Homily: Tuesday, 2nd Week of Lent

Sometimes, after I've prepared a homily, the priest will let me know that he'd like to preach. And that's OK, never a problem. It's good for me to prepare so I can appreciate God's Word even more. The below homily is the one I didn't preach today, but thought my tiny band of readers might find it of some benefit.

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Readings: Is 1:10, 16-20; Ps 50; Mt 23:1-12

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I have to admit, listening to today’s Gospel passage from Matthew always causes me to cringe a little.

Jesus, of course, was talking about the Pharisees and Scribes and their hypocrisy, and warning the people, especially His disciples, about following their example. As we see throughout the Gospels, these spiritual leaders of the Jewish people didn’t really hide their hypocrisy too well. It wasn’t just obvious to Jesus, but we suspect everyone saw it.

Indeed, Jesus offers us a sad litany of their offenses, everything from grasping honor and privileges for themselves to making life unbelievably difficult for others. But Jesus is also letting His disciples know that they, too, can fall prey to these same failings, and so the warning extends across the centuries to us as well. And there’s one sin -- and I think we can safely call all these failings sins -- that strikes me with the greatest force. It’s when Jesus says, “For they preach but they do not practice.”

You see, as a deacon, a man once declared by my bishop to be a true “servant of God” – he actually said that to all of us at our ordination. Anyway, when I hear Jesus say this about those Pharisees, I find myself wanting to hide behind that “seat of honor” over there.

It’s a very obvious seat isn’t it? Comfortable too. Yes, indeed, no matter how crowded the Mass, I’ve always got a great seat don’t I? Heck, the parish even gives me a parking place, so the old deacon doesn’t have to tire himself out.

But it’s really that preach and practice thing that troubles me. I’m preaching right now, and soon enough I’ll probably be telling you how to live your lives during this season of Lent. I did just that at a couple of Masses this past weekend.

And yet, like you, I too am a sinner. Most of the faults I address in homilies and the remedies I preach have their source in my own behavior, or in that of those I love and know best. Yep, it’s always easier to identify the sins of family and friends, isn’t it? We know them so very well, just as they know us.

Anyway, as I dig deeper into my own conscience to uncover my faults, I realize how different I am from the man I was 30, 40, or 50 years ago. I guess my spiritual life, my struggle toward some degree of holiness, has actually progressed, not as far as I’d like, and certainly far below the Lord’s hopes…

On a wall in our home, hangs a rather large portrait of Jesus – it’s the Divine Mercy image – and I’m serious, but sometimes when I glance at it, Jesus seems to be shaking His head at me…Maybe it’s just my aging vision, but I think it’s more than that. He’s just showing me I have a long way to go.

Lent, though, is a good time for introspection, a time to take a good, hard look at ourselves – a time to let God reform us, to transform us, into His ways

It’s also a time for simplicity, a time to turn away from the busyness of the world and its false attractions and promises.

But perhaps most importantly, it’s a time for sacrifice. So often we try to avoid any kind of sacrifice because sacrifice often means suffering, and yet it’s there, in our sacrifices, where Jesus Christ comes to meet us.

It’s there, when we bear our everyday crosses, that He comes to us and carries them with us.

Jesus never said that living the Christian life would be easy; but He did promise we wouldn’t be alone. He would join us.

Yes, I suppose I’m guilty of a touch of hypocrisy, but thanks to Jesus’ words, at least I know it, and can repent. Maybe some of those Scribes and Pharisees also came to recognize their hypocrisy when they listened to Jesus, and then they too repented.

Perhaps they, too, heard Isaiah’s message, one they would have known well:

“Wash yourselves clean!...[and] set things right”

And how do we do that? We change, for that’s what repentance means.

“Put away your misdeeds from before my eyes; cease doing evil; learn to do good. Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan's plea, defend the widow.”

Oh, yes, so let me leave you with another thought:

Don’t be too critical of deacons and priests, of bishops and popes, for we too are human and subject to the whole range of human failings.

How much better simply to pray for us, as we pray for you.

  

Homily: Tuesday, 6th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jas 1:12-18 • Ps 94 • Mk 8:14-21

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Yesterday we saw the blindness of a Pharisee asking Jesus for a sign of His authority from God. Today we see the blindness of Jesus’ own disciples, still struggling to understanding who He is. They were neither evil nor stupid; they just hadn’t grasped that Emmanuel – God with us – quite literally meant that God was with them. Of course, this points to you and me as well, to our own blindness in not always recognizing the clear Presence of God in our own lives.

The disciples are traveling across the lake in the boat.  You would think that with 12 of them someone would remember to pack a lunch. But no. They had only one loaf of bread. As they cross the lake, Jesus is talking to them:

“Keep your eyes open; be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod.”  

For the Jews yeast was a corrupting agent because it caused fermentation.  That was why at Passover they ate unleavened, incorrupt, bread. As Paul tells the Corinthians: 

“Get rid of all the old yeast, and make yourselves into a completely new batch of bread, unleavened as you are meant to be” [1 Cor 5:7].

Jesus is simply telling his disciples to avoid two opposing kinds of corruption: that of the Pharisees which is based on narrow-minded and intolerant legalism and that of Herod, is based on amoral and hedonistic pleasure-seeking. Of course, the disciples don’t listen; like us they tend to focus on their own little problems. They latch on to the word “yeast” and link it to their current obsession – not enough bread for them all. All they can think about is their lunch.

Jesus knows what is going in their minds. And so, he chews them out, scolding them for being so self-absorbed, for their continued worries of not having enough bread for their lunch. First, he tosses some rhetorical questions at them: Why are you worried about having no bread? Are your minds so closed, your vision so impaired you can’t see what’s right in front of you? Have you forgotten everything you’ve witnessed? Did it mean nothing?

But then He engages in a little Q&A with them: 

“When I broke the five loaves among the 5,000, how many baskets of leftovers did you pick up?” 

