Mark 10:45

Tag: faith

  • 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.

    —

  • 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.

    —

  • The Only Lasting Joy

    The Only Lasting Joy

    Saturday of the 3rd Week of Advent

    Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Luke 1:39-45

    This is the time of year when the whole world seems to focus on joy. Everything from songs to decorations to napkins urges us to be joyful. We hear it in the readings today: Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel (Zephaniah 3:14), and … the infant in my womb leaped for joy (Luke 1:44). But, if you’re anything like me, you might find that, while you do feel joy sometimes, other times you don’t. Call it the stresses and strains of life, the rush of so many places to go and people to see during the season, or just being under the weather – whatever it is, we don’t always feel joyful.

    Should we? We might be tempted to think so, but if we pause and reflect a little more deeply on the readings, a fuller picture emerges.

    First, we heard Zephaniah speak of joy to daughter Zion. At that time, “daughter” was used to refer to the suburbs of a city, the area just outside its walls or gates. In this case, that was the Israelites who had returned to Jerusalem from exile and now faced the daunting task of rebuilding the Temple and their whole way of life. While there was some short-term happiness in the return, the long term was full of fear and uncertainty. Thus, when the prophet spoke of joy, he wasn’t asking the people to feel joyful, but to rejoice in the assurance that God had not only not abandoned them, but would actually be in their midst as their Savior! This was a joy that nothing and no one could take away.

    Then in the gospel, we heard that John leapt in the womb of his mother. Although he was certainly joyful in that moment, we cannot help but think forward to his ministry years later: Regardless the outcome – acceptance or rejection, challenge or even threat to his life – his vibrant and unshakable proclamation of the coming of Christ reflected a joy that also could not be taken away.

    From these two examples, we see that what matters isn’t whether we feel joyful, but whether we are joyful. Feelings, even joyful ones, come and go like any emotion. On the other hand, spiritual gifts such as joy are meant to last, because they come from God. This gift, as Holy Father Francis says, is “the fullness of consolation, the fullness of the presence of the Lord… The great strength that we have to transform, to preach the Gospel, to go forward as witnesses of life is the joy of the Lord, which is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, and today we ask him to grant us this fruit.”1

    So, if we want lasting joy, the Holy Father has told us what we need to do: Go forward as witnesses of life, resting in the assurance that, as with the daughter of Zion, God will always be our consolation, and as with the Baptist, will give us the continual joy of His presence. No matter what we do, be it mourning or laughing, if we are His witnesses as we do it, the fruit of that love will always be joy.

    What better time to ask the Holy Spirit for this Christmas gift? That we, like the Blessed Mother, Elizabeth, John the Baptist, and all the Saints, be the best witnesses of life; that we may know and be able to share with everyone the deep and lasting joy that comes only from loving God and daring to go wherever that love takes us.

    1https://www.catholicnewsagency.com/news/44217/joy-is-more-than-emotion-it-is-a-gift-of-the-holy-spirit-pope-francis-says

  • Can You Hear?

    Can You Hear?

    Memorial of St. Ambrose, Bishop and Doctor of the Church (Dec 7)

    Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26; Matthew 9:35–10:1, 5a, 6-8

    In the first reading, Isaiah reminded us of two things: First, our Teacher will no longer hide himself; second, his voice shall sound in our ears. In both of these, I find echoes of the great St. Ambrose, who we remember today.

    Christ hardly hid himself from Ambrose; quite the contrary. Born just after Christianity became the religion of the Empire, raised in a wealthy Catholic family, Ambrose was highly intelligent, politically astute, and virtuous. As a young man, he became governor of a large part of northern Italy that included Milan. At that time, Christianity was embroiled in a battle between Arians, who believed that Jesus was not God, and Catholics, who did. When the Archbishop of Milan died, an argument broke out about whether an Arian or Catholic bishop should succeed him. Summoned to the cathedral to help settle the issue, he addressed the crowd. While he was speaking, a small voice cried, “Ambrose, bishop!” When the whole assembly took up the cry, Ambrose fled and hid in the house of a friend.

    Why would he do that? A couple of reasons. For one thing, Ambrose had never been baptized! Second, he was governor; his focus was on himself and his career. When he walked into that cathedral, he saw a crowd with an issue to settle, not troubled sheep without a shepherd, who needed him. But Christ did, and when that voice said, “Ambrose, bishop,” it was Christ sounding in his ears what we heard in the gospel: The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few… Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give (Matthew 9:37; 10:8).

