Saturday after Ash Wednesday

Lectionary: 222

If you call the sabbath a delight, and the LORD’s holy day honorable; If you honor it by not following your ways, seeking your own interests, or speaking with malice.
Then you shall delight in the LORD, and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth...

"My way doesn't work for me!" What a surprise that is, especially to the one who crooned with Frank Sinatra, "I did it my way." 
As usual, the King James Version says it best:

...not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words, then you shall delight yourself in the LORD... (Isaiah 58:14)

Lent is that season when we consider the Lord's ways and the possibility -- as unlikely as it might seem -- that I may be wrong.
Philosopher John Macmurray described the critical moment when the infant realizes there are other sentient beings in the universe. First they discover they cannot have what they want when they want it in the manner they want it; and that others are making decisions that affect them intimately and personally. They are fed, clothed, sheltered, and comforted by others and cannot provide these things for themselves. That is, perhaps, too obvious to the infant. 
But when they realize, "OMG! What I wanted was not best for me, and this Big Person knew that when I didn't!" -- that is an Awakening Moment. 
If the child is then willing to work in partnership with the Other -- providing that the Other is also wise enough to recognize the child's integrity as An Other -- they develop that amazing, graceful ability to work with others, to play on the same team and achieve shared and meaningful goals. 
When I was a pastor and more familiar with children, I knew some who could fairly leap onto my hip as I lifted them. They seemed to weigh nothing. Other children lacked that ability; they were hoisted onto my hip like a sack of potatoes. Injuries could follow!

Faith begins when we realize that God is also wiser than me, and wiser than all of us! There is, in fact, a God who is not a figment of our projected imagination. A God whom we did not create because we can't explain everything. This is not the scientist's "God of the Gaps," nor even a God of Wonders who explains my experience of awe. 
No, this is the God who gives us the Holy Spirit who recognizes Jesus as the Son of God the Father. As Saint Paul carefully explained in 1 Corinthians 3:

Now in regard to spiritual gifts, brothers, I do not want you to be unaware. You know how, when you were pagans, you were constantly attracted and led away to mute idols. Therefore, I tell you that nobody speaking by the spirit of God says, “Jesus be accursed.” And no one can say, “Jesus is Lord,” except by the holy Spirit.

This Spirit spoke to Simeon in the temple and John the Baptist in the Jordan River. The old man took the Baby in his arms and said, 

"Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace, according to your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation....

And the Baptist declared: 

I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from the sky and remain upon him. I did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain, he is the one who will baptize with the holy Spirit. Now I have seen and testified that he is the Son of God.”

Someone once asked me, "How does Christianity compare to other religions?" "There is no comparison!" I said. 
If other religions suppose there should be a god somewhere, that's fine for them. But Christians celebrate the Lord who reveals his Otherness to us, and will not allow us to compare him to other gods.

See now that I, I alone, am he,and there is no god besides me.It is I who bring both death and life,I who inflict wounds and heal them,and from my hand no one can deliver. Deuteronomy 32:39

During Lent we ask the Lord to give us that Spirit, and to make us more willing to be guided by the Spirit. My way doesn't work for me. I tried it and it failed me. I cannot trust my own impulses and desires. My emotions are suspect. Even rationality -- the god revered by the French Revolution -- often fails me. 

As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord!

Friday after Ash Wednesday

Lectionary: 221

This, rather, is the fasting that I wish:
releasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed,
breaking every yoke;
Sharing your bread with the hungry,
sheltering the oppressed and the homeless....


As a chaplain in the VA I sometimes ponder our peculiar species. King Lear, discovering the naked and apparently mad Edgar, described us, "Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal."
Indeed for many thousands of years -- most of our time as a distinct type of great ape -- our human ancestors lived in Africa with no clothing, subject to the heat of day and the chill of night. Subject also to whatever parasite, disease or injury might befall them. Had they not cared for one another with whatever medicines and succor they could offer, we would not be here today. 
We were not created to make war with each other, nor to cheat, swindle, and steal from one another. We have managed to classify ourselves into ranks of royalty, aristocracy, and peasantry but these rankings are neither necessary nor natural. They are the unfortunate side effects of complexity and specialization; they inevitably cheapen the whole glorious experience of being created in God's image. 
Our purpose is to care for one another. The American passion for competition makes no sense whatever if it overwhelms cooperation and mutual assistance. The CEOs who are afraid to lose, who manipulates the rules and lobby the legislators so that they never lose, are the real losers. And they sabotage our survival.   
We must care for one another. Universal health care is not a socialist ideal; it's how we have always survived. It's also the nexus where the Gospel and Nature meet, where divine wisdom and common sense embrace and kiss. 