“Twelve,” they answer.  

“And when I broke the seven loaves for the 4,000, how many baskets of leftovers did you collect?” 

“Seven,” they reply.

“And still, you don’t understand?”

Five loaves for 5,000 people and 12 baskets of leftovers…Seven loaves for 4,000 with 7 baskets of leftovers…And you, a mere dozen men, are worried about being short of food when I am with you?

Mark tends to be hard on the disciples. They neither see nor hear, even when they witness the remarkable faith of others who encounter Jesus.They seem not to understand what is happening right before their very eyes. I suppose that’s to be expected. These were practical, down-to-earth men –fishermen, not mystics. They don’t yet know what to make of all the healings and miraculous things they’ve witnessed. A bit like you and me – so often we don’t see or understand what’s right in front of us.

But the disciples are learning…Indeed, only a few days after this event Peter makes His remarkable, Spirit-inspired testimony at Caesarea Philippi.

“Who do you say that I am? Jesus asks them.

And Peter replies, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” [Mt 16:16].

Mark, you see, isn’t really firing his shots at the disciples, because we know the end of their story. No, Mark is concerned about us, about you and me, for Mark knew what he was about. In the Acts of the Apostles, we encounter Mark as an evangelist, companion of Paul, and then Peter, a man who had seen the temptations James addresses in our first reading. 

Can we see? Do we understand? That God is with us? That He loves each of us with a very intimate, personal love? Or is our faith so weak we allow the little things in our lives to drive our thoughts and actions and blind us to the reality of God’s care for us? How about instead we focus on the big things:

On striving for holiness amidst the clutter of our lives.

On deepening our prayer life so we can stay in touch with God’s will for us.

On making disciples by taking Jesus to others

Do these things, the big things, and God will gladly lead us, and help us handle all the rest – the little things like bread, and illness, and family conflict, all the other worries that occupy our minds.

God cares for us, and He loves to take care of faithful ones.

Homily: Tuesday, 1st Week of Advent

Readings Is 11:1-10; Ps 72; Lk 10:21-24

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Whenever I read today’s Gospel passage from Luke, I realize how blessed we are as Christians because we know Jesus Christ, just as Jesus revealed to the disciples:

“Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I say to you, many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.”

He said this to the 72 who had just returned from their mission to take the Good News into the world, to do the work Jesus had been doing. Not long before, Jesus had sent the 12 out on their first mission to do the same: to preach, to teach, and to heal, all in the name of Jesus Christ. And all of these first missionaries had proclaimed the Kingdom of God to the People of God, for the Jews would be the first to hear the Good News. Jesus had also told them:

“To you it has been given to know the secrets of the Kingdom of God, but to others I speak in parables, so that looking they may not perceive and hearing they may not understand.”

These words don’t mean that insight and understanding are given only to Jesus’ immediate disciples. Rather, He is telling them that they, because they are faithful disciples, have opened themselves to hear and, therefore, to understand His message, and to see and imitate His works.

I can take no credit for converting a single soul, but I suppose in some way, God works through us to lead those He calls to discipleship. For over ten years, Diane and I served as hospital chaplains here in The Villages. On our assigned days we would be asked to visit 20 or 30 newly admitted patients, people of all faiths. Our role was largely prayerful, to provide comfort to those who were suffering, to assist them if they had unaddressed needs, but mostly just to listen.

One morning we visited a man on the cardiac care floor. As we entered his room, he noticed our “Chaplain” name tags, and with a frown said:

“I had a heart attack that almost killed me. Now the doctors tell me I need a transplant, But the chances aren’t good that I’ll survive long enough to get one.”

He then asked – and these were his words:

“What the hell do you want?”

So, I said the only thing I could think of saying:

“To help you avoid going there.”

I guess that broke the ice. He laughed and asked us what church we came from. When I told him we were Catholic, he said he used to be, but left the Church when he was in his 20s. I just said, “Well, if you were baptized, you’re still a Catholic, even if you don’t know it.”

With that the three of us talked a while – about his life, about his fear of death, about Jesus and God’s unconditional love, but mostly about forgiveness. Eventually he admitted, as he described it, having “a mountain of sins, mostly unforgiveable.”

So, we suggested, “Well, then, let’s test your theory. I’m going to call a priest friend, a really good guy, and he’ll come here, and hear your confession. With that you’ll taste the goodness of God’s forgiveness. And you’ll also see how wonderful it is to be in friendship with Jesus Christ.”

It all happened just as God planned it. When my priest friend entered the room, this long-lapsed soul sat up and cried.

He died the following week.

So, do you see how blessed we are to have known Jesus Christ, most of us for our entire lives? And yet, He is there for all, even those who have long ignored Him.

But we are called, just like the Apostles and the 72, to evangelize, to take the Good News of Jesus Christ to all those we encounter, to all those places in our lives.

The great thing is, He does all the work; we just say and do whatever He tells us.

Homily: Year A, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Here's another unpreached homily...but I was ready, more or less, just in case. That's something I've learned to do over the years: always be ready to preach. Anyway, it focuses on one of my favorite healings, so well described by Matthew, so I decided to share my imperfect thoughts with you all.

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Readings: Is 56:1, 6-7; Ps 67; Rom 11:13-15, 29-32; Mt 15:21-28

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It would be easy to overlook this brief encounter depicted in today’s Gospel reading from Matthew. It would be easier still to discount its importance. After all, Jesus cured hundreds, probably thousands, during His public ministry. What makes this one so special?

But this encounter with the Lord was special because it was different…very different. First of all, it took place in the region of Tyre and Sidon, outside the land of Israel. And the woman he meets there is a Canaanite, a non-Jew, a pagan. Jesus, Matthew tells us, is withdrawing from Israel, and she is coming out of her own land, searching for what? It appears they are searching for each other, a meeting the Father has scheduled. And we know that Jesus never misses an encounter at the precise time and place arranged by the Father.

