Mark 10:45

Tag: Gospel

  • The Heart to Have

    The Heart to Have

    Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of the Blessed Virgin Mary

    Isaiah 61:9-11; 1 Samuel 2:1; Luke 2:41-51

    When we speak of someone in terms of their heart, we mean more than just describing what they’re like. We want to understand what it is that makes them who they are; their essence, if you will. That’s hard to do with anyone, let alone a person who walked among us so long ago, let alone a woman so devoted to remaining in the background and exalting her son and Lord, Jesus Christ. Yet that is exactly what we want to do on this, the Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

    The gospels give us only a glimpse into Mary’s heart. The best comes from Luke, who actually mentions her heart two times. The first came the evening of our Lord’s birth; he notes that Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart (2:19). Today we hear the second; Luke tells us that, while returning to Nazareth after finding Jesus in the Temple, his mother kept all these things in her heart (2:51).

    If the words “kept” and “reflect” meant to Luke what they mean to us, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to say this. Most parents have memories of their children and events in their lives. Rather, in the original language, his words imply that in her heart, Mary is doing much more; she is actively pondering the events, searching out their meaning, struggling to interpret them. Of course, the mysteries she struggled with are supernatural; no one but God can understand them. But that isn’t the point; the point is that in her heart Mary possessed the humility, docility, and wisdom to surrender herself to them, and allow their meaning to work itself out over time in her own discipleship.

    That is what happened. As time passed, the fruit of Mary’s contemplation showed itself in her words and her actions. For example, at the wedding feast of Cana she offered that resolutely faithful advice: Do whatever he tells you (John 2:5). In the same gospel, she displayed the strength that many disciples lacked: Standing by the cross of Jesus (John 19:25). Finally, while awaiting the coming of the Holy Spirit, she was one in prayer with those to whom Christ made her mother (John 19:26; Acts 1:14). Open to discipleship from the very beginning, Mary made clear to everyone what her son said in his ministry: that hearing the word is only the first step; what is required is to embrace it with a generous and good heart, and bear fruit through perseverance (Luke 8:15).

    On a spiritual level, we may not think about the Blessed Mother as someone in need of growth. What could she who has already been perfected in grace need to learn? Didn’t she have all the faith she would ever need? Certainly, but as the Catechism reminds us, the relationship between faith and understanding is not a straight line but a circle; the stronger our faith, the greater our desire to know God and understand what He has revealed. In turn, the better we understand, the deeper our faith, which “‘opens the eyes of our hearts’ to a lively understanding of Revelation” (CCC §158). Again, Mary is a perfect model of this; whose faith was greater than hers, yet who demonstrated more than she a desire to know God and better understand what He has revealed? Or, rather, who He has revealed – for there is no greater revelation of God than His only Son, Jesus, and who understands a son better than his mother?

    This is the heart of Mary Immaculate, the heart she encourages us to have; not one who hears the word of God and understands it, but who hears the word of God and does it – surrendering to it, and allowing it to work through us for the good of ourselves and the world. Our Blessed Mother wasn’t spared from difficulties and suffering; we should expect no less. But, if we persevere, we should also expect no less than the same glorious triumph she now enjoys. Mary is the ultimate example of what all faithful hearts can expect. So, here and now, let us recommit ourselves to taking her advice by doing whatever He says, enduring whatever crosses we are given, and praying and working for unity with each other. This is the heart that, like Mary Immaculate, always and everywhere exults in the Lord, our Savior.

  • God Will Provide… Right?

    God Will Provide… Right?

    Saturday of the 11th Week in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 6:24-34

    At a parish potluck, many people showed up, but few brought food. I heard one of the volunteers say, “We were all asked to bring a dish to pass; so few did! I’m worried that we’re going to run out of food.” The woman serving next to her smiled and said, “Don’t worry, God will provide.” A few minutes later, the first said again, “I’m telling you, this is a problem. The food is running out!” Again, the other said, “God will provide.” A moment later, I heard the first one mutter, “Fine. Don’t listen to me. What do I know?” Sure enough, about ten minutes later, the food ran out. If I had looked, I’ll bet that I could have seen the words, “I told you so!” written all over that woman’s face.

    The truth is that, at the time, if you’d asked me, I would have told you that she was right all along. However, as I read today’s gospel, things look a little more complicated. Now, I think both women were right, and both were wrong.

