Mark 10:45

Tag: Mark

  • 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.

  • The Lesson of the Right Tree

    The Lesson of the Right Tree

    Wednesday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

    Genesis 2:4b-9, 15-17; Mark 7:14-23

    Throughout the bible, certain phrases appear in pairs, one at the beginning and the other at the end of a section. Think of these phrases as bookends, and what appears in-between as an explanation of their meaning. Sometimes, the bookends appear close together, for example in the same biblical story, other times further apart, like the beginning and end of a book.

    Today we hear the first of two bookends that are separated by virtually the entire bible. We heard it when the author of the second Creation story spoke of the tree of life in the middle of the garden. The other bookend will not appear until the very last book of the bible, Revelation, whose author says, To the victor I will give the right to eat from the tree of life that is in the garden of God (Revelation 2:7).

    Seeing these two instances as bookends allows us to see the story of the bible in terms of the tree of life. It’s ironic that the other tree in the middle of the garden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, gets so much attention; then again, we humans often focus on where we’ve gone wrong, and how we got where we are. While there’s good reason for that, today is a day to focus on what has gone right, and how to get where we’re going.

    The reason for that positive outlook lies in today’s saint. She was a very positive person; her joy was infectious, and her perspective inspires people like me to this day. I’d like to call her by name, but we don’t know it. As a child in Sudan, she once did, but that was before slavery, which was so physically traumatic that she forgot her own name. In time, one of her masters nicknamed her “Bakhita,” Arabic for lucky.

    Bakhita was not raised a Christian, but the Spirit was quietly active in her life. While still a young woman and serving as nanny to a little girl, she was sent to a convent with the child. There, the sisters introduced her to Christ, and she fell so completely in love with him that she vowed never to love another. Once freed from slavery, she kept that vow; she became a Catholic, took the name Josephine, and served our Lord faithfully and joyfully as a Canossian sister until her death 42 years later.

    What should draw us to St. Josephine Bakhita isn’t the sympathy she so deserves; it is her unshakable, unwavering refusal to take her eyes off Jesus Christ, whom she rightly recognized as the Tree of Life. The superabundant graces he poured upon her were more transforming than any of the harsh treatment she endured; so powerful were they that she went to her grave thanking those who treated her so badly. As she said, she never would have met the true love of her life had she not trod the road, and endured the cross, that she did.

    The truth of Scripture from the perspective of this great saint is inescapable. All the evils Christ spoke of: theft, greed, malice, deceit, licentiousness, arrogance, folly – the ones suffered by Bakhita – spring not only from the hearts of slave traders and masters, but from our own hearts as well. And, although the bible wisely spends a lot of time on the lessons we can learn from our fascination with the wrong tree, the most powerful truth of all is found in the lesson of the right tree – the bookend from Revelation: To the victor I will give the right to eat from the tree of life that is in the garden of God. Who is the victor? We are; all of those who, like St. Josephine Bakhita, understand that Jesus Christ, the Tree of Life from whom we are invited to eat, is not only the center of the bible, but the center of our lives as well.

    St. Josephine Bakhita, pray for us.

  • To See and Understand

    To See and Understand

    Saturday of the 6th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 9:2-13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Who would want to change that?

  • The Heart of the Matter: The 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

    The Heart of the Matter: The 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

    Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalm 95:8-9; Mark 1:21-28

    When you ask people about their favorite schoolteacher and what it was that made them so great, the answer often has less to do with what they taught than the kind of person they were. They cared about us, were compassionate to us, interested in us, challenged us, and so on. Whatever their qualities, the effect was the same – that teacher inspired us. They taught us much more than how to excel in a subject; through them we learned more about ourselves and how to make a difference in the world.

    Good teachers touch our heart, bad ones make us heartsick; they get reactions. So it was with Christ, the teacher. Last week, Mark told us of our Lord’s first class: He called people to repent, to turn their minds and hearts around. We then witnessed his mysterious, charismatic ability to draw people to himself, namely the first 4 disciples, just by asking them to follow him. It was a week full of dramatic moments and powerful, positive reactions.

    This week the drama continues but as we hear of Christ teaching in the synagogue, we see a totally different reaction. Twice Mark says that the people were astonished. While that might not seem much different, the original Greek word connotes fear; this is not a positive reaction as much as one full of anxiety and foreboding. We can feel the fear in the words of the demoniac: What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are – the Holy One of God (Mark 1:24)!

