Fourth Sunday of Lent

Year C Readings Lectionary: 33


And all this is from God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ and given us the ministry of reconciliation, namely, God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting their trespasses against them and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. So we are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us.


When I visited Ireland in 1990, I stayed in a Franciscan parish. The pastor invited me to preside at Mass and give the homily. I reminded the congregation that, a hundred-and-fifty years ago, they had sent young men and women to America as missionaries. The United States was largely Protestant at the time and Irish Catholics were not welcome. They were subject to discrimination, harassment and riots but they made themselves indispensable in the armed forces, the police, the Church and city governments. Today everyone counts themselves Irish on March 17! As a descendant of Irish immigrants I thanked the Catholic congregation for their sacrifice.
If Ireland was a land of blessings for the world, what is the United States today when American white nationalism foments terrorist acts around the world, recently in New Zealand. There is a virtual army of cowards in the US which breeds craven champions. They appoint themselves to start a race war with the slaughter of defenseless men and women. Bigotry spawns cowardice which leads to murder.
If, at one time, Catholics sought to prove our patriotism in the face of nationalism, today we must prove our loyalty to Christ in the face of racism, sexism, clericalism, drug abuse, suicide, abortion and gun violence. We must protest with the innocent Tamar, 

"This is not done in Israel. Do not commit these terrible crimes."

Our protest begins with our presence. We are here; we are here to stay. We love the Lord and make daily sacrifices. We are not ashamed of our faith in Jesus Christ and our love of the Church, though we do experience shame in the presence of hatred. We are here to reconcile the world to God in Christ. Whenever a despairing soul asks, "Where is God in this wicked place?" we must answer, "Here I am." We are the physical presence of God.
Today's gospel of the Prodigal Son should inspire our willingness to forgive. The father in the story may have acted foolishly in handing his wastrel son his share of the inheritance but God our Father has also given the human race more freedom than we can handle. Without the discipline of the Holy Spirit we create only more violence. Clearly, we have wasted and continue to waste our lives, our opportunities and our very Earth.
The faithful must be the first to turn back to the Lord. We dare not wait for someone else to go first. Lent demands sacrifice of us. It reminds us of the sacrifice we must make daily throughout the year, but it reminds us "Now is the acceptable time."
This parable also reminds us of our willingness to begin again. The older brother represents the righteous who never left the Church and his decision, at the end of story, is pending. If we fail, the Earth will be wasted and we will not be saved.

As a woman about to give birth writhes and cries out in pain, so were we before you, LORD. We conceived and writhed in pain, giving birth only to wind; Salvation we have not achieved for the earth, no inhabitants for the world were born.
But your dead shall live, their corpses shall rise! Awake and sing, you who lie in the dust! For your dew is a dew of light, and you cause the land of shades to give birth. Go, my people, enter your chambers, and close the doors behind you; Hide yourselves for a brief moment, until the wrath is past. See, the LORD goes forth from his place, to punish the wickedness of the earth’s inhabitants; The earth will reveal the blood shed upon it, and no longer conceal the slain. Isaiah 26:17-21

Saturday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 242

Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else.

Nothing subtle about that introduction! Although the very people who are supposed to get it -- won't.

But then I wonder if I am one of those people. How can I be sure I am not? Is my Blessed Assurance, in fact, arrogance in the face of my unsatisfactory attitudes, manner, and behavior?

Lent should raise that doubt within us. It is good to suffer a certain uncertainty as we approach Palm Sunday, Holy Week and Easter.

Older Catholics remember the parish schools and the redoubtable nuns who taught us; they often recall the insecurity that was woven into religious training. We should never presume to be saved. (That was a Protestant word.) Presumption was a deadly sin, right up there with pride, avarice, greed and sloth -- not to mention lust (which they never did).

I would not want to recreate that anguish but I am willing to live with normal, healthy anxiety -- the kind that comes with grace and freedom. Anyone who declares he is most certainly saved invites trouble, especially when he creates a religious institution that vigorously denies and defends against doubt.

Lent reminds us that the sin which murdered Jesus is Original Sin, something in which everyone participates. No exceptions.

Periodically our contemporaries in the secular world come up with another contraption that will effect only Good. Dynamite was good because it was too powerful, savage, and barbaric to be used in warfare-- until it was. The Internet was supposed to promote science and effect fruitful conversations. Its creators never imagined hackers creating viruses, Trojans, worms and other malware. They did not expect to see unpopular children committing suicide, or virtual wars on line. The atomic bomb also guarantees peace because it is destructive beyond anyone's imagination, even as rogue nations develop their own weapons of mass destruction. 

