Mark 10:45

Tag: Matthew

  • The Things We Bring to Heaven: Friday of the 18th Week of Ordinary Time

    For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
    but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

    Matthew 16:25

    This saying of Jesus appears to be a paradox. How can we lose our life by saving it or save our life by losing it? Like any paradox, if we take the words at face value we can’t. However, if we look below the surface we find a nuance hidden, lost in translation, from which a deeper meaning emerges.

    As far as we know, the original language of the New Testament is Greek and in Greek, the verb used by Matthew for “save” really means “to keep safe.” Thus, Jesus is counseling us not to keep safe; that is, to risk being hurt, for only when we do that can we enjoy eternal life with God in heaven.

    Although that might help us understand the paradox, it doesn’t make things any easier. It seems as if Jesus is teaching that the way to avoid suffering in the afterlife is to endure suffering in this life. That seems cruel! Does Jesus really want us to suffer?

    Perhaps it’s best to answer that question by remembering that God is Love, that we are made in the image of God, and that no one modeled that image better than Jesus, his only Son. By his Incarnation Jesus taught that true love seeks neither isolation nor safety but entanglement and risk. God could have chosen to save fallen humanity from the safety of pure divinity. He didn’t; he chose to dwell among us, to take on the nature he created and raise it from within; to bind himself to the human condition beyond any untying and restore it to its original capacity for the deepest love possible: Eternal union with him.

    jesus-1844445_640Jesus spent his life and ministry showing us what it means to love as God loves: He made himself vulnerable in the sight of others, exposed his deepest longings, deepest fears, deepest joys, his deepest self. Of course, he risked rejection and it cost him his life, but that is what love does; it was in the nature of his perfect divinity that from the depths of his infinite love and mercy, he glorified what mankind so quickly crucified.

    This tells us that Jesus doesn’t want us to suffer, he wants us to love; by its very nature, love risks suffering and will endure it for the sake of the beloved. Of course we are free to refuse, but refusing to love means that we give nothing, share nothing, resist the promptings of the Holy Spirit, and remain isolated even from God himself. Some may call that safety but Christ calls it loss, for he knows that the only thing we bring to heaven is the love that we have given away.

  • We Have Met the Enemy: Monday of the 18th Week in Ordinary Time

    Numbers 11:4b-15; Matthew 14:13-21

    On September 10, 1813, after defeating the British on Lake Erie during the War of 1812, Commodore Oliver Perry famously said, “We have met the enemy and they are ours.” A century and a half later, the cartoonist Walt Kelly made a different point when he changed this to “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

    We in the Church tend to be our own worst enemy. In fact, we have centuries of experience at it. Take for example the scene we just read from the book of Numbers. First the people reminisce about the “good old days” in Egypt when they had plenty to eat, somehow forgetting the fact that starving people make poor slaves. These same people then complain about being famished and at the same time complain about the manna they are freely being fed by the hand of God. The irony isn’t lost on Moses, who is so angered by the whining that he actually prays to die rather than lead these ingrates another step of the way. If that isn’t a house divided then nothing is.

    We see a second, more subtle example in the gospel reading from St. Matthew. Jesus hears of the death of John the Baptist and seeks time away from the crowds, perhaps to mourn the loss. Is he allowed to? Absolutely not; the people follow right behind wanting more healing, more miracles which, in his infinite mercy, Jesus does. However, the disciples don’t appear angry but do seem to have had enough; they try to talk Jesus into sending the crowd away. After all, the people got what they wanted; now it’s late and they need to go. Again, a house divided.

    It would be easy to dismiss this divisiveness as examples of what people only do under pressure, but that isn’t true. Time and again, history shows that when the world isn’t attacking the Church, the Church is attacking herself. We see it in every parish; we see it in ourselves. Perhaps these lines sound familiar: “What a boring homily”; “That musician is terrible”; “If I ever work on this committee with so-and-so again, I swear I’ll quit”; or “If they don’t like the way we do things around here, then maybe they should go somewhere else!”

    That isn’t the way of Christ and it isn’t the way of his Church. Our business isn’t to get people out, it’s to bring them in; not to tear them down, but to build them up; and not to get fed up with them, but to get them fed.

