Mark 10:45

Tag: Martyr

  • 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.

  • How Lows Become Highs: Memorial of Pope St. Martin I, Martyr

    How Lows Become Highs: Memorial of Pope St. Martin I, Martyr

    2 Timothy 2:8-13; 3:10-12

    In C.S. Lewis’s brilliant work The Screwtape Letters, the senior devil (Screwtape) teaches his apprentice what he calls the “Law of Undulation.” In a nutshell, this is the idea that people experience highs and lows in their relationship with God. The “highs” are those peak times when we feel especially close to God, while the “lows,” are the times when we feel dry, uninspired, and God seems far away. The “wise” demon waits out the highs and strikes during the lows.

    Of course, the genius of this is that we can all relate to it. Think back on times, perhaps a Mass or contemplative moment, when you felt a spiritual high. It felt as if God was all around you; a time of almost indescribable joy. Then think of those other times, the lows; you felt alone, your prayers dry, your faith stagnant.

    In a sense, this is part of what it means to be human. In friendship, marriage, and work, there are times we feel close to people or the job and times we don’t. It’s only natural that in our relationship with God we would experience the same thing. But as Lewis notes, sometimes those with evil intent manipulate this law to drive us away from God.

    Such was the case with Pope Martin I. His reign came at a tumultuous time; it was the 7th century, and for over 600 years people had struggled to understand the persons and natures of Christ. Was he only human? Only divine? A mixture? Did he have a human will, a divine will, or both? There were as many opinions as there were people.

    Then as now, some opinions mattered more than others, especially when it was the opinion of the highest civil power – the Emperor. Unfortunately, his opinion was heretical. Like many inside the Church, he believed that Jesus did not have a human will, or that if he did it was completely absorbed into his divine will like a drop of water in the ocean. Pope Martin disagreed, publicly and in council, holding the Church to the truth we profess to this day, that Christ had both a human and a divine will.

    Angered, the Emperor had the pope hauled to Constantinople and ordered to endorse the “official” position or face a charge of treason. When Martin refused to obey, he was imprisoned and starved for several weeks. Again he was ordered to obey, and again he refused. When it became clear that the pope would never agree, he was sentenced to death for treason. Stripped of most of his clothing, he was mercilessly whipped, then dragged in chains through the streets. The abuse he suffered was so horrific that even the residents of Constantinople, accustomed to violence, were disgusted. Eventually the sentence was commuted and Martin was exiled, where he was neglected and starved.

    When we think of the Holy Father’s situation, it seems ripe for the kind of spiritual low that demons would relish: Cut off from his flock; in prison; in chains; beaten; humiliated; vilified; starved; exiled; neglected. Who would blame him for turning inward, giving up, and spiraling down? Yet his letters written from prison and exile read like someone moving toward a spiritual high. The pope prayed not for himself but for his flock, especially the heretics, that they would repent and return to the one true faith. When he did write of himself, it wasn’t to bemoan his own suffering but to glorify God in it; he spoke of his abandonment to the will and mercy of God, and his hope that Christ would come soon to bring him home. Finally, after two years, Martin was delivered from the starvation and neglect of exile. He is the last pope (to date) to die a martyr.

    In the first reading St. Paul wrote to Timothy, If we have died with him we shall also live with him; if we persevere we shall also reign with him (2 Timothy 11-12). This reminds us not only of the glorious destiny of Pope St. Martin I, but of the need for us to pray for and practice the virtues of fortitude and perseverance. Both the spiritual highs and lows are gifts from God that are meant to be used. Although we want to hold onto the highs and treasure them, they provide the grace we need to look beyond ourselves and see how we might strengthen others, and to look within ourselves to see where we need strength, where God is working in our lives, and where he may be calling us. And if God feeds our virtues in the highs, he tests them in our lows. But again, as St. Martin shows, we don’t run from those times; rather, we persevere through them by focusing not on ourselves but on others and not by complaining about our suffering but by uniting it to the suffering of Christ for the sake of his body, the Church. To paraphrase St. Martin, throughout the highs and lows, remember that Christ is at hand, and hope in His mercy.

