Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 252

That is why I told you that you will die in your sins. For if you do not believe that I AM, you will die in your sins.”
So they said to him, “Who are you?”

John Barton, in his book A History of the Bible (published 2019), writes,

“Second Isaiah contains the first explicit formulations of Jewish monotheism, the belief that only the God of Israel is the true God, and that all other pretended gods are nothing at all: not rivals, not even impotent rivals, to the one God, but simply non-existent:

Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his Redeemer, the Lord of Hosts; I am the first and I am the last; Besides me there is no god. Isaiah 44:6

Before the Exile and Diaspora, the prophets insisted that we should worship Our God, and that Our God had an exclusive claim upon us. As to other gods? Or other religions? The prophets couldn't be bothered to talk about them. 

This “first explicit formulation of Jewish monotheism” was written long after Abraham, Moses, and David. It appeared after Israel had been overrun by Assyria and Babylon; after Jerusalem was leveled; and Solomon's temple, razed; after the God of the Jews had apparently been vanquished by the gods of the foreigners. Why would anyone worship a defeated, impotent god? 

Isaiah 44:6 was written in defiance of the Babylonian rulers after the Jews had been scattered from India to north Africa and Spain.

We should understand that our religion did not appear fully grown like Athena, born out of the head of Zeus. Rather, it developed over many centuries first in the Levant, and then with the diaspora of the Jews. Somewhat later, Christianity began with Jesus and his disciples but the Church as we know it developed its structures of authority, liturgy, scriptures, and principal doctrines in the first four centuries of the Christian Era. It was not created out of nothing; much of it was received from our Jewish ancestors.

Although we can trace the evolution of a religion, we should appreciate how slowly and reluctantly religious customs, attitudes, and beliefs change. Some practices of the devout may disappear from the mainstream but remain in isolated communities for generations, and then reappear. 

If we appreciate the essentially conservative nature of religion, we might appreciate Jesus’ shocking statement in today’s gospel, “…if you do not believe that I AM, you will die in your sins.” Mary’s son claims to be the Lord of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; he is the only God. You shall have no strange god before him. You must believe this!

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 251
Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.”

Today’s gospel, like many passages, is deceptively simple. There is always more beneath the surface in the Gospel of Saint John. The Lord and the Evangelist know that. The characters in the story do not. The congregation that hears the story – you and I – might not.
Jesus’ remark to the woman – the only moment when he speaks to her – should trigger an immediate link: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”
Here is a mob eager to condemn both the woman and anyone who would defend her. Their religion is all about punishment of the wicked. They cannot imagine anyone’s not being eager to condemn. They have set up what appears to be an inescapable trap around the Lord and the woman. His yea or nay will trigger an immediate, fatal response.
But they are completely disarmed by Jesus’ mild response. He will not condemn. He doesn’t want to condemn. There is no point to it.
Occasionally I have met people who know what I am going to say before I say. And they hear me say it, although I didn’t. They learned their religion as children, perhaps in a Catholic school. They felt no further need for religious education and have learned nothing since. However, they have strong convictions about the way I should think, speak, and act; and firm convictions about my political and religious beliefs. It matters not whether they agree with my apparent opinions; they will not notice in either case.
Saint John tells us “the scribes and Pharisees” brought this accused woman to Jesus. He also tells us the mob “went away one by one, beginning with the elders.” Who are these people?
If the scene were played out in the twentieth or twenty-first century, I would imagine a gang of young, angry men. Their “elders” might be in their late twenties; they are hardened street fighters who have earned the respect of boys transitioning to manhood. The group operates with fear and shame; none can act alone without the support of his fellows. They dare not step outside the gang, though they will later accuse one another of fearing Jesus, and each will deny it.
They take pleasure in violence even as they insist, they prefer peace. They use violence only to do the right thing; and only when it’s necessary, which is often. They’re quite sure that right makes might; and justifies force. Their god is punitive and vindictive.
One by one they go away. Some to alcohol or drugs, some to prison, some to idle their last hours watching television.

The Spirit of God blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

We dare not practice the religion of our times and culture, with its investments in power and righteousness, with its assurance that might makes right, and right is evident in its might. If we stoop like Jesus to care for the weak, ignored, and despised we can expect to be dismissed as he was. We can also hope to be raised up, 

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Lectionary: 34

"Thus says the Lord GOD: 
O my people, I will open your graves
and have you rise from them,
and bring you back to the land of Israel.
Then you shall know that I am the LORD...."


