Memorial of Saint John Bosco, Priest

Lectionary: 325

He was amazed at their lack of faith.


Saint Mark concludes his story of Jesus' return home with the remark, "He was amazed at their lack of faith." There are several stories in the gospels about Jesus' amazement. Usually they are happier stories:

• He was amazed at the centurion's faith. "I have never seen such faith in Israel!" he exclaimed. 
• "I saw Satan fall like lightning!" he said as his disciples described their recent successful mission of curing the sick and announcing the Kingdom. 
• He was deeply impressed by the widow who placed "all she had" -- a few copper coins -- in the temple treasury.
• He expressed amazement -- though it may have been feigned -- at Nicodemus' lack of insight: "You are the teacher of Israel and you do not understand this?" 

Despite his innate wisdom, Jesus was not so superior as to never be astonished by things he saw and heard. Sometimes he was very pleased; on the occasion of returning to his own family and village, he was disappointed.
It is "snapshots" like this that help us to recognize the Lord as one of our own brothers. We have come to know and admire this man; we have been eager to tell others about him, and to know him better by sharing our common experience of faith. 
But we have also known his disappointment as so many are not delighted with him; they do not recognize in him anything particular or special. Or, worse, they misunderstand him and his mission so badly that we cannot share fellowship with them. 
Hearing this gospel we can read his disappointment on his face and feel it within ourselves. How is that they have not eagerly welcomed the Holy Spirit which heals, reconciles, reassures, consoles, instructs and guides? Why do they prefer their habitual discontent to the wakeful eagerness with which we greet each day? 
Being alert to wonder we are subject to occasional disappointment. It comes with the full dimension of human nature which the Lord enjoyed, which he has given to us by the Holy Spirit. 

But this I will call to mind;
therefore I will hope:
The LORD’s acts of mercy are not exhausted,
his compassion is not spent;
They are renewed each morning—
great is your faithfulness!
The LORD is my portion, I tell myself,
therefore I will hope in him

Tuesday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 324​

“He took away our infirmities and bore our diseases.”

Some thoughts on context:

The citation above is from Matthew 8:17, and is the origin of today's Gospel Alleluia verse. The editors of our lectionary wanted to put today's readings from 2 Samuel and the Gospel of Saint Mark in the context of these important words. Saint Matthew, observing Jesus' ministry of healing, recalled Isaiah 53:4, "Yet it was our pain that he bore, our sufferings he endured." -- which, in its turn, evokes the Fourth Song of the Suffering Servant (Isaiah 53):

He was spurned and avoided by men,

a man of suffering, knowing pain,

Like one from whom you turn your face,

spurned, and we held him in no esteem.

Yet it was our pain that he bore,

our sufferings he endured.

We thought of him as stricken,

struck down by God and afflicted,

But he was pierced for our sins,

crushed for our iniquity.

He bore the punishment that makes us whole,

by his wounds we were healed.

These "Suffering Servant" songs are solemnly read each year during Holy Week. Our translation of Isaiah says he "bore" and "endured" while Matthew suggests he "took away," or perhaps "bore away" our infirmities and diseases. As Savior he does both: choosing to be human he bears our human frailty; as God he carries it away. 

This expression contextualizes today's readings from 2 Samuel and Mark 5, throwing a new light upon them. To understand anything, we have to understand its context. No one wonders about an easy chair in the living room, we understand why it's there. But we might wonder what it's doing on an ice floe in the Arctic Circle. That certainly requires some explanation.  

Saint Matthew was thinking about the suffering servant of Isaiah 53 when he told us about Jesus' ministry of healing. Stories of Jesus' ministry might be old news, things that happened in the ancient, irrelevant past, until they're place in the context of Isaiah 53. Hearing of Jesus' compassionate response to the menstruous woman who touched him and to the dead little girl, Isaiah 53 reminds us of the price Jesus will pay for his kindness.  

Then we should look at the story of David's war with his son Absalom, and his grief at the young man's death. David's descendant, Jesus, was pierced for the sins of his ancestor and bore his grief. He bore the punishment that makes David whole, by his wounds the Shepherd King was healed.

