Mark 10:45

Tag: Gospel

  • The Story of Us All

    The Story of Us All

    Solemnity of Christ the King (C)

    Luke 23:35-43

    The author and theologian Frederick Buechner once said that the story of one of us is in some measure the story of us all. As we’ve seen throughout this past year, if any storyteller shows the truth of this, it is the evangelist, St. Luke.

    Today is no exception. In fact, it may well be Luke’s master stroke. Only he gives us a story so compelling, so poignant, so reflective of the human condition that it has come to be called, “the Gospel within the Gospel.” It is, of course, the story of the “Good Thief.”

    But again, like so many great stories, it’s about much more than one thief. It’s also about the other thief, the soldiers, the rulers, and everyone gathered around or even passing by the cross. It is, as Buechner said, the story of us all.

    Although the action involves each character in the story to some degree, and we can see ourselves in each of them, Luke focuses our attention on the two thieves. It’s easy to see why: like Jesus, they suffer on crosses of their own, and they, too, will die that day. Above all, and without their understanding it, both men will come face to face with their King.

    The difference between them lies not in their suffering, but in their hearts. The heart of the first man is intent on escape. While this is natural, people who want something so badly can end up bullying others – even God – desperate to get what they want.

    I might ask, ‘How is that like me?’ – but I already know. Many times, I have approached the Lord with a similar attitude. “What kind of God allows bad things to happen? You can do it, so get me out of this!” That isn’t a prayer, it’s a demand, and it betrays a heart looking for God to fix the outer situation, not the inner person.

    Note that Jesus does not reply to this man. It’s natural to want relief from our cross, and to ask for help with it, but it’s arrogant to make demands of God or measure His Kingship by how well He makes us content and comfortable.

    By contrast, the second thief accepts the truth about himself (we are getting what we deserve) and Jesus (he is innocent and is entering his kingdom). In that humility, all he asks is that Jesus remember him.

    This is our ideal. We are like the good thief every time we approach the Lord not in arrogance but in humility and truth. Our best, most effective prayers are said in trust — acknowledging our sin, our need for mercy, and our faith that even in the worst of our suffering, Christ the King is Lord of all and has our good in mind.

    Of course, our hope is that Jesus replies as mercifully to our prayer as he did to the good thief. Luke is clear that our Lord is not outdone in generosity! Where the thief said, Remember me, Christ replied, You will be with me, and where he said, when you come into your Kingdom, Christ said, Today.

    Today and every day, Christ the King stands between those who approach him with pride and resentment on the one side, or humility and repentance on the other.

    So the question is, which side of the King do I tend to stand on?

    —

  • Faith That Keeps Going

    Faith That Keeps Going

    The 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

    Exodus 17:8-13; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8

    If you’ve been following the Gospels these past few weeks, you might have noticed that Jesus has talked a lot about what it means to live by faith.

    First, he told us that faith means trusting in God, not in our possessions or our comfort. Then, in the story of the rich man and Lazarus, he showed us that faith is lived with a merciful heart, not a selfish one. Next came the mustard seed: even a tiny bit of faith can do great things if we live it with humility. Finally, last week, in the story of the leper who came back to say thank you, Jesus showed us that faith, to be real, must be founded on deep, lasting gratitude.

    Today, Jesus adds one more piece: endurance. Through the parable of the persistent widow, he teaches that faith isn’t just a feeling or a moment of inspiration; rather, it’s “staying power.” It keeps going, even when life is hard, when prayers seem unanswered, or when it feels like God isn’t listening.

    Honestly, endurance might be the most difficult one of all, yet it’s vital. Why? Well, it’s not so hard to trust, forgive, or be grateful once in a while. But to keep doing it year after year, through disappointment, silence, or loss? Without endurance, where would our faith be?

    Today’s other readings make that point. Consider Moses: at first he could hold his arms up in prayer all by himself. But, eventually, he wore out and needed help. That’s us, too. None of us can “hold up” our faith alone forever. We need others beside us; people who pray with us, encourage us, and perhaps above all, pray for us.

    And St. Paul adds something more: endurance in faith comes from feeding on God’s Word. We can survive for a while without opening our Bibles, but not for long. As St. Jerome once said, “When we pray, we speak to God; when we read, God speaks to us.” To endure in faith, we must listen. In every passage of Scripture, Christ is there, speaking to our confusion, fear, and fatigue.

    So this week, let’s take this lesson to heart. Endurance builds our faith in at least two ways, through humility and resilience. First, like sticks in a bundle, faith is stronger when we don’t go it alone but keep at it together, allowing others to help us, and helping others in turn. Second, faith is more resilient as we put aside our temptations to be frustrated and allow the grace of God to fill us with the confidence that He is always faithful, hears us, and will answer – in His time, not ours.