    Pope St. Martin I, pray for us.

  • Out of Blindness: Feast of St. Maria Goretti

    Out of Blindness: Feast of St. Maria Goretti

    1 Corinthians 6:13c-15a, 17-20; John 12:24-26

    The priest, psychologist, and spiritual writer Henri Nouwen once said that there are two types of spiritual loneliness, each a kind of blindness. The first comes from being out of touch with God; this is the blindness of too little light. The second is just the opposite; it is the blindness of too much light, or an intimacy with God that exceeds our thoughts and feelings. Both kinds of loneliness, and their cures, are hinted at in our readings and in the lives of St. Maria Goretti and her neighbor, Alessandro Serenelli.

    Luigi Goretti and Giovanni Serenelli partnered as sharecroppers on an estate just south of Rome in the early 20th century. Their families occupied separate flats but shared a kitchen. They had little else in common. The Gorettis were pious and hard-working, their daughter Maria charming and of unwavering faith. The Serenellis were religiously indifferent and struggled with alcoholism, mental illness, and physical abuse. Their son Alessandro, 8 years Maria’s senior, was sullen, withdrawn, and mired in the pornography of the time.

    Fr. Nouwen wrote that the loneliness of being out of touch with God leaves us anxiously searching for something or someone to give us a sense of belonging and home. In his loneliness, Alessandro could have reached out in friendship to Maria but he preferred the darkness, blind to the truth spoken by St. Paul that as members of Christ and temples of the Holy Spirit, the body is not for immorality (1 Corinthians 6:13). To him, Maria was not a person to relate to but a thing to use. On a hot July afternoon in 1902 the 20 year-old finally cornered the girl and tried to force himself upon her. Repeatedly Maria cried, “No! It is a sin! It is not God’s will! You will go to hell!” Angered and frustrated by her resistance, Alessandro stabbed her 14 times with a metal file, then fled. For 20 hours Maria suffered from those wounds until she died, just three months before her 12th birthday.

    The second loneliness mentioned by Fr. Nouwen is the blindness of too much light; not a poverty of God’s presence but of our ability to relate to it. This requires love; as we fail to love we feel without God, though he is all around. In the gospel Jesus says, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain – or more literally – it remains alone (John 12:24). Christ doesn’t want us to remain alone; he wants us to remain in him (John 15:4) by loving one another as he has loved us (John 15:12), even to the death.

    Maria Goretti knew this. While she did not care for Alessandro the way he wanted, there is no greater love than to lay down your life for a friend (John 15:13) and she was his friend to the end. She resisted his advances not only for her own sake but also for his, keeping him from sinning against his own body as well as hers. She reminded him of the primacy of God’s will and warned him of the eternal consequences of his actions. Ultimately she showed him the importance of the virtue of chastity by martyring herself for it and, most Christ-like of all, she died forgiving him to the point of praying that one day he would be with her in Paradise. We should all have such a friend.

    This is the love that bears fruit and eventually did in the life of Alessandro Serenelli. Years into his incarceration, little Maria came to him in a dream and once again made clear that she forgave him and was his intercessor before our Heavenly Father. From that moment, the grace of conversion worked within him; he became a model prisoner, was released early, begged forgiveness of Maria’s mother (which was granted), and worked in a monastery for the rest of his life, devoted to the little-girl-now-Saint who he knew was waiting and praying for him.

