Saturday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 430

Master, I knew you were a demanding person, harvesting where you did not plant
and gathering where you did not scatter;
so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground. Here it is back.'


I have been thinking lately of "the fear of the Lord." "Fear" appears in today's parable as the fool returns the worm-eaten sack of coins to his master. 
The God who would demand of Abraham the sacrifice of "your only son, whom you love" is surely a fearful God. 
Abraham could not forget what had happen to Sodom and Gomorrah. He had shuddered at the sight of a pillar of smoke rising from the incinerated cities. When the same God made an insane demand, Abraham acquiesced. He had little choice. 
But with the ascent of Mount Moriah, the stone altar, the fire, the knife, and the child -- his sole heir -- tied and bound on the altar, he had clearly surrendered to a God whom he believed -- and we believe -- deserved such devotion. 
For the Lord finally proved both his fearfulness and his worthiness in sacrificing His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, for our salvation. Clearly we must approach such a divinity with fear and trembling. 
Oddly, the insolent servant in today's parable, even as he says, "I knew you were a demanding person..." behaves with anything but fearful deference. He seems to dare the master to punish him. Which he does severely. 
The master can only cite the fool's words, "you knew that I harvest where I did not plant
and gather where I did not scatter." before pronouncing a dreadful sentence. 

God's holy people experience both dread and delight in God's presence. We know our unworthiness, especially in the presence of such goodness. And we know we cannot, dare not, refuse the invitation to come and worship the Lord. In so doing we find reassurance and delight. Our sins are forgiven and forgotten because the Lord looks not at them. 

The scriptural doctrine of the Fear of the Lord reminds us that we must give our all to the Lord. This complete surrender in love and trust is quite simply the only way of salvation. There are no shortcuts around it. 

However, the Church permits us to imagine a kind of backdoor into heaven. That is, if our lives in the end do not measure up to God's demand, the not-quite-worthy may be allowed time in Purgatory to complete their penances. 

But that doctrine reinforces the simple truth, God cannot save us without our complete, trusting, unconditional surrender. 

It's not a matter of whether God would condemn anyone to an eternity in hell. It's not that God is so mean spirited. Rather, our human dignity, made as we are in the image and likeness of God, can be satisfied with nothing less than total oblation, a holocaust of self-sacrifice with nothing left. 

Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac was a type of the holocaust which Jesus would offer, when the last drops of blood and water flowed from his body and he surrendered his spirit. Neither the Father, nor the Son, nor the Spirit, nor God's people could be satisfied with anything less. 

A fearful prospect indeed. 

Memorial of Saint Peter Claver, Priest

Lectionary: 437

I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his Body, which is the Church, of which I am a minister in accordance with God’s stewardship given to me to bring to completion for you the word of God, the mystery hidden from ages and from generations past.


Several years ago, I attended a public lecture by a local cardiologist. The talk was given to members of a nearby fitness club; nearly everyone in the room invested time and money working with weights, treadmills and other aerobic devices.
I heard an audible gasp from several people when the doctor said not one in fifty of his patients walk more than a quarter mile daily for the sole purpose of exercise.
But the room was more silent when he said the Baby Boom generation would crush the American medical system like an elephant stepping on a mosquito. We should, he said, expect a catastrophe.
That was more than ten years ago and we are now watching the catastrophe unfold. Discussing a universal health insurance plan for all Americans is rearranging the deck chairs on a sinking Titanic. 
We cannot afford our own health care. Nor do we have enough trained doctors, nurses, technicians and support staff to care for our elderly, sick and dying patients. Nor are Americans willing to cease their self-abusive habits of idleness, over-eating, smoking, and alcohol consumption. We are not even willing to import low wage workers for our nursing homes and assisted living facilities.
Aging spouses, adult children and -- in some cases -- parents must take up the slack, caring for those who cannot live "independently" any longer. Many wives and husbands, who are in fact the patient's current spouse at the end of a long series, finding themselves overwhelmed with inadequate resources, will abandon the sick to their doom.
Our experiment in freedom which was defined as "letting me do what I want to do regardless of anyone else" is coming to its predictable conclusion. 

Amid this crisis we hear Saint Paul saying, "I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake...." He invites a society that has regarded every form of suffering as unnecessary, pointless and passe to reconsider. Might poverty, inconvenience, disability, disappointment, and pain be a sharing in, and filling up of what is lacking in, the afflictions of Christ? Might this ordinary human experience have some intrinsic and essential value? 
Is there a spiritual opportunity here which I have long overlooked? 

