Mark 10:45

Tag: Jesus Christ

  • Dirt and the Story of Us

    Dirt and the Story of Us

    Saturday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time

    Luke 8:4-15

    Today, we hear our Lord preach what most people call the parable of the sower, or the sower and the seed. But as you heard, it really isn’t about the sower or the seed; it’s about the dirt. And not just the dirt – it’s about how people are like the dirt. Although it doesn’t sound very appealing, his explanation reveals it as a novel and practical way to help us see not only who we are, but who we are meant to be.

    He begins with the soil on the path. Compacted and difficult to break through, this soil represents the hardened heart of those who refuse to hear the word. This might put us in mind of the scribes and Pharisees, but Jesus is speaking to us, too. Our hearts harden every time we refuse his call in any way, whether it is to forgive, to accept those who disagree with us, or to speak out in the face of evil.

    Then there is the rocky soil – those who believe until faith gets difficult. Again, we may think of the crowds who welcomed Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, or the Apostles during his passion, but what about us? It’s one thing to have faith when times are easy and God feels close, but what happens when times are hard and God feels far away? How easy it is to turn inward and lose heart!

    From there, Jesus speaks of the thorny soil, which represents those who follow for a while, but eventually allow worldly concerns to dominate. This is like the rich man who wanted to follow Jesus, but couldn’t find it in himself to give his money away. But is it also like us? Jesus is asking us to search our hearts, to see if there is something we’re holding onto at all costs, be it a “pet sin,” a worldly concern, or some pleasure that preoccupies us to the point of becoming an idol.

    As we contemplate these categories and evaluate ourselves in light of them, we can see that, although none of them fits us perfectly over the course of our life, some combination probably fits us a little too well over time. In his infinite love and mercy, our Lord never leaves us without hope or encouragement. He uses only one sentence – actually, one part of a sentence – to go beyond the failures and show us success.

    Where the soil on the path is the hardened heart who heard and refused, the rich soil is the heart that has heard the word and embraced it. This is the heart open to forgive, ready to welcome, and daring to speak when silence means sin. Where the rocky soil is the heart turned in on itself, the rich soil is the heart turned outward in goodness and generosity. Where the thorny soil is the heart that abandons Christ, the rich soil is the heart that bears fruit through perseverance (Luke 8:15).

    His final word, perseverance, reminds us that those in the rich soil are like everyone else; they aren’t spared any of the ups and downs of life. What differs is their attitude. Like those on the path, on the rocks, or among thorns, they too know suffering; unlike them, they see it not just as a mystery but as a part of God’s plan that will ultimately bring good. They too know trials and challenges, but not as things simply to be endured; for them, they are opportunities to grow in virtue. Where would prudence be without the ambiguities of life, fortitude without its fears, patience without its irritations, or justice without its unfairness? Perseverance, a gift of the Holy Spirit, is the bridge that brings us from who we are to who we are meant to be.

    Who could look at dirt and see and see the story of us? Only the One who could look at the dust of the earth, breathe His own life and image into it, and then write the story of us. Praised be Jesus Christ, true God and true man.

  • Servant and Seed

    Servant and Seed

    Saturday of the 16th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 7:1-11; Matthew 13:24-30

    The parable of the wheat and the weeds may leave us wondering. It certainly baffled the disciples. Next Tuesday we will hear them ask Jesus to explain it and, although he does, he leaves off two things: First, if wheat is always wheat and weeds are always weeds, is repentance even possible? Second, who do the slaves represent? Jesus identifies every other character, but never mentions the slaves. The parable has the answers but we must look more deeply into it to find them, which of course is why Christ told it to begin with.

    As for the wheat and weeds remaining the same, on the surface the parable does say that. But if that was our Lord’s point, it would contradict the first thing he said when he began his ministry: Repent (Matthew 4:17) and if Jesus is anything, he’s consistent. No; repentance isn’t only possible, it is central to the parable. The question is, who repents, and how?

