Mark 10:45

Tag: Saint

  • 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.

  • Becoming Who We Are

    Becoming Who We Are

    Memorial of St. Philip Neri, Priest (May 26th)

    Philippians 4:4-9; John 17:20-26

    The readings today speak of two of the greatest gifts we can receive from our heavenly Father – peace and unity. St. Paul reminds us that it is the pursuit of excellence that leads us to God and the peace only he can give. In the gospel, Jesus teaches that perfection is nothing less than unity with the Father; again, a gift that only God can give.

    When I think of excellence and perfection in life, I can’t help but think of the saints, for these are the men and women who went out of their way to achieve both. I’m especially glad that we remember St. Philip Neri today, for his life provides a view of sanctity that is too often missing from the popular imagination.

    I say that because it seems to me that most people in our time see the saints as stained glass stereotypes; living in a perpetual state of sadness and gloom, cloistered from the world and everything in it. It’s as if they really believe the old pop song lyrics, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners are much more fun.”

    That’s why I like St. Philip Neri; he is exactly the opposite. Far from sadness and gloom, St. Philip was noted for his cheerfulness, going so far as to say that “Cheerfulness strengthens the heart and helps us to persevere. A servant of God should always to be in good spirits.” And far from running away from the world, Philip was born to engage it; charismatic, charming, and quick to smile, he was one of those people who lifted the spirits of a room just by walking into it. It says a lot about him that his favorite books were the Bible and his joke book. He was silly enough to walk around Rome with half his beard shaven off, and solemn enough to bring a congregation to tears. He was the scholar who taught the simple, the joker who consoled the sorrowful, the friend who welcomed every stranger, and the priest who reached out to every sinner. We call him the patron saint of laughter not simply because he excelled at making people laugh, but because he did it for the reasons St. Paul spoke of: That they might calm their anxiety, approach the Lord in prayer, and come to know the peace of Christ that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:4-7). This was grace at work in him for their sanctification and his own.

    St. Thomas Aquinas taught that grace perfects nature, and like all the saints, this is what St. Philip Neri shows us. The gifts God gave him – a jovial personality, the ability to relate to people, a brilliant mind, everything that made him who he was – were not meant to be replaced or suppressed; on the contrary, they were given to be made more excellent by the working of grace. What’s more, God graces each saint with their own unique gifts. Sanctity is not a matter of becoming more like someone else; it is becoming who we are. God doesn’t want another Philip Neri, He wants us, and he wants us to use the gifts He has given us, that through us people might know the peace of God and draw closer to Him and each other.

    This is the unity Christ had in mind when he said, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me (John 17:23). No wonder St. Paul said to rejoice! If knowing the infinite love of God is what it means to be saint, then I’m with St. Philip Neri; I’d rather laugh with the saints than cry with the sinners. The saints are much more fun.

  • 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.

  • Sheep and Shepherd: St. Augustine of Canterbury

    Sheep and Shepherd: St. Augustine of Canterbury

    1 Thessalonians 2:2b-8; Matthew 9:35-38

    During a parish mission years ago the homilist asked the congregation, “Do we live the Christian life as sheep or shepherds?” At the risk of oversimplifying, his point was that being a true follower of Christ requires us to be both. Key moments from the life of St. Augustine of Canterbury beautifully illustrate that point.

    The first occurred on the French side of the English Channel in the late 6th century. Reality had taken hold; Augustine, the leader of a group of 40 Benedictines sent by Pope Gregory the Great to re-evangelize England, learned from the locals that across those choppy waters lived not only pagan but also hostile Germanic tribes. If they landed, they stood an excellent chance of being killed.

    So at that moment, was Augustine a sheep or shepherd? We might think “sheep” when we hear that he sent men back to the Pope to ask if the mission should be abandoned. Is he a coward? Shouldn’t he obey orders no matter what? Perhaps, but perhaps it’s prudent for a sheep to pause if he thinks he’s walking off a cliff. Better still, perhaps as the shepherd of 40 missionaries it would be foolhardy to blindly go forward if the pope did not know what Augustine now knew.

    Like the balance between sheep and shepherd, the virtues are also a balance, in this case a balance between extremes. For example, courage is the virtuous balance between cowardice on the one hand and foolhardiness on the other. Knowing the balance is one thing, finding it another. We need the grace of God to do this; to face down our fear of rejection, failure, inadequacy, or harm. St. Paul knew this; in the first reading he says, We drew courage through our God to speak to you the Gospel of God with much struggle (1 Thessalonians 2:2). Augustine was graced with courage in abundance, for when he received the reply that Gregory wished them to set sail, he immediately did so.