Friday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 429

This is the will of God, your holiness:

The Baltimore Catechism spelled out a straightforward end for one's life:

6. Question: Why did God make you?
Answer: God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him for ever in heaven.

Saint Paul's teaching in today's first reading is not unlike the Catechism's but it invites a different reflection. If the latter spells out what I should do and what I should hope for, the former reveals my place and our place in God's world. We are a holy people.

The Catechism used the singular you. It presumed that you would always find yourself in the Church; and that you would never consider, think of, dream of, or be tempted to step outside the Church.

I have learned to assume, whenever I read the New Testament, that you is in the plural form. Or, if you like, you all. In today's reading, Saint Paul speaks to "you" first century Thessalonians in the Greek port city of Thessalonica, and the Lord speaks to us today in Paul's words . I hear the Word of God as one of us. God wills our holiness for we are a holy people.

Not many people bill themselves as a holy people. Many groups adapt various nicknames, usually catchy phrases to fit on tee shirts or bumper stickers. Few would promote themselves as holy; fewer would boast of their holiness.

Saint Paul elaborates on that exhortation with his next words. We should refrain from immorality; we should never exploit or take advantage of a brother or sister, "for the Lord is an avenger in all these things;" and "...God did not call us to impurity but to holiness."

Saint Paul knew what the Catechism may have forgotten, that no one can be holy alone. We need each other. It never occurred to him otherwise. When he urged the Corinthians to excommunicate a fellow who had wedded his father's widow, he wanted to prevent the immorality from spreading throughout the whole church. We don't know that he didn't write a personal letter to the man but we know he had to act quickly to save the holiness and the reputation of the Church. He hoped the fellow might realize how repugnant his act was, and how contrary it was to our holiness. Seeing that, he might repent. In the meanwhile, his behavior could not be tolerated even if he was a respected member of the local society and church. He might have been a wealthy man in good standing with Corinthian society. Regardless of his other merits, the Church could not afford to keep him.

Many centuries later, in a galaxy far away, church authorities may be inclined to look the other way when some members of the church engage in life styles that lack our characteristic holiness. In a suburban church where residents cannot name their next door neighbors, where family ties go no further than the nuclear family, and church attendance depends upon the local university's football schedule, a tainted atmosphere of sin never condenses into a miasma of scandal. People don't know, people don't care. They attend the church for reasons of their own, they support the church that affirms their values and life style. The bigger the church the less they care what private sins others might hide.

They hear Saint Paul's you as singular, addressed to me alone. Something the Apostle never imagined.

Despite our present cultural environment, so deeply committed to segregation, social alienation, and violence, Christian Catholics have within our spiritual DNA a readiness to congregate. We flock instinctively, like sheep to a shepherd. Our Eucharist begins with a collect, as we give thanks to the Father, through the Son, and in the Holy Spirit. And we cannot imagine prayer without the Blessed Sacrament, without "communion." We honor the Oneness of the Holy Trinity as we honor the Oneness of the Body of Christ. Despite everything that is broken about his earthen vessel the church, the Spirit draws us together like iron to a magnet. Reading the Word of God we know God speaks to us.

Historians tell us the Church has seen worse times. And they assure us, the world needs our holiness like never before.

To me, therefore, you shall be holy; for I, the LORD, am holy, and I have set you apart from other peoples to be my own.

Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist

Lectionary 634

For it is I this day who have made you a fortified city, A pillar of iron, a wall of brass, against the whole land: against Judah's kings and princes, against its priests and people. They will fight against you, but not prevail over you, for I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD.

Prepared as he was, John the Baptist was not one to back away from opposition. From his miraculous conception through his remarkable birth and his sojourn in the desert, living on locust, honey and river water, he had anticipated trouble. He could not be bothered with fashionable clothing or courtly manners, he had to measure the depth of God's anger against His Holy People, and announce the Coming Messiah.

So when his remarks about Herod's suspected murder of his brother and his marriage to the widowed sister-in-law offended the intemperate governor, the Baptist was not surprised to see the soldiers' coming to arrest him. If it weren't his denunciation of adultery it would be something else to arouse the king's anger. Nor would a pillar of iron, a wall of brass disintegrate in a darkened dungeon. On the contrary, it would remain as a silent rebuke, a noxious cloud permeating Herod's fetid atmosphere.