    You and I know both kinds of blindness from our own experience. Perhaps we have at times allowed ourselves to drift away from God, to remain comfortable in the darkness of a particular sin or sinful way of life; to seek gratification in places and things that can never satisfy us. It is a true friend who has the courage and love to tell us, “No. It is a sin. It is against God’s will.” And what a great blessing to be that person for someone else; to help strengthen the graces of faith and hope within them, as Maria Goretti did. And maybe we have also suffered the blindness of too much light; times when we knew God was calling us deeper but we had grown comfortable where we were; times when when we took him and his merciful love for granted; times when we spoke of our great love for Christ but then ignored him, needy on the street. Again, it is a true friend like Maria Goretti who is willing to model for us the virtuous love that leads us out of that blindness, the love to which Christ calls us all – the love that glorifies God in our body (1 Corinthians 6:20) and preserves our life for all eternity.

    St. Maria Goretti, pray for us.

  • The Vision of True Faith: Sts. John Fisher and Thomas More

    The Vision of True Faith: Sts. John Fisher and Thomas More

    Genesis 12:1-9; Matthew 7:1-5

    In the story The Emperor’s New Clothes, author Hans Christian Anderson cleverly lays bare not only the emperor but also the human tendency to go along with the crowd. This becomes most obvious near the end of the story, when a child proclaims the truth that all can see but none are willing to admit: “He hasn’t got anything on!”

    In the England of the 16th century, King Henry VIII was emperor and his new clothes were the pretension that he alone held supreme authority over the Church in England. For reasons related to his marriage annulment from Catherine of Aragon it was convenient for him to believe this, and history is clear that those who surrounded the king were like the crowd in Anderson’s story; they knew it was fantasy but called it reality anyway.

    Jesus had a word for them, and he used it in the reading from Matthew: hypocrites. The meaning of the word hypocrite has changed over the centuries. Nowadays we think of a hypocrite as someone who says one thing and does another, but in those days a hypocrite was someone who pretended, like an actor; a person who got along by going along.

    In the reading from Genesis, Abraham went along with God, but there was no pretense. Although to the naked eye he held a promise as invisible as the emperor’s new clothes or King Henry’s pretensions, Abraham was in reality clothed by God in a seven-fold blessing that made him the father of one nation and a blessing for every other nation on earth. Abraham would never live in the Promised Land but he would build an altar there to worship the one, true, and living God.

    This is the vision of true faith; it is the eyes to see the truth and the courage to live out the destiny that beckons, come what may.

    Born of the same faith, this was the same vision given to St. John Fisher and St. Thomas More. When King Henry VIII demanded not a denial of the faith but a redefinition of it, they looked past their earthly king to their heavenly one. Christ was their help and their shield, and it was love for him and his Church that emboldened them to expose the naked ambition of a king who would arrogate to himself the keys of the Kingdom of God. Of course, that kind of courage comes at a cost, but the same courage that compelled them to remain with Christ did not abandon them when their own journey led them up the platform at Tower Hill in London to be executed.

    While we must remember the courage and faith with which these men died, we must never forget that this was same courage and the same faith by which they lived; it is the same faith and courage by which we too must live. In our own time we have heard politicians warn, “Religious beliefs must change.” Henry VIII might have said that. How little things have really changed.

    Like Bishop John Fisher, Sir Thomas More and all holy martyrs, our conscience must choose. Will we be the hypocrite who marvels at the emperor’s new clothes or the child who sees the truth and calls it what it is? The witness of the saints testifies now and for all time that there is only one Emperor; he who shed his vestments at the foot of the cross yet was clothed in the glory to which we all aspire and who comes to us cloaked in a host. Ask him and he will remove the wooden beam from your eye that you may better behold the wooden beam that saved the world.

    St. John Fisher and St. Thomas More, pray for us.

  • The Song of the Dove: Feast of Saint Stephen

    Acts 6:8-10; 7:54-59; Matthew 10:17-22

    Of all the customs that have ever arisen during the celebration of the Twelve Days of Christmas, perhaps the strangest occurred in the 18th and 19th centuries. Beginning on the Feast of Stephen, young boys in Southern France, Great Britain, and Ireland would hunt and kill a bird; specifically a wren, then display it and parade it around town asking for money.