    On one level, he was a good choice. Both the Arians and the Catholics liked and respected him; they knew him as a good man, a man with natural virtue. But that’s not enough; Christ needs good Christians, and that requires the supernatural virtues infused at baptism – faith, hope, and love – and the grace of the other sacraments, especially the Blessed Sacrament. After the emperor refused his request to find someone else, Ambrose submitted himself, undergoing one of the fastest and most complete conversions in history: From pagan to bishop in about 10 days!

    From then on, armed with those graces, bishop Ambrose lived a life of heroic virtue. For 23 years, he worked tirelessly to educate himself, his priests, and his people. A compassionate shepherd, his door was open to everyone, from pauper to emperor. A rigorous defender of the faith, he wiped out Arianism in Milan, facing down emperors to do it, and he excommunicated the Catholic emperor Theodosius, famously announcing that emperors are in the Church, not over it. A gifted speaker and writer, his teaching impressed and won over Augustine, who went on to become a great bishop and doctor of the Church himself. All this because Ambrose heard the voice of Christ calling him to a richer, deeper life, and responded to it, however reluctantly at first.

    It’s good to remember this lesson from the life of St. Ambrose, especially during Advent. In a world that advertises Christmas before Halloween is over, Christ is almost hidden by his own holiday and his voice drowned out by the noise, hustle and bustle of the season. Still, we are called to live in this world, and not just live in it, but bring Christ to it. That takes all the virtues, natural and supernatural, and the grace of the sacraments, especially Holy Communion. So, as we approach to receive our Lord at holy Mass this Advent, let us take time to savor and rejoice in Isaiah’s words, with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, and listen carefully for Christ the Teacher sounding in our ears, ‘This is the way; walk in it’ (Isaiah 30:20, 21).

    —

  • Becoming Who We Are

    Becoming Who We Are

    The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

    Wisdom 3:1-9; Romans 5:5-11; John 6:37-40

    Many years ago, on a train trip to Chicago from rural Michigan, I sat behind a family who had never been to a big city before. I tried not to listen, but their conversation was too interesting. The kids had no idea what skyscrapers were, so Dad tried to explain. It didn’t work; when we stopped in a small town, one kid said, “A skyscraper!” No, son, that’s a grain elevator. As we got to the city limits, Mom got tense. “Kids, when we stop, stay with me. Don’t wander off. They probably carry guns here. It doesn’t look like a very friendly place to me.” I wanted to say, “Ma’am, we’re going to Union Station, not Al Capone’s headquarters,” but kept my mouth shut. By the time we got downtown and they saw Chicago, it was clear that the actual reality was nothing like they imagined.

    This kind of thing happens in the Church, too. All Souls’ Day is a good time to see it, because purgatory takes center stage. Just hearing the word “purgatory” conjures up in many minds some of the imagery of the first reading: souls punished, chastised, tried, put in a furnace, burnt offerings (Wisdom 3:4-6). Not hard to see why in the popular imagination, purgatory is a fiery place where souls go to be purified – somehow – and for some length of time. (That’s all fuzzy. What isn’t fuzzy is the fire.)

    Let me do what my much younger self should have done for that young family on the way to Chicago: Clear up some misconceptions.

    1. Purgatory isn’t a place, it’s a process. For what? Well, although all of us would love to enter God’s presence immediately after we die, we have to deal with what John wrote in Revelation; namely, that nothing impure can enter heaven (21:27). So, if our soul has any venial sins or attachments to worldly things, all that must be eliminated first.
    2. There is, and there isn’t, a fire. There isn’t, in the sense that souls can’t “feel” the way bodies can, but there is, in the sense that souls can yearn (or burn, if you will) for a closer relationship with God, and know that growing closer to Him is only possible if we let go of our selfish desires.
    3. After we die, there is no time. The dead are beyond that. The better question is, how spiritually distant am I from God? Do I love God with an intense love that is willing to overcome any obstacle that keeps me from being with Him, or am I too attached to what I want? And how much do I really love others, especially those I’ve had the most difficulty with?