We can also see what the disciples thought of her: "Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us." Yes, the simple word, “Canaan,” evokes everything contrary to Jewish faith and tradition, everything they have been taught to despise.

And yet this pagan woman comes to Jesus, a Jew; and she comes to Him as her Lord and Savior: “Lord, Son of David…” Yes, each has left something behind to fulfill a deep yearning: Jesus yearning to save, and the woman’s to be saved. No power on earth can thwart this encounter.

Are our encounters with Jesus like this? For Jesus is seeking each one of us you just as He sought the Canaanite woman. He will gladly leave the holy places; He will enter into the unholy land of our sinfulness, in search of lost sheep.

But like the woman, we must turn to Him. And turn to Him she does. Yes, her only business that day was to find Him and to express her desperate need in the strongest possible terms. And in doing so she becomes the very embodiment of fervent intercessory prayer.

She screamed out her need, a parent agonizing over the suffering of her child, a daughter possessed by a demon. Without knowing it, this earthly mother appeals to the compassion of the heavenly Father, who understands well the agony of a child’s suffering. Her daughter’s distress is her distress: “Have pity on me,” she begs. “Lord, help me,” she pleads, as if she and her daughter are one, as if her daughter’s distress reverberates through her very being.

She is on a mission; one her daughter cannot complete. She must become her daughter’s voice, her daughter’s hands…just as Jesus became the Father, His hands, His feet, His voice, His Word. Does Jesus recognize in this woman and her attitude a mirror image of His own mission?

And yet, despite all this, Jesus responds with silence…the same silence that often greets our own prayer. Does this mean she should turn away, and just hope for the best? Does it mean she should address Jesus differently? Did she shout too loudly, or not loudly enough?

Should she have realized, as the disciples apparently thought, that Jesus was on a greater mission, a mission to save the world? That He really couldn’t be troubled with one woman’s problems? Was this saving, this healing of His strictly a Jewish thing? Did all this pass through her mind?

We can almost picture her, face flushed, eyes frantic, hands reaching out, pleading, as her mind jumps from one concern to the next…but she too says nothing, her pain muted by Jesus’ seeming indifference.

And yet, God’s silence, His silence in us is one of the choicest works of His grace. Her speculation and worry are no different from that which we experience when faced with God’s silence. But eventually, if we stop speculating, stop worrying, and become silent ourselves, we can come to hear God’s Word in the silence.

The disciples can’t stand it. In effect they tell Jesus, “For crying out loud. This woman’s driving us nuts. Do something, will you?”

But Jesus just says, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." He dismisses them just as He seems to have dismissed her. But this comment only causes her to plead once more, “Lord, help me.”

Her only solution is to throw herself at Jesus’ feet and cry for mercy. Although she’s probably never heard a single line of Scripture, her entire being is intuitively reduced to the cry of the psalmist: “Let thy mercy come to me and I will have life.” For she realized that day what St. Bernard realized a thousand years later, “The torrents of grace do not flow upward to the heights of pride…but downward into a humble, low-lying heart.”

Jesus now utters what to our ears seems a horrible insult: "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs."

How can He say such a thing?” we ask. Where’s the voice of the Good Shepherd? Where’s the Jesus who consoled the woman of Samaria? Where’s the Savior who died to set all people free?

Well, he's right here, right here in this encounter. He's the teacher goading the student. He's the coach pushing the player to give his all. He's the debater throwing down the verbal gauntlet so the argument can begin, and the truth can be seen by all.

The woman is no fool. She seems to recognize this. She may have no claim on the inheritance of Israel, but she still needs God’s promises to be fulfilled in her. And so, she doesn’t disagree, but in effect declares that Jesus speaks the truth, that she is, indeed, among the least of His creatures, nothing more than a dog in search of its master.

We can almost hear her joy as she plays this trump card on Jesus and realizes what its effect will be. For in her deep faith, and filled with the Spirit, she knew all along that Jesus would answer her prayer. After all, how could the Son of God turn her down?

After all, had she wanted to risk sounding insolent, she could have asked Him what on earth He was doing in pagan territory to begin with if, as He claimed, He had come only to redeem Jews? Why indeed had He come to this place, to encounter those in need, if He intended to do nothing about it?

You see, brothers and sisters, it is this wonderful woman’s genus to have understood the truth, the divine secret, that in order truly to win – that is, to be overtaken and sheltered and saved – she must allow herself to be defeated by Jesus.

She and you and I win only by submitting to God, by adoring God, and by finding that adoration accepted. The whole drama is shot through with an indestructible passion of faith, with her inability to conceive of God in Jesus as anything but an inexhaustible fountain of mercy.

Yes, it’s all about faith. “Kyrie,” [Lord] she cries out four times in this brief encounter.

“If you’re indeed Lord,” she seems to say, “the all-powerful Lord, then you must be the loving Lord of all, of the high and the low, of the sheep of Israel and the dogs of the pagans. I don’t care which I am, only that I am with you. If you’re truly the One Son of the One God, then you’re the Lord of all, then you’re my personal Lord too, and my rejoicing over it will never end.”

Unlike so many who demand that God serve them at their table, she has no problem abiding on the floor under His table. She has no problem with crumbs, glorious crumbs from that table, heavenly crumbs falling from the hands of Jesus Himself.

For she knows that wherever Jesus is, there is abundance; that wherever sin is, God’s compassion ensures that grace is there too, superabundantly. Just as we know that here, at this very altar, at the Eucharistic table, Christ’s mercy will forever be raining those crumbs of life.

"You’ve got great faith, woman," he says, "You’ve got remarkable faith!"

Won't it be wonderful when he says the same thing to you and to me?

Homily: Wednesday in the Octave of Easter

Readings: Acts3:1-10; Ps 105; Lk 24:13-35

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The Road to Emmaus began, as conversion often does, in despair or shattered faith or both – two people caught up in themselves and in their humanity.

