Mark 10:45

Tag: mercy

  • Power and Paradox

    Power and Paradox

    Wednesday of the 25th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Pio of Pietrelcina, Priest)

    Proverbs 30:5-9; Luke 9:1-6

    In the book of Proverbs, we read, “Give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need.”

    The man we remember today, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, tried his best to live that out. He owned practically nothing, slept on a straw mattress, wore habits until they fell apart, and turned over all gifts and donations he received to his Franciscan superiors.

    It wasn’t that Father Pio loved poverty for its own sake. Rather, it reminded him, and he wanted it to remind the world, that all we really need is God.

    It worked. It was clear to all who knew him that Father Pio lived in profound union with God. His life struck that balance the author of Proverbs spoke of: not to have so much that he might forget God, or so little that he might be consumed by anxiety. All he asked of God was to have everything he needed to serve Him.

    And that prayer was certainly answered. Like the disciples in the gospel story, Christ gave him all the power and authority he needed to proclaim the Kingdom of God. Unlike them, however, Father Pio was not sent out to the world; rather, the world was sent to him.

    As word of his ministry spread, people began to come from all over to the little Italian village where he lived. They came to confess to him, seek his counsel, attend his Masses, and ask his prayers. 

    And, as they came, Father saw so great a need for medical care that he became the driving force behind the “Home for the Relief of Suffering,” a Catholic treatment center dedicated to providing medical and spiritual care, particularly for people who could not afford it.

    And this is the paradox: That a man who possessed almost nothing became the man to whom people could bring everything, from their worst sins and sickness to their greatest hopes and fears.

    That is the paradox of the Christian life. Especially in our society, we are tempted to want more: more power, more control, more money, more of whatever makes us feel secure.

    But the example of Christ teaches us something different: The less we cling to what we have, the more freely we allow God to work within us.

    Christ is not asking us to found care centers, sleep on straw mats, or spend hours forgiving sins. But he does ask us to become free enough to receive the gifts he gives us, and generous enough to use them for the benefit of others.

    So, let’s remember that prayer from Proverbs: “Give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need…”

    And pray for the grace to want only what God is pleased to give us, the eyes to recognize what those gifts are, and the generosity to use them for the building up of His Kingdom.

    St. Pio of Pietrelcina, pray for us.

    —

  • What Do They Say?

    What Do They Say?

    Thursday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 7:36-50

    In the first reading, St. Paul tells the Corinthians to hold fast to the gospel he has preached to them. But he isn’t talking about just remembering it. He’s saying that the gospel must shape their lives, especially their relationships with others.

    Their words will teach people about Christ, but so will their actions.

    The Gospel gives us two striking examples of how our actions reveal the unspoken thoughts of our heart.

    First, consider Simon the Pharisee. Clearly a man of learning, no doubt well-spoken, and in a respectable religious position. But his actions on bringing Christ into his home… what do they say? He doesn’t give Jesus even the ordinary courtesies, things easy for him to provide; no water for his feet, no kiss of greeting, no oil.

    The woman, on the other hand, says nothing. No words about how sorry she is, or how much she loves Jesus. But her actions pour out the thoughts of her heart; washing his feet with her tears, drying them with her hair, kissing them repeatedly, and finally anointing them.

    And we know our Lord’s reaction to that. And to Simon.

    The question is, what will his reaction will be to us? 

    We use words to speak our love for God. We say our prayers, give all the proper responses at Mass. We might even use them to teach the faith to others. 

    But my actions – what do they say?

    • When someone hurts me, what do they say about whether I believe in forgiveness?
    • When someone needs my time, what do they say about whether I believe in charity?
    • When I’m inconvenienced, what do they say about whether I believe that my life belongs to God?
    • When no one is watching, what do they say about my character?

    The readings today are clear: Holding on to God’s word doesn’t mean merely remembering it, or even repeating it. Holding onto it means allowing it to become visible in our lives – despite the cost.

