like, “Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have crushed rejoice… Restore to me the joy of your salvation” (Psalm 51:9, 12). Contrition blossoms into the thanksgiving of a joyful heart.

    I’m sure the people of Nineveh felt that same joy after heeding Jonah’s warning and coming to repentance. I’m also sure that many of us, after leaving the Confessional, feel it too.

    In that spirit, my advice based on these readings is to take a moment today to thank God in three ways.

    First, thank God for the signs He has sent you. Nineveh had Jonah. The Queen of the South had Solomon. Who did you have? I can think of so many – my parents, the nuns, priests, and laypeople who taught me, the priests who formed me, the bishop who ordained me, parishioners who pray for and sustain me. Let us thank God for all those He put in our lives who brought us to faith, formed us in it, or have encouraged us to keep trying.

    Second, thank God for the times He has made you a sign to others. You might think, “Hey, I’m no sign. I’m just an ordinary person.” So was Jonah! Did you notice the first reading began by telling us this was the second time God sent him? The first time, Jonah ran away! Still, despite his failings, God used him. Jonah needed God’s strength (we call it fortitude) and so do we. It takes strength to stay married, to forgive, to keep praying despite setbacks. Those are all signs to others, and you’ve done them. And because you did, others have seen that faith is not just possible, it’s life giving. Thank God!

    Finally, thank God for the Sign that is greater than all others. In the gospel, Jesus said, “Something greater than Jonah is here.” Indeed! Here, at Mass, is something far, far greater than Jonah or Solomon. Of course, the sign isn’t a prophet pointing or warning; it is our Lord’s true, total, and abiding Presence. Yes, Nineveh had a preacher, but we have the Eucharist. They had a warning, we have Mercy Himself.

    No wonder the gospel acclamation urged us to return to God. There is no better place to thank Him – in His House, and before His Eucharistic Face.

  • Overcoming Familiarity

    Overcoming Familiarity

    Wednesday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 6:1-6

    When Abraham Lincoln first met Frederick Douglass, he didn’t think much of him. He certainly didn’t regard him as an equal; to the contrary, he believed that Douglass had nothing to teach him. But over time and repeated meetings, Lincoln came to see that Douglass, while not educated the way he was, possessed a moral clarity and insight on the issue of slavery that he himself lacked. He came to depend on Douglass for advice. At Lincoln’s second inauguration, when policemen barred Douglass from coming near, Lincoln insisted that he stay. In fact, he took Douglass by the hand and said, “There is no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. What do you think of my speech?”

    Because Lincoln opened himself to listen to Frederick Douglass, a deeper truth was allowed to shape history. Sadly, this was not the case with the people of Nazareth, who allowed familiarity with Jesus to harden their hearts to the point that God was left with no room to work. As Mark tells us, he was not able to perform any mighty deed there (Mark 6:5).

    We all know the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it can also breed dismissal. The people of Nazareth dismissed the idea that Jesus had anything to teach them; as far as they were concerned, they already knew everything worth knowing about him.

    I can’t really criticize them. I’ve seen a similar attitude at times in myself. Because I’ve studied theology a lot, read many books and articles, and taken many classes, I get tempted to think, “OK, now I think I know everything I need to know about God.” If you’ve ever had similar thoughts, I urge you to remember this gospel passage, for that’s exactly the kind of thinking that closes the door to God, giving Him no room to work in us or through us.

    Our faith thrives on openness, and the key to openness is humility. That’s what brought Lincoln around – the humility to recognize his own limits, and to start listening where he least expected wisdom to be found.

    Today’s gospel presents us with the same choice. It’s not whether Jesus has power, but whether we will allow him to teach us again; perhaps through Scripture passages we’ve heard many times before, a person we think we already understand well enough, or a moment that feels ordinary.

    The people of Nazareth could not move past asking, “Isn’t this the carpenter?” The question for us is simpler and more unsettling: Have we already decided who Jesus is, and stopped listening?