Despite all they had heard, all they saw Him do, despite His promises, and their hope that He was the Messiah…despite it all, when they came face to face with Jesus’ death, their faith all but evaporated.

“They were downcast…Jesus, who was a prophet...we were hoping He would be the one to redeem Israel…” [Lk 24:17,19, 21]

We were hoping…

...a prophet...a redeemer...we hoped...

But now, unwilling to believe in the Resurrection, unwilling to accept the truth about Jesus, they had abandoned their hopes.

And so, headed away from Jerusalem, away from the Apostles, the Church, they were returning to the lives they led before they met Jesus.

It’s there, in sorrow and despair, as they try to leave Jesus behind, that their conversion begins. It's there they meet Him once again, along the Way.

It begins with Jesus Himself. He knows their sorrow, sees into their hearts, and communicates the life that fills His being: the life of grace, a gift that has an immediate effect.

Unknowingly moved by God’s grace, they turn to Jesus and listen.

Yes, it always begins with Jesus, the Eternal Word of God, so it shouldn’t surprise us that Jesus turns to the Revealed Word of God. He turns to Scripture.

All of Sacred Scripture – both the Old and New Testaments -- has only one ultimate purpose: to lead us to Jesus Christ.

Of course, at this point in salvation history, there was no New Testament. As Luke wrote:

“Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, He interpreted to them what referred to Him in all the Scriptures” [Lk 24:27].

And the result?

“Were not our hearts burning within us while He spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” [Lk 24:32]

That’s when conversion begins, brothers and sisters. It begins when you encounter Jesus on the Way and hear your story in Scripture.

But far too many Christians stop right there and fail to take the next logical step on their journey of faith.

It’s one thing to believe in Jesus, but it’s far more drastic to invite Him into your life, into your heart, to invite Him to stay with you, to let Him lead you on that journey.

Late on that first Easter Sunday, Jesus responds to the disciples’ invitation by celebrating the 2^nd Mass. And it’s in the Eucharist, "in the breaking of the bread", that they recognize Him.

Their faith, deepened by Scripture, is cemented by the Eucharist.

Such is the power of the Eucharist, this gift Jesus Christ has given His Church, a power beyond all comprehension, a power that brings Jesus into our hearts, into our inner selves, a power that confirms our faith so we can carry Him to others.

And now, filled with the joy that only such faith can bring, they go to the Church, to its very heart; to the Apostles and report all that they had witnessed.

“Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how He was made known to them in the breaking of the bread” [Lk 24:35].

They accept their call to make Christ present among men. But they do so first within the Church, the Church established by Jesus Himself.

What a marvelous story this is.

The Lord comes to us, but never forces Himself on us. He wants us to turn to Him freely, when we begin to grasp the depth of His love, a love He has placed deep within us. It's a very part of our creation, as image and likeness of God's love.

Like the disciples, we want to hold onto Him. We beg Him: “Stay with us, Lord. Our souls are shrouded in darkness and You alone are the light.  Only You satisfy this longing that consumes us.”

And He stays. He stays because He loves each of us so passionately that He will chase after us relentlessly…until the very last moments of our lives.

Conversion, then, begins when we meet Jesus on the Way. It’s deepened when we encounter Him in God’s Holy Word, and continues in the Church, where we repeatedly encounter Jesus in the sacraments.

Yes, conversion, like every good thing, begins and ends with Jesus, the Alpha and the Omega, He who loves beyond all comprehension.

That’s what true conversion is: a continual turning to God that turns despair into joy.

That’s why we need the Church; the Church is the font of grace that allows us to continue our lifelong conversion along the Way, the way of reconciliation.

The Resurrection of Jesus brings us hope, and, trusting in His promise, may we be reconciled with God and experience the touch of His mercy and goodness and forgiveness.

May we let God love us.

Homily: Saturday, 5th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kgs 12:26-32;13:33-34 • Ps 106 • Mk 8:1-10

Mark’s Gospel has often been described as a Passion narrative with a long introduction. And that introduction moves right along.

Mark also offers us the story of the disciples and their often confused response to Jesus’ call. Moved by the Spirit, the twelve attach themselves to Jesus with little understanding of His teachings or what His call to discipleship really entails. It’s a story, then, of spiritual growth, of gradual formation, a time when the Spirit plants seed after seed in the hearts of these friends and followers of Jesus.

Like every seed planted by the Spirit, these sprout and bloom according to His schedule, not ours. The Spirit can move quickly indeed, or He can lead us to the truth over a lifetime. And it’s our response that makes all the difference. We see signs of this in today’s Gospel passage.

4,000 people, a huge crowd, have been with Jesus for three days, and have eaten nothing. But we hear no complaints from the crowd, for in their hunger for Truth they have been fed with the Word. They seem satisfied. For them it has been three days of contemplative prayer, for what is contemplative prayer but placing oneself in Jesus’ presence and listening, listening to the Word so He can alter one’s very being.

It’s also a time of fasting. But in his compassion, Jesus knows once He leaves them, their fast will end, and they will return to the world hungry. They will need to be restored so they can carry the Word to their homes, into their everyday lives where they can live from faith.

Jesus turns to His disciples and simply states a truth: “They have nothing to eat.”

“How can we get bread in the desert?” they ask.

They have not yet understood that He is the Bread of Life, that wherever Jesus is, there is Bread. Yes, Jesus is the Eucharist, a gift He will institute at the Last Supper – the bread, His Body – the wine, His Blood – the gift of His Presence until the end of the age. But as yet they don’t know this.

Have they so soon forgotten His earlier feeding of the 5,000? Miracle upon miracle, healing upon healing, and yet they ask: “How can we get bread in the desert?” Does Jesus answer their question? No. Instead, He asks the disciples another. “How many loaves have you?”

This, brothers and sisters, is a moment of grace and the loaves are its image. Grace is present because Jesus is present. It flows outward from Him to all who are open to receive it. But grace can never be a private possession. It must be passed on, flow from one to another.