    As St. Anthony of Padua once said, “Let your words teach and your actions speak.”

    When all is said and done, people may well forget what we said. But let’s make sure they always remember what our lives told them about Christ.

  • The Green Lab

    The Green Lab

    Sunday of the 24th Week in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Sirach 27:30—28:7; Matthew 18:21-35

    Years ago, a teenage girl lived across the street. I don’t know why, but she really disliked us and found several ways to let us know. We tried to make peace. No luck. The final straw came when she began letting her yellow Labrador, Rocky, outside unleashed to “visit” the bushes and plants on the side and back of our house. He ruined them and their replacements, and kept coming back for more.

    We asked her to stop him. She wouldn’t, and we couldn’t prove it was Rocky. So, I hatched “Operation: Stop Rocky.” Just three things: A bucket of water, a generous helping of food coloring, and the element of surprise.

    I wasn’t home when the operation was launched; my wife was. But I can tell you that Rocky was on a leash from then on, and that young lady spent a few days walking around the block with her happy, green Labrador.

    I thought I’d feel better afterwards, but my anger at that kid lingered. It’s like Sirach said, “Wrath and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight.” That was me… vengeful, unwilling to forgive. Yet, at the same time, there I was at church every week, praying that my own sins would be forgiven.

    The more I thought about it, the more times I recalled when I had refused to let go of some injury or insult. Maybe you’ve been there; maybe you’re there now.

    If so, learn from me, who has had to implement another simple, 3 point program, this one inspired by today’s readings.

    First, we have been forgiven a debt we can never repay.

    The servant in our Lord’s parable owes ten thousand talents. Whether the talents were gold, silver, or copper, it’s such a huge sum that he could never repay it.

    Our Lord’s point is clear… that’s us. We have received a mercy from Him that we could never earn and can never repay.

    Second, every wrong done to us is an opportunity to forgive as we have been forgiven.

    That doesn’t mean the wrongs done to us aren’t real, or we’re supposed to pretend they never happened, or somehow they don’t matter.

    It means that the mercy we have received from Almighty God becomes the mercy that we’re called to show someone else. And, in so doing, mercy grows; we don’t lose what we have, and we’ve empowered others to show mercy, too.

    Then comes the third and hardest part: Forgiveness is a work of the heart.

    Let’s be clear… Forgiving people doesn’t mean forgetting what happened, acting as if everything is now OK, or going out of our way to hang around with them.

    What it means is letting go. Letting go of the anger, the resentment, or the desire to make the other person pay.

    Because until we do that, until we let go, we remain tied to the people who hurt us. And the longer we do that, the more we feel like it will always be this way – there’s nothing we can do.

    But there is. It comes in a wonderful piece of advice attributed to St. Philip Neri: “If you find it difficult to forgive, look at a crucifix.”

    Try that. If or when you find it hard to forgive someone for something, take a moment and look at a crucifix. Gaze on Christ hanging there. Imagine the pain, the desolation, the suffering. Then remember what he said from that place: “Father, forgive them.”

    If he can forgive us for that, how can we refuse to forgive one another for anything?

    That is our call from Christ today, as difficult as it is simple:

    Forgive.

    From the heart.

    Every time.

    —

  • The “Yes” Hidden Inside “No”

    The “Yes” Hidden Inside “No”

    The 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Matthew 15:21-28

    In child psychology, we learn that children get very good at figuring out what parents mean when they say “No.” They do it by testing.

    For example, a child asks, “Mom, can I go in the pool?” Mom says, “No.”

    A minute later: “Now can I go in the pool?” Mom says nothing.

    A few minutes later: “Mom, can I go in the pool now?”

    Mom finally says, “Not now. After lunch.”

    The child has just learned that sometimes, “yes” is hidden in “no.”

    The Canaanite woman in today’s Gospel certainly understood that.