    This is the faith Christ hopes to find when he returns: a faith that binds and holds us together; that keeps praying, keeps hoping, keeps believing that God is still who He has always said He is: The Love that never leaves.

    —

  • Holding On to What Matters

    Holding On to What Matters

    23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Wisdom 9:13-18b; Philemon 9-10, 12-17; Luke 14:25-33

    Recently, archaeologists uncovered the remains of a woman in Pompeii, the ancient city buried by the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD. The scientists found two things: First, the woman was early middle age and well-to-do; second, having come back home, she was clutching several gold coins and some jewelry. Imagine the moment: With ash and pumice raining down, she had a choice to make about what was most important. She made it, and it cost her literally everything.

    As Jesus says in the gospel today, being his disciple also demands a choice and comes at a cost. On one side are all the things the world has to offer – wealth, comfort, convenience, relationships – and it hurts to let those go. On the other side stands the cross, and it hurts to take that up.

    Still, my guess is that we like to see ourselves as always choosing the cross. I know I do. But this is the time to take a good, hard look at our actual behavior. So let’s ask – What happened the last time I was invited to put aside my own comfort or convenience and do something for someone else that required my time, money, and/or effort?

    The plain, unvarnished truth is that too often I’ve resembled the woman in Pompeii, choosing what I want rather than what I should do. It’s true of all of us, and, as the book of Wisdom hints, we’ve had the problem for a long time. Since Adam, we’ve been tempted to decide what is good on our own. That hasn’t worked out well because we have no understanding of the eternal things of God. We need the Holy Spirit; without His gift of Wisdom, history shows that we’ll keep holding on to what cannot save us.

    What does that Wisdom look like? In his letter to Philemon, Paul tells us: True Christian wisdom looks like the love that transforms relationships. When Paul asks Philemon to receive Onesimus not as a slave but as a brother, he shows that the cost of discipleship is seeing one another not through the lens of status or usefulness, but with the eyes of Christ.

    There’s no evidence that Christ was known in Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted; in her ignorance, the wealthy woman held onto what she thought was important. But we have no such excuse. We know, as the Psalm says, that only the Lord is our refuge. His urging us to put him first isn’t a call to despise our families or abandon our lives, but to remember that only in him do we find the treasure worth holding on to. So today, let us ask ourselves: What am I holding on to like the woman in Pompeii, and what cross is Christ asking me to take up, so that I can follow him to where my true treasure lies – the life that never ends?

    —

  • 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?

    —

  • Getting Out of Our Own Way

    Getting Out of Our Own Way

    Thursday of the 10th Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Corinthians 3:15–4:1, 3–6; Matthew 5:20–26

    The evidence of history shows pretty clearly that Alexander the Great was one of the most naturally gifted individuals of all time. Educated by Aristotle, a voracious reader, charismatic, politically astute, a brilliant general… the list goes on and on. By the age of 33, Alexander had conquered most of the known world. Yet, at that same age he died, likely of complications related to alcohol abuse. At least one historian has sadly noted that, in the end, this gifted young man was able to conquer everything except himself.

    As Alexander so perfectly (and tragically) shows, it isn’t always the most gifted who go farthest in life. Often, success goes to the ones who subordinate their will; who, rather than “doing it their way,” allow coaches, mentors, and teachers to lead and guide them. Raw ability can take us far, but probably not as far as the willingness to be transformed – or to “get out of our own way.”

    We see it in the spiritual life as well. St. Paul knew; he spoke of it when he described the “veil” that lies over the hearts of those who remain closed off from Christ. Though Paul was referring specifically to the children of Israel, his words are also meant for us. Is there a veil over our hearts? Perhaps pride – maybe I listen to Scripture or Church teaching with a selective ear, focusing on the parts I agree with and ignoring or minimizing others that don’t? Or fear; maybe I avoid speaking up when that would mean having to go against what my friends or neighbors think, and instead silently go along with the crowd.

    Whatever it is, the more we persist in doing it our way, the more real transformation will elude us. That’s why Jesus speaks so strongly in the gospel of the righteousness that shows itself not merely in outward observance but in deep, heart-level change. What does that change look like? It looks like us when we swallow our pride and put aside anger, insult, division, and anything else we allow to divide us, and reconcile our differences. Only when we face our weaknesses and allow God to help us surrender ourselves to the work of the Holy Spirit will the veil over hearts be lifted.

    Like all Christ’s teachings, that sounds wonderful – and it is – but it’s very difficult to achieve for a couple of reasons. First, it takes genuine humility to admit to ourselves and everyone else that we can’t go it alone; second, it takes letting go of our self-will and allowing Christ – who is already and perfectly the way – to lead us.

