Mark 10:45

Tag: Word of God

  • Getting Around To It

    Getting Around To It

    The 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

    Isaiah 5:1-7; Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43

    A newspaper once asked married couples a question: “What is the one thing your spouse says that you never want to hear again?” Husbands replied that they never wanted to hear their wives say, “Look how much I saved!” For their part, the wives said that they never again wanted to hear their husbands say, “I’ll get around to it.”

    That answer – “I’ll get around to it” – got my attention. Not just because I, too, am guilty of saying it, but because it goes right to the heart of today’s readings.

    This is one of Satan’s most effective temptations – that inner voice that says, “You know, you really need to work on your spiritual life. So do it! Just not now; it’s not the right time. You’re busy. Do it later.” What makes that so deadly is that it doesn’t sound like a temptation at all. It sounds reasonable, moderate, and even religious.

    So I listen. And I tell myself, “Yes, I’ll definitely get around to it. Maybe tomorrow.”

    Only, there’s always something else. It’s never the right time. Tomorrow never comes.

    And before long, that “vineyard of the Lord” – the spiritual life He gave me to cultivate – lies in ruins. I could have done the work; I had many opportunities. But I put it off.

    Why? What’s getting in the way?

    I think beneath the surface, it’s fear of losing control. Maybe without even realizing it, we think, “Wait. If I change, I’ll have to give something up. If I go to Confession, I have to admit I’ve been wrong. If I start praying seriously, God may ask something of me. If I forgive this person, I lose the satisfaction of holding it over them.”

    In other words, putting things off becomes a way of telling God that the vineyard is actually ours, not His, and we will decide if and when He gets access to it.

    But that attempt to keep God at a distance doesn’t end any better in real life than it did in the parable. That’s because deep inside, deeper than our pride or fear, is an emptiness; a restlessness that longs for what St. Paul called “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” And we’re not going to find that peace until we do something.

    The question is, what?

    Again, the answer comes from St. Paul: “Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me.”

    He’s urging us to practice the faith we’ve received; not just to admire it, talk about it, or hear it on Sundays. How? By doing what we’ve been taught to do: putting Christ first; repairing broken relationships; serving rather than waiting to be served; praying with gratitude, enduring suffering in hope, and letting our thoughts and actions be shaped by what is true and good.

    As always, that prompts us to look at our lives and ask questions: What are the good things I should be doing but have put off? Do I overlook or fail to forgive anyone? Do I imitate Christ by taking “the form of a servant” at home, here, or in our community?

    These things are all hard to do, which is why they’re tempting to put off, but the answer isn’t avoidance. The answer begins with St. Paul’s exhortation: “by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.”

    Prayer I understand. Only God can supply the grace I need to do what must be done. But thanksgiving? What am I thankful for?

    At least two things. First, that God has made the grace available to me at all. Second, that He reminds me to take advantage of it before it’s too late. Remember in the parable, I’m not the owner, and He is coming back to see what I’ve done. 

    The readings are clear. We all have a vineyard – things in our spiritual life that need attention. And most of us know pretty well what some of those things are.

    So the question really isn’t, “What do I need to get around to someday,” but, “What is God asking me to do today?” Maybe it’s Confession. Maybe it’s five minutes of prayer. Maybe it’s making a phone call, asking forgiveness, forgiving someone else, opening the Bible, coming to Mass regularly, or simply taking the first step toward something or someone I’ve been avoiding.

    Whatever it is, don’t wait to get around to it. We don’t do that for something we really want, do we? We just do it, whatever it takes.

    The vineyard is ours to tend today.

    —

  • Not Larger than God’s Love

    Not Larger than God’s Love

    Wednesday of the 26th Week in Ordinary Time (Memorial of St. Jerome)

    Luke 9:57–62

    There are people we meet – or we may be a person – who others might describe as “larger than life,” or a “force to be reckoned with.” They have a presence, a way about them, that seems to always compel a response, good or bad.

    The saint we remember today, Jerome, strikes me as such a person. Like everyone, he had strengths and weaknesses. But like those who live larger than life, his good could seem very good, and his bad,very bad.

    On the good side, Jerome was brilliant; one of the greatest minds the Church has ever known. What’s more, he loved Scripture with all his heart, and spent his life studying and writing about it. Above all, Jerome loved God, and wanted more than anything to live a life pleasing to Him.

