Mark 10:45

Tag: New Testament

  • Ripple Effects

    Ripple Effects

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    St. Ephrem, pray for us.

  • True Wisdom

    True Wisdom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    St. Charles Lwanga and Companions, pray for us.

  • The Master

    The Master

    6th Saturday of Easter

    Memorial of St. Bernardine of Siena

    Acts 18:23-28; John 16:23b-28

    I once attended a concert by a master guitarist. I don’t remember any particular piece he played, but I do remember two things. First, he was somehow able to communicate the truth and beauty of the music. When the tune was happy, the guitar laughed; when it was solemn, it contemplated; when it was sad, it wept. Second was his joy. This guitarist really enjoyed what he did, and his joy was infectious; he inspired me to want to make music, too. Of course, when I got home and tried, it didn’t sound anything like his.

    I think this is what masters in any art or science are able to do: communicate the beauty of the truth they’ve worked so hard to find, and inspire others with the joy of that truth, which motivates them to go deeper and learn more for themselves.

    Today we celebrate two masters of the faith. The reading from Acts gives us the first, Apollos. We hear of his eloquence, authority, boldness, and passion, and I don’t think it’s going too far to say that the truth and beauty of his words brought many to Christ or that his joy inspired many more.

    The calendar of the Church gives us the second, for today is the feast day of the tireless preacher, St. Bernardine of Siena. He was one of those people who always seems to be on the go. While he may not have known what to do with all that energy, God did: The hospital in his home town of Siena, where every day dozens of people were dying from the plague. Months later, getting word that his aunt was ill, Bernardine went and cared for her. Then, after praying for God’s guidance, he joined the Franciscans, where, after some years, his gift for preaching emerged. He was ordered to travel Italy and preach, which he did with every ounce of energy he had, until his death around 40 years later.

    We can learn a lot about mastery by considering the life of St. Bernardine. Obviously, he didn’t begin life as a master; he got there the way everyone else does: prayer and work. First, he prayed. As Jesus said in the gospel, whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you (16:23). We don’t know if the answer Bernardine received was what he wanted or expected, but it was given, as Christ said, that his joy may be complete (16:24). The same goes for us. If we don’t know what our gifts are, or how to use them, then we need to ask. But then, get busy. Bernardine didn’t just sit around and wait for the answer; he got to work and looked for it. He tried the Franciscans, found it good, and kept going deeper. That’s the other part; he never did anything halfway. Whether it was theology, teaching, devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus (he created the symbol ‘IHS’ which is used to this day), or traveling and preaching to thousands, he gave himself totally – where he was and with whom he was – and did that until the day he died. Again, the same is true for us. If we don’t know where to go or what to do, be like St. Bernardine: Look around, see what the needs are. Then, choose something, put yourself totally into it, and get busy.

    I said earlier that masters of any discipline are able to do two things: Communicate the beauty of the truth they’ve worked so hard to find, and inspire others with the joy of that truth, that they might learn more themselves. While mastery in the faith is no different, we must never make the mistake of thinking that it is reserved to preachers like Apollos or St. Bernardine, or theologians or even just energetic and holy people like St. Bernardine. When it comes to communicating the truth and beauty of Christ, what speaks more eloquently than works of mercy, like feeding the hungry, visiting the home-bound, and comforting those who mourn? What training in theology do we need other than to pray as Christ taught us in the Lord’s Prayer? And what more energy do we need than to obey the words of the Blessed Mother when she said to do whatever he tells you? This is the obedience of Christ; the obedience that brings joy and inspires others, not to be like us, but to be like him.

  • Reconsidering Success

    Reconsidering Success

    Thursday of the 6th Week of Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Unforgettable

    Unforgettable

    Friday of the 5th Week of Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • The Power of the Group

    The Power of the Group

    Wednesday of the 5th Week of Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Both Beggar and Bishop

    Both Beggar and Bishop

    Saturday of the 4th Week of Easter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    And now, a word from our sponsor…

  • The End of All Perfect Storms

    The End of All Perfect Storms

    Saturday of the 2nd Week of Easter

    Psalm 33:22; John 6:16-21

    The term “perfect storm” dates back at least to the 19th century. We don’t know exactly what it meant then, but my guess is that we all know from personal experience what it means now: Life is going along fine; then, all of a sudden and from every direction, we have nothing but trouble, if not outright disaster.

    John certainly captured the essence of that in today’s gospel passage. The Apostles are in the midst of their own perfect storm, literally: in a boat, in the dark, out at sea, working hard to make it across, waves rising, and strong winds blowing against their every effort.

    While three evangelists tell the story of our Lord walking on the water, only John strips it down to the bare essentials. He says nothing about Peter going out to join Jesus, the Apostles mistaking him for a ghost, or thinking that he will pass them by. Rather, John keeps only two things in common with the other versions: First, the Apostles see Jesus walking on the sea (6:19); second, when Jesus comes to them, he says, It is I (or, I AM). Do not be afraid (6:20).

