Thursday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 368

But I am afraid that, as the serpent deceived Eve by his cunning,
your thoughts may be corrupted
from a sincere and pure commitment to Christ.
For if someone comes and preaches another Jesus than the one we preached,
or if you receive a different spirit from the one you received
or a different gospel from the one you accepted,
you put up with it well enough.

Some contemporary scripture scholars have scrutinized the teachings of Jesus and sorted them into several categories. There are sayings he would have learned from his Jewish religion and passed along to his disciples; teachings the church might have formulated later on; and, finally ipsissima verba, the very words of Jesus. This last category should also be “back translated” into Aramaic, Jesus’ language, and still have some resonance. If they sound better in Greek than in Aramaic, they’re probably not ipsissima verba, things he actually said because no one else could have.  

These scholars put Jesus’ miracle stories to a similar test. Do they sound like something Jesus would have done, or something he should have done to fulfill the ancient prophesies? Feeding five thousand sounds too much like the gift of manna in the desert; and walking on water bears a suspicious resemblance to the parting of the Red Sea. Even the last supper may have been only a Passover meal.

With these and other devices these scholars attempt to separate Jesus from the gospels. They want to determine who Jesus was before the Church permanently altered the story to fit its own purposes. They assume, of course, that the Church got it all wrong and that they might, just might, be able to rediscover “the real Jesus.”

Saint Paul was familiar with these 20^th and 21^st century scholars because he met the same opposition in Corinth. Certain “super apostles” were preaching “another Jesus” with “a different gospel” and a “different spirit.” And gullible Christians were eating it up. As they still do.

Just as Saint Paul insisted upon his own authorization to preach the gospel, the Church in every age must reassert its authority. There will always be outsiders who make some claim to knowing Jesus with their better sciences, ideology or philosophy. Confident that Jesus remains unassailably popular for all time and with every demographic, they attack his Church rather than the man himself.

Surprisingly, unaccountably, the Church rides out every storm. A woman told me the other day that Jesus had been drugged while on the cross and revived on the third day. I reminded her of Matthew 28:15: And this story has circulated among the Jews to the present [day].” They always have and always will fabricate alternate gospels to fit their purposes.

Faith is not simply believing in Jesus anyway.  It is also believing that the Holy Spirit will always preserve the Church in Truth. For without her, there is no salvation.

Wednesday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 367

Take care not to perform righteous deeds
in order that people may see them;
otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father.

Today’s teaching from the Gospel of Saint Matthew and the Sermon on the Mount illustrates one of the great paradoxes of our Christian faith. Each of us must set out on the road to personal salvation, like Christian in John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress; and yet none of us can be saved alone. Or, to put it in more current phrases, I must identify myself and my individuality; but I must also lose myself in the community. Or, I must recognize and honor my unique identity (haeceity) and, at the same time, recognize my interdependence with and upon others.

This paradox has been a flash point of recent history. Communist ideology would suppress the individual with his talents, insights and personal experience to serve the needs of the “masses.” Democratic states, on the other hand, insist upon the individual rights and freedoms of every person, especially the right to be left alone. But neither ideology can ever ignore its antithesis. In the United States libertarians represent the extreme of personal freedom; they are so far right they’re left. Conservatives and liberals  generally quarrel about both sides of every issue. Is the abortion controversy about the unborn’s right to life or a woman’s right to privacy? Is ubiquitous surveillance of phone calls, emails, Facebook and credit cards a violation of personal privacy or an assertion of the public’s right to security?

The Christian faith is no stranger to paradox: We believe in one God who is Trinitarian. We believe in Jesus Christ who is fully human and entirely divine. We believe Jesus’ mother is the Mother of God. We believe there is no salvation outside of the Church, and yet not everyone must be Catholic or Christian to be saved. We believe the Eucharist is Jesus Christ, although it still has all the accidental appearances of bread and win. And so forth. If anyone has compiled a list of all Christian paradoxes, it is (paradoxically) incomplete.

In today’s gospel, which is also proclaimed on Ash Wednesday, Jesus teaches us the necessity of acting for oneself in righteous deeds, prayer and fasting.  It is not sufficient to belong to the Church; one must also cultivate behind closed doors a “personal relationship” with God. No matter how well others think of me, I cannot be saved if the Lord doesn’t know who I am. As Thomas Merton said, “The Lord cannot save one who does not exist!” One’s reputation is only an idea shared by many. It has no reality in itself.

Finally, the Christian is one who is comfortable with paradox. This One enjoys private and public prayer, but suffers through long, boring sermons and desolate wastelands of personal prayer. This One gives generously to worthy causes and also sets the example for others. This One consumes no more than is necessary to sustain life, but also enjoys wedding feasts and banquets with sinners.

On this Juneteenth, thank God for the freedom to live in service to others.

Tuesday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 366

You have heard that it was said,

You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.
But I say to you, love your enemies
and pray for those who persecute you,
that you may be children of your heavenly Father,
for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good,
and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust.

Recently, during the memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I recalled her growth "from grace to grace and freedom to freedom."

This freedom of obedience is mysterious. How can one be free if she is always obedient? 