Lent reminds us of what Natural Law has always told us, and of the insistent teaching of Revelation. Care for everyone, regardless!

If we are blinded by Original Sin and paralyzed by concupiscence, we shall have no excuse for our self-destruction when the Lord appears to judge the nations. 

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

Lectionary: 220

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.

I've read a bit about Buddhism and yoga and have experimented with some of their practices. One fascinating exercise is "one nostril breathing." Assuming a comfortable seated position, I pinch my nose to close one nostril, then inhale and exhale one breath. And then, I release that nostril to close the other one, and repeat. 
Back and forth, back and forth, one nostril, then the other, and wait for nothing in particular. At first it seems I cannot keep this up very long; I'll be short of oxygen and have to gasp to regain my equilibrium. But as the time passes, I realize I am still here, still short of oxygen, but not gasping, panting, or fainting. I am just acutely aware of my breath. 
I experience the imminence of death; I must breathe to live. If I don't get the air I need, I will perish within a few minutes. 
Sometimes, in meditation, with or without pinching a nostril, I inhale and exhale and experience a pause when I don't have to inhale immediately. I am "good" for a little while. In the interval I have a kind of freedom. I think, "Shall I breathe now, or wait a little while?" I don't have to wait till I am desperate, but I can say to myself, "I think I will breathe now. Ahh! That's very nice." 
We have heard Moses today reminding us to "Choose life!" Breath is life and these exercises remind me to breathe and thank God for breath. I know people who want to improve the experience of breathing with tobacco, marijuana, or vapor. Without much knowledge of these practices, I still think the most satisfactory way to breathe is without pollutants. 
"Choose Life!" Moses said, and Jesus added the word daily. There is no time like the present. 
Lent reminds us of this critical moment; it confronts us with a crisis. "Now is the acceptable time!" I must breathe now. I cannot put it off till tomorrow. I must repent today; tomorrow may be too late. 
Lord, thank you for this moment of grace. Help me to accept this moment, and this opportunity, so that I might be alive tomorrow to accept the graces and opportunities that come tomorrow. 
Freedom, like grace, is always this moment. It cannot be put off till tomorrow. 

Ash Wednesday 2020

Lectionary: 219

Blow the trumpet in Zion!

proclaim a fast,

call an assembly;

Gather the people,

notify the congregation;

Assemble the elders,

gather the children

and the infants at the breast;

Let the bridegroom quit his room

and the bride her chamber.

Between the porch and the altar

let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep,

And say, “Spare, O LORD, your people...."

Recently, in a discussion about telephoning widows, sons, and daughters of recently deceased Veterans, the chaplains were advised not to initiate such calls. HIPAA regulations are engineered to protect patient information and confidentiality. Americans are dying of loneliness and we're prevented from speaking a consoling word by concerns about their privacy. 

Today's first reading from the Prophet Isaiah urges us to come out of our fatal privacy and assemble as the People of God. We are God's assembly, his congregation, the people whom the Lord has chosen to do penance for our sins and the sin of the world. 

No one does this alone. The Christian always prays as a member of the Body of Christ. The Catholic prays in communion with Mary, the saints, all the angels, and the entire Church, living and dead. 

Our Lenten practices are simple, as befitting a people from every part of the Earth. We might not agree on many universal forms of penitential expressions, but we can fast between meals and abstain from meat today, and on the Fridays of Lent. This universal practice expresses our solidarity first with one another, and then with those who have little to eat. Of course diabetics and persons with other health issues are exempt, but they should develop their own ways of participating in this universal practice. 

...And say, “Spare, O LORD, your people,and make not your heritage a reproach,with the nations ruling over them!Why should they say among the peoples,‘Where is their God?’”