    With these misconceptions cleared up, we can better appreciate the balance of the imagery we heard in the book of Wisdom. Souls are punished, but also full of hope; chastised, but greatly blessed; tried, but found worthy of God; proven in a furnace, but like gold; sacrificed, but taken by God to Himself. So yes, there is suffering, but the battle is won, and they are not alone. This is why St. Paul said that hope does not disappoint (Romans 5:5); God is with us every step of the way, and the outcome is both known and glorious. Every soul being purified will be united with Him when all is said and done.

    What should we take away from this? Three things:

    1. The best way to deal with purgatory is by working to avoid it entirely! Our goal is sanctity; let us pray for the grace and strength to do what it takes to stay close to Christ, to remain in him, to do whatever he tells us.
    2. Pray for the souls in purgatory. This is a wonderful example of the love we are called to have – the love that seeks the good of others before the self. The witness of the saints testifies that souls undergoing purification are helped in the process by the prayers and sacrifices of others. Once in heaven, they can intercede for us.
    3. Remember that purgatory isn’t about who we were, or who we are, but who we are becoming, which is the most perfect version of ourselves. That is what Christ has called us from all eternity to be: perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48).

    —

  • Glorious Grains

    Glorious Grains

    Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ephesians 5:21-33; Luke 13:18-21

    When we visit a cathedral or basilica, we naturally focus on the art and architecture. I doubt that anyone stops at the outside of the building first and says, “Wow, those bricks are impressive. And the mortar between each one… glorious!” No, we take these for granted.

    It’s ordinary to look past the ordinary.

    Yet, where would that glorious cathedral be without the bricks? And how would the bricks stay together without the mortar? And where would the mortar be without the tiny, insignificant, almost invisible grains of sand?

    Maybe the insignificant isn’t so insignificant after all. Certainly in the case of the cathedral, we can’t get to the larger without beginning with the smaller.

    That is the fundamental point of our Lord’s parables today. The large mustard bush can’t grow unless the little mustard seed is planted first; the dough can’t rise unless the tiny yeast become active and so leaven the bread. So the Church, with all her glorious accomplishments, can’t rise without us, the tiny grains of sand, working together, dying to ourselves as it were.

    That’s the kind of dying that makes a marriage, or any lasting relationship, too. We don’t define a good marriage by how nice the wedding was, or how wonderful the vacations were. Rather, it’s the day-to-day living; the submitting to each other, dying to self. That of course includes the moments of joy and sorrow, but it also (and mostly) includes the vast majority of ordinary moments in-between. In fact, it is what we do or fail to do in those ordinary moments that give the extraordinary moments their deepest meaning.

    As St. Paul reminds us, Christ himself is the perfect example of all this. Who submitted himself more than he, who was more selfless or humble than he who took our flesh and handed it over, that he might make us, his Bride, holy and immaculate before the Father? And he did this every day; not a moment from his conception onward has been wasted. Indeed, Christ sanctified time by entering into it. There were the hugely extraordinary moments, like his incarnation, death and resurrection, but there were also the “ordinary” moments, like today, when he taught or simply walked with among us. And the world has been forever changed by even the most ordinary of them.

    One of my sons once gave me an hourglass, and I find it an apt metaphor. Each moment we are given by God is a grain of sand; we have it only as it passes, then the moment is gone. Today and every day, Christ is calling us to remember that each moment is far, far from ordinary; for God is in each one, and each can be used to build Him what He wants most: the glorious cathedral of a life in which He will dwell forever, if we let him.

    —

  • Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

    Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

    Memorial of Sts. John de Brébeuf and Isaac Jogues, Priests, and Companions, Martyrs

    Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 12:8-12

    An hour or so from Paris stands the glorious cathedral, Our Lady of Chartres. Among its many stunning windows, four are of particular note: One each dedicated to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Why so noteworthy? Because in each window the evangelist appears, not alone, but held up by one of the prophets; in other words, the gospels give us a deeper view of Christ because the evangelists “stood on the shoulders of giants.”

    If I were to design a stained glass window dedicated to the North American martyrs, Sts. John de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues, and their companions, I’d do the same thing. There isn’t time to go into everything these Jesuit priests did in bringing Christ to the indigenous peoples of Ontario and the surrounding area, but suffice it to say that at least one of them, St. John de Brébeuf, was a giant in his own way.

