Mark 10:45

Tag: God

  • Bronze Pennies, Burned Hearts

    Bronze Pennies, Burned Hearts

    Wednesday in the Octave of Easter

    Acts 3:1-10; Luke 24:13-35

    One day in 1947, a teenage boy bought a school lunch and put the change in his pocket. Later, he noticed that one of the pennies, stamped in the Denver mint in 1943, was bronze. Like most people, he knew that pennies minted during those war years were steel, not bronze. When he inquired, government officials said he was mistaken, it was a fraud. Some intrigued collectors offered to buy it. Despite this, he kept it. When he died in 2019, the little one-cent piece he got as change for his lunch in 1947 sold at auction for nearly 2 million dollars.

    Appearance is one thing, value another.

    The reading from Acts makes the same point. The crippled man at the Beautiful Gate would’ve been very happy with a penny, and clearly that’s what he expected when he saw Peter and John. But again, appearances are deceiving, for those ordinary-looking men possessed something infinitely more valuable: the healing power of Christ.

    Then in the gospel, two disciples blinded by sorrow see, not Jesus, but what appears to be an ordinary man. Ordinary, that is, until something most extraordinary happens: he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them (Luke 24:30). And note particularly what happens after this; as Luke says, With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight (24:31).

    In this way, Luke goes to the heart of the Sacramental power that transforms human sight into vision. When we look around the church, what do we see? In our fonts, water; in the baptistery, oils; in cruets, wine; and on patens, the host. Yet, through the power of the Holy Spirit, the will of the Father, and the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ, these ordinary elements of Earth become the invaluable tools of Heaven; through them and their ministers, our Lord heals and sanctifies every soul who seeks Him with the eyes of faith.

    Just as those two disciples reached Jerusalem with hearts ablaze—no longer discouraged or blind – to proclaim “We have seen the Lord,” so, too, are we sent today. Christ empowers us through Baptism, strengthens us through anointing, and feeds us in the Eucharist. This is the grace that opens our eyes to His presence, that we might see in the familiar – the neighbor who listens, the friend who forgives, the stranger to whom we show kindness – the many opportunities to love others as God has loved us. With this in mind and heart, let us resolve to pray every day, “Lord, open my eyes,” and in each encounter strive to be His hands and feet – revealing that in every ordinary moment lies the infinite value of His love.

    —

  • I Once Was Lost

    I Once Was Lost

    Sunday of the 5th Week in Lent, Cycle C

    Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:8-14; John 8:1-11

    The 20th century playwright George Bernard Shaw once said, “My way of joking is to tell the truth. It’s the funniest joke in the world.” In his hands, truth could be funny. But in God’s hands, truth becomes something far more powerful: it transforms us.

    Today, Jesus presents us with two truths: God wants us to let go of the past, and to let Him begin something new. It sounds simple. But it’s not easy, as one man’s incredible story shows.

    John Newton was a man who seemed beyond redemption. Growing up in England in the 1730’s, he was attracted to life on the sea. Naturally rebellious and not what anyone would call moral, he enjoyed the life of a sailor to the fullest. He indulged in whatever vices he could, mocked God, eventually found himself a slave trader, and even became the captain of slave-running ships.

    In the first reading, God said, Remember not the events of the past… see, I am doing something new … do you not perceive it (Isaiah 43:18-19)? Like the Israelites, who God had just called deaf and blind, Newton’s sins blinded and deafened him to God. No, he didn’t perceive it. But what about us? Do we see God as creating us and then leaving us alone, or do we perceive that He is actively working in our lives and has a plan for us?

    That plan can take very surprising turns, as Newton found out. While commanding a slave ship, he encountered a violent storm. Terrified and realizing he could die, he begged God for mercy. He survived, and never forgot that God answered a sinner like him.

    This marked the beginning of a slow, painful process. Like all of us, Newton found that the old, bad habits die hard, especially the ones you enjoy, and most especially ones that earn you a living. What’s more, he had been raised in a world where slavery was simply the way the world worked. He struggled to break those habits and to understand what the acceptance of slavery said about the equality and dignity of all people.

    Again, that puts the spotlight on us. In the second reading, St. Paul said, “I have accepted the loss of all things and I consider them so much rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him.” Do I hold on to things that keep me from fully surrendering to Christ? Do I define myself by my past? Do I look at issues like abortion, euthanasia, and human-trafficking as just the way the world works? If we are to make any real progress this Lent, we must be willing to leave our old lives and the sinfulness of our old selves completely behind and see ourselves and all people as infinitely precious – exactly as God sees them.

    It took awhile, but John Newton was able to do this. Once he did, he realized how easily he, like the woman in today’s Gospel, could have been condemned. Yet, he wasn’t. Why? Grace. By the movement of grace, misery again met mercy: “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on, do not sin anymore.” Newton obeyed that command for the rest of his days. He left the slave trade, became a minister, and spent years fighting to abolish slavery – which did happen. To this day, we know him as the author of the words to the classic hymn “Amazing Grace,” which contains those beautiful words, “Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”

    That is the woman’s story in the gospel, it is John Newton’s story, and it’s our story, too. We all have sins we think define us. We all have pasts we regret. But the Scripture readings teach us that Jesus does not define us by our past, He calls us to a new future.

    As we approach Holy Week, let us remember that the cross isn’t just about removing sin; it is about renewing us. As John Newton wrote near the end of his life: “Though my memory’s fading, I remember two things very clearly: I am a great sinner, and Christ is a great Savior.” May we, too, remember these two things. Yes, we are sinners. But we are saved sinners.

    Christ is calling. Do you perceive it? “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.”

    —

  • 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

  • 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.