    The root of the problem is our passion and our pride. It was in his frustration that Moses cried, “I cannot carry all these people by myself, for they are too heavy for me.” God never demanded this. It was the enemy within telling him that he alone must carry the people; telling the crowd that they were starving in spite of the manna; telling the disciples that no one could feed a crowd so big.

    eucharist-1591663_640Jesus could; Jesus did. He “took” the loaves and fish, “looked” to heaven, “said” the blessing, “broke” the loaves, and “gave” them to the disciples. If that sounds a lot like the actions of Jesus instituting the Eucharist, that’s because it is. In feeding the multitudes, Jesus showed that only God could carry the world; only God could unite a house divided. The Eucharist foreshadowed by Christ in the gospel is the sacrament of unity; it is the antidote to the enemy within that seeks to divide.

    We have met the enemy, and it is us; let us go up and meet the victor, for it is Christ.

  • Familiarity Breeds Love: Friday of the 17th Week of Ordinary Time

    Matthew 13:54-58

    As part of a pilgrimage to Italy, we were privileged to visit all of the major cathedrals in Rome. It was very easy to be bowled over by their beauty. They were truly a feast for the eyes; majestic and overwhelming. I remember visiting St. Mary Major while daily Mass was going on. As all the tourists walked around admiring the magnificence, the local people went to Mass and, when it was over, simply got up and left. To me, this was a wonder to explore; to them, it was just “their church.”

    It reminded me of the old saying that “familiarity breeds contempt.” Not that the people were in any way contemptuous of their church; they weren’t. I just mean that to them St. Mary’s was “home,” a familiar place, one many of them had known all their lives.

    However, there does seem to be some contempt for Jesus in the questions and attitude of the people in his home town. They had known Jesus most of his life and seem somewhat bemused as they ask one of the most crucial and ironic questions in the gospel: Is he not the carpenter’s son? (Matthew 13:55). From our perspective we might wonder at their wonderment; this is the Son of God, announced by the angel to the Blessed Virgin Mary. But those asking the question weren’t reading the gospel; to them, this was Jesus, who grew up among them. They knew his mother, they knew his family, they knew him.

    Or did they?

    It’s human nature to want to know things, and to think that we do. We’re used to learning; we’ve done it from birth. But our intellect is limited; no matter how much we know about anything, certain aspects remain hidden from us. We see this in our own relationships. If you’re married, think of your spouse; if not, perhaps brothers, sisters, or other family. Think even of places, like this church. We know them, right?

    Yes and no. Although we do know a lot, there are limits, things we can never know. Take even the most familiar person. No matter how well we know them, they will ultimately remain a mystery simply because we cannot know their inmost being – their soul. At church we can see the pews, the walls, the statues, the tabernacle, the hosts inside it, but the supernatural realities also remain a mystery: the substance of the bread and wine, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, the Real Presence of Christ. Hidden from our senses, these are revealed only to the eyes of faith.

    church-4365346_640The complication is that our senses can actually keep us from seeing the spiritual reality. We become so preoccupied with what they’re telling us that we miss what lies beyond them. When I walked through St. Mary Major I saw every artistic and architectural wonder she could reveal but missed the revelation that all of it pointed to, the greatest one possible – Christ in the most holy Eucharist. As for the people at Mass, they were also at risk of preoccupation, not with works of art but with their own thoughts or problems. In either case, the task before us is to concentrate on the glory being revealed to us, for it alone is the more lasting and soul-satisfying.

    The key to success is faith; the free assent of our mind and submission of our will to divine revelation. When faith guides where senses fail we find that familiarity breeds not contempt but love, that familiarity is not a barrier to a deeper experience of God but actually the road by which we enter more and more deeply into it.

  • Memory and Reality: Memorial of Sts. Joachim and Anne

    Sirach 44:1, 10-15; Matthew 13:16-17

    One of my sisters recently found an old family video and circulated a copy through the internet. It was from a Christmas well over 30 years ago and showed my two sisters, my sister’s one year-old son, my Mom and Dad, and one of my daughters.

    I wasn’t good for much after watching it even for a few minutes. Seeing my Dad really moved me. He passed away less than two years after that film. I had memories of him – his voice, mannerisms, the twinkle in his eyes – but when I saw him it was amazing how dim my memories actually were. Equally startling was seeing my daughter. Of course, I remember her as a 4 year old but the video was showing me the actual kid. Once again, it struck me how much my memory was a poor, faded version of the wonderful reality.