Hello? Is there a pattern here?

Original Sin runs deep in every human culture, and every human enterprise. There are always unforeseen consequences that include evil; there are always people eager to exploit new opportunities especially on a gullible society which doesn't believe in Original Sin. 
With this parable Jesus holds up the gospel, "the mirror of perfection," and invites us to look into it. Which one do I see? The one who stares back at me or the one who will not even raise his head?

Friday of the Third Week of Lent

Return, O Israel, to the LORD, your God;

you have collapsed through your guilt.

Take with you words,

and return to the LORD;

In the VA hospital I often anoint Veterans with the Sacrament of the Sick; and, more often than not, I recite the words of Jesus:

Come to me all you who labor and are weary and I will refresh you. Take my yoke upon your shoulders and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. And your souls will find refuge, for my yoke is easy and my burden light. 

I hear that sentiment in today's first reading from the Prophet Hosea. It is not unlike the Lord's words to Saint Paul, "It is hard for you to kick against the goad."

If obedience to the Lord is difficult, the disciple soon discovers every other way of life is far more difficult. 

My Dad, watching me undertake a project, often asked, "Why do you do it the hard way?" He was a clever man with far more experience at whatever I was trying. Occasionally I listened to his advice. 

"You have collapsed through your guilt." the Lord says to his people, as he offers a word of comfort. Shame and guilt are often the first responses to an uncomfortable truth; we hide behind these familiar shields and blame the one who speaks the truth for being insensitive, lacking compassion, or -- worse -- judgmental. 

But that response only compounds the problem. In the end we have to drop the ego-stuff and admit, "I have sinned." 

The Spanish Franciscan John de Bonilla urged his readers in the fifteenth chapter of his tract, Pax Anima:

Chapter XV

How the soul must quiet herself at every turn without losing time or profit.

Take, then, this rule and method in all the falls you shall make, be they great or little; yea, though ten thousand times in the same day you shall have incurred the same crime, and that not occasionally, [ed. "accidentally"] but voluntarily and deliberately; observe, I say, inviolably this prescription: That as soon as ever you find yourself in fault, you trouble not nor disquiet yourself, but instantly, as soon as you are aware what you have done, with humility and confidence, beholding your own frailty, cast an amorous glance on God, and fixing there your love, say with heart and mouth,

"Lord, I have done that which is like what I am, nor can anything else be expected at my hands but these and the like transgressions; nor had I stopped here, but plunged myself further into all wickedness, if thy goodness had permitted it, and left me wholly to myself. I give thee infinite thanks that thou didst not thus leave me, and for what I have done I am sorry. Pardon me for thy own sake, and for what thou art, and give me grace to offend thee no more, but admit me again to the favor of thy friendship."

Having done this, lose neither time nor quiet of mind, imagining that perhaps God hath not pardoned you, and the like, but with full repose proceed with your exercise as though you had committed no fault; and this, as I have said, not once, but a hundred times, and, if there were need, every moment, with as much confidence and tranquility the last time as the first. For, beside the particular service of God herein, a thousand other advantages are gained by it; time is not lost in futile excuses, further progress is not obstructed, but, on the contrary, sin is subdued and mastered with much profit and perfection. This I would gladly inculcate upon, and persuade scrupulous and disquieted souls of; then they would soon see how different a state of tranquility they would find themselves in, and pity the blindness of those who, so much to their cost, go on still losing so much precious time. Note this well, for it is the key to all true spiritual progress, and the shortest means to attain to it.

"Keep it simple!" member of Alcoholics Anonymous often say to one another. What could be more simple than, "I have done that which is like what I am....?" 

Thursday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 240​

Oh, that today you would hear his voice:

"Harden not your hearts as at Meribah,

as in the day of Massah in the desert,

Where your fathers tempted me;

they tested me though they had seen my works."

The Liturgy of the Hours begins each day with a brief "Invitatory." The form is familiar to any Catholic, a psalm with a verse response repeated several times. Although there are several recommended psalms, (67, 100, or 24) the preferred is Psalm 95, the one we read at Mass today.

It's a challenging psalm because it begins with confident joy, "Come, let us sing to the Lord and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us." Following verses remember the majesty of God the creator who "holds in his hands the depths of the Earth and the highest mountains as well. He made the sea it belongs to him, the dry land too, for it was formed by his hand."

