Mark 10:45

Tag: St. Paul

  • Small Matters Matter

    Small Matters Matter

    Saturday of the 31st Week in Ordinary Time

    Philippians 4:10-19; Luke 16:9-15

    Of all the people St. Paul dealt with over the years, the Christians at Philippi were among the most dear to him. As we look at the letter he wrote to them, we understand why; they took care of him, did things to let him know how much they appreciated him.

    What kind of things? First, they prayed for him. This meant so much to St. Paul that he began his letter by thanking them for it. He knew its power, and was grateful for every prayer he could get. Second, they visited him. He referred to one man by name who came to see him, Epaphroditus. Third, they sent him whatever financial gifts they could, not just once but repeatedly (4:16), in part to try and relieve his suffering in prison. In their great love for him, the Philippians probably looked at all these things as small matters, regardless how difficult. That we cannot know. What we do know is that they were trustworthy, and that made them great matters to St. Paul.

    It makes them great to God as well. We heard Jesus speak of such trustworthiness in the gospel. Twice he said it: If we can’t be trusted with very small matters, then we can’t be trusted with greater. In other words, small matters matter.

    Take prayer, for example. Saying a prayer for someone may seem like a small matter. It isn’t small to God; he is constantly exhorting us to pray. It isn’t small to the one asking for the prayers, either; to them, it’s one of the greatest things we can do. Maybe they’re having surgery, or their child is sick, or they’ve lost their job and can’t find another. Whatever the reason, taking a moment to lift them up in prayer isn’t much to ask, but its effects are life-changing.

    As you are very well aware, it’s no small matter to do what Epaphroditus did – visit someone in prison. If that’s not for you, remember that there are all kinds prisons. Think of the people in nursing homes, hospitals, or confined to their home due to illness. How much it would mean to them to see your face and receive Holy Communion! There are also people who need someone to talk to, someone who will listen, like the Philippians did when they shared in St. Paul’s distress (4:14). These kinds of outreach are a small matter in terms of time, but what greater thing is there than to bring Christ, or be Christ, to those who otherwise would go without?

    As for charity, we may not have much more money to give, but remember the dishonest steward we heard about yesterday. Jesus didn’t commend the steward because he was honest; he commended him because he was bright and used his wits to secure his future. God asks us to do the same. If charity doesn’t mean more money, then we have to use our ingenuity and find other ways to give. Consider, for example, the corporal works of mercy. We already mentioned visiting the sick and those in prison, but there is feeding the hungry; that could be anything from actually making meals to helping at a food pantry. Giving drink to the thirsty could be donating bottled water to family shelters or conserving water in our home; sheltering the homeless, anything from making warm blankets for shelters to actually opening your home to provide shelter; and burying the dead, anything from praying for those who have died to being a compassionate listener in the bereavement ministry.

    Whatever ways you find to give, remember these three things:

    1. God is asking us to put our minds to work, then find ways to put ourselves behind it;
    2. God is not asking for great things, but for little things done with great love; and
    3. Even though we already give, sometimes it seems to the breaking point, we have St. Paul’s words to the Philippians, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13).

  • The Great Reversal

    The Great Reversal

    Saturday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Philippians 1:18b-26; Luke 14:1, 7-11

    The famous evangelist Billy Graham dreamed that he died and went to Heaven. As he was escorted in, saints and angels cheered, congratulated him, and said to each other, “At last! Here he is! Here he is!” When our Lord greeted him, He said, “Yes, here he is, the man we have all been waiting for: Ruth Graham’s husband!”

    Beyond the humor, Graham was touching on a theme that runs throughout the gospel of Luke. Theologians call it, “the Great Reversal.” We hear it in verses like, He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty-handed (Luke 1:53); Blessed are you who are poor… woe to you who are rich (Luke 6:20,24); (Lazarus) is comforted here, whereas you are tormented (Luke 16:25); and today’s: everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted (Luke 14:11).

    If this sounds less like reversal and more like divine justice, it’s for good reason. There is an element of justice to it. In his merciful love, God gives abundantly to those who have been denied, and will deny those who, of their own free will, have refused to show that same kind of love and mercy to others.

    But there is more to it. The Great Reversal isn’t a reversal of fortunes, it’s a reversal of expectations. In his dream, Billy Graham ended up in heaven, just not for the reason he expected. Like him, we are tempted to look at “everything we’ve done for God” and, perhaps even unconsciously, expect something in return. Of course, the fact is that God owes us nothing, whereas we owe Him a debt we can never repay. The lesson is that, if we have any real expectation or hope at all, it should be the one St. Paul spoke of: thatChrist will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me life is Christ, and death is gain (Philippians 1:20).