    The first one was clearly right about the food running out. But at the same time the other was right to tell her not to worry. Our Lord said as much when he asked, Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life? Of course not! Worry does nothing but contribute to that all-too-human tendency to focus on ourselves: I’m worried; I’m telling you; listen to me; I know; I told you so. Maybe that’s why Jesus counsels us to look at the birds and learn from the way the wild flowers grow; he wants us to shift our focus outward, to look and see that God is in control, and understand how He provides.

    This is where the second woman had it wrong. When Jesus said that God feeds the birds, He didn’t mean that God delivers the food to the nest. No, the birds have to go out and get it. In the same way, God provides for us, but that doesn’t mean He will do everything we don’t. We have a part to play in our own salvation, and we have to play it. As St. Augustine once said, “God created us without us, but He will not save us without us.”

    So then, what must we do? On the surface, the answer is obvious: We must have faith. The question is, what does it take to have the faith our Lord is asking of us? I think Jesus tells us, if we read between the lines of the gospel reading.

    The first thing it takes is humility; specifically, the humility to abandon ourselves to the dominion and will of God. We all know how hard it can be to let go of our own ideas, our own perspective, our own desire for control, especially when it concerns our own destiny. It takes real humility to recognize our limitations; to acknowledge that we can’t see everything, know everything, or do everything. Only God can. When I find myself in that place, trying to control what only God can control, I find it very helpful to repeat over and over that simple but powerful aspiration, “Let go and let God.”

    Apart from humility, we must pray for the gifts of patience and fortitude. We might think that as we turn our lives over to God, things will get easier, but often that is not the case, as the book of Sirach reminds us: when you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for trials… Accept whatever happens to you; in periods of humiliation be patient (2:1,4). Again, we all know how hard it is to accept the painful or difficult things that happen, or to endure suffering or humiliation. At those times more than ever we must look to the cross and pray for the patience and fortitude of Christ, for in his cross we find not only the pain of his suffering and humiliation but also the joy of his victory over them, and his promise that, if we follow him, we too will overcome whatever life puts in our way.

    Joy is the final word, the fruit of the Spirit whose seed lies hidden in our Lord’s words today. For joy is happiness in pursuit of our good, and as he has just told us, nothing is better than complete abandonment to the God who is goodness itself: the Father, who leaves us nothing to worry about; the Son, who is the Food that never runs out, and the Holy Spirit, the Love that is written all over our hearts.

  • God’s Idea of Re-Gifting

    God’s Idea of Re-Gifting

    Memorial of St. Barnabas, Apostle

    Acts of the Apostles 11:21b-26; 13:1-3; Matthew 10:7-13

    At a Christmas party gift exchange, the woman next to me opened her gift and muttered, “Oh, no.” “What?” I asked. She whispered, “Two years ago, I got this from my niece. I didn’t want it, so I re-gifted it to my colleague over there. She must’ve forgotten I was the one who gave it to her, and re-gifted it to me.” That’s the first time I heard that term, “re-gifting,” but I hear it’s common: Someone gives us a gift, we open it, smile, thank them, bring it home, re-wrap it, and give it to someone else.

    Then, thinking about the first reading, it occurred to me: God gives us some gifts that he wants us to re-gift. These are called “charisms” – gifts of the Holy Spirit given to us but not meant for us; they’re meant to be given away so the Church can prosper.

    We see this “re-gifting” in the person of Barnabas, whose feast is today. We know little about him other than what Luke tells us. He first appears in Acts chapter 4, where he gives the proceeds of the sale of his property to the Church. Today we hear of him being sent to Antioch, going to Tarsus to find Paul, bringing him to Antioch, and working with Paul there and on his first missionary journey (Acts 13-14).

    In all this, Barnabas shows at least three charisms. First, generosity. He could have done many things with his property; even if he had to sell it, he didn’t have to give the money to the Church. But he did. Second, encouragement. In Antioch, Barnabas encouraged them all to remain faithful. As a result, Luke tells us, a large number of people was added to the Lord (Acts 11:23f). Third, teaching. Along with St. Paul, Barnabas spent a year there teaching people the faith. To great effect; they brought in so many Gentiles that the disciples in Antioch were the first to be called Christians (Acts 11:26).

