Memorial of Saint Jerome, priest and doctor

Lectionary: 455

An argument arose among the disciples about which of them was the greatest.

Jesus realized the intention of their hearts and took a child and placed it by his side and said to them,

"Whoever receives this child in my name receives me,

and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me. For the one who is least among all of you

is the one who is the greatest."

If Jesus' disciples in today's gospel were arguing about who is the greatest among them, I suppose no one said, "I am the greatest!" I hope they argued with a little more subtlety, each pointing to his own candidate for leadership as factions split the group. There is little difference between these modes of acting. In the latter case, individuals "modestly" point to another "superior" person and thus vicariously glorify themselves. Each thinks, "I am the better person because I prefer the better candidate. And they are the inferiors because they prefer the lesser candidate."

No one would have anticipated Jesus' solution, "the least is the greatest." That's not the way the world works. It's never obvious until grace reveals it to us.

Nowadays, thank God, church-going people are finding "persons with disabilities" attending our churches, some born with severe handicaps. We are urged to reconsider the wonderful abilities of these extraordinary individuals, especially their talent for drawing us together into tight knit families and friendlier congregations.

We are recognizing that the "disabilities" these individual suffer are not theirs but ours. It is we who build the churches they cannot enter, stage the competitions they cannot win, and form the societies they cannot join. It is we who suffer the loss of their vision, generosity and enthusiasm. Perhaps because their presence reminds us of our human frailty, we'd prefer they not appear among us.

Our "reconsideration" entails repentance. If we need not be ashamed of our attitudes, we should certainly consider the burden of them. We were told, more often by implication than by overt statement, how to regard the least among us. If we saw a person with spasticity in public, we might have also heard, "Such people should be kept at home." If we stared at someone with "deformity" we might have been told, "Don't stare." Which means, "Don't see!" and "They should not be seen."

We might be told to pity such individuals but that means they are somehow pathetic. In the contest for "freedom" and "independence" -- the gold standards of what it means to be human -- they never had a chance.

Jesus turns all that on its ear when he rebukes his disciples for their asinine conversation. The gospels are full of stories of Jesus' seeing and honoring people of every sort; and everyone he saw had a disability. He saw the poor widow put her last pennies in the temple treasury. He saw the Syrophoenician woman's cleverness. He saw the centurion's faith, like none in Israel. He saw the Samaritan woman's thirst for the truth as she flirted with him by the well. He saw the misled crowds who were like sheep without a shepherd. He saw the grief of the women of Jerusalem as he carried his cross. In his moment of death he saw the good thief's repentance.

We must learn to see as God sees. The Lord also sees the supreme courage of the Spirit who gathers us as a shepherd gathers his sheep; and God sees with infinite clarity our frailty. 

Surrendering the myth of freedom in isolation, we see that we do and must rely on each other. No one is saved alone. Because our greatest strengths may destroy us and our deepest needs can save us, we come to the Savior en masse, like the ten lepers and pray, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us."

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 138​

But you, man of God, pursue righteousness,

devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.

Compete well for the faith.

Lay hold of eternal life, to which you were called

when you made the noble confession in the presence of many witnesses.

A brief article in Wikipedia describes nineteenth century Muscular Christianity. Never organized, the movement was promoted with literature and songs, and especially popular in English and American schools. President Theodore Roosevelt lived by the doctrine and promoted it. Muscular Christianity drew upon the New Testament, especially Saint Paul and the Letter to the Hebrews, for its scriptural foundations, citing such passages as today's exhortation, "Compete well for the faith!" 

I have heard that successful business people are not actually driven by greed. Although many began with little and have amassed enormous fortunes, their real fear is not poverty but losing. They play to win! They cannot "give a sucker an even break" unless they're fairly certain of coming out on top. They might be willing to play on "a level playing field" if the risks are not too much and the profits, substantial.

They've learned these attitudes, of course, from our culture of games and sports, which has the enthusiastic support of Muscular Christianity. "Winning isn't the important thing," they say, "it's the only thing."

Before he died at 101 earlier this year, I often played cribbage with Father Maurice. He may have learned to play the game before my father was born. He played well enough but he often miscounted his meld, usually to his own disadvantage; and I scrupulously helped him, making sure he got all the points he had won. We always played three games, never more or less. The score was usually 2-1; and occasionally 3-0. I didn't keep a record of wins and losses but I think we broke even over the long run.

However, sometimes his play was sloppy, perhaps because he wasn't wearing his oxygen cannula. If I couldn't persuade him to wear the tube, I was in a moral quandary. Should I intentionally misplay my own cards, or miscount my own points, to offset his disadvantage? We never played for money, of course, and it really didn't matter who won. In the middle of the second game he often asked who won the first. We played because we were friends!