    We can’t get to that point without being like Christ, we can’t be like Christ without humility, and we don’t have humility until we take an honest look at the gifts we’ve been given, remember who gave them to us, and ask ourselves what we’re doing with them. What gifts? Well, think about riches. If we’re not rich in money, then what about time, talent, or knowledge? Whatever it is, Jesus wants us to ask ourselves, “Do I thank God for it?” and “What would the world look like if I gave some of it away?” Again, think of St. Paul. Rich in love for Christ, he wanted only to be with him; as we heard, he was ready to die to do it. Nevertheless, he saw the need to serve the Church, to preach the gospel and encourage her members in the faith. In his humility, he let his guiding concern be not how he could satisfy himself, but how he could be of benefit to others.

    Humility is a demanding gift, but a great one for that reason. It’s asking a lot to be given the riches of life but not become attached to them, to take pride in ourselves and our abilities without becoming proud, and to give all we can purely out of love for God, expecting nothing in return. But as we try more and more, we see more and more the reversal taking place in ourselves; that true poverty is having gifts but not sharing them, true torment is refusing the consolation of Truth, and that true pride is expecting God to honor us for whatever we’ve done.

    The irony is that God does honor us; indeed, He is never outdone in generosity. We are invited guests to the greatest wedding banquet ever prepared – the feast of Christ’s Body and Blood. All we need bring with us is the hope and eager expectation of hearing him say to us when we come to his table, ‘My friend, move up to a higher position’ (Luke 14:10).

  • The Challenge

    The Challenge

    Saturday of the 5th Week of Easter

    Acts 16:1-10; John 15:18-21

    Over the span of about 15 years, I was asked three times if I ever thought about being a deacon. The first time was my pastor. I asked what a deacon was and, after he told me, I said, “No, thanks.” A decade later, a second priest asked me. I looked into it, but it didn’t seem like a good fit. When a third priest asked a few years later, it began to dawn on me: I’ve looked for ways to serve the Church for years; none have worked out. But I’ve had three priests, years apart, totally unknown to each other, ask me this question. Is this what God wants me to do? I still hesitated. I wasn’t sure.

    Then I heard a priest talking about vocations. He said, “If you think Christ might be calling you to ministry, you owe it to yourself to try, because if he is not calling you, he will make it clear to you.” That was it. It was as if God was saying to me, “You’ve tried other things; they haven’t worked. I’ve asked you three times. You owe it to yourself to try.” So I tried, and it changed my life.

    This is not so different from St. Paul’s experience. He didn’t know where God wanted him to go, but he knew he had to try. He chose a direction, went out, and sure enough, if that wasn’t right, God made it clear. Doing this changed his life and the lives of millions. As we heard, today’s reading ended with Paul being led into Europe. Imagine what might have happened (or not happened) had St. Paul never preached the gospel there!

    Of course, this isn’t limited to St. Paul. Jesus is calling us, too; as he said in the gospel, I have chosen you out of the world. Notice, he doesn’t say what we’re chosen to do. That depends on us; we have to make choices, to try different things. While some people may know exactly what God has called them to, my guess is that most do not. If you’re one of them, then you’re in good company; neither did St. Paul. But he didn’t sit around waiting to find out. He went out and tried. That’s what we must do.

    But how do we know if we’re doing what God wants us to do? One way St. Paul knew was by looking at the fruit of his labor. As St. Luke tells us, day after day the churches grew stronger in faith and increased in number (Acts 16:8). It is a great blessing to see a change for the better in peoples’ lives as a result of our efforts. But that’s not the only way. We should look for a positive change in our own spiritual life; is what we’re doing drawing us closer to Christ? Another way is the sense of accomplishment we get from trying to make a difference. Nothing feels better than knowing that, whatever the outcome, we have gotten up and done something; we’ve made a real effort.

    Of course, things don’t always work out in our favor. If none of these things are happening, then it is certainly possible that God wants us to try something else. It’s easy to get a little down and see our effort as a mistake, but that would be wrong. The mistake isn’t trying and failing, it is never trying. God is always pleased with the effort of a sincere and humble heart. As St. Teresa of Calcutta so wisely said, “I would rather make mistakes in kindness and compassion than work miracles in unkindness and hardness.”