    But then there were weaknesses. First, pride. Like many intellectuals, Jerome didn’t like to be wrong and didn’t want anyone having the last word but him. Worse, he had such a fiery temper and was so hard to get along with that his most loyal supporter and patroness, Paula, and her daughter, became saints just dealing with him. On top of all that, Jerome was strongly attracted to women and was constantly tempted to impure thoughts.

    This last temptation was so bad that Jerome left Rome to live as a hermit in the Holy Land. Although that helped, the temptations persisted. In desperation, he vowed to study Hebrew – a language he found hard to learn – every time lewd thoughts came back. Thanks to that vow, Jerome became an expert in Hebrew.

    That was a stroke of the Holy Spirit. When Jerome’s friend, Pope St. Damasus I, assigned him the task of producing a new version of the Bible based on the ancient languages, he poured himself into it. Despite some disagreements with the Church in the process, Jerome sacrificed his pride, submitted himself to her authority, and gave the world the Bible we still know as Jerome’s Vulgate.

    St. Jerome’s victory in the struggle against himself gives us great insight on the gospel today. People want to follow Jesus, but they want to do so on their own terms. Can we set conditions on discipleship? The life of St. Jerome underscores our Lord’s point: Following Christ means submitting ourselves entirely – mind, body, passions, strengths, and weaknesses — to his authority and his alone.

    That doesn’t mean that we are to somehow become people without strong desires, without opinions, personalities, or weaknesses. No, God made us; He knows who we are. We may, in our own ways, be larger than life, but St. Jerome reminds us that we’re never larger than God’s love. And, like him, we may be a force to be reckoned with, but let us pray that we, too, can – by God’s grace – be a force for good, submitting ourselves to God’s authority, and praying, as all the saints have prayed, “Lord God, all of me is yours. Tell me what to do with it and help me do it. Your will be done.”

    St. Jerome, pray for us.

    —

  • Christ and His Cross

    Christ and His Cross

    Monday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

    1 Corinthians 2:1-5

    The Corinth of St. Paul’s time was a bustling, wealthy trade center. It attracted men called “orators,” who were highly skilled at public speaking. The custom was that they wear extravagant clothes, be entertaining, flatter the city, and improvise brilliant speeches to make their case. To the Greek mind, the validity of an orator’s argument was tied to his prestige, social status, and theatrical skill.

    Imagine then what the Corinthians would have made of Paul, an itinerant tentmaker-turned-orator who did none of those things. Yet, that is exactly what happened, as we just heard: “When I came to you, brothers and sisters, proclaiming the mystery of God, I did not come with sublimity of words or of wisdom.”

    Paul knew the customs. He knew what the Corinthians expected.

    He didn’t give it to them. Why not?

    Because he didn’t need to. Paul knew the truth didn’t depend on him. It depended on Christ.

    That’s not to say he wasn’t needed. Someone had to go. As he said elsewhere, “how can they believe in him of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone to preach? And how can people preach unless they are sent?” (Romans 10:13-14)

    But didn’t he need to meet the peoples’ expectations – be brilliant, entertaining, and polished? How else would they believe?

    Paul thought of that. How would they believe? Faith. As he said next, “faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17).

    So that’s what he did. Simply, accurately, he spoke the heart of the Gospel to them: “I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

    Christ and his Cross. You can’t get less than that, and you can’t get more.

    And history shows that it worked. Apart from his two letters to the Corinthians, archaeologists have unearthed remains of ancient Christian basilicas and inscriptions in Corinth.

    In spite of his success, doubts seem to linger. We’re tempted to think that the success of evangelization depends on us; we have to say exactly the right thing, have the right personality, or use sophisticated arguments.

    If so, remember St. Paul. He had none of that. What he had was all he needed: Faith that if he went out and did his part, Christ would take care of the rest. And he did.

    So let us do the same. Let’s give Christ to others as best we can, using whatever gifts God has given us. We don’t have to be someone we’re not. We just have to let Christ work through who we are.

    We do our part. He does the rest.

    And if we keep returning to the center — Jesus Christ and him crucified — we can trust that God will use even our small efforts to accomplish things we never thought possible.

