Mark 10:45

Tag: Scriptural Reflection

  • 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Pope St. Martin I, pray for us.

  • The Invitation to Dare: Divine Mercy Sunday

    The Invitation to Dare: Divine Mercy Sunday

    Acts 4:32-35; 1 John 5:1-6; John 20:19-31

    The gospel according to John has been called the gospel of encounters. Each follows the same basic pattern: Jesus encounters someone, they test him, there is an exchange, and the encounter ends with those who tested Jesus finding that in reality they are the ones being tested: Will they believe or not? Of course, Jesus wants them to rise to the challenge but he never forces them; it’s their choice and a test of their faith.

    Between last Sunday and this, John gives us five encounters, each posing its own challenge to faith. First, the Beloved Disciple: Will he believe in the resurrection based only on the testimony of an empty tomb? No; he has to see the tomb himself and the burial cloths neatly arranged, perhaps as proof that the body of Jesus was not stolen. Then Mary Magdalene: Will she recognize the risen Lord if she sees him? No; she must hear his voice. Next, the Apostles: Will they believe if they see and hear? Only when Jesus shows them his hands and side. Then Thomas: Will he believe his brother Apostles, now eyewitnesses? No; he needs to touch the wounds of Christ. The fifth challenge is from the evangelist to us: Will we believe without being able to see, hear, or touch Jesus?

    We might be tempted to say no, for if the Beloved Disciple, Mary Magdalene, and the Apostles struggled with faith, what hope do we have? But that’s not the attitude of Christ; he calls us “blessed.” Why? Because his encounters with us are not about human failure but about the triumph of divine mercy. Jesus didn’t resent the Beloved Disciple going to the tomb; rather, he used it to inspire John to recall the words that made that trip unnecessary: Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up (John 2:19). He wasn’t disappointed that Mary Magdalene needed to hear him; he is the Good Shepherd whose sheep follow him because they recognize his voice (John 10:4). He wasn’t angry that the Apostles had to see his wounds; rather, he bid them peace and gave them authority to forgive sins, so that others may know the same peace and all might take to heart his words at the Last Supper: Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God; have faith also in me (John 14:1). He was perhaps kindest of all to Thomas, that from he who seemed weakest in faith came the greatest affirmation of Christ’s divinity in all the gospel: My Lord and my God (John 20:28). Finally, Jesus spoke encouragingly to us, calling us blessed because we have not seen and have believed (John 20:29).

    This is how God shows mercy: By encouraging rather than cajoling, inspiring rather than depressing, and building up rather than putting down (although justice sometimes demands the whip). For his goal is and always has been to raise us up to himself. God is love and as one spiritual writer has noted, “mercy is love bending over misery to relieve it, to redeem it, to raise it up to itself.”[1] Time and again God has shown that this is what he will do, even to the giving of his only Son, that in his infinite mercy, he might draw us closer and closer to himself.

    Today we have the opportunity to draw very close indeed, for on the Feast of Divine Mercy, Christ offers us a great gift: The renewal of baptismal grace; the complete forgiveness of sins and punishment. This grace is usually received only through baptism itself or a “perfect” sacramental confession – one made purely for the love for God.

    Of course, like all encounters with Christ, there is a challenge. We can only obtain this extraordinary grace if we worthily receive the Eucharist on the Feast of Divine Mercy or its vigil Mass. Since we are at that Mass now we’re off to a good start, but that’s not all; worthily means that we have made a good sacramental confession in the recent past (say, Lent), that we’re still in the state of grace, and that we trust in the infinite mercy of God. Also, our Lord revealed to St. Faustina that if we are to receive mercy, we must show mercy. We don’t have to do what the Christians did in the first reading – sell our homes and give the proceeds to the poor – but we do have to practice the works of mercy listed in the Catechism: Spiritual works such as teaching the faith, advising, consoling or comforting others, forgiving and bearing all wrongs patiently, and the corporal works such as feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and imprisoned, and respectfully burying the dead.

    Fr. Michael Gaitley, who has dedicated himself to spreading the Divine Mercy devotion, advises us to remember that we do these things out of love and gratitude to God, not to try and earn his mercy. Asked what the biggest misconception is about Divine Mercy, he said that many active Catholics have somehow gotten the idea that “God’s love must be earned by following all the rules, saying all the prayers, and giving money to the right causes… that the more perfect we are, the more worthy we are to draw close to Jesus. The reality is that Jesus invites us spiritually poor, weak, broken, and overburdened people to draw as close as we dare…”[2]

    Every encounter with Christ is an invitation to dare; to “become who we are.” It requires us to face who we are – poor, weak, and broken – but also to see ourselves as God sees us – eternally willed, infinitely precious, and worth any sacrifice. In this lies the wound to our pride, the admission that there is nothing we can do to earn our own salvation but also the healing truth that there is nothing we need to do, for God has already done it. All he asks is that we accept it and, on this feast of Divine Mercy, show our gratitude for it. The only question is, will we?

