Mark 10:45

Tag: Jesus

  • Being Mrs. McMahon

    Being Mrs. McMahon

    The 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Isaiah 25:6-10a; Philippians 4:12-14, 19-20; Matthew 22:1-14

    When my brother asked me to be his daughter’s Godfather, I was delighted. I flew to New York planning to spend the weekend at his home, enjoy the baptism, the baby, the party, and catching up with relatives I hadn’t seen in years. Unfortunately, we flew through a lot of turbulence; by the time we landed, I felt terrible. I got to his house, found a bed, and laid down for a while to recover.

    When I woke up, no one was home except a woman working on the front lawn – my sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. McMahon. She looked up, smiled, and asked, “Feeling better?” I said I was. “Good,” she replied, “Pick up that sack of dirt and follow me.” Next thing I knew, we were both working on the front lawn. When we finished, I hoped that was it, but she said, “Now, on to the back yard.” Ugh. An hour later, she said, “Let’s go in now.” I was so relieved – until I got in. I should’ve known; there were folding tables to put up, tablecloths to lay, places to set, dishes to do, a dinner to start, and floors to vacuum. When my brother came home, he said, “You didn’t have to do all this!” I said, “Yes, I did! Have you ever met your mother-in-law? Is she always like this?”

    I admit that at the time I was feeling very put upon. I went there expecting to sit around, take it easy, and enjoy myself. Instead, I felt like I was the host and my brother and his family were the guests. However, the next day, when I saw them relaxed and enjoying themselves, I had a change of heart; I felt bad that it hadn’t occurred to me to do what Mrs. McMahon did: Look around, see how I might be able to help, and get busy.

    That reminded me about the first of the two surprises in today’s parable. As you know, parables are designed to make us think by adding plot twists we don’t expect. The first twist was the reaction of the guests who were re-invited to a banquet they had already refused. We expect them to be annoyed, but to kill the servants? What’s that all about?

    Well, it’s a parable, so the killing symbolizes something; in this case, how we sometimes kill the urge to be selfless. As Bishop Sheen once reminded us, God tempts us far more often than Satan does. Think of all the times in a day we are “tempted” to put other people first, think about them, do something nice for them. These are moments of actual grace; invitations from God to unite our will to His by seeking the good of others. Now, consider what putting our own will first does, like I did: it smothers those impulses.

    Most of us try to do both, to look out for others and for ourselves. That’s not a problem. The problem comes when we get comfortable and refuse to be challenged. Maybe we’ve been invited to help at the parish, go to a pro-life chain, work at a food pantry, or any of a number of things. Sometimes we really can’t do it; other times we can, but it’s very tempting to turn that invitation down in favor of what we want. We like doing our own will, and it may content us for a while, but in the end we’re not happy. Happiness only comes when we take advantage of the actual graces God makes available – like when He gave me the example of Mrs. McMahon to show me, against my will, that happiness involves a lot more than just “showing up.”

    And that reminds me of the second twist in the parable: The wedding garment. Why is the man without one punished so severely when he had no idea he was going to need it? Scholars tell us that, in those days, if a man showed up without a proper garment, the host would offer him one from his own stock. That’s not unheard of today. Some high-end restaurants require a tie and suit coat; they offer them to men who come in without them, and will escort them out if they refuse. So in the parable: A garment was available, the man refused to wear it, and as a result was “escorted out” in no uncertain terms.

    But again, the question is, what does the garment symbolize? As I see it, it is a sign that we have “put on Christ,” in the words of St. Paul (Romans 13:14), or, in modern terms, that we are “walking the talk.” I went to New York to be a Godparent – someone who had put on Christ, was living the faith. But was I? Not so much. I went to Mass every week, sang in the choir, even donated money, but in my heart, I knew that I was living every other hour of the week as if I’d never heard of Christ. On the other hand, there was Mrs. McMahon; she, too, had traveled a long way, and was twice my age. Yet she almost never sat down, either the day before or the day of the baptism; instead, she served, saw to other peoples’ needs. And she was happy doing it. Her daughter told me that her mom was just that way; wherever she went, she saw the need and tried to fill it. Of the two of us, she was the one who had put on Christ, who lived her faith for the world to see.