    First, Father was a big man, over 6 feet tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. This would come in handy doing the daily work of living among the people. Second, Father had a big heart; he was gentle, humble, and peaceable. Third, he was a sensitive, thoughtful planner. Before evangelizing the Huron people, Father slowly got to know them. He studied their language, their customs and beliefs, their entire way of life. It took him two years, but he learned their language well enough to write a phrase book, translate the Catechism and some bible passages, and compose a hymn for them to sing.

    But even with all that effort, evangelization was difficult. The Huron resisted. Father baptized very few, all of them dying. What’s more, he and the other “Black Robes” were blamed for any catastrophe, illness, or bad luck. His life was often in peril. This must have been discouraging at times, but if so, he never let on. Father loved Christ and knew, as St. Paul said, the hope that belongs to his call (Ephesians 1:18): God had a plan, and he had a part; he simply had to persevere. That’s what he did. As the years passed and few came into the faith, he continued to master the Huron language and culture, and trained the incoming missionaries in it, so they could minister in ways and words the Hurons could understand and relate to.

    When Fr. Jogues arrived, a new idea came with him. Going out one by one and living among the Hurons was good, but why not also invite the Hurons to live among Catholics, so they could see how Catholics live? Grounded in the Huron language and ways, thanks to the years of work by Fr. de Brébeuf, Jogues founded a small town, “St. Mary Among the Hurons,” in the heart of Huron land. It was small at first, perhaps 20 people, but they lived, worked, and prayed together. Faith, family, and community life were centered on Christ. Before long, the Hurons got interested and the faith began to grow. By the time Frs. Jogues and de Brébeuf were martyred, 7000 Hurons had been baptized. And, ironically, from the tribe of their Mohawk killers soon came the first native saint, Kateri Tekakwitha.

    What does this have to do with us? Well, sadly, almost 400 years after this, we find ourselves in a society in some ways as pagan as the one the Jesuits came to on mission. Like them, we cannot stand idly by, for we, too, are missionaries, called as Christ said in the gospel, to acknowledge him before others. The word “Mass” comes from “mission”; we are told to go and announce the gospel of the Lord.

    But go do… what? There we have help, for the Holy Spirit has stood us on the shoulders of giants. As we look at what these martyrs did, we see that they didn’t impose the faith, they proposed it; they invited, but they didn’t compel. St. John de Brébeuf taught us that the first step is learning the language and ways of the culture, so we can meet people where they are. Our culture is full of examples: Celebrities, pop stars, television shows; all these are what the people know well. Use them as examples; celebrate their good aspects, challenge the bad, but always tie them to the faith. And St. Isaac Jogues taught us not to worry about what to say, but to live as Christ has taught us; if we do that, our lives are the most eloquent witness we can give. Nothing draws people to Christ more than being treated with dignity; welcoming, valuing, and listening to them.

    Can it get discouraging? Yes. Will we be rejected? Often. But like today’s martyrs, remember the hope that belongs to his call. Our mission isn’t to make people become what they aren’t, but to show them who they already are: Beloved sons and daughters of God, who see Him best by standing with us on the shoulders of His only Son, our Lord and theirs, Jesus Christ.

    Sts. John de Brébeuf, Isaac Jogues, and Companions, pray for us.

    —

  • All in the Family

    All in the Family

    Wednesday of the 27th Week in Ordinary Time

    Galatians 2:1-2,7-14; Luke 11:1-4

    In today’s gospel, when Jesus says, Father, hallowed be your name, we shouldn’t underestimate how surprising that was to his audience. The Jews had names for God, such as Adonai or El Shaddai, but only rarely referred to Him as Father. Nevertheless, Jesus taught them in their prayers to regularly call God exactly that.

    That’s why even today we begin our liturgical reading of New Testament letters with the phrase, Brothers and sisters. Now as then, calling God Father makes us family. And then, as now, there were tensions in the family. We hear about it in the first reading. St. Paul is furious; someone went to the Galatians after him and contradicted his teaching. We can almost feel his anger and resentment as he tells of having to go to the reputed pillars – Peter, James, and John – just as we can almost feel his triumphalism at calling Peter out publicly for his segregating with Jews when in company with Gentiles.