The psalmist invites us to "bow down and worship... for he is our God and we are his people, the flock he shepherds."

In the seventh verse the mood changes abruptly, "Today, listen to the voice of the Lord. Do not grow stubborn as your fathers did in the wilderness!" And the psalm closes with a severe warning, "I swore in my anger, they shall not enter into my rest." 

It seems our relationship with God is always laced with glad promises and fraught with dire threats. 

Today's readings and, indeed, the entire season of Lent reminds us of this complex relationship. The saints assure us of God's deep and abiding love for us. Saint Francis saw terrible things in his brief life and yet he peered deeply into the heart of God and said, "You are good, all good, supreme good!" 

Psalm 95 and the Season of Lent remind us of the darkly complex mystery of our human nature.

The Prophet Jeremiah, in the seventeenth chapter agonized over this mystery: 

More tortuous than anything is the human heart,

beyond remedy; who can understand it?

I, the LORD, explore the mind

and test the heart,

Giving to all according to their ways,

according to the fruit of their deeds.

A decadent society will dismiss the Church and its "anxious concern for salvation." They prefer to believe life is not so difficult and the good life is not so inaccessible. They enjoy the security of gated communities and many layers of fences, locks, guards, police, cyber defenses, coast guards, navies, air forces and armies. Hidden among these barriers they might never suspect the treachery in their own neighbors and families, much less the hypocrisy in their own hearts. Their walls appear impenetrable until -- as does happen -- they vanish overnight.

The righteous are profoundly aware of their own unrighteousness. They welcome the gift of freedom with its anxiety, and the gift of faith with its assurance of forgiveness.

The one whom we serve is the Lord.

Wednesday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 239

Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets.

I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.

Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away,

not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter

will pass from the law,

until all things have taken place.

Most of us, looking at a tadpole and a frog, might see no resemblance between the two. Except for our high school biology we would not know the smaller animal, swimming in shallow pools, all head and tail, must become the larger, limbed creature who sits croaking on the muddy bank. A herpetologist, however, familiar with DNA, would know they are precisely the same creature. A lepidopterist would recognize a caterpillar/butterfly with the same assurance.

Many people complain that the Catholic Church changed during the 1960's, while they were away. They knew the Church as it was, or they thought they knew it, and what they see now bears no resemblance to the smoky memories of the past.

It's certainly true that the Church underwent a metamorphosis, not unlike that of tadpoles and caterpillars. If secular institutions are capable of remaining unchanged in the passage of a century -- institutions like monarchy, chess and boxing -- religions like Judaism, Islam, Eastern Orthodox and some Christian sects can resist change for a millennia! These ancient traditions spawn innumerable imitators who cop old customs and tweak them with new applications. But their spirit of renovation is not a spirit of renewal. They are misshaped butterflies or malformed toads.

Our faith evolves like natural creatures, maturing from within itself, according to its own principles. It must remain faithful to its own DNA, the Word of God.

Catholics remember that the Bible is the Word of God but the Word of God is not the Bible. The Word lived, challenged, inspired and impelled God's people long before we had paper, pen, ink or alphabet to write it down. We had, during those early years, songs, stories, laws, customs, sacred clothing, gestures and rituals which would later appear in scripture. In fact the earliest mark of faith was not the written word but the scar of circumcision; a sign which, Jeremiah and Saint Paul assured us, remains in our hearts.

Our Catholic tradition cannot evolve beyond its own identity for there can be no further revelation. Divine Revelation is complete in Jesus Christ, 

"The Christian economy, therefore, since it is the new and definitive Covenant, will never pass away; and no new public revelation is to be expected before the glorious manifestation of our Lord Jesus Christ."²⁸ Yet even if Revelation is already complete, it has not been made completely explicit; it remains for Christian faith gradually to grasp its full significance over the course of the centuries. Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 65

A "fuller significance" realized during the twentieth century was the fundamental dialogue, or covenant, between God and the Church. Our God has revealed himself to us through the Word and, hearing it, we must respond. Our religion is not simply a code of conduct; it is a conversation with the Eternal. This discovery of personal relationship was not hidden from ages past;​ it was always there in partial and varied ways.​​ But when millions of people vanished under the impersonal machinery of war, we had to rediscover and remember our personal God who is not a machine, a principle or a law. We had to remember the dignity of every individual with their right to life, freedom, work and self-expression. The Catholic Church had to recognize even the right to worship other gods.