    Salvation history is not much different. In the first reading, Ben Sira speaks of those ancestors who will never be forgotten (Sirach 44:10). These were the godly people to whom God spoke in partial and various ways (Hebrews 1:1) and who, century after century, handed down the tradition to those who came after. From the most ancient time when God walked with man in the Garden and later spoke of the woman’s seed who would crush the head of the serpent (Genesis 3:15) onward – through Abraham, Moses, David, Solomon, from first prophet to the last – the wealth of salvation history, which was still alive and waiting to be realized had, like my memory, become a faded version of the original reality.

    cloud-143152_640Today we honor Saints Joachim and Anne, the parents of Mary, for many reasons related to salvation in memory and reality. Most especially we honor them as husband and wife, for it was their marriage, their union that produced the Immaculate Conception, which transformed the dim, distant memory of salvation into a living, breathing, crystal clear reality. We also honor them because, as the last of that long line of generations who patiently waited through the long night for the first rays of salvation’s dawn, doing so honors all the faithful who lived through and, in whatever ways they could, passed on the events of salvation history to those who came after. Finally, we honor them as parents, for they raised their daughter in the faith, taught her the love and goodness of God, and instilled in her the devotion He preferred for the mother of His Only Son.

    The words of Jesus in today’s gospel are a fitting tribute to Sts. Joachim and Anne:

    Blessed are your eyes, because they see, and your ears, because they hear. Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it. (Matthew 13:16-17)

    Sts. Joachim and Anne, pray for us.

  • Can We? The Feast of St. James the Apostle

    Readings: 2 Corinthians 4:7-15; Matthew 20:20-28

    As a young man I attended a classical guitar concert by an internationally recognized master. It was glorious; the music seemed to flow from him as effortlessly as breathing. Inspired, I thought, “I want to play like that,” but when I tried I realized that inspiration is one thing but performance something entirely different.

    Masters in any discipline make what they do look easy. Their work is inspiring and tempts us to believe that we can do it, too. We probably can, but to do so we first must realize that inspiration isn’t enough; commitment is what is needed.

    Perhaps this is what happened to the Apostle James who we remember today. He, his brother, and all of the Apostles watched Jesus teach, heal, and perform wondrous miracles to the adulation of the crowds. Maybe the glory of it all got to him; maybe he was fooled into thinking that such success comes easy, that whatever Jesus did he could do. This would explain why, when Jesus asked James and John if they could drink the chalice He was going to drink they replied, We can (Matthew 20:22). 

    good-friday-2264164_640Of course they could; the question was, did they know the cost? As Pope Francis once said, “I distrust a charity that costs nothing and does not hurt.” Jesus is Charity itself; God is love and there is no greater love than to die that others may live. Such a love virtually promises to hurt. Where James may have imagined sweet wine, a crown of leaves, and the cheers of a crowd, Jesus offered bitter gall, a crown of thorns, and a crowd cheering to see Him die.

    This kind of love asks much; it may ask everything. Still, remember that the Holy Father also said, “Genuine love is demanding, but its beauty lies precisely in the demands it makes.” If we cannot see beauty in the cross, thorns and rejection, consider St. Paul’s perspective in the first reading. Who was ever more afflicted than Christ? Who more persecuted or struck down? Yet He was not constrained, not abandoned, not destroyed. Nor are we; rather, we are raised to new and eternal life. This is why Paul exhorts us to carry in ourselves what James and the other Apostles carried: the body of the dying Jesus (2 Corinthians 4:10). He knew under the only inspiration that matters – the Holy Spirit – that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also… and place us with you in his presence (2 Corinthians 4:14).

    Although drinking from the chalice is not cheap, the reward is infinite. By so doing we commit ourselves to these life lessons of Christ, the Master: That true freedom is found only in obedience; that the greatest of leaders is the least of the servants; that the conqueror is the one who yields; and that the one who most truly loves life and lives it to the full is the one most willing to empty themselves even to death, that others may live.

    St. James, pray for us.

  • Love and Sacrifice: Friday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

    Exodus 11:10-12:14; Matthew 12:1-8

    I remember pulling a priest aside after Mass one Sunday to ask him about a verse in Scripture that I didn’t understand. It appears in today’s gospel but also in various forms in both the Old and New Testaments. As spoken by Jesus, the verse is, If you knew what this meant, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’ (Matthew 12:7).