Without the context of Jesus' life, death and resurrection, we have no hope for the meaning, value or purpose of human life. The full scope of our sinful world in all its dimensions of space and time is healed by the one who bore our infirmities. All the tragedies of human history -- from the murder of Abel to the Shoah to  American racism -- are justified by his death and resurrection. 

Does God have that much authority; and has it been given to Jesus? I've often heard people say, "I'm going to have some questions for the Lord when I come before him!" 

Yes, we all have questions, and our faith assures us, in the Light of Jesus' life, death and resurrection, "All things will be well; and all manner of things will be well."

Monday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 323

The man had been dwelling among the tombs, and no one could restrain him any longer, even with a chain. In fact, he had frequently been bound with shackles and chains, but the chains had been pulled apart by him and the shackles smashed, and no one was strong enough to subdue him.

Saint Mark often gives us important details that the casual reader might overlook, details that bear pondering. 

In today's gospel, we first notice the pathetic condition of the possessed man and Jesus' powerful intervention. He has been howling and screaming night and day among the tombs and on the hillsides. A terrifying freak, he is strong enough to shatter the iron shackles on his arms and legs; and powerful enough, we can suppose, to attack and kill children, women, the elderly and all but the strongest men. 

But for all his threat his people have not killed him. Perhaps they've discussed it; some people find killing the simplest way to deal with problematic human beings. They've may wished he were dead. They surely prayed for relief. 

But mostly they tried to contain the threat and, at the same time, ease the poor man's suffering. He too, in his madness, showed enough restraint to avoid the village where they huddled together. He stayed in the graveyard and wandered the hillsides. 

When Jesus arrived he had compassion on the demoniac and on his people. 

The scripture reminds us we're all in this together, we need one another, and Jesus' compassion surpasses his concern for individuals. He saves the families, villages and cities where people live, and the surrounding countryside. 

It's very fine to recognize the Lord's concern for the isolated sinner. We all feel isolated in our sins and we often wish he would visit us in our solitude. 

But the human being is not a solitary creature. "It is not good for man to be alone." the Lord observes in the first pages of the Bible. We're not meant to be alone; one might survive in isolation, but no one thrives without other people. 

The Lord has come to save us, meaning our families, neighborhoods, cities, states and nations. And churches. His mercy is superabundant. 

More, the Lord saves our history. Because a human community is necessarily rooted and shaped by its history, including those dreadful things we'd rather forget, the Lord heals, integrates, saves, illuminates and glorifies our past. Even deicide, the murder of God -- almost unthinkable except it really happened -- becomes in God's merciful hands a Saving Grace. 

"His mercy is without end!" we sing as we invite the Lord to heal our past and present and guide us to the future. 

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 71

Have you come to destroy us?

The demons were worried. We might suppose the demons were the least anxious of all creatures in the spiritual world of Jesus' time. Popular mythology saw them as controlling the weather, the wilderness, disease and madness. They could stir up storms on a lake, torment the lonely, madden the troubled, and itch the scratcher. They were everywhere and controlled nearly everything. As Satan boasted, 

I shall give to you all this power and their glory; for it has been handed over to me, and I may give it to whomever I wish.

But the demons worried when Jesus appeared. 
Anxiety comes with power. The more you have the more anxious you are about losing it. Great power suffers enormous anxiety, and must become evermore alert against threats, suggestions of threats, and hints of suggestions of threats. Even rolled eyes are punishable to the insecure.
Saint Francis urged his followers to imitate the example of Jesus: aspire to less. The Lord preferred homeless poverty, exile in Egypt, death on a cross and burial in a borrowed grave. Owning nothing there was nothing to prevent him from doing God's will. Without political, social or religious authority he had no fear of losing it when crowds turned away and enemies plotted against him. 
That was maddening to the demons. What power would counter a man with no power? When he was driven from one place he went to another. When the door was shut he came through the window. When he was silenced his silence spoke loudly. When he was killed he rose from the dead. 
Yes, he had come to destroy them. They knew it and were helpless. As we read the Gospel according to Mark during the Sundays of 2018 and the early weekdays of the year, we will watch Jesus approach Jerusalem and Calvary. At every step he will meet opposition. With every healing of the sick and every compassionate word to the poor, his enemies will grow more furious with seemingly impotent rage. Only on his last day will they finally discover the power to act, a power which was given them "from above," though they cannot comprehend that. 
As we follow him he will teach us how to handle the power we have as responsible human beings. Always we must be under obedience to the Holy Spirit. We must be continually ready to act like the boy Samuel who said, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening;" and like his mentor Eli, who realized in the middle of the night he was being told to step down. 
In exchange for power we have communion with the Lord and one another. There can be no sweeter reward. 