    —

  • 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.

    —

  • Whom Fortune Favors

    Whom Fortune Favors

    Saturday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Thessalonians 4:9-11; Matthew 25:14-30

    The parable of the talents is one we’re all very familiar with. Ironically, such familiarity actually works against us, for parables are at their best when they surprise us, present us with a riddle or twist that teases us into deeper contemplation about its meaning and its relevance to our lives.

    One aspect of the parable that might still be surprising concerns the talents themselves, specifically their value. In our Lord’s time, a talent was worth about 6000 silver pieces, or 20 years of wages. By using such vast sums of money (the parable goes up to 100 years’ worth), it certainly seems like Jesus wanted us to wonder what all that wealth could possibly represent.

    The fact is, we really don’t know. Some scholars see them as our abilities, the God-given gifts we are born with; we still use the word “talents” for those to this day. Maybe, but Jesus tells us in the parable that each servant got a different amount of talents according to his ability (25:15); so, there are talents and there are abilities. I tend to agree with those who see the talents as riches of a different kind; specifically, the thousands of opportunities we are given by God over the course of our lives to show people what it means to be a disciple of Christ; to be his hands at work in the world.

    What opportunities am I talking about? I think some of the best examples are right in front of us, in our own homes, with the people who are most familiar to us. Research on the family shows that while family members are actually spending more time together than before, they are also alone more often. It’s called “being alone together,” and you may have seen it: A family at dinner, perhaps at a restaurant, sits together and eats together, but spends most of that time interacting by themselves with their hand-held device. Imagine being the one in the family who asks them to put those things away and spend that time with each other. We also know that, as people age, they spend more and more time alone. Imagine being the neighbor who invites them over, or regularly visits them. And, as we all sadly know, many of our young people rarely if ever go to church, and know nothing at all about God. Imagine being the relative who invites them to the church youth group to meet new kids, eat, have fun, and see where those interactions lead. Is such a person always popular for having spoken up or done what they did? No. But is it the charity spoken of by St. Paul in the first reading, or the new commandment Jesus spoke of in John’s gospel? You already know the answer.

    Of course, these are just three examples, but they and thousands more show that what Christ is looking for isn’t skill or experience, but boldness and humility. Consider the first two servants; they knew they weren’t skilled bankers or investors, yet they doubled their master’s money. How? By doing what good servants do: they watched their master, learned from him, then imitated him as Jesus said: Immediately. They didn’t know when he would return; all they knew was that he gave them this opportunity and empowered them to act in his name. Unlike the third servant, they didn’t waste time worrying, overthinking, or second-guessing themselves or their master. Rather, they did what St. Paul advised: minded their own affairs and worked with their own hands. That’s what the master would do, so it’s what they did.

    There’s an old saying that fortune favors the bold. Here and throughout the gospels, Jesus makes it clear that he favors the bold in faith with a fortune only he can give: a share in the Master’s joy. Who doesn’t want that kind of talent?

  • Becoming Who We Are

    Becoming Who We Are

    Memorial of St. Philip Neri, Priest (May 26th)

    Philippians 4:4-9; John 17:20-26

    The readings today speak of two of the greatest gifts we can receive from our heavenly Father – peace and unity. St. Paul reminds us that it is the pursuit of excellence that leads us to God and the peace only he can give. In the gospel, Jesus teaches that perfection is nothing less than unity with the Father; again, a gift that only God can give.

    When I think of excellence and perfection in life, I can’t help but think of the saints, for these are the men and women who went out of their way to achieve both. I’m especially glad that we remember St. Philip Neri today, for his life provides a view of sanctity that is too often missing from the popular imagination.

    I say that because it seems to me that most people in our time see the saints as stained glass stereotypes; living in a perpetual state of sadness and gloom, cloistered from the world and everything in it. It’s as if they really believe the old pop song lyrics, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners are much more fun.”

    That’s why I like St. Philip Neri; he is exactly the opposite. Far from sadness and gloom, St. Philip was noted for his cheerfulness, going so far as to say that “Cheerfulness strengthens the heart and helps us to persevere. A servant of God should always to be in good spirits.” And far from running away from the world, Philip was born to engage it; charismatic, charming, and quick to smile, he was one of those people who lifted the spirits of a room just by walking into it. It says a lot about him that his favorite books were the Bible and his joke book. He was silly enough to walk around Rome with half his beard shaven off, and solemn enough to bring a congregation to tears. He was the scholar who taught the simple, the joker who consoled the sorrowful, the friend who welcomed every stranger, and the priest who reached out to every sinner. We call him the patron saint of laughter not simply because he excelled at making people laugh, but because he did it for the reasons St. Paul spoke of: That they might calm their anxiety, approach the Lord in prayer, and come to know the peace of Christ that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:4-7). This was grace at work in him for their sanctification and his own.

    St. Thomas Aquinas taught that grace perfects nature, and like all the saints, this is what St. Philip Neri shows us. The gifts God gave him – a jovial personality, the ability to relate to people, a brilliant mind, everything that made him who he was – were not meant to be replaced or suppressed; on the contrary, they were given to be made more excellent by the working of grace. What’s more, God graces each saint with their own unique gifts. Sanctity is not a matter of becoming more like someone else; it is becoming who we are. God doesn’t want another Philip Neri, He wants us, and he wants us to use the gifts He has given us, that through us people might know the peace of God and draw closer to Him and each other.

    This is the unity Christ had in mind when he said, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me (John 17:23). No wonder St. Paul said to rejoice! If knowing the infinite love of God is what it means to be saint, then I’m with St. Philip Neri; I’d rather laugh with the saints than cry with the sinners. The saints are much more fun.