    Enter the servants. Noticing the weeds, they offer to pull them, which seems like a good idea. But the master knows what the servants do not. For one thing, the weed, called darnel, looks a lot like wheat; even today it’s called wheat’s ‘evil twin.’ For another, the weed’s roots intertwine with wheat’s. Thus, by pulling the weeds in their ignorance and haste, the servants would actually cause what they most want to prevent. This is why the master advises the servants to let them grow together (Matthew 13:30).

    We see two things in this. First, it shows God’s love for his children, who he wants to live at all costs. Second, and equally important, it shows his love for his servants, who need to repent, or change their minds, from ignorance to knowledge and impetuousness to patience.

    Being patient doesn’t mean doing nothing; to the contrary, it sharpens their focus. The servants have one job – produce a fruitful harvest – not to judge what is wheat or weed. That will be done by others when God wills and at his direction alone.

    This is where we must take the parable to heart, for Christ is speaking to us. We are the servants. We look at the field – the Church, the world, and ourselves – and see the same thing they saw: wheat and weeds. Perhaps our reaction is like theirs; purge the evil quickly, that the good may thrive. But also like them, we may be ignorant and impetuous. Ask yourself: Have I ever been mistaken in my first impressions of people? Have I ever changed my opinion once I got to know them? Have I ever wanted others to be patient with me, despite the wrong things I have done or said?

    Even if we have made these kinds of mistakes, does that mean that we are never to judge our own actions or those of others and try to correct them? Certainly not; to be silent or impassive in the face of evil is exactly the kind of complacency our Lord condemns in the first reading. Earlier in this same gospel, Jesus urged us to be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48). But that is a perfection in love; therefore, our judgment and proclamation of the truth must be tempered by the same kind of mercy, compassion, and patience that God exalted in the first reading through the prophet Jeremiah, and that Christ himself has so perfectly shown us.

    This is why repentance is central to the parable. The effort we make to do these things, to be perfected in love, is the repentance, the change of mind, that our Master is calling for. It isn’t that we are either servants asked to produce a fruitful harvest or the wheat or weeds growing in the field. The parable teaches us that we are both servant and seed. For both, the watchwords are faithfulness, patience and perseverance; faith that God is working through us even when we cannot see it, patience with our own growth and that of others, and perseverance, that we may overcome every obstacle to become the good seed that makes the finest wheat, in the image of Christ, the Bread of Life.

  • 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?”

  • 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.

  • 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/

  • Heat and Light: Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    Malachi 3:1-4; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

    Today, 40 days after Christmas, is by tradition the day the Church sets aside to bless the candles she will use throughout the year. Their flame reminds us of God the Father, who said, Let there be light (Genesis 1:3), God the Son, who said, I am the Light of the World (John 8:12), and God the Holy Spirit, who appeared as tongues of fire (Acts 2:3). It’s no coincidence that the two key components of fire – heat and light – are mentioned in our readings.

    First, heat. We heard Malachi prophesy: But who will endure the day of his coming? And who can stand when he appears? For he is like the refiner’s fire (3:2). Hearing this took me back many years to when I was a printer and worked on a machine that used molten metal to set the type. After printing, we would drop the type into a pot of hot, liquefied metal. As it melted and the ink burned off, we would collect and discard the “dross,” or impurities floating in it, then skim off the film covering its surface. Only when we could look into that pot and see our own reflection did we know that the metal was ready.

    The prophet used fire in a similar way to remind us that, although we are made in the image and likeness of God, sin works like those impurities; it keeps God from seeing his reflection in us. We may well dread the pain of that divine burn but we need it, for his is the fire that heals; we need that purification to become what we most want: a mirror of God to the world. This is why St. Peter says, In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1:6-7).

    This brings us to the second aspect of fire: Light; specifically, Christ, who Simeon calls a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel (Luke 2:32). It’s no coincidence that during these darkest days of the year, mother Church has established a Feast to worship Christ the light of nations, who came to open the eyes of the blind, to bring out prisoners from confinement, and from the dungeon, those who live in darkness (Isaiah 42:6-7).