The pre-Vatican Council Church celebrated the "real presence" of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, and the divine presence in images like the Sacred Heart. We knew the Church by the cloud of witnesses -- Mary, the saints, and angels -- who supported us in prayer. These mysteries of God's immediacy were the timeless, unchanging DNA of our faith. Those who knew those familiar icons did not feel abandoned when they heard the priest pray in English, French or German. Without hesitation the faithful opened their repertoire of music to include more than Holy God and Tantum Ergo; they learned even to sing Martin Luther's Mighty Fortress, along with some of the execrable folk songs of the sixties. They welcomed the opportunity to receive the Eucharist weekly and daily. They recognize that neither the Mass nor the Church had changed. It was rough going at times and that distress is not over yet. Nor should it be. But the caterpillar learned to fly; the tadpole learned to leap. And we have learned to share our belief in Jesus, the Son of God, a man like us in all things but sin.

Tuesday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 238

For your name's sake, O Lord, do not deliver us up forever,

or make void your covenant.

Do not take away your mercy from us,

for the sake of Abraham, your beloved,

Isaac your servant, and Israel your holy one,

To whom you promised to multiply their offspring

like the stars of heaven,

We should hear desperation in Daniel's prayer; it finds an echo in the desperate pleas of the two servants in Jesus' parable. The debtors face dreadful consequences if their petitions are refused. Daniel's nation faces annihilation.

Most of us can remember the feeling of children when we were in trouble. You probably didn’t use the current expression, “I am dead meat!” but you know the feeling. But, despite our fear, unless we suffered a truly traumatic childhood, we expected mercy and received it.

Daniel’s prayer carries both connotations: dread and confidence. The story was written in the second century before Christ, long after the Babylonian Captivity. So, yes, the Jews had survived that crisis. Daniel was long dead; and Babylonia, an ancient memory. But no, they faced another, equally hostile enemy under the rule of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (167–164 B.C.) This tyrant succeeded the Greek conqueror, Alexander the Great, and tried to impose his Hellenic gods, culture and morals on the Jews. The Maccabean books record their suffering,

“And there was great mourning throughout all Israel, and the rulers and the elders groaned. Young women and men languished, and the beauty of the women faded. Every bridegroom took up lamentation, while the bride sitting in her chamber mourned, And the land quaked on account of its inhabitants, and all the house of Jacob was clothed with shame.

We're all familiar with the visions of crisis brought to our attention through the news. They come from within the United States and from around the world. They include political, economic, military, and natural catastrophes. Some are happening at this moment, others are pending.

Most of us recall personal crises involving our health, family, neighbors or finances. Some of them resembled the current crises in today's news. We feel especial compassion for the victims. But, thank God, the moment passed and we survived.

Can we recall the alarm, fear and dread of those moments?

Can we bring that intensity to our routine prayer?

True, we don't need operatic drama. Getting hysterical never helps.

But neither should we babble our prayers to get through them.

Today's gospel demands self-examination. Am I holding a grudge against anyone? Isn't it time I let it go? How much longer do I intend to carry this absurd baggage? As I set out in the morning commute, facing the ever-present possibility of a fatal accident, do I need to hug this thing to my chest?

A good resentment doesn't need a foreign oppressor like the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar or the Seleucid Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Nor even a homegrown tyrant like Herod the Great. Any enemy in my own home, church or office will do.

Likewise, the faithful may enjoy the freedom of the children of God under any circumstance, as the scriptures and the saints demonstrate. So long as I am willing to live sine proprio, as Saint Francis and Saint Clare taught, I can find the freedom to repent, grieve, breathe, laugh, and sing.

("Sine proprio" is Franciscan for "without property." Sometimes I treasure my resentments, grievances, and grudges like personal possessions, more than life itself.) 

When desperation drives me to let it go, I wonder why I clung to it so long.

"For freedom Christ set us free!" Saint Paul said, "so stand firm and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery!"

Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

Lectionary: 545​

Mary said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord.

May it be done to me according to your word."

Then the angel departed from her.

