Suffering, Some Thoughts

I trust the title of this post won't be taken the wrong way, leading some to believe that my offering of a few thoughts will result in suffering for both you and me. At least, I hope not. No, at Mass this morning, as I proclaimed the Gospel, my aging brain entertained a few thoughts about suffering that I'd like to share. They're really nothing new or radical; they're just things I've come to understand and eventually accept as I approach ever closer to the end of this most wonderful of God's gifts, the gift of life.

The Gospel reading, from Mark 10, has always been a favorite because it focuses on that remarkable encounter between Jesus and Bartimaeus, the blind man of Jericho. Bartimaeus had suffered. After all, he was blind in a society totally lacking in resources to help him cope with his disability. Things are thankfully different today, but the visually impaired still suffer in a world centered on those with sight. But in the first-century Roman Empire, the blind, unless they came from a wealthy family, usually became beggars. The blind, the deaf, the crippled -- indeed, most people with serious disabilities -- were almost entirely dependent on others. Unable to support themselves through work, they were totally dependent on their families or the charity of those who passed by. Since Mark reveals that Bartimaeus is the son of Timaeus, we can assume his parents cared for him. And yet, given the times in which he lived, I think we can say that Bartimaeus suffered.

Now, what do I know of suffering? Of physical suffering, very little. Here I am, just a few months from my 80th birthday and I've been hospitalized only once, thanks to appendicitis at the age of ten. Other than that memorable experience, I've remained in disgustingly good health ever since. Have I suffered in other ways? Yes, but no more than most people my age and far less than many. But this isn't about me. It's about so many good people I know who have suffered deeply, but so often quietly.

When we consider Bartimaeus, we find a man who had likely been blind since birth, was forced to beg at the city gates of Jericho, and yet never gave up hope. He knew that the God of Israel heals, and such healings often come through the word and touch of holy men sent by God Himself. He had obviously heard of Jesus for the news of His acts of healing couldn't be suppressed. Sitting at the gates, Bartimaeus would have heard this and so much more about this man from Nazareth. Hope, then, filled his heart and when he was told of Jesus' presence, hope was joined by faith. My mom used to say, "Hope, once it fills the heart, drives us to faith." And so, hopeful Bartimaeus, once he experiences the Presence of Jesus, cries out in faith, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.”

He continues to shout his plea to Jesus and, despite the condescension of the less-than-merciful disciples, gets Our Lord's attention. Jesus calls him. Bartimaeus, now filled with faith, leaps to his feet, discards his cloak, the sign of his beggary, and no doubt filled with the Holy Spirit, ran directly to Jesus. 

Note that his response to Jesus' question is “Master I want to see." Yes, it's a plea focused only on himself, but it's a faith-driven, fervent plea, and Jesus heals because, "Your faith has saved you." Now isn't that interesting? Bartimaeus begs for sight, and he receives it, but Jesus' real gift, the gift He proclaims, is the gift of salvation that stems from this man's faith.

But even more interesting is Bartimaeus' response to Jesus' command, "Go your way..."  What was Bartimaeus' "way"? To go home to his parents, to share the good news of his healing with his father, Timaeus? To celebrate with the people of Jericho who had long known the blind beggar at the gates? Apparently not, for Bartimaeus chose a different path. This healing had done far more than heal him physically. It had changed him in his very being. For now, this new man of God, would follow the Lord on the road to Calvary. He would follow "The WAY" to the salvation promised by Jesus. 

I've mentioned this many times in the past, but I'll say it again: Flannery O'Connor is among my favorite writers. She was a very Catholic, but very downhome girl from Georgia, and if you've never read her, do so. She writes remarkable, and truly unforgettable, stories of sinfulness, repentance, grace, forgiveness, suffering, and salvation. And boy oh boy, did she certainly understand suffering. Although she suffered from Lupus her entire adult life and succumbed to the disease at the age of 39, she considered her suffering a blessing. As she once wrote to a friend:

"Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don’t have it miss one of God’s mercies.”

As I said earlier, I've experienced little physical suffering, but I've spent a lot of time with those who have. I've prayed with and for them, and sat with them at their bedsides, where we joked, laughed, and cried. I've held shaky hands and hugged tired bodies. I've been with them during their last moments, brought Jesus to them in His Eucharistic Presence, and tried to help them reach out in peace to a loving, merciful Lord.  

Yes, they have suffered. But they have also been healed of the cares and worries and sins they carried with them. For as St. Paul reminds us:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose" [Rom 8:28].

Yes, indeed, He calls us according to His purpose, not ours.

Let me share just a couple of other things Flannery O'Connor taught me and others about sufferings and healing.  

"You will have found Christ when you are concerned with other people's suffering and not your own."

...and then this:

"This notion that grace is healing omits the fact that before it heals, it cuts with the sword Christ said He came to bring."