    So, what does this mean for us? That we’re all supposed to be another Mrs. McMahon? Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that we, too, are called to show Christ to the world. How? As St. Paul said, by knowing how to live in humble circumstances or abundance, well-fed or hungry, in plenty or in need, because the source of our happiness is none of those things, it is Christ alone. From him comes the strength we need not only to endure, but to prosper. And no, in the sense that God already has one Mrs. McMahon; he doesn’t need any more. What he needs is us, with the gifts he has given us. Every day, he invites us in countless ways to become the people he created us to be. Is it hard? Yes. Do we sometimes want to turn the invitation down, go in and relax? Sure. But again, take heart, and remember: We have the strength of Christ on our side. In him, we can do all things.

    I can almost hear him saying, “Feeling better? Good. Pick up that cross and follow me.”

  • Beyond Words

    Beyond Words

    Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary

    Acts 1:12-14; Luke 1:26-38

    There are moments in our lives, times of such emotional power, that, as we reflect on them, go beyond our ability to describe. They are the best times – weddings, births, special occasions with family and friends, spiritual consolations – and the worst – deaths, periods of emotional or physical suffering, of desolation. However good or bad, we can picture them, vividly remember them, but, no matter how hard we try, we cannot describe our feelings about them. They go beyond words.

    But they aren’t beyond God. It is an article of our faith that God is perfectly above all things and, at the same time, perfectly within them. That includes us; every moment of our lives, from the most precious to the most mundane, and all the feelings wrapped up in them, are perfectly known to God. Even if full understanding of the events of our lives eludes us, we can do what the Blessed Mother did: reflect on them in our hearts, that in our contemplation, God may more deeply reveal Himself to us, and help us see how He works through the mysteries of life.

    One way our faith gives us to do that is through repetitive prayer. There is something about its rhythm and regularity that, like breathing, comes naturally to us. Repetition is a prayer form as ancient as Judaism; the Lord Jesus himself repeated the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4) every day, morning and evening. We see it in his Church, too. We may know them as “aspirations” – short prayers that have developed over the centuries. Some spring from inspiration, such as, “Let go and let God,” or “Lord Jesus, I trust in You,” others from Scripture, such as, My Lord and my God (John 20:28), or Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief (Mark 9:24). One of our most popular repetitive prayers, the Hail Mary, combines these. The first half is Scriptural, quoting the angelic salutation from Luke that we heard today, as well as part of Elizabeth’s greeting, while the second is an intercessory prayer, asking Mary, as Mother of God, to pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

    While it would take too long to trace its development, suffice it to say that, in the words of Pope St. John Paul II, the rosary is centered on Christ but distinctly Marian in character. We see this throughout its mysteries; there are the more familiar, such as The Annunciation and Visitation, but also the more obscure, such as The Appearance of Christ to Mary after the Resurrection and Mary Meets Jesus Carrying the Cross, both of which are prayed by some Franciscans to this day.1

    Regardless the mystery, the rosary does two things the Blessed Mother wants most. First, it points us to her Son. Every decade of every mystery, whether joyful, sorrowful, glorious, or luminous, is an invitation to contemplate more deeply the mystery of Christ; not only how he works in these events, but how he works in our own lives. Second, as a sacramental (a visible sign instituted by the Church to give grace), the rosary leads us, if we are ready to receive it, to sanctifying grace. In both ways, the rosary is the road that, with each passing bead, helps us to love Christ as his Mother has always loved him: Far, far beyond words.

    Our Lady of the Rosary, pray for us.

    1https://franciscanmissionaries.com/7-decade-rosary/

  • The Award We All Want

    The Award We All Want

    Memorial of the Dedication of the Basilica of St. Mary Major

    Revelation 21:1-5a; Luke 11:27-28

    Years ago, one of the kids came home from school with an award from a competition. I was happy, but I was the only one. My daughter’s expression told me that, whatever this was, it wasn’t what she expected or wanted. Then I saw it: A “participation award.” I admit, if I was her, I wouldn’t have liked it either. Everybody gets one, no matter how they do? Big deal!