Like Saint Thomas More, John the Baptist died in testimony against divorce and adultery. The Church's teachings on marriage are not as central to our faith as the doctrines of the Trinity, Incarnation, and Eucharist but they don't stick in the public craw like the intensely personal matters of sexuality. Few martyrs go to their death over the deepest, most sacred mysteries. The world with its tainted institutions feels no threat from abstruse theology. But matters like marriage, religious liberty and welcome to refugees -- these generate disturbing vibrations throughout the world's brittle systems.

Autocrats cannot admit but always know that their grip on power is tenuous. They don't like conversation, fear controversy, and hate criticism. Herod grew purple when he heard, ""It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife." He granted no one the right to make personal remarks, even as he made a public fool of himself.

Not much has changed about human nature since the  day John was beheaded. We still practice our faith and testify to our beliefs. Our practice of marriage and teachings about it have not change despite centuries of romantic nonsense and political expedience. This is because the model of marriage is not Adam and Eve but the Lord and his Church. This teaching is not the distillation of human experience but a revelation of divine purpose. Cultural anthropologist tell us marriage has had many forms, from monogamy to polygamy to sologamy and beyond. There is room for adultery and murder in its varied history. That's all very fascinating; it might in some circles be entertaining. But those stories cannot hold a candle to the beauty and dignity of God's revelation.

Martyrs profess that mystery with the witness of their lives.

Memorial of Saint Augustine, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 427

And for this reason we too give thanks to God unceasingly, that, in receiving the word of God from hearing us, you received it not as the word of men, but as it truly is, the word of God, which is now at work in you who believe.

Lectors of the Old and New Testament readings, the responsorial psalm, and the Gospel -- during Mass or any liturgical ceremony -- should understand God earnestly desires to speak directly to his people. Their enunciation and pronunciation of each syllable, word, phrase, sentence, and paragraph should be crystal clear to everyone in the assembly. Nothing about the reader should come between God and his people. When the reading is done, they should not remember the reader's clothing or manner; they should say, "I heard God speak to me." Their dedication to performing their duty well should communicate like a most desirable contagion. If listeners remember the reader at all, they might say, "I wish I had that ability to disappear behind God's word."

Saint Paul, in this earliest letter to the Thessalonians, said something similar, "...you receive (the word of God) not as the word of men but as it truly is, the word of God."

Even in this early stage of his career, the Apostle knew that he, his colleagues and his rivals were merely vessels of clay. If their delivery is hampered by the missionary's sickness, disability, or personal shortcomings, the message must go through.

He counted on the Holy Spirit to arouse that desire to hear God's word wherever he went. Their eagerness would overlook his shortcomings. Saint Paul knew that the success of the Gospel was not his personal success. He was not a salesman who, tiring of selling one product, takes up another. He did not pay attention to the market to discover what people regard as currently fashionable. He did not attempt to set a trend.

Rather he let the Holy Spirit guide him from town to town, through virgin territory where every village and hamlet presented new crowds who had never heard the Gospel. In such a wide-open space only God could know which way he should go. He could not say, "It makes no difference since every where I turn is opportunity." That would be the pursuit of his own fancy, and not the will of God. 

Earthen vessels go where they are carried, not where they choose to go. If he landed in jail or was shipwrecked on a distant island, the Apostle supposed the Lord had placed him there; and there he found people ready to hear.

The Apostle also knew that earthen vessels are not meant to survive the ages. One man's life and career is not important for the Word of God endures forever. He was grateful for the opportunities and the adventure to serve our Good God.

Memorial of Saint Monica

Lectionary: 426

You pay tithes of mint and dill and cummin,

and have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity.

But these you should have done, without neglecting the others. Blind guides, who strain out the gnat and swallow the camel!

Jesus' brilliant metaphor of strained gnats and swallowed camels nails his hypocritical opponents, the scribes and Pharisees. Hearing that remark, anyone can see how the scrupulously pious not only fail to observe God's law; but their behavior appears as intentionally stupid and irrelevant. Knowing perfectly well what they should do, they act contrarily.

But, should anyone point out what they are doing, they will simply dismiss the criticism. There are darker forces at work here, which neither they nor their critics can counter.

The story is told of the fellow late at night who searches around a street light. A passerby asks, "What are you looking for?" and he replies, "I lost my keys."

"I'll help you look!" the stranger says. So they both scan the sidewalk and finally the stranger says, "Are you sure you lost them here?"

"No," he says, "I lost them in the alley. But the light is better out here!"

Hypocrites do a right thing but not the right thing and suppose they are justified by that. They assume that God is equally inattentive and stupid and probably doesn't care.