But I really had a hard time with cheating to lose. It feels immoral; it violates The Game. If he won the first game, I played to win the second. I had lost enough! If he won the first and second games, I gave no quarter in the last game. Does God care who wins the game so long as both players play by the rules? What would the Muscular Christian say about this moral dilemma?

If someone begins a business career on an uneven playing field not of their own making, a field clearly tilted in their favor, what obligation do they have to set it straight first? Or ever? (Winning is the only thing!) When people play in the game of business and succeed beyond anyone's expectations, they can reasonably expect to send their children to the best schools and finance their way into successful careers. Isn't their first duty to their own children?

The rich man in Jesus' parable might never have pondered this dilemma. Having won the game of life, he believed this was right and just,. It's how God intended it. As far as he was concerned, the poor man at the gate, with the dogs licking his wounds, was also in his right and just place. The impassable chasm between wealth and poverty had been established long before either was born. As the Bible says, "The LORD makes poor and makes rich." and, "The poor you always have with you."  No philosophy would challenge that doctrine before the twentieth century, and not many religions. Most people regard it as an intractable fact.

Imagine then the rich man's astonishment in the life after death. He was not alone in that. When Jesus said, "...it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” his disciples were astonished. "Who then can be saved?" they asked. It made no sense. 

What's most baffling about this parable is that the rich man did not foresee the inevitable judgement. Does anyone see it coming? Some people in prison still insist they're innocent. Or at least their crimes were not so bad as the punishment. They never saw it coming. Do I see it coming? 

Our faith tells us that Jesus has atoned for our sins. His death was reparation. Some preachers argue his last, dying remark, "It is finished!" may be translated as, "Paid in full!" But in the study of my indebtedness I must contemplate the full horror of my sins, including the guilt I have inherited with the comfortable circumstances of my present life. If I cannot repay the poor what was stolen from them and bequeathed to me, neither do I dare to turn a deaf ear to their cry for justice. In the end the Lord will cast down the mighty and lift up the lowly. I hope that, when I am cast down, I will have the good sense to praise God's merciful justice.

Lazarus is still at the gate, and the dogs still lick his wounds. We must still do justice, love goodness, and walk humbly with our God.

Saturday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 454

While they were all amazed at his every deed,

Jesus said to his disciples,

"Pay attention to what I am telling you.

The Son of Man is to be handed over to men."

But they did not understand this saying.

Where Saint Mark scolds the disciples for their stubborn incomprehension, Saint Luke makes excuses for them. What he was saying about dying in Jerusalem was simply beyond their imagination. "It was," as Casca said of Julius Caesar's remarks, "Greek to me."

We can imagine the disciples eagerly sitting up and listening in response to Jesus' command, "Pay attention to what I am telling you!" And then falling back into bewilderment at his next remark, "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men."

They have seen him walk on water, calm a storm, rebuke demons, and heal the sick. How can he possibly be arrested and executed? The man is untouchable! Didn't they try to get hold of him and throw him over a cliff at Nazareth? Didn't he walk right through the angry mob and off to the next town? It doesn't make sense.

There are many things Jesus can do. One thing he cannot do is disobey his Father. He cannot and will not.

Children and parents sometimes like to play with words. The child asks, "Can I...?" and the parent -- too clever by half -- might reply, "You can but you may not." Can means, "You have the ability;" and may not means, "I don't permit it."

It should be a distinction without a difference to the child. They can't and won't.

When the moment was right Jesus turned water to wine. But he could not change stones into bread. It was not permitted.

The centurion understood perfectly, as he explained to Jesus:

For I too am a person subject to authority, with soldiers subject to me. And I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come here,’ and he comes; and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.

Why is that so hard to get?

Why do people think God can do whatever he wants? Perhaps they like to think of God as "he" and the misconception begins there. God as "she" might not be so free.

God as obedient? Always submissive and willing? Never willful? Isn't happiness doing as one pleases without restraint or accountability? Isn't that freedom?

The Gospels describe another kind of freedom and a different kind of happiness. These divine qualities, as revealed in the New Testament, are truer to our human experience. But they fly in the face of what we think we should have.

Let the final word be Dante's, "In his will is our peace."

Memorial of Saint Vincent de Paul, Priest

Lectionary: 453​

Then he said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"

Peter said in reply, "The Christ of God."

He rebuked them and directed them not to tell this to anyone.

How fascinating that Jesus rebuked his disciples for Peter's answer. Perhaps even the Lord trembled at the fisherman's reply, "The Christ of God." 

"Who gave you the right to speak such a word?" he might have said. "How dare you? And openly! Here in the broad light of day!" although they were alone with him "in solitude."

The Lord had commanded Moses to "Come no nearer!" and "Take off your sandals, for this is holy ground!"  

Isaiah, seeing a vision of God in the temple, cried, "Woe is me, I am doomed!^* For I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!"