    It’s hard to understand how this bizarre ritual started or why it was done, let alone how it could continue for two hundred years, but a good dose of superstition was probably involved. In certain places the wren was considered symbolic of priesthood or prophecy. An old Irish word for wren meant “bird of prophecy,” and some Irishmen associated it with a type of pagan priest who foretold the future. Although we have no idea what the poor little bird was supposedly prophesying, one thing is known: The wrens’ song is very loud; allegedly ten times louder than other birds their size. Who knows; perhaps the boys thought they were doing their town a favor.

    In the reading from Acts, the members of the local synagogue may have thought that they were doing their town a favor when they silenced Stephen. But his was the song of the Dove, not the wren. Luke says that Stephen was filled with the Holy Spirit; as Jesus made clear in the gospel, His wisdom cannot be overcome. Like Jesus, the only way to try and silence Stephen was to kill him; it is no coincidence that Luke patterns Stephen’s passion and death after that of Christ. For example, in Luke Jesus tells the Sanhedrin before he dies that from this time on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God (Luke 2:69); here, Luke has Stephen say Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God (Acts 7:56).

    snow wrenLike the mysterious sacrifice of the wren, this may leave us curious. Why does the Church take the first day after Christmas to remember the first martyr? The answer lies precisely in the similarity of Stephen’s passion and death to Christ’s. Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus; the same Jesus who came not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45). It was in the giving of his life that Christ most profoundly served, for only by the perfect sacrifice of himself could his disciples have hope of being born into eternal life. Thus with Stephen; he could most greatly honor his Savior by imitating him in life even if that meant dying, that he might be born into eternal life with Christ.

    It might seem odd for the Church to see death as the way to honor life; after all, if Church members die, how can the Church survive? That brings up another fact about the wren. Although winter can devastate its population, the bird is extremely hardy; it always finds a way to survive. What is true for the wren is doubly true of the Dove; those who have been graced to speak with the power of the Holy Spirit have been hunted, killed, and displayed for over two thousand years; still, the Church continues to find ways not only to survive but to thrive. In fact, it is the irony of man and the glory of the Holy Spirit that the martyrdom of Stephen gave rise to the greatest come back in Church history. Notice near the end of the first reading, Luke tells us that the witnesses laid down their cloaks at the feet of a young man named Saul (Acts 7:58). Saul, the same man who stood silently by at the death of the first martyr, in time became Paul, the loudest and hardiest wren of all.

    St. Stephen, pray for us.

  • Viva, Cristo Rey: Blessed Miguel Pro

    Daniel 1:1-6, 8-20; Luke 21:1-4

    In biblical studies, as in life, things aren’t always what they seem. For example, some books of the bible seem like history; they mention real historical people and places and the situations they describe seem real enough. However, clues such as language and historical inaccuracies show that the author had another purpose in mind; he is speaking symbolically.

    Thus it is with the book of Daniel. Scholars tell us that the symbolism running through its stories points to two particularly strong themes: The ability of the Jews to thrive in a Gentile world and the importance of remaining true to the traditions of the faith.

    Both themes appear in Daniel and the gospel according to Luke. By successfully bargaining with the Gentile authorities about their diet, four young Hebrew men were able to remain true to their religious identity. Not only that, when the king discovered that their wisdom and understanding far surpassed that of his own people, these men, who it seemed were the conquered, were in fact conquerors.

    These themes also run through the ministry of Blessed Miguel Pro. Born in Mexico, Pro was sent abroad as a seminarian and ordained a Jesuit priest in Belgium in 1925. Finding that he could not thrive abroad due to stomach ailments that nearly killed him, Father was returned to Mexico, despite the great persecution of Catholics currently underway.