Jesus continues with another metaphor,

"You cleanse the outside of cup and dish,

but inside they are full of plunder and self-indulgence."

At least as early as Moses' day our tradition has told us God sees the heart. If eight of the Ten Commandments concern external behaviors -- theft, adultery, murder, false witness and so forth -- the last two concern one's internal behavior, "Thou shalt not covet...."

No matter how admirable your behavior might be and regardless of how well your neighbors regard you, God sees your heart. Even when you don't.

But not seeing it is a poor excuse; it does not avoid the accusation of hypocrite.

...cleanse first the inside of the cup,

so that the outside also may be clean.

Our Catholic tradition recommends a daily examination of conscience or examen. The goal is habitual awareness of my thoughts and feelings, of what is happening within me as well as what is happening around me. Even as I pay attention to others I know what drives me. I can choose which impulses to follow and which to let pass. Rather than justifying my anger, I decide whether it should guide my attitudes, thoughts, words, and deeds. (I let God decide if it is justified.) I want to recognize my desires and be honest about them in conversation with others.

Finally, I want to be aware always of God's loving gaze upon me and those around me. God is neither inattentive nor stupid. Realizing "He's got the whole world in his hands" and that my vision is limited and my desires short-sighted, I will ask for Wisdom's guiding hand in all my affairs.

Monday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 425

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You lock the Kingdom of heaven before men. You do not enter yourselves, nor do you allow entrance to those trying to enter.

Some well-meaning Christians have tried to find an end-around Jesus' words with a churchless spirituality. If certain "scribes and Pharisees" lock the Kingdom of heaven before men, not allowing them entrance, then they'll create a religion that works outside of human mediation and human interference. People might come to the Lord directly and spiritually. They can eschew all Christian traditions as well, since every human tradition is tainted with Original Sin. They would deliver the Gospel to the world without the vessels of clay that carry it.

The Spirit of God, however, doesn't work that way.

Our Catholic tradition, remembering a long history of betrayal, corruption, and infidelity, still teaches the necessity of human acts like Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation, Marriage, Penance, Ordination, and the Sacrament of the Sick. We still invite everyone to join the Communion of the Saints, even as we recall the egregious behavior of some of our greatest saints.

I met a young naif recently who has a sincere interest in Christian religion but is schooled only in the vague notions of a formerly Christian culture. He said he had read up on "King James," of "King James Bible" fame, and discovered he was a rather seedy character. I had to tell him that, while Catholics are not enamored of the KJV, the name is only incidental to the book. There is a world of inspiration in its pages.

But I also assured him, "The Bible is the handbook of the Church." You can no more understand the Bible without joining the Church than you can understand a driver's manual without driving a car. What would be the point of reading it? Good stories? Great literature? Lovely poetry? Yes a good translation has all those qualities but without the context of Church they are only legends. They might have come from another planet in a distant solar system. You can read the Kama Sutra or Egyptian Book of the Dead and find equal inspiration.

There is no end-around the Church and its graced institutions. The blessings of the Gospel come through human contacts; and Jesus' curses remain upon the Church -- its clergy and laity -- when they block entrance to those trying to enter the Kingdom of heaven. These wretched persons cannot suppose the gospel might yet find its way to their victims. Rather, they bear eternal responsibility for their crimes and their consequences.

Many of us in the Roman Catholic Church are undergoing intense soul searching as we discover the roots of the priest pedophilia scandal. It is not sufficient to say, "It's original sin." We must look at our use of alcohol and television. We must examine our seminary systems and the assumptions that shaped our educational and formational models. We study our attitudes toward children, women, minorities, and non-European cultures. We ponder the homes in which we were raised, especially discovering their histories of emotional, physical, chemical, and sexual abuse.

We take to heart the accusation that this abuse is "systemic" and study ways to counter its influence. If power corrupts, how can the corruption be identified and purged? We beg God to reveal our hidden sins before they are shouted from the rooftops.

We must try to atone for our sins and the sins of our communal past; even as we know only God can fully repair -- make reparation -- for our crimes. We must welcome this discipline, as painful as it is for everyone involved. For it is the punishing hand of God, who is merciful.

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 123

Someone asked him, "Lord, will only a few people be saved?"

He answered them, "Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.

During funerals and other sad hours we often struggle to find comforting words and we sometimes settle for reassuring promises like that of eternal life. "He's in a better place!" we say, hopefully. And then there's the preacher who said, "We should say nothing about the dead; and he's dead; and that's good."