    Of course, Barnabas isn’t alone; as St. Paul said, to each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit (1 Corinthians 12:7). So, that prompts us to ask what charisms we have. One place to start is with the gifts God gave us from birth. Perhaps we’re known as a welcoming person, one whose door is always open; or we love to teach, or to encourage others. Maybe we’ve always had a talent for bringing people together to get something done, or for being compassionate towards those who are alone or sick or suffering. Barnabas probably had several of these qualities. Still, having gifts isn’t enough; not all generous, encouraging, or bright people use their gifts to build up the Church. Going from gift to charism takes more; it takes the grace of the Holy Spirit.

    You know you have a charism if someone says to you, “When you welcome (or console) me, you make me feel like I’m the only person in the world,” or, “When you teach (or sing or create artwork), you help me see God in a whole new way,” or, “You have a way of encouraging me that makes me feel like I can move mountains,” or “Under your leadership, I feel like I really belong and can make a difference.” This is evidence that the grace of God has given our natural ability a supernatural boost. Charisms make us the instruments God uses to touch people beyond mere human capacity.

    Perhaps you’ve tried to use various gifts or talents but never heard this. Take heart; that doesn’t mean you have no charisms. Charisms don’t work for our glory or notoriety. Most likely, many people never said a word to Barnabas yet were edified or inspired to do what they saw him doing, whether that meant giving money, time, or talent to build up the Church. It’s also possible that you haven’t yet found the place or situation to put your gifts to work. Stay vigilant. When you find it, you will know; then it will be time to act. Again, look at Barnabas. He looked at the situation in Antioch and saw they badly needed encouragement, so he gave it. Not only that, he watched and listened enough to know that Paul was a man who, whatever people said about him, could have an impact on the Church. He seized the moment, found Paul, and brought him back. Look at the result! What would the Church be like if Barnabas had never done that?

    Perhaps you are being urged by the Holy Spirit right now; perhaps there is something you’ve wanted to do, or think you may be called to do. Don’t wait. Find a way. As Jesus said to the Twelve in today’s gospel, Without cost you have received; without cost, you are to give (Matthew 10:8). Or, re-give.

    St. Barnabas, pray for us.

  • Chosen

    Chosen

    Feast of St. Matthias, Apostle

    Acts 1:15-17, 20-26; John 15:9-17

    In the spring of my senior year, the high school play was a drama with a lead role that I really wanted. When tryouts came, I nailed it. I went home confident that I had that part in the bag.

    Only, I didn’t. Even worse, I got cast as what seemed to me like the play’s dullest character. At the first rehearsal my disappointment must have shown; the director took me aside and said, “I could have given you the lead, but it came too easy to you. The guy who got it needs the challenge. As for you, the part I gave you is going to make you work. Now, I want to see what you do with it. Show me you’re the actor you want to be.”

    It turned out that he was right about both of us. There was a depth to my part that I hadn’t seen, and it did make me work. Same for the guy in the lead role; he struggled but kept working. In the end, the director was happy with both of us, but honestly I think we were happier with ourselves. We got exactly what we needed, and the play was better because of it.

    I remembered that while meditating on the first reading. Two men were proposed to fill the role of the twelfth apostle; as we know, the lot fell upon Matthias (Acts 1:26). I asked myself how I would have reacted if I were Barsabbas. As with the play, I might have been disappointed. “I, too, was with the apostles from the beginning… why was I not chosen?”

    Of course, if I were Barsabbas, I would have known that Christ had already answered that when he said, It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain (John 15:16).

    In that one sentence, our Lord said it all. It wasn’t that one man was chosen and the other was not; both were chosen, but each given different parts. Clearly, the office of twelfth apostle had been reserved for Matthias; to him and him alone went that honor, challenge, and responsibility, as well as every grace he would need. But that didn’t mean that God had nothing for Barsabbas to do. To the contrary, he too had been chosen, and given his own unique and important part to play. We have no idea what it was; like Matthias and so many others throughout history, his work remains a mystery. But also like them, the fruit of his labor remains to this day – we, the Church, now spread to every corner and people of the world.