    I thought of that when I read today’s gospel passage. A woman, clearly impressed by Christ’s teaching, complimented him on his mother. However, like some of his other responses when family was involved, this one struck me as, if not insulting, a little underwhelming. First, he corrected the woman by overruling her blessing (Rather…), then substituted one that included anyone who heard the word of God and did it. In other words, it seemed like Jesus was giving his mom the first-century equivalent of a participation award.

    Part of the problem is what gets lost in translation. Where in English the word ‘rather’ often implies ‘this and not that,’ the same word in Greek can just as easily imply, ‘this and that.’ So, Luke’s intention seems to have been that Jesus not only agreed with the woman’s blessing but added one of his own. His mother was doubly blessed!

    Still, facts are facts; correction or not, Jesus did add a blessing that included many others along with Mary, in a very real sense equating them with her. Why? Because, as he said in Revelation (1:5), he was making all things new. It is true that, in his humanity, Jesus could have only one biological family, but it is also true that his divinity has no such limit. That is why he said that when he was lifted up from the earth, he would draw all people to himself (John 12:32). Therefore, what bonds us one to the other is not defined
    in terms of blood relationships; what bonds us to each other, and to God, is the precious
    blood of Christ. This we can all share, for this we have in common with all people.

    Here we come to the heart of the honor we accord Mary. The infinitely powerful God made himself dependent on a lowly little girl from Nazareth for the blood that would give life to His Son, who would in turn pour out that blood for the life of the world. This in turn goes to the heart of our Feast today, for the Dedication of the Basilica of St. Mary Major celebrates the declaration by the Council of Ephesus made centuries ago, that Mary is the mother of the only Son of God; her blood flowed through his veins. Truly, this is a woman who heard the word of God and put her body and soul into doing it!

    Given that, let us meditate for a moment on what our Lord’s blessing today means for us. Like Jesus, there is a limit to the number of people who can be in our biological family. But think of all the people who can be in our spiritual family, to whom we can be a spiritual mother, father, sister, or brother. From our Lord’s point of view – which is the only one that matters – that is everyone we meet. Let us ask ourselves: What would the world be like if I tried just a little bit harder to treat them like the family Christ told us they already are? OK, but how? By doing what he praised his mother for: Hearing the word of God and doing it. Again, how? Well, we all know there isn’t one way; ours will depend on the gifts God gave us, the challenges that make it hard to use them, and the determination we show working to overcome those challenges.

    Sounds a lot like a competition, doesn’t it? It is. We know our opponents: The world, the flesh, and the devil, and we know the stakes: Eternity. What we must remember is that we go to our eternal home not with a participation award, but with whatever awared Christ sees fit to give us. And that is a very big deal.

    Mary, most blessed mother of God, pray for us.

    And now a word from our sponsor…

  • To Fear and Fear Not

    To Fear and Fear Not

    Saturday of the 14th Week in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 10:24-33

    One thing we do as adults is teach children that there are things in life they should fear, and things they should not. For example, when kids are very young, we want them to be afraid of fire or crossing the street, but not afraid to talk to us about problems they have or things that bother them. Then, as they grow older, these fears mature; they learn that they don’t need to fear stoves or cars, but do need to learn how to use them responsibly. Similarly, they learn that we love them and can help, so they don’t need to be afraid to talk to us.

    In the gospel today, our Lord teaches us very much the same way. There are things we should fear, and things we should not.

    First and foremost, we should fear the Lord, for only He has power over both our body and our soul. But what does it mean to “fear” the Lord? As a child would understand it, fear of the Lord is coming to see who God is and who we are in comparison. But, like other fears, fear of the Lord is meant to mature into a deeper understanding, one of respect born of the deepest possible love. For example, picture the person you love the most and imagine that, in a moment of weakness, you said something hurtful about them to someone else. Then, imagine turning around, seeing them, and realizing they heard every word you just said. Who wouldn’t fear that moment? That is mature fear of the Lord: the fear of saying or doing anything that might offend God, who you love and respect above all else.