Yes, how many loaves do you disciples have? How much faith do you have? Do you have enough? Are you instruments of grace?

“Seven,” is their one-word reply. Does it point to the Spirit’s seven gifts they will receive at Pentecost when the full meaning of their discipleship is revealed? Perhaps so.

Jesus takes the loaves, but He takes nothing without thanking the Father. He gives thanks for the disciples’ bread, bread meant for them and for Him, but now destined for thousands. He breaks the bread, as He will break Himself in the Eucharist, and hands the bread to His disciples. They, in turn, distribute the bread; doing the miraculous, as the Bread received from the Church carries His miraculous Presence into the world.

Here we see the Church in the process of becoming, for the Bread it is given, the Eucharist – it, too, is blessed, broken, and multiplied. Jesus, through the work of the Holy Spirit, offers Himself, but His disciples carry Him into the world.

Jesus also blesses a few small fish so the people can eat an ordinary meal, the same kind of meal the disciples would eat with the Lord. This meal, this everyday experience, becomes for the people an extraordinary, miraculous experience. Were those few small fish a sign, a reminder that Simon Peter and the others must soon abandon their boats, their nets, their lives and become fishers of men?

Did the disciples learn this day that when they give all that they have – even if it’s only seven loaves and a few fish – God will multiply it a thousand fold?

And what about you and me?

Can we abandon everything in our lives that is keeping us from true discipleship?

Can we, too, hand the loaves and fish of our lives to the Lord and let Him bless, break and multiply them – so we can carry Him into the world?

Will you let God work His miracles in the everyday ordinariness of your life, so you can be an instrument of His grace?

We are all called, dear friends.

 

Mark: So Much To Tell Us

As I mentioned in a recent post, I've been preparing for the re-opening of our parish Bible Study, which had essentially been shut down since the COVID pandemic hit us last March. 

Among the first and most difficult decisions...Where exactly to begin? As a result of COVID I had time to prepare many Scripture-based reflections that were really unconnected, each focusing on a unique passage or book of Scripture. I also prepared some new study guides (as I call them) for a number of books, and for some reason decided to address many of the minor prophets, a group of Old Testament books that tend to receive little attention. I had hoped to spend some of our first sessions discussing these books...but then I asked the Holy Spirit for some inspiration and direction, and surprisingly found myself being called to Mark's Gospel. Surprised because the idea of starting with Mark hasn't even crossed my mind. But trusting in the Spirit, we will, therefore, turn to Mark when we once again meet together next Monday and Wednesday.

The more I thought about it, though, the better it seemed. Mark is actually a wonderful place to restart our studies, for many reasons. We are currently in the midst of liturgical Year B, the year in which our Sunday Gospel readings are drawn largely from Mark. What we read during our sessions will then be reinforced at Sunday Mass...and vice versa. 

Mark also presents the Good News in an almost breathtaking fashion, moving quickly through Jesus' ministry and the formation of the disciples, but always pointing to and leading us directly to Our Lord's redemptive act: His Passion, Death, and Resurrection. 

As we accompany Mark on this journey we also come to a better understanding of mission. We see the mission of the Son, sent by the Father -- a mission of remarkable love. We see the mission of John the Baptist, foretold and planned from all eternity. And we come to realize that each one of us has also been assigned a mission by the Father. It's not something you and I choose, but something God has chosen for each one of us and to which He calls us. Have you prayed for the Spirit's guidance, asked for His light to shine on the mission that God has chosen for you? Studying Mark helps us recognize this need.

Mark will teach us this and so much more, if only we listen to the Word.

Bible Study Reflection #30: Wheat and Weeds

Once again, it’s back to the Gospel. This time we’ll take a look at one of Jesus’ Kingdom of Heaven parables in the Gospel According to Matthew. Our reading actually includes several of these parables, but today we’ll focus only on the first, the parable of the wheat and the weeds. I realize Jesus doesn’t specify that the farmer in the parable is growing wheat, but I’ve always like the alliteration of the words, “wheat and weeds,” so I’ll continue to make that assumption.

Before we begin our reflection, then, please open your Bible, turn to Chapter 13 of Matthew and read Matthew 13:24-43. I’ve included the passage on Page 5.

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How many sinners do we have out there? Okay, you all know the answer to that one: we’re all sinners, even those who think they’re saints. In fact, this parable of the wheat and the weeds was aimed particularly at sinners who sometimes forget they’re sinners.

Notice that our Gospel passage ends with Jesus saying, “Whoever has ears ought to hear” [Mt 13:43]. I suppose He’s telling us: “Listen up! What I have to say about all this sinfulness and saintliness is pretty important stuff.” So, let’s take a closer look at this parable and at Jesus’ explanation of it. Perhaps, then, we can correct our own inflated opinions of ourselves.

First of all, let’s you and I take on the role of one of the slaves. Now it’s not easy being a slave, always having to do what you’re told, even when you don’t understand or don’t agree with the master and his orders. But, in this instance, even though we’re slaves, we’re fortunate to have a good and caring master, one who even allows us to question what we don’t understand.

Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where have the weeds come from? [Mt 13:27]

The master explains that his enemy has tried to sabotage His work by planting weeds, by seeding the field with that which will damage the wheat and lessen the harvest.

Jesus, opening up the parable for the disciples, tells them:

He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. The weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil [Mt 13:37-38].

…a pretty straightforward explanation, isn’t it? And the slaves, presumably, are the disciples (that’s us), those who must do the work of the master. Being good disciples, they want to do what they believe is best. Unlike those evil sinners, the saintly sinners want to make things right. They want to go out into the field right away and just rip out all those weeds, along with anything else that might get in the way.

So, there we are, you and I, God’s saintly, sinful slaves, telling Him to turn us loose and we’ll solve all His problems. Let us do it now! We’re the good guys, the good and decent people; we’re the righteous ones; we’re the ones with ears to hear.