    What do they fear? Is it what Moses spoke of in the first reading? Are they struck with fear at the presence of the Lord, like their ancient ancestors? Perhaps; Mark says they sensed his authority, and the demoniac certainly knew that Jesus was no ordinary rabbi. But I think a clue to another reason lies in today’s Psalm response: If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts (Psalm 95:8f). The term “harden our hearts” essentially means “close our minds.” The person with the hardened heart hears God but does not listen, only wants certain things from God, says the right words but does little or nothing, and may even have stopped feeling the guilt of their own sin.

    Imagine the consternation inside such a person when confronted with Christ, the caring, compassionate teacher who challenges people, moves their hearts, draws them to himself, and inspires in them a longing for more. They can’t help but feel powerfully attracted to his message yet at the same time afraid of what that attraction will cost.

    So then, we come to the heart of the matter. Is the psalm talking about us? Are our hearts hardened? How do we know? Reflect again on a few of the symptoms:

    • Refusal to listen to God. Listening is not hearing; it comes from the Latin word meaning “to obey.” Do I hear but fail to obey what God tells me in Scripture and through the authority he has given his Church? Or, do I rely on my own authority?
    • Only want certain things from God. When I take an honest look at my prayer life, do I tend to talk to God more about what he can do for me than how I can conform my will to his?
    • Say the right words but do little or nothing. Have I said I would change, take full advantage of opportunities given me to do so, but then done little or nothing?
    • No longer bothered by sin. Have I persisted in sin so long now that it no longer bothers me at all?

    Every “yes” to these questions is as if we are saying to Christ, “What have you to do with me, Jesus of Nazareth?” We fear that he has come to destroy us, to condemn us to hell. He has that power; he is the Holy One of God! The longer we live this way, the more ingrained this fear becomes. We know things must change before the great reckoning, but we are so tempted to avoid it; that kind of change is going to hurt.

    We cannot allow fear to deafen us to the call of Christ, the infinitely compassionate teacher. Note his first word to the demoniac: Quiet. He knows that demons love noise and distraction, and we do, too. But he also knows that only in silence can we hear him and only in hearing resolve to obey his voice urging us to face ourselves as we are. It can be a painful moment but in it lies openness; that weakness that pleads for the strength of Christ. First, utter the simplest prayer – one word, the Name above all names: Jesus. As St. John of the Cross said, from all eternity the Father spoke only one word – the Eternal Word – Jesus, and he has no more to say. If that’s enough for God, it’s enough for us. Next, include a request: “Open my heart.” This is the gift of docility, a teachable spirit. No teacher, not even God, can move us if we resolve to keep our minds closed. With docility comes that inner clarity through which we see that Christ has come not to destroy us, but the sinfulness that has hardened our hearts. Finally, ask for mercy. This goes right to Sacred Heart of Christ.

    Do this often. It isn’t an overnight process; change of heart takes time. That’s OK; Jesus is a patient teacher and we have the rest of our lives to work on it. It is true that we know neither the day nor the hour of the “final exam” but we do know that unlike earthly teachers, Christ’s goal is not to touch our heart but to transform it; not to see that we excel in a subject but to see that we are the subject. Above all, he gives us his own Sacred Heart as the model of what a heart should be, one whose faith overcomes all fear, that can behold him and truly say, I know who you are – the Holy One of God!

  • The Outsiders: Tuesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

    James 1:12-18; Mark 8:14-21

    We may as well answer the question Jesus asked the disciples at the end of the gospel passage: Do you still not understand (Mark 8:21)? No, they do not understand at all. The question is, why? So far in Mark’s gospel they have heard him teach, seen him heal, witness him expelling demons, raising a girl from the dead, and feeding thousands with a few loaves. Who or what kept them from seeing him as the Christ? And more to the point, who or what does the same thing to us?

    It certainly isn’t God. As the first reading reminds us, God tempts no one (James 1:15). Here, James echoes the ancient truth revealed through the prophet Habakkuk that God cannot even look upon evil (Habakkuk 1:13). Rather, the reading goes on to say, evil comes from within each person who is lured and enticed by his desire (James 1:14). Let us briefly consider three different kinds of enticement.

    First, we entice ourselves to sin by failing to guard against temptation. Just as a person struggling with alcoholism would be foolish to hang around liquor stores so anyone who struggles with a certain sin is foolish to put themselves in situations where they are tempted to it. This is called the near occasion of evil and is what we promise to avoid every time we say the Act of Contrition.

    Second, we entice others to sin by becoming an occasion of evil ourselves. Some do this by dressing immodestly, others by gossiping. We rationalize such behavior in true Adam-and-Eve fashion by blaming the victims – “They shouldn’t look at me that way,” or “I only told the truth” – but deep down we know that we are far from innocent.