Saturday of the Third Week in Ordinary Time

Saint Angela Merici

Lectionary: 322

Then David said to Nathan, "I have sinned against the LORD."
Nathan answered David: "The LORD on his part has forgiven your sin: you shall not die.
But since you have utterly spurned the LORD by this deed, the child born to you must surely die."
Then Nathan returned to his house.

More than fifty years ago, a book appeared in Catholic bookstores, “Whatever became of sin?” Even then the pendulum was swinging toward a vision of Christian life free of guilt, remorse or shame. It was joyful, free and exuberant. Boundaries were behind us.

Many people had long ago rejected the doctrine of Original Sin. How can babies so helpless, promising and adorable be anything but innocent?  They rejected the practice of infant birth because it seemed to emphasize original guilt rather than the original purpose of baptism, which was initiation to the life of grace. In fact they had little understanding of this ancient, essential doctrine of our faith. 

During the Second World War, Reinhold Niebuhr, American Protestant theologian of the mid-20th century, in his Gifford Lecture, describes our human condition:

The high estimate of the human stature implied in the concept of "image of God" stands in paradoxical juxtaposition to the low estimate of human virtue in Christian thought. Man is a sinner. His sin is defined as rebellion against God. The Christian estimate of human evil is so serious precisely because it places evil at the very center of human personality: in the will. This evil cannot be regarded complacently as the inevitable consequence of his finiteness or the fruit of his involvement in the contingencies and necessities of nature. Sin is occasioned precisely by the fact that man refuses to admit his "creatureliness" and to acknowledge himself as merely a member of a total unity of life. He pretends to be more than he is. Nor can he, as in both rationalistic and mystic dualism, dismiss his sins as residing in that part of himself which is not his true self; that is, that part of himself which is involved in physical necessity. In Christianity it is not the eternal man who judges the finite man; but the Eternal and Holy God who judges sinful man. Nor is redemption in the power of the eternal man who gradually sloughs off finite man. Man is not divided against himself so that the essential man can be extricated from the non-essential. Man contradicts himself within the terms of his true essence. His essence is free self-determination. His sin is the wrong use of his freedom and his consequent destruction. The Nature and Destiny of Man. Reinhold Niebuhr (1941) ISBN 0-02-387510-0

No matter how often I resolve to "confess my sins, do penance and amend my life,” I sin again. And, as Niebuhr explains, I cannot excuse myself with a claim of being made for sin, as if I cannot help it. I cannot explain to the dying frog, “I am a scorpion!” 

I had a choice. I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I did it. And now I’m sorry, again. I have excuses but no explanation. I can make apologies but no promises. 

No amount of will power can overcome the very will which decides to sin. Sinning, I experience that humiliating mystery of which Jesus spoke, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”

The Gospel of Mercy addresses this bewildering mystery. The Lord, who created us in his own image and likeness, knew our sin, knows our sin, and knows we will sin again. The Lord knows we have no power to obey our own good intentions, that there is no such thing as will power. Those two words mean nothing to one another.

Owning our creatureliness before God, like David when Nathan exposed his dual crimes of adultery and murder; like Jesus from his birth in poverty to his baptism in the muddy Jordan to his helpless agony on the cross, we “win” God’s mercy.

This is far better "news" than the romantic, hypocritical vision of infant innocence which is inevitably desecrated by society, culture, institutions, adults or "those people." We have searched the world and found no Polynesian paradise, communist utopia, or city on a hill. It's nobody's fault but mine. To discover why good people do bad things, I have only to look at myself. As Saint Paul lamented:

For I know that good does not dwell in me, that is, in my flesh. The willing is ready at hand, but doing the good is not. For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want.