Just look at all those weeds! What did Jesus call them? “Children of the evil one” [Mt 13:38]. You see them in the newspapers, on the web, and on TV. Why, it’s downright embarrassing. Their conduct, their ethics, their morality could hardly be any lower. And they’re out there committing all these shameful sins right there in front of God and everyone, setting a horrible example to the rest of us. There’s certainly no room for people like that in His Church. And look at the world. The weeds are taking over. Evil’s on a rampage. This can’t be the kind of world God wants. We have to do something!

It's tempting, isn't it, sometimes dangerously and tragically so, to desire a perfect world, to think that, if humanity got its act together, we could eradicate evil and create a world without imperfections. At least that’s what the politicians and the ideologues tell us. How ironic that our very imperfections cause us to think this way. And so, we end up turning the imperfect into the evil, while we hide all the real evils behind curtains of political and ideological correctness.

Abort the unwanted, purge the inconvenient, eliminate the undesirables, execute the criminals, cleanse the world of everything and everyone that’s imperfect. These, along with so many others, are the world’s solutions; they’re certainly not God’s.

God’s will is so very different, His ways so far from ours. How did He put it to Isaiah:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways – oracle of the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, my thoughts higher than your thoughts [Is 55:8-9].

In His divine wisdom He orders us to refrain from judging and purging, for He has a different plan for the salvation of humanity. He tells us to do something that from a human perspective seems downright foolish, but He insists.

“No weeding,” He orders, “not now. I’ll wait instead for the harvest, and then I’ll do the separating, not you. I will decide between wheat and weeds.”

“But there are so many weeds in the world today,” we complain, “so much evil, right here, right now — can’t we do something; can’t we do anything?”

And God says, “Yes, first of all, you can trust in Me. And you can do something else, but not the something you’d like to do, not the human something. I will judge,” He tells us, “because only I can see into the heart of each man and woman, only I can ensure a perfect yield from the harvest.”

We’ve been given a different job. “Go make disciples of all nations” [Mt 28:19], He commanded his disciples, which includes you and me. Until the harvest time we are to preach the gospel of repentance to the world…and to ourselves. And that, brothers and sisters, is hard for us to take. Why can’t we do some of that judging, that purging? Aren’t we the good ones, the holy ones?

Okay, maybe we’re not always that good or that holy. Maybe we don’t spend very much time immersed in God’s Word or deepening our prayer life – assuming we even have a prayer life. But we’re busy people and t’s hard work trying to get ahead in this world.

Maybe our faith isn’t always as alive and vibrant as it should be. Maybe our children and grandchildren, our neighbors and friends, haven’t always seen our faith witnessed in the way we live. Maybe we don’t spend much time and effort feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, welcoming the stranger, caring for and visiting the ill and the imprisoned. After all, I’ve got problems too. And I take responsibility for them; why can’t they?

Maybe we occasionally ignore those Church teachings we don’t agree with, those teachings on faith and morals and justice that are downright inconvenient. Oh, but we do attend Mass every week…well, most weeks anyway. That must count for something.

Yes, Jesus’ teaching can be a real stumbling block for us, can’t it? Much better and far more comforting to think there are just two kinds of people in the world: the real sinners – you know, the ones you see on the covers of the supermarket tabloids – and the rest of us, those of us who hardly sin at all, or whose sins are small. The bad and the pretty good. The outsiders – that’s them – and the insiders – that’s us. Those who have ears to hear and those who just refuse to listen. Those who will make it to heaven and those who won’t.

Yes, it’s easy to begin to think that way. And it’s a mistake that’s been around a long time. Back in the 4th Century there was a widespread heresy called Donatism that claimed the good seed in this parable referred to the members of the Church, and so by definition there could be no weeds, no sinners, in the Church. They believed the Church could be composed only of good people; the rest of the world was simply evil. They were a bit like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time.

It took a St. Augustine to correct them, explaining that neither humanity nor the Church can be divided into children of light and children of darkness. We still hear echoes of this ancient heresy among some Christian groups who preach a kind of exclusivity: “Are you saved? If you’re one of us, you’re OK...otherwise…well, sorry but you’re condemned.”

St. Augustine, of course, was right. We all have both light and darkness within us – the wheat and the weeds growing together. The Church, you see, is really a kind of hospital, where we can be spiritually healed and made ready for our eternal journey. It’s a place where sinners grow and change by God's grace. That growth in grace may be agonizingly slow, like grain hidden in the soil, waiting to be watered, waiting to be nourished. But in its slowness, it also imitates the patience of God. For Jesus teaches that there’s still time, there’s always time, up until the very last moment of our lives.

Of course, for those of us in the winter of our lives, it makes sense to heed the words of St. Paul:

I tell you, brothers, the time is running out…for the world in its present form is passing away” [1 Cor 7:29,31].

Just as our lives, too, are passing away.

I recall reading an article about a young gang member from a broken family — no role models, no education, no opportunities, no hope, no future. One fateful day, in a fit of uncontrolled rage, he fatally stabbed his social worker, the one person who was trying to help him. Convicted of murder, he was sent to prison for life. Now middle-aged, he’s repented, sought forgiveness from his victim’s family, finished college, and was baptized and confirmed. He’ll remain in prison because that’s where man’s justice will keep him. But today he’s nothing like the violent young man he once was and can no longer be counted among the weeds. Who would have predicted this outcome? Nobody but Jesus Himself.

As Paul reminds us, the Lord turns all things to good for those who love Him [Rom 8:28]. And so, brothers and sisters, there’s good news for us in this Gospel — really good news. We won’t be struck by lightning the moment we sin, for God responds patiently and lovingly.

How blessed we are that we can look back, recognize our past sinfulness, and be forgiven in the sacrament of Reconciliation.

How blessed we are that God is patient, that He gives us time to change, time to make amends.