Pope Benedict XVI, in his Apostolic Exhortation, Verbum Domini, the Word of God in the life of and mission of the Church, wrote

"...we need to look to the one in whom the interplay between the word of God and faith was brought to perfection, that is, to the Virgin Mary, “who by her ‘yes’ to the word of the covenant and her mission, perfectly fulfills the divine vocation of humanity”.[79]

The human reality created through the word finds its most perfect image in Mary’s obedient faith. From the Annunciation to Pentecost she appears as a woman completely open to the will of God. She is the Immaculate Conception, the one whom God made “full of grace” (cf. Lk 1:28) and unconditionally docile to his word (cf. Lk 1:38). Her obedient faith shapes her life at every moment before God’s plan. A Virgin ever attentive to God’s word, she lives completely attuned to that word; she treasures in her heart the events of her Son, piecing them together as if in a single mosaic (cf. Lk 2:19,51)

An ideal, we often suppose, is by definition impossible. And yet we celebrate two persons as living ideal human lives. They were unquestionably human with all the frailties and vulnerabilities typical of our species, but from conception till death Jesus and Mary were perflectly pleasing to God their creator. Made in the image of God they were empty vessels filled with grace; "full of grace," in the words of the Angel Gabriel. For it is only by grace that one can be pleasing to God.

We saw that grace in the very beginning when the Lord breathed over mud and the mud became a man. Without the breath of God there is no life. Adam means dirt and he was pleasing in God's sight. "God looked upon all that he had made and said, 'It is very good."

This mud man was the model for the Christ; and Eve, the model for Mary. Made of the same dirt, they would please God entirely. Where Adam and Eve were blessed, Jesus and Mary were given superabundant blessings, far beyond our imagining. Such is the privilege of God, to bless some more than others according to his own purposes and design.

During Lent we pause to anticipate Christmas with this solemn feast. The celebration sweetens the bitter taste of Lent for it reminds us that our dry emptiness may be filled to overflowing. Our enormous hunger for justice and our insatiable thirst for righteousness can be satisfied by the mercy of God.

This blessing comes dear to Jesus and to Mary. He will carry his own cross to Calvary; she will follow, offering her only begotten son to God as a thank offering. It comes dear to each of us as we practice faith through our particular calvaries.

But today is a feast and we should rejoice​, for rejoicing in the LORD is our strength!

On this extraordinary day during Lent we ask God to lavish upon us the Spirit of Mary and Jesus, a willing spirit who only wants to delight the Lord.

When he set for the sea its limit,

so that the waters should not transgress his command;

When he fixed the foundations of earth,

then was I beside him as artisan;

I was his delight day by day,

playing before him all the while,

Playing over the whole of his earth,

having my delight with human beings.

Third Sunday of Lent

Year C Readings Lectionary: 30

I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud and all passed through the sea, and all of them were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. All ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink, for they drank from a spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was the Christ. Yet God was not pleased with most of them, for they were struck down in the desert.

The human being is the only animal with a powerful memory. I heard recently of a successful attempt to rid Pacific islands of invasive goats. (Captain James Cook had seeded these islands with goats to provide wool, milk and meat to stranded sailors.)  They use a doe, a "Judas goat" to lure a flock of rams into one place, and then shoot all but the female. Time after time, this hapless nanny gathers her admirers and time after time they're exterminated until the island's three hundred year history of goats has ended. The Judas goat sees it happening but her experience cannot overcome her instinct; she has no memory of what happened; she records no history.

The human animal recalls not only personal experience, we remember hundreds and thousands of years. As he initiated gentile Corinthians into the new Christian tradition, Saint Paul begged his friends not to be "unaware that our ancestors were all under the cloud..." They must know of the rock which produced water at Moses' command if they would understand Jesus' saving mission to them. No one knows the Lord who does not know our history. The Corinthian gentiles should ponder these stories and wonder why "God was not pleased with most of them, for they were struck down in the desert."

Many observers today deplore the sad state of religious education. It is shocking how often Jeopardy contestants -- some of the brightest people -- miss the simplest questions of scripture and religion. It seems they cannot make the answers dumb enough! In our own congregation, not only do Catholics fail to distinguish between Mary's Immaculate Conception and the virgin birth of Jesus -- a forgivable offense -- many do not know the Apostles Creed, Hail Mary or Glory Be. If they have not heard these prayers in church they do not know them. It is easy to deplore the ignorance of children who cannot recite an Act of Contrition, but neither can their parents. Pastors in the largest Catholic parishes often invite their faithful to adult education only to sit with the same half dozen elderly women. I have invited Knights of Columbus to watch a Bishop Robert Barron​ video series with me. The mostly-retired men did not politely decline my offer, they ignored it. I wasted my breath and their time.

In today's gospel we hear a frightening pronouncement on such ignorance, "For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none.

So cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?"

A generation ignorant of its past is hopelessly cut off. Enemies will cut them down like the Judas goat and her companions on a south Pacific island.