Some writers, in a fit of pious hyperbole, will say, “God cannot resist the prayer of the helpless.” Certainly, “The Lord hears the cry of the poor!” and from our guilt, remorse, shame and grief we can pray with confidence to God our Savior. 

Memorial of Saints Timothy and Titus

Lectionary: 520/321

“To what shall we compare the Kingdom of God, or what parable can we use for it? It is like a mustard seed that, when it is sown in the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth. But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.”

The critic will point out that the mustard seed is a low-lying bush.It doesn't become the "largest of plants," nor does it "put forth large branches...." Jesus is using typical Hebraic exaggeration when he calls it "the largest of plants." His disciples understood that and didn't hesitate to repeat it for the benefit of a thousand generations to come. 

Moving beyond that carping, let's notice how the "birds of the air can dwell in its shade." Small birds do, in fact, hide in the bushes, invisible and out of reach to the prowling raptors. Backyard bird watchers are advised to place bird feeders close to dense bushes, lest the hawks and owls catch them in the open. That may be more sport than their three-old granddaughters are prepared to see! 

"His eye is on the sparrow" and the the Kingdom of God provides shelter for his little ones, those who donate small copper coins and  play their drums for him.

I don't know if the mustard seed is a nuisance bush like many invasive species, especially the buckthorn, in the United States. But I'll take a preacher's liberty and suppose the Kingdom of God is also like an invasive species. It creeps into overlooked places like prisons, nursing homes, military barracks and neglected neighborhoods while political and economic "raptors" are looking elsewhere. They might rid the universities, government and major corporations of the Gospel but they can't be bothered with the hovels of the poor. When they notice its abundance they dismiss it as the worthless succor of the insignificant.

The clever buckthorn spreads in two ways. Animals eat its succulent berries and distribute seeds throughout the neighborhood as the indigestible pits pass through them. And its roots spread through the ground, resurfacing at some distance from the mother plant. Ridding one's wooded copse of these plants takes years of persistent labor.

Likewise, the Kingdom of God spreads through the people who welcome its message. Their peaceful, confident generosity invites the disheartened and the lonely to ask the reason for their hope.  They need only an invitation, "Come and see!"

Pope Benedict optimistically saw how secularized Europe retains its Christian culture with thousands of churches, shrines and monasteries. Even the ruins speak of peace. Rooted in history and culture, the very stones announce the gospel to later generations.

These seem like hard times for the Church and the Kingdom of God. Economic prosperity offered opportunities for secular and heretical "gospels." Many people believed they could have all this and heaven too!

But the Gospel has always thrived in hard times, among dispossessed and despised people. It takes root and deepens through droughts, fires, and floods. Even as preying raptors soar aloft, praying sparrows find shelter in its thick, impenetrable branches.

Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul, Apostle

Lectionary: 519

I persecuted this Way to death, binding both men and women and delivering them to prison. Even the high priest and the whole council of elders can testify on my behalf. For from them I even received letters to the brothers and set out for Damascus to bring back to Jerusalem in chains for punishment those there as well.

Recently I heard a sad story of a religious refugee. This American man had fled an authoritarian religious sect, leaving his wife and children behind, because the religious authorities had discovered he was listening to the radio, reading newspapers and secretly watching television. As he left them he felt relieved of the obsessive secret that he had kept for so long, but he sorely misses his wife and daughters.

He complained that religion is like an ideology. The leaders of his former commune enforced a strict interpretation of their religious beliefs, allowing no dissent and little discussion. They tolerated – and perhaps encouraged – young members to physically punish suspected “heretics.”

Saint Paul, many centuries before the word ideology appeared, might recognize the phenomena. It might be called a psychiatric disease but would hardly fit in the DSM. In its milder forms it is very common and not particularly dis-easy. If anything it’s more comfortable than the anxiety and uncertainty that go with true faith.

Those who ascribe to no religion might accuse any religious person of being ideological. Faith is certainly a way of looking at life. Christian faith provides a set of foundational beliefs, a moral compass, and broad guidelines for personal behavior. It readily judges one’s own attitudes and behaviors and can be used to assess others. The believer takes delight in the presence of another believer; and is less comfortable, even more cautious, among unbelievers. Finally, the Christian believer feels a responsibility to, “Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.”