Perhaps it's easier to describe the lack of freedom which we experience with sin. Although the decision to sin was freely taken, it inevitably leads back into slavery. A bad decision immediately sets a precedent. If I can steal a cookie from the cookie jar, I can swipe a slice of pie from the refrigerator, and a five dollar bill from the cash jar. If I can get away with it once, I can get away with it twice, and thrice and so forth until a single exception has become a habit that grows out of all proportions. 

But the decision not to take the cookie in the first place remains as a road not taken, at least for another day and another decision. 

In today's gospel Jesus urges us to "love your enemies." That commandment precludes a great many thoughts, words and deeds against one's enemies. I may have to imprison him but I cannot kill him. Imprisoned he will need and deserve as a human being who is created in God's own image all the attention of any other human being. He has the right to food, clothing, shelter, protection, medical, psychological, psychiatric and spiritual care, educational and work opportunities, and dignity. We put him in prison to protect him from harming others and to protect him from harm by others. But even there we do not have the right to judge or punish. Revenge in mine, says the Lord. 

The fact that we don't like this person is irrelevant. We cannot disrespect his human integrity without endangering every other human person. 

I heard that point raised in a radio discussion about torture. Where will the American torturers -- who were supposed to serve our security and our national interests with their violence against defenseless human being -- be in ten years, or twenty or thirty? Might they be serving their communities in police stations? And how will they deal with difficult citizens who are suspected, but not convicted and still legally innocent, of crime? How will they address their children and grandchildren, not to mention their wives and lovers, when those relationships get complicated? Will they have forgotten how to extract information from their enemies? Will they remember how to inflict agonizing pain without leaving scars.  

How will the decision to torture change those individuals for life, and the people who authorized that treatment? Isn't it better not to take that road in the first place? 

Love your enemies may feel like an extreme limit upon our freedom; there are so many attitudes we cannot indulge, and so many forbidden thoughts, words and deeds. But the law prevents us from taking a road through slavery into hell; and it leads us on the road to respect for the dignity and rights of every human being -- born and unborn, innocent or guilty. 

Monday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time
Lectionary: 365

We cause no one to stumble in anything,
in order that no fault may be found with our ministry;
on the contrary, in everything we commend ourselves
as ministers of God, through much endurance,
in afflictions, hardships, constraints,…

In today’s first reading Saint Paul ponders the mystery of his own ministry as an apostle. He has given himself totally to that work, abandoning his family and all previous connections. He does not support an identity beyond his apostleship. He occasionally earns a living by tent making but he does not do that as a hobby, whenever he needs to get away from being a disciple. He takes no days off or vacations; but his peripatetic lifestyle provides ample opportunities for contemplation and reflection. He is never so relaxed as when he is sharing the gospel with his friends and companions.

It seems his conscience – his “daily examination of conscience” -- is guided by this principle, “We cause no one to stumble.”

This is a great challenge for anyone who has taken vows as a religious, a priest, or a spouse. I must abandon some of my old behaviors. If I could use certain language among my high school or college classmates, I must forget it now in these new surroundings. If reading certain magazines or poring over certain pictures seemed harmless at one time, I must put those childish ways behind me. (As the oldest I remember my Dad read dime store paperbacks with -- shall we say interesting? -- illustrations on the cover.  Mom told him to leave them at work.)

As people totally dedicated to God, we cannot afford to cause anyone to stumble by unnecessary or sinful foolishness. It is not okay to say, “God will forgive me” when giving scandal to his little ones.

Saint Paul’s resolve in this new way of being was sorely tested. He recalled Jesus’ patience under torture – a forbearance he had personally witnessed when Saint Stephen was stoned – as he underwent afflictions, hardships, constraints, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, vigils, fasts…. Even under those circumstances he could not indulge in cursing his enemies: first because it would scandalize his disciples and secondly because it would break his own spirit.

As he guarded his thoughts, attitudes, words and deeds under such trials, he witnessed his own growth in purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, in the Holy Spirit, in unfeigned love, in truthful speech, in the power of God…. How amazing that must have been to him! Who would have thought this adventurous, fire-breathing preacher could be so gentle and so happy?

As he grew in virtue he found in his hands weapons of righteousness at the right and at the left; through glory and dishonor, insult and praise.

Finally he discovered an amazing set of paradoxes,

We are treated as deceivers and yet are truthful;
as unrecognized and yet acknowledged;
as dying and behold we live;
as chastised and yet not put to death;
as sorrowful yet always rejoicing;
as poor yet enriching many;
as having nothing and yet possessing all things.

Clearly this was not the accomplishment of one particular man; it was the Spirit of God moving in a vessel of clay to inspire the world.

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 93

So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven
because she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”
He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

Today’s first reading recalls David’s murder of Uriah and his taking Uriah’s widow Bathsheba for his queen and wife. Since coming to the VA hospital I have begun to appreciate another dimension of David’s crime. Beyond his adultery and murder he sabotaged every principle of military discipline and morale. This warrior-king knows how fighters rely on each other for strength and support as they go into battle. Their loyalty and devotion to one another is more intense than a man’s passion for his wife. They don’t desert a buddy, but he had secretly commanded that Uriah be placed in the killing zone and abandoned as his mates suddenly retreated.  