  • Immersion

    Immersion

    The Baptism of the Lord (A)

    Matthew 3:13-17

    A German immigrant living in Italy asked how best to learn Italian. The advice he got was simple: Go down to the marketplace and spend time there. Listen. Speak. Make mistakes. Do this enough times and the language will become yours.

    That was it: No textbook, no computer program. Immersion, pure and simple. And it worked. In time, he spoke Italian fluently.

    Immersion is really what we celebrate as we remember the Baptism of the Lord. In ancient times, it wasn’t the custom to stand at a baptismal font and be sprinkled with a few drops of water. No, people were plunged into it, going under as the old, sinful self, and coming back up as the new, redeemed self.

    That practice was done in imitation of Christ’s own baptism in the Jordan by John. Of course, Jesus didn’t need repentance. Still, he chose to plunge fully into the waters – with sinners. With us. Knowing our weakness, our confusion, our need for mercy, God didn’t just stand and watch from a distance. He entered the water. And not only entered, but completely immersed himself in the human condition.

    Thus he teaches us that belonging – that taking up our mission – is revealed in immersion, not observation. For the baptized Christian, life isn’t a spectator sport, something to merely observe, but something to totally immerse ourselves in. Just as that man didn’t master Italian by reading a book or using a computer program, we don’t learn to live like Christ by occasional exposure to him or his Church.

    That brings up the difficult questions Christ wants us to ask ourselves: Do I live a “Christmas and Easter” type faith, or do I live it every day? Do I look at others in need and hope someone will help them, or do I “take the plunge” and do it myself?

    No matter how we answer such questions, let us remember that we learn the language of Christ by immersion: Prayer, reception of the sacraments, being an active part of the community, and by practicing mercy, especially to those who we may think least deserve it.

    If we aren’t where we know we need to be in these things, that’s OK. God has given us time. To learn the language of love, forgiveness, and self-gift, we must go down to the marketplace and spend time where those things are spoken. Where is that? Not the clean, clear water of a baptismal font or an easy chair, but the muddy and unclear water of humanity – of the cross. But as Jesus showed, that’s the place to do as he did, to immerse ourselves fully.

    That is what our Lord, Jesus Christ showed us, not just at his baptism, but by his life, death, and resurrection. And that’s what the Father showed when He said,”This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

    In the same way, we don’t learn how to live “fluently” as God’s beloved sons and daughters by watching from the shore. We learn it by immersion.

  • Holy Families, Not Perfect Ones

    Holy Families, Not Perfect Ones

    Sirach 3:2-6, 12-14; Colossians 3:12-21; Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

    The Scriptures for the Feast of the Holy Family speak honestly about family life; not as perfect, but as a place where faith is tested and love is learned.

    Sirach tells us, “Take care of your father when he is old… even if his mind fails, be considerate of him.” He does not limit this call to ideal relationships. It is a summons to faithful love, even when family bonds are complicated or strained.

    That passage reminds me of a time when, as a teenager, I traveled with my father to New York to be with his own father, who was alone and dying of cancer. I didn’t know the details, but I knew there had been difficulties between them. Yet during those few days, I didn’t see that. All I saw was a patient, gentle, attentive son. No speeches, no attempts to fix the past… just the silence of Dad’s presence, care, and compassion.

    Those images have never left me. More importantly, they helped me see Dad in a new and illuminating light. Just like he had struggles with his father, I had struggles with him. Despite all that, watching him live out that kind of reverent love went a long way toward healing our relationship. That mattered, because Dad died young. Had I waited, that healing might never have come.

    St. Paul urges us to “put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” In the Gospel, Joseph does just that: he silently rises, protects those entrusted to him, and trusts God with his family’s future. Watching Dad live that way has challenged me to do the same.

    And it’s about challenge, after all. While the Feast of the Holy Family rightly draws our eyes to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s not about comparing the Holy Family’s perfection to ours. Rather, the Feast invites us to challenge ourselves; that the love in our family be stronger than our resentment, our presence stronger than our history, and our faith strong enough to act — quietly, faithfully, and one day at a time— so that God’s love and peace may work through us to bring healing and wholeness.