Religions have been with us since the beginning; they were most often practiced by entire villages and nations who, despite their personal differences and varying degrees of sincerity, basically agreed on their religious beliefs. There was no dissent and no need for dissent.

Ideologies appeared when those doctrines demand more than ordinary compliance; when internal belief must conform to external observance; as when -- for instance -- "Thou shalt not take thy neighbor's wife" becomes "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, or slaves, or animals or goods. Don't even think about it!" 

Some “atheists” would renounce “religion”  altogether, although they often enforce their own improvised rituals, moral conduct and beliefs. The French Revolution, for instance, converted Catholic churches to “Temples of Reason” with new rituals for her worship. They experimented with a revised calendar without Sundays, solemnities or saints. Dissenters risked the guillotine.

True faith, I believe, has a sense of humor about itself and its doctrines. We believe and profess our beliefs but we never forget that our knowledge is limited. As Saint Paul said, “…If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing. For we know partially and we prophesy partially…” and then, “At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror…”

Even our moral teachings are qualified. Adam and Eve were not permitted to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, lest they encroach on God’s prerogatives. When they did eat of it they received only a severely limited knowledge, not nearly enough to judge other people. If we hold the keys of the kingdom of heaven, it’s not to shut anyone out.

Faith is a sense of humor about the limits of human knowledge, wisdom and certitude. It is a confidence that we can practice our beliefs, maintain our moral discipline, “with malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right...” 

Memorial of Saint Francis de Sales, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 319

But those sown on rich soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it

and bear fruit thirty and sixty and a hundredfold."

Farmers and gardeners would be more familiar with this parable than I am. I have watched with dismay gardeners pulling up growing plants to give other plants more room. They explained all the plants would be stunted if they all grew together. Orchard keepers lop off tree branches, foresters thin out copses, rangers cull herds of deer and other wildlife so that life will flourish. "Nature" seems to waste a lot of new life even as it nurtures young life.

Does the Holy Spirit also cull the Church from time to time so that it might flourish?

In this parable we hear of those seeds that perished: some were consumed by birds or crushed underfoot by passersby. Some sprouted into seedlings but died in the harsh, parching sunlight; still other seedlings could not compete with hardier weeds. Only a portion flourished or bore fruit.

An uninformed bystander might ask, "Why bother?"

Why did the American Catholic Church invest tens of thousands of religious women and men into elementary schools? They are fondly remembered today mostly by non-practicing Catholics. Why did many boys serve at the altar, only to be sucked into a war machine that mocked their innocence and taught them to drink, smoke and hate? Might our energies have been spent better elsewhere?

Jesus' parable provides a kind of answer. "...some seed fell on rich soil and produced fruit. It came up and grew and yielded thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold."

Christian life is peppered with occasional setbacks, many disappointments and persistent frustration. This parable and its explanation are acutely aware of that dimension. But the Gospel also promises satisfaction and fulfillment.

The skeptic raises many questions. "What about those who....?" This or that question might be answered but the human mind, and the skeptical human mind in particular, can create no end of questions. In the end we have to "Let God be God" and be satisfied with his promise of complete, overwhelming, deep satisfaction.

Tuesday of the Third Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 318

Then David, girt with a linen apron,

came dancing before the LORD with abandon,

as he and all the house of Israel were bringing up the ark of the LORD

with shouts of joy and to the sound of the horn.

Many Americans feel assured that theirs is the freest nation in the world. Speaking of North Koreans, Russians or Iranians  they shudder at the lack of freedom those people suffer. Skeptical by nature, I wonder if Americans have any conception of true freedom.

Our first reading describes the “abandon” of King David as he “came dancing before the Lord.” Dancing is certainly an expression of enthusiasm, joy and freedom; and yet there is hardly any dancing in American churches!

I remember some efforts in the 1980’s to reintroduce dancing in our worship of God. The experiments with children, running around with colored streamers or working through choreographed movements, were accepted as darling. Some adults were willing to leave their confining pews to experience the open ranges around them. And the single bold woman who danced with abandon was greeted with silence. Congregations will follow the presider during the Palm Sunday service, Holy Thursday Mass and Easter Vigil but those staid processions cannot be called dancing.