    —

  • The One Fear

    The One Fear

    Sunday of the 12th Week in Ordinary Time

    Jeremiah 20:10-13; Romans 5:12-15; Matthew 10:26-33

    While we know that Jesus never lies to us, today’s gospel is one of those times when his words seem to contradict human experience. It happens when he says, “Do not be afraid.”

    But isn’t there good reason to be afraid sometimes? Consider Jeremiah; his enemies were watching, waiting, hoping to destroy him. That’s a real, legitimate concern. Or take our own experience; don’t we all naturally fear things like illness, financial loss, rejection, loneliness, or losing someone we love?

    Something deeper is going on. Jesus knows we have many fears, some very real and legitimate. He’s going beyond that, challenging us to not let fear have the final word.

    He is, I believe, urging us to look particularly at those fears that are hardest for us to face. What are those? In my experience, the fears that go right to our moral center; the ones we try to excuse away. “I can’t go to Confession. That priest knows me. What will he think?”… “I can’t say grace at the restaurant. People are watching.”… “I can’t go to the March for Life. What will my pro-choice friends say? They won’t like me anymore.”

    The fear of what people think of us is powerful. Jesus knows that. That’s why he says, “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” People can damage our reputation, reject us, ridicule us, exclude us, even hurt us physically. But they can’t touch what matters most. In framing it this way, Jesus urges us to move our attention from lesser fears to the one fear that leads to wisdom: The fear of the Lord – what Scripture calls “the beginning of wisdom.”

    What is fear of the Lord? Let me explain it by example. Imagine you’re talking with a group of friends. Someone mentions a person you love deeply — your spouse, your child, your best friend. Trying to be funny, you make a cutting remark at their expense. Everyone laughs. But then, you turn around and discover that person you love so much standing right behind you. They heard every word.

    At that moment, what do you feel? Probably something much deeper than fear of physical punishment. No, it’s that feeling that says you’ve badly hurt someone you love, and you’d give anything to take those words back.

    In the same way, fear of the Lord isn’t cowering before an angry God. It’s loving God so much that the thought of offending Him breaks our heart. And it’s that feeling of deep regret or remorse for our sins that should drive us to seek forgiveness. Do we still fear the pain of hell, or eternal separation from Him? Sure, and that is the first stirrings of the virtue of fear of the Lord. But the mature understanding is the fear that by our sins we have rejected the love of God, who infinitely loves us.

    Getting to this stage of the virtue is a process; it doesn’t happen overnight, and it’s definitely made more difficult by our struggle against worldly fears. Still, remember what Jesus said just after he spoke about fear: “Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge.” In other words, the answer to our facing down our worldly fears isn’t courage alone; it is courage and trust. Jeremiah was no doubt brave, but he survived because he trusted. So with us; we confess our sins, pray publicly, and witness our faith not because we’re naturally brave, but because we love the Father and trust that He – who knows every sparrow – also knows and loves us, just as we are.

    In this world of instant and overflowing mass media, there are so many voices clamoring for our attention. Many are very good at stoking our fears and anxieties. Today in the gospel, Jesus challenges us: Which voice knows you best? Which loves you most? And above all, which will you listen to when fear arrives?

    —

  • Appreciating the Moment

    Appreciating the Moment

    Wednesday of the 7th Week of Easter

    Acts 20:28-38; John 17:11b-19

    Yesterday, we heard St. Paul tell the Ephesians of his imminent departure. Today we hear their reaction, and it’s one of the most emotional moments in the entire book.

    There’s a kind of parallel movement in John’s Gospel. Our Lord has finished his public ministry and is now ending his time among the Apostles. We haven’t heard their reaction, but we know; Jesus said earlier they would weep and mourn (John 16:20).

    We’ve had a taste of those emotions ourselves as a Church. Remember when parishes were closed during the COVID pandemic? Even though Mass was televised, it wasn’t the same. People missed the Sacraments, especially Holy Communion, and gathering together. Some missed them so much they’d come to the church windows just to look inside and watch Mass being televised. Others drove to the parking lot to gaze at the monstrance in the second floor window. Many got out and knelt on the ground, despite the weather.

    And remember when Church doors finally reopened? When we could once again receive Christ in the Blessed Sacrament and be together? What joy! Wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel that every day, or every time we walk into church?