    —

  • The Foundation of Faith

    The Foundation of Faith

    The 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

    2 Kings 5:14-17; 2 Timothy 2:8-13; Luke 17:11-19

    I don’t think the first thing most of us do when we receive bad news or suffer is stop and thank God for it. More likely, especially when the news or suffering is very bad, our reaction is one of fear, confusion, disbelief, even shock. Personally, I don’t recall ever saying, “I have a serious illness? Oh, thank God!” No, I’ve been much closer to the lepers in today’s gospel… begging for mercy.

    But recently, I learned that Pope Benedict XVI (retired and finally with time to spare) fell and broke his wrist, rendering him unable to finish a project he was working on. Speaking about it, Benedict said that when God lets us stumble, there’s a lesson in it, often involving humility and patience. Where I might’ve been angry, frustrated, or disappointed, the Holy Father sounded… grateful.

    Clearly, it was time for me to rethink my idea of gratitude.

    Today’s Scriptures reinforce that. For example, I can see why Naaman was grateful for being healed, but why cart two loads of dirt home from Israel? Then in the gospel, I can see why the leper returned to thank Jesus, even to falling at his feet, but why did Jesus respond as he did?

    Both examples teach us something vital: The gratitude God is looking for isn’t the passing pleasantry of a favor done for us, or even the deeper thankfulness we feel when He answers a prayer the way we want. Rather, gratitude is a way of life, of seeing God at all times as the source of everything we need, and of being thankful for his kindness and faithfulness no matter what life has in store for us. This is the gratitude that transforms us and is the foundation of our salvation.

    Again, look at the readings. Because the ancients believed that a peoples’ god was tied to their land, Naaman brought the dirt home to show the world that the Hebrew God was his God, too. Healing transformed his faith. As if to underscore that, note what Jesus says to the leper: your faith has saved you (Luke 17:19). Where once there was a leper – a Samaritan at that – through gratitude there was now a man not only healed, but saved.

    Gratitude and faith are intertwined. One opens onto the other. Gratitude is the recognition of grace, and faith is the trust that grace is always there. That is why in our second reading, St. Paul could rejoice in chains, and why the Catechism says that “Every joy and suffering, every event and need can become the matter for thanksgiving” (CCC #2638).

    Every joy. Every suffering. Everything. That should have particular impact on us at Mass, for nowhere do we give greater thanksgiving than in the Eucharist itself, whose very name means “thanksgiving.”

    So, when you come to receive Christ today, whether in the Eucharist or spiritual communion, bring every joy, every suffering, and, like the one leper who returned, give thanks. For gratitude is not merely the doorway to salvation; it is the foundation upon which salvation is built.

    —

  • Stick to the Plan

    Stick to the Plan

    21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

    Isaiah 66:18-21; Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13; Luke 13:22-30

    Suppose two high school students ask the track coach what they should do over the summer to qualify for the team next fall. The coach gives each one a training plan and urges them to stick to it. The first student does exactly that, even though he finds it demanding. The other, also seeing the demands, decides that he’s basically fit already, so an hour a week of casual exercise should be enough. When fall comes, we’re not surprised that the first student makes the team while the second doesn’t come close.

    This Sunday’s readings remind us that life in Christ works the same way. First, Isaiah tells us that everyone is invited to “be on God’s team;” no one is left out. But then, Hebrews hints that this may not be easy; the Author speaks of discipline, endurance, even pain. Still, this will end in glory, for accepting and working through the pain will make us strong. Finally, Christ drives it home with the first word of his answer to the question about who will be saved. “Strive,” he says. In the original language, this carries a physical meaning, like an athlete in training. We see it again when St. Paul speaks of faith in terms of “competing” (1 Corinthians 9:25) or “fighting the good fight” (1 Timothy 6:12; 2 Timothy 4:7).