Several years ago, when the middle class felt pretty secure with a stable economy, functioning infrastructures, reliable security forces, and unemployment at a tolerable rate; when homelessness, addiction and crime seemed on the far side of the thin blue line, many Christians, practicing and otherwise, believed that God is so good he will condemn no one to hell. It was not necessary to strive to enter through the narrow gate for it seemed wide open.

Some people lose their faith when tried by hardship; more lose it through indifference, when there are no trials. Things are going fine for them; why should they thank God for the privileges he owes them?

Saint James speaks of discipline in today's second reading, "...for whom the Lord loves, he disciplines."

Discipline works both ways. If I am put under a disciplinarian I might still resist their tyranny and suffer the consequences. Some adults have told me how they laughed at their parents' rebukes and scoldings. Some laughed at their beatings. Or I might accept the discipline and use the opportunity to improve my skills, habits, and attitudes. I might even welcome it; and, years later, thank my teachers for their severity, for it brought the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

As a hospital chaplain I see the peaceful fruits in some patients, and the dreadful suffering of others. I have noticed that some pain medications seem to increase susceptibility to pain. In many cases, they started medicating pain as teenagers, when they "experimented" with cigarettes and alcohol. There was no reason their vital young bodies should need relief from pain, but the industries promoted chemical abuse. After habitual use with crueler substances, some men cannot bear to be touched, and the slightest motion is agony for them.

I also see resolute alcoholics who enjoy months of sobriety until some slight misfortune sends them back to the bottle. They cannot bear even ordinary hardships like a death in the family, injury, or a difficult conversation. They were sober because they wanted to be, and not in obedience to God. When their desire for sobriety was overwhelmed with disappointment they capsized.

Finally, I meet patients in significant pain who bear it with equanimity. Their faithful attendance to Sunday worship and daily prayer carry them through hardship. Catholic Christianity is darker than suburban spirituality. It promises no relief from this world's discomfort. We remember Jesus' embrace of the cross and how he bore it willingly. Even as his body sagged and his knees buckled he "learned obedience from what he suffered." 

The Lord teaches us the attitudes we must embrace through hardships and disappointments. Catholic spirituality expects no privilege except that of knowing God walks with us.

Feast of Saint Bartholomew, Apostle

Lectionary: 629

He took me in spirit to a great, high mountain
and showed me the holy city Jerusalem
coming down out of heaven from God. It gleamed with the splendor of God. Its radiance was like that of a precious stone, like jasper, clear as crystal. It had a massive, high wall...
If you've been to Rome you know the word massive. Saint Peter's Basilica and many of the churches are built with enormous stones and enriched with statues of gigantic proportions. The doors of Saint John Lateran might be absurdly high but were the statues to become animated they would need very high doors to escape into the streets of Rome. 
Rome, of course, is the city of apostles and they are massively important in our Catholic tradition. 
While many Protestant churches bill themselves as apostolic, the Catholic churches claims a direct line of personal, physical contact from bishop to bishop back to the apostles Peter and Paul and Bartholomew. This apostolic succession has been maintained with each succeeding generation placing their hands on the heads of the next generation, thus ordaining them in the original spirit, words and gestures of Jesus. Despite the interference of rival popes and unworthy bishops, the chain is unbroken.  This apostolic succession also is massively important to Catholics; it represents the corporeality of the Incarnation of Jesus. His Church is not just a spiritual fellowship of friends; it is a corporation authorized to maintain his presence -- by way of the Eucharistic Presence -- until his Second Coming. 
While we appreciate the importance of spirituality, the Church is genetically suspicious of any movement which would divorce itself from the body while claiming to own the "true spirit." Dispirited bodies are dead; and disembodied spirits have never managed to persuade us they actually exist. They're probably only figments of the imaginative. But we can see, hear, touch, and smell living bodies; they are animated with life.
With all that being said, we can admit we know little of Saint Bartholomew. Even his name is uncertain and he may have been called Nathaniel. Tradition -- which is often reliable -- says he was martyred by flaying, which is particularly ghastly. His horrible image appears in Michelangelo's Last Judgement; the pallid face is said to be the artist's own, as he was weary of the project. 
He is remembered more fondly for the many hospitals and parishes that bear his name. His painful death gave him compassion for the sick and authority to heal the wounded. 
On this quiet summer day our liturgy invites us once again to thank God for the presence of our Church with all its flaws, blemishes and cancerous sins. A vessel of clay, it still contains the living Spirit of Jesus. 

Friday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 423

"Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?"

