Mark 10:45

Tag: Happiness

  • 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.

  • The Challenge

    The Challenge

    Saturday of the 5th Week of Easter

    Acts 16:1-10; John 15:18-21

    Over the span of about 15 years, I was asked three times if I ever thought about being a deacon. The first time was my pastor. I asked what a deacon was and, after he told me, I said, “No, thanks.” A decade later, a second priest asked me. I looked into it, but it didn’t seem like a good fit. When a third priest asked a few years later, it began to dawn on me: I’ve looked for ways to serve the Church for years; none have worked out. But I’ve had three priests, years apart, totally unknown to each other, ask me this question. Is this what God wants me to do? I still hesitated. I wasn’t sure.

    Then I heard a priest talking about vocations. He said, “If you think Christ might be calling you to ministry, you owe it to yourself to try, because if he is not calling you, he will make it clear to you.” That was it. It was as if God was saying to me, “You’ve tried other things; they haven’t worked. I’ve asked you three times. You owe it to yourself to try.” So I tried, and it changed my life.

    This is not so different from St. Paul’s experience. He didn’t know where God wanted him to go, but he knew he had to try. He chose a direction, went out, and sure enough, if that wasn’t right, God made it clear. Doing this changed his life and the lives of millions. As we heard, today’s reading ended with Paul being led into Europe. Imagine what might have happened (or not happened) had St. Paul never preached the gospel there!

    Of course, this isn’t limited to St. Paul. Jesus is calling us, too; as he said in the gospel, I have chosen you out of the world. Notice, he doesn’t say what we’re chosen to do. That depends on us; we have to make choices, to try different things. While some people may know exactly what God has called them to, my guess is that most do not. If you’re one of them, then you’re in good company; neither did St. Paul. But he didn’t sit around waiting to find out. He went out and tried. That’s what we must do.

    But how do we know if we’re doing what God wants us to do? One way St. Paul knew was by looking at the fruit of his labor. As St. Luke tells us, day after day the churches grew stronger in faith and increased in number (Acts 16:8). It is a great blessing to see a change for the better in peoples’ lives as a result of our efforts. But that’s not the only way. We should look for a positive change in our own spiritual life; is what we’re doing drawing us closer to Christ? Another way is the sense of accomplishment we get from trying to make a difference. Nothing feels better than knowing that, whatever the outcome, we have gotten up and done something; we’ve made a real effort.

    Of course, things don’t always work out in our favor. If none of these things are happening, then it is certainly possible that God wants us to try something else. It’s easy to get a little down and see our effort as a mistake, but that would be wrong. The mistake isn’t trying and failing, it is never trying. God is always pleased with the effort of a sincere and humble heart. As St. Teresa of Calcutta so wisely said, “I would rather make mistakes in kindness and compassion than work miracles in unkindness and hardness.”

    What’s more, what is not right for us at one time may be exactly right at another. When I was first asked about the diaconate, I wasn’t the man I was to become. The experiences of life needed to shape me. As God showed me in the fullness of time, I was called to the diaconate; I just wasn’t called then, the time wasn’t right. So it is for each of us. God gives us time that we may come to learn about ourselves, our strengths and weaknesses, our potential and our limitations. If we are wise and continue to try and improve ourselves in God’s eyes, we will find ourselves ready for roles of service to the gospel that we never would have thought possible before.

    In the gospel, Jesus contrasts us to the world he has called us out of. He doesn’t do this to separate us from the world; to the contrary, he loves the world and wants us to engage it more effectively. As St. Paul and his companions have shown us, we cannot do that unless we are willing to do it in God’s way, in God’s time, and with God’s guidance. As Jesus said in the gospel, they do not know the one who sent me (John 15:21). The challenge for each of us is, “How can I try to show the world the One who sent me?”

  • 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 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.

  • Being Who We Were Made to Be

    Being Who We Were Made to Be

    Solemnity of St. Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

    Matthew 1:16, 18-21, 24a

    A theologian once said that “great occasions do not make heroes or cowards; they simply unveil them to our eyes. Silently and imperceptibly, as we wake or sleep, we grow strong or weak; and at last some crisis shows what we have become.”1 When I read that, I wondered if he was thinking of St. Joseph. It fits him so beautifully.

    Joseph was certainly not a man accustomed to great occasions. The ordinary ones were enough: Learn a trade, get married, bring up a family. By the time we meet him in Matthew’s gospel, Joseph had already checked two of those boxes. It was the third that brought about the crisis.

    We know the basic story well: Learning that Mary is pregnant and unwilling to expose her to shame, Joseph intends to divorce her quietly. What we may not know are a couple of details. First, in that time and culture, “expose her to shame” meant the legal right to “make a show” or public mockery of her. That Joseph would not do this speaks of his love for Mary and sensitivity toward her. This brings us to the second point: his intention to divorce her quietly. Where we read “intention,” Matthew’s original word implies a decision made in angst, in the heat of a deep and inner passion. It might even go so far as to mean that Joseph was tempted to feelings of anger, shame, or indignation.

    Who can blame him? How would we feel? Joseph had plans for his life and had worked, maybe even suffered, to achieve them. Now, on the verge of actually realizing them, he found his plans shattered to pieces. Even more, Joseph loved Mary; he knew that divorce meant disgrace for her and the child, not to mention very dim prospects for their future. This was the heart of the crisis. He had to make a decision, to do something, but what could he do? Mary was pregnant, he was not the father, and the law was clear. His decision for a quiet divorce was the best he could think of. Even if it meant pain or distress for the woman he loved so much, the law came from God, who Joseph loved above all.