    She asks Jesus to heal her daughter. He says nothing. She asks again. This time, he says his mission is to others. After she asks again, Jesus speaks a short parable about food and dogs. Not only does she not stop, she gets creative, adding her own happy ending to his parable.

    Is our Lord annoyed by this? Not at all. He’s delighted at her faith.

    Her faith in what? In his mercy. It was her faith, no doubt born of love for her daughter, that told her there must be a “yes” hidden somewhere inside that “no.” She was right, as Jesus said, “O woman, great is your faith!”

    This is a good lesson for us. Keeping faith in prayer can be a battle; there are obstacles to overcome.

    One is humility. We can catch ourselves thinking, “Why doesn’t God grant me this one request? What’s the big deal?” Or, “I’m a sinner, so God must want nothing to do with me.”

    The Canaanite woman may well have thought that way. After all, in our Lord’s parable, she was the dog. But, where some might be humiliated by that term, she accepted the image and used it as an opening, a chance to go deeper, to find the “yes” hidden there.

    That’s our call, too. God loves each of us with an infinite love. Everything we say to Him matters. And He knows our intent; He understands the suffering and frustration that have brought us to His table. 

    Which brings us to the second obstacle – trust. How does the seeming silence of God affect our trust in Him? Do we doubt God’s ability to do what we want, or do we bargain with Him… “If you grant me this one request, I’ll do anything, even go to daily Mass for a year.”

    Again, look at the Canaanite woman. She was so confident in our Lord’s power that she saw the healing of her daughter as simple for Christ as a crumb falling from his table.

    Don’t let fear or doubt shake your confidence. The God who has been with you all this way will continue to make a way. We just have to keep asking, keep close to Him.

    And that’s the third obstacle: perseverance. We pray for a long time, and nothing happens. St. Augustine’s mother prayed for decades for her son’s conversion. How easy it would have been to give up after a few years of waiting.

    She didn’t. Neither did the Canaanite woman. Neither should we.

    It’s so hard. We don’t always know what God’s “no” means. Sometimes it means “Yes, but not yet.” Sometimes it means “No, it must be another way.” As parents know, sometimes the most loving thing a child can hear is “no,” whether they understand it or not.

    The story of the Canaanite woman teaches us not to mistake God’s silence for His absence, His “no” for a lack of love. And sometimes, the “yes” we’re looking for is hidden inside the “no.”

    —

  • Saying Sorry and Being Sorry

    Saying Sorry and Being Sorry

    Monday of the 16th Week in Ordinary Time

    Micah 6:1-4, 6-8

    Heather, a woman who worked a couple of desks away, was on the phone with her husband, who had apparently bought her flowers as a way of apologizing for something.

    It didn’t work. She said, “I don’t want flowers, Harry. And I don’t want you to just SAY you’re sorry. I want you to BE sorry.”

    Today’s selection from Micah reminded me of that. In a way, Harry was on trial, just like Israel is in this reading. 

    The defendant? Israel.

    The plaintiff? God.

    The prosecutor? Micah.

    The witnesses? The mountains and hills. 

    The evidence? Everything God had done for Israel over the centuries.

    The people know they have failed. They’ve strayed from God time and again. They want to make good, but here they make their worst mistake: “What do you want, Lord – more animals, more oil, our first-born children?”

    They completely misunderstand. God certainly doesn’t want child sacrifice, and He doesn’t want more empty ritual. He wants a change in their behavior, as He says through the prophet to close this reading: Do justice, love goodness, and walk humbly with the Lord your God.

    Those beautiful words echo down the centuries to our own day.

    Do justice. Give to God and to others what you owe them. What do we owe God? Everything! Without God, where would we be? What do we owe others? The dignity that belongs to them, for they too are made in the image and likeness of God.

    Love goodness. There is no single word in our language for what is meant here. Imagine the person you love the most: How do you treat them, and what are you willing to do for them? This is that level of merciful, loving kindness; the kind of faithful love that keeps showing up, no matter how costly.