In a conversation with Veterans in the VA hospital, about freedom, I often like to conclude with two statements: 1) Freedom is a jealous god, abiding no other; and 2) you cannot distill the program.

Concerning the second remark, I remind the group of our penchant for distilling good things into small, intense pleasures: wine into brandy; poppy into heroin; coca into cocaine, cocaine into crack cocaine, spectator sports into highlights, novels into CliffsNotes, marriage into one-night hookups, and so forth. Addicts often come out of rehab treatment thinking, "I'll just not drink." Or, "I'll just go to the meetings." Or, "I'll move to another state." Or, "I need a girlfriend to help me."

Invariably, they return to treatment after slipping back into addiction. Living well requires a deep conversion of the mind/heart, and a willingness to do whatever it takes. No habit, no relationship, no job, no self-image can be placed before sobriety. Or, as I prefer, freedom.

Which brings me to the first statement, Freedom is a jealous god. Or, as Jesus says in today's gospel, "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind."

Or, as they say in Alcoholics Anonymous, "Half measures availed us nothing."

Jesus' complete response to the scholar of the law demonstrates my point about distillation. Anyone who thinks that being totally consumed with God while ignoring the needs and demands of others has attempted to distill the gospel. Likewise, you cannot love your neighbor without a deep, abiding love of God. 

There is no simple formula for salvation and Jesus' reply to "Which commandment...?" -- does not satisfy the limits they imposed on him. The Truth is deep, mysterious, and complex. If we cannot always explain it in simple aphorisms, we must live within it. 

Memorial of the Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 422

A second time he sent other servants, saying,

'Tell those invited: "Behold, I have prepared my banquet,

my calves and fattened cattle are killed,

and everything is ready; come to the feast."'

Today's memorial feastday, honoring the Queenship of Mary -- her "coronation" -- falls on the octave of the solemn feast of the Assumption. It completes the week of celebration which we can imagine occurs in Heaven. It is well beyond mortal sight but within our vision of faith. As Mary's devotees not yet raised from the dead, we are on the farthest edges of the vast crowd that mill around the coronation altar. If we hear anything it's our songs of praise in this distant land; it's not angelic or saintly shouts of exultation. We can see only the tinsel tiaras and awkward crowns we place upon our statues of the Virgin. But we believe that the Virgin has been crowned in the very presence of Almighty God. There is the thrill of being there, communicated by faith.

We also celebrate Mary's coronation with the fifth of the Glorious Mysteries of the rosary. Franciscans call our seven-decade chaplet not a rosary but a "Crown," for the final mystery of that series honors both her Assumption and Coronation.

This weekday Mass will be, in most Catholic churches, a quiet event. Perhaps those parishes which are named "The Queenship of Mary" might make a bigger event of it. (A google search finds three in the United States.)

Finally, this octave event fits handily with the beginnings of today's gospel. The announcement of a wedding comes in the form of an invitation, "Come to the feast!"

Mary's coronation, as the final mystery of the rosary, invites us to contemplate what  must happen next -- the Judgement, and the Bliss. Our faith promises a Day of Reckoning and we must  shudder at the thought. But it also promises Communion with the Saints and we rejoice in the thought. In that day we will join in the gladness of eternity, grateful that what we have heard and expected has come to pass.

Where she has gone, we hope to follow.

Memorial of Saint Pius X, Pope

Lectionary: 421

Going out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace, and he said to them, 'You too go into my vineyard, and I will give you what is just.'

I find this story of the vineyard owner and his day workers endlessly fascinating. If it's not a story about capitalism and labor-management relations, it certainly reminds us of the disparities of power in human affairs. Regardless of political structures and economic systems with their philosophical foundations, those inequities will always persist. They fall under the general heading of Original Sin.
In today's story the landowner promises, "I will give you what is just." By the end of the day the workers seriously doubt his word. I don't believe this is a story about a just employer, nor do I think Jesus recommends this fellow as an icon of God the Father.
But it does remind us of God's sovereign authority; and of our inevitable, even necessary, challenge of that authority. Created in God's image, with a divine appetite for power and autonomy, we chafe under the saddle of obedience. Which of us has not secretly agreed with Milton's Satan, "It is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven?"
This landowner is not at all phased by his workers' challenge. He couldn't care less. Although he says to one man, " I am not cheating you." that is only Saint Matthew's literary device to give voice to the owner's private thought. He owes no explanation to the rioters and he gives none. Nor does he have a spokesman who might be privy to his thoughts. There is no middleman who might put a different spin on the appearance of unfairness.
This parable is about God's supreme authority and our limited vision. We can no more comprehend God's justice and mercy than the first day laborers can be satisfied with their pay.
No doubt every ruler who ever appeared -- institutional or charismatic -- promised both justice and mercy to his subjects. They would punish the wicked, regardless of their social standing and wealth. They would show mercy to the deserving, even the least among them. Every government, regardless of its structure or philosophy, gained some legitimacy by its promises of justice and mercy. Invariably the mass of people waited -- and were disappointed. We are not capable of both.
Humans govern with hard justice or soft mercy but cannot manage both.
Only God can do both in the same action. If it sometimes happens in human affairs, it is certainly a moment of Grace, a moment when the Holy Spirit (who is the very Presence of God) guided the process and final decision, however briefly. It is nothing we can sustain.