I often think of Abraham's failed attempt to save the "cities of the plain," Sodom and Gomorrah. Had there been fifty good people among them, for Abraham's sake, fire would not have fallen upon them, nor the column of smoke have risen from them. Even ten good people would have made a difference. But one man and his messy family could not do it.
"Fasting, and weeping, and mourning" are not solitary chores; we do this together.

"Spare, O Lord, your people..." We don't have to go far to discover the threats. If they only accosted our way of life, which changes beyond recognition every few months, we might ignore the threat. But we're looking at addictions to alcohol and pain medication, which afflict every class, religion, and nationality. And at suicide, an impulse that arises suddenly and unexpectedly among the apparently normal people. And at climate change, affected by anthropocene forces beyond anyone's control.
We cannot save ourselves. We can only beg God to spare your people and, with us, the whole Earth. 
Let us pray. 

Then the LORD was stirred to concern for his landand took pity on his people. 

Tuesday of the Seventh Week of Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 342

Cleanse your hands, you sinners,

and purify your hearts, you of two minds. Begin to lament, to mourn, to weep. Let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy into dejection. Humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you.

On this Shrove Tuesday we can welcome Saint James' scolding. He directs us through the narrow gate into Lent.

Much of our Christian religion, which formulated its earliest teachings in the Greco-Roman world, is intentional, rather than emotional. When the Apostle urges us to "Let your laughter be turned into mourning." he is not berating us for being in a good mood. He is not chastising us for being happy.

Rather, he is directing us to enter the Spirit of the Season intentionally. Even if someone has just told me the funniest joke I've heard in my life, and I can hardly stop giggling when I think about it, I should enter the funeral parlor quietly, out of respect for the grieving family. Americans do the same thing when, at the beginning of any major sporting event, they stand up and reverently listen to the Star Spangled Banner. We're not clowning around, winking at each other, or play-conducting the music. We're thinking serious thoughts about the flag, the defense of the country, and those who have paid the ultimate price. Assuming these poses is an intentional act to fit the moment; it is not suppressing our emotions or artificially arousing our feelings. 

Entering Lent, the Church invites us to lament, mourn, and weep. We consider the Passion of Christ, beginning with his willingness to be baptized with us for the forgiveness of sins. He shares the cup of our helplessness as we can neither save ourselves nor cease doing evil. We are indeed immersed in a sinful world and it is impossible to avoid the contagion of guilt. With us he experiences confusion, anxiety, and abandonment; they are the price of freedom and the consequences of love. He will understand our sadness when we murmur, "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. He will embrace the anguish of the parent who must say to the child, "I am sorry; I did the best I could with what I had." He knows the guilt of the survivor, the remorse of the penitent, and the pathos of the compulsive who cannot control their impulses. 

Entering Lent, we go with the Lord into this dismal history of human failure and reckless foolishness. We restrain the impulse to throw the first stone because he is standing by the woman, and she is one of our own. We might be moved to tears, even as we're moved by a patriotic anthem or a funeral dirge. But that's not necessary. Lent is deeper than our feelings; and an emotional reaction can distract us from our purpose. LIke the opera singer who sings a sad aria before a weeping theater, we are not carried away by the emotion. Rather, Lent takes us to the Heart of Christ and Communion with Our Father, a silence that is very deep, peaceful, and blessed. 

Monday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 341

But the wisdom from above is first of all 
then peaceable, gentle, compliant, full of mercy and good fruits, without inconstancy or insincerity. And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace
for those who cultivate peace.

Saints Paul and James, as they describe the life of the Christian, often create lists of virtues. I think especially of 1 Corinthians 13 and Paul's description of love. And his recitation in Galatians of the fruits of the Spirit. 
It is pleasant to create these lists and reflect upon them. Each item seems to flow from the heart to the mind to the paper as the author furiously tries to keep up with the length and height and depth of God's mercy. 
"Think about these things" Saint Paul said as he finished his list in the Letter to the Philippians. "Then the peace of God will be with you."
My friend Tony used to call me a pest-imist, as I enumerated all the problems in the world, the church, and our superiors in the seminary. What good could come of such negativity? 
People sometimes claim they're just being honest when they complain but their honesty is facile; it comes too easily. Cynicism is not courageous; nor is it honest. Any attitude that fails to acknowledge the Presence, Goodness, and Power of God is neither true, dependable, nor realistic. 
With our daily prayers we cultivate peace. We invite the Lord to be Lord of our minds and hearts and actions. We welcome the Spirit to direct our attitudes and imagination toward the Truth which is never apparent to the irreligious, the frightened, or the faithless. 
This train is bound for glory, and we're happy to ride with the Lord. 