    God’s plan for discipleship is no different today. We may think of evangelization, or preaching the gospel, as the proper work of professionals – people who are qualified by their training or education in the faith. But our Lord’s words in the gospel are a reminder that God doesn’t choose the qualified, He qualifies the chosen. And we are all chosen; whoever we are, whatever we do, whatever circumstances we find ourselves in, God has chosen us, called us by name, and qualified us with every gift and grace we need to bring the world to him and him to the world.

    Of course, we will all face challenges along the road. People may reject us, we may struggle with doubts or periods of discouragement, and we may even be jealous of those who have gifts and abilities that we do not. But I firmly believe that each challenge is God’s way of saying to us, “I could have made your way easier, but I want to see what you can do with what I gave you. Show me that you are the disciple I have called you from all eternity to be.” It means that we will work harder than ever before, but think how much better off we will be in the end, for then we will hear our Lord say, Well done, good and faithful servant… Come, share your Master’s joy (Matthew 25:21).

    Who wouldn’t want that part?

  • The Perfect Plan

    The Perfect Plan

    Saturday of the 5th Week of Lent

    Ezekiel 37:21-28; Jeremiah 31:10, 11-12abcd, 13; John 11:45-56

    When I was 7, I ran away from home. I figured I had to; Mom was forcing me to do all this horrible stuff: school, chores, Confession every other Saturday. So one day, after she said I was being particularly annoying, I decided now was the time: I’d go to St. Louis and live with my uncle. What a great idea; he lived close to where the Cardinals played baseball, was a lot of fun, and he’d love me hanging out with him every day. Best of all, no chores! So, I went upstairs and got some stuff. I packed light. We lived in Denver, Colorado, and on the map it looked like an easy trip; just walk across Kansas and you’re in St. Louis. So I left, pretty pleased with myself. My plan was perfect.

    Or so I thought. When I got to the highway a police car pulled up. They asked me who I was and where I was going, so I told them. I couldn’t believe it; rather than compliment me on a great plan, they made me get in the squad car. Next thing I knew, we pulled up at home. Mom and Dad were standing there and, judging by their faces, it didn’t look like they were going to be calling my plan perfect, either.

    All this is why I think I understand how Caiaphas felt when he prophesied, It is better for you that one man should die instead of the people, so that the whole nation may not perish (John 11:50). He was probably pretty pleased with himself, too. By the death of this one man, Jesus, he could broker peace among the people, placate Rome, keep a firm grasp on his power, and maybe go down in Jewish history as the high priest who saved Israel from destruction. His plan was perfect.

    Or so he thought. Jesus did die as Caiaphas planned, but everything else went exactly opposite of the way he expected: Jesus rose from the dead, the social unrest grew, the people rebelled against Rome, and in response the Roman army burned Jerusalem and the Temple to the ground. It was not a perfect plan at all.

    The truth is that there is only one perfect plan. We call it providence, or God’s loving plan to guide his creation toward perfection (Catechism of the Catholic Church, §302). We heard some of its key elements in the first reading and the psalm: Israel, gathered together in unity under one shepherd; her people cleansed from their sins, given a new heart and a new spirit; God dwelling with them in his sanctuary forever.

    Although the office of high priest did have the gift of prophesy, Caiaphas could not see beyond his own ambition. From the depths of his own desires, he prophesied the death of Christ as an end in itself, not for what it was: the prelude to the resurrection, through which Christ would fulfill the words of Ezekiel – a new Israel, the Church; a divine Shepherd who washed her clean by the blood of his cross and gave her authority to absolve sins in his Name; who with the Father gave her a new heart by sending the Holy Spirit; and who dwells among his people forever in Word and Sacrament. This was, is, and always will be the perfection of God’s plan.

    Given this, it is especially moving to hear those near the Temple asking, What do you think? That he will not come to the feast (John 11:56)? Of course he will. That is the plan; Jesus is the feast!

    So, as we stand on the threshold of Holy Week, let us take a moment now to thank God for his wonderful providence, most truly shown in the gift of his only Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. He is our hope, our joy, and our confidence. May his steadfast love for us and his Father, so perfectly on display throughout his passion, remind us that God’s plan is the only plan that matters, and that we are the reason for it. And let us pray that the plans we make for our own lives, however imperfect, are always in union with, and built upon, God’s perfect plan. As God himself has told us so beautifully, For I know well the plans I have in mind for you… plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope. When you call me, and come and pray to me, I will listen to you (Jeremiah 29:11-12).