So how free are we to practice our First Amendment right?

In some African languages the English words dance and sing are translated as the same word. Singing is dancing; dancing is singing. Africans visit our congregations and wonder how we can remain so rigidly still as we sing.  Our missionaries describe Sunday masses that last for hours as African Catholics sing and dance their joy in the Lord.

The opposite of freedom is fear. Oppressive regimes successfully stifle the free impulse with threats; the most effective threats are scorn, shame, sneers and mockery. There's no need to kill anyone; just sneer at a few of them! Many Americans are afraid to dance or sing in Church for fear of what their children, parents, neighbors or friends will say. Many have never learned to do either, their natural impulses to sing and dance were stifled when they were children.

Many Americans -- even pious Americans -- think "sex" when they think "dance," just as they think sex for anything else that's enjoyable. And being terrified of sex, they don't go there.

But singing and dancing is what human beings do when they enjoy themselves. It's not just a spectator sport for supremely thin "Riverdancers."  We have seen athletes dance for joy in the end zone. We have seen Russian, Greek and eastern European men form large circles, hold hands and dance. People can dance occasionally during wedding parties; some even join dance clubs.

As we hear of King David's dancing before the Lord let's not kid ourselves that we are the freest of people. In fact we are more frightened than most nations. Let us pray that God will set us free, first to practice our faith with song and dance, and then to invite the scoffers to "Come, join us!"

Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children

Lectionary: 317

How can Satan drive out Satan? 
If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 
And if a house is divided against itself,  
that house will not be able to stand.

Abraham Lincoln famously cited these verses from Saint Mark’s Gospel in his “House Divided” speech.

A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently, half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved — I do not expect the house to fall — but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward, till it shall become lawful in all the States, old as well as new — North as well as South.

The analogy might well be applied to the abortion debate in this country and around the world. Can sexuality be divided against itself? Can it be the cause and source of human reproduction and routinely sabotaged to prevent the birth of babies? Can human society survive so long as it routinely aborts the sexual impulse to reproduce?

We read in the Book of Genesis the Lord’s command, “God blessed them and God said to them: Be fertile and multiply….” This may be the only divine command every nation has embraced enthusiastically. We love to make babies; the urge is irrepressible.

Some sociologists tell us the world’s population is moving to cities. Villages and hamlets are being abandoned; vast open, untamed spaces are reappearing. Even farmers are moving to the cities as agriculture moves indoors where plants can flourish year-round in controlled climates. Because urban people have smaller families, they expect the human population to cap at several billion people, and then decline.  

But will the sexual impulse, traditionally governed by the rites of marriage and controlled by the strictures of family, both immediate and extended, be directed toward civilizing behavior? Or will the cities become hunting grounds for sexual predators who habitually flout the obligations of parenthood?

The “sexual revolution” began not in the 1960’s when the expression was coined, but in the 1920’s, with the mechanization of farms. Suddenly farmworkers, young men and women, migrated to the cities, far from their guardian parents, uncles and aunts. Isolated, alienated individuals were free to create the Jazz Age and new sexual mores. Religious communities opened the YMCA and YWCA and safe houses for young women. Evangelists followed; they built churches to reintroduce family life and neighborhood stability. But divorce in this new world was not uncommon; and abortion, a hidden crime.

Jesus promised the Kingdom of God is like the mustard seed. It doesn’t appear very promising until it becomes “the largest of shrubs!” He knew very well that mustard is not a large shrub, but the Kingdom of God is enormous. Even the sexual impulse is drawn to its discipline, integrity and beauty.  

The Gospel shuns violence against vulnerable women, children, the elderly and the unborn. It does not regard death as a tool to manage human populations or mold human society. The Church that survived the medieval era cannot but maintain these standards through this dark age.

God's Kingdom gathers lost individuals, predators and prey, as they recognize their need for parents and children, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins. Families are reborn; houses, cities and nations, reunited.