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 79​

“You have heard that it was said..., But I say to you..."

Ordinarily, on the Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time, in the A-cycle, we hear the beginning of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, beginning with:

When he saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying..."

followed by the Eight Beatitudes. Several following Sundays give us more passages from that "Sermon." This year, because that Fourth Sunday fell on February 2 (the Feast of the Purification) we missed that particular passage. So here we are, three weeks later, immersed in Jesus' first great teaching.

Whatever response we might give to these chapters in Saint Matthew's gospel, the first thing we should notice is his authority. In today's gospel he says six times, “You have heard that it was said..., But I say to you..." 

We can well imagine some of the crowd saying, "Who is this guy?" Religion, by its nature, is traditional; it comes with the suggestion that This has always been; these are eternal truths and values set in stone. We expect our religious authorities to say what they always said, what we have always heard. 

If the world outside the Church is continually changing and always in flux, the world within the Church should never change. It is stable, predictable, and reassuring. The religion continually reminds a distracted people of who they are, who they have always been, and who they must always be. 

The Pharisees offered that kind of religion. It was the Law of Moses; it was unchanged and unchanging. The Jews, more so than other nations, had a sense of history. They knew there was a time when God had not chosen a people, a time before Abraham and Sarah. But there was no science of history to try to locate that patriarchal couple within the secular world. They did not have an existential sense of history happening continually. If there was technological progress, as there was, they did not expect progress. What they saw of history, they didn't like. Change was not welcome. It augered the decline of morals and the deterioration of social norms. The past was better than the present, and the kids today! What can we do with them?

So when Jesus stands up and declares, "You have heard it said... but I say to you!" they have to wonder, "Who is this guy and where does he come from?"

Two thousand years later, the religion of Jesus has also collected all the hoary tradition of the Pharisees and their Law of Moses. Even my generation, which seemed to welcome change in the 1960's, looks askance at some religious developments of the twenty-first century. "Now just a minute...!" we might want to say to ordained women, gay marriage, and gender transition.

I, for one, who chafed under the strictures of tradition in the middle of the last century, often appeal to the authority of tradition, "We've never done it that way!"

However, the Spirit of Jesus, ever ancient, ever new, leads and guides us into the future. The Spirit intones Jesus' historic words, now deeply imbedded in our tradition, "You have heard it said... but I say to you."

New inspirations, ideas, and institutions often appear untraditional. I toured an art exhibit featuring the painter Whistler (known for his portrait, "Whistler's Mother"). HIs contemporaries were astonished at the outlandish oriental influences he introduced to his paintings. When I saw them a century later, they looked entirely European; I had to be told of their oriental forms and colors. They seemed entirely traditional, especially when compared to "modern art," -- which is also rooted in tradition.

So long as we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus while remaining confident of Mary, the pure virgin mother who is the Church, we needn't worry too much about the changes. Our faith assures us of eternal salvation, and it promises that future generations -- our dear children -- will also hear and welcome the Everlasting Word. 

Feast of the Chair of Saint Peter, Apostle

Lectionary: 535

You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church;

the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.

I know of only two relics in our Catholic tradition that merit feast days, the Chair of Peter and the True Cross. So far as I know, no other relic merits even a memorial day. Despite some claims, the Church insists there are no relics of the Blessed Mother; and the only reliable relic of Jesus is the Blessed Sacrament. (But you might count the Veil of Veronica and the Shroud of Turin.)

Here in Louisville, a shrine contains the relics of Saints Magnus and Bonosa in the Basilica of Saint Martin of Tours. I don't know if they have earned even a local memorial Mass.

But, despite the American palette which generally disdains Christian relics, there is something fascinating about encountering the actual item which may have been the saint, or possessed by the saint, or touched by a relic of the saint.