    This is the blindness, the prison, the darkness of sin. From your own experience, think how easy it is for us to get used to the dark; after awhile, our vision adjusts and we learn to make our way around. The longer we remain there, the more comfortable we become with it and the more jarring, painful even, it is to find ourselves thrust suddenly into the light. Yet that is exactly how the prophet Malachi said that Christ would come to the temple: suddenly (Malachi 3:1).

    No wonder Simeon calls Jesus a sign that will be contradicted, or “spoken against.” It happens to this day, for each one of us is a walking contradiction. We ask God to come and free us from our sins, then hesitate when he does. Why? Hebrews provided us a clue when it said that Christ came to free those who through fear of death had been subject to slavery all their life (2:15). We are afraid to admit it but we’ve grown comfortable in our sins. Asking God for freedom is one thing; actually having to die to ourselves to get it is another. Yet, that is the price. Embracing Christ means embracing the cross; there is no life in him without dying to ourselves. The thought of leaving the darkness to live in the light that tests us and shows us who we really are, can be frightening.

    But the author of Hebrews doesn’t leave it there; he assures us that we have a merciful and faithful high priest… tested through what he suffered… who is able to help those who are being tested (Hebrews 2:17-18). This is the infinite love and mercy of Christ, who invites us to see him not as an avenging angel breathing a fire that consumes and destroys but as the God-man who bears the fire that heals and recreates. Yes, there is pain in the heat and the light for they melt the chains of sin and show us who we are but also great joy, for they liberate and show us who we are created to be. And, we do not walk alone; Christ is the light that walks right beside us.

    This is the heart of what we celebrate today; that the light of Christ carries something the darkness never can: The hope of new life to come – our own presentation – when our Lord brings us with him to the heavenly temple and presents us to his Father and ours. Forever.

  • Of Prophets and Prophecy: The 6th Day of Christmas

    Of Prophets and Prophecy: The 6th Day of Christmas

    1 John 2:12-17; Luke 2:36-40

    When we hear the word “prophet,” we may think of men like Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Ezekiel, and “prophecy” as the word of God given to them concerning things that would happen in times to come. If so, Anna in today’s gospel is a good reminder that we have more thinking to do.

    First, she reminds us that prophets aren’t always men. Indeed, Anna is the first woman referred to in the New Testament as a prophet, but other women follow, namely Philip’s daughters (Acts 21:9) and the women of Acts 2:17-18 and 1 Corinthians 11:4-5. What’s more, she follows in the line of Old Testament prophetesses: Miriam, the sister of Moses and Aaron, Deborah, Huldah, and the mysterious woman in Isaiah (8:3), to name a few.

    These prophetesses, Anna included, also remind us that prophecy isn’t limited to oracles of future events. Miriam is noted for leading a beautiful song of thanksgiving for God’s deliverance of his people (Exodus 15:20), Deborah as one of the great Judges of Israel (Judges 4:4), and Huldah as the wise counselor who king Josiah relied on (2 Kings 22:14-20). Similarly, Anna speaks not of the future but of the here and now, giving thanks and proclaiming God’s long-awaited redemption.

    The Jewish scholar Abraham Heschel once said that the greatness of a prophet “lies not only in the ideas he expressed, but also in the moments he experienced. The prophet is a witness, and his words a testimony – to God’s power, to His justice and mercy.”1 What more sublime moment could any prophet experience than Anna’s encounter with the infant Christ? She, in whom the word of God remained (1 John 2:14) now gazed upon that Living Word; she who had long ago forsaken the world for love of the Father (1 John 2:15) now looked on Him who would offer the world His infinite love and mercy; and she who night and day devoted herself to the will of God (1 John 2:17) now adored Him who would see that same will done, to the Cross and far beyond.

    We don’t have Anna’s words; Luke says only that she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem (2:38). But this is all we need to know, for as Heschel also said, “In speaking, the prophet reveals God. This is the marvel of the prophet’s work; in his words, the invisible God becomes audible. He does not prove or argue. The thought he has to convey is more than language can contain. Divine power bursts in the words.”2 Whatever Anna said on that glorious day in the Temple or any day thereafter, divine power burst from her words; nothing she said could contain the God-Man revealed to her. Still, her job was not to prove or argue; it was to reveal God to those who had not seen; to make Him audible and by so doing reach their hearts with His, in hopes of making them burn as hers surely must have.