    Walk humbly. We do this by recognizing our own God-given dignity while at the same time acknowledging our weaknesses. Without doing so, we can neither do justice nor love goodness.

    Our perfect model for all of this is Christ. Who did justice more than he, who gave God the total gift of himself, and us the way to eternal life? Who loved more than he, who gave his life even for those who despised him? And who walked more humbly than he, who, though King of kings, lived and died as servant of all?

    Like Heather, God isn’t looking for ‘flowers.’ He isn’t looking for bigger sacrifices or more impressive religious gestures but for converted hearts. And He doesn’t want us to just SAY we’re sorry. He wants a change of heart that leads to a change in behavior.

    That’s exactly what Jesus came to make possible.

    —

  • The Strength of Patient Mercy

    The Strength of Patient Mercy

    The 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A) 

    Wisdom 12:13, 16-19; Psalm 86:5; Romans 8:26-27; Matthew 13:24-30

    If the readings today seem a little unconnected, let me try and connect them up for you.

    In high school, I knew a kid who wasn’t an easy student. He was, in terms of the first reading, full of “temerity”… brash, arrogant, disrespectful. In other words, he treated teachers the way Israel treated the Lord. 

    And, like Israel, he was rebuked. Often harshly, as we might expect. However, one teacher, Sister Shaun Marie, was different. She treated him much more like God treated Israel: with strength cloaked in mercy.

    At break times, like during lunch, Sister would “find” him in a hallway and strike up a conversation. Sooner or later, she’d look him in the eye and tell him she knew he could do better. She reminded him of the good she saw in him – good he couldn’t see in himself. She never excused his behavior, but she also never let it define him.

    Today’s Psalm reminds us that God is good and forgiving, abounding in kindness to all who call. That’s the kind of mercy Sister showed that boy. And it awakened in him what no teacher had – his own sense of self-worth and longing to be healed. He began to see that he couldn’t fix himself by sheer willpower. But he didn’t need to; as St. Paul said, the Spirit “comes to the aid of our weakness.”

    And I can tell you, because I was that kid, that thanks to Sister Shaun, I came to see that the true strength of God lies not in the threat of punishment but in the patience of His abundant mercy.

    That’s what Jesus is teaching us in the parable of the wheat and the weeds. While we can certainly think of the world as the field, we can also think of ourselves that way.

    I think it’s safe to say that most of us have a negativity bias. That is, we look at ourselves and focus on the weeds. That can lead to impatience: “I’ve been trying to stop sinning for so long. What’s wrong with me? I want to be better right now!”

    Sounds like the servants in the parable: “Do you want us to go and pull them up?”

    Of course, God sees the weeds, too. But His patience protects the growth of the wheat within us. And in His mercy He will wait, meet us where we are as Sister met me, and urge us to see what He sees – not who we’ve been, but who we’re capable of becoming if we let His grace work within us. 

    Most of us have known someone like that. A parent. A teacher. A coach. A grandparent. Someone who saw more in us than we saw in ourselves – who refused to let our issues become our identity. If you’ve ever been loved like that, then you’ve experienced a glimpse of the patience of God.

    So now, the question is this: Who in your life needs someone to believe in them before they believe in themselves? Who is God asking you to be that person for? Because that’s what patient mercy looks like.

    —

  • The Eyes Have It

    The Eyes Have It

    The Passion of Our Lord, Jesus Christ, According to Luke.

    Of all the scenes in Luke’s passion narrative, one in particular strikes very deep. After Peter denies Jesus for the final time, Luke says that the cock crowed, and the Lord turned and looked at Peter (Luke 22:61-62).

    No words. Just eye contact.

    Luke is counting on us knowing from our own experience that the most emotionally powerful times in life often render words unnecessary. But then, the eyes are most eloquent! As St. Jerome once said, “Eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.” Think how often we use them to say, “I love you,” or “I’m sorry,” or “I’m so proud of you,” for example.