Jesus' calling his friend and disciple Lazarus out of the grave is the greatest and last of the "signs" in the Gospel of Saint John. We have seen several less spectacular signs like his changing water to wine, his preternatural knowledge of the woman at the well, and his feeding several thousand in the wilderness.
Scholars refer to these incidents as "signs" rather than "miracles" because they invariably reveal something more. They are not simply wonderful incidents to demonstrate the Savior's authority. Rather, at Cana he shows he is the bridegroom of the church; he shows himself as the Messiah to the Samaritans; and in the wilderness he feeds us with his body and blood. At Bethany, Jesus calls his friend Lazarus by name; and each one of us on the final day. On that day, when you hear the voice of the Shepherd, "...you shall know that I am the Lord."

The fatalist regards death as unfortunate and inevitable. It is the final annihilation of all personal effort. Whatever I have gained, earned, learned, or become is erased by death. 
Christians see death as the gateway to eternal life. We regard it with confident hope, and we prepare by the practice of our faith. Just as an aspiring athlete practices for the big leagues, and a doctor practices medicine with an eye to continual learning and improvement, the Christian practices the art of dying well. We do not want to be caught unawares by its approach, whether it comes at the end of a long and satisfactory life, or suddenly and without warning. 
Jesus has urged us to practice for death with statements like, 

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. Mt 10:37-39

We practice our faith first by daily prayer. My "tour of duty" in the VA begins at 7:30am, but I arrive there shortly after 6:30, so as to spend time in the chapel with the Lord and his saints. I begin with Saint Francis's Little Office of the Passion, and then read the Liturgy of the Hours. I often spend a little more time with spiritual reading, currently Adrienne Von Speyr's Handmaid of the Lord. I don't know how I'd get through the day without that daily practice. 
Fortified by prayer, we're ready to deal with whatever comes at us through the day. I'm sure everyone has a plan for the day, and most of our plans are disrupted, changed, and redirected by the exigencies of the day. The practice of dying often begins with surrendering my plans. 
But it is impossible to describe with more precision how we practice our faith. On one day I should be more disciplined, focused, and resolute; on another day, less so. Do we work or play, laugh or weep, speak or remain silent, encourage or discourage? Each decision is directed by the Spirit of God as I surrender my own plans.
I like to remember the "impulsiveness" of Saint Francis. He prayed continually and asked the Lord to show him which way to go. Once, when he and Brother Mattias came to a crossroad they didn't know which way to take. Francis asked the older, former aristocrat to spin around like a child until he fell down. Whichever way he would fall, that's the way they went. 
The obedient friar, despite the dignity of his years and breeding, whirled around until he tripped and fell; and they set out in that direction. As it turned out, they came to a village that was very near to civil war. Francis heard the complaints of the villagers, prayed with them, met the bishop, the mayor, and other parties, and finally mediated a truce. 
A few hours later, and many miles away, Francis discovered his friend was still sore about the indignity of falling down on the road. He reminded Matthias of the miracle they'd witnessed in resolving the conflict. The incidents were not unrelated, though Matt had not seen it! Finally, they laughed about God's mercy. Through Matt's death to self a town had been spared dreadful violence. 
Rarely can we see all the consequences of our decisions. We just don't know how God is working out our salvation. But we pray daily, and ask for God's guidance, and then pay whatever price must be paid today. We prepare for the Big Day when we will surrender everything to the One who call us, easily, without hesitation or regret. 

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 249

I knew their plot because the LORD informed me; at that time you, O LORD, showed me their doings.


Saint John's Gospel describes enormous tension; a powerful drama is working itself out. The listening congregation knows from the outset what must happen. The gospel was written to be read aloud to an assembly of baptized, devout Christians. We know that Jesus will be crucified and raised up as we hear about the crowd, the guards, the Pharisees and Nicodemus. These characters will play their parts in the drama but none will change the outcome.

John has all the drama of a "Moscow trial;" everyone knows the end before it begins. If the Communists intended to prove the futility of opposition, the Crucifixion will reveal the mercy of God. That is the brilliant irony of the Gospel. At the heart of this relentless violence the faithful see the goodness of God. Today's citation from Jeremiah alludes to this certain knowledge, "I knew their plot because the Lord informed me."

Jesus is surrounded by a crowd of accusers who are absolutely convinced they are doing the right thing. They have the backing of civil, religious, and popular authorities. If their faces betray nothing but cruel intent, they nonetheless go about this savage business with joyous zeal. Heaven, it seems, has blessed their enterprize. They can treat this man with all of the anger and unrestrained vindictiveness they have ever felt against anyone. Were you ever angry with your child, brother, sister, mother, or father? Did you want to hurt them physically or verbally? You can release that violence on this Galilean. You have God's go-ahead.