A less experienced Peter had cried, "Go away from me! I am a sinful man!" 

To know the Lord we must cultivate a holy fear of his presence. 

You might boast of your willingness to flout convention among your friends, but were the Pope or the President of the United States to appear in your presence, you would probably find yourself awestruck and silent. If you seemed to hesitate the Secret Service or the Swiss Guard might assist you into a shell of obsequious silence. Were that August Person to look at you and say, "Who do you suppose I am?" you might be dumbstruck, unable to state the obvious. 

If we act like that among the powerful in our world, how should we act in God's presence? How do we speak God's name? 

The Lord has asked his disciples a profoundly challenging and difficult question. Should they answer it correctly, it must cost them everything: their spouses and children, their parents and families, their possessions and security. Jesus' name is like the soldier's oath when conscripted, the "I do" at a wedding, the "I am ready and willing" of a candidate to the priesthood. Everything familiar is lost; they have entered a new covenant in a new universe. 

And how do I cultivate that awareness of God's mindfulness as I live my daily life? With Baptism we gave our lives to the Lord. We renew that consecration every Easter when we again reject Satan and all his works, and again declare our belief in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. We renew our vows again each Sunday as we recite the Creed and receive the Eucharist. Given the continual distractions of a tormented world, we must practice this awareness continually. 

Catechism answers, like the one Peter gave, have their usefulness. But we should often meditate upon their height, depth and breadth; and, periodically, fall silent before their terrifying majesty. 

Thursday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 452

Herod the tetrarch heard about all that was happening, and he was greatly perplexed because some were saying, “John has been raised from the dead...."

A long time ago, back in the sixties and seventies, the priest or preacher who mentioned the Vietnam War or the Civil Rights Movement was often told to leave the politics out of church. The grumblers wanted a "spiritual message" only. Even Protestants raised the complaint despite their claim to be familiar with the scriptures. A few years later some teachers, in the same vein, advocated "value-free" education, a strange beast if there ever was one.

More recently, since many self-identified Christians have joined the political debates to advocate pro-life or pro-choice, environmental concerns, race relations, or gun control, we might be more ready to recognize the political context of our scriptures.

Politics is life. It is the matrix of complex relations in which we all live, which Jesus blessed by his Incarnate Presence. Today's gospel reminds us of the political context of Jesus' ministry. The tetrarch Herod was a nephew of the infamous "Herod the Great," a mad king given to indiscriminate murder. In the "game" that was the Roman Empire, the tetrarch, a minor ruler under Rome, struggled against and conspired with the procurator in Jerusalem, Pontius Pilate. Losers in the game died, winners lived to play another day. Contestants hated one another and especially despised intruders who might play by another set of rules, who might change the game. Jesus, regardless of his intention to announce his "Kingdom of God", threatened Romans, Herodians, Sadducees, Essenes, and Pharisees, to name a few.

Some apologists have suggested Jesus' "kingdom" was only "spiritual," and it could never really threaten this world's powers. Herod and Pilate knew better, and so did he. The same inane explanation would neutralize our Catholic sacraments as "symbolic" and essentially meaningless.

Along the same lines they'll say that some television programs are only entertainment. They don't mean anything. If they're saturated with sexualized violence, it's all in good fun. Wasn't blackface all in good fun? And Bennie Hill, the English comedian; his sexist skits and obscene leer were funny, weren't they? Nobody meant any harm.

But it was harmful and the harm was intentional. The women and African-Americans who were mocked, they knew what was intended.

Today the Church remembers the martyrs Cosmos and Damien. We know little of their story; much of their history is shrouded in myth. But we remember these men were not pretending to believe in God as they practiced medicine, offering their services free of charge to the poor. They were very serious about their consecration to the Crucified even as the authorities first threatened them, and then executed them. If the day should ever come when Christians will not risk their lives for the faith, we will know our faith is truly apolitical and only symbolic.

Wednesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 451

I said: "My God, I am too ashamed and confounded to raise my face to you, O my God, for our wicked deeds are heaped up above our heads and our guilt reaches up to heaven. From the time of our fathers even to this day great has been our guilt, and for our wicked deeds we have been delivered up, we and our kings and our priests, to the will of the kings of foreign lands, to the sword, to captivity, to pillage, and to disgrace, as is the case today.