    No doubt some of this is Paul’s pride at work. He said at the beginning of the letter that his Gospel came from Christ, and not even an angel preaching a different one would make him change (Galatians 1:8), and he’s been preaching it for a long time to a lot of people. Still, he knows there is structure to the family; Peter, James, and John have the power to frustrate him, to stop his missionary work. He may not like it, but he submits, goes to Jersusalem, sees the three Apostles, and presents his gospel to them. In the end, unity is preserved; they exchange the “right hand of fellowship.”

    The question for us is, when is our own pride driving a wedge in the family? Do we ever lord our status (whatever that is) over others, or act as if our understanding is perfect and all that matters? Do we resent it or get angry when others exercise legitimate authority over us? Do we look for ways to get even, or find ways to hurt or humiliate them?

    The fruit of pride is disunity, the exact opposite of Christ’s prayer that we may all be one, just as he is one with the Father (John 19:21). Rather, let us pray for humility, for its fruit is unity. The readings today are a reminder that, although we in the Church are wounded and broken, we are one: One in calling God our Father; one in receiving the daily bread of Christ, His Son; and one in asking forgiveness of Him and each other in the Holy Spirit, the infinite and perfect bond of unifying, self-sacrificing Love.

    —

  • Being Sent Out

    Thursday of the 26th Week in Ordinary Time

    Luke 10:1-12

    I’m sure there are a few reasons why St. Luke tells us about Jesus sending out the seventy-two disciples. We can’t know for certain, but my guess is that one reason has to do with how we see ourselves in the gospel. When we think back to the Apostles being sent out, we might have trouble putting ourselves in their place; they may come across to us more like clergy. Not so with these disciples; they seem much more like the average, everyday follower of Jesus. Given that, I also think Luke wants us to remember some important things about what it means to be “sent out.” Here are a few of them.

    • We go “ahead,” not “instead.” First, Luke tells us that Jesus sent the disciples ahead of him… to every town and place he intended to visit (10:1). Note: Ahead of him, not instead of him. Jesus was still going to these places; the disciples were to prepare the way. It’s the same for us. In his infinite love, Jesus comes in his own way to every person. Some he may come to on his own; others, he wants us to lead the way. That’s evangelization, or, as Cardinal Francis George once said, introducing people to Jesus and letting him take over from there. But the point is, one way or another, he takes over for us.
    • Ask God, but be prepared for the answer. Next, Jesus says, Ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest, and follows that immediately with, Go on your way (10:2-3). Did he just tell them to pray for laborers, then send them as laborers? Yes! That may seem strange, but it’s happened to me. I see a need, talk to the pastor or vicar about it, and next thing I know, I’ve been appointed to fill it. The lesson? Sometimes, we are the answer to our own prayers.
    • Can’t this be easy? Then comes the warning: Behold, I am sending you out like lambs among wolves (10:3). Jesus knew that not everyone was going to be open to him. They still aren’t. The modern world is full of people not only disinterested in Christ, but even hostile toward him. Trying to live his values in such a climate, we can get discouraged by the rejection or lack of results. Take heart, and keep trying. Remember that our task is to sow the seeds of faith; God controls their growth (Mark 4:26-29).
    • I feel alone. Jesus sent the disciples out in pairs; they didn’t “go it alone.” Neither do we. You may not see anyone next to you, but Jesus told us he is always with us (Matthew 28:20), as are the Father and the Holy Spirit (John 14:16-30). So, even if we seem to fail, even if we suffer because we try to live the gospel, God is there through it all. And remember what else he said: Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven (Matthew 5:11-12). Whatever we do, if we do it in his name, our effort is never unrewarded.

    A final note: We might think being sent out is only for some people. Wrong. All of us are sent. Luke’s gospel, and all the gospels, are full of examples of Jesus showing us how to live among people, what to do and not do, and how to love as he loves. He also tells us that we are going to be judged on how we did it. Does that mean we have to go knock on doors, walk the streets wearing “I love Jesus” shirts, and pressure people to believe what we do? Of course not. But it does mean that we are sent to help people see that Jesus is knocking on the door of their heart, to speak such that every word tells the world we love him, to do little things with great love, and above all, to be unafraid to live as he lived, so that when we die, we can hear Jesus say, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant… Come, share your master’s joy’ (Matthew 25:23).

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