    Finally, we are enticed to sin by the dark angels whose master goes by many names: the father of lies (John 8:44), the tempter (Matthew 4:3), the devil (Matthew 4:1). By whatever name he sows confusion, preys on our weakness, encourages selfishness. The wise listen to Christ who urges us to fear the demons for they can destroy us body and soul (Matthew 10:28); the prudent avoid them, and the persevering cling to God with the assurance of St. Paul that no one and nothing can ever separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:38-39).

    Earlier in Mark, Jesus defined two kinds of people. The “insiders,” or those to whom the mysteries of the Kingdom had been revealed; and the “outsiders,” who did not. Of the outsiders he said, they may look and see but not perceive, and hear and listen but not understand, in order that they may not be converted and be forgiven (Mark 4:12). The irony is that the disciples, who should be the definitive insiders, act more like outsiders than the real outsiders! For example in today’s gospel the disciples, who just witnessed Jesus feeding four thousand people now have the chance to share a quiet boat ride with him. What a shame that this perfect opportunity to unpack all they have seen is wasted on worrying about how little bread they brought along!

    fishing boat and feetStill, Mark’s purpose is not to make us wonder at their behavior but to evaluate our own. Are we insiders or outsiders? Some of us witness Christ feeding a multitude every day, and every day share time with him in the Church, the barque of Peter. Are we focused on our own loaf of bread – be it the next place we have to go, the people we have to see, or things we have to do – or on the Living Bread that is Christ? We see the many wonderful people he gives us – our families, friends, each other; do perceive Christ living within them? We hear his word in the Scriptures; do we understand his voice speaking through all those crying for help? At the Mass he gives us himself Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Holy Eucharist; are our hearts hardened or are they being converted through the forgiveness of sins in Confession, that we may partake most fully in the infinite grace he offers?

    We conclude where we began, in the letter of James. Consider how the passage begins: Blessed is he who perseveres in temptation, for when he has been proven he will receive the crown of life that he promised to those who love him (James 1:12). Let us pray for perseverance, that gift of the Holy Spirit that empowers us to remain in the state of grace until the end of our lives; may we like the Saints see and perceive, hear and understand, that our hearts be converted, our many sins forgiven, and our focus on the things above.

  • The Law of the Harvest: Memorial of St. Angela Merici

    Hebrews 10:32-39; Mark 4:26-34

    Jonathan Swift once said that vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others. Saint Angela Merici exemplified that art.

    As a child, Angela might well have foreseen a bright future. Born into a middle class family during the Italian Renaissance, Angela and her sister were raised by devoutly Catholic parents who made sure their daughters were well-educated in the faith.

    Listening to their father as he read them stories from the lives of the saints, the girls learned that the road to sanctity was no different for them than it was for anyone else, even the earliest Christians who first heard those consoling words in the letter to the Hebrews. The lesson transcends time and space: Those who choose to love Christ and follow Him wherever He leads learn that the road to sanctity always includes the cross.

    Angela learned this lesson very well. By the time she was 10, both of her parents had died; by 15, her sister was also gone. Some people might have despaired over these great losses, seeing the absence of God, but Angela did not. The seeds of the faith planted by her parents in those early years and watered by the grace of God had taken root within her as surely as the mustard seed which our Lord spoke of in the gospel. Rather than turn away from Christ or the cross, Angela consecrated herself to him as a Third Order Franciscan.

    Just 20 years old, Angela did not wait to find a way to serve. Looking at the society around her, she saw the disorder in it and traced it to disorder in the family. One thing was especially problematic. In Italian society of the time, only the wealthiest girls received any kind of education; the vast majority received little or none. Angela wondered how these girls, the wives and mothers of the future, could ever grow up to be the first teachers of their children in the ways of the faith if the seeds of their own faith withered and died.

    Inspired to action, Angela immediately converted her family home into a school and devoted herself to providing religious education to the young girls of the area. She was gentle, focused on the dignity of each girl as a unique person, and used persuasion over force. This was so effective that she was invited to the larger nearby town of Brescia so that she might more broadly and formally institute the same program throughout the area. Ultimately, Angela would go on to found the Ursulines, an order of consecrated virgins devoted to St. Ursula, whose mission it became to bring religious education to young girls. Her order was so successful that the Pope himself asked Angela to relocate to Rome. She declined, saying that she was devoted to the children of the rural country she called home and wished to remain there. This she did until her death in 1540.

    wheat-field-640960_640Angela Merici was a visionary; she saw what was invisible to everyone else. Where others saw the Italian countryside she saw the Kingdom of God; where they saw poor and middle class girls, Angela saw fertile ground waiting for seed. Christ asked her to sow and she obeyed. He asks no less of us. The Kingdom of God is here and now; the ground is fertile and plentiful. All our actions, for good and bad, fall like seeds into that ground. May we always remember what Saint Angela already knew, as given by the spiritual writer James Allen: “The law of the harvest is to reap more than you sow. Sow an act, and you reap a habit. Sow a habit and you reap a character. Sow a character and you reap a destiny.”