However, if the landowner in today's parable is eager to cut down the barren tree, the gardener is more conservative:

He said to him in reply,

'Sir, leave it for this year also,

and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it;

it may bear fruit in the future.

If not you can cut it down.'"

Our first reading today takes us back to the very beginning. (There is a prehistory of the patriarchs but the history of Israel begins with Moses.) Here we recall the hopeless condition of an enslaved people; after four hundred years in Egypt they had nearly forgotten the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Suffering continual oppression they would betray one another to find favor with their enemies. Moses knew that from personal experience. The Egyptian army had cutting edge technology in its chariots; its charioteers were feared throughout the world. Their scythed wheels​ would slice and dice a fleeing mob of runaway slaves. The only hope of the Hebrews was the nearly forgotten Friend of Abraham; he must overcome the most powerful nation in the world, a sophisticated, well-organized nation with an advanced civilization.

Those who attend the Easter Vigil services will hear the end of the story. They will have a better grasp of our history. Those who do not may never know it.

Saturday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 235

A man had two sons...

Those five words began a familiar story to Jesus's listeners. It might have been so familiar that the critical Pharisees and scribes rolled their eyes and said, "Here he goes again."

Adam had two son.

Abraham had two sons.

Isaac had two sons.

Jacob had two sons by his favorite wife, Rachel. 

Not every story started that way but there were many that did. Invariably one of the sons was preferred. Abel, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph were especially blessed. The others got the leftovers. 

In today's parable the younger son, although he had nothing to recommend him, was preferred. The older son was hardworking and reliable and, for the most part, didn't complain. The younger had broken the old man's heart. And yet, when he returned penniless and filthy, he was welcomed with open arms. With the finest robe, sandals for his blistered feet, a ring on his finger, the fattened calf, musicians and dancers! 

The older son returning from the fields? No welcome. No invitation. Only, "By the way, your brother came home." 

When the elder complains he is reminded, "We have to celebrate!" Where does it say that? Who made that rule? 

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways,
my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

The Pharisees and scribes were not satisfied with the story of the Prodigal Son. They knew what Jesus was saying. They got it but they didn't like it.  
Our faith insists that God's ways are not arbitrary or capricious. But they are incomprehensible to us. We hear every day dozens of sad stories. At some point every one of us experience tragedy. 
And yet we believe. We hope. We make the sacrifices love demands. They too are incomprehensible to our baffled neighbors. "Curse God and die!" some might say to us. 
Lent teaches us to wait and pray. 

Friday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 234

Therefore, I say to you,

the Kingdom of God will be taken away from you

and given to a people that will produce its fruit."

When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables,

they knew that he was speaking about them.

And although they were attempting to arrest him,

they feared the crowds, for they regarded him as a prophet.

The gospel is born in the world in the manner predicted by Genesis 3:16

I will intensify your labor in childbearing
in pain you shall bring forth children.

Yet your urge shall be for your husband,

and he shall rule over you.

The husband of the Church is always God and the Holy Spirit urges us toward God. That sweet desire mitigates the pain as we bring forth new generations of baptized Christians. But it doesn't eliminate it. 

God stands with us as the faithful husband stands by his laboring wife; his presence may atone for her suffering. Their child heals the trauma she suffered as the infant nurses at her breast and sleeps on her bosom. (I knew one husband who still shuddered at the memory weeks later, even as she delighted in her little sumo wrestler.)

We should remember that pain when we consider the life of the Church and our relations with our Jewish forebears. The New Testament authors insist, and the Church believes, that Christians are the true heirs of the covenant. All the promises given to Abraham and his descendants are fulfilled in Jesus Christ. Our separation from the Jews is regrettable and painful. Perhaps it was necessary. 

Christians respond in various ways. There is a long history in our fellowship of antisemitism, of frank hatred and contempt for Jewish people. In many cases the clergy tolerated this attitude; they occasionally promoted it. We have not rebuked it at every stage. 

Another, more recent response, has been a Protestant attempt to re-invent Christianity. It's a small effort among a very few; they would create a new religion comprising Jewish and Christian traditions and rituals. They would cancel the inspired decision of the first council of Jerusalem, as described in the Acts of the Apostles. 

A more realistic and faithful response is to feel the sadness of our separation. It is not unlike the painful labor of childbirth. 

In today's gospel we hear the judgment of doom pronounced, "the Kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that will produce its fruit."

These are harsh words. Historically they apply to the situation in Jerusalem and to the resistance Jesus encountered. But they also stand as a warning to all Christians, individually and collectively, that we might forfeit the favor we have been given. Freedom is a jealous God and will not be taken for granted. Nor will it abide disrespect for the dignity of every person. 