    This I think is the key. Remember the theologian’s words: “Silently and imperceptibly, as we wake or sleep, we grow strong or weak.” Joseph came to this crisis with a strong moral center; born into the faith of his fathers, he was raised in it, steeped in it, and guided by it. He wasn’t going to abandon it now or ever. No matter the cost to his own or to anyone’s honor, Joseph would honor his heavenly Father first.

    In its section on the 4th commandment, the Catechism lists two qualities of a respectful child: docility and obedience. As they apply to our role as children of God, docility is our readiness to follow God’s will rather than our own, and obedience is our willingness to do whatever God asks of us.

    Joseph had both of these gifts in abundance, and in time God would ask him to use them to their fullest measure. For now, though, what He asked was more than enough: First, that Joseph set aside his plan of being husband of Mary of Nazareth and instead be the husband of Mary, the Mother of God; second, that he set aside any plan he might have of raising his own children and instead raise the Son of God as his own.

    This is a lot to ask, but as we know, God is never outdone in generosity. In return for all Joseph was willing to do, God bestowed many honors on him: Joseph, called ‘son of David’ by God himself, would see the Son of God; Joseph, whose family line had held the God’s promise in their hearts for so long was now chosen to hold His fulfillment in his arms; and he, Joseph, was now the only one ever asked to give that Promise a name: Jesus, or “God Saves.” Ultimately, Joseph would be honored as the greatest saint of all time next to Mary, for as Blessed William Chaminade has reminded us, “To give life to someone is the greatest of all gifts. To save a life is the next. Who gave life to Jesus? It was Mary. Who saved his life? It was Joseph.”

    Let us pray that we become like St. Joseph; that every day, in the silence he modeled so well, we too grow stronger in our love for God, our faith in him, and our willingness to do whatever He asks. Then, like St. Joseph, when our own crises come, as they always do, we too can show God exactly what Joseph showed Him: The person He has called us from all eternity to be.

    St. Joseph, pray for us.

    1 The 19th-century Anglican bishop and theologian, Brooke Foss Westcott.

  • 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.

  • Time for an “Awe-full” Advent

    As part of a school Christmas pageant, some first-graders reenacted the nativity story. Mary and Joseph, weary after their journey, sat by the manger and closed their eyes. The lights went out. When they came back on, Joseph woke up, looked in the manger and said, “Mary, wake up! Wake up! Look who you had!”

    As we all know, children get so excited at this time of year. Every sight, sound, and smell of the season is a wonder, and they are so full of anticipation that time seems to stand still; every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas seems like an eternity.

    But we also know that as we grow older the same time seems to fly. So many things occupy our minds; there are gifts to buy, parties to plan, places to go, people to see. Before we know it, Christmas is upon us and the only wonder that remains is where the time has gone.

    St. Gregory the Great once said that we make idols of our concepts, but wisdom is born of wonder. Every hint of wonder, every shred of joy in that little voice who cried, “Wake up! Look who you had!” is a reminder that any concept of Advent is an idol if it does not lead us more deeply to the wonder of Christ, who is Wisdom.

    It’s true that we are not children, time cannot stand still, and there are things during Advent that must be done. But it’s also true that Christ confers his Kingdom on those who trust like children, that time is what we make of it, and that our busyness is nothing but spiritual slumber when we yield to the temptation to put things before people, even ourself, and above all before our love of God, who loved us so much that he would take our flesh only to lay it down that we might live.

    Wake up! Wake up! Look who you have!

  • Minute Meditation: Thank God

    1 Thessalonians 1:1-5, 8b-10

    In the first reading today, St. Paul says,

    We give thanks to God always for all of you,
    remembering you in our prayers,
    unceasingly calling to mind your work of faith and labor of love
    and endurance in hope of our Lord Jesus Christ,
    before our God and Father,
    knowing, brothers and sisters loved by God, how you were chosen.
    For our Gospel did not come to you in word alone,
    but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with much conviction.

    I don’t. Thank God, I mean. At least, not enough.

    I know the ACTS of prayer – Adoration, Contrition, Thanksgiving, and Supplication – but tend to get stuck on the letter “S,” asking God for things. Of course I need to ask, but if that’s all I do then I risk treating God as little more than a divine vending machine. I also want to show God that I adore him, am sincerely sorry for my sins, and am grateful for all he has given.

    Which is where you come in. For as St. Paul reminded me this morning, God has given me you: People practicing the faith in your daily life, working to love all you meet, and enduring in great hope of the promises of Jesus Christ. I do thank God for you.

    But I can’t properly do that unless I also thank God for how you were chosen. Being self-centered and self-conscious, I get in the habit of behaving as if it all depends on me, that I must be eloquent enough, loving enough, patient enough. Those things are important but your faith doesn’t depend on them. No; as St. Paul reminded us, the Gospel comes to us not in word alone, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with much conviction. There is a power to the process far beyond any of us, working in ways we cannot understand, reaching us in depths no human being can go, touching and moving us in ways that nothing and no one else can.

    If that’s not worthy of thanksgiving, then what is?