While Americans looks askance at such holy objects, they cannot be unfamiliar with the rags Elvis Presley distributed to his fans, Michael Jordan's single white glove, or Dorothy's Ruby Slippers. Not to mention innumerable home run baseballs swatted by our immortal Boys of Summer. And let us not forget the fetish over Einstein's brain! If these things carry a certain eclat, our secular neighbors can hardly deny our pleasure in the relics of saints.

Relics, like the holy sites in Jerusalem and Israel, carry the memory of God's visit to our mundane world. They don't come to us from Once Upon A Time, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, or a Galaxy Far, Far Away.

God has stooped down from heaven to save his beloved people. Whether your spirituality delights in the ALL POWERFUL, SOVEREIGN GOD who deigns to save his wretched  people, or the kenotic Lord who humbly assumes the last and least place among us, the relic demonstrates his Real Presence in our world.

We have to be impressed by that.

The Chair of Saint Peter is, like most relics, disputed. Tests of the wood show it came from a tree grown in the sixth century A.D. Well, never mind.

The point is Saint Peter lived in Rome and presided over the nascent church in the catacombs, where superstitious Roman soldiers dared not enter. There is no doubt  of that history and you can still visit those ancient passageways.

Our faith is not a fantasy, our gospels are not fiction, our Blessed Sacrament is more than a symbol.

God still visits his people.

Friday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 339

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him?

Pharisaic Judaism was just as aware of hypocrisy, and the split between appearance and reality, as the early Christians. Everybody knows that some people put on a marvelous show of goodwill, generosity, and benevolence but hide a rancid core of malevolence in their hearts. In some, perhaps most, cases, they are completely unaware of that vicious streak. They have effectively fooled themselves. They believe, in the parlance of the entertainment industry, their own press clippings.

Many people today, especially in our time of severe political polarization, put enormous stock in their opinions. These, they suppose, are the same as faith. Belonging to the right "tribe," even if they do nothing about it, somehow makes a difference.

Religious liberals, for instance, are known for their reluctance to pay for their opinions. They have very strong beliefs about religion but support no church. None, it seems, is worthy of their devotion. Religious conservatives, on the other hand, often make substantial donations to their particular causes. Like it or not, they make a difference! They might not support this or that parish or diocese where people actually live, but they will support the loudest representation of their cherished, traditional values.

Saint James challenges all that nonsense. We're not saved by our beliefs, those idle opinions about pie-in-the-sky doctrines.

There has been some controversy lately about whether American Catholics believe in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. Some polls indicate a widespread lack of enthusiasm for the official teaching. In fact a majority of self-identified Catholics say that the Sacrament is a "symbol." But the majority of self-identified Catholics don't attend church so their opinion really doesn't matter. The same polls show that those who attend Sunday and weekday masses endorse whatever the Church says about "real presence" and "transubstantiation" -- whatever those odd words mean.

They show up because the Lord shows up! Their presence is real, as is the Lord's. That sacrifice of time effects their sacrificial giving and their sacred presence outside the Church.

I listened to a woman complain about the rude behavior of soft ball players on Sunday morning and remarked, "They don't go to Church. Maybe that's why they're so rude." She got very upset about that, about what I had impugned! I had supposed she attended church on Saturday evening. Apparently I was wrong.

Our faith is practical; it is practiced. It is real because we make a difference, not as Americans or Veterans or good citizens, but as disciples of Jesus. People who know us are not surprised to learn we are Catholic or Christian. It was obvious from the start, in our manner, our actions, and our good works.

Thursday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 338​

My brothers and sisters, show no partiality

as you adhere to the faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ.

Saint James offers a stern teaching for us today. His warning, "show no partiality," should be "standard operating procedure" for our practices and habits. But it's hard not to kowtow to the wealthy donors and potential donors who occasionally attend our services. And there are other favored persons -- the recognized politicians, athletes, and entertainers -- who grace us with their presence. We might fawn upon them as well.

Books have been written about the "exchange" that goes on between influential persons in different fields. The politician curries favor with the religious authority, and vice versa, because they need each other's eclat. The politician needs the moral aura that surrounds the priest or nun; the religious person needs recognition beyond their own congregation or denomination. Both cultivate the esteem of the athlete, reminding their people they were once young and athletic. They sidle up to the brilliant entertainer to show the world, "I am somebody too!"