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 68

I tell you, brothers and sisters, the time is running out. From now on, let those having wives act as not having them, those weeping as not weeping, those rejoicing as not rejoicing, those buying as not owning, those using the world as not using it fully. For the world in its present form is passing away.

Since its inception the United States has been a nation of expectancy. Woven into our cities' names like Providence and Los Angeles and New York are promises of new days and better times than we have known. Always, it seems, the now is running out; the future is hurtling toward us. 

This expectation has been tempered by a second confidence, that with prudence and discipline and common purpose we can build better cities and states, and make of them a better nation. 

Saint Paul's exhortation -- that we should not be overwhelmed by present emotions, be they sorrow or gladness, need or desire -- found a welcome in the pregnant possibilities of the future. We'll allow our young couples to enjoy their wedded bliss; we'll allow our widows to grieve their spouses and our merchants to make their profits, but not for long. We must never forget we're building for tomorrow.

This idealism seemed to work well until certain unresolved conflicts caught up with us; specifically slavery, the Civil War and racism. When we integrated our schools in the 1960's, at the behest of the Supreme Court and in the spirit of the Declaration of Independence -- "all men are created equal" -- we stopped investing in those now-integrated schools. 

Recently we've been stunned by revelations in Baltimore, that the public schools cannot provide warm, dry, safe classrooms for the children. I saw that and worse in Louisiana twenty years ago, where no substantial money had been invested in the schools in thirty years. 

But we've also seen that even modern cities like Houston habitually misplan as they develop homes in flood plains. Because a house is no longer a home but an investment, Americans cynically hope the hundred-year storm doesn't come before they have sold it to someone else. 

That was not the apatheia Saint Paul had in mind when he reminded his disciples "the world in its present form is passing away." He insisted in his earliest letters to the Thessalonians on responsible work. If anyone supposed the end was near and they need not work, they should not eat. 

Faced with the culture of death which promotes abortion, euthanasia, capital punishment, guns and war; and descends inevitably into depression, avoidance of pain, drug abuse and suicide, Christians and Catholics in the United States rise to the challenge. Our faith arouses confidence, courage, creativity, hope, generosity and joy as we expect the future. 

A crisis is an opportunity and Christians are nothing if not opportunists. Simon, Andrew, James and John saw opportunity in the person of Jesus. They could not imagine the future he would open for them. As fishermen they were ill-equipped to present a new story and a new religion to friends, neighbors, strangers and enemies. As the Lord passed by they had nothing but the unexpected, inexplicable Spirit that drew them to him. No matter -- they changed the world! 

That Spirit is just as alive today as it was then, and just as eager to inspire. 

Saturday of the Second Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 316

David seized his garments and rent them, and all the men who were with him did likewise. They mourned and wept and fasted until evening for Saul and his son Jonathan, and for the soldiers of the LORD of the clans of Israel, because they had fallen by the sword.