I think both of these observations are worthy of our meditation.

God's peace...

Homily: 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Readings: Prv 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31; Ps 128; 1 Thes 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30

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When I was a boy, my dad would "recruit" me (that was the word the Colonel used) to spend Saturday mornings with him as he made things in his home workshop. Carpentry was his hobby, and he was good at it. I ended up doing little more than handing him tools or holding boards while he cut them -- useful but not very fulfilling work, at least not for me. I’d rather been out with my friends.

But his real reason for having me join him was to talk with me about life, and to listen to what I thought about the important things. Now the average 10-year-old boy – and that was me – didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about life’s great mysteries, and so I did much more listening than talking.

I recall one morning; he was making a wooden support, kind of a large plaque, on which to hang a ship’s bell someone had given him. The bell was very old and pretty cool. He wanted to hang it by the front door. While we were making it, he said, “You know, son, this bell, like every bell, can sound only a single note. No matter how loud or soft, when it rings, it rings the same note.”

Then he added, “A lot of people are like that. They play just one note, because they’re so focused on just one thing: themselves. And they miss all the wonders, and all the others, God has placed around and in their lives.” 

That thought has never really left me, and it popped into my aging brain the other day as I thought today’s readings.

We first heard, from the Book of Proverbs, a beautiful description of the worthy wife and all that she does. Indeed, like a carillon, she can ring a lot of different bells, all to bring about good and not evil.

And we celebrate her not simply for what she does, but for who she is. Her actions are driven by the love that resides within her. It is through that love, the reality of Her interior being, that we see its manifestation in her actions, in her love toward others. Her life, then, becomes an extension of herself as she reaches out to others, to her family, to the poor, all done for God’s glory. Yes, indeed, “the woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

Just as the faithful woman is praised, we encounter much the same in our Responsorial Psalm, this time aimed at the faithful man. Like the woman, the man of faith rings a lot of different bells, but they blend together into a beautiful hymn of praise. His wife, a fruitful vine; his children, olive plants around his table. As our family sat down to dinner, I sometimes called our children, “my little olive plants.” For some reason they took offense to that. I guess they hadn’t yet learned about metaphors.

But anyway, as the faithful man walks in God’s ways, he is blessed because he, too, fears the Lord. This Biblical fear of the Lord is really nothing more than an acceptance of reality, of God’s greatness. It’s the overwhelming sense of awe, of reverence, the awareness that everything comes from God, and demands our thanksgiving.

Then, in our second reading, we again encounter fear; although here it’s unstated, it’s still very present. St. Paul encourages the good Christians of Thessalonica to “stay alert and sober” because the “day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.” Yes, God’s judgment can engender fear in some hearts, specifically those unprepared to face Him.

As St. Paul prophetically reminds us, the worldly ones, the politicians and others, try to sooth us with their bell and its single note of “peace and security” – while we, the uninformed, uninitiated one, look out into the world and see something very different. But even then, we should never allow that other kind of fear, a fear of the world, to enter our hearts and rule us. For it, too, is like that solitary bell, that sounds just one note.

We lived in Germany for a while when I was about seven or eight. One day as Mom and I walked to the local delicatessen, we heard the deep sonorous tone of a bell ringing from a local Lutheran church.

You know, “BONG!” And every ten seconds or so, it would ring again, another “BONG!”

Eventually, I asked, “What’s that sound, Mom? It’s kinda scary.” Her response, “Son, it’s a bell, for a funeral. It’s the sound of death.” Well, that certainly didn’t cheer me up.

But I think, in many hearts, it’s really the sound of fear. Perhaps, as they approach their own individual “day of the Lord” they fear that, in St. Paul’s words, “they will not escape.” How sad for them. And we see that sadness, that fear, in Jesus’ parable of the talents.

The talent Jesus speaks of is really a large sum of money – someone with five or more talents of gold would be today’s millionaire; so, in the most literal sense, the master is a very wealthy man.

But in the parable, the talents become interior, soul-bound treasures. And the master? He is God. We encounter God investing in each human person with specific and very personal gifts. He sees and knows each of us so very differently. These talents, each gift, is meant to be accepted as precious, not to be compared with what others have received. You see, brothers and sisters, God knows and loves each of us as if no one else existed.

The master, then, with complete trust, turned over all his property to his servants. One received five, one two, and the third, one. The master invested in each of them, that they increase those gifts with interest. Two didn’t hesitate. They went out, engaged the world, and traded well, fulfilling the master’s wishes.

The third, the fearful one, knowing he’d been given less, unwilling to confront reality, unwilling to grow, just buries his personhood in a hole in the ground. Consumed by his fears, striving only to ensure his own survival, instead he literally digs his own grave. As I think of him, I recall that bell in Heidelberg, sounding its single note of fear.