Jesus does not try to appeal to their better natures. He is silent, "like a trusting lamb led to slaughter." During his long pilgrimage to Jerusalem he had predicted the outcome. He had contemplated the horror and surrendered to God's plan as it became manifest. 

Most patients who enter the VA hospital, recover at least some of their health and go home. Some die there. The chaplain visits with the dying patients and their families. Those in hospice have usually surrendered to their fate. But some in ICU don't see it coming. The patient, the family, or both may deny the inevitability of death. 

"Not now!" they say. "Not today, not yet!" 

Some are kept alive with "life support" until the family is ready. Sometimes individuals must arrive from a great distance to say their goodbyes. Some have a futile hope the dying person might finally say, "I love you!" or "I am sorry." In my experience, if they never said it in the good time, they'll never say in the bad. 

The Lord by his crucifixion has made death like everything else that is human, a blessing. When the time comes we learn to welcome it. We all have experience of losing precious things; even things like loved ones, home, and health. The dark experience, as painful as it was, proved itself to be a blessing. 

As Jesus did not expect to find kindness in the faces of his tormentors, we surrender to the life that leads to death. It is a gospel life of sacrifice, generosity, obedience, and courage. It is neither easy nor supposed to be easy. But it is good. God has made it so; it is a blessing in our eyes.

Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 248

"Could the authorities have realized that he is the Christ? But we know where he is from. When the Christ comes, no one will know where he is from.”
So Jesus cried out in the temple area as he was teaching and said, “You know me and also know where I am from. Yet I did not come on my own, but the one who sent me, whom you do not know, is true.
I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.”

“Ipsa scientia potestas est” declared Sir Francis Bacon, English philosopher and statesman. “Knowledge is power!” He is credited with re-founding Science on the scientific method. Whereas knowledge had been based upon the teachings of the ancients like Plato and Aristotle, Bacon described hypotheses, experimentation, and proven theories as the way to discover truth. Experience, even personal experience, should guide our thinking, rather than the apparent wisdom of tradition. Demonstrable knowledge, proven by testing, should be more persuasive and certain than ancient lore.

Because much of our way of life is built upon Bacon's scientific method, we are fascinated with knowledge. 

So what do we know about Jesus? In today’s gospel the Jerusalem mob is perplexed. Because he is creating quite a stir, they assume the authorities know all about him and are on top of the situation. But the crowds wonder, "Do the high priests suppose he is the Christ?" They're not saying yea or nay. If the high priests, scribes, and levites don't know, what should we do?

"I don't how to love him!" sang the Magdalene in the rock opera, Jesus Christ Superstar; while the Judas character agonized whether to believe in him or betray him. Twenty centuries later we still wonder what to make of Jesus. 

Meanwhile, Jesus challenges us with his absolute confidence: 

... I did not come on my own,but the one who sent me, whom you do not know, is true.I know him, because I am from him, and he sent me.”

His self-knowledge is not based upon a scientific study of himself. After four centuries of Baconian science, not many people would point to their metrics of height, weight, eye color, and blood pressure to say who they are. They might point to their academic degrees, jobs, and careers. Some foolish persons believe their skin color reveals who they are. 

Christians know ourselves by our faith in Jesus, even as he knows himself by his faith in the One who sent him. Inevitably, necessarily, we meet opposition to this self-knowledge. "Society" is always ready to tell us who we are; that information may be flattering or insulting. It may be marketable, like beauty, intelligence, or attractive. Or not. 

It will not be true. We find our truth in God and the revelation of Jesus Christ. As we descend ever deeper into Lent, we ask the Lord to take us by the hand and guide us in self-knowledge. Only he who knows himself in God can reveal our true identity. 

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 247

“Go down at once to your people 
whom you brought out of the land of Egypt, 
for they have become depraved. 
They have soon turned aside from the way I pointed out to them, 
making for themselves a molten calf and worshiping it, 
sacrificing to it and crying out, 
‘This is your God, O Israel, 
who brought you out of the land of Egypt!’

The first words of today’s reading should evoke, for any American, the spiritual, “Go down, Moses.” It has been recorded many times, but especially by Paul Robeson and Louis Armstrong. The song recalls the tragic history of slavery in America, and the hope African Americans found in the religion of their oppressors.

But in today’s reading, the words “Go down, Moses” appear in a different context. Rather than Egyptian or American slavery, they remind us of the slavery of sin, the slavery to one’s own desires, needs, fears, and prejudices. We are often shackled by dispositions we take for granted, by assumptions that seem as natural as the rain but, in fact, bind us to sin.