    We have no idea what our Lord’s eyes were saying to Peter in that moment, but we know what Peter took away: he went out and began to weep bitterly (Luke 22:62). Imagine being the Apostle in that moment! Or, imagine being ourselves, committing some sin, then realizing that Jesus has been there all along, looking at us.

    What would our eyes be saying then?

    Those are the eyes we bring to Confession, where sometimes we, too, weep. But then, those are also the eyes we bring to Holy Communion or to Adoration, where Christ is as present as He was in the high priest’s courtyard – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. If we weep then, let it be in the joyful hope that Christ is saying to us what He said to the Apostles in John’s gospel before he died: As the Father loves me, so I also love you. Remain in my love  (John 15:9).

    —

  • The Heart of the Law: The 3rd Sunday of Lent, Cycle B

    The Heart of the Law: The 3rd Sunday of Lent, Cycle B

    Exodus 20:1-17; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-25

    At first, today’s readings might not present themselves as a unified whole: Moses receives the Ten Commandments; St. Paul speaks of the cross; our Lord cleanses the Temple. But if we look a little below the surface, a theme does emerge.

    First, the Ten Commandments. As significant as they are on their own, these are only the first of a series of commands that God used to define the terms of his covenant with the Hebrews. The agreement was this: If the people obeyed God’s law, they would not only be his treasured possession but God would have a sanctuary built and dwell among them. This was truly momentous, for God hadn’t dwelled among people since the Garden of Eden (recall him walking in the Garden in Chapter 3 of Genesis).

    This is why several chapters of Exodus then go into great detail about the sanctuary’s construction. Much of it symbolizes the Garden of Eden, that first sanctuary of God, including the tree in the center of the Garden – the tree of life. And that explains why, down to the time of Jesus and beyond, the Temple held such pride of place among the Jews: The Temple was an icon of the universe, including paradise, and its center, the holy of holies, the place where God Most High dwelled among his people. It was as if God was re-creating Eden and restoring his people to their place near the tree of life.

    The only thing more incredible than all this was how little time it took the Hebrews to break the covenant. Just weeks after agreeing to have no other gods they melted jewelry to make a golden calf. But then we shouldn’t be too hard on them; it’s human nature to want our own way, to determine for ourselves what is good, and then, after we’ve sinned, to rationalize or minimize it.

    We see that in the gospel story. Jewish law did stipulate a census tax and the securing of an animal for sacrifice, but neither of those things had to be done on Temple grounds and there is little doubt that at least some profiteering went on. But come on, what’s the harm? People paid the tax and sacrificed their animal. We see it in our own time as well. For example, the Catechism teaches that it’s a sin against the 2nd Commandment to say God’s name when we’re not praying. God’s name is holy, and we are to speak it only to bless, praise, and glorify him (CCC §2143). Still, we’re tempted to think, “No way. Everybody says, ‘OMG’ when they talk. I can’t believe God really cares about that!”

    But we forget the ancient principle of law that says that the seriousness of an offense is determined not by the person who commits the crime, but by the dignity of the victim. For example, in civil law, if a man assaults someone he might be arrested or fined, but if he assaults the President of the United States he will definitely go to prison for a very long time. Why? Because of the dignity our society bestows on the office of President.

    So with God’s law; when we sin God is offended, and because God’s dignity is infinite, every offense against him is infinite. From that perspective, think how arrogant it is for us to tell God when he should or should not be offended, or demanding that God explain himself to us. That’s exactly backward. Only God gets to say when he is offended and, as Christ implied in the Temple, only God is in a position to demand anything.

    This at last brings us to the cross. For God does demand something – justice – but in his infinite mercy demands that it be satisfied once and for all through the sacrifice of his only Son. As much as the commandments mean, as much as the Temple ever meant, infinitely more was given to us by this gift. For as he implied in today’s gospel, Jesus is the Temple, and only in his cross do we find the true tree of life, the highest expression of what we are called to be, how we are are called to love.