Can you imagine an American politician, or even a Rick Warren-type preacher, making a public declaration like that of the priest Ezra? He would be hounded into oblivion. We are not in the habit of owning our sinful past, much less our deplorable present.
in his prayer, Ezra summarizes the recent history of the Jewish people. They had been a free, independent nation under the Kings David and Solomon, then they were divided into two kingdoms, Israel and Judah. The prophets had consistently warned both nations for many hundred years that God would punish them for their infidelity. But, like every other nation, they had ignored the needs of the poor, orphaned, widowed, and aliens; they had lavished care upon the wealthy and the powerful. They invited punishment and they got it in the form of famines, pestilence, plague and, finally, foreign invasions. Egyptians, Syrians, and Babylonians routinely stomped the miserable kingdoms into the ground and, eventually, into extinction. They had been warned; they would not listen.
Ezra celebrated the mercy of that punishing God who had finally returned some of his disgraced people back to the ruins of Jerusalem and, with the assistance of alien rulers, begun to rebuild God's holy city. He didn't expect the city to become a world power, and it never has. He was satisfied that God had not forgotten them.
Americans who like to think the United States is favored, don't usually invite God's wrath to destroy our cities, eviscerate our wealth, or reduce us to foreign servitude. If we were ever great, they suppose, we can make ourselves great again by despising those who made America great, the refugees whom God loves. Even an atheist would know this is national suicide.
There is a movement afoot to recognize our sinful past and how deeply it still affects us. This effort has roots in our Jewish-Christian tradition. The Catholic Church with its practices of penance -- the sacraments, the penitential seasons, stations of the cross, etc. -- can contribute to this growing awareness. Patriotism is neither stupid nor irreligious; it recognizes and owns our collective guilt.
When true patriots declare, "My country, right or wrong!" they should be prepared to recognize and respond to our national wrongness. Otherwise, it is only bombast, an empty bromide to be spat out and trampled under foot.
The virtue of penance urges us to research and discover how deeply slavery, for instance, still contaminates our way of life. How might we purge our prisons and jails of that diabolical tradition? Penance also urges us to welcome refugees eagerly, and to make generous sacrifices as they settle among us.
The people of Israel and Judah were warned and ignored God's warning. We still have time, but not much.

Tuesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 450

They finished the building according to the command of the God of Israel and the decrees of Cyrus and Darius, and of Artaxerxes, king of Persia.


The Gospel today tells us that Mary and the family of Jesus followed him and he welcomed them because they heard the word of God and acted upon it. The first reading, from Ezra, recounts the collusion of religion and state as the Jews rebuilt the temple of Jerusalem on its original site. 
Our tradition recognizes in both the temple and the holy city symbolic connections with Mary and the Church. As we pray the psalms throughout the year, we hear innumerable references to the city and temple; and, as we feel at home in both, we also sense the reassuring presence of Mary, who is always a maternal Spirit for us. 
In the Catholic imagination, both east and west, these symbols enrich the practice of our faith. We are not set upon defining each symbol, nor setting them apart from one another. Rather, they suffuse one another like incense in a church or the smell of food in the kitchen, inviting us to "Make yourself at home" as we settle into prayer. 
Ezra reminds us of the complex interplay of religion and politics in the real world. It takes more than faith to build a church. It takes money, elaborate plans, much time, many workers, and innumerable permits from local governments. Not everyone is working explicitly for the glory of God, though many will later point to the building and say, "I built that!" 
I notice also the Emperor Darius' command, "...they are to rebuild it on its former site." The temple site was said to be the very spot where Abraham sacrificed Isaac, his only son whom he loved. Geography plays a huge role in the religious imagination. Christian shrines, like the Cathedral of Notre Dame, often appear where idols were worshiped. Many returning pagans, making their customary annual pilgrimage and discovering new symbols in the familiar setting, direct their devotion to the Lord of History who has taken up residence in this holy place. Thus the old merges with the new and ancient roots are saturated with the holy water of a blessed new age. 
The transformation is so successful that few Christians remember that their physical ancestors were not Jews, and the "Old Testament" is, if we take history literally, the "Hebrew Scriptures." We find Jesus on every page of the Old Testament  -- "This is our book!" -- and we are astonished that Jews do not!
In these and many ways our Catholic symbols -- including everything from places, buildings, clothing, words, gestures, songs, and dance to prayers, rituals, creeds and doctrines -- assure us of our place in this world. We are earthlings, made of this planet's dirt, air, and water; and we have a home in heaven. 

Memorial of Saint "Padre Pio," Priest

Lectionary: 449

In the first year of Cyrus, king of Persia,

in order to fulfill the word of the LORD spoken by Jeremiah,

the LORD inspired King Cyrus of Persia

to issue this proclamation throughout his kingdom,

both by word of mouth and in writing:

"Thus says Cyrus, king of Persia:

'All the kingdoms of the earth

the LORD, the God of heaven, has given to me,

and he has also charged me to build him a house in Jerusalem,

which is in Judah.

Today's first reading includes a verse that has appeared recently in some Christian magazines and websites. Donald Trump, they say, is the new Cyrus. Despite his notorious philandering, rank corruption, and flagrant lying, they believe, God made him president of the United States. His appointment of two supreme court justices who might counter Roe v Wade makes him similar to King Cyrus.