    Saint Angela Merici, pray for us.

  • Apostle by Destiny: Feast of St. Matthias

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

    The list of the Apostles given in Matthew, Mark, and Luke do not agree in every detail; one or two of the less familiar names differ by evangelist and, just to complicate matters, Matthew’s list differs depending on which ancient manuscript of Matthew you’re looking at. Naturally these differences have led to confusion and disagreement about exactly who was who. Regardless, everyone agrees about one thing – the name Matthias does not appear in any gospel list of the Twelve.

    However, Peter makes two things clear in today’s reading from Acts. First, he recognizes that Christ chose twelve as a structural number; that is, it was the office that mattered, not the name of the man who filled it. This is why he says in reference to Judas, May another take his office (Psalm 109:8). Second, Peter understands that while men may not have foreseen the need for apostolic succession to that office, God did. By Peter’s reckoning two men, Justus and Matthias, were prepared; as he said, they had accompanied the Apostles the whole time the Lord Jesus came and went among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day on which he was taken up (Acts 1:21-22).

    Therefore, although only one man was needed to fill the vacancy left by Judas, preparation for the call to apostleship for both men had begun long ago. The same is true for everyone called to any vocation that builds up the Kingdom of God. No man suddenly becomes a deacon, priest, or bishop on the day of ordination; no man or woman is instantly transformed into a spouse, whether of another person or of Christ, merely by speaking vows. Graces are given at those moments and at ordination a man’s state is changed and all the privileges of the office accorded; however, the call to follow that vocation and the discipline needed to prepare for it come well before the administration of any Sacrament (or Consecration prayer).

    What’s more, the whole process is initiated by Christ. We may be tempted to think that we choose a particular vocation and to a degree that is true for we have free will. However, remember the words of the prophet Isaiah: Before birth the LORD called me, from my mother’s womb he gave me my name (Isaiah 49:1) as well as those of Jesus in the gospel: It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you (John 15:16a). If we have truly committed ourselves to follow Christ then, although the steps toward our destiny are our own, the path is lighted by Christ, discerned in union with the Holy Spirit, and freely offered out of love for and in union with the will of the Father.

    fishing-164977_640With this in mind, we can say that Matthias freely chose to follow Christ who first chose him, called him from his mother’s womb, and gave him the name, “Apostle.” That Matthias was chosen for that office by lot was nothing more or less than confirmation that the journey begun from shore had now moved out into the deeper water that he had already been called to and prepared for.

    That we never hear about Matthias in Scripture again is neither surprising nor important. It is the same with most of the other Apostles. Remember why Christ chose Apostles to begin with: to go and bear fruit that will remain (John 15:16b). Somewhere, a line of bishops remains to this day that traces its origin to St. Matthias and continues to bear fruit for love of him who first called them to that glorious destiny – our Lord Jesus Christ.

    St. Matthias, pray for us.

  • Happiness: Tuesday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

    Readings: Sirach 2:1-11; Mark 9:30-37

    Are people who practice their faith happier than people who don’t? It would seem so, if the results of a recent survey on religious practice can be trusted. Data collected from people around the world showed that those who are actively religious tended to describe themselves as very happy more often than people who are not. Here in the United States the difference is remarkable; actively religious people were over 40% more likely to describe themselves as very happy.1

    We might wonder what the non-religious would make of this in light of today’s readings. First they hear Sirach say, “When you come to serve the LORD… prepare yourself for trials… in crushing misfortune be patient… For in fire gold and silver are tested, and worthy people in the crucible of humiliation” (Sirach 2:1-5). This is followed by Jesus predicting his passion and death and then telling his power-hungry disciples that those who wish to be first “shall be the last of all and the servant of all” (Mark 9:35). So, the non-religious person asks, happiness comes to those who endure trials, misfortune, and humiliation; who carry crosses, finish last, and act as everyone’s servant? Sounds like a recipe for making myself unhappier than I already am!

    If we define happiness as feelings of contentment, well-being, or pleasant experiences, then they have a point; trials, humiliation, crosses, and servitude are the furthest thing from pleasant. But this is a misunderstanding. Happiness is not a feeling, it is a state of being; specifically, it is the state of being in union with God.