    If we could evangelize like that – fearing only God and offending Him – then of course we wouldn’t fear anyone or anything else. The question is how we do that.

    For one thing, we cannot truly love God unless we admit to Him and ourselves that we will always have some level of fear for ourselves and our safety. It’s a natural human reaction, and disciples of Christ certainly have good reason to feel it. In some countries, we are jailed, exiled, or executed, and while our country is better, hundreds of churches are vandalized or burned to the ground every year. The real question isn’t whether we fear for ourselves, but whether we allow that fear to affect what we say and do as disciples of Christ. That is why Christ said, It is enough… for the slave that he become like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more those of his household (Matthew 10:25)! He is teaching us that, if we truly love God, then we shouldn’t fear being insulted or even persecuted for it; to the contrary, we should see it is a badge of honor. If it was good enough for Christ, it’s good enough for us.

    For another, if we love God and are willing to respond to his call, then we have to listen to what He said in this section of Matthew and put it into practice. To be an evangelist is to be shrewd and simple; it means watching people as Christ did, learning how they think and how they see life, so we can meet them where they are, and it means asking for the inspiration of the Holy Spirit so He can work through us to bring them where He wants them to be.

    Above all, remember this: The love of Christ teaches us that no matter how hard it is to live the Christian life, no matter how lost or alone we feel while trying to do it, true love of God leaves us nothing to fear. For as much as we love Him, God, who knows the fall of every sparrow, loves us infinitely more; every hair of our head has been counted. And we can count on this: He who brought us this far will not abandon us now. He will make a way, He will show us the way, for He is the way.

  • Ripple Effects

    Ripple Effects

    Friday of the 9th Week in Ordinary Time
    Memorial of St. Ephrem the Syrian, Deacon and Doctor of the Church

    Tobit 11:5-17; Mark 12:35-37

    In 1970, a teacher noticed that, if he asked one student to stop an annoying or distracting behavior, other students also stopped it; conversely, if he failed to reprimand a student for that behavior, other students began doing it. He called this the ‘ripple effect,’ a term we still use to describe how the behavior of one person affect others, who then affect others, and so on, like the ever-widening waves produced by a stone dropped in a pond.

    We see examples of this in the readings. Tobiah’s return is one example. His mother, tense for most of the story because his return is so overdue, had turned that tension on her husband; three times so far, she has been very short with him. But upon Tobiah’s return, she rejoices; as a result, she takes a softer tone with Tobit. Then there is how Tobiah’s return affected Tobit. Tobiah has brought healing; once healed, Tobit first joyfully blesses God, then bonds even more closely with his son. Finally, Tobiah’s new wife, Sarah, appears; this causes Tobit and Anna to rejoice, then their joy spreads to all the Jews of Nineveh. In the gospel, our Lord’s preaching is another example. He quotes Psalm 110:1, which first delights his hearers, then went on to delight the early Church. In fact, it delighted her so much that the authors of the New Testament cited that verse more than any other in the Old Testament in support of Jesus as the only begotten Son of God. That’s a ripple effect so large it’s almost beyond measure!

    We also see ripple effects in the life of St. Ephrem, who we remember today. One troublesome stone in the pond was his temper; ultimately, it so adversely affected those around him that he ended up in prison. Once there, though, Ephrem cast a much more productive stone in the pond: contemplation. Taking the time prison gave him to reflect on how his behavior affected himself and others, Ephrem promised God that, if he was released, he would make each day count. The ripples from that stone were impressive; once out of prison, he composed hundreds of hymns, was ordained a deacon, became one of the first to incorporate music into the sacred liturgy, to use women singers in the choir, and was foundational to the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception of Mary.