If we’re truly honest with ourselves and with God, most of us will admit that we were once weeds, and some of us that we’re still weeds. We try to hide our secrets, our sinfulness, because we’re ashamed of what we’ve done. We struggle to trust others because we can hardly trust ourselves. We play games with the truth, and too easily separate our words from our actions. And there are days when we slip back into our weed-like behavior. The result, quite simply, is that it’s hard to tell the wheat from the weeds.

If you look carefully, you can find the weeds in yourself and in others. And so, we remain sinners living among sinners. But the time will come when the sorting of the weeds from the wheat will be absolute, decisive, and final. Make no mistake about it: We will all be judged. But that judgment belongs to the master alone, not to the servants. God is in charge, not us, and His judgment is nothing at all like ours -- something for which we should be especially grateful. God is both just and merciful. He’s eager to forgive and to provide us with the grace we need to overcome our sinfulness and do His will in the world. We need only ask. Yes, He’s willing to wait for our repentance, to wait until the very last moment, for His patience is almost inexhaustible. And we can thank God for that.

Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever.

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #6: Abandonment

Our elder son calls us almost daily. Of course, he loves us, and we enjoy talking with him. But I suspect he’s also checking up on the “old folks,” just to make sure we’re still capable of answering the phone. Anyway, the other day, when I answered his call, he asked, “How are you handling all this weirdness?”

And he’s right, isn’t he? It has been weird. For a couple of months now, except for walking the dog and making occasional but brief trips to the store and post office, we’ve been cooped up in our home, isolated from others, forced to redefine much of our lives. 

The weirdest part has been the absence of human contact, especially with our friends. And yet some good has come of this. Diane and I have certainly spent more time together and are even learning to compromise on our TV watching. We’ve watched a lot of Jane Austen DVDs together and are now working our way through some strange Amazon Prime series. I’ve also worked on honing my cooking and laundry skills.

Among the more pleasant changes, is my growing relationship with our trash collectors. I now recognize them, and they me. They collect our trash twice weekly, usually in the pre-dawn hours, about the same time I take Maddie for her morning walk. Hungry for human contact, I now stop and greet these young men as they jump on and off their truck picking up our garbage. They have a hard, backbreaking, and smelly job, but they always greet me with a smile and a cheery “Good morning!” In the midst of the “weirdness” I have developed a new respect for these men and their work.

Yes, indeed, things have gotten weird. But weirdness always generates questions, and questions often lead me to Sacred Scripture. After all, God not only has all the answers, He is the answer. And one of the best places to find that answer is the Sermon on the Mount; for it’s there that Jesus both challenges and comforts us. This morning offers a good example. While Diane underwent her physical therapy, I sat in the waiting room of the rehab center, wearing my facemask, and reading from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6 about the futility of worry. It’s not a long passage, so let’s read it now:

Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat (or drink), or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your lifespan? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wildflowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, 'What are we to eat?' or 'What are we to drink?' or 'What are we to wear?' All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil [Mt 6:25-34].

Of course what Jesus is telling the crowd, and what He is telling us, is that worry over food, clothing, health, or any material need is simply a substitute, and a very poor one at that, for concern about our eternal salvation. He tells us to turn our attention from our worldly needs to eternal needs: “But seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness…”

So often, instead of being disciples, we are worriers. We spend much of our time planning our futures, calculating profit and loss, assets and debits, being the responsible people the world expects of us to be. This, Jesus tells us, is a waste of the energy and talents God has given us. We are called to do otherwise. We are called to put aside all anxiety and replace it with self-abandonment, to choose a life in which God provides and we receive. This eternal call of Jesus is echoed throughout all of Sacred Scripture. Here is just one example:

“Unless the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build. Unless the Lord guard the city, in vain does the guard keep watch. It is vain for you to rise early and put off your rest at night, to eat bread earned by hard toil — all this God gives to his beloved in sleep” [Ps 127:1-2].

Our passage from the Sermon on the Mount is, of course, about more than freedom from worry. It’s really about how we should live our lives in times of both trouble and joy. And far too many of us live lives that don’t at all conform to Jesus’ expectations.

For example, some months ago I had a brief encounter with a parishioner who approached me right after Mass. She began by asking a straightforward question about the day’s Gospel reading. It related to prayer. I was in a bit of a hurry, so I gave her a pretty sketchy, off-the-cuff answer, one that seemed to satisfy her. But then she said, “I’d really like to deepen my spiritual life, but I just don’t seem to have the time.”

My first thought was one of self-criticism. (I’m pretty sure the Holy Spirit had a lot to do with this.) Here this woman had come to me, hoping for some spiritual direction, and yet I was so wrapped up in my own concerns, I really didn’t want to spend even a few minutes with her.

Her desire for a deeper spirituality is not uncommon. Many of us seek a more intimate relationship with God but become frustrated by the busyness of our lives. Work, family life, and other obligations and demands move God to a back burner. 

Although the woman who approached me is retired, I know she’s active in the community, involved in both recreational activities and charitable work. I won’t criticize her, though, especially in light of my own faults, because she obviously recognized this need in her life, or she wouldn’t have asked the question. I could tell it worried her. 

I suppose it all boils down to how we set our life’s priorities. Of course, she was really asking about prayer, wasn’t she? For it’s through our prayer lives that we deepen our relationship with God. And so, maybe this complaint of not having the time for prayer is worth looking into.

Perhaps we should turn first to the experts, the saints. Interestingly, when we examine the lives of the saints, we discover a kind of happy paradox. You see, the more they prayed, the more time they seemed to have for their apostolic work. Indeed, the busiest of saints – people like St. Dominic, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Benedict, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Francis of Assisi – all seemed to accomplish enough to fill several long lifetimes. And yet each devoted a considerable amount of time to prayer. 

Let’s return to our Gospel passage where the Lord promised to add “all these things” to those who seek first the kingdom of God. It would seem “all these things” must also include time. In other words, if we give time to God, He will give it back to us with interest.