    This might seem like the worst thing for an ailing priest, but things aren’t always what they seem. In fact, his ministry to the people of Mexico restored Father’s health. Like Christ and the saints, his food was to do the will of the One who sent him, and he greatly delighted in doing God’s will right under the authorities’ noses. A master of disguise, Father was never what he seemed. He ministered in prisons posing as a policeman; in posh neighborhoods dressed as a rich man; in slums dressed as a beggar. Hiding in plain sight, he taught, gave Communion, said Mass, absolved sins, confirmed the faithful, and prayed over the dead. Father Miguel Pro, like the widow in the gospel, seemed to have almost nothing, but in reality had everything, and freely gave it. He who seemed to be conquered was the conqueror.

    miguel proEventually, Father was caught, imprisoned on a false charge and on the morning of November 23rd 1927 faced a firing squad. Even here, he was a conqueror. Before the cameras and all assembled, he forgave and blessed his persecutors, held out his arms in the shape of the cross and shouted “Viva, Cristo Rey (Long live Christ, the King)!” With that, Father Miguel Pro died.

    The government published a photograph of his execution, believing that it would frighten Catholics into submission. Once again, things were not what they seemed. Father Pro, arms outstretched like a cross, displayed such Christ-like strength, such fearlessness in the face of unjust persecution, that the photograph and Father’s last words became the symbols around which Catholics rallied to resist the repression even more strongly. This was not a photograph of the conquered but of the conqueror. Ironically, the government quickly banned their own photograph.

    Like the young men in the first chapter of Daniel, Blessed Miguel Pro thrived in a hostile environment because he remained faithful to his calling and his religious heritage. While our culture and our authorities are not as openly hostile as was Mexico in the early 20th century, there is constant and perhaps growing pressure to minimize the voice of Christ and his Church in the public arena. While the times may seem bleak, remember: Things are not always what they seem. Let us imitate Blessed Miguel Pro by being in the culture but not of it; by ministering in whatever way we can to preserve and build on the good that has come before. Finally, let us remember that, in the end, we bow to only one authority – that of the Triune God.

    Viva Cristo Rey. Long live Christ the King.

    Blessed Miguel Pro, pray for us.

  • Mother, Sister, and Brother: Sts. Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, Priest, and Paul Chŏng Ha-sang, and Companions, Martyrs

    Proverbs 21:1-6, 10-13; Luke 8:19-21

    The first in the series of proverbs we read today says, Like a stream is the king’s heart in the hand of the LORD; wherever it pleases him, he directs it. In 1777, the river of mercy that is the heart of Christ the King began trickling into Korea. While visiting China, a small group of aristocrats happened upon some Jesuit literature. They brought it home and as they studied it, God worked his way through their minds and into their hearts.

    The second proverb says, All the ways of a man may be right in his own eyes, but it is the LORD who proves hearts. The Lord took twelve years to prove the hearts of the Korean faithful. In 1789, a Chinese priest stole into Korea on a mission to introduce the people to the Gospel. Imagine his surprise when he discovered an underground Church of 4000 Catholics, none of whom had ever seen a priest.

    The third proverb says To do what is right and just is more acceptable to the LORD than sacrifice. These people, hungry and waiting for Christ, did what was right: They read Scripture and evangelized. When the missionary came and provided what they craved – a taste of the sweetness of the Lord in the Sacraments – they flourished. In just 7 years, 6000 more Koreans were baptized.

    The fourth proverb warns us that Haughty eyes and a proud heart – the tillage of the wicked is sin. If the Korean ruling class was anything, it was proud. The God of the Christians had the audacity to see everyone as equal. Their haughty eyes could not envision a world where elites, workers and slaves could be friends. By 1801 a vicious persecution began; it would last for the next 65 years.

    The fifth proverb says that The plans of the diligent are sure of profit, but all rash haste leads certainly to poverty. Diligent well describes the young Korean boy Kim Taegon who at age 15 embarked on his plan to become a priest. He traveled 1300 miles to attend a seminary in China and was ordained the first Korean-born priest. He returned home and set about the task of smuggling more clergy into Korea but was arrested while doing so. He was executed at the age of 26. Father Taegon was far from alone; in all, the persecution took the lives of 10,000 people; fully half of the Korean Church.