"...we await new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells." Saint Peter reminds us. We are duty bound as human beings and as Christians to keep trying to build such a system, with the confident hope that, on the last day, God's justice and mercy -- that incomparable blend -- will be revealed.

Memorial of Saint Bernard, Abbot and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 420

The angel of the LORD came and sat under the terebinth in Ophrah
that belonged to Joash the Abiezrite.
While his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine press
to save it from the Midianites,
the angel of the LORD appeared to him and said,
"The LORD is with you, O champion!"

Leadership appears from two quite different sources. Every institution has its own way of selecting and empowering its leaders; and their first duty is to protect and promote the institution. But leaders may also appear from unexpected sources; they arise charismatically, empowered by their own personal traits of energy, intelligence, charm, and vision.

Ancient institutions often relied on the sons of their rulers to provide the next generation of leadership. If these men demonstrated the capacity to take charge of their father’s followers, and could ward off challengers, the people were content to obey a man with a familiar name and similar features. In many cases, even if the present king was not quite up to the challenge, the institution seemed to sustain itself with everyone’s compliance despite the ruler’s incompetence. Any ruler is better than the chaos and violence of no ruler.

More recent institutions have developed democratic ways to select their leaders from a broader pool of talent, but the old ruling families still have cachet.

But always there are charismatic individuals who appear with neither lineage nor credentials to challenge the institutions and their leaders. When the old ways no longer serve the new times, old institutions, fixed on their hoary traditions, collapse for lack of interest. A new generation of leaders, energetic, bold, visionary and talented, compete in a power vacuum until they have established their own institutions with new laws, hierarchical structures, and customs.

Gideon was a charismatic leader. A ferocious warrior, capable ruler, attractive personality, the oppressed Hebrews rallied to his call and fought with him against the Midian overlords. (Unfortunately, he had far too many sons by too many wives and none could succeed him; especially after the meanest, most unscrupulous of them murdered all of his siblings.) 

In today’s first reading we hear the story of Gideon’s ascendance. One of the least of his brothers in a family of no consequence, he could not be handed leadership by the old traditions. But the moment was right, and the Lord inspired the people to follow him into battle and conquest.

The lesson for us? We sometimes detect charismatic leadership among our bishops and popes, but we should not expect to find it there. Their job is to preserve the old ways against innovation. If they succeed, they will have allowed the new to find its roots in the ancient traditions, while the old regains some of its spirit under a not unfamiliar form.

I think of Pope Saint John Paul II and his willingness to promote (and canonize) Saint Faustina with her updated image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Just when the Vatican II generation thought the Sacred Heart had faded away, it reappeared brilliantly under the patriotic colors of red, white and blue. Faustina had the inspired vision, John Paul had the authority to place the new icon before the entire Catholic Church.

A second lesson: Don’t be surprised or scandalized by religious turbulence. It is the work of the Holy Spirit to purify and renew the Church, despite the best efforts of her priests. 

Monday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 419

The children of Israel offended the LORD by serving the Baals. Abandoning the LORD, the God of their fathers, who led them out of the land of Egypt, they followed the other gods of the various nations around them, and by their worship of these gods provoked the LORD.

In his book, God in Search of Man, the great Jewish rabbi and philosopher, Joseph Abraham Heschel wrote,

"It is strange that modern students of religion fail to realize the constant necessity for the protest against polytheism. The idea of unity is not only one upon which the ultimate justification of philosophical, ethical and religious universalism depends, but also one which is still beyond the grasp of most people.

Catholicism is a universalist religion; we claim to have a message for all people regardless of caste, culture, race, gender or sexual preference. Our belief in the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the Eucharist would appeal equally to Protestants, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs, if we were to show its beauty to them.