    This is what the Christian life, most successfully lived, asks us to undertake, and it is the hardest battle of all: mastery over ourselves through surrender to God. Unlike Alexander, who conquered the world but not himself, the saints show us what true greatness looks like: a heart fully surrendered to Christ. That is the real conquest. That is the truest measure of success.

    —

  • The Swing of Things

    The Swing of Things

    Thursday of the 7th Week of Easter

    Acts 22:30; 23:6-11; John 17:20-26

    In mid-August of 1936 at the Berlin Olympic Games, the rowing crew from the United States, a team of 8 working-class boys, raced against the best teams from around the world – including the highly favored Nazi team – and took home the gold medal. But even beyond that, the American team at times experienced something rarer still, something very hard to achieve. It’s called, “swing.”

    In rowing, the boat itself can work against its crew. If even one oarsman is slightly out of sync with the others, the boat pulls to one side and resists moving straight ahead. Only when the team work as one does that resistance ease – or, if their unison is perfect, vanish – in which case it feels as if the boat is gliding on its own. That’s swing, and every now and then, that team of American rowers felt it. Rowing in perfect unity, it would seem as if the boat was sailing through the water all on its own.

    That’s the unity Christ wants to see in his Church, the spiritual unity where every member of the Body moves in time with the Holy Spirit. Of course, he didn’t pray and work for that so we could win medals, but that we might be brought to perfection as one (John 17:23).

    Like swing, that’s hard to achieve. Why? Because pride is like the boat when the crew is out of sync – resisting, dragging, veering us off course. We’re all given gifts of the Spirit, and we want to use them to their fullest. The problem is that pride tempts us to use them in ways that glorify ourselves. Too often, that ends badly. That’s what we see with the Sanhedrin in this story from Acts. The issue really wasn’t that they were in conflict with each other; creative, spirit-filled people will disagree. No, the real issue was division. God had given them gifts more than sufficient to achieve unity – if their pride would allow them. Unfortunately, it didn’t. The result? A war of words, perpetual division, and no peace.

    I think that’s why Holy Father Leo recently said something that strongly echoes a theme in our gospel: ‘Peace is possible when disagreements and the conflicts they entail are not set aside, but acknowledged, understood, and surmounted.’ Like a great rowing crew, each of whom has their own strengths, every person in the Church is gifted by God but also called by Him to subordinate our desire to dominate and use our gifts not for dominance but for the common good.

    What the Sanhedrin failed to achieve is still possible for us – if we will it; if we, like that champion rowing team, choose to surrender to a shared rhythm, trust one another, and keep our eyes fixed on the same goal. Remember that Jesus prayed “that they may all be one.” That unity will come only when we surrender our pride, fear, and agenda, so that the Church may glide, not by her own strength, but by the grace of God.

    —

  • Who’s Writing the Script?

    Who’s Writing the Script?

    Monday of the 4th Week of Easter

    Acts 11:1–18, Psalm 42/43; John 10:1–10.

    If you’ve ever seen the late Robin Williams in an interview or movie, you know how good he was at taking a simple “Yes” or “No” and exploding it into a five-minute burst of voices, stories, and laughter. For him, it was as if there was no script; he followed the spark, and suddenly there was life and possibilities that no one had seen before.

    This is especially true in his role as the Genie in Aladdin. The writers didn’t bother to give Williams a script. Instead, they gave him the framework and allowed him to improvise. The result? Where about an hour of dialog might’ve been expected, he gave them sixteen! Overjoyed and inspired, the writers and animators built the movie around it. What might have seemed like chaos was pure creativity, full of life.

    That’s exactly what today’s readings reveal about God.

    In Acts, Peter has seemingly failed to “stick with the script” by going to Gentiles. But, in his role as shepherd, Peter allows God to write the script, and God is making it clear that the Holy Spirit will come down on Gentiles just like He did the Apostles. Wisely, Peter then speaks the line we all need to hear: “Who was I to hinder God?”

    Behind Peter’s challenge is the voice of Christ in the Gospel, who refers to himself as “the gate.” That is all the framework we need; He is not a wall, checkpoint, or entrance for a select few. He is the way in for all, and all who enter through him receive not just life, but abundant life.

    Thus, the readings remind us that God isn’t bound by our scripts. Rather, he is completely free; He pours mercy where we don’t expect it and calls people we might never choose. Like the wind that blows where it wills (John 3:8), the Holy Spirit moves in ways we don’t always understand, but always with purpose. And, just like with Robin Williams in Aladdin, when God starts moving, our best response is to listen and try our hardest to do His will. No matter how difficult, no matter how unexpected.