    The Church was diminished, but not impoverished; that would be the fate of the Korean dynasty. The sixth proverb teaches that Whoever makes a fortune by a lying tongue is chasing a bubble over deadly snares. The lying tongues of the despots who reaped profits off the backs of others finally saw their bubble burst; by 1900, the dynasty was eliminated. At long last, the cries of those who had shut their ears to the cries of the poor were, as the last proverb says, not heard themselves.

    Meanwhile, the Church grew. In 1950, the site of the executions of Father Kim Taegon and over a hundred of his colleagues was declared a shrine; in 1984, they were canonized by Pope St. John Paul II in the church built nearby.

    jesus-christ-2516515_640.jpgThe example of the Korean Church and her martyrs teaches us that every heart open to God and acting on his word becomes a mother, sister, and brother to Christ. Even though we may not have the power of Orders, we do have Christ in the Scriptures and the power of the Holy Spirit through our baptism. We too can evangelize. If you don’t know where to begin, consider: Religious education programs can always use help teaching children the faith; there is a bible study nearby that would teach you more about Christ; there are many ministries that reach out to the hungry, the poor, and the mourning. Be docile to the promptings of the Holy Spirit; He will show you ways to bring Christ to someone in need.

    We began with the proverb of the king. Let us close with the prayer that one day, the King of Kings will look at us and say, Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me (Matthew 25:40).

  • The Encounter That Changes Everything: St. Bartholomew, Apostle

    John 1:45-51

    If the Church were to have a patron saint for the cynical, St. Bartholomew just might qualify. Matthew, Mark, and Luke call him Bartholomew; John calls him Nathanael. We can call him cynical, for it was he who asked: “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” Yet the question and the cynicism behind it aren’t nearly as important as the answer, which touched Nathanael deeply and goes right to the heart what it means to evangelize.

    It looks like the first to answer his question was Philip, who invited Nathanael to meet Jesus, saying simply, “Come and see.” Inviting people to meet Jesus is an important step in evangelization. Years ago, Pope Paul VI taught us that it the mission of the entire Church to evangelize; that the full meaning of life in Christ is only found in becoming a witness for Christ by what we say and do. Those who make their entire life a witness radiate the self-giving love of Christ and tend to attract other people, for they make them feel special, appreciated, and valued.

    As important as the invitation is, deeper study of this scene in John’s gospel makes it clear that the first to answer Nathanael’s question was really Jesus himself. Note that Jesus said to him: Before Philip called you, I saw you under the fig tree. While no one knows exactly what happened under that tree, Nathanael’s reply, Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel, betrays a mystical encounter so profound, so compelling, that it forever changed Nathanael’s life and the lives of all those he would touch.

    wild-fig-2760515_640Thus, the encounter with Christ is the key to evangelization. As Cardinal Francis George once said, evangelization consists of introducing people to Christ and allowing him to take over from there. No matter how eloquent, forceful or dramatic we are, the human word pales in comparison with the Eternal Word. Like Nathanael, every person has their own “fig tree” moments; at one time or another, everyone quietly contemplates the eternal, the divine, the transcendent. This is a mystical silence into which we dare not intrude; it is the stillness in which God speaks. The God who sees what we cannot – the heart and soul – speaks to whole person as we cannot. Again like Nathanael, the effect is all-encompassing and all-surpassing.

    As Christ went on to say, Nathanael would see much greater things, but he had already seen all he needed to see. Thanks to the invitation by Philip and his personal encounter with Jesus, the Apostle literally poured out his life evangelizing others.

    Can anything good come from Nazareth? Thanks to St. Bartholomew and all the Apostles, we who were invited and have been touched by Christ no longer need to come and see. At every Eucharist we can now taste and see the goodness of the Nazarene who hung the word Good on Friday. All that remains is that we, like all the saints, use the grace of Communion with Christ to make our lives an open invitation, that everyone may come and see Christ and taste his goodness for themselves.