    Of course, this should prompt us to take a moment to consider the ripple effects in our own lives, both the good and the bad. First, think about how the good we have done has allowed others to do good, which has in turn allowed still others. Imagine the positive impact we have made on all those people! What better reason is there to praise God, as the psalmist sings today? Yet, at the same time, what better reason to ask God’s mercy, for if the good we have done has rippled through the world in a positive way, what have our sins done? While this is a sobering thought, it is key to any good examination of conscience. In the end, only God knows, and may well reveal at our judgment, how the good we have done and the sins we have committed have affected the destinies of other people.

    The book of Tobit makes clear that there is a supernatural element to all of this. Therein lies a warning; we know the torment the demon inflicted on Sarah in the story, and we know the accuser is still among us, whispering in our ear. But on the other hand, therein also lies the best news of all: That, in his infinite love and mercy, God will come to us as Tobiah and Raphael came to Tobit and his family, heal our brokenness, and bring us joy that radiates outward and touches all we come in contact with. All we have to do is ask, for the prayer of a contrite heart yields the greatest ripple effect of all time: the merits of the cross and resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ. As St. Ephrem once said,

    “Glory be to Thee, Who laid Thy cross as a bridge over death, that souls might pass over upon it from the dwelling of the dead to the dwelling of life!”

    St. Ephrem, pray for us.

  • True Wisdom

    True Wisdom

    Feast of St. Charles Lwanga and Companions (June 3rd)

    Sirach 51:12cd-20; Mark 11:27-53

    If we were there in 1886, at the place Charles Lwanga and his companions were being martyred for the faith, we probably would have called the outlook bleak. The young king, a pedophile furious because the young Christian men in his court refused his advances, saw to it that they were rounded up, marched out of the capital city, and killed. In all this, Charles was exemplary; he was baptized, instructed the others, had them baptized, and, when he spoke, it was to pray, encourage the others, or even urge his executioners to accept Christ. When he and the others died, all that remained was a tiny group of Christians, their king against them, very little outside support, and Muslims and pagans all around. To all the world, it must have looked like the Church in Uganda was finished.

    Yet, look what happened: Today, and for many June Thirds past, Mass has taken place on that very spot, in a great basilica, with a shrine, and grounds dedicated to those men. The place the king chose to wipe out the Church has instead become the place where hundreds of thousands gather every year to celebrate and ask the intercession of twenty-two martyrs whose faith bore so great a harvest. Indeed, from that small band they inspired, Christianity in Africa has grown to include 400 million people.

    These and all the martyrs are perfect examples of what the world has had such a hard time understanding: When it comes to the Church and how things between her and the world will unfold, human beings are simply not in control; God is. For centuries, civil authorities have gone out of their way to change, curtail, or outright destroy the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, every time, she has not only survived but flourished, while they have all come and gone.

    It would be nice if we could confine that problem to the outside world, but, as the gospel shows, religious people also tend to forget who is in control. We can single out the chief priests, scribes, and elders in today’s gospel for assuming that God would never work through John or Jesus, but what about us? We should stop for a moment and ask if we ever set ourselves up as authorities over God. Do we expect God to act at certain times or certain ways, give us certain answers, or work through certain people? I’m sure that if we reflect long enough, all of us can think of times when God has surprised us – worked in places, people, and ways we never expected. And the results, while they may not have been what we wanted, were exactly what God intended, for that is his Providence.

    The author of the first reading urges us to take a much more prudent course: Rather than assume wisdom is something we already have, assume it’s something we must be given. He counsels us to pray for it openly, seek it persistently, and learn from our experiences. This is what St. Charles Lwanga and all the martyrs did, and, since martyr means witness, it is what we must do as well. Let us resolve, then, to see God in all people and places, accept what he is pleased to give us, and see his hand at work in the events and experiences of our lives. Only by so doing can we become more and more like Christ, who is Wisdom and King of martyrs.

    St. Charles Lwanga and Companions, pray for us.