    1 Fr. Gabriel of St. Mary Magdalene, Divine Intimacy, #236, Section 1.

    2 Catholic Digest, April/May 2020, page 16

  • 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

  • To Life: Saturday after Ash Wednesday

    To Life: Saturday after Ash Wednesday

    Ezekiel 33:11

    In the gospel acclamation from the book of Ezekiel, the Lord says, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked man… but rather in his conversion, that he may live (Ezekiel 33:11).

    A popular radio talk show host recently died and the air waves are full of condolences but also, sadly, celebrations. Those who disliked him are publicly rejoicing that he died. Before I get too self-righteous I can honestly say for my part that there have been times I was happy to hear that someone had died. For example, I wasn’t a bit sad to learn that Osama bin Laden had been killed or Saddam Hussein executed. These men were the architects of some truly terrible human disasters; wicked men who met a wicked end, which was exactly what I thought they deserved.

    Yet today we hear that God takes no pleasure in their death. Rather, he wanted their conversion; he wanted them home, eternally in union with him.

    This might upset our idea of justice. How could such tyrants ever merit the eternal bliss of heaven? How could God love them? Then again we must ask: Are we thinking of justice or vengeance? And have we given enough credit to that most wonderful attribute of God – his infinite, merciful love?

    Although our love can never be infinite, Jesus has made it clear that we are still called to love as God loves. Therefore, let us resolve to pray, work, and rejoice in life, not death; to remember that love does not abandon the wicked to their sins but calls them to conversion, that they may find their way out of the darkness and into the healing, forgiving light of Christ.

    Just as we ourselves hope to do.

  • Today: Thursday After Ash Wednesday

    Today: Thursday After Ash Wednesday

    Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Matthew 4:17; Luke 9:22-25

    Today. We just heard Moses say it twice. Today I have set before you life and prosperity, death and doom. If you obey the commandments of the LORD, your God, which I enjoin on you today… (Deuteronomy 30:15). We can almost feel the immediacy in his words. Don’t put it off! Choose now! The time is now!

    There is a similar sense throughout the gospels. We hear it in the gospel acclamation, the Kingdom of heaven is at hand (Matthew 4:17). It is here, now. We also heard it in Luke’s gospel as our Lord said: if anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily (Luke 9:23). In fact, this call of Christ differs from the call in Mark’s gospel (Mark 8:34-35) only in that one word – daily.

    Today, the second day of Lent, is that day. God sets before us the choice: On the one hand, death and doom, the inevitable end of all sinfulness; on the other hand, life and prosperity, the inevitable end of bearing our cross and following after our Lord all the way to Calvary, the tomb, and resurrected glory.

    Don’t put it off; tomorrow is not guaranteed. The time is now.

  • The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    Malachi 3:1-4; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

    February 2nd is a day of celebrations. Many know it as Groundhog Day, the day when it seems the whole world watches the behavior of a groundhog in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. What many may not know is that this lighthearted little distraction began over a century ago as a Protestant attempt to take attention away from the Catholic celebration of Candlemas. By ancient tradition, February 2nd, the last day of Christmas, is the day on which candles to be used throughout the year are blessed at holy Mass.

    February 2nd is also reserved for a much different kind of celebration. At memorial services around the country, people will gather and candles will be lighted to honor four chaplains who in World War II served on board the USS Dorchester. On this night in 1943 the Dorchester was torpedoed by a German U-boat in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Out of time, options, and life preservers, these four men – two Protestant ministers, a Jewish rabbi, and a Catholic priest – gave up their life jackets to four soldiers without one, locked their arms together in prayer, and went down with the ship.

    This is exactly the kind of heroic witness that goes to the heart of the greatest celebration on February 2nd – the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord. For, from the moment of their own consecrations, each of these men had, like Christ, committed himself to bringing the love and light of God to those around them. While none knew the fate that awaited him, each spent every day preparing for it; offering themselves to the Father that others may live. When the final moment came, each man came to it exactly as Simeon came to the Temple; in the Spirit, using the gifts only God can give, for the same reason that Christ came in the first place – that others may live.

    But their lives and deaths are more than just a good story; they point the way for us. We too are consecrated to the Lord. At our baptism, each of us received a lighted candle while our parents and Godparents were told, “This light is entrusted to you to be kept burning brightly. This child of yours has been enlightened by Christ. He (she) is to walk always as a child of the light.” The Feast of the Presentation is the perfect time to remember that moment and re-dedicate ourselves to it. As children we depended on others to teach us the faith and to help light its fire in our hearts; as adults we are charged to pass that faith on to others. In both ways, we are called to present ourselves to the Lord and to live out our consecration to Him.

    Begin conformed to Christ in this way will mean that we like him are to be signs of contradiction; teaching life to a culture of death, showing what happiness is to a world so frustrated in its pursuit of pleasure, and living the spiritual life as a model for those who see only the material. That will no doubt bring joy but also rejection and suffering. Jesus experienced this; as we heard in the letter to the Hebrews, he himself was tested through what he suffered. But the author doesn’t leave it there; he concludes by saying that he is able to help those who are being tested (Hebrews 2:18).