    This is our task as well. By our baptism we too are anointed priest, prophet, and king and by His gift of the Holy Eucharist we have him here with us as surely as Anna did in the Temple. So, let us do as she did: Old or young, widowed or not, at every Mass let us come forward, receive him, give thanks to him, and then speak about him to all. Even after two thousand years, we have no better words than Anna did; nevertheless, we have all we need. We too have the testimony of our lives. We must make them speak.

    St. Anna the Prophetess, pray for us.

    1Abraham J. Heschel. The Prophets. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, p 27.

    2Ibid.

  • 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!

  • The Paradox of Love: Friday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

    Joshua 24:1-13; Psalm 136:1; Matthew 19:3-12

    Today’s readings remind me of that famous scene in the musical Fiddler on the Roof when Tevye asks Golde, his wife of 25 years, do you love me? She replies, “Do I love you? For 25 years I’ve washed your clothes, cooked your meals, cleaned your house, given you children, milked the cow, after 25 years, why talk about love right now?” He repeats, do you love me? “I’m your wife.” I know… But do you love me? She thinks out loud, “Do I love him? For 25 years I’ve lived with him, fought him, starved with him, 25 years my bed is his, if that’s not love, what is?” Then you love me? Finally, she replies, “I suppose I do…”

    Why does this scene remind me of the readings? Because today Scripture focuses on what love is in its essence, and that scene highlights three key aspects of it.

    First, love is a verb. We love not in what we say but in what we do. Through Joshua, God speaks to people who, from the time of Abraham, through the oppression in Egypt, the fleeing, struggling, and starving in the desert, might well have asked, “God, do you love us?” Today we hear God reply: “Do I love you? Remember all the things I’ve done for you, and look what lies before you: You’ve made it to the Promised Land!”

    That reply echoes through the ages to today, to every one of us. We each have our own struggles, physical and spiritual. Through all of them, God isn’t sitting silently in the background; he is in every moment, working in ways beyond our understanding. His work may be unknown to us this moment, this month, or this year, but like the Promised Land, its fruit lies waiting. We must never mistake silence for inaction or indifference; God is eternally vigilant, eternally loving, always acting for our good.

    This brings up the second point: Love is timeless. How fitting that we hear Psalm 136 today, especially the antiphon, His mercy endures forever. The Hebrew word translated as “mercy” is hesed, which includes mercy but implies action, things we do when we are motivated by love and loyalty to someone else. In the scene from Fiddler on the Roof, remember that Golde replied, “After 25 years, why talk about love right now?” To her, the amount of time was not the point; she had committed her life to her marriage.

    Jesus speaks of this kind of commitment in the gospel when he quotes the passage from Genesis that a man is joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh (Genesis 2:24). Again to go back to the ancient language, the word for “joined” literally means, “glued.” Imagine gluing two pieces of paper, allowing them to dry, then trying to tear them apart. We know what will happen; the kind of pain and suffering that only such tearing can bring.

    This leads us to a third aspect of love, which in the words of venerable Fulton Sheen is that love is the soul of sacrifice. Recall how Golde replied when Tevye asked if she loved him: all the sacrifices she had made, the things she had endured, for him. But not just for him, for herself as well. Only those willing to make the greatest sacrifice for love’s sake can know the deepest joys that love brings. When it comes to love, joy and sacrifice can never be separated; in married life, in ministry, in whatever kind of service we are called, only those who are most fully open, who risk the greatest vulnerability, can know the deepest, most fulfilling joy: to know and to be known, to accept and be accepted; to love and to be loved.