    If you knew what this meant. That was exactly my question; what does it mean for God to say I desire mercy, not sacrifice? It turned out that Father didn’t know. If you don’t know either, then apparently we have lots of company, including the Pharisees – those ostensibly pious laypeople who loved to snipe at Jesus, this time for looking the other way while his disciples plucked heads of grain from a wheat field on the Sabbath.

    A better understanding requires us to go to the source, a verse that appears in the book of the prophet Hosea. In the translation approved by the American bishops the verse reads: For it is loyalty that I desire, not sacrifice, and knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings (Hosea 6:6). In place of “loyalty” other translations use “love” or “mercy.” It can be all of these because the original Hebrew word, hesed, defies easy translation. Perhaps it is best to think of hesed as the infinite love, mercy, and faithfulness of God. Thus, Jesus underscores the prophet’s teaching that God desires love, mercy, and faithfulness, not sacrifice.

    It’s easy to understand God desiring that we love as He does but doesn’t God also desire sacrifice? It would seem so. Consider the Mass. We call it the holy sacrifice of the Mass; in it we go out of our way to remember the sacrifice of Abraham our father in faith, and the bread and wine offered by the high priest Melchizedek. In confecting the Eucharist we recall the Last Supper, when Christ celebrated the Passover meal with the Twelve. The first reading outlined the ritual in some detail, especially its central event: the sacrifice of a young, unblemished lamb which was a type or foreshadowing of the great memorial sacrifice of Christ, the one true Lamb of God.

    However, we also recall at Mass not that our sacrifice be desirable but that it be acceptable. Before the consecration the priest explicitly asks us to pray “that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father.” Our acceptable sacrifice consists of everything we have laid upon the altar at the Offertory in union with the bread and wine – our entire selves if we so will it – freely offered out of love to the Father, with Christ and through the working of the Holy Spirit.

    Our self-offering is not only acceptable to God but also precious to him. As parents we accept every gift our children give us but we reserve a special place in our hearts for the gifts that are hardest to give, for we understand the sacrifice involved. After all, that is what sacrifice is: Something precious completely surrendered out of of love for the person who receives it. If such gifts are precious to us, imagine how much more so they are for our Heavenly Father, who understands better than anyone the meaning and love behind them, especially those that cost us the most. As we also know, nothing is harder to give away than our most prized possession – our very self.

    wheat-field-640960_640If the Pharisees had been thinking from this perspective they would have realized that the disciples were not just walking through a field wantonly plucking heads of grain in supposed violation of the sabbath; they were following Christ, giving their lives every day of the week, including the sabbath, to the Lord of the Sabbath.

    So then, why does Christ want us to remember that God desires mercy, not sacrifice? To remind us of two important truths: First, no sacrifice is fruitful if done without love, especially those offered to God; and second, love is most fully expressed when we offer to God what is most pleasing, most precious, and most difficult to give: Ourselves as a holy and living sacrifice (Romans 12:1).

    As Jesus noted, king David understood this. Despite his many faults, the same king who begged of the high priest the holy bread also had the humility to pray:

    … You do not desire sacrifice or I would give it; a burnt offering you would not accept. My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a contrite, humbled heart, O God, you will not scorn (Psalm 51:18-19)

  • Ignorance and Want: Monday of the 15th Week in Ordinary Time

    Exodus 1:8-14, 22; Matthew 10:34-11:1

    In Charles Dickens’ masterpiece, A Christmas Carol, the garment of the Ghost of Christmas Present conceals two pathetic specters that appear as children. Of them, the ghost tells Scrooge: This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both … but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased.

    As the book of Exodus opens, we see how ignorance and want conspire to doom the people of Israel. As for ignorance, the new Pharaoh knew nothing of Joseph, the immigrant Hebrew whose foresight kept the Egyptians from starving during the great famine that swept through the land years before. As for want, Pharaoh wanted for his people two qualities he thought they lacked; the strength and resilience he saw in the Hebrews.

    Pharaoh’s fear, based on ignorance of the Hebrews’ integrity and goodwill, and his want, based on his distrust of their prosperity, meant doom for the Hebrew family. Pharaoh believed that the way to destroy Hebrew society and at the same time assimilate their qualities was to re-define their families; whence his plan to drown the infant males. No baby boys, no husbands of the future; the Hebrew girls would grow up without prospects except in Egyptian households.

    Even though the Pharaohs were long gone when the gospels were written, St. Matthew demonstrates that ignorance and want continued to plague Israel. Generally, the people expected a Messiah to establish peace as the world understood it: at the point of a sword. Moreover, they wanted the power and sovereignty to which they as the oppressed yet chosen people felt entitled.