Jesus understood the disabling power of fear, for how often does He tell us: “Be not afraid.” Jesus is a true rejector of the status quo. He wants us to grow, and not allow worldly fears to hold us back.

The tragedy of the third servant is that, out of fear, he hid what had been entrusted to him, even though he had the ability to use it well. Because he did nothing, he never changed, never grew. We learn far more by doing, even if we encounter failure along the way. God has graced each of us in some way, to serve both Him and others. If we hide what has been given us, others are deprived.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, the English Jesuit poet, wrote a beautiful poem, "As Kingfishers Catch Fire," and in it there’s this amazing line:

“…the just man justices;

Keeps grace: that keeps all their goings graces.”

Yes, we keep and nurture God’s grace which keeps all our goings graces. What an ordaining thought: all our goings, all our doings, are graces, because of the graces within.

The parable has that one strong message. Jesus hopes to move us, to form us interiorly as the woman of Proverbs was formed interiorly. She lives, as she knows and receives herself to be, and we are called to the same interior change – not just to do things differently, but to be something completely different, to undergo conversion.

Hopkins ends his poem, showing how we are called to act in God’s eye, what in God’s eye we are.

“…for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men’s faces.”

We don’t put on Jesus as we’d put on an item of clothing. No, He invests Himself in us and we repay Him through what we have become in our hearts. Jesus Christ has buried Himself in us that we might continually give Him flesh. God is ever in-fleshing with divine love, as an eternal dressing of humanity, always striving to present Himself to the world through us.

Sisters and brothers, we are called to be Jesus Christ to all whom we encounter, fearlessly ringing a thousand different, joyful bells. Then, at the time of judgment, won’t it be wonderful to hear those words: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Homily: Thursday, 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Cor 1:1-9 • Ps 145 • Mt 24:42-51

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Today we celebrate the memorials of two saints. The first is St. Louis -- or Louis IX, King of France -- one of the many great saints of the 13th century. He was also one of the few truly saintly kings, a man who cared much for his people's material and spiritual welfare. He also took an active part in the Crusades to reclaim Jerusalem and Our Lord's Tomb, a crusade that took his life.

The other saint we remember today is St. Joseph Calasanz, a saint of the 16th and 17th century who devoted his life to the education of the poor. 

We are truly blessed to to celebrate these saints today...now my homily.

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“Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” [1 Cor 1:3].

Don’t you just love that greeting? Right there in the beginning of our reading from St. Paul. He extended it to the community of Christians, gathered together in that southern Greek city of Corinth. And what a wonderful greeting it was…really a blessing. Until now, I’ve never extended that greeting to anyone, but I think I might start using it, especially with those in spiritual need, which I guess includes all of us.

Yes…grace and peace, living signs of God’s love for us – that God wants to touch us with His grace so we can experience His peace. It’s really the only antidote, the only cure, to the anxieties and fears that plague us in this life.

How often are we truly at peace? We probably spend too much of our time regretting the things of the past or worrying about the unknowns of the future. Paul, like Jesus, is trying to get us to look at and act in the present.

“Stay awake!” Jesus commands us…certainly not yesterday, and not even tomorrow, but now! He always seems to draw our attention to the present. The past? It’s gone. We can’t change it. Oh, we can try to rewrite it, but that doesn’t change the reality. God is the only perfect historian, the only one who really knows all that has happened and why.

When Jesus addressed the past, it was usually in the sense of fulfillment, of something that had to happen to bring forth the present. As He read from the prophet Isaiah, what did He tell the people in the synagogue at Nazareth?

“Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing” [Lk 4:21].

Yes, it is the present, the fulfillment of the past, to which Jesus turns our attention.

He also warned us about our obsession with the future; for the future, too, is out of our hands. God is not only the perfect historian, but He’s also the only true futurist. We Christians often forget this. Like the disciples Jesus addressed, we make lots of plans, thinking we know what’s going to happen. How did Our Lord put it?

“You do not know on which day your Lord will come” [Mt 24:42].

He then tells them to “be prepared.” If you think about it, being prepared means doing what is necessary in the present. Being prepared isn’t planning; it’s doing.

Back in my consulting days, I often had to remind company executives that developing plans was certainly a necessary aspect of their work. But to bear fruit, their plans for the future must be translated into work carried out in an ongoing, continuous present. And it was work carried out not by them, but by their employees. If they ignore their employees, or belittle their work, they might as well ignore their customers too. The quality of the work accomplished in the present always determines the level of future success.

But as we prepare, Jesus tells us how to view the short-term future:

“Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself” [Mt 6:34].

Yes, it’s the present, the next step we take, that’s important. As hope-filled Christians, then, we must think of the present as a kind of emergency. In an emergency we don’t ponder the past or think about the future; we act!