    As in all things, the best model for all these aspects of love is our Lord, Jesus Christ. Who performed greater works of love than he? Whose love is more timeless? Who is the soul of sacrifice more than he who was willing to empty himself into his own creation to show us that those who risk the ultimate sacrifice of themselves are given the ultimate joy of resurrection to eternal life? Only Christ could most perfectly show us all this, the great paradox of love: that giving is receiving; that most fully knowing means to be most fully known; and that only by dying to ourselves can we reach the promised land of eternal life.

  • Change in His Native Place: Friday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 13:54-58

    For me, social media is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it’s been the best way to find out what my kids are doing; you know, things they hadn’t gotten around to telling me yet, like if they were pregnant or had a new job. Dads really are last to know. But social media can also be problematic. I decided to reconnect with people I knew over 50 years ago at St. Peter’s school. I found one of the kids I hung out with and sent him a note saying, “Hey, it’s me! Do you remember me?” He responded, “Yeah, I remember you. Those poor nuns and priests.” And that was that.

    I wanted to write back and say, “No, no, I’ve changed! I’m not the same kid,” but I let it go. I’ve done the same thing he was doing, maybe we all do – tending to paint people with a broad brush, stereotype them, see them as unchanging. I don’t like it when people do that to me, but I do it to them all the time. Maybe it’s human nature.

    This is similar to what I think happened to Jesus when he went back home. To them, he was just the carpenter’s kid, Mary’s son, who they remembered from the neighborhood. They couldn’t believe that he is or was anything else. And we know the result; Matthew tells us that Jesus did not work many mighty deeds there because of their lack of faith.

    Of course, the irony is that Jesus hadn’t changed. As Scripture says, he is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). We can’t blame the people for not seeing that; his years in Nazareth are called “hidden” for a reason. The problem was not the peoples’ failure to learn about Jesus in the past but their failure to learn from him in the present. They were right to believe he hadn’t changed; they were wrong to believe that their knowledge of him didn’t need to change, either. Like my old classmate, like me, they failed to realize they didn’t know everything they needed to know about him. As Jesus showed them, for the sake of their own salvation they needed to change their minds.

    Change of mind and its relationship to faith is clearly important to Christ. It was among the first words he spoke in Mark’s gospel: Repent, and believe (Mark 1:15). Repent is a translation of a Greek compound word that means “change your mind.” As I’ve said before, it’s one thing to hear Jesus tell tax collectors or prostitutes to change their mind; we expect that. What we don’t expect, whether it’s people in ancient Nazareth or us in the modern day, is for him to tell us to change our mind when we think we’re already doing exactly what God wants!

    But he does say that to every one of us, and I think I know why. Remember the reaction Jesus got after the Sermon on the Mount; Matthew tells us the crowds were astonished at his teaching (Matthew 7:28). In both cases, astonishment. But at the Mount he was the new sensation; here in Nazareth, just the same, familiar Jesus. We must ask ourselves which Jesus we follow. Is his teaching still challenging us, or have his words become too familiar to us? Do we find new ways to apply them, or have they acquired a sameness? Are we continuing to grow in our knowledge and love of God, or do we think we know and love him as well as we need to?

    Regardless how well we think we know him or his message, Jesus challenges us because he’s looking for a reaction. He wants us to challenge him and to challenge ourselves. Although the questions he got in Nazareth were tinged in irony, they lie at the heart of all the gospels and the heart of our faith: Is he not the carpenter’s son? Where did this man get all this? These are just another way of asking the question that also appears in every gospel, Who do you say that I am?

    One final point. Matthew tells us that when Jesus heard these questions, he was in his native place (Matthew 13:54). We could say that the Church is our Lord’s native place, but it is also true that his native place is within each of us, where God has written his image. Certainly as we receive Jesus in Holy Communion he takes up residence in the most special way inside us. That is where he meets us, counsels us, urges us constantly to change our mind, to know him more deeply, and to contemplate that crucial question, Is he not the carpenter’s son? We do well to remember that every one of us, every day of our life, is challenged to answer those questions, and that everything we do from the time we wake up until the time we go to bed is our answer to them. Let us make it our most fervent hope and prayer that Christ is most truly honored there, in his native place.