    Why would John do this? Possibly because of the way he wants to use the story to help us understand Jesus. Consider how this story fits into John’s narrative: Right before this, Jesus fed thousands with five barley loaves and two fish (6:4-14). Now, he walks on the sea and the Apostles get safely to shore. The next day, he will again encounter those he fed, but this time will reveal to them that he himself is the true bread come down from heaven that gives life to the world (6:32-33). In all this, John stirs up a memory and makes an association. Who in Israel’s history fed thousands in the wilderness, brought them safely through the sea, and guided them to a new life in the Promised Land? What the Father once did for Israel, his Son now does for the Apostles, and for all his people.

    And not just for them; for us, too. Through John’s simple but powerful retelling of the story, Jesus assures us that there is no storm in our life that is too much. They may seem so to us, but that’s because in the heat of the moment we tend to focus on the troubles, the failures, and the problems. That’s only natural; the storms in our lives come upon us so suddenly, and seem so big. But, if we can find it within ourselves to take a moment, step back, and remember how God has always been there, we will see that he hasn’t abandoned us; he is right there in the storm with us.

    In the storm with us… what does that mean? Won’t the storm be over? You might not have noticed, but that’s another difference between this version of this story and the others. John says nothing about Jesus calming the storm. His point wasn’t that Jesus makes storms disappear, it was that he is with us in them and keeps us safe despite them. So, let us resolve to do what the psalmist urges us to do: Place our trust in God. For, although we cannot eliminate the storms from our lives, we can remember that, even in the most perfect storm, it isn’t that we have nothing but trouble; it’s that we have nothing but God.

  • Doing What the King Would Not

    Doing What the King Would Not

    Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

    Isaiah 7:10-14,8:10; Psalm 40:8-9; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38

    In her wisdom and guided by the Holy Spirit, the Church has chosen each day’s readings to make a certain point. Often, the central theme of the readings is found in the psalm. Today is a good example; the psalm is quoted by the author of the Letter to the Hebrews, who puts on the lips of Christ the words, I come to do your will, O God (Psalm 40:9). The Church puts them on our lips too, for they are much more than a mere literary theme; it is the goal of every Christian to imitate Christ.

    The first reading and the gospel are also intended to go together. Some days, like today, that might seem a little less clear, but we do find some points of contact when we look at their two prominent figures, Ahaz and the Blessed Virgin Mary.

    Ahaz was king of Judah; just 20 years old when he gained power. As we see him here, he is worried about Jerusalem being invaded by hostile kings from the north. Although God has already assured him this will not happen, Ahaz doesn’t trust God; he prefers to trust in himself and his own plans. Thus, when he refuses God’s invitation to ask for a sign, it isn’t a display of piety, but of his own arrogance and lack of faith.

    Mary stands in stark contrast to this, apart from also being young and receiving an invitation from God. The king is concerned purely with earthly power; the virgin, with powerlessness. He trusts in his own plans; she in God’s. Ahaz, in false piety, will not ask God for a sign; Mary, truly pious, asks, how can this be? The pretentious king will not respond to God’s invitation, even when the sign of a virgin with child is given; the humble maiden not only responds, but consents to be the virgin mother of that child.

    This brings us to the heart of the readings: The child. Ultimately, today isn’t about the refusal of Ahaz or the fiat of Mary; it’s about the Annunciation of the Lord. The Church has chosen these readings to remind us that all of us, no matter who, are invited to bring God to the world in some way. Sometimes, this comes as an invitation to joy, healing, and unity; others, an invitation to suffering, rejection, and loss. Either way, submission to God’s will requires us to be as Mary was: Living each day as part of the plan without knowing the plan, trusting God and not our own understanding, and placing no restrictions on what faith in Him makes possible, for as the angel said, nothing will be impossible for God (Luke 1:37).

    We may catch ourselves thinking that when the angel said that, he wasn’t thinking of us. As our Lord and his Blessed Mother lived it, discipleship is a total commitment, body and soul. Mary couldn’t be a little pregnant; Jesus couldn’t be partly divine, or almost die on the cross. When Jesus and Mary said, I come to do your will, they meant it to the death and beyond. Not that we don’t mean it, but we know how easy those words are to say and how very difficult to live. Given enough of even the little disappointments or failures of life, our resolve can be sorely tested. Which of us is never tempted to put the cross down, to think of ourselves, and to ask, “But what about me and what I want?”