    I think we can. How? One way is to appreciate the moments we’re given. For example, when you walk into church, before you do anything else, ask yourself, “What if this was the last time I could receive the Eucharist? What if it was the last time I could gather with these people? What would I do differently? Would I say something to someone that I should have said a long time ago?”

    The readings remind us of two precious gifts we’ve been given: the gift of Christ in our tabernacle and the gift of ourselves to each other. Too often, we realize the value of these gifts only when they’ve been threatened or taken away. That was true for St. Paul’s disciples, true for the Apostles, and it’s true for us. But it doesn’t have to be that way; we don’t have to allow absence to teach us gratitude. Instead, let’s remember how St. Paul quoted the words of Christ that do not appear anywhere else, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” As blessed as we are to receive the gifts of Christ and each other, we are even more blessed when we give ourselves in return: to God through full participation in the Mass, and to one another by listening more carefully, forgiving more readily, lingering together a little longer, and taking no one – neither God nor each other – for granted.

    —

  • Remaining Connected

    Remaining Connected

    Acts 15:1-6; Psalm 122:1-2, 3-4ab, 4cd-5; John 15:1-8

    As Acts of the Apostles 15 begins, the Church finds herself in serious disagreement. This is no small matter; it’s about salvation itself. Should Gentiles adopt Jewish customs and practices, or not?

    So what do they do?

    First, notice what they don’t do: They don’t split into new churches. They don’t ignore the problem and hope it will go away.

    Instead, they do what the Psalm describes: they “go to the house of the Lord.” That is, they come together. They go to Jerusalem. They talk. They argue. They discern.

    And that’s exactly what Jesus told them to do, though perhaps not in the way we expect.

    Before he ascended to the Father, Jesus knew his Church would encounter things he had not addressed explicitly. So, how did he deal with that – by leaving them a rule book, or saying, “When problems arise, just remember what I said and you’ll be fine”?

    No. As John reminds us, Jesus said, “Remain in me, as I remain in you… If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.”

    “Remain in me…” doesn’t mean just remembering the past. It’s staying connected to the living God — the Vine, without whom we can do nothing.

    And he adds, ‘if my words remain in you.’ Not just remembering them, but letting them take root in us… shape us… change what we desire. So that, when we ask, we are no longer asking only for what we want… but for what God knows we need.


    Ultimately, we find, as in Acts today, we may not always have the answer right away… but by staying united, staying attentive, and open to the Spirit, the right answers will come.

    Before the Church could say, “It has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us”… they first had to remain.

    Remain together. Remain in Christ. Remain open.

    The Church bears fruit not because she always has quick answers… but because she remains in Christ long enough to receive the right ones.

    This is true in our own lives too, of course. When we or someone we know is suffering, in conflict, or going through a difficult time, it’s tempting to want quick answers. This is only natural. Still, as Christ reminded us in the gospel, without him, we can do nothing. In him, we can do all things – even endure what we may have thought was unendurable. And, we may well find that the endurance of that suffering leads to great fruit indeed – a deeper, more lasting union with Christ than we ever thought possible.

    —

  • Set Apart and Sent:

    Set Apart and Sent:

    Wednesday of the 4th Week of Easter

    Acts 12:24-13:5a; John 12:44-50

    The word St. Luke uses for “worshiping” or “ministering” is the word we know as liturgy. In the liturgy, we don’t just worship God; we are drawn into what God is doing. And what God is doing is always this: He speaks, He calls, and He sends.

    We saw that in the reading from Acts, when the Holy Spirit set Barnabas and Saul apart, and sent them.

    So, since the earliest times, our liturgies have given birth to mission.

    But mission for whom – certain people only? It might seem that way, especially when we think of Sacraments such as Baptism, Confirmation, and Holy Orders. But the fact is that every time we gather, as we do now for the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit says again, “Set apart for me those I have called.”

    Who’s that? All of us.

    And why does God send us? Because of what Jesus says in the Gospel: ‘Whoever sees me sees the one who sent me.’ Jesus Himself is sent, and everything Jesus does reveals the Father. So when we are sent, it is for the same reason: to make the Father visible in the world.