  • The Three Choices

    The Three Choices

    Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

    Jeremiah 11:18-20; Psalm 7:9; Luke 8:15; John 7:40-53

    Years ago, the leader of a religious cult said that God told him the world was going to end soon; he even gave the day. When that day came and went, a few members lost their faith and drifted away. However, many did not; their faith grew stronger. When asked why, they replied that God decided to spare the world because of the cult’s prayers.

    Although they went about it in opposite ways, both of these groups were looking for the same thing: Consistency. We like our words and actions to be consistent. When they aren’t, when we say one thing but do another, we have three choices: Change our beliefs, change our behavior, or rationalize our behavior away. It can be hard to change our behavior, especially when it’s a habit; it can be even harder to swallow our pride and admit that our beliefs were wrong. That makes rationalizing a very popular choice.

    We see shades of this in today’s gospel. The chief priests and Pharisees had firm beliefs about who God is, how He works in the world, and who He works through. In their eyes, that did not include Jesus. But the people had begun to see that the actions of Jesus were inconsistent with that; his miraculous signs along with the depth, truth, and beauty of his words were convincing evidence that God was indeed working in and through him. So, the chief priests and Pharisees had to choose: Either change their own beliefs, change the peoples’ behavior, or somehow find a way to rationalize it and save their own pride.

    As the gospel story shows, they weren’t going to change their own beliefs, and they weren’t going to talk the people out of their attraction to our Lord. That left one choice: Rationalize. So that’s exactly what they did; to them, anyone who believed in Jesus was either deceived, ignorant, or ‘from Galilee,’ which was apparently intended as an insult. Ironically, by the end they lost all rationality, ending with an outright untruth: Look and see that no prophet arises from Galilee (John 7:52). If they themselves had looked, they would’ve seen that in fact the prophets Jonah, Hosea, and Nahum were all from Galilee!

    But we can’t focus on these men without looking in the mirror, for we all share the great inconsistency of sin. Our faith tells us that something is sinful; we do it anyway; we feel guilty. To rid ourselves of the guilt, we too must choose one of the three options mentioned before. Let’s take the worst one first: Changing our beliefs to suit our sinful behavior. Sadly, many of us know people who have done just that – left the faith rather than give up a sinful life. Let us pray that their hearts may soften, and that we never give in to the temptation to abandon the faith. Second, we can rationalize, as the priests and Pharisees did. This is a great temptation because, to paraphrase St. Jean Vianney, it’s so much easier to excuse ourselves than to accuse ourselves. That is exactly what we do every time we say things like, “I shouldn’t have gotten angry, but you made me so mad,” or “It’s just a little white lie,” or “I know I shouldn’t have texted while driving but it was an emergency.” These may seem like no big deal, but they lead to bigger problems; we dull our sense of sin and open ourselves to another: The sin of presumption, which says, “Go on, do it! God will forgive you later.”

    How far these selfish choices are from the generous heart spoken of in the Gospel Acclamation, that keeps the word and yields a harvest through perseverance (Luke 8:15), the innocent heart that prays for justice (Psalm 7:9), the heart that is completely open to God, who Jeremiah called the searcher of mind and heart (11:20). Only such a heart can make that most difficult choice: To change our behavior, so that it is in keeping with our faith. This takes perseverance, for our sins can be habits that are hard to break; it takes love of justice, for we have wounded our neighbor and our innocent Lord and must make amends; and it takes total openness to God, who knows our mind and heart infinitely better than we do.

    Let us pray that our merciful Lord will grant us such a heart, that we may have the humility to see ourselves as we are, to admit when we have sinned, and to seek the absolution that He alone can give. Only by His grace can we be most truly consistent.

  • The Heart of the Matter

    The Heart of the Matter

    Saturday of the 3rd Week of Lent

    Hosea 6:1-6; Luke 18:9-14

    When we hear the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, we are rightly drawn to the differences between them. However, I think time is well spent thinking not only about the differences but also the similarities, and what both have to teach us about ourselves and our prayer life, which is the reason Jesus taught this parable to begin with.