But our Christian faith isn’t a business. We don’t need a business plan to achieve salvation. Salvation’s a gift. All we need is faith lived well, and the Presence of God in the Church and its sacramental life. We don’t need a marketing plan to evangelize. We need only trust in the Holy Spirit Who, as Our Lord promised, “will teach you at that moment what you should say” [Lk 12:12]. We need not advertise. We need only bear witness and manifest the fruit of God’s unconditional love as He moves in our lives, changing us, forming us, making us His own.

“Stay awake!” Jesus commands us.

But when you go to sleep, as you must, thank God for the present, the present of the next day that will greet you when you awaken.

COVID-19 Bible Study Reflection #9: A Prayerful Attitude

In our last reflection (#8), we took a brief look at the Book of Psalms and its place in our spirituality as a source, a starting point, for different forms of prayer. In today’s reflection, I hope to focus on a prayerful attitude, the state of mind best suited to mental prayer, or meditative and contemplative prayer. (This, too, will be no more than a brief introduction.) 

Such prayer is really a wonderful way to enter into the kind of personal relationship with God that He desires for each of us. In a very real sense, mental prayer becomes a pathway to the joy that comes from this relationship, enabling us to "taste and see that the Lord is good" [Ps 34:9].

So then, how do we prepare ourselves, how do we develop the attitude of prayer that opens us to be receptive to God’s prayerful grace? Why not begin with the words of Our Lord? In His Sermon on the Mount Jesus instructed His disciples:

"When you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you" [Mt 6:6].

In saying this, Jesus wasn’t telling us not to engage in communal or liturgical prayer; not at all. Indeed, Jesus often encouraged communal prayer, and the “Our Father” is, in fact, a beautiful example, one of the reasons the Church includes it in its sacramental rites. We also find Jesus praying with His apostles and calling them to communal prayer. Just read the final words of His last discourse as described in the Gospel according to John [Jn 17] and you will encounter a prayerful Jesus who, by His words, teaches the apostles how to pray. And Matthew, in his Gospel, tells us how Jesus concluded the Last Supper with a hymn, which is simply communal prayer as song.

“Then, after singing a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives” [Mt 26:30].

And what prayer could be more communal and liturgical than the prayer of those gathered in the New Jerusalem in heaven:

“Then I heard something like the sound of a great multitude or the sound of rushing water or mighty peals of thunder, as they said: ‘Alleluia! The Lord has established his reign, our God, the almighty. Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory’” [Rev 19:6-7].

No, Jesus wasn’t discouraging communal prayer. His concern was for those who prayed only to be seen by others, for whom prayer was a means to glorify themselves rather than God. By praying “to your Father in secret,” you avoid this form of hypocrisy. 

Perhaps we can begin by saying what mental prayer isn't. It's not the result of technique; it's not something we do. Rather it's a gift; it's something God does for us.

This, then, is our first truth: mental prayer is, quite simply, a grace.

Among other things, this is what separates Christian mental prayer from such Eastern meditation methods as yoga or Zen. We make a serious mistake when we try to reduce everything to technique, when we try to make life, even our spiritual life, into something to be manipulated at will. Mental prayer is not Christian yoga. Mental doesn't rely on human effort. There's certainly room for initiative and activity on our part, but we must understand that the foundation of a life of prayer is built on God's initiative and grace, on God giving of Himself freely.

Since we needn’t worry about mastering techniques, let’s focus instead on the necessary conditions, the dispositions of heart, for receiving the gift. Understanding this is critical since one of the temptations of the spiritual life is to rely on our efforts and not on God's freely given mercy.

St. Teresa of Avila gives us our second truth: the entire edifice of prayer is founded on humility. Teresa stressed that Mary’s humility is the perfect model: a humility not only capable of receiving God, but of holding Him, and safeguarding all received graces. Growth, Teresa, added is “not concerned with receiving graces, but of becoming capable of not losing them.”

St Peter also stressed humility when he instructed the early Christian community:

“…clothe yourselves with humility in your dealings with one another, for: ‘God opposes the proud but bestows favor on the humble’” [1 Pet 5:5].

In other words, we ourselves can do nothing, and it is God alone who produces good in our souls. True mental prayer is, then, abandonment. (You might want to revisit our Reflection #6 on this subject.) 

Unlike community or liturgical prayer, when we’re immersed in solitude and silence before God, we find ourselves unsupported, alone with the reality of ourselves and our poverty. Jesus reminded us of this spiritual poverty when He instructed His apostles:

“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing” [Jn 15:5].

If we allow these words to sink in, we come to appreciate three things: (1) that God’s greatness is beyond our imagining; but that (2) He wants to connect with us in the most intimate way; and (3) He is in complete charge and we need only accept this. 