Of course, we like to welcome these well-known persons to our churches to claim their success as our own. This famous person belongs to "my church!" Woo-hoo!

Clever politicians and ministers know to appear at funerals and weddings, to condole the grieving and congratulate the newlyweds, and to garner recognition among their potential supporters.

All this is human nature and not really reprehensible.

But, having welcomed the Very Important Person, who almost certainly feels entitled to -- and needs -- at least a moment of recognition, we should turn our attention back to the assembly of equal persons.

Each and every person is honored by the Lord. I think the Lord stands up for everyone who comes into the room, and personally greets them with, "Thank you for coming!" and "Thank you for your generosity!" and "I know well your shame and disgrace and I so admire your willingness to join us! It's wonderful that you are here!"

Not being the Lord, we cannot know the personal history that trails everyone who enters our church. We cannot suppose there is trouble in every household, or what that trouble might be. We have no idea of the moral traumas each man and woman have survived. But our warm greetings have a sacramental quality of healing and reassurance that can flood the secret places and illuminate the darkest corners.

We should never hesitate to lavish that attention on the strangers who join us in prayer.

Wednesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 337

Know this, my dear brothers and sisters:
everyone should be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger
for anger does not accomplish
the righteousness of God.
Therefore, put away all filth and evil excess
and humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you
and is able to save your souls.


A fellow spoke to me of his anger issue one time. I asked him how often he got angry with his wife. "Every day!" he said. 
"You're right; you have a problem with anger."
Anger is not unlike alcohol, cigarettes, and other addictive substances. It's origen, as Saint James knew so well, is the self. Battling against the reality of other people and their habits, ideas and preferences; against circumstances; and personal failings, inabilities, and weakness, some people get angry habitually. By default. 
Actually by choice. But they like to say, He, she, they, or you "made me angry." 
I used to blame people for my drinking alcohol. I called it social pressure until I discovered there is no such thing. It's all in the head, in one's imagination. When I admitted no one made me drink, and that I was doing it myself although I didn't enjoy it, I quit. 
I grieved for a while. I thought of all the promises that alcohol had made to me, though they were never kept. My social acceptance among others, my suavity, and charm, not to mention the fun and freedom from constraint that alcohol promised: I grieved the loss of these false promises. 
Anger, too, promises accomplishment and the satisfaction of one's desires. If people are afraid of your anger they'll do what you want! That's power! It's very seductive. 
Until people quit being afraid of your anger. Then you're just a fool. 
"Anger," Saint James says, "does not accomplish the righteousness of God." 
If there are short term gains by raising one's voice, God will have to undo them. The Kingdom of God is built on the solid foundation of our fidelity. 

Therefore, put away all filth and evil excess
and humbly welcome the word that has been planted in you
and is able to save your souls.

Tuesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 336



Blessed is he who perseveres in temptation,

for when he has been proven he will

receive the crown of life that he promised to those who love him.

The Gospel today gives us a story of Jesus' perseverance with his disciples. "Do you still not understand?" he demands of them. 

Actually, no. They don't understand. They thought he was speaking about ordinary bread, made from wheat or barley, when he warned them of "the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod." 

What kind of bread do Democrats eat? or Republicans? or Independents? We're not talking about white, rye, or pumpernickel. 

Jesus persists in teaching them through parables and riddles because ordinary language cannot open their minds to the Truth. They must be baffled and confused and finally bewildered before they will turn attentively to him and ask for his Spirit. 

The Advocate, the holy Spirit that the Father will send in my name—he will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you.