    The fact is, the two men have some important things in common. First, they’re both truthful. The Pharisee is telling the truth when he says he isn’t greedy, dishonest, or adulterous; so is the tax collector when he calls himself a sinner. Second, their actions are pious. The Pharisee tithes and fasts, while the tax collector stands at a distance, keeps his eyes lowered, and beats his breast as he prays. Third, both are men of deep conviction; they speak to God straight from the heart.

    Speaking to God from the heart is key, for Scripture teaches us that prayer is a work of the heart. The heart is where we live, our inner Temple, the place to which we withdraw (CCC 2563). At the same time, it is the place God knows best; he looks at the heart and knows its secrets (1 Samuel 16:7; Psalm 44:21). If we are righteous in God’s eyes, our prayers are fruitful (James 5:16); if not, our prayers are in vain (CCC 2562).

    This brings us back to the Pharisee. Although he seems to be speaking to God, his words betray a heart turned inward. Our Lord may be hinting as much when he says the man spoke this prayer to himself (18:11), but even if not, one thing is clear: God is the audience of his prayer, not the object. It’s tempting to think that we never do this, but my guess is that in the quiet of our own inner Temple, we can all recall times when we’ve focused a little too much on ourselves, have resisted what God is asking, acted as if the good things we’ve done we did on our own, or that in some way God likes us just a little bit more than he does some other people – especially people we don’t like.

    That’s the real problem. The Pharisee is right to say that he is not like the rest of humanity, but wrong because he’s comparing his behavior with what other people do, not with what God expects. The same is true for us; our standard is not other people, it is Christ. Given that, we can understand why God would say through Hosea, Your piety is like a morning cloud, like the dew that early passes away (6:5). Fasting, tithing, coming to the Temple: All are false piety if they don’t come from a truly humble heart.

    Humility, the foundation of all prayer, helps us to recognize our dependence on God and to appreciate our place in His plan. It is the virtuous balance between the extremes of pride on the one side and self-abjection on the other, which happens when we fail to recognize and use the gifts God has given us.

    As our Lord pointed out, humility was the great virtue of the tax collector. We know it from his posture and his words: Be merciful to me a sinner. What we do not know is what happened next. Did he live that humility out in his daily life by doing what the Baptist advised, Stop collecting more than what is prescribed (John 3:13)? While we must not push the parable beyond its limits, we must remember that humility not only orients us to God, but to each other as well. As with the Pharisee, it’s tempting think that we already live humbly in the world, but we must ask ourselves: Do we ever dwell on other peoples’ faults, gossip about them, seek their admiration, or return insult for insult?

    Like the Pharisee, this is the problem. True humility urges us to remember that God’s loving plan extends to all of humanity. We cannot live equitably with other people unless we treat them like equals, and we certainly cannot pray, no matter how humbly, “O God, be merciful to me a sinner,” if we refuse to be merciful to those who sin against us.

    Through the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, our Lord teaches us two lessons about prayer: First, the foundation of prayer is not our honesty, piety, or sincerity, but a contrite and humbled heart (Psalm 51:19). Second, the fruit of righteous prayer is a life of virtue most perfectly found in the life of Jesus, who took the form of a slave, humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross (Philippians 2:7-9). Indeed, no man so humbled was ever so greatly exalted.

  • To See and Understand

    To See and Understand

    Saturday of the 6th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 9:2-13

    As we read the gospel of Mark, we might catch ourselves wondering about the Apostles. They never seem to get it! No matter what they see Jesus do – healing after healing, miracle after miracle – they end up asking the same question: “Who is this?”

    Although Mark probably intended us to wonder, and for good reason, we shouldn’t take it too far. We have the benefit of hindsight, not to mention an evangelist who tells us everything we need to know in his first line: the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1). The Apostles had to figure it out as it was happening. They did have some success; Mark tells us that Peter recognized Jesus as the Messiah (8:29). However, he also says that they didn’t understand the cross (8:32; 9:32; 10:35ff). That’s probably because they pictured the Messiah as the son of David, not the Son of God; a conquering king, not a suffering servant; someone who would free them from emperors and tyrants, not from sin and death.

    So, the question really isn’t why the Apostles never got it. They did, as Mark well knew, especially if his gospel came from Peter himself. The question is what moved a man like Peter to go from a terrified disciple asking if he should set up tents on a mountain to a faithful shepherd of the Church who, nearing his martyrdom, wrote with such conviction of that same unforgettable, mystical experience (2 Peter 1:16-18).