    But if we’ve learned anything about God, it’s that he takes our plans no matter how crooked and writes the straight lines of salvation. Pharaoh looked at the water of the Nile and saw the death of the Hebrew people; God looked at the same water and saw Moses who, as the chosen instrument of God, would bring Israel out of Egypt through a parted sea, deliver the law, and lead the people to the edge of the Promised Land.

    Then in the gospel, where the disciples looked at Jesus and in their ignorance saw a Messiah who would restore the sovereignty they wanted, the Father saw the Word who would restore the righteousness they needed. Where they wanted a sword to strike human oppression, Christ brought the sword that struck the human heart, separating love of God from love of neighbor, even the love within a family. This is why he could say that anyone who loved family more than they loved him was not worthy to follow him. He wanted the commandments written on their hearts, but not ignorant of the fact that they came on two tablets; the first concerning love of God, the second, love of neighbor.

    boy-1636731_640Like Dickens’ specters, ignorance and want still haunt us today. Modern culture has forgotten God, and this ignorance moves it to see family, life and love as things that can re-defined. Our scriptures today remind us that no Pharaoh, no judge, no culture can re-define what they could never define to begin with. And where our society wants us to believe that we are lost until we find ourselves, let us remember that Scripture teaches us exactly the opposite; we are found when we lose ourselves for the sake of Christ.

  • Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing: Memorial of St. Henry

    Readings: Hosea 14:2-10; Matthew 10:16-23

    Today’s saint brings to mind the gospel image of sheep and wolves, for the historical accounts of St. Henry almost paint two distinct pictures. First, there is Henry the lamb; a holy, pious 10th century king and emperor blessed with mystical visions, so favored by God that angels fought in his army. But then there is Henry the wolf; a tenacious power-hungry predator who connived to secure any throne he could and who wantonly made war on his Catholic neighbors. So which was he, sheep or wolf?

    Of course the real man is much more complex; he has aspects of both. Henry was born in the year 972, the son of Duke Henry of Bavaria and his wife, Princess Gisela of Burgundy. As for the lamb, Henry demonstrated as a boy the kind of piety that put him in stark contrast to his father, Henry the Quarrelsome. Well-educated in both secular and religious studies, Henry’s nature seemed more suited to the spiritual life; he thought to become a cleric. However, when his father died at an early age, it became clear that a wolf was needed. Although Henry lacked his father’s temperament he did have his ability to lead; this eventually landed him the crown as King of Germany at the age of 30 and Holy Roman Emperor a few years later.

    Despite his worldly responsibilities, Henry always made time for the spiritual life. Wherever he traveled his first stop was the local church where he spent hours in prayer before the Lord. The king also donated huge amounts for the welfare of the poor and to build churches and monasteries.

    Yet there is also no doubt that Henry was not afraid to go to war even with Catholic nations. His motives are not entirely clear but his concern seems to have been the security of German borders against potential invaders, especially Poland, whose king had expansionist ideas of his own.

    Recall the words of Jesus in today’s gospel: Behold, I am sending you like sheep in the midst of wolves; so be shrewd as serpents and simple as doves (Matthew 10:16). King Henry was a deeply religious man; he adored the Good Shepherd and in his soul gladly bore the brand of His sheep. Nevertheless, he also wore the mantle of emperor; he was a sheep with an empire to rule, people to govern, borders to secure and defend. Christ urged us to be shrewd; what is more shrewd than a sheep in wolves’ clothing?

    For all that, there is evidence that the stress of his earthly duties wore on the king; he longed to retire, to cloister himself behind the walls of a quiet, peaceful Benedictine abbey. He said as much while visiting a monastery and the abbot took him at his word, accepting the king as a postulant and putting him under strict obedience. When Henry asked what his orders were, the abbot replied that he must return to the secular world and discharge his duties as ruler; the empire was in dire need of such a man. Henry obeyed; he left the abbey and ruled until his own premature death at age 52.

    The abbot’s lesson to King Henry is just as appropriate today, for like him we may find ourselves weary and wondering if perhaps we have missed our calling. Over time the drudgery of daily life can take its toll, wear us down, lead us to question who we are and where we’re going, even tempt us to run away in pursuit of a life free of all the responsibilities we carry on our shoulders.

    monastery-569368_640The abbot reminded the king and he reminds us that the church is not a place we run to that we may lose ourselves; it is the place we come to that we may find ourselves. Over the course of his life and reign Henry spent hours on his knees in front of the Tabernacle. He may have meant to empty himself of his problems but Christ had a different plan; He desired to fill him with the grace that would enable him to face and overcome his problems.