There are three important figures in the Old Testament; the Christian is well advised to ponder the stories of Abraham, Moses and David. 
David may be the most familiar of the three, his virtues and his character defects are right out there where everyone can see them. As a warrior king who has sent men on suicide missions, savagely killed enemy soldiers and toppled rival kings, both Jewish and gentile, he doesn't much care if you like him or not. His mission is to build and maintain a kingdom and to hand it off to his successor; and to honor the Lord who called him from the sheepfolds and made him king. 
David has a soldier's sense of reverence. He is a warrior, not a killer. An important distinction. 
Harry S. Stout, in his history of the Civil War, Upon the Altar of the Nation, recalls the conflict between West Point trained commanders of the Northern and Southern armies, and the public who watched their battles from afar. West Point taught traditional ethical codes of combat: spare the life of non-combatants, measured destruction of enemy homes, towns and cities, respectful treatment of prisoners of war, and so forth. 
The public knew little of these principles. Christian preachers and newspaper editors -- most newspapers were religious publications -- wanted a quick and decisive end of the war by any means: "Kill them all! Destroy their homes! Poison their fields! Revenge!" 
Today's first reading displays David's deep respect for his rival Saul. He may well be the model for West Point graduates. 
At that point in history, calling either Saul or David a king might be exaggeration. They were chieftains of guerrilla bands. Both fought for and defended the Hebrew hill people against the lowland Philistines in their walled cities and prosperous farms. The ancient feud was savage and vindictive, offering little hope for an amicable settlement. 
But a rivalry had developed between the older Saul and his protege, David. When the judge Samuel withdrew his support, Saul hated the good-looking, charismatic lad. Moody and insecure, he tried to kill David on one occasion, and had wasted precious resources chasing him through the mountains. David had ample reason to rejoice when Saul was killed in battle against the Philistines.
But David was a pious man. He believed in the ancient religious traditions and insisted that his fighters observe them also. Unlike Saul he would not consult with necromancers, he would not amass forbidden loot for his personal treasure, and he would not harm "the Lord's Anointed," who was Saul. 
When he learned that Saul and his son Jonathan were slain, David wept deeply. Saul had been like a father to him; Jonathan, a "battle buddy" and close friend. Grieving, he immediately dismissed any resentments he might have against either man, much to the surprise of his comrades. They remembered that Jonathan should be the heir of Saul and inherit his kingdom. Wouldn't David be glad of Jonathan's death as he aspired to kingship? Shouldn't he be glad of Saul's death, the nuisance who had repeatedly tried to kill him? 
No, David wept for these Hebrew warriors and servants of the Most High God. He went further; he executed the man who had dispatched Saul as he lay dying of a fatal wound. "How is it," he demanded, "that you were not afraid to put forth your hand to desecrate the LORD’s anointed?"
The warrior David was a flawed human being. The Hebrew scriptures describe him as such. He lived amid a nation of flawed, sinful people who were loved by God. If there are heroes in the Bible they are not sinless, ideal models of faithful behavior. We can do without those fantastic paragons of virtue that were created by medieval hagiographers and celebrated in modern comic books. We should study the lives of real people, sinful like you and me, who show us what it means to be loved by God. 

Friday of the Second Week in Ordinary Time

Votive Mass of Holy Apostles

Lectionary: 315

Jesus went up the mountain and summoned those whom he wanted and they came to him. He appointed Twelve, whom he also named Apostles, that they might be with him and he might send them forth to preach and to have authority to drive out demons....

For as long as I can remember the Catholic Church has worried about the shortage of priests. In the Catholic grade school I learned of counties in Kentucky that had no Catholic churches and no priests. (I wasn't told they had no Catholics either.) Continually we have sought "religious and priestly vocations" among young men and women.
Unfortunately, there has been a popular presumption that the vocational journey begins with the candidate's desire. The initiative that sets the young man on the road to the priesthood is his. If he doesn't want it, it won't happen. 
I knew a priest who, in his active retirement, during the papacy of Saint John Paul II, assisted resigning priests through the bureaucratic process. He discovered the single most important question to ask these men was, "Did you ever, in your seminary years, go to prayer and ask God, 'What do you want me to do?'" 
They had not. They grabbed at the sacred brass ring of the priesthood. They pursued the prize their mothers and fathers, teachers and friends wanted for them; they enjoyed their years of disciplined camaraderie in the seminary; they delighted in the deference and respect shown to them by devout Catholics; they were grateful for the 4-f deferment from military service: it all worked out beautifully. They pursued the priesthood because they wanted it -- until they didn't. 
Today's gospel describes how Jesus ascended the mountain and summoned those he wanted. He named them apostles and he sent them forth. Acting in obedience, they came to him. In fact, this translation says twice, "he appointed...." 
The initiative is entirely the Lord's. 
This applies as well to every Christian. Each of us must ask the Lord, "What do you want me to do?" There are many positions of leadership in the church, and even more positions of discipleship, where do you want me to go? There are many Christian denominations, to which should I belong? There are many local churches, to which are you sending me? There are many ways and styles of life, how should I behave? 
Discerning one's service of the Lord certainly considers what I want and need, and how I feel about this or that opportunity. Because "grace builds on nature," it will consider one's abilities and aptitudes. It will usually ignore the outlandish or silly. But it must always ask, "Lord Jesus, my God and Savior and dearest friend, what do you want me to do?" 
The day will certainly come when the Christian asks, "How did I get myself into this mess? Why am I failing time after time after time?" The answer will come, "Because I sent you there. And I have no regrets!"