  • Reconsidering Success

    Reconsidering Success

    Thursday of the 6th Week of Easter

    Acts 18:1-8; Psalm 98:2; John 16:16-20

    Perhaps more than any other New Testament author, Luke loves success stories. The first part of the Acts of the Apostles is full of them; chapter after chapter, the Apostles heal, defy the Sanhedrin, preach, baptize thousands, and ordain deacons.

    At the same time, he doesn’t shy away from problems; in fact, in the middle of the book, he runs through a list of them: First, Mark deserts Paul (or so he thinks); then, after an argument, he and Barnabas go their separate ways. Next, Paul is imprisoned in Phillipi, gets chased out of two other towns, and is pretty much ignored in Athens. Meanwhile, in Rome, the Christians have fared so badly that the emperor threw them out, as Aquila and Priscilla know firsthand. In today’s reading, the three of them are in Corinth, but nothing has improved; in fact, Paul is so disgusted by yet more rejection in a synagogue that he says he is abandoning his mission to the Jews entirely.

    Loving success as Luke does, why talk about failure? I think it’s because he’s trying to tell us something. Consider: Because Paul went to Corinth, he founded the Church there; because he did that, and poured himself into it for a year and a half, we have two of his greatest letters, which we read, study, and pray to this day. Because Aquila and Priscilla were kicked out of Rome and went to Corinth, they met Paul and became not only co-workers but friends; they housed him, helped him, even risked their lives for him (Romans 16:3). Finally, because Paul preached Christ to the Jews despite his frustration, the synagogue official became a Christian, which seems to have triggered a series of conversions to Christ. God only knows how many lives were changed for the good in spite of those seemingly bad events. Given that, what is success and what’s failure?

    That is Luke’s first point. We know, because Christ has told us, that our job is to bring him to the world. What we do not know is the plan – how that will be done. When we act as if we do know, we fall into the trap of defining success and failure on our own terms. Paul knew this, which is why he later wrote to this same church in Corinth, I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused the growth (1 Corinthians 3:5-7). In other words, we each have an important part to play, but God has the plan.

    This brings up the second point, which is that even the work that is ours to do cannot be done without others. Paul couldn’t do everything alone. We already know about Aquila and Priscilla, but remember Silas and Timothy; Luke told us that it was their coming to Corinth that allowed Paul to occupy himself totally with preaching the word (Acts 18:5). And, even in the broken or problematic relationships, the Apostles and others were still on the same side. If the man Luke calls “Mark” is the evangelist, then we know what he did! Also, although Paul and Barnabas separated, both continued in ministry (1 Corinthians 9:6). Paul would be the first to admit that if he succeeded, he didn’t do it alone.

    What held true in Luke’s time still holds true for us. While we too we know the joy of seeing people come to faith and the heartbreak of seeing others walk away, we must keep a few things in mind. First, success and failure are not ours to assign; that job belongs to Christ. Our job is to keep bringing him to others by what we say and do, no matter how hard that is. Second, we have no idea what seeds of success lie in each apparent failure; that, too, is for God alone to know. Third, we can’t do it without each other. God has given each of us gifts and intends us to use them together. Like Mark, Paul, and Barnabas, we may not always see eye to eye, but we are on the same side, bound by the love of Christ and pledged to serve him in and with each other. Finally, and above everything else, let us praise God for whatever success we achieve; for, although we speak the words, only God moves the heart; although we teach the truth, only God reveals himself; and although we reach out to others, only God draws them near.

  • Unforgettable

    Unforgettable

    Friday of the 5th Week of Easter

    Acts 15:22-31; John 15:12-17

    “We hold these truths to be self-evident…”
    “Four score and seven years ago…”
    “I have a dream…”

    Every one of us recognizes these phrases, but what is it about them that makes them so unforgettable? Is it their eloquence, or the passion that drove men to speak them? No, it’s what they’re speaking about; powerful truths like liberty, justice, and equality, that resonate in the heart of every person, across time.