    That same grace is available to us but we must be ready, willing, and able to receive it. The prophet Hosea tells us how: Return, O Israel, to the LORD, your God (Hosea 14:2). Return means to repent, to turn from sin, for it is only in so doing that God restores us and instills in us the Holy Spirit that empowers us not just to go out among the wolves but to bring them back with us rejoicing into the flock of Christ.

    St. Henry, pray for us.

  • Conquer by Yielding: Monday of the 11th Week in Ordinary Time

    2 Corinthians 6:1-10; Matthew 5:38-42

    Centuries ago, the Vikings sailed their warships down from the north, onto the coasts and into the rivers of Europe. Although they didn’t discriminate much, one of their favorite targets was the Church. They quickly learned that her monasteries and buildings not only held great riches but were the homes of religious men and women who offered virtually no resistance at all.

    Eventually the Vikings tired of their pilgrimages south to plunder and decided to settle in Europe. The French bought them off by giving them a large tract of land known still as Normandy, named after the Norsemen. The first Normans were pagans and scoffed at the religious ways of the Europeans but over time their children and their children’s children, raised in those ways, became not only fierce warriors but also devout Catholics. In fact, at least one historian has referred to the Norman armies as the “Pope’s marines.”1 Not only that, but Normandy became a place of great monastic reform within the Church.

    It’s paradoxical but also one of the great strategies for ultimate victory in battle. It is ancient, known even to Ovid, the Roman poet of Christ’s time who wrote, “Yield to him who opposes you; by yielding you conquer.”

    That is what Christ commands in today’s gospel. Conquer by yielding. Measure his words: offer no resistance to one who is evil. He does not advocate losing, giving in, or even passive resistance. He advocates no resistance at all. Offer the other cheek; give your cloak and your tunic; go two miles when asked for one; give when asked. An adversary is powerless in the face of this. What difference does it make how hard a river wave strikes a reed if the reed bends at a mere ripple? One slender reed that bends renders the entire power of the river useless.

    There is pain in the bending. Jesus doesn’t say that yielding is easy or pain-free. In the first reading, St. Paul recounts the many ways it hurt him: afflictions, hardships, constraints, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, vigils, fasts (2 Corinthians 6:4-5). Not a path for the faint of heart. Yet consider the alternative; when fighting a vastly superior force, is resistance easier and a guarantee of victory? Indeed, just as we all know how trees that cannot bend in the wind will break, we’ve all felt the pain and futility of trying to conquer the worst enemy of all: our own will. Think how often our own resistance has been so easily overcome.

    Now consider what it means to yield to the superior forces of temptation and evil around us. It doesn’t mean to give in, for that would be losing. No, to yield is to have the humility to acknowledge that these forces are more powerful than I, so I must rely on the greatest power, the Holy Spirit. St. Paul also lists the benefits of that: purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, unfeigned love, truthful speech (2 Corinthians 6:6-7). These are the gentle, God-given strengths available to us; although they take time to cultivate and develop, even the largest boulder is smoothed and worn down over time by a gentle stream.

    viking-1114632_640It took a long time – generations – but the Church in Europe triumphed even over the seemingly invincible Vikings. I say “seemingly” for we who hear the words of Christ in the gospel know that in reality the Vikings never had a chance. All they had were swords, brute strength, and a fierce warrior spirit; what is that against the gentle, persistent, indomitable power of God? Through the ministers of the Church, the Spirit of God flowed over that mighty Norman rock and carved it into a force that would defend and promote the faith they once mocked for yielding so easily.

    The key to victory then and now is patient endurance. We may know it as the virtue of ‘long-suffering,’ and for this virtue we must constantly pray. Long-suffering requires tremendous strength but it is the strength born of hope, hope in that one great victory promised by Christ who, envisioning his own redemptive passion, death, and resurrection said through the evangelist John, In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world (John 16:33).

    1 Crocker III, H.W. (2000). Triumph: The Power and the Glory of the Catholic Church. New York: Three Rivers Press, p. 160.