    His courage was rewarded. They landed in southeastern England, which was ruled by King Ethelbert, a pagan but married to a Catholic. After Augustine met with him, the king allowed them to preach the Gospel to his people. A year or so later, he himself was baptized and went on to become a saint in his own right. What’s more, when Ethelbert converted, thousands of his subjects came with him.

    But a second trial remained. Although England was largely pagan, small bastions of Catholicism remained in Wales and on the western shore. The ancient remnants of Irish missionaries, these Catholics were angry that the Roman Empire had left England and abandoned them. Although Gregory wanted them reunited, Augustine was unable to do so. Some accuse him of going against the Pope’s advice, or blame him for being tactless, arrogant, unwilling to compromise, and ignorant of their culture. Did he fail as both sheep and shepherd to them?

    I think it’s truer to say that like Christ, Augustine saw them as troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd (Matthew 9:36). When the Good Shepherd felt pity for such a flock, he ministered to them but did not change his teaching. Similarly, Augustine may have pitied or sympathized with the Celts, but in his role as shepherd he wasn’t going to give in on doctrinal points such as the date to celebrate Easter, which these groups demanded. No good shepherd can allow the flock to set the terms for following, even if it costs his reputation and means separation. In this, Augustine was ultimately vindicated; years after his death, the Celtic Catholics were united with Rome.

    The life of St. Augustine of Canterbury reminds us that the saints did not get where they are by being either a good sheep or a good shepherd; rather, they learned and they teach us how to be both.

    As sheep, we follow Christ wherever he leads and do whatever he asks. This tempts us to focus on the unknown: where is Christ leading us and what is he asking? But these are the wrong questions. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is our trust that the God who leads us won’t abandon us, and that we are praying for the grace to be faithful, to follow him no matter what, for he always leads the way to victory. Like the saints, we’re only human; as Augustine showed, even saints are sometimes afraid. But he also showed that he was a sheep who knew his Master’s voice, and when his vicar encouraged him to keep going, Augustine’s faithfulness emboldened him to follow Christ beyond his fear. His obedience was rewarded with many converts.

    Yet we are not only sheep, we are shepherds. This may sound odd because, as the Gospel acclamation reminds us, Christ is the Good Shepherd; what’s more, if he has vested anyone with a shepherd’s staff it is the Magisterium, the teaching authority of the Church he established. Nevertheless, by our baptism we are anointed to the prophetic role of teacher. At the end of Mass we hear “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord;” whether by word or action, we are charged to preach the Gospel to the world. This is what Augustine did; to anyone who would listen, from kings to the lowliest peasant. No one is universally successful and Augustine lost some battles, but Christ won the war; eventually and in one of the great ironies that define the faith, England, saved by the continent, would in time send missionaries back to Europe to save it, like St. Boniface who became patron saint of Germany. None of this would have happened without the groundwork laid by St. Augustine of Canterbury, true sheep and true shepherd.

    St. Augustine of Canterbury, pray for us.

  • Minute Meditation: St. Martin de Porres

    Minute Meditation: St. Martin de Porres

    Philippians 2:5-11

    Among the most important things we ever say, our last words probably rank pretty high. That is certainly the time to say the one thing that is closest to our heart; the thing we want others to hear and perhaps even remember us by.

    The last words of the man we remember today, St. Martin de Porres, are a perfect case in point. Brief yet the height of eloquence, they capture him as no other words could. As he lay near death, Martin continued to do what he so often did in life – he prayed. As he and his Dominican community recited the Creed, St. Martin breathed his last at the words of the Incarnation: “et homo factus est” (“And became man”).

    It is fortuitous that the first reading today gives us those beautiful words of Philippians that sing of our Lord, Jesus Christ: though he was in the form of God, (he) did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave… (Philippians 2:6-7). Since those words were first written, humanity has struggled to understand this depth of humility; how the all-powerful, indivisible, unseen God could so humble himself as to take up the fragile flesh of his own creation and, through the perfect oblation of his passion, death, and resurrection lift, redeem and exalt it to the glory of God the Father.

    Imagine the mercy; imagine the kind of love that would do this.

    This was the love that St. Martin de Porres poured himself out to imitate: To be himself that same model of charity; to plumb the depths of humility that would bring him closer and closer to Christ. Driven by this, Martin spent his life doing the things that Christ did – praying constantly, working incessantly, serving the servants, offering himself whenever and wherever he could. All this made his last words not only an affirmation of the Incarnation but the most eloquent and fitting summary of his life: Humility born of love, given completely to service, that others may live.

    St. Martin de Porres, pray for us.