    I think the answer lies in the gifts given to him by the Holy Spirit, particularly the gift of understanding. It has been called a “penetrating” or “permanent” intuition of divine truth,1 and it certainly was for St. Peter; who could intuit any truth greater than Jesus, who is the way, the truth, and the life? Indeed, given his experience – seeing Moses, Elijah, and the glorified Christ, and hearing the voice of the Father – Peter must have devoted many hours to contemplating what the Transfiguration of our Lord meant for him and for the Church.

    So should we, for the gift of understanding is given to us, too. It works in many ways. First, it helps us find the hidden meanings of Scripture. Certainly it was used by the Apostles and Fathers of the Church as they read and discovered the many Old Testament references to Christ. The pages of our bibles have much of the fruits of their labor. I urge you to find the notes and footnotes for today’s gospel passage (two are Exodus and 1 Kings) and see how they inform and enrich your understanding of the Transfiguration. Second, the gift of understanding helps us see the relationships between symbols and what they point to. One example is the cloud that surrounded the Apostles on the mountain; that is a symbol of the Lord’s presence, just as it was in the time of Moses. Third, the gift of understanding shows us how God works in our own lives. Think of your own “mountaintop” experiences or consolations; the times during Mass or other prayer when you felt especially close to God, or moved by his presence and power. Finally, the gift of understanding strengthens our appreciation for the Sacraments. For example, when the bread and wine are consecrated, we are led to a deeper, more profound awareness of Jesus Christ, most truly present. It is as St. Thomas Aquinas once said: “When the eye of the spirit is purified by the gift of understanding, one can in a certain way see God.”

    Let us pray today and every day for an increase in the gift of understanding, that we may more and more clearly see the face of God in Scripture, the Church, the Sacraments, and perhaps most especially in our own lives.

    1 Aumann, Fr. Jordan, OP. The Gift of Understanding. Available online at http://www.domcentral.org/study/aumann/st/st10.htm#tgou.

    https://catholicstraightanswers.com/gifts-understanding-wisdom/

  • Don’t Mess with Perfection: Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    Don’t Mess with Perfection: Saturday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Kings 12:26-32; 13:33-34; Matthew 4:4; Mark 8:1-10

    In the first reading we hear of Jeroboam, the first in a series of problematic kings, and the huge changes he made in the way the people of Israel worshipped. We’ll get to the reason why but it’s important to note that this tendency to mess with perfection isn’t limited to him. We have only to go back to the time just after the Second Vatican Council to see something very similar. I’ll mention just a few things I myself witnessed.

    First, the music changed. That’s no big deal in and of itself; music always changes. But the words changed, and words matter. For example, now we sang about eating “bread” and drinking “wine” at Communion. This was followed in my parish by a nun wearing an alb, assisting the priest at Mass, and preaching what sounded like homilies. Next, the words of the readings began to change. I remember going up to the ambo and seeing that, throughout the lectionary, words were crossed out and others pencilled in. Awhile later, I moved to a new parish that had been remodeled so that the Tabernacle was moved to another room, the altar was where the pews used to be, and the pews were replaced by chairs. No kneeling. Finally came the Sacraments. Baptisms were “in the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sanctifier.” At Confession, the priest said to me, “Jesus absolves you of your sins.” The worst cut of all came on a road trip to the parish of an old personal friend, a priest. At Mass he changed the words of consecration. Even with what little education I had at the time, I knew you couldn’t just do that.

    Too often, religious changes are made for political reasons. The book of 1 Kings is clear: Jeroboam wasn’t concerned at all about the hearts of the people, only what losing them meant for him. Similarly, in the local Church, those making changes to the Mass and Sacraments saw an opportunity to express their ideologies or advance political agendas.

    Of course, that isn’t what religion is all about. As our faith teaches us, religion is an exercise of the virtue of justice; through it, we try to give God what we owe him, which is everything. If we make it about what we think is important rather than what God knows is important, then we risk reaping the rewards of Jeroboam’s pride and arrogance: Alienating God and losing the hearts of his people. That is why St. John Paul II and Benedict XVI went to such great lengths to speak about liturgical reform; they wanted us to remember that the Sacraments belong to Jesus Christ. Treating them as if they are our own personal property results only in confusion, disunity and spiritual hunger.