    Of course, that’s challenging. Think of the three martyrs we remember today. The first two, Achilleus and Nereus, understood their role as soldiers very well. However, when they encountered Christ, it became clear to them that although Caesar had cast them in one role, God had chosen another. They listened, laid down their swords, and eventually, their lives. The third was just a boy, 14 years old. Called before the Roman authorities, young Pancras was pressured to deny Christ. At an age when most people expect the script to be a happy, full life, Pancras allowed God to give him his lines, even if that meant death, which it did. He was martyred alongside Nereus and Achilleus.

    Together, these and all the saints remind us of two things. First, God calls whom He wills. Age doesn’t matter. Status doesn’t matter. What matters is willingness. Second, they allowed God to re-write the story of their lives, even if it cost everything.

    So, what about us? Today, let’s ask ourselves: Do I try to keep God inside my comfort zone? Do I write the part I want Him to play? Or am I ready to be surprised by mercy, and willing to do whatever He asks?

    Peter’s question is our question. Who are we to hinder God? Let’s let Him speak, even if we think it’s off-script. Because His script is written to bring us exactly what Christ said in the gospel: Life – life to the full.

    —

  • Seeking the Face of God

    Seeking the Face of God

    Feast of Sts. Philip and James

    1 Corinthians 15:1–8; John 14:6–14

    When Philip says, “Lord, show us the Father, and that will be enough for us,” it might sound as if Jesus was disappointed in him. “Have I been with you for so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?”

    But over time, I’ve come to hear something different in that response — not rebuke, but compassion. Not frustration, but invitation.

    After all, when Jesus was a boy and Mary found him in the Temple, he asked her, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49). Surely Jesus wasn’t disappointed in his mother. He knew that even she — Full of Grace — would need to ponder these things in her heart, to grow in her understanding of the divine mysteries. If the Blessed Mother had to wrestle with them, why wouldn’t Philip?

    So no, I don’t believe Jesus was scolding Philip. I believe he saw in his question not failure, but hunger: a longing to know God more deeply, to see Him more clearly.

    In that way, Philip stands for all of us. Don’t we all long to understand the faith better? Don’t we all wish God would just show Himself, and end the doubt, confusion, and struggle?

    But He doesn’t. Not all at once. Maybe that’s because the work of faith — the growth, the struggle, the contemplation — is part of the gift.

    So today, as we celebrate Saints Philip and James, Jesus teaches us two important lessons through Philip’s honest question.

    The first lesson is that God can be right in front of us — and we might not see Him. Again, consider Philip. He spent years walking with Jesus. He saw him heal the sick, feed multitudes, even raise the dead. Still, he didn’t understand that to see Jesus was to see the Father — to see the fullness of God’s love.

    That isn’t just Philip’s problem, it’s ours too. We may not walk with Christ on the roads as the Apostles did, but we have our own sacred encounters.

    • Do we recognize him in the Eucharist — truly present, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity — or do we doubt?
    • Do we see his face in the people around us — especially those who are suffering, neglected, or difficult to love – or just inconvenience?
    • Do we trust that God truly hears and responds to our prayers, even when He seems silent? Or do we take silence as God’s refusal to answer?

    Jesus is always closer than we think. If we miss Him, it isn’t because He’s not there. It’s because we haven’t yet trained our hearts to see.

    The second lesson is that what we learn about Christ isn’t just for us — it’s meant to be shared. Notice that Jesus doesn’t end the conversation with Philip. He moves it forward by saying, “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do — and will do greater ones than these.” Greater than healing the sick or feeding thousands? Yes! Because our Lord’s earthly ministry was never meant to end. It was meant to multiply — through the Church, through the apostles, through us.

    That’s exactly what Philip and James did. They didn’t understand everything perfectly, but they believed. They went out. They preached, taught, healed, and led the early Church. Ultimately, they gave their lives for Christ.

    What does this mean for us? At least three things:

    1. We don’t need to be perfect to be disciples. We need only be willing to keep trying.
    2. We don’t need to understand every mystery of the faith to be faithful. We need to keep learning — and keep growing in trust.
    3. We don’t need to have all the answers before we begin sharing the Gospel. We need to believe that God will give us the grace we need to be His witnesses — in word and deed — so that others may see Him in us.

    Today and every day, let us ask Christ for eyes of faith to see him in the Eucharist, in each other, in the Scriptures, and in the silence of prayer. Let us ask, too, for the courage of Philip and James; to take what we’ve seen and heard and carry it boldly into a world longing for the love of Christ. And like them — like all the saints — may we be faithful witnesses to every person God puts in our path. And may we never stop seeking the face of God — in Christ, in each other, and in everyone.

    —

  • 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.

    —