The Chroniclers who compiled One and Two Chronicles, Ezra, and Nehemiah saw the hand of God in political and natural events. Nothing happens in God's universe by accident, happenstance, or coincidence. Very often we look back upon important events in our lives and realize how nearly they did not happen. If the light had not changed....; If I had been on time....; If I had caught that plane....

Surely, we suppose, the Lord intended me to meet this person who became my spouse. Of the fifty billion possible combinations of genetic code, this one was chosen and my child is like this. God is Good Indeed! Give glory to His Name!

And even when it makes God seem like the heavy, as when an unworthy, incompetent candidate wins the election, we are comforted by the reassurance that "God is still in charge."

Of course, the same arguments might be used to discover the punishing hand of God in historical events. His rebuke proves he has not abandoned us; it comes with the promise of relief. In his second inaugural address, President Lincoln invoked that dark hope:

The Almighty has his own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses! for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh."

If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and South this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to him?

Fondly do we hope--fervently do we pray--that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, "The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

Civil wars resolve little and "this mighty scourge of war" did not end at Appomattox; it still punishes our nation in the forms of racial violence and poverty. Since 1865, to the "offense" of slavery has been added the crime of abortion. And so we now suffer epidemics of drug abuse and suicide.

We beg the Lord for mercy. Perhaps these punishments and humiliations will lead us toward that Day of relief when we will declare with grateful hearts, "The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 135

Hear this, you who trample upon the needy and destroy the poor of the land! "When will the new moon be over," you ask, "that we may sell our grain, and the sabbath, that we may display the wheat? We will diminish the ephah, add to the shekel, and fix our scales for cheating!

Among the several excellent articles of the 1619  Project, was an essay describing how deeply slavery is still embedded in our present American institutions. Many of today's practices, customs and expectations of our banking, accounting, and labor management were created for the purposes of slave plantations. The goals were efficiency, maximum profits and minimum costs, and always within the context of cutthroat competition. As profitable as they were, and despite the savage violence and killing pressure upon the laborers who received no profit for their toil, plantations faced a constant, eminent threat of bankruptcy. Even their human souls were mortgaged. 

If the institution of slavery collapsed with the Civil War, the spirit persists today, and not only in the underground sex industry and migrant sweat shops. We take for granted attitudes about work, leisure and race that were formed during our peculiar institution's​ three centuries. "Standard operating procedures," (SOPs) were not, and could not be, rewritten by a "proclamation" in 1865. 

The same article cited the questions Americans hear from our European kin. "Why are you so anxious? Why do you take only two weeks vacation when we work more efficiently and profitably with six weeks vacation? Why are your lending practices so severe?"

Perhaps we are still unconsciously trying to atone for the sin of slavery; but, like the wretched Lady Macbeth, we cannot erase the damned spot. The 1619 Project studied the long reach of slavery and its impact upon our daily lives.  It could only suggest methods of reparation.

More than a century and a half after the Civil War, some American churches are seriously studying the question of reparation. When it was discovered that the Jesuit school, Georgetown University, had sold 272 men, women and children in 1838, to pay off its debts two-thirds of Georgetown students voted to establish a semesterly fee to fund reparations for their descendants. 

The issue is deep, complex and controversial, as this Wikipedia article details. But it must be addressed. It will not simply go away. History does not delete itself, even when it appears in no history books.

"Never will I forget a thing they have done!"  God warned his people three thousand years ago, through the prophet Amos. The same ones who oppose reparation might argue there is no god who can remember the tragedy. They're wrong on both counts. 

Feast of Saint Matthew, Apostle and evangelist

Lectionary: 643

Glory be to the Father,

and to the Son,

and to the Holy Spirit;

as it was in the beginning,

is now,

and ever shall be. Amen

Preparing for this feast of Saint Matthew, I have read my own reflections of the past several years and, to tell the truth, I think they're pretty good. Rather than surpass them today, I'll take a different tack and reflect on that beautiful prayer which is shaped, in part, by the Gospel of Matthew. We call it the "Glory Be" or the "Glory." We recite it at the end of each rosary decade, and it appears at the end of every psalm in the Liturgy of the Hours.

The prayer is a simple doxology, a brief exclamation of praise to God. Doxologies can be magnificent songs like, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." or brief, one word shouts, Glory! Of course we sing or recite the Gloria during our feasts and solemnities; and it is the long-awaited song of Holy Thursday, after a silence of forty Lenten days. The Glory Be recalls Jesus' command in the second-last verse of Saint Matthew's Gospel,

"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Saint Matthew's three-person formula took immediate and deep roots in our daily prayers and the liturgy; and provided an outline for the Apostles Creed and the Nicene Creed. But first it was the formula for the baptismal vows; and, as such, the curriculum for catechumens. "Father, Son, Spirit" is a three word summary of everything we believe. 