In Reflection #6 I included Blessed Charles de Foucauld’s prayer of abandonment, but here’s another, perhaps more relevant for some people today. It was written by the Trappist monk, Thomas Merton:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself; and that I think I am following your will does not mean I am actually doing so.

But I believe the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all I am doing. I hope I will never do anything apart from that desire. I know if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Possessed of the attitude exemplified by this example of simple, humble abandonment, we can approach mental prayer in a way most pleasing to Our Lord. Our human pride might rebel at this, but such abandonment is actually liberating since God, who loves us, will carry us farther than we can ever go on our own.

There's another wonderful, liberating consequence of true Christian prayer. Since it's not based on technique, it's never a matter of some people possessing the necessary skill while others don't. We can all partake in it. This, then, leads us to our third truth: God’s call to holiness is universal.

Holiness demands prayer, and because God's call to holiness is universal, nobody is excluded. Jesus calls every single one of us to holiness and to prayer without exception. The life of prayer isn’t reserved for some religious elite; it’s for everyone. And God will provide the graces and the strength each person needs.

Through our faith we believe that all people without exception – wise and foolish, just and sinners, well-balanced and deeply wounded – are called to an authentic life of prayer in which God communicates and reveals Himself to us. 

Just turn to the Gospels, Who is called by Jesus? The poor, the wealthy, the ill, the dying, the wise, the foolish, the blind, the possessed, the young, the old, the loved, the despised, the ruled, and those who rule…Jesus calls them all.

This is hard for some people to accept. Their faith, distorted by pride, leads them to dismiss some others as unworthy, when in truth we’re all unworthy. It’s the same pride we encountered over the centuries in all the heresies that rose up to attack the Church. In every instance heresy begins with someone believing and asserting, “I am holier than the Church.”

Each of us, then, with our different personalities, and our weaknesses and strengths, can have a deep mental prayer life by being faithfully open to God's grace. But our God sees each person uniquely; after all, He created each of us in a unique act of personal love. We should not, therefore, expect that every person will experience God’s prayerful graces in the same manner. Let God direct your prayer life as He desires.

This leads us to our fourth truth: Faith is the basis of all mental prayer.

Prayer always involves struggle; and it’s a struggle that can overwhelm us. This is why we need faith, for faith strengthens us and gives us the confidence to persevere. Indeed, faith is our capacity to act according to what we are told by Jesus Christ, the Word of God Incarnate. And God cannot lie. 

Speaking of faith, Pope Benedict XVI wrote:

“This faith, however, is not a thought, an opinion, an idea. This faith is communion with Christ, which the Lord gives to us, and which thus becomes life, becomes conformity with him…Faith is looking at Christ, entrusting oneself to Christ, being united to Christ, conformed to Christ, to his life.”

This, then, must be the basis, the very foundation, of our prayer: to become more Christ-like, for that’s what growing in holiness is all about.

Our fifth truth is another of those wonderful revelations that should change our thinking and our lives. It states, quite simply, that God desires us infinitely more than we desire Him.

This, of course, is the essence of the Good News, the same truth that Jesus spoke to Nicodemus on that dark night in Jerusalem:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him” [Jn 3:16-17].

If God desires us, and if He is omnipotent, then He must always be with us. And so, He is always present when we pray. 

No matter what I feel, or how poorly prepared or inarticulate or confused I am, regardless of my inner state, my sinfulness, God is there, listening and helping and loving. He is there not because of my worthiness, but because He promised: “…pray to your Father who is there in secret…” 

And in John 6, Jesus promises: “I will not reject anyone who comes to me” [Jn 6:37]. How often do we think about that? It should really drive us to our knees in thankfulness and joy.

Our next truth, number six, is one of those unexpected truths, but it’s the logical outgrowth of all the others: The fruits of a life of prayer are infinite.

Just consider what prayer does. It transforms us, sanctifies us, heals us, deepens our knowledge and love for God, makes us fervent and generous in our love of neighbor, and leads us to the perfection Christ wants for us. If you persevere in mental prayer, you can be certain of this and much more. So, don’t get discouraged when you stumble or when your prayer seems sterile or arid.

People often give up mental prayer because they don’t see quick results. Reject this temptation. Make an act of faith that God’s promise will be fulfilled in His time. Remember what St. James wrote:

“Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand” [Jas 5:7-8].

Yes, indeed, the Lord is at hand. He is with you even when you seem so very alone. Remain open to His presence and He will make Himself known.

And from this, we’re led to another truth: Pray faithfully, every day, even when your prayer is poor, brief, and distracted.

Daily, faithful prayer, even when it encounters dryness or obstacles or is interrupted by the distractions of our lives, is worth more than on-again, off-again sublime prayer.