There is, of course, a political context to this account from Exodus. Although this book of the Pentateuch recalls the sojourn in the desert, the “molten calf” refers to the statues King Jeroboam of Israel established in Bethel and Dan. These images were supposed to resemble the God who had delivered them from Egypt, although they bore a striking similarity to the idols of the local Canaanites. The king demanded his people’s religious loyalty and discouraged their pilgrimages to Judah and Jerusalem. The opening verses of Tobit, among other passages in the Bible, recalls the terrible consequence, Israel was invaded and destroyed by the Assyrians.

The severed kingdom's reverence for the golden calves represented the national sin of infidelity. Tobit assures us that the people knew what the king intended and why. If the majority accepted his duplicity and patronized his shrines, God's faithful people still went to Jerusalem.

I recall this sad story to remind us that our guilt is never entirely personal. Just as we are saved through the fellowship of the Church, the body of Christ, so can we sin by a false loyalty to neighborhoods, cities, states, and nations. 

Christians are called to be a people peculiarly his own, and Tobit admirably demonstrates the privilege and cost of this blessing. It falls upon the conscience of every Christian to practice loyalty to homeland with fidelity to our religious tradition. We balance these relationships by a close attention to God's Holy Spirit. One Christian may enlist in a nation's armed services as a warrior; another might espouse pacifism; a third might volunteer time and energy to the homeless, the imprisoned, the dying, or the unborn. 

"For freedom Christ set you free!" Saint Paul declared to the Galatians. In the footsteps of Jesus we work out our salvation as we fulfill the duties the Spirit lays upon us. 

And we pray that God will deliver us from Covid-19.

Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

Lectionary: 545

Listen, O house of David! Is it not enough for you to weary people, must you also weary my God? Therefore the Lord himself will give you this sign: the virgin shall be with child, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us!”


Isaiah's exasperation speaks for the Lord; he is very serious when he declares, "...the virgin shall be with child!"
During the first four centuries of Christian history, even as we struggled to survive under sporadic persecutions in Rome and parts of the empire, our bishops -- the "Fathers of the Church" -- discussed, debated, and quarreled to "define" our faith. If they could not reduce the mysteries to facts and data, we could state clearly what did not belong. It didn't help that some friendlier emperors -- the Constantines and Justinian -- prefered the Arian heresy because it made God resemble an emperor, and the emperor resemble God. With political friends like that, who needs enemies?
An emperor god cannot save us. We need a God who can save others but cannot save himself. Or, to put it in more familiar language, we need a God who can be born of a virgin and die on a cross. 
In the VA I have met many Veterans who struggle with addictions. They often leave the hospital with a plan to not drink. Only to return a week, a month, or several years later, wasted by the disease. "Cunning, baffling, and powerful!" we say of alcoholism. 
But alcohol, heroin, fentanyl, and methamphetamines are not evil; they have no soul. 
What is cunning, baffling, and powerful? The self. I am the one who will not surrender; I am the one who wants what he wants when he wants it, even at the price of my own life. I am the one who prays devoutly today and sins without remorse tomorrow.  

The Lord will save us by becoming our child, servant, and victim. He will save us by inviting each one of us to give the self to one who gives himself to us. He saves us by receiving the gift of myself -- a precious gift far beyond my ability to assess it. But even as he receives that pearl of great price, my soul, he surrenders himself and all his treasure to the Father. He is poured out, with the blood and water from his chest, in devotion to the One who spoke his Name. 
Nor can he do this unless he is one of us, a human being like us in all things but sin. We could not be saved by a god who is not human; nor would we be saved by a man who is not God.
In the middle of Lent we pause to remember the earthly origins of Jesus, and the woman who conceived the Word of God in her mind as she received him in her body.  

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 245

There is a stream whose runlets gladden the city of God,
the holy dwelling of the Most High.
God is in its midst; it shall not be disturbed;
God will help it at the break of dawn.

I was fortunate to major in English literature as an undergrad at Saint Louis University. It was a brief, wild experiment in the late 1960’s when seminarians were permitted to take a minor, rather than a major, in philosophy. With that literary experience I am more comfortable than my literal-minded colleagues with symbols. A drop of water evokes streams, runlets, rivers, oceans, rain; you name it!

Saint John’s story of the Pool of Bethesda immediately recalls Ezekiel’s mysterious channel from the temple to the Dead Sea and directs our attention to the water which gushed from the Messiah’s body as it hung suspended in death upon the cross. It sweeps us like a flood into the mystery of Baptism and God’s superabundant grace.