    St. Bartholomew, pray for us.

  • Seeds on the Divine Wind – St. Paul Miki and Companions, Martyrs

    1 Kings 3:4-13; Mark 6:30-34

    For many people, the word “kamikaze” conjures up images of Japanese pilots crashing their airplanes into Allied ships in a suicidal attempt to stop or slow the defeat of the emperor and invasion of Japan. However, few people know that in Japanese, kamikaze means “divine wind,” and dates back to the 13th century, when two Chinese invasion attempts were repelled by powerful storms, “divine winds,” believed by the Japanese to have been sent by the Shinto gods to protect them.

    A few centuries later, a different wind quietly blew onto Japanese shores. The great Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier swept through the island preaching Christ and baptizing thousands. About twenty years later, one of the seeds he sowed took root in a distinguished Samurai from Kyoto; in 1568, he was baptized along with his wife and their four year-old son, who we know as Paul Miki.

    As Miki grew, Christians were free to practice their faith despite the emperor’s reservations. He distrusted Christianity because the missionaries were Western, but he ignored it when converts were few. However, like the Jews in the reading from Mark, the Japanese people began coming to Christ in great numbers. By 1596, the emperor’s fear finally got the better of him; he banished foreign missionaries and commanded the native Japanese to renounce Christ or die.

    By then, Paul Miki was 33 years old. He had been a Jesuit brother for 11 years and was not far from ordination to the priesthood. Like Solomon in 1 Kings 3, the Spirit had been poured abundantly upon him; Miki was an eloquent teacher, a gifted homilist, and was graced with a large and forgiving heart.

    These gifts were soon on display. Convicted of practicing Christianity and sentenced to be crucified, Paul Miki and about two dozen others were forced to march about 400 miles, from Kyoto to Nagasaki. The journey took a month and contained its share of jeering from hostile Japanese who saw Miki as a disgrace. He saw these taunts as opportunities for conversion; he wanted everyone to share in his Master’s joy.

    As with Jesus and his Apostles in the reading from Mark, vast crowds awaited their arrival. Nagasaki was largely Christian; her people were genuinely moved at the sight of the prisoners. Looking at them, Paul Miki saw this as an opportunity not to be consoled but to console; to urge them to deeper faith and assure them that he was praying for them.

    The prisoners were strapped to their crosses, with iron rings holding them at the neck. Hoisted on this pulpit, Paul Miki saw the crowd perhaps as Jesus did in the gospel; like sheep without a shepherd. He, too, was moved with pity, and took these final moments to show how one lives for Christ and how one dies for him.

    He forgave the emperor and his executioners, and prayed that they too would become Christian. He confessed Christ as his Lord and Savior, and himself as a soldier, a samurai, honored to die for love of him. Finally, in imitation of Jesus, he commended himself to God, saying, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” He was then executed by a thrust of the lance.

    If the emperor counted on this persecution to chase Christianity from Japan, he badly miscalculated. After the deaths of Paul Miki and his companions, conversions increased; Catholicism was in Japan to stay.

    dove-3951312_1920.jpgChristians are martyrs, not kamikazes. The word martyr means “witness,” for that’s what a martyr does; they witness the faith in whatever circumstances they find themselves. What St. Paul Miki knew, and what the emperor could not understand, is that there is only one true kamikaze, one Divine Wind. The Holy Spirit graces each martyr with the gifts they need to witness the gospel according to their inclinations; always for the building up of the kingdom.

    We must ask for the gifts to be witnesses, just as Solomon and St. Paul Miki did; not for our own sake, but for the good of all God’s people. God has shown that this prayer, and the work that goes with it, are amply rewarded. As Jesus said:

    Give and gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap. For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you (Luke 6:38).

    St. Paul Miki and companions, pray for us.