  • Perfect Love: Memorial of Blessed Diana d’Andalo (June 9)

    1 John 4: 11-21; Matthew 19:16-26

    The readings today speak in different ways of love and fear. First, John reminds us that because God is love (1 John 4:16), we who desire to know Him and share in His life must love God and each other as God loves: perfectly. We remain in His love through faith in Christ and the working of the Spirit and, as love comes to perfection, fear subsides; for perfect love casts out all fear (1 John 4:18). This sounds wonderful, and it is, but it isn’t easy. We see that in the gospel. The rich young man loved God but he didn’t know Him; lacking the eyes of faith he looked at Jesus and saw not the Lord but a teacher who asked of him what he most feared to give: his wealth. No wonder he went away sad; he allowed fear keep him from the perfect love Christ offered.

    Today’s saint, Blessed Diana d’Andalo, probably understood that man as well as anyone. Born around the year 1201 in northern Italy, Diana was the 5th child of Octavia and Andalo de Lovella. Andalo means “Little Andrew,” but even if her father was small in stature, he was larger than life. Mayor of a mountainous district of Bologna, Andrew was a powerful, wealthy, and influential man, both warrior and statesman.

    Diana emerges in the annals of history at the age of seventeen. She is described as good, intelligent, brave, sympathetic, and resourceful but also spoiled, vain, worldly, obstinate, and not overly pious. Like her father, Diana preferred to give orders, not take them. Finally, like most wealthy young socialites, she loved the finer things in life – dresses and jewelry – and enjoyed the pursuit of pleasure.

    While she pursued pleasure the Holy Spirit pursued her. He made His first inroads into her heart through the missionaries visiting Bologna from the newly-formed Order of Preachers, the Dominicans. She loved listening to them for they intrigued her, but what interested her most was their results. They were converting people in great number.

    At the right moment the Spirit made His move in the person of Blessed Reginald of Orleans, a French Dominican sent to Bologna to preach. He had a way about him, a charism for preaching that attracted people. He captivated Diana. As he spoke about the pride, vanity, and worldliness infecting society she felt his words, like Christ’s to the rich young man, bringing her face to face with her own sinfulness.

    The fire of enlightenment is one thing, the fire of purgation another. Like the man in the gospel Diana had a choice to make: Draw near to the Light of the World and endure His cleansing fire or retreat into the darkness of her old, familiar ways. The rich young man had made his choice; Diana, hers. She resolved to give her life to Christ as His bride.

    Although this was certainly the right choice, she soon learned that it was no guarantee of easy times ahead. As was the custom, Diana asked her father’s permission to leave home and take the habit of the Dominicans. Having a husband in mind for her, he said no. Greatly disappointed but undeterred, she left home to do it anyway. Her brothers rode to the convent and, when she resisted, dragged her away with such force that they broke one of her ribs. Back at home and in physical and spiritual pain, she spent a year begging her father’s permission, then once more eloped to the convent. This time her father relented and Diana was received into the order by St. Dominic himself.

    She could overcome her father’s will; could she overcome her own? Recall that Diana liked being in charge and giving orders. She was comfortable when appointed prioress of the convent but when it became clear to her advisor that leadership was not among her gifts, obedience was a bitter pill to swallow. What she thought or felt about this we cannot know; she left no record and died at the age of 36. But from contemporaries we learn that Diana used this time to pray tirelessly, accept direction enthusiastically, and become a model of humility. An ancient biographer wrote:

    Profoundly humble, she thought herself the least of all and saw to it that she wore the poorest habit. She loved to keep in the background [and was] possessed by the spirit of poverty, completely detached from the goods of this world…1

    How far she had come from that spoiled teenager in love with the finer things of life!

    jesus-284515_640The life of Blessed Diana d’Andalo shows us that to those docile to His promptings the Holy Spirit will show both the greatness and the folly inside ourselves. Diana’s folly lay in the selfishness and will to dominate that has plagued mankind since it first heard the voice that whispers You can be like God (Genesis 3:5). Her greatness lay in her steadfast determination to conquer any enemy, especially herself; to cast aside all fear, remain in God’s love, keep faith in Christ, and abandon herself to the power and working of the Holy Spirit, that her love for God and her neighbor may be made as perfect as possible.

    Blessed Diana d’Andalo, pray for us.

    1From Georges, N., OP, STL. Blessed Diana and Blessed Jordan of the Order of Preachers. Available online at http://opcentral.org/resources/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/dijolives.pdf, p 87.