Once, years ago, I experienced what can only be described as a kind of vision, the presence of Jesus before me as I prayed. It was so real I believed I could reach out and touch Him. It was a wonderful, unforgettable encounter with Our Lord, and for a while afterwards I tried to find a spiritual path that would let me experience this beatitude once again. But I finally realized it had been a gift, a one-time blessing to strengthen my faith and lead me to a deeper prayer life. It came at a time when the need was particularly great, and for some reason known only to God, he sent me this particular grace.

The battle to be faithful is not easily won, especially since Satan wants to keep you from daily prayer. You see, Satan knows that one who is faithful in daily mental prayer has escaped him. It is faithfulness alone that enables the life of prayer to bear its wonderful fruit.

Finally, truth number eight: Mental prayer is no more than an exercise in loving God. This, then, must be our intention. Faith and fidelity are important, but without purity of intention, our prayer has no life in it. How did Jesus put it?

“Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God” [Mt 5:8].

Who are the pure of heart? The sinless? No, not at all. The pure of heart are those who are inspired in all they do by a sincere intention of forgetting themselves in order to please God, living not for themselves but for Him. They are those who truly love God.

Pure love doesn’t seek its own interests but seeks only to give joy to another. And so, we pray to please God simply because He asks us to do so and we want to please Him.
This purity of heart, this self-forgetting and loving intention, doesn’t come easy. It takes time, and for most it is never fully attained. But God is pleased that we’ve simply undertaken the journey, so long as we strive to realize in our hearts an ever-purer love for God.

Once again, Satan will try to discourage you by demonstrating how weak and self-seeking you are. Ignore him. God wants only your effort. Tell God, very simply, that you want to love Him with a pure love, and then abandon yourself totally and trustingly to him. He will purify you.

As I said earlier, these truths are dispositions, and form the foundational attitude necessary to deepen your life of prayer. I hope they will help you as they have helped me. I’ve learned most of them the hard way, through constant spiritual struggle. And I still struggle, and will no doubt continue to do so until my last breath. But, believe me, God will hold your hand and lift you up as you progress. He’ll be there with you always, in the easy times and the hard times.
God’s peace…
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Here are a few books I have found helpful when it comes to prayer (with Amazon links):

von Balthasar, Hans Urs – Prayer

Bouyer, Louis – Introduction to the Spiritual Life 

Daniélou, Jean – Prayer, the Mission of the Church

Dubay, Thomas – Prayer Primer, Igniting a Fire Within

Garrigou-Lagrange, Reginald – Knowing the Love of God (Ch.12-15 on prayer)

Graef, Hilda – The Commonsense Book of Catholic Prayer and Meditation

Merton, Thomas – Contemplative Prayer

Flannery O'Connor, the devil, and today's Holy Innocents

I've been re-reading a lot of Flannery O'Connor lately, both her absolutely perfect fiction and her enlightened and enlightening non-fiction. If you've never read her work, your life is grossly incomplete and needs a little shot of Flannery to make it half-full again. Her work is always grace-filled, always surprising. But it's also (at least to me) gloriously optimistic because it tells of the effects of God's redemptive act in the lives of His creatures, even in the midst of tragedy.

So many people in our confused world are half-empty pessimists because they ignore the showering of God's grace in their lives. Either that or they reject out of hand the very idea of God's active presence in the world. For these, God has no role in all that He created and all that He maintains through His love. They evict God from their lives, and Nietzsche's claim that "God is dead!" becomes the watchword of their closed, truncated worlds. They either slide into a deep, suicidal despair or they grab hold of an ideology that assumes man (that's us) is actually in charge and can bring about a perfect world. As Flannery O'Connor wrote to a correspondent:

"The Liberal approach is that man has never fallen, never incurred guilt, and is ultimately perfectible by his own efforts. Therefore, evil in this light is a problem of better housing, sanitation, health, etc. and all mysteries will eventually be cleared up. Judgment is out of place because man is not responsible" [The Habit of Being, p. 302].

And so man becomes godlike, seemingly in charge of his little world. But because he is a tiny god in a massive, sprawling universe, he is not responsible and can escape judgment. And although he must contend with an array of forces, Satan isn't one of them. If a personal, loving God doesn't exist, neither can personified evil. The devil, then, becomes a fiction.

How many people today actually believe the devil exists, that he is a personal entity, a rebellious and fallen creature? How many believe God's grace is a very real and active force in the lives of individuals and in human history? At one time, at least in our Western Civilization, the vast majority of people believed with absolute certainty that Satan and grace were indeed very real. But no longer. 

Shortly before she died In 1964, Flannery O'Connor, addressing the plague of relativism that has infected so many today, anticipated the thought of Pope Benedict XVI and his condemnation of the "dictatorship of relativism" when she wrote:

"Those who have no absolute values cannot let the relative remain merely relative; they are always raising it to the level of the absolute" [Mystery and Manners, p. 178].