    St. Catherine of Siena lived exactly this way. Long before she was a woman of action, Catherine was a woman of the liturgy. She grew in her love for Christ from baptism through the Eucharist. So thoroughly did she consecrate herself with Christ to the Father in the Holy Eucharist that for the last several years of her life, her only food was the Eucharist. She drew her very life from the Blessed Sacrament, discovering in it a source of endless spiritual energy that united her to Christ in charity.

    In other words, Catherine’s extraordinary mission — reforming the Church, calling popes to return the papacy to Rome — did not come from her. It came from liturgy. It came from the altar.

    The fearlessness it took for her – a laywoman with no formal education – to write to popes and kings didn’t come from human confidence, but from the same Spirit who said to the Church at Antioch: “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul.” Catherine heard the Spirit, and like Barnabas and Saul, poured out her life in obedience.

    I remember once asking my spiritual director about this. Hearing that people like St. Catherine lived only on the Eucharist made me wonder, “Is that to be a model for me? Should I hope, someday, to live on nothing but the Eucharist?” Father replied, “God gives us such saints, not that we imitate their level of piety or virtue, but that we push ourselves a little further in that direction. God is probably not asking you to live only on the Eucharist, but He may well be asking you to increase your desire to receive Him and be transformed by His grace.”

    I think that’s a good answer. It reminds us that the Holy Spirit is speaking to us personally – right here, right now. Each of us is set apart and sent. From this altar. Today. It is also a reminder to pray during the liturgy, especially Holy Mass, for the strength to answer the Spirit’s call. It’s easy and tempting to allow fear to take hold, which is why St. Catherine once said, “Don’t look at your weaknesses. Realize instead that in Christ crucified you can do everything.”

    St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us.

    —

  • Overcoming Familiarity

    Overcoming Familiarity

    Wednesday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 6:1-6

    When Abraham Lincoln first met Frederick Douglass, he didn’t think much of him. He certainly didn’t regard him as an equal; to the contrary, he believed that Douglass had nothing to teach him. But over time and repeated meetings, Lincoln came to see that Douglass, while not educated the way he was, possessed a moral clarity and insight on the issue of slavery that he himself lacked. He came to depend on Douglass for advice. At Lincoln’s second inauguration, when policemen barred Douglass from coming near, Lincoln insisted that he stay. In fact, he took Douglass by the hand and said, “There is no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. What do you think of my speech?”

    Because Lincoln opened himself to listen to Frederick Douglass, a deeper truth was allowed to shape history. Sadly, this was not the case with the people of Nazareth, who allowed familiarity with Jesus to harden their hearts to the point that God was left with no room to work. As Mark tells us, he was not able to perform any mighty deed there (Mark 6:5).

    We all know the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it can also breed dismissal. The people of Nazareth dismissed the idea that Jesus had anything to teach them; as far as they were concerned, they already knew everything worth knowing about him.

    I can’t really criticize them. I’ve seen a similar attitude at times in myself. Because I’ve studied theology a lot, read many books and articles, and taken many classes, I get tempted to think, “OK, now I think I know everything I need to know about God.” If you’ve ever had similar thoughts, I urge you to remember this gospel passage, for that’s exactly the kind of thinking that closes the door to God, giving Him no room to work in us or through us.

    Our faith thrives on openness, and the key to openness is humility. That’s what brought Lincoln around – the humility to recognize his own limits, and to start listening where he least expected wisdom to be found.

    Today’s gospel presents us with the same choice. It’s not whether Jesus has power, but whether we will allow him to teach us again; perhaps through Scripture passages we’ve heard many times before, a person we think we already understand well enough, or a moment that feels ordinary.

    The people of Nazareth could not move past asking, “Isn’t this the carpenter?” The question for us is simpler and more unsettling: Have we already decided who Jesus is, and stopped listening?

  • Sowers and Seeds

    Sowers and Seeds

    2 Samuel 7:4–17; Mark 4:1–20

    When I’ve reflected on the Parable of the Sower, I’ve stuck with the explanation Jesus Himself gives: He is the sower, the seed is his word, and we are the soil. I’ve seen the truth of it in my own life, and I suspect you have, too. There have been times when my heart was like the hard-packed path, other times rocky or choked with thorns—and, by God’s grace, moments when it was good soil that bore fruit.

    Recently, I learned that Vincent van Gogh also spent a lot of time thinking about this parable. He painted and sketched it repeatedly. But van Gogh saw it a little differently. For him, his art was the seed, and he was the sower.