In today’s story we discover the Living Water walking amid the supplicants by the Pool of Bethesda in Jerusalem. He is eager to bless and heal anyone who betrays a willingness to be healed. Water takes the shape of its container, be it a bowl on your table, a pool on the ground, or the IV bag hanging by a hospital bed. The Lord is equally compliant as he approaches the sick.

“Do you want to be well?” he asks. As Saint John will make clear, the Lord can heal even the distracted and unwilling. Unlike the incident in Saint Mark’s gospel, his authority is not constrained by disinterest or lack of faith.

But John tells us this incident not to celebrate the Lord’s mercy to an ingrate, but as a lead-in to the ensuing controversy,” May the Lord heal on the Sabbath?” Faithful Jews, regardless of their gifts, should not work on the Sabbath. 

The Son of God, however, does. As he explains in the simplest possible language: "My Father is at work until now, so I am at work.”

And then Saint John assures us, they get it: 

"For this reason the Jews tried all the more to kill him, because he not only broke the sabbath but he also called God his own father, making himself equal to God."

Laetare Sunday is behind us. We're closing on Passiontide and Holy Week and the Triduum. We shall see the Love of the Father and the Son, and God's passionate love for us. If we see as in a glass darkly, it is nonetheless brilliant and overpowering to the eyes of faith. We must discover God's humility and courage in loving so intensely. 
Our God has abandoned the security of heaven to sink into the chaos of our world. A world which has, for as long as we can remember, always been riven by war and strife, by chaos and disaster. If we thought the environmental catastrophes of locust infestation and mysterious plagues were left behind in "biblical times," we're about to see far worse environmental catastrophes unleashed upon us. 
The Christian's assurance in this terrified new world will be neither our economy nor our military nor our laws written on paper, but the Lord who walks with us. We will know by faith, and not by sight, the superabundant Spirit of God who floods our hearts with gladness. 

Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 244

For I create Jerusalem to be a joy
and its people to be a delight;
I will rejoice in Jerusalem
and exult in my people.
No longer shall the sound of weeping be heard there, or the sound of crying; no longer shall there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not round out his full lifetime. He dies a mere youth who reaches but a hundred years, and he who fails of a hundred shall be thought accursed.
They shall live in the houses they build, and eat the fruit of the vineyards they plant.

Saint Paul assured the Romans.

"...and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us." 

With Laetare Sunday behind us and Passiontide ahead, it is good to hear God's promises described in Isaiah's homely images. Even among healthy nations, a hundred years is a long life. What do we hope for?  

Emily Dickinson wrote:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -That perches in the soul -And sings the tune without the words -And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard And sore must be the storm -That could abash the little BirdThat kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -And on the strangest Sea -Yet - never - in Extremity,It asked a crumb - of me.

 Ms. Dickinson describes God's courage. I think we neglect an important doctrine when we assume that God has no need for courage. Doesn't God just do whatever God wants, and get whatever God desires? How can there be any risk in God's actions? 
But, clearly, God has risked much with me, and the resolution of God's plans for me is not yet settled. How will this all turn out? Will my creation and salvation be for naught? If feathered "hope" asks nothing of me, it expects much of me. 
And moves in me to fulfillment. 

For I create Jerusalem to be a joy
and its people to be a delight;
I will rejoice in Jerusalem
and exult in my people.

Fourth Sunday of Lent

Lectionary: 31

So they said to the blind man again,
“What do you have to say about him,
since he opened your eyes?”
He said, “He is a prophet.”

There are several books in the Old and New Testaments, plus long sections within the books, where God does not appear. Ruth, Judith, and Esther tell of the heroines' prayers, courage, and deeds without God's obvious intervention. If he appears in Tobit, he's like the philanthropist in the old TV show, The Millionaire; we only sense his presence in the shuffling of petitions around his heavenly desk. God often appears in the first twenty-six chapters of Genesis, but never appears in the last twenty-four, the story of the Patriarch Joseph. 
These stories are important for they tell us much about the life of faith. Joseph, Ruth, Esther and the others show us how faithful individuals act. Nor are their stories implausible tales like the Greek legends of Hercules. The political/economic situations and the challenges our heroes face are quite familiar.
Today's gospel is like those Old Testament stories. Jesus appears but it's a cameo appearance. The story is about a young, blind man and his ordeal after Jesus gives him sight.
He was born blind. We start with that. "Was it his fault or that of his parents?" the disciples wonder. The Lord replies that it doesn't matter; he is blind so that God's mercy might be revealed to him and through him. Placing blame for Original Sin and then wondering who should do something about it and why they haven't already: these are fool's games. The fact is we are born blind because our world is in darkness until the Light comes. The question is whether we'll be willing to see the light when it comes. 
Then Jesus heals the man, who had not even asked for healing! The initiative is God's! We must be reminded often that the Lord owes us nothing and gives us everything, including existence. We have neither earned nor deserved God's grace, but we do well if we acknowledge it. 
Washing his face and eyes of the mud, the man can see and his neighbors immediately notice it. They are so familiar with a blind man -- he has been his disability -- they're not sure he is the same man. Like Scrooge, some people are so habitually unpleasant we can't recognize them when they turn over a new leaf. Fortunately, this intelligent, formerly-blind man has not forgotten his personal history. His "gospel story" will begin in the darkness and foolishness of blindness and move to the clarity and wisdom of enlightenment. He announces the Good News by insisting, "I am!" 
So they must ask how did he come to see. He can answer:

The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes
and told me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’
So I went there and washed and was able to see.”

But he cannot answer the question, "Where is he?" He has never seen Jesus; he doesn't know what he looks like. 
But before that revelation comes the young man is dealing with opposition. First he meets the Pharisees who suspect his veracity. Refusing to believe that God might intervene in human history, they investigate and try to debunk the story. And then, perhaps the unkindest cut of all, the young man's parents disavow him. Frightened of the Pharisees' suspicion, they "distance" themselves from him.  
The ninth chapter of the Gospel according to John concerns the opposition and persecution Christians face as they come to Jesus. Religious historians can argue about how the Jewish and Christian religions separated, but the Gospel of John indicates the hostility came from the Jewish establishment. Christians experienced an extraordinary blessing in their meeting with Jesus and their imbibing in the Holy Spirit; they were deeply saddened and disappointed by their excommunication from the synagogue. 
Finally, the Lord returns to the drama. He asks the young man a baptismal question, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He replies with the entire Church as we will declare on Easter Sunday, "I do believe." 
With that the Christian's confusion and alarm are dispelled and he beholds the Glory of God, "and he worshipped him." 

Two thousand years later, Christians are not troubled by Jewish opposition. We should maintain no quarrel with that beautiful religion or its people. We are opposed, however, by the secular establishment which resolutely ignores the Sovereignty of God and the history of grace. 
Today's gospel is about vision, and the Christian sees clearly both the presence of evil and the opportunity of grace. We recognize the violence of poverty and the unnatural growth of wealth. We are made in God's image, but our institutions routinely sort us into the privileged few and the disenfranchised majority. Even acknowledging the injustice meets fierce opposition. 
There was never a time when the Christian did not need courage. Like the young man in today's gospel, we must speak the truth to power and face the consequences, which will include the Face of Jesus. 

Saturday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 242

Let us know, let us strive to know the LORD; as certain as the dawn is his coming, and his judgment shines forth like the light of day! He will come to us like the rain, like spring rain that waters the earth.


No one wants to be taken for granted. Everyone wants at least some recognition. But it is good that people do take us for granted. Because we are so consistently reliable  people expect us to be there, and we are. 
Companies and volunteer organizations give awards to dependable people, honoring their years of service. Wiser managers know we need recognition even when we're naturally shy and self-conscious. Leaders so preoccupied with pressing concerns that they fail to honor and thank their team will find even the most willing staff fading away. 
When the Lord commanded the escaping Hebrew slaves to "Honor your father and mother!" he knew they deserve their children's recognition, and children should not presume upon their parents. Responsible parents occasionally disappear from their children to take a night out or a day off, for their own self-maintenance; and to remind their children, "You are not the center of my universe!"

Today's scriptures remind us that, despite the dependability of quality people, we always stand in supplication before others. There is nothing automatic about human behavior. Although we organize people along mechanical principles, they do not act like machines. At every moment of every step in every process, they have a choice. 
No one has to do my bidding; no one must do what I expect. No one is here for the sole purpose of pleasing me. Although the quarterback tells me to go out for a pass, it might not be there when I arrive at the appointed spot. 
The Lord made a covenant with Abraham and his descendants. He would be there for them. He tested Abraham in the sorest possible fashion, to see if the Patriarch would believe the Lord; and Abraham proved himself worthy. Abraham also tested the Lord even as he raised the knife over Isaac, and the Lord did not fail him. Jesus went even further as he marched to Jerusalem, carried his cross, descended into hell, and waited for his Father to save him. 
We test one another continually, and we often fail one another. But the Lord is faithful and his Spirit revives our willingness to trust again and again, even as Charlie Brown trusts Lucy to hold that football. 
Today's readings describe unfaithful prayers and the persons who assume that God is like the spring rains or a mindless machine. He will not endure that. 