We give glory to God as the sea gives glory to the sun by the brilliant reflection which makes our world, seen from deep space, glimmer like a diamond. But our gift of glory to God is much deeper and richer for it reflects the mercy we have known and the joy of redemption. We have laughed to watch our enemies retreating before God's goodness; they flee into the shadows even as the shadows disappear before the rising sun. They are no more for God has delivered us forever.

The Glory prayer continues with an invocation of time past, present, and future. Our God always was, is, and always will be. When we recite this formula we locate ourselves in time and in the presence of God. Unlike the eternal God, we are creatures embedded in time; we have no existence without it. We remember not only our particular lives but centuries of human history. We are continually immersed in that history. To drive on a road is to remember the road was built and its purpose. To speak words and use language is to summon several thousand years of etymological history even as our usage subtly redefines and repurposes the same words for the future.

We are with God also as creatures of the present moment. The Glory prayer invites us to stop and be present in the moment, saying "Here I am, Lord." We're often in a hurry to get somewhere else and do something else. We sometimes expect pleasure and satisfaction to appear in the future. We plan and sacrifice for it. But pleasure is only in the moment. It will go right past me if I fail to notice it. If I don't enjoy the getting there, I won't enjoy being there.

Then the words -- ever shall be -- remind us that God will always be there. Human creatures cannot live without a future. The cruelty of slavery is especially its denial of hope. Poverty, threats, and fatal illness also threaten our future, challenging us to believe in God when the future seems to disappear. Catastrophes can momentarily overwhelm our sense of the future. We know the worst is past when the future reappears.

When Saint Matthew's gospel was written reflected a settling down and growing confidence in the Church. Rather than Saint Mark's eminent "Kingdom of God," Saint Matthew tells us of the "Kingdom of Heaven" which is foreordained and predestined, but might not arrive immediately. The horizon of the future has moved further away and the Church is building organizations and doctrines to survive the ages. Our past too has expanded as we realize Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of very ancient prophecies, even of God's words to Adam and Eve. My past didn't begin the day I was born, nor will my future cease when I die. 

Saint Matthew's gospel, like the Glory Prayer, shows who we are in God's plan of Salvation History. It is ever ancient, ever new, always beautiful, and deeply, profoundly good.

Glory be to the Father,

and to the Son,

and to the Holy Spirit;

as it was in the beginning,

is now,

and ever shall be. Amen

Memorial of Saints Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, Priest, and Paul Chŏng Ha-sang, and Companions, Martyrs

Lectionary: 447

Jesus journeyed from one town and village to another, preaching and proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom of God. Accompanying him were the Twelve and some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities,

This is fascinating: Jesus' peripatetic band included women. In this age of social experimentation, many people are deeply committed to creating a Utopian society of equal opportunity, dignity and rights. They suppose that the Apostolic Community of Jesus, the original church under his supreme authority, mixed equally. He would not have tolerated male superiority or the subordination of women. They rightfully point out that any form of cultural or institutional inequity leads directly to exploitation, harassment and violence.  Perhaps Jesus set the example and taught his disciples an ideal, enlightened lifestyle.

Elaine Pagels and others have supposed the patriarchal apostles, after Pentecost, immediately purged the Church of the Lord's egalitarian impulses. That is why we find so little evidence of it in the gospels. They say, however, it survived in certain second century, Gnostic texts, which Dr Pagels translated in the 1970's. Much of it, as I read her seminal work, was apparently in what was not said, in the ellipses. It was an argument from silence. Because Jesus did not say men are superior, he must have regarded women as equal. It sounds like wishful thinking to me. 

Modern thinkers often forget that Jesus never taught Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Those ideals were separated from the Gospel like wheat from chaff by "Enlightened" European deists, with their sanitized notions of a fleshless God who is nonetheless male. 

If, as Luke says, the women "provided for them out of their resources," they apparently had control of those resources and, with control, authority. In that fellowship, resourceful women had standing and the Lord encouraged it. 

Saint Luke sometimes suggests that the early church enjoyed a honeymoon period when all was right. Can we dare to think the company who traveled with Jesus honored the dignity and intelligence of each person, regardless of their gender, age, race, nationality, intelligence, dexterity, class or body type? The four gospels certainly don't describe his followers like that.

Was their humor appropriate and respectful? If a clumsy word or gesture stepped over the line and felt wrong, did the Lord, one of the men, or one of the women rebuke it? Did he call some members aside and speak quietly about their prejudices, beliefs and attitudes? Did he resolve disputes of inequity among them, or just tell them to, "Knock it off?" 

In her book Why Religion?, Dr Pagels eventually decided her church would be formless, unstructured and entirely spiritual. A loose assortment of well-heeled friends, it's only guidelines are those accepted by its individual members in their particular solitudes. A truly egalitarian if ephemeral congregation.