    We see something of both perspectives in the reading from 2Samuel. David has clearly been good soil: chosen, formed, and blessed by God. From that abundance, he now sees himself as a kind of sower, offering to do what he believes a faithful king should do: build a house for the Lord.

    But God gently reminds him through the prophet Nathan exactly who has built whom. It was God who first chose David, God who established his kingdom, and God who built David’s “house” — not of stone, but a lineage that would lead to the Messiah.

    The lesson is unmistakable. No one, no matter how great, gifted, or faithful, is the architect of God’s plan. We are its recipients. God first plants the seed. Only then does He invite us to share in the sowing. David becomes a sower of the Kingdom not by his own initiative, but because of what God has already done in him.

    The same is true for us. Discipleship is never our initiative; it is always God’s. We are chosen first, claimed in baptism, and only then entrusted with a share in His work.

    That’s how van Gogh understood his own vocation. Painting was his seed, his “holy task.” He cast it broadly, often into rocky, unreceptive soil, painting not with certainty of success, but with hope. In much the same way, our words, choices, and acts of love or mercy are the seeds we sow. We do not control where they land, what takes root, or how long they take to grow.

    No, God has assigned us a task that is simpler — and harder — than that: to sow generously, love without counting the cost, give without guarantees, and trust that God always controls the growth.

    In the end, the Kingdom of God grows not because we manage it well, but because God, who first planted His word in us, is faithful and always brings it to harvest.

  • The Shoot and the Fruit

    The Shoot and the Fruit

    The 2ndSunday of Advent, Cycle A

    Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

    It may not seem like it, but today Isaiah presents one of the most striking images in all of Scripture: A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse. To us it sounds poetic, and is, but for the prophet’s audience, it was also practical, and its symbolism powerful. Why? Because the Hebrews knew that a shoot growing from the stump of an old olive tree, when properly cared for, grows into a new olive tree. Then and now, the olive tree was a symbol of resurrection: What looked dried up and dead is alive again; a whole new tree, fresh and full of fruit.

    To this, the prophet adds two things: First, he gives the stump a family name – Jesse, King David’s father – in effect prophesying a son from that family endowed with spiritual gifts. Second, this son would usher into the world a kingdom of peace beyond our imagination. On this side of the resurrection, it’s easy to see this son of David as our Lord, Jesus Christ, and creation at the end state God planned from all eternity: healed and restored, with its people living in justice and peace. What a perfect picture.

    But, as we all know from times we’ve pictured ourselves having reached some new personal milestone, there has to be a path to get us there. We don’t just become a new self; real effort is involved. Sometimes, I think I need a drill sergeant to push me where I want to go. Once I find out how hard the path to a better me is, the less I’m motivated to get there on my own.

    Enter John the Baptist, the first century’s spiritual drill sergeant.

    His words – Repent… prepare the way… make straight the paths… produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance – may sound harsh, but they’re true. They remind us that the kingdom Isaiah pictured takes a lot more than good intentions or warm feelings. It takes real effort; a deliberate, disciplined turning back to God.

    As John none-too-gently reminded his audience when he said, the ax lies at the root of the tree, some pain may be involved. We know the discomfort, the humility of Confession. But we also know that God meets us there, and gives us the grace to cut away the behaviors and attitudes that lead us away from Him.

    It may feel as though all that remains of our old life is a stump, but remember the olive tree – from the stump that remains, new shoots can grow. What are those? Imagine the possibilities: A moment of honesty; a bad habit given up; a virtue practiced on purpose; a relationship tended with patience; less screen time replaced by more and deeper prayer; reconciliation with someone we have avoided. And many more.

    The best news of all? Any of these small shoots will become, if tended, a new tree — a new self — rooted in Christ. And from that tree, the good fruit will begin to appear: gentleness rather than impatience, mercy rather than judgment, courage rather than fear.

    So, this Advent – right now – let’s choose just one concrete act of repentance, one “spiritual muscle” to train, or one place where we invite the Lord to straighten the path. God is eager to do it; He, who raised a shoot from Jesse’s stump will raise a new heart in us as well. And, through that heart, we will bear the fruit that shows we are really doing what God wants most – turning back to Him.

    —