We see all around us people choosing the wider gate of antisemitism, racism, homophobia, sexism, nationalism and so forth. They like to consider themselves blessed and others cursed. They refuse to enter through the narrow gate of sadness. They have their reward. 

There is no gospel without a cross and, if we would follow Jesus, we will accept his burden of staggering sorrow. Jesus wept for the sins of Jerusalem; we should weep for our sins and the sins of the whole world. 

Thursday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 233

More tortuous than all else is the human heart,

beyond remedy; who can understand it?

In my conversation with Veterans in the substance abuse rehab program, on the topic of narcissism, I offer this quote from the Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno, 1864-1936

Anguish is that which makes consciousness return upon itself. He who knows no anguish knows what he does and what he thinks, but he does not truly know that he does it and that he thinks it. He thinks, but he does not think that he thinks, and his thoughts are as if they were not his. Neither does he properly belong to himself.

For it is only anguish, it is only the passionate longing never to die, that makes a human spirit master of itself.

Education should teach us to think critically; that is, to understand that some ideas are better than others. We should be able to consider and weigh ideas, one against another, and select those we consider better. Education should train us to understand that people have different ideas. They may have disagreements large and small. Education, in a word, should teach us anguish. I know what I know, I know that I know it, and I know other people disagree with me.

The narcissist doesn't know that other people exist, much less that they might have different or better ideas. Or that their experience might give them a very different approach than the narcissist's. The narcissist knows that his opinion is the only correct opinion; everyone else is misinformed, stupid or evil.

Narcissists don't know that they know because there is no one to disagree with them. If you are dealing with one, you know you're wasting your breath when you offer an insight or tell a story.

Jeremiah may have been pondering a similar mystery when he considered the tortuous human heart. It is "beyond remedy; who can understand it?"

Today's parable of the rich man and Lazarus describes this unfortunate man, one who is so wholly absorbed in himself he cannot see a starving, dying man just outside his front door. When, in his torment, he does notice the fellow he sees only a slave who should risk an impassable chasm and fiery Gehenna to "dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue."

Nor can he hear the gentle reminder of Abraham that he, the rich man, had created the unbridgeable canyon, dined sumptuously each day, neglected Moses and the prophets, and failed to care for the needy. He had made his own bed; now he must lie in it.

The suffering narcissist will not listen to reason, as he never did. Nor will he stop arguing. But the story ends with Abraham's pronouncement, "neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.'" With the word they he seems to be turning away from the lost soul; there's no point in talking to him.

Liberation theology, back in the 1960's, showed how the wealthy cannot hear, see or comprehend the viewpoint of the poor. This disability has been demonstrated and studied often since then. Sixty Minutes once showed two people playing Monopoly -- one player with two dice, the other with only one. The player with two dice crossed "Go" more often and collected more money. The other lost the game, predictably. But the winner insisted he had won fair and square. He could not see the unfairness of the situation. He played hard, he managed carefully, he traded shrewdly, why shouldn't he be the winner?

He suffered no doubt -- or anguish -- about his victory.

To return to our parable and Unamuno's statement: "...For it is only anguish, it is only the passionate longing never to die, that makes a human spirit master of itself." The unfortunate rich man never knew he would die. He assumed he should always live in luxury and security. Given that ignorance, death meant nothing to him. He could not suffer the "passionate longing never to die."

With Lent we ponder our uncertainty, our lack of faith and fidelity. We pause to feel anguish about our frailty, brevity, and contingency. I don't have to be here; I was not always here and will not always be here. At any moment I might vanish. Will anyone notice? How will I be judged? What am I worth in the eyes of God?

The rich man ignored Moses and the prophets. He couldn't be bothered with warnings about his self-indulgent stupidity. Wealthy, he considered himself the most clever of men. Hadn't he earned his success? Even his arguing with Abraham proves -- to him -- his cleverness.

Nor could his human spirit become master of itself. He is the slave of his own needs. In Hell, of his thirsty tongue.

Americans today are confronted by thousands of beggars at our southern gate. These would-be immigrants have suffered the effects of our drug imports, gun exports, exploitative business practices and climate change as their coffee plantations wither. Having no where else to flee, they run toward the source of their distress only to find impenetrable barriers.

Many Americans, predictably, turn a deaf ear. Within sight of great distress they suffer no anguish. Jesus's parable ends badly for the wealthy.