    Look at it this way: Both religious and non-religious people have good times and bad; they undergo trials, are humiliated from time to time, suffer misfortunes, and know what it means to sacrifice. The difference is that religious people see these times not only as something to endure or to learn from but as opportunities to unite themselves to God and to others and in so doing come closer and closer to loving as God loves.

    hospice-1793998_640Divine love is the key to happiness. Again, although religious and non-religious people know what it means to love, there are at least two important differences. First, the religious person knows that we can only be happy to the degree that we love as God loves and that no one showed greater love than Christ. None endured more trials, suffered more humiliation, was crushed by more infirmity, carried a cross weighed down by more sin, or was more of a suffering servant than he who did it that we his beloved may be spared. With this depth of love as the standard, we are called to imitate Christ in the love we bear toward each other, even and perhaps especially those we think least worthy of it. We can never be happy without doing so.

    Yet even our best effort to show this kind of love is in vain without the second aspect – hope. As the Catechism reminds us, “hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit” (CCC §1817). The non-religious may love and will find some contentment in it but without God, there is no happiness; with God, the hope of happiness springs eternal.

    We should not be surprised that those who have received the gift of faith are happy. Christ promised it to the mourning, the meek, and the merciful; to the peacemakers and the persecuted; the humble and hungry; to all those who would imitate the love he showed by offering himself for the life of the world: “Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven” (Matthew 5:12).

    1 Marshall, J. (2019). Are religious people happier, healthier? Our new global study explores this question. Available online as of 02/19/19 at https://pewrsr.ch/2MEWOYx.

  • The True Tower to Heaven – The Seven Holy Founders of the Servite Order

    Genesis 11:1-9; Mark 8:34-9:1

    In the 12th century, Pope Innocent III looked upon a world that seemed to fit Christ’s description in the gospel: A faithless and sinful generation. Germany mired in civil war; the king of England plotting rebellion against Rome; Spain in the grip of the Moors; Jerusalem still under Muslim control. Closer to home things were no better; Italy’s city-states warring with each other and families within cities fighting each other for power and political control.

    As counterpoint to this, the Church tried to be a sanctuary of unity and peace. In Florence, a confraternity was formed known as the Society of Our Blessed Lady, composed of aristocrats, wealthy noblemen and merchants. By 1233, 50 years after its founding, the Society boasted 200 members.

    That same year on the Feast of the Assumption, seven members of the Society, aged 27 to 34, lingered in church after Mass. Separately yet simultaneously each received a vision of the Blessed Mother, who asked them to “Leave the world, retire together into solitude, that you may fight against yourselves, and live wholly for God. You will thus experience heavenly consolations. My protection and assistance will never fail you.”

    It couldn’t have been easy to just “leave the world.” These were businessmen with substantial fortunes and bright futures. Some had families; while three were celibate and two were widowed, two were still married. The call to leave everything might have seemed as difficult to them as it was to the disciples to hear Christ say that the only way to be raised to the glory of Heaven was to take up the cross on Earth.

    The human will naturally resists this. We want the glory but we want it our way. In the first reading, the people tried it their way; they disobeyed God’s command to populate the world, choosing instead to gather in one place to build a tower that would reach the heavens. But as our Lord implied in the gospel, heaven cannot be reached by human will; it can only be reached by the cross. The seven men kneeling in church on that August day knew this. Mary had shown them their cross, so they did as she asked. Renouncing their wealth, they left family and friends and lived outside the city walls in devotion to Christ.

    Finding solitude was no easier than leaving the world. As you might guess, such a radical change of life drew a lot of attention. The faithful, the doubters, and the merely curious all came to visit. Aware that this interfered with the Blessed Mother’s request, the men relocated to an isolated mountain north of Florence. There they took up the life of total devotion to God that Mary had requested. Thus energized to serve others, they began to teach against a popular heresy of the time and achieved great success. For this they were beloved by several popes and ultimately confirmed as the Order of the Servants of Mary, or the Servites.

    suffering-2668413_640In a sense, we are all Servites. Our mission is to witness the gospel, to be at the service of God and all people, inspired by Mary his Mother and most ideal Servant. We can only do this if we do as she did: Conform our wills to that of the Father and do whatever Christ tells us. Only He knows the cross that he has in mind for us. It may be to give up what we hold most dear, to separate from family or friends, and to devote ourselves totally to God. Whatever it is, let us pray for the grace to accept it, to bear it willingly, and to remember in the words of St. Rose of Lima that “apart from the cross there is no other ladder by which we may get to heaven.”

    Seven Founders of the Servite Order, pray for us.