But monotheism is very demanding and polytheism -- though self-contradictory and illogical -- is more appealing. If we claim to love the One and Only God we still give the devil his due.

Recently I was reminded that certain workers are paid exorbitant amounts of money, luxurious perks, extended vacations and golden parachutes because the system works that way. If one corporation refuses to pay that CEO too much, another corporation will hire them. "The System," sometimes called, "The Economy," requires it. Justice, Mercy, Equality and Fraternity may argue against it but Economy, like the Greek Zeus or the Roman Jupiter, overrules a pantheon of other gods. Not to mention Jesus Christ, the crucified carpenter's son.

Today's gospel about the young man who sought Jesus' advice ends with understated tragedy, "When the young man heard this statement, he went away sad,for he had many possessions." Economy cancelled any thought of following the Lord. He could not worship God and Mammon.

In this predicament, Jesus allowed us to "render to Caesar what is Caesar's," so long as we live in this world. But Caesar will amass all his treasures, clutching them tightly as he falls into the abyss. The saved are those who surrender their wealth to follow the Lord.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 120

I have come to set the earth on fire,

and how I wish it were already blazing!

There is a baptism with which I must be baptized,

and how great is my anguish until it is accomplished!

Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?

"If you want peace, work for justice." Pope Paul VI urged the United Nations. Since that New Years Day in 1972, the imbalance of wealth and poverty has only worsened throughout the world. If nations are not presently making war against one another, they cannot suppress the restive populations who suffer the violence of poverty. Mindless, irrational, futile terrorism spreads from slum to slum through megacities even as the powerful, paralyzed by satisfaction, wring their worried hands. Their peace is prosperity for a few and scarcity for the majority.

"Peace! Peace! There is no peace!" the prophet Jeremiah cried as Jerusalem suffered yet another siege. In today's first reading we hear a common complaint about the Lord's prophet,

"...he is demoralizing the soldiers who are left in this city, and all the people, by speaking such things to them."

The king and his counselors want control of every authoritative voice in city. Religious authorities should support the government and the war effort. Criticism is unpatriotic, even when it speaks an uncomfortable truth.They cannot comprehend why the Lord has abandoned them. They cannot suppose the Gospel might oppose their rule. 

We might feel that "the angry god of the Old Testament" has been superannuated. We might dismiss their jeremiads until we realize why the prophets railed against the city. Jerusalem was supposed to be a holy city. There should be no homeless orphans, abandoned widows, or unwelcome aliens. Given the superabundant providence of God, his people would share and share alike as they had shared manna in the desert. No one would go hungry; no one would have too much; all would have enough. If they competed it was in generosity, not in accumulating stuff.

But Jerusalem had proven to be like any other city; and Judah and Israel were nations like any other. Their religion had no visible effect on their economy or their social life. The wealthy dismissed the majority as unworthy of their attention, while the poor ate the crumbs that fell from aristocratic tables. Their piety went no farther than halfhearted displays of ostentation. Why would they not suffer the fate of other cities and nations, disappearing under the wash of history?

Many centuries later, Jesus' criticism of that religious tradition which supported corrupt government authorities was scathing.

You build the tombs of the prophets and adorn the memorials of the righteous, and you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have joined them in shedding the prophets’ blood. Thus, you bear witness against yourselves that you are the children of those who murdered the prophets;

In the twenty-first century it is easy to suppose we are different from our ancestors. Surely we are not the children of those who murdered the prophets. If geography and time have not set us apart from them, technological advances, economic developments, and cultural evolution have created an impassable barrier between us and our ancestors. Recently, during the revolution (whichever you prefer) we were created out of nothing and the past lost its relevance. Our universe is discontinuous with that of nineteenth century slave owners and twentieth century cold warriors. Can ethical decisions of the post-atomic, computer/social media/twitter age compare with those of our ancestors? Are we not entirely unrelated to the past?

But we still build tombs of the prophets and adorn the memorials of the righteous. We still celebrate the virtue of our heroic ancestors and dismiss their injustices. The same immigrants are still unwelcome as undocumented aliens, orphans are aborted and divorce has created a whole new class of "widows." We are only a nation like other nations with no particular claim on God.

We still need salvation which comes only from the One who warns us,

I have come to set the earth on fire,

and how I wish it were already blazing!

There is a baptism with which I must be baptized,

and how great is my anguish until it is accomplished!

Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?

No, I tell you, but rather division.

From now on a household of five will be divided,

three against two and two against three....