    This isn’t meant as an indictment but an acknowledgment of reality. But so is this: There was only one perfect disciple: the Blessed Virgin Mary, perfected in grace from all eternity by her Son and Redeemer. The rest of us are works in progress; destined to be like her, perfected in grace, but not there yet. For us, growing as a disciple means examining ourselves, seeing where our weaknesses lie, and looking for the times, places, or events in our lives that trigger them. Even more importantly, we must remember that we don’t do this alone. Christ wants us to come to him; he has all the grace we will ever need. But we also must remember that when those who needed to be healed came to him, he still made them ask.

    So then, let us pray for the humility to do what the servant would do, but the king would not: Ask. And not only ask, but accept every invitation to announce the Lord by the witness of our lives. Only in this way, as today’s opening prayer said, can we, “who confess our Redeemer to be God and man… merit to become partakers even in his divine nature” (cf 2 Peter 1:4).

  • The Two Wells

    The Two Wells

    The 3rd Sunday of Lent, Cycle A

    Exodus 17:3-7; Romans 5:1-2, 5-8; John 4:5-42

    Not long ago, I came across a very interesting survey. What got my attention was how brief and unusual it was, given its audience. The author asked hundreds of business men and women a single question, and wanted a single-word answer: “If you could say in one word what you want more of in life, what would that be?”

    As we think about our own answer, let me just say that “money” did not come in first (not that any of us was thinking that). No, first place went to “happiness.” Some of the other top answers were freedom, peace, joy, and fulfillment. All these from business people, many of whom are no doubt wealthy or at least holding their own financially.

    This got me to wondering about the Samaritan woman in today’s gospel, and what she would have said. We don’t know a lot about her, but from the little we do know, I would guess that she, like the people in the survey, wasn’t too happy, didn’t feel very free, was not at peace, and probably felt unfulfilled. For that matter, what about us? My guess is that we, like many people across the ages, have felt pretty much the same.

    So, how do we get that way? To borrow a concept from the gospel, by looking for the right water in the wrong well. What’s the right water? The things we most want, deep down: Happiness, peace, freedom, fulfillment. What’s the wrong well? Anything that can never supply them. We think, “If I have this food, those clothes, that home, I’ll be happy!” But after we get them, what happens? We tire of them and thirst all over again. “OK, maybe THIS food, THOSE clothes, THAT home…” It’s a cycle; the more we drink the wrong water, the thirstier we become, and the more we drink. The irony is that we will risk losing sight of everything, even God, in our relentless pursuit of what it turns out that only God can give! This is why, centuries earlier, the Lord said through the prophet Jeremiah, Two evils my people have done: they have forsaken me, the source of living waters; They have dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water (Jeremiah 2:13).

    Jacob’s well was no broken cistern but the Samaritan woman certainly was, and Jesus really wanted to see her. We know that because John says, Jesus had to pass through Samaria (John 4:4). There were well-known routes around that country, to the east and west. No, he went to see her, just like he comes to see us. Why? What does he offer people drinking from the wrong well? A way out. Remember his words to her at the start: If you knew the gift of God and who is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him and he would have given you living water. (John 4:10). He’s challenging her, challenging all of us: Know me, and ask for the life that only I can give.

    At first, she resisted; made light of it, stayed with the water she understood. We all do that, for at least a couple of reasons. First, habits are hard to break, even harder when they’re habits we like. Second, it’s a lot easier to run from problems than it is to face them. But there is no running from Christ. He knows exactly how to get our attention; he hits very close to home. For the woman, it was when he said, Go call your husband and come back (John 4:16). Imagine the shock, not only of how he could know the truth, but having to look the truth straight in the eye. This is the encounter with Christ, who is the Truth; he not only shows us who he is, he shows us who we are. As the scholar William Barclay once said, “We never really see ourselves until we see ourselves in the presence of Christ; and then we are appalled at the sight.”

    Christ is the truth, but he is the way and the life as well. Although he does show us who we are, he also shows us who we are made to be. We saw this in the readings for the first two weeks of Lent; yes, sin entered the world, and through sin our thirst for dead water, but Christ also entered the world, and by his passion, death, and resurrection has opened the way to eternal life. Now, in the 3rd week of Lent, our Lord teaches us that the choice is ours: Are we going to keep taking water from the wrong well, or are going to turn to Christ, and take the living water of his infinite grace?

    That was the question before the Samaritan woman. We know what she did, John tells us: She left her water jar and went into the town and said to the people, ‘Come see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ’ (John 4:28-29)? She became an evangelizer. For the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, this woman knew happiness, peace, and fulfillment like she had never known.

    That leaves us. The choice is ours: There, the same old well, the same dead water; here, Christ, the Living Water. He comes to this well today, and every day, in the Blessed Sacrament, just to see us. All he asks is that we do what the Samaritan woman did: Have the courage to face ourselves as we are, the honesty to call the truth the truth, and the humility to put the old water jar down and seek the infinite grace of forgiveness that he is so eager to give. After that, the only question is, how much of the Living Water do you want?