Everyone in Uriah’s unit must have known the direct assault on the Rabbah’s massive walls was extremely dangerous. Old women could lob stones from its parapets to defend the city. Afterward, when the rumor came back that the King had taken Bathsheba for his wife the warriors must have smelled a rat. David’s sin was far worse than adultery; it was a betrayal of his own fighters. 

The ideal warrior of the ancient world, Achilles, preferred to die with honor on a battlefield to fading into old age with its whimpering helplessness and sniveling neediness. In contrast, the effeminate Paris, who had started the Trojan War for the love of a woman, fled from combat to hide in his lover’s arms. King David’s sin was more craven as he intentionally handed over one of his own soldiers to get at the man’s wife.  

He could hardly be surprised when Nathan pronounced a curse upon his house:

Why have you spurned the Lord and done evil in his sight?
You have cut down Uriah the Hittite with the sword;
you took his wife as your own,
and him you killed with the sword of the Ammonites.
Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house,
because you have despised me
and have taken the wife of Uriah to be your wife.’

When David repented Nathan assured him of God's forgiveness; but, nevertheless, "the sword shall never depart from your house." If God forgave, David still had to face the consequences of betraying his warrior and his army; and that curse would rest upon his descendents forever. Not many years later David's son Absalom would raise an army and drive his father out of Jerusalem, before David's army struck back, killing Absalom and his men.

Perhaps Nathan's curse abides among Christians to this day, in our assumption that God always forgives and we need not atone for what we do to each other.

Today’s readings from Second Kings and the Gospel of Luke invite us to contemplate the enormous dimensions of our guilt. We cannot begin to appreciate God’s mercy, especially as we see it in Jesus’ passion and death, if we have not pondered on our sins.

 

Saturday of the Tenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 364

But I say to you, do not swear at all….
Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’
Anything more is from the Evil One.

Once upon a time, I took part in a project of several months, a psychodynamic group. The intent of the group was to help each participant understand and recognize how she comes across to others. It also intended to help each participant decide how she might improve her communications. In other words, it aimed for a deep change of attitudes and behaviors as she sees a reflection of herself in the reactions and responses of others.

After weeks of frustration I finally suggested to one fellow that he give the rest of us a break, “Don’t talk. Just listen for five days!” Not surprisingly, the proposal met a lively response and much debate from everyone. The next day the fellow took my suggestion; for a week he was silent. Interestingly, I too decided to talk less. I needed to take a dose of my own medicine; to let go, let be, and let God.

One way to practice Jesus’ teaching – “Do not swear at all!” – is to say less. Often we should only say “Yes” when you mean yes and “No” when you mean no.” Why say any more than that?

Many of us, and I certainly include myself, think that we should make a difference and our presence should be felt. Both intentions mean I have to talk -- a lot. If talk doesn’t do it, argument might!

But often the Presence of God is better represented by silence. Affection, respect, concern and reverence for another human being need few words.

When the Lord sent us from Jerusalem to “make disciples of all nations” he didn’t mean we should argue them into submission. That is neither respectful nor persuasive. If we present only ourselves many will wonder, “Why are you so happy? Why aren’t you more anxious, greedy, lustful or aggressive? Why do you regard no one according to the flesh? What is the secret of your contentment?”

It might take only a few words of revelation to introduce Our Lord and Savior to them, after they have become convinced our God is superior to any they have ever known.

Friday of the Tenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 363

We hold this treasure in earthen vessels,
that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us.
We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;
perplexed, but not driven to despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed;
always carrying about in the Body the dying of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body.


In my old age I find myself growing more affectionate. I'm not sure that anyone else finds me more loveable, but I notice a growing fondness for people and things I used to dislike.

One thing I am fond of is the awful messiness of the Church. It is indeed enormous! As massive as the Church is, with its billion people (roughly estimated) and its complexity of institutions, foundations, organizations and traditions; its churches, shrines and holy sites; its customs and practices that span every nation and nationality; not to mention its complex history of triumphs and emberrassments, and the ruins of monasteries, hermitages and churches that spackle the world -- I find it irresistably charming.

If I ever thought I should make a difference in the life of the Church, I see how foolish the notion was.

When I meet someone who thinks the Church should be better than it is, I point to the Bible. What a mess! There is hardly any religious notion, no matter how wild-eyed, that cannot find some obscure passage in scripture to lend it credence. The idealogue expects to find some unifying principle in the scriptures which she can hold up for praise or ridicule but it is never so simple as an ideology. It is rather a patchwork history of a people with their virtues and their vices, and a story of their God who by turns punishes and dotes over them. If the Bible were more coherent it would not need a Church to interpret it. It would make sense and would need no interpretation.

The Christian is invited to claim this Church with its sacred texts as her own beloved. She is one day a dotty aunt who does emberrassing things in public; and the next day a heroic amazon who defends the rights of poor widows and orphans.

Finally, the Church is like me: a vessel of clay, damaged goods, deeply and profoundly flawed; but not unhappy -- always carrying about in the Body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body.