    Today, another phrase, just as powerful and resonant, appears. We don’t know who wrote it, or who spoke it for the first time; all we have are the words, It is the decision of the Holy Spirit and of us… (Acts 15:28). Where’s the power or resonance in that? Think for a moment. Before this, when men spoke for God, as in the prophets, we heard things like, “The word of the Lord came to the prophet…” But not here; these are men, gathered together, praying, talking, arguing, trying to resolve a difficult and divisive issue. This phrase dares to say that, as they did so, God didn’t decide for them, he decided with them. Who are they to make such a claim?

    Jesus told us in the gospel exactly who they are: Men, chosen by him, appointed to go and bear fruit. Vested with his authority, given the keys of the Kingdom, and gathered in his name, these men also received his promise, the Holy Spirit, who would lead them into all truth (John 16:13). Note: Lead them, not tell them.

    History bears witness to this. Every time the Church has been confronted with issues that threaten her unity, such as this one, her leaders have met in what is called a Council. To date, there have been 21 of these “ecumenical”, or worldwide, Councils, each taking the same form: Bishops gather, debate, pray, and decide. Emotions can run high, words can get sharp, and the issues can take days or even decades to work through. Still, and every time, decisions are reached, written down, and published for the world to see.

    And, as we hear, the process works. Luke tells us that the people were delighted with the exhortation (Acts 15:31). Some Councils have ended this way. At Ephesus for example, bishops were hoisted up by the people in a joyful parade. At the end of others, like Vatican I, some bishops have run for their lives. Regardless, each Council has done what it set out to do, always in union with the Holy Spirit and collaboration with each other.

    The secret to making it work was given by Christ in the gospel in another unforgettable phrase: Love one another (John 15:17). It is love – the love of a Master who humbles himself to be a friend; who holds nothing back; who reveals everything to his friends; who not only chooses but also empowers them to do as he has done: to hold love for one another as the highest value, even to the giving of their own lives.

    The readings today remind us that we have a lot to be thankful for. First, that God has given us the Church, to which we can turn for answers, confident that God himself leads her into all truth. Second, that God has given us the Holy Spirit in many ways, not least of which is what the Second Vatican Council called the “sense of the faithful” – that inner voice that helps us discern what is truly of God. Finally, that God has given us himself, for God is love, and it is his love that binds us together. Like the bishops, we face problems with the world and sometimes with each other. But, if we keep in mind that we always gather in his name, and pray to be led by the Holy Spirit as he leads the Church, then even though we may not come up with many solutions, we will come to a deeper understanding and love of God, ourselves, and each other. The key is unity; to paraphrase Fr. Henri Nouwen, our best solutions are words and actions that do not divide but unite, that do not create conflict but unity, and that do not hurt but heal.

  • The Power of the Group

    The Power of the Group

    Wednesday of the 5th Week of Easter

    Acts 15:1-6; John 15:1-8

    Anyone who has ever been a parent or started a job knows that you can read all the books, take all the classes, and get all the training you want. No matter; once you start doing it on your own, things are going to come up that never occurred to you, and that you’re going to have to deal with.

    This was true for the Apostles, too. Jesus trained them well: day after day they followed him, talked with him, asked him questions, watched him work; he even sent them out two-by-two for on-the-job training. But now, here they are, facing a problem they never dreamed would happen, but one they have to deal with.

    We might not think that the Church growing is a problem, but that’s because we aren’t the Christian Pharisees. In their opinion, Gentiles could not be admitted to the Church until they accepted Mosaic law and practices, including circumcision. We don’t hear their rationale, but it’s probably the logical one: Jesus was a Jew. Of course, others disagree; St. Paul, for example, who would write that in Christ Jesus, neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love (Galatians 5:6). Clearly, there is stalemate; they need a way forward, and they’re going to have to do it on their own, because Jesus never said anything about this.

    Or did he? Perhaps there were signs in his words or actions.

    As for his actions, the Apostles probably remember that Jesus worked with them as a group; he called them in groups, taught them as a group, even sent them out in groups. For another, he made it a habit to include rather than exclude people; for the Apostles in particular, he even gave them authority to govern, baptize and teach in his name. Finally, Jesus prayed for unity, that they may all be one as he and the Father are one (John 17:21-23). How could it be surprising that, in response to the crisis facing the Church, the Apostles would come together as a group, include the presbyters to whom they had also given authority, and then work to make sure that the unity Jesus prayed for was preserved at all costs?