On another occasion, discussing her fiction, she wrote something that got me thinking about how the devil, certainly without intention, moves God's plan forward:

"From my own experience in trying to make stories 'work,' I have discovered that what is needed is an action that is totally unexpected, yet totally believable, and I have found that, for me, this is always an action which indicates that grace has been offered. And frequently it is an action in which the devil has been an unwilling instrument of grace" [Spiritual Writings, P. 128]

That last phrase -- "the devil has been an unwilling instrument of grace" -- was a bit of a shock to me. But then I found myself thinking of Satan's greatest success in our modern world: the plague of abortion. Since January 22, 1973, when the Supreme Court sanctioned abortion through its infamous Roe v. Wade decision, well over 50 million unborn children have been killed in our country, not to mention the hundreds of millions of unborn slaughtered throughout the world. Satan is surely pleased as he revels in the deaths of so many innocents and in the guilt of those who took their lives. 

And yet, where are these millions of innocents now? In their sinlessness, dressed in the robes of their martyrdom, they are in God's eternal presence. They join the saintly members of Christ's Mystical Body; and there, among the heavenly host, they prayerfully intercede for those who took their far too brief lives. Indeed, they pray for us all, for a world that has lost its way. And can any prayers be more efficacious than their prayers, the prayers of the completely innocent?

What, then, has Satan done? In his lust for death he has been "an unwilling instrument of grace." He has unwittingly raised up an army of prayerful saints, millions of God's most precious creatures determined to destroy all of Satan's works. Baptized in the blood of martyrdom, all those aborted babies, through their prayerful intercession are now instruments of God's grace, living signs of His love and mercy. This, then, is another of God's great paradoxes: the slaughter of these innocents, one of the modern world's great evils, has become a blessing that will change the world. Yes, God certainly has His ways doesn't He? For "We know that all things work for good for those who love God" [Rom 8:28].

Satan, as Lucifer, might have been the greatest of God's creations, but as the "light-bringer" he could only reflect God's eternal light. With Satan's fall from grace, having torn himself away from God's love, he can bring nothing but darkness. Flannery O'Connor realized that his works, more often than not, led to the wondrous manifestation of God's grace. "In my stories," she wrote, "a reader will find that the devil accomplished a good deal of groundwork that seems to be necessary before grace is effective" [Spiritual Writings, P. 128]

If God's grace were visible, it would fill the world, bringing light even to those hidden dark corners, just begging every person to reach out for it, to grasp it, to bathe in it. But that grace really is visible, for it's present in the sacraments of the Church, those "grace-giving outward signs" that free us from our sinfulness. Our Church, then, is a Church, not for the smug and the self-righteous, but for sinners who come to experience God's mercy and forgiveness. Yes, it's through an awareness of our sinfulness that we can approach God in repentance and come to accept His saving grace.

Homily: Christmas Vigil

For the second time in a week, the readings for a Mass at which I was asked to preach included the genealogy the begins Matthew's Gospel. And so here's my second homily on this wonderful passage that spans the history of salvation from Abraham to the birth of Jesus.

Readings: Is 62:1-5; Ps 89; Acts 13:16-17, 22-25; Mt 1:1-25

A lot of folks, when they first turn to the New Testament, get discouraged because right there on the first page of the first book of the New Testament they encounter Matthew’s genealogy. And so they skip it and jump ahead to the Nativity story.

That’s really unfortunate because, this rhythmic poetic passage is included by Matthew to tell us some very important things. For through this genealogy and the Nativity story that follows, Matthew presents the Gospel as the New Genesis. Indeed, in both sections of our passage, he uses the same opening words we find at the beginning of the Book of Genesis. And just as Genesis offers us two sides of the Creation story, so too does Matthew. He relates the New Genesis story in two very different ways.

Matthew’s genealogy summarizes the entire history of Israel, almost 2,000 years, from Abraham all the way to Jesus Christ. Then, in the first line of the Nativity story, he proclaims that we are reading about “the beginning” – yes, the beginning, the Genesis of Jesus Christ. Here Matthew presents us with a major Gospel theme: the New Testament doesn’t replace the Old; it fulfills it. And at the very core of this understanding is the “Good News” for it permeates both Old and New Testaments.

Matthew first aims this Good News directly at you and me: at sinners. He does so by drawing our attention to Judah, Tamar, Rahab, and David. He reminds us that the sinful relationship between Judah and Tamar led eventually to King David and ultimately to Jesus Himself. He reminds us that Rahab, Boaz’s mother, was a prostitute, and that Solomon’s mother was Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite. And we recall how David seduced her and had her husband killed so he could marry her.

Yes, Jesus’s family tree is littered with sinners, just like mine and just like yours. But through this revelation we come to realize the depth of God’s mercy. Despite our sinfulness, we’re all called into God’s family. What a gift!