    So, while God invites us all to share in the joy of his Kingdom, a “training plan” is involved. What plan is that? Easy – it is the Sacramental life Jesus gave us and the moral life he preached. Of course, while that answer is easy, living it out is not. Like the second student in the example above, when the going gets tough, we’re tempted to look for a way out, which usually means picking and choosing which parts of Christ’s plan we will do and which we will ignore.

    Today, Jesus goes out of his way to warn us against that kind of thinking. Good Father that He is, God sometimes uses very strong words and imagery to reprove us, but again as Hebrews reminds us, this is born of His infinite love for us. He doesn’t want us, and He knows we don’t want, to step into eternity expecting the door to be wide open, only to find it closed and Him saying, “’I do not know where you are from.”

    So, let us keep this in mind today and every day: our Lord has given us the training plan. It requires effort, perseverance, and commitment, and isn’t optional. But he has also given us His grace, which is always there to strengthen and encourage us. Above all, from the storehouse of his infinite love, he has given us the promise of a reward far greater than any earthly prize: Eternal life with Him.

    All we have to is what is hardest of all: Stick to the plan.

    —

  • Here in 10 Minutes

    Here in 10 Minutes

    Genesis 18:1-10a; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

    Years ago, my wife and I heard the plea of a missionary to sponsor seminarians in his country, so we decided to pay for a young man to do so. One Sunday afternoon long after, that missionary called me. “You know,” he said, “I’m not far away. I’d love to stop by and see you.” “Where are you, Father?” “About 10 minutes away. See you soon!”

    I didn’t panic… until I looked around the house. Even by my standards, it needed help. When my wife heard, the scramble really began. My job was to straighten up myself and the house, while she put together snacks, coffee, and tea. Just as we finished, there he was. It turned into a nice visit, but in no way was I really prepared for it.

    That experience and today’s readings got me thinking: What if my guest hadn’t been the missionary priest, but Jesus Christ himself? “Hi, I’ll be there in 10 minutes!”

    Well, one clue as to what I should do is in the first reading. What did Abraham do? He rushed to show hospitality to his guests. His focus was on them; he was ready to serve them. In turn, that readiness became the opening for God’s promise that he and Sarah would have a son. The lesson? Welcoming our Lord opens the door to a miracle.

    But then there’s an example closer to my experience that afternoon – the gospel. My typical way of looking at it is that Mary was right and Martha wrong. Martha’s focus on the “outside” – getting the house ready for Christ – turned into resentment, while Mary’s focus on the “inside” – sitting at the feet of Jesus – showed that she was ready to receive his word.

    Actually, I think the challenge Jesus gives us is to do both: to do things for him and be with him. We know, because Jesus told us, that as often as we feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, visit the sick, comfort the sorrowful, and forgive injuries, we do them to him. But we also know that many people who don’t believe in God do those things, too.

    No, Christ calls us to more. We see clues to that when St. Paul says, in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ (Colossians 1:24). What could possibly be lacking in Christ’s suffering? Our participation in it. He has prepared a place for us, as he said in John 14:2, but we must do our part. How? By preparing a place for him in our hearts and showing him to the world by what we do. That can be uncomfortable, even painful, but that’s why St. Paul began, I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake. What causes anyone to rejoice in suffering? Love! What parent wouldn’t gladly suffer in place of their child? Yes, it’s painful, but we would much rather it be us than them. That is the love he is talking about – the love that finds joy even in suffering because it is done for the sake of the beloved. That is the love that proclaims Christ to the world (Colossians 1:28).

    So, that is our challenge, but we have to be ready for it. Very soon – at Holy Communion – Christ will be here. We are both Martha and Mary. Are we ready? Have we made space at the feet of Jesus in our everyday lives? Is our heart ready? Have our prayers, works, joys, and sufferings filled up what is lacking in the suffering of Christ? Are we ready to welcome Him like Abraham, and receive the miracle only He can give?

    —