On this memorial of the Korean martyrs, we should remember our knowledge of the gospel begins with our faith in Jesus, not in a hope that certain fashionable ideals can be attained in this world or the next. The martyrs tell us where we are going and the fare price. Their Church is comprised of real flesh and real blood, neither pretty nor desirable by popular standards. Their destination is perfect beauty, unattainable and unimaginable except by God's mercy. 

Thursday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 446

Attend to yourself and to your teaching;

persevere in both tasks,

for by doing so you will save

both yourself and those who listen to you.

Practicing our faith was never supposed to be easy, nor was living a good life. If Kermit found it hard to be green, we humans find it more difficult to exist at all. One of our daily challenges is balancing the needs of others against our own. Few of us are paid to take care of ourselves, but our employers want us to show up for work fit, capable and ready. Which is to say more than just physically there; we should be inspired.

That means self-care. First there's the education and formation, which was not half finished when we received our diplomas, certificates and degrees.

Then there's the daily awareness of our bodies, subject as they are to germs and viruses, accidents and predators. We should also keep an eye on the finances, those credit cards and bank accounts that sometimes run amok. That's where we meet the predators, and they are vicious.

Because we are servants of the Lord, Saint Paul urges us to, "Attend to yourself and to your teaching...." As servants (employees) of the  Lord we are expected to maintain our health, avoid destructive practices and strengthen our abilities. Who wouldn't love to drive a race car, sky dive, or shinny up a sheer cliff except that we have to be at work on Monday? We just don't have time for thirty days in ICU.

Our Christian tradition insists we should not commit suicide lest we violate the commandment, "Thou shalt not steal." Killing oneself is robbing the Lord of his property. (So far, I've heard no more persuasive answer to the philosopher's question, "Why shouldn't I kill myself?" I have not even heard an alternate, less-than-persuasive answer.)

We make our daily decisions on the principle that we belong to the Lord and are responsible to the Lord. And the Lord sends us to care for one another. It might be satisfying to focus the energies of a nation on a moonshot, or the destruction of enemies, real and imaginary; but our first duty is to care for one another. If there's any time, money or strength left over, we can spend them on less important matters.

In today's first reading, Saint Paul urges his protege, the bishop Timothy, "attend to yourself and your teaching." The practice of faith is the practice of a good life. If the bishop's responsibility includes study of the Gospel and its traditions, his ministry is to help his congregation live within the ancient customs and ways of our people. Their responsibility complements the bishop's, to learn from him and with him. Together, we live our faith and adapt our traditions to different parts of the world and through ever-changing times.

"...so you will save both yourself and those who listen to you."

Care for oneself, care for the Church, care for others: they are one thing.

Wednesday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 445

But if I should be delayed, you should know how to behave in the household of God, which is the Church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of truth. Undeniably great is the mystery of devotion....

Catechist of children spend a good deal of time teaching their scholars how to behave in the household of God. They should genuflect and make the sign of the cross; they should respond to the greetings and prayers of the presider; they should sing with gusto and listen with interest. They should know what is happening. 

Catechists of adults, unfortunately, don't get the same opportunity with the majority of the congregation. Although most Catholics know the sign of the cross, their genuflections can be halfhearted; and their oral responses, silent. 

Many people have not learned to receive the Eucharist. Many take it on the fly, never quite stopping, as if in a great hurry. 

Upon arriving at the head of the communion line, first you bow before the mystery. 

If you receive the Sacrament on your hand as you say Amen, to the minister's announcement, "The Body of Christ," you should offer one upturned hand on top the other (not a soup bowl), as if the Lord is being placed on the cross of your hands. 

Then take one or two steps aside, STOP, still facing the altar, and with other hand place the Sacrament on your tongue. (You stop because you have all the time in the world to stay in the most sacred moment of the Mass, of the day and of the week.) And then proceed back to your pew. (Not out the door. If you don't have time, attend an earlier Mass.) 

If we know know how to behave in the household of God, which is the Church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of truth, we will have a far better idea how to behave outside the church building, since we always live within the Church. 

Those who fear the Lord fear no one else. 

Franciscan Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis

Readings for the Franciscan Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis

Then he said to all, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. 