Wednesday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 232

"Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem,

and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests

and the scribes,

and they will condemn him to death,

and hand him over to the Gentiles

to be mocked and scourged and crucified,

and he will be raised on the third day."

The Evangelists tell us of Jesus's prediction several times, and our Catholic liturgy repeats the story on weekdays and Sundays, during Lent and Ordinary Time. The narrative usually includes the disciples' obtuseness; they just don't get it.

In today's version from Saint Matthew the mother of the sons of Zebedee presses her sons' suit,

"Command that these two sons of mine sit, one at your right and the other at your left, in your kingdom."

It takes a mother to do that sort of thing. We might imagine her sons were embarrassed by her boldness, but perhaps they put her up to it.

In any case, as will become clear, they have no idea what they are asking for.

Several years ago, the guardian of our large friary resigned and there was much discussion as who should take his place. My name was floated. I talked with my spiritual director, the abbess of a Poor Clare monastery. "Ken," she said, "leadership is nothing but a cross!"

I was glad when I was passed over on that occasion though it fell to me several years later. And it was nothing but a cross. I have since learned to pray for our guardians, superiors, pastors, bishops and chief chaplains.

No one knew the cross of leadership better than Jesus. He saw it clearly as he approached Jerusalem. He warned his disciples that they would drink of his chalice but they never understood until they saw his death.

Leadership stripped of the cross is not the real thing. In ordinary usage we call it corruption. Those who covet authority for its apparent freedom and power aspire to its perks -- its better pay, corner office,  privileged seating, deferential subordinates, etc. They might pay lip service to the mission of the church, corporation or government office but their goals are strictly personal. They will be the first to abandon the flock when the wolf attacks.

As I hear the news I have sometimes wondered, "If you can't exploit your authority what's the point of having it?"

Some people cannot answer that.

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 543

He believed, hoping against hope, that he would become the father of many nations, according to what was said, Thus shall your descendants be.

That is why it was credited to him as righteousness.

Just as we must spend forty days of Lent preparing for Holy Week and Easter, we should prepare for the Annunciation of the Lord, which is a happy anticipation of Christmas! And so we take a day during Lent to solemnly celebrate Saint Joseph the Husband of Mary. Propriety demands that this virgin be married before she becomes a mother, and even God will sometimes submit to the demands of propriety.

One of the greatest disappointments of human life -- it is almost scandalous -- is our dependence on other people. At least in the United States, where men (especially) cultivate self-reliance and rugged individuality we hate to admit we need others. We will be godlike in our resourceful, energetic independence.

But then God appears to us as an infant, fresh from a woman's womb, helpless, needy, crying. And immediately threatened by savage, merciless enemies.

So what happened to our "godlike" freedom? Saint Paul explained it with a song, "He did not deem equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied himself and took the form of a man...."

Saint Joseph shows us that an adult is not independent or self-reliant. An adult is dependable.

The "faith" that is "credited to him as righteousness" is his fidelity. As Saint James said, "Show me your faith without works." He might have said, "Show me your faith without fidelity!" A lot of people will insist upon their faith in God, but they don't show up where and when they're needed. Their faith is so much hot air.

Saint Matthew gave us what little we know about Saint Joseph. It's fascinating that this gentleman who plays such a critical role in the gospel is silent. He hears, he believes, he acts but he says nothing. 

The same gospel rails against hypocrisy, mentioning the sin or the sinner fifteen times. Saint Matthew also describes the epitome of hypocrisy, Herod the Great, who swore that he would go to Bethlehem to find the Child and "do him homage." Hearing that passage read each year should start tears in our eyes.

The silent saint "did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home." His silence forms a striking contrast with the loud, obnoxious Herod.

Joseph is reliably alert to the promptings of the Holy Spirit as he navigates a very difficult political world. He pays attention to politics as he listens to the wise men and their tale of Jerusalem, as he flees into Egypt, and as he returns to settle not in his home town of Bethlehem but in Mary's Nazareth. We can imagine he wanted to go back to his own people but the Spirit and his native sense overruled his nostalgia for home.

Finally, this solemn feast anticipating both the Annunciation and Christmas, reminds us of the Catholic tradition of patronage. Yes, we need the saints, their example and their friendship. To say, "I rely on God alone and not the saints" is not far removed from "I am a rock; I need no one." Saint Joseph is a most wonderful patron of the Church Universal. We should ask him to bless us with his adult, responsible spirit during this critical hour when leading men have failed the church.