For this reason I smote them through the prophets,
I slew them by the words of my mouth;
For it is love that I desire, not sacrifice,
and knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.

Friday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 241

The scribe said to him, “Well said, teacher.

You are right in saying,
He is One and there is no other than he.
And to love him with all your heart,
with all your understanding,
with all your strength,
and to love your neighbor as yourself
is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

Americans are fond of saying, “There is only one God!” and “All religions are alike.” I shudder whenever I hear either remark since I find little commonality among the religions I have encountered. I doubt that there is even a universally accepted definition for religion. Some religions worship a god, some recognize no god. Some encourage civility and obedience to law; others encourage only individuality and nonconformity. Some claim to appeal to all people; some include only a particular race or nationality. I am reasonably assured Catholics worship the same God because we attend the same Mass throughout the world – that is, of those who attend Mass.

To say there is only one god and all religions are alike demonstrates, at best, serious ignorance of the varieties of human experience. As Hamlet said to his friend, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  

That being said, today’s gospel points to an essential agreement between Jewish and Christian religions. We agree on the two great commandments; we must love God and our neighbor.

Jesus and his disciples did not set out to create a new religion. Nor did they intend to reform the Jewish religion. Rather, Jesus is the fulfillment of the faith of Abraham and the Law of Moses. Jews and Christians went different ways: Christians welcomed gentiles to worship the Jewish Messiah; while Jews reinforced traditional values. Both religions suffered Roman persecution during that first century, a dilemma complicated by their mutual hostility.

As the Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant churches seek to atone for centuries of anti-Semitic hostility and violence, recognizing that this evil tradition has deep roots in our Christian language and customs, it is good to hear today’s gospel. The scribe has said, “Well said, teacher!” and Jesus has replied, “You are not far from the Kingdom of God.” If the scribe’s initial question was barbed with contempt, he was surprised and satisfied by the Lord’s reply.

The horror of world wars and genocides in the twentieth century shocked many religious thinkers. The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber, in his book I and Thou, taught that we could find Truth not through hostile debates and mutual recrimination, but through respectful dialogue. No one party owns the truth. Rather, in the encounter with other persons we meet the mystery of truth which no human language can express. 

Even as Buber was describing his insight, Christian theologians resumed their study of the doctrine of the Trinity, after centuries of neglect. It is not enough to say, “It’s a mystery!” and move on to more explainable subjects. The Trinity reveals an “otherness” in God that is not unlike the otherness of Jews and Christians. Our religious reluctance to recognize otherness and to practice dialogue led directly to unspeakable violence.

And so we ponder anew the love of God and of our neighbor, realizing that we know little of either. The Spirit of God assures us that the honor and esteem we give to others – regardless of their race, language, or religious beliefs -- “is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 543

It was not through the law that the promise was made to Abraham and his descendants that he would inherit the world, but through the righteousness that comes from faith. For this reason, it depends on faith, so that it may be a gift...


Where Saint Luke tells us of Mary, the woman who first hears the Good News, Saint Matthew tells us about Saint Joseph. Both are model saints and disciples for us as they readily hear and do the Word of God.
The choice of today's second reading also suggests Joseph as the new Abraham. His son will be the new Isaac, the firstborn and only beloved son who is offered in sacrifice. 
Where the Pharisaic religion of Jesus' time appealed to Moses and the Law, Saint Paul directed the Christian's gaze to Abraham, "the father of faith," who knew nothing of the Mosaic Law. His relationship with God was direct and face to face. 
As I think of Abraham's encounter with God I think of three incidents: his attempt to save the cities of the plain from destruction, his watching the mushroom cloud rising over Sodom and Gomorrah, and his sacrifice of Isaac. 
Jewish spirituality does not suppose Abraham simply surrendered his son to the deity that would make an insane, cruel, and arbitrary demand. His sacrifice may have been a courageous act of defiance. He had seen the terrible power of God to overthrow wickedness. He must have reeled at the thought that he stood alone, the only human on earth, who might be able to petition, plead, or persuade this All Powerful One to show compassion to human beings. We are wretched creatures,  driven more by fear and passion than by love or reason. Without God's grace we will always and invariably destroy one another.  "...as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be..." 