    This is the most hopeful note of all, for it means that whether those moments of testing sting like the ice water of the North Atlantic or burn like the refiner’s fire, Christ has not abandoned us; to the contrary, he walks with us, the light for our path and the Light of the world, constantly forming and conforming us in ways more and more like himself – as the prophet Malachi said, a sacrifice pleasing to the Lord.

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  • Minute Meditation: The Liar

    Minute Meditation: The Liar

    1 John 2:22-28; John 1:19-28

    For the first few decades of my life, I didn’t try too hard to live like a Christian. Although I went to Mass, attended Catholic school, and even sang in the choir as an adult, to me the faith was more something I had to do, not something I wanted to do.

    It wasn’t until my late 30’s that I began asking myself a version of the question we heard the priests and Levites ask the Baptist in the gospel: Who are you (John 1:19)? For me the question was, “Who are you – the man who attends Mass every Sunday or the man who lives the rest of the week as if he never heard of God?” and perfectly summarized in 1 John with that simple but fateful question, Who is the liar (1 John 2:24)?

    I am. I, the man who bowed to God but knelt to the world; who taught his children the virtues but rarely practiced them; who had no trouble looking in the mirror but couldn’t face himself; who never thought of himself as denying Christ or the Father but, with every sin, was doing exactly that.

    Yet this faith I barely knew had taught me the virtue of hope and that hope is personified in the one the Baptist spoke of when he said, there is one among you whom you do not recognize… whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie (John 1:26-27).

    No, I didn’t recognize him; I was lost. Thank God he found me, led me to the Confessional, and gave me the grace to listen as John said: Let what you heard from the beginning remain in you. If what you heard from the beginning remains in you, then you will remain in the Son and in the Father (1 John 2:24).

    Vestiges of the old me are hard to shed but with the continued grace of God I remain in him, for I have to come to realize the incomparable worth of the promise that he made us: eternal life (1 John 2:25).

  • Memories that Matter: Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God

    Memories that Matter: Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God

    Luke 2:16-21

    As a teenager, one of my sons began to have difficulty sleeping. One night I found him tossing and turning in bed and he told me about some of the stress he was feeling. I asked him to set that aside for a moment and focus instead on the best day he could remember. He settled down and after a minute began to smile. When I asked him where he was, he said we were on vacation; it was a warm summer day and he was walking on the shore of his favorite lake with his Godfather and me. I encouraged him to relax and savor every minute. It worked like a charm; he drifted peacefully off to sleep.

    Psychologists have long known that recalling happy memories can do a lot more than reduce stress. There is a relationship between memories and happiness. Specifically, people tend to get a deeper sense of happiness from memories of positive experiences they’ve had than of things they’ve bought. That resonates with me; my happiest memories aren’t about things I’ve bought but about experiences and relationships I’ve had, particularly with my family.

    The Blessed Mother is no different. The evangelist tells us that as the shepherds spoke of all they had heard and seen, Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart (Luke 2:19). That prompts us to think of all the memories she herself would have: the visit from the angel; the conception of Christ in her womb; her journeys to Elizabeth and to Bethlehem; her divine Son’s birth in a stable; just to name a few. We call her blessed for a reason! These, her deepest memories of family, demonstrate to her and to the world how close God can be, if we let him.

    Although to Mary and Mary alone was given the great privilege of calling these experiences her own, we too are given many opportunities to seek out and experience God in ways not too unlike hers. Here are just three:

    First, although we may not be visited by the archangel Gabriel, we do have our own guardian angel who always looks upon the face of God (Matthew 18:10). Throughout Scripture we see that angels move our will toward what is good (Luke 2:10-12), offer our prayers and works to God (Tobit 12:12), and protect us in times of trouble (Daniel 6:22; Psalm 90:10). Make it a habit to ask the intercession of your guardian angel.

    Second, keep in mind what St. Augustine said: The Virgin conceived in her heart before her womb. Of course we can never experience the joy Mary did as the mother of Christ; however, by the gift of faith we do conceive him in our own hearts. What’s more, we can bring Christ to birth in the hearts of others, perhaps by teaching but mostly by living as he wants us to; as he did. As Jesus himself said, whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother (Matthew 12:50).

    Finally, while Mary was honored above all women to be the ark that held our Lord for 9 months, we can be honored to receive him Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in holy Communion almost every day of the year. Of course, Mary was uniquely prepared for that by God from the moment of her conception; nevertheless, we have access to the necessary state of grace through the Sacrament of Penance given to us by her Son. For as St. Paul said, Christ’s will for us is to present to himself the church in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish (Ephesians 5:27). Holy and immaculate, like his Mother. Her destiny is ours.

    So, when the stresses and strains of life threaten to overwhelm you, take a moment, relax, and recall how like the Blessed Mother you have been created to be: To praise God through and with his angels; to conceive him in faith and bring him to birth in the world; to receive him in holy Communion; and to return to him holy and immaculate at the end of time. These will be the memories that matter into Eternity; your own near experiences of God. Then rejoice, not only that you have such memories to bring you closer to God but that, at all times and just like our Mother Mary, God is ever close to you.

    Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.