    As if that weren’t enough, consider what the Apostles heard him say in just the last few days: I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you (John 14:18); I am going away and I will come back to you (John 14:28); the Advocate, the Holy Spirit… will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you (John 14:26); I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing (John 15:5).

    All this serves as a context to better understand why the Apostles would respond as they did. Our Lord had given ample evidence that he would be with them, as would the Holy Spirit. He knew very well that problems would crop up again and again, threatening to divide the Church, and that we wouldn’t know what to do. That’s why he went to such lengths to reassure us that when difficulties arise, we don’t have to know what to do; that’s his job, and there is no one better at it.

    So then, what’s our job? Do what the Apostles did: Remain in him; assemble in his name, and in his name ask for whatever we want. When we do that, we will find exactly what the Apostles and presbyters found: No matter what problem we might have, Jesus is the answer; he is the power of the group.

  • Both Beggar and Bishop

    Both Beggar and Bishop

    Saturday of the 4th Week of Easter

    Acts 13:44-52; John 14:7-14

    One Sunday in late November, members of a Mormon congregation in suburban Salt Lake City were greeted by a homeless man in the parking lot. As he approached and wished them a Happy Thanksgiving, he got various reactions; most people ignored him, a few gave him money, still others asked him to get off the property. Imagine their surprise when the man not only attended the service with them, but revealed that he was actually a Mormon bishop in disguise.

    In the gospel, our Lord said, “Have I been with you for so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?” (John 14:9). As usual, that question is meant for us, too, but before answering, keep in mind that the word John uses for “know” means “to know by experience.” So, the question is, have we been with Jesus for so long a time and still not experienced him?

    We certainly have ample opportunity. For one thing, we experience him in each other. As St. Paul taught, we are the Body of Christ. For another, we experience him in the Scriptures, where he has given us plenty to contemplate. Finally, we have the most profound experience of all – the Blessed Sacrament, Jesus Christ himself – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. All these experiences have been given to us that we might come to know and love him more deeply.

    Still, in the face of all that, we have the deep-seated problem of failing to find Christ when he’s standing right in front of us. I say deep-seated because we’ve been fighting it at least since the time of St. John Chrysostom, who said that if we cannot find Christ in the beggar at the church door, we won’t find Him in the chalice.1 What good is the faith that shows us Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, if in practice we ignore Christ in those around us?

    If only it was as simple as mistaking the bishop for the beggar! Although the example shows that we still struggle with it, we are well-trained (rightly so!), to see Christ in the poor, the marginalized, and the suffering: they, as St. Teresa of Calcutta said, are Jesus in his most distressing disguise.2 But what about our Lord’s more subtle disguise – the people we spend so much time with? That can be harder; for, as so many of us know, when it comes to our families, friends, co-workers, and fellow parishioners, familiarity often breeds contempt.

    Sadly, contempt has blinded religious people for centuries. It isn’t hard to understand. The first reading is a perfect example; Paul and Barnabas preached to the Jews what sounded an awful lot like heresy. Naturally, that’s going to stir up anger, resentment, and ill will. We expect that. What we don’t expect is the persecution that followed; such behavior hardly reflects the true love or knowledge of God. How could it surprise anyone that separation would result, a wound in God’s people that aches to this day.

    But again, the issue is not them, but us. We too disagree, make mistakes, hurt each other, and stir up feelings of resentment, disappointment, or even anger, that threaten to divide us. Constantly, we must go back to the question of Jesus, have you been with me so long and still do not know me? To know Christ is to know the love that unites us one to the other; that forgives as we have been forgiven, and that looks at both beggar and bishop and sees the only thing that matters – the image and likeness of Almighty God.

    1This seems a paraphrase of section 4 of Homily 50 on Matthew: https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/200150.htm

    2https://brandonvogt.com/his-most-distressing-disguise/

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