    In these remaining days of Lent, make time to contemplate the cross. If you do not pray the Stations of the Cross, consider doing that. Regardless, pray the words we begin with – the Act of Contrition: “O my God,” (said in prayer!) “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin.”

    This prayer helps us remember what God wants most: That his law be written on our hearts; that from our heart we are sorry for offending his infinite dignity; and that we are committed to avoiding the situations or places that have helped lead us into sin. All this strengthens within us the Holy Spirit’s gift of fear of the Lord, through which we come to love God so much, to respect his dignity so deeply that we never want to do anything to offend him; to say as little St. Joan of Arc said at her trial, “I would rather die than do a thing which I know to be a sin or against the will of God.”

    That is the heart of Christ, whose love is the heart of the law.

  • Mercy and Forgiveness: Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Mercy and Forgiveness: Monday of the 2nd Week of Lent

    Daniel 9:4b-10; Luke 6:36-38

    The readings today evoke two images of Pope St. John Paul II in my mind.

    The first is of a trip the pope made on April 13th, 1986. Although very short – less than two miles from the Vatican – its impact was as great as any pastoral visit he would ever make. For on that day the Holy Father bridged a gap that was centuries wide, doing what no pope since St. Peter had ever done: entering a Jewish synagogue. In fact, he entered Rome’s Great Synagogue and, while 1000 Jews watched and wept, warmly embraced the Rabbi, then publicly and sincerely apologized to all Jews on behalf of the Church for whatever part she played in the centuries of discrimination and persecution the Jewish people had suffered.

    We naturally tend to focus guilt on ourselves as individuals but the pope reminded us that, as the reading from Daniel implies, sin is sometimes a matter of “we,” and not just “I.” In his Apostolic Exhortation “Reconciliation and Penance” John Paul II referred to this as social sin – sins committed by groups as small as a few people or as large as many nations. His point was that each member bears some share of responsibility for what the group does or fails to do. As he wrote, social sins are the “very personal sins of those who cause or support evil or who exploit it… who are in a position to avoid, eliminate or at least limit certain social evils but who fail to do so out of laziness, fear or the conspiracy of silence, through secret complicity or indifference… who take refuge in the supposed impossibility of changing the world and… sidestep the effort and sacrifice required….”1

    Therefore, it is our moral duty as Catholics to examine ourselves in light of the behavior of the groups in which we participate in our parish, Church, community, nation, and world, and to speak and act against these behaviors when necessary.

    The second image of St. John Paul is in the prison cell of his would-be assassin, the man who shot him several times on May 13th, 1981. Although the pope publicly forgave him four days later, in 1983 he visited the prison and personally did so again. Later, John Paul appealed to the Italian government to release him, which they did. Eventually the man converted to Catholicism, citing the pope’s influence.

    In the gospel, Luke does not put on our Lord’s lips the words Matthew used: Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48). Instead, the Jesus of Luke says, Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful (Luke 6:36). Here, “merciful” could also be translated “compassionate,” and there are few examples of mercy or compassion better than the Holy Father’s actions. And look at the effect! The transformation of a man from one who would kill the Vicar of Christ into one who would rather die for love of Christ.

    The power to look within and see the personal and social sin as well as the capacity to show mercy comes as the free gift of our Lord to all who are willing to ask forgiveness of those we have wounded and offer it to those who have wounded us. This is the transformative power of the heart of Christ, as St. John Paul reminded us when he said, “I invite you all to join me in turning to Christ’s heart, the eloquent sign of the divine mercy, the “propitiation for our sins,” “our peace and reconciliation,” that we may draw from it an interior encouragement to hate sin and to be converted to God, and find in it the divine kindness which lovingly responds to human repentance.”

    Sacred Heart of Christ, have mercy on us.

    St. John Paul II, pray for us.

    1http://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_jp-ii_exh_02121984_reconciliatio-et-paenitentia.html

  • 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!