Through Matthew God pleads with us to extend mercy to others. For in that genealogy we encounter those who went far beyond the demands of the law:  Judah, Boaz, Uriah, and especially Joseph…It’s a plea expressed explicitly a few chapters later in the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the merciful for they shall be shown mercy.” Christmas, then, is the perfect time to repair shattered relationships, the perfect time to extend mercy to others and to yourself.

But Matthew’s not finished. He also reminds us that God’s ways are not man’s ways. Throughout the genealogy we find God rejecting our human laws, tossing aside the patterns of inheritance and choosing whom He will choose. Jacob is “the father of Judah and his brothers” –Yes, here and elsewhere Matthew reminds us that God often bypasses first sons and chooses younger brothers like Judah to lead His People. This, too, is Good News, for unlike man, God is not only merciful, but His ways are just.

God continues to pile Good News on top of Good News…for the family of Jesus, the family of the Kings of Israel, is not a family of ethnic purity. It’s filled with Gentiles. With the sole exception of Mary, the women mentioned are all Gentiles: Tamar and Rahab are Canaanites, Ruth a Moabite, Bathsheba a Hittite. God’s plan of salvation, then, is universal. Humanity, and that includes every one of us, is called into God’s family.

This is the message of Christmas, brothers and sisters, the message of the angel: "You shall name him Jesus and he shall be called Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us."  God is with us – not some nameless, faceless them, but us…and not some of us, but all of us. This is the message of a passionate God. It’s the message of a God whose love is overpowering.

This is what we celebrate: God’s fierce zeal for us, His commitment not to leave us abandoned. It comes down to this: God is unwilling to leave us in the darkness of our own sinfulness. What we have in Christmas is a terrible desire on God's part to "be with us," to be part of the human condition: God with us in our entirety. Quite simply, God just won’t let us alone. He wants to be Emmanuel.

And it’s this remarkable action on God’s part, this divine decision to become one of us, that so many have trouble accepting. Inundated by materialism, by the spiritual sickness of the world, so many forget why the Magi carried those first gifts to a newborn baby in a manger. The true Christmas message isn’t amazon dot com. It’s Emmanuel, God with skin on and a human face. God became one of us to turn His face to us, to speak words of comfort, reconciliation, and redemption, words we can understand. It’s this gentle birth we celebrate tonight; it’s this gentle birth that heralds our salvation.

Not long ago at the soup kitchen, while schmoozing with our guests, I spotted a mother and her little baby girl. As I approached, little Alisha saw my smile and reached out her arms to me. I couldn’t resist. I picked up this beautiful child and she just snuggled right up against me and buried her little head into my chest with her tiny hands gripping my shoulders.

My first thought? “Here’s a little baby that needed some hugging.” Then I realized how wrong I was. Alisha had been perfectly happy being held by her mom, with whom I could never hope to compete. No, Alisha didn’t need my hugs; but she knew that I sure needed hers. You see, brothers and sisters, in a very real way, this little baby is the meaning of Christmas. God with us. God with Alisha. For that brief moment Alisha is God’s love. Alisha is Christmas. She’s God's arms; she’s God’s zeal; she’s God’s passion for each of us.

For God loves us despite our foolishness. He loves us with our broken lives, our selfishness, our tattered relationships, our foolish sins. God is two tiny arms determined to break into our lives. He’s a fierce little baby who makes no distinctions but embraces the least likely along with most likely.

This is what the feast of Christmas is about -- an enormously unrelenting love feast. And not a sappy sentimental love, but a love as searing as any passionate romance. Christmas is God's fulfilled desire to be with us. This is what and why we celebrate. This is His gift.

If God isn’t Emmanuel, if He’s not with us, if He hasn’t embraced our tattered lives, then woe unto us. If God isn’t with us, there’s no hope, no light, only darkness and despair. If God isn’t with us, we’re here tonight out of fruitless hope, or pressured routine, or empty sentimentality.

But if we’re here out of love, if we’re here like ragtag shepherds to kneel and rejoice and let God take us in His arms, then we’ve caught the meaning of Christmas: Emmanuel, the passionate God, has had his way and has hugged us fiercely. When sin, suffering and death scatter our souls far and wide that’s when we need God the most. And that’s when Jesus comes to us to guide us to His Father’s loving arms.

It’s all grace, brothers and sisters. It’s all gift. What more is there to say on this Christmas Eve? And so tonight, as we sit quietly and let God’s love comfort us, as we gaze upon the scene of that first Christmas Eve so long ago, we invite the words of the carol into our hearts…

Silent night, Holy Night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing “Alleluia”
Christ the Savior is born!
Christ the Savior is born.

A blessed, peaceful and holy Christmas to each and every one of you, and to all your loved ones, near and far.