    What’s more, what is not right for us at one time may be exactly right at another. When I was first asked about the diaconate, I wasn’t the man I was to become. The experiences of life needed to shape me. As God showed me in the fullness of time, I was called to the diaconate; I just wasn’t called then, the time wasn’t right. So it is for each of us. God gives us time that we may come to learn about ourselves, our strengths and weaknesses, our potential and our limitations. If we are wise and continue to try and improve ourselves in God’s eyes, we will find ourselves ready for roles of service to the gospel that we never would have thought possible before.

    In the gospel, Jesus contrasts us to the world he has called us out of. He doesn’t do this to separate us from the world; to the contrary, he loves the world and wants us to engage it more effectively. As St. Paul and his companions have shown us, we cannot do that unless we are willing to do it in God’s way, in God’s time, and with God’s guidance. As Jesus said in the gospel, they do not know the one who sent me (John 15:21). The challenge for each of us is, “How can I try to show the world the One who sent me?”

  • 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.

  • Lost and Found in Translation: Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Lost and Found in Translation: Tuesday of the 30th Week in Ordinary Time

    Ephesians 5:21-33; Luke 13:18-21

    When people say, “it’s all Greek to me,” they mean that they don’t understand what they’re hearing or reading. We may not realize it but we could often say the same thing about the bible, not so much because it really was written in Greek (and Hebrew) but because things get lost in translation. Sometimes those things don’t matter much; other times they can make a great deal of difference.

    Today’s first reading is a perfect case in point. What may come across as little more than a discourse on marriage is actually a beautiful meditation on various aspects of love that can benefit all people, married or not. The problem is that some of the subtleties lie hidden beneath the surface, lost in translation.

    For example, he begins: Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ. Although the meaning seems obvious, there are nuances. First, the word we translate as “subordinate” also implies obedience, like servant to master. Second, when he says “one another” he means everyone, not a select few. Third, the phrase “reverence for Christ” literally translates “in the fear of Christ.” So, what seems like a simple exhortation to treat each other well is actually a bold challenge to love like Christ: with the humility that seeks to serve and not to be served, and the fear of the Lord by which we reverence God above all things and others out of love for him.

    When it comes to the married, St. Paul begins with what many today see as a put-down of women: Wives should be subordinate to their husbands…. And while he clearly does follow the custom of placing men at the head of the household, an important subtlety is missing from our text. The original Greek reads, wives should be subordinate to their own husbands…. Whatever the reason, St. Paul clearly feels the need to remind the Ephesians of two additional aspects of love: Chastity and faithfulness. Once again, this is a lesson for us; just as we love the Lord and have no false gods before him, so we are to be chaste – faithful to our state in life – whether lay or clergy, married or single.

    Notice too that St. Paul quotes Genesis: a man shall leave his father and his mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This is the highest unity we can achieve – a bodily and spiritual communion ordained by God and indivisible by man. When I say “indivisible” I mean exactly that. In the original Hebrew and Greek the word is not joined, but glued. Imagine gluing two sheets of paper together and then, after it has set, trying to separate them. They will tear. We all know of the pain and sadness of the disunity that comes with divorce.

    Not that unity is pain free. In any long-term relationship like marriage, unity requires self-sacrifice. This is especially true as relationships mature over time. Life tends to show us things we didn’t see in the early years; among them, the weaknesses and failings of others. Our natural tendency is to focus on our own pain and suffering, to place blame on others rather than see our own role in them, and to withhold forgiveness rather than make peace with them and ourselves.

    But as St. Paul reminds us, we are to love as Christ loves the Church: Completely, despite and beyond its weaknesses, to the point of dying that she may live. This is the daily discipline of being servant of all, faithful to our state in life whatever it is, and bound to God and each other in a relationship that is life-giving, life-sustaining, and life-affirming, no matter the cost. This is painful but that is the pain of healing, the death that gives way to the new life of resurrection.

    Our Lord points to this in parable form in the gospel, where we see another aspect of love: that it not only unites but multiplies. When the Christian dies to self like leaven, the Church rises like three measures of flour; when husband and wife die to self, their new family flourishes, rising like the branches of the mustard plant toward Heaven, a home for its children.

    This is not possible apart from the grace of God, for God is Love and his grace the glue that binds us one to the other. The power of his grace works within us to form the mind of Christ, to imitate the love of Christ, and to hope more and more in the promise of Christ: that those who love as he loves will one day live as he lives, in the eternal life and infinite love of the Most Holy Trinity.