On this fourth day after the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, Franciscans throughout the world celebrate the stigmata of Saint Francis. 
I need to mention briefly that the medieval world had as much or more experience as we have, of religious nonsense. Church authorities, whatever their shortcomings, could recognize a hoax. Saint Francis's wounds, which were seen only after he died, were well attested by intelligent, skeptical prelates. 
These painful wounds may have been a divine compensation to the saint who had sought martyrdom in Egypt and been denied. More importantly, they were seen as an apocalyptic sign. Never had such a phenomenon appeared before. Franciscans, if not the whole Church, saw them as a signal for a new, deeper reflection on the suffering and death of Jesus. 
From that time onward crosses were changed to crucifixes; they carried the image of the suffering or dead Savior. If before they were adorned with precious gems, they now sparkled with his more precious wounds. If people had seen ease, comfort and luxury as signs of blessedness, they should know God prefers toil, distress and destitution. Jesus should not be seen wearing the raiment of kings but the rags of poverty. He would not be found among the wealthy and influential, his place is with the despised and oppressed. 
Almost eight hundred years later, we still try to wrap our heads around this unexpected sign. When Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio took the throne name Pope Francis, he reminded the Church that we have yet to understand the message of the stigmata. Too many of our customs and institutions simply maintain the normal; they don't normally extend themselves to welcome refugees or visit the imprisoned. Priests desperately shore up failing institutions. They try to accommodate the changing expectations of the world around us, which thinks it knows something about justice and mercy. 
The stigmata teach us to expect grief, disappointment, and rejection. There will be blowback and personal anxiety when we make difficult moral choices. If the local bishop makes a public statement, his Catholic faithful can expect snide remarks at the office. Their loyalty will be tested. 
These trials are difficult. Without daily prayer and frequent reflection on Jesus Crucified, they will be unbearable. I often meet Veterans in my ministry as hospital chaplain, who have quit attending Mass because a bishop made a difficult decision and was denounced by the chattering classes. It's easy to decide what is right and wrong when your opinion doesn't matter. Nor does it take courage to quit attending Mass after your friends and family quit a long time ago. 
Oddly, Saint Francis found "success" in his ministry. Thousands of men and women accepted his teaching; civil and ecclesial dignitaries begged for his company. The Spirit taught him to respect them, but to distrust their admiration. Blind with a painful aversion to bright light, he pursued his love of God in dark solitude, showing the wounds to no one. Only one or two friars, his personal nurses, knew of them, not even Saint Clare. 
He welcomed the persistent pain of these mysterious token as a sharing in the suffering of Christ. 

Memorial of Saints Cornelius, Pope, and Cyprian, Bishop, Martyrs

Lectionary: 443

For there is one God. There is also one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as ransom for all.


In this passage from Saint Paul's First Letter to Saint Timothy, in the context of allegiance to legitimate government authority, the Apostle recognizes the sovereignty of God over all peoples, states, tribes, and nations. Christians cannot claim a personal relationship with God that might give them authority over non-believers. We cannot claim that, by our covenant, we should rule the world or judge the wicked. Jesus never suggested the Kingdom of Heaven would be a theocracy -- ruled by God and governed by priests. Egyptian pharaohs and Roman emperors  made these claims, the Jews despised such nonsense. Their tradition was deeply familiar with the sins of the wealthy and powerful. Unlike the chronicles of other nations, the Hebrew Scriptures remembered the corruptions of power. 
Well within that traditional memory, Saint Paul counseled loyalty to "kings and all those in authority." Some are better than others, none are wholly evil, none are entirely trustworthy. We work with what we have. 
The American media, caught up in Manichean frenzies, love to discover and denounce the wicked behavior of the powerful. Once discovered, they and all their friends, associates, and those who "met them only once" are pilloried and expected to prostrate themselves and apologize for their sins. If -- God help us -- they accepted donations from the accused they must immediately and publicly purge their coffers. It doesn't matter how worthy the cause, the money is stained with blood. They take particular delight in discovering inconsistency within the decisions of church leaders. If a bishop fires an openly gay elementary school teacher, shouldn't he also fire the teacher whose failed marriage could not be annulled by the diocesan tribunal? Isn't religion all about unconditional love of good people and unqualified condemnation of the wicked?  

The Catholic Church has a long memory. Not only do we remember the crimes of powerful Catholics, both lay and cleric, we also recognize the failure of reforms. Some reforms have been schismatic, separating themselves from the institutional church to start a new institution, which becomes as corrupt. 
Other reformers remain within the institution, like Fundamentalists among Protestants and Jansenists among Catholics, to create their own brand of Pharisaic hypocrisy within the congregation. 
There is only one mediator, Saint Paul says, and that is Jesus Christ. The Christian who understands that is willing to work with other sinners, admiring their good qualities and dealing with their shortcomings. Anchored in the Lord, they are willing to take risks with people; and when these ventures fail, they kick the dust from their feet and take their confidence elsewhere. "Just because that person violated me," they say, "doesn't make me a bad person, nor does it reflect on God's goodness."
Like Jesus, Saint Paul was familiar with betrayal. And like Jesus, he knew the Spirit that would never fail. He built his house on the rock of faith, not on the sands of friendship or party loyalty. He knew his own sins and the sins of others. With that wisdom he could ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and for all in authority....