    This is the same kind of hunger so obviously felt by the people flocking around our Lord in the gospel reading. Mark tells us that they had chosen to be with him for three days (8:2), even at the expense of not eating. He rewards their bodily and spiritual hunger by giving them a foretaste of the Holy Mass; having already fed them with the word that comes forth from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4), he then took the seven loaves, gave thanks, broke them, and gave them to his disciples to distribute (8:6). Mark concludes by telling us everything we need to know: They ate and were satisfied (8:8).

    The lesson is clear: Don’t mess with perfection. Every time we approach our Lord with a humble, contrite heart that asks him only to remember us, he answers by giving us perfectly, in word and Sacrament, everything we need to be with him for eternity.

    Who would want to change that?

  • Is the King Glad? Saturday of the 1st Week in Ordinary Time

    Is the King Glad? Saturday of the 1st Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Samuel 9:1-4; 17-19; 10:1; Psalm 21:2; Mark 2:13-17


    Guided and inspired by the Holy Spirit, the Church takes great care to choose readings for each day that highlight certain themes, most often represented by the psalm that comes between them. Today we hear a wonderful case in point, Psalm 21. On a purely human level, this is a joyful song of praise that God has endowed authority on an earthly king. On a divine level and as a messianic psalm it speaks of Christ, who indeed is glad and rejoices in the full authority given him by the Father. With good reason we repeat the second verse: Lord, in your strength the king is glad. But that doesn’t answer how the readings highlight that theme. As we will see, they do so in very different ways.


    As the story of Saul begins, it’s hard to know what he would have been glad about. It must have come as such a surprise! One minute he’s out looking for his father’s animals; the next, he is anointed as the first king of Israel. But although we can’t tell his mindset in the beginning, as the story unfolds it becomes clear: This king isn’t glad in the Lord at all. To the contrary, he has little regard for God’s authority; he has his own ideas and doesn’t want anyone, even God, to correct him. Worse, despite Samuel’s warnings, Saul never sees the problem; he remains blind to his own arrogance and self-exaltation until everything ends for him in complete disaster.


    By contrast, the story of Matthew doesn’t end with disaster but it does begin that way. Like Saul, Matthew is a man going about his business; unlike Saul, his business was what most Jews would have called a complete disaster: the customs post. Such men were among the worst of sinners; quislings who took money from their own people, gave it to their conquerors, and even kept some for themselves. Yet this is the kind of darkness where the light of Christ most brightly shines; passing by, the Divine Physician diagnoses Matthew, and in two words prescribes the remedy: Follow me.


    As with Saul, we have no idea what went through Matthew’s mind at that moment, but as always Mark invites us to put ourselves in the scene and contemplate. What would we do? Would we have doubts, fears, or misgivings? Did Matthew? Perhaps. All we know is what Matthew actually did, and here Mark couldn’t be clearer: He got up and followed Jesus. Again, this is only the beginning; the story unfolds in the fullness of time. Mark tells us that Jesus went to his house, ate with him and his friends, and told others that he came to call sinners. Though Mark then goes silent about it, that doesn’t mean we know nothing. We know that Matthew was glad in the strength of the Lord who called him out of his sinful life and offered him another, so glad that he followed Christ to the end and to the point that a gospel account would bear his name for all time.


    Two men, two calls, two responses, two completely different endings, yet the same theme: Lord, in your strength the king is glad. How does this apply to us? In two ways:


    First, we must understand that we, the baptized, are kings. At our baptism we were anointed kings and called as Christ was called – not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45). And if we are kings, then we are glad in the strength of the Lord from the moment we decide to be a king less like Saul and more like Matthew; when we see every day as a call to live not on our own strength but on God’s, for it is he and he alone who points the way, who leads the way, who makes a way, and who is the way.


    Second, we must remember that good intentions aren’t enough; actions are required. How we act will depend on the gifts God has given us and the circumstances we find ourselves in. Whatever they are, the time is now and we will not be – we cannot be – glad in the Lord’s strength until we take what the Father has given us and, through the power and gifts of the Holy Spirit, put it at the service of the kingdom he gave us through his Son.