This probably sounds a bit mysterious, and, like most of God’s doings, I suppose it is. But the importance of time in our spiritual lives becomes clearer if we just look at it from a human perspective, the only perspective you and I can probably understand.

You see, the saints considered time a gift from God, a gift through which they could work out their salvation. But to use this gift well demands some degree of conscious planning, but with special regard to the life of the soul. As any good time-management consultant would tell you, making better use of your time is often just a matter of changing habits. When it comes to your prayer life, you need only develop the habit of prayer. By this I mean turning the most commonplace activities into opportunities for prayer. Let me offer a few examples:

Try saying the Rosary while taking a walk or while waiting in the doctor’s or dentist’s office. After all, what’s more profitable for your soul, reading some two-year-old magazine or meditating on the mysteries of the Rosary?

What’s the first thing you do when you wake up each morning? Why not say, “hello”, to God? Pray some form of the morning offering in which you dedicate your entire day to doing His will in your life. It takes only a minute, and yet it sets the tone, a prayerful tone, for your entire day

Set aside a specific time each day to read from Sacred Scripture – just a few verses from both Old and New Testaments. The Psalms and Gospels might be a good place to start. Read and then meditate on what you have read. How does the Word of God apply to your life this day?

Before going to bed each evening, take a few moments to reflect on your day. Conduct a brief examination of conscience, reviewing your thoughts, words, and deeds, and asking God to help you in obedience to His commandment to love God and neighbor.

Such simple, prayerful acts provide wonderful ways to fix our minds on God as well as making intercession for those around us, especially those who don’t know God’s love. Just think of all the opportunities God gives us for prayer each day. It gives new meaning to what St. Paul wrote to the Thessalonians:

“Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. Do not quench the Spirit” [1 Thes 5:16-19].

Rejoice always, pray always, give thanks always, and don’t quench the Spirit. Is this the way you and I live our lives?

As Christians we are called not just to make time for prayer, for rejoicing, and for giving thanks. We’re called to do so always, in all circumstances – to do so deliberately and perseveringly, even in the face of great difficulties. This is what our faith really means. To live our faith, we must rejoice always. We must pray without ceasing. We must give thanks in all circumstances. 

Now I don’t know about you, but I find this very difficult, so difficult that I fail daily as I struggle to live my faith. Eventually we must come to terms with our own weakness and realize we can’t do any of this on our own. God wants to lead us on the path to this ideal, this perfection to which He calls us. The first step, then, is how we use His gift of time. 

Remember, to those who love God, everything is a gift, something for which we should give thanks. If we are to give thanks in all circumstances, we must even thank God for this pandemic that has so confused our lives and taken the lives of so many. None of us can speak for others, but we can speak for ourselves. Consider the good that has come to you during this challenging time, the good you have embraced, that which you have ignored, and that which you have yet to experience. Thank God for it all.

If we have been given one thing during the past few months, it is time – time to change those old habits, time to deepen our prayer life, time to allow God to strengthen our relationship with Him. How much of that gift have you wasted on the frivolous and how much have you devoted to worry? 

Dear friends, God’s generosity can never be exceeded. He rewards faithfulness not only with progress in prayer, but also by providing more time to devote to it. You need only ask.

You see, it’s always best to take the Lord at His word. After all, He said, “Ask and it shall be given to you,” so why not simply ask God to lead you in your prayer life, to provide the time you need?

Like all spiritual gifts time must come from God according to His will and not be snatched against His will; therefore, we should not neglect the responsibilities that come with our state in life for the sake of prayer. Prayer is the means by which we allow God to move in our lives. It is not an end in itself. 

What else did St. Paul say? Oh yes, “Do not quench the Spirit!” How often, so wrapped up in our own plans and ways, do we turn away from the Holy Spirit? The soul should trust the Holy Spirit to take care of its sanctification, for He will find wondrous ways to unite the soul more closely to Himself. 

Don’t question the Spirit’s movement, for it is almost always surprising, showing us the power of God by calling us through our weakness. The Spirit works in us and through us even amid life’s confusion and turmoil and an apparent lack of time. 

Remember, too, that God has placed you in this time and place for a reason, to fulfill His will in your life and the lives of those He loves. Trust that He will bring about whatever must happen in your life to lead you and those others to a closer union with Him. 

God calls each of us to be faithful. We need only turn our lives over to Him and allow Him to work within us. By deepening your prayer life, by bringing your life into communion with God’s Will, you can expect Him to work major changes in your life. 

God is a demanding lover, but He will never force Himself on us. Because He respects our freedom, the choice is always up to you and me. But like the perfect lover, He calls constantly, patiently awaiting our response. Only then, only when we have opened ourselves to His love, will He go to work in our lives. Realize, too, that as your relationship with Him deepens, His demands on you will increase. 

I hope this rather disorganized reflection may lead you to a deeper understanding of the need to use God’s gift of time as a means to deepen your relationship with Him. For the faithful, worry achieves nothing because we trust that God will provide all that we need.

Let me conclude with a prayer written by Blessed Charles de Foucauld who was beatified in 2005 by Pope Benedict XVI. Blessed Charles was a soldier, explorer, geographer, Trappist monk, linguist, hermit, and priest. He spent his last years living in North Africa, the only Christian living alone among the Tuaregs, a rather fierce tribe of Muslim desert nomads who ultimately took his life. To our knowledge he converted no one during his lifetime, and yet today his life has become a model for so many, a model of abandonment to God’s Will, regardless of the personal cost. Here is his prayer…

Father, I abandon myself into your hands;

do with me what you will.

Whatever you may do,

I thank you.

I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only your will be done in me,

and in all your creatures.

I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into your hands I commend my soul;

I offer it to you

with all the love of my heart,

for I love you, Lord,

and so need to give myself,

to surrender myself into your hands,

without reserve,

and with boundless confidence,

for you are my Father.

What more can we give our God than this?