What can he do but comply with God's demand? Confronted with a god who accepts no compromise, the Patriarch dares God to stop him. He takes the boy to Mount Moriah, builds the altar, binds the child, raises the knife. Nothing will prevent him from obeying God's command except God's command. 
Lovers often challenge each other, testing the limits of their relationships. It comes with belonging to human families and human society. Our love must be gentle and compassionate at times; tough and uncompromising, at others. We try each other's patience and we learn patience from the experience. More importantly, we learn that, "My life is not about me. My life is about us, our friendship, family, and covenant." We learn the courage to stand up for ourselves and the courage to back down and let be. 
Our fear of God is like God, courageous. 

Joseph was tasked with protecting "the child and his mother." (Saint Matthew uses the expression several times.) He must abandon his family, home, and career in Bethlehem and take them from Bethlehem to Egypt, and then to Nazareth. He must discipline this God-Child who might have infinite wisdom but still must learn to tie his shoes and blow his nose properly.
He will be faithful and just, like his ancestor Abraham, and in the spirit of Abraham.  He will know God face to face in Mary's child and the Child will learn that mercy and compassion must outweigh the Law. The Law was made for man, and not man for the law. He will also stand in silent wonder, like Abraham, as he discovers the boy in the temple, listening to the elders and asking them questions. Finally, having done his part, he will disappear. Not one word is recorded from Saint Joseph. His silence is his Gospel, the Word made Flesh. It was never about him. 


USCCB responds to Coronavirus:

Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, Queen of the Angels and Mother of the Americas.
We fly to you today as your beloved children.
We ask you to intercede for us with your Son, as you did at the wedding in Cana.

Pray for us, loving Mother,
and gain for our nation and world,
and for all our families and loved ones,
the protection of your holy angels,
that we may be spared the worst of this illness.

For those already afflicted,
we ask you to obtain the grace of healing and deliverance.
Hear the cries of those who are vulnerable and fearful,
wipe away their tears and help them to trust.

In this time of trial and testing,
teach all of us in the Church to love one another and to be patient and kind.
Help us to bring the peace of Jesus to our land and to our hearts.

We come to you with confidence,
knowing that you truly are our compassionate mother,
health of the sick and cause of our joy.

Shelter us under the mantle of your protection,
keep us in the embrace of your arms,
help us always to know the love of your Son, Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 239

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law, until all things have taken place.

Often, when people hear an unexpected explanation of something which they thought was settled and familiar, they slue to the opposite opinion. “So, if you don’t believe in God, you must be an atheist!” or “If you don’t like Capitalism, you’re a Communist!” To make matters worse, the truth is not usually “somewhere in between.” 

It's a “paradigm shift.” Google offers a definition (typically technological): 

“A paradigm shift is a major change in the concepts and practices of how something works or is accomplished. A paradigm shift very often happens when new technology is introduced that radically alters the production process of a good or service.” 

To get there you may have to “think outside the box.”

When Gutenberg introduced his moveable type, for example, his characters looked familiar, like handwriting. Readers were not ready for the paradigm shift from handwritten copies to the printing press. Only gradually did new fonts appear more suitable for printing. A second example: many older folks like me are delighted to send fast, inexpensive emails to our friends and family, but we’re still writing thousand-word missives like the old-fashioned snail mail. The people who liked to get long letters don’t always want to read a long email.

Jesus challenged his contemporaries with a “paradigm shift.” (I use this modern concept cautiously when speaking of spiritual matters.) He used the language of the law, the prophets, and the psalms. He was clearly a Jew and entirely faithful to the Jewish religion. What he knew, and his contemporaries could not get: he was the fulfillment of the entire Jewish religion. He was everything they had ever expected of God, everything they had been told of God, and more. He is God in the flesh, an undreamed-of presence appearing in human history.

That Revelation called for an entirely new way of thinking. And acting. And being. Saint Paul, in his first century (albeit sexist) language, called it “a new man.” The Gospel of Jesus called for a new congregation, with new prayers, liturgies, scripture, mission and theology -- and new urgency. The old Jewish religion could not contain Jesus, anymore than old wineskins could contain the explosive ferment of new wine.

However, when we consider Jesus’ mission as a paradigm shift, we admit that we have yet to make the transition. Much of our thinking is still as man thinks, and not as God. This Gospel reaches beyond our routine ways of thinking and acting to reveal the sins that are rooted in our language, custom and culture. The Light of God has yet to shine in many dark but all-too-familiar places.

Nor will the languages, customs, and traditions of our time readily welcome the new directions of the Holy Spirit. Just as Jesus challenged his contemporaries, the Gospel challenges us today. The Lord teaches us to think within the book, and outside the box.