The disciples must also persevere with Jesus, waiting for their minds to be opened by his discipline. They will recognize his human frustration in his words, "Do you still not understand?  
I once "sat at the feet" (metaphorically) of a wise woman who practically shouted at me, "Ken, what am I supposed to do? If I advise you you don't want advice! If I sympathize with you, you don't want sympathy! What am I supposed to do?"
I couldn't answer at that moment. But I took a long walk and her frustration sank in. I liked the woman but I wasn't working with her. I was holding onto something, my pride or arrogance or resentments. She wasn't failing me. Neither was anyone else. It was me! I was the problem. 
I had to change. I realized it. I had to change my attitudes and my behavior and my habitual ways. My ways didn't work for me anymore, if they ever had. 
When I went back to her office a week later I said, "Okay, I'm ready to work with you."
It was her angry frustration that got through to me. No argument, reason, or persuasion could touch me. I had to feel her hot anger in my face and realize what I was doing to her. 
"Do you still not understand?" Jesus demands of us. 
We're often so terrified of God's anger we suppose that he cannot be. "God is so good and so patient and so nice, he can never be upset with me!" 
Get over it. As Lent approaches we might finally allow the Lord to be angry with us and let his wrath wash over us, and hear the threat of justice avenged; and ask his Advocate to remind us finally of all he told us about mercy and justice. 

Monday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 335

But he should ask in faith, not doubting,

for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea

that is driven and tossed about by the wind.

For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord,

since he is a man of two minds, unstable in all his ways.

I love Saint James' simile, "a man of two minds." I think of the frustrated prayer of King Claudius in Shakespeare's Hamlet,

But, O, what form of prayer

Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder'?

That cannot be; since I am still possess'd

Of those effects for which I did the murder,

My crown, mine own ambition and my queen.

May one be pardon'd and retain the offence?

Two-minded, he will finally give up trying to pray:

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:

Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

How often do we -- realizing we should pray -- rush into the duty with a quick sign of the cross, a half-formed thought, and a rapid stream of words to satisfy the obligation? We might even bring a petition or two, and then sign off with a halfhearted, "...but thy will be done." Thus leaving the Lord an out for disappointing us.

In this Letter, Saint James' speaks of perseverance: 

"And let perseverance be perfect, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing." 

We might call his perseverance "single-mindedness." Or mindfulness, attention, or focus. I listened to a Veteran recently who is sorely obsessed with what a friend has done to him. He complained of the injustice and unfairness of it all; he repeated himself like a broken record, over and over with the same stories. 

I tried to tell him that his brain is possessed by someone else, that this other person has "talons" sunk in the jelly of his head. I urged him to find his own center where this enemy has not penetrated. But he could hear nothing of what I said. His affliction may continue for weeks because he continually picks at the injured tissue of himself. One of his two minds belongs to someone else.

I know what it's like; I've been there.

Very often we have to approach prayer with a plea of salvation. The Author of The Cloud of Unknowing insists that God cannot resist the prayer of the helpless. We must approach prayer not with confidence and strength but with our pathetic distractions and obsessions. Help me, Lord! I have two minds and they cannot hear one another!

Our prayer begins with our need before the God who comes to us as needy, the One born in poverty in Bethlehem, who is homeless, crucified and buried in a borrowed grave. We must persevere in his presence and our helplessness, praying, "Here I am, Lord." Even as the Lord remains with us.

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 76

We speak a wisdom to those who are mature,

not a wisdom of this age...

Is it just me or is life getting more mysterious by the day? Our readings invite us to consider Law: God's law and human law. But the distinction is not at all clear for both sets of law demand respect. They spell the limits of our freedom but they also protect our freedom.

I have heard that children spend as much time quarreling about the rules of a game as they do playing the game. You can't play a game without rules, but they're often arbitrary. When I play eight ball with my brothers we wonder what are the penalties for a "scratch." Are there universal rules or do we play by "house rules?" We're pretty sure God has no eternal decrees for playing billiards, but it might be simpler for everyone if he did.

As we witness contempt for laws and established customs in high offices of the government we realize how fragile and tenuous laws are. Unlike the fabled "Ten Commandments," they are written only on paper, like marriage certificates. When enough people flout the law, it goes away with no one to mourn its memory.

The Jewish religion begins with overwhelming gratitude for the Law of God, that God would give direction and purpose to misguided, confused, and mischievous human society. No philosophical vision leads infallibly to wisdom; much less to peace, prosperity, or the flourishing of human potential. No nation, society, or culture can create a utopia in this world. Every attempt is is sabotaged by its inner demons even as it is overwhelmed by the turbulence of neighboring societies. God's gift of the Law to the Jews showed them not only a better way to live; it proved our inability to govern ourselves.

Our Jewish heritage celebrates the divine gift of the law especially with Psalm 119, the longest of the psalms. Every one of its 176 verses uses a synonym for law; including ways, commands, statutes, judgement, and so forth. These many different words point to the undefinable mystery of this thing we call law. There is no one word for it.

Historically, the nascent Christian Church called it The Way. You'll remember Saint Paul set out to persecute those in the Way. And then he preached the Gospel, especially of "Jesus Christ and him crucified." Later generations would develop Rules, especially the Benedictine, Augustinian, and Franciscan Rules. In the last century, we saw the Twelve Step Program develop, with innumerable modifications for alcoholics, drug addicts, gamblers, shoppers, and so forth. Still more recent is the Charismatic movement among Protestants and Catholics. All of these inspired codes from the Law of Moses to the Azusa Street Revival attempt to describe the external practices and the interior attitudes of living in God's presence.

Each one has inspired millions of people for many generations, and each one has been subject to misunderstandings, abuse, and contempt. The Law of God remains mysterious, fluid, and ineffable.

Observing the Law of God, however we might understand it -- as the Law of Moses or the Franciscan Rule or the daily ten-ten of Marriage Encounter -- requires a willing, docile alertness to the Holy Spirit. We walk by faith and not by sight.

Saturday of the Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 334

R.   Remember us, O Lord, as you favor your people.

We have sinned, we and our fathers;

we have committed crimes; we have done wrong.

Our fathers in Egypt considered not your wonders.

R.    Remember us, O Lord, as you favor your people.

Cardinal Timothy Dolan, archbishop of New York, once declared, "You don't have to tell me about sin in the Church. I'm a church historian!" 

Perhaps it's good that some people, unlike the Cardinal, are scandalized by the incidence and magnitude of sin within our communion. It should not happen. It doesn't have to happen. But there it is. 

And then we remember, "Of course we're sinners!" Why did we come to the church if not for salvation, release, and forgiveness? 

We are surprised though, by the depth and persistence of sin. If some of us have grown too old for the sins of our youth, the desire may yet persist. And our obnoxious egos continue to look for ways around the Lord's narrow gate. I was struck recently by a phrase in the Letter of Saint James. It might be fun to quote this passage when my friars give me a hard time about something:

Consider it all joy... when you encounter various trials,

for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.

And let perseverance be perfect, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

They tell the story of the old friar who often prayed for perseverance in his vocation. The younger men wondered what temptations would possibly torment the ancient man. But he was probably praying for the willingness to live with these young whippersnappers and their ungodly ways. 

Or perhaps he knew his fear of illness and debility, and how he clung to his independence. He could still bathe and dress himself. He could still walk to the dining room, the recreation room, and the chapel. 

But the day would come. Would he despair on that day? Would he take the advice of Job's wife: “Are you still holding to your innocence? Curse God and die!”

The world is full of many trials and severe testings. Our first reading today describes a political crime when a self-anointed king tore Israel away from Judah, Jerusalem, and the Temple where the Lord dwelt among his people. Jeroboam set up golden idols to represent God "in Bethel and in Dan. He also built temples on the high places and made priests from among the people who were not Levites." This apostasy took the whole population out of communion with their northern brethren. In the eighth century BCE, Assyria overran Israel and the "ten tribes of Israel" were lost to history. The Jewish historians lamented: 

This was a sin on the part of the house of Jeroboam

for which it was to be cut off and destroyed from the earth.

The Divine Authors knew that sin is not only a personal decision. It is social and political and masses of people readily agree to flout God's law. The consequences can persist for generations. First they seem ineradicable and then normal. When Justice appeals to the conscious of their descendants some will say, "Forget it! It's all past!" And others will say, "Move on, there's no undoing the past." 

But, as William Faulkner said of the southern states, "The past is never dead. It's not even past." 

It can only become past when we have turned to the Lord and atoned for the wrong of our ancestors. Today's Psalm 106 concludes: 

For their sake he remembered his covenant

and relented in his abundant mercy,

Winning for them compassion

from all who held them captive.

Save us, LORD, our God;

gather us from among the nations

That we may give thanks to your holy name

and glory in praising you.

*Blessed be the LORD, the God of Israel